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flux1563 · 18 days ago

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A Dare to Remember ft Eunbi, Minju

Words : 6k

Tags : squirting, rough sex, multiple creampie, multiple orgasms

The airplane's wheels screeched against the tarmac, jolting Minju and Eunbi from their sleepy embrace. They looked out the small oval window at the lush, unfamiliar landscape as the aircraft taxied to the gate. The scent of tropical flowers wafted through the cabin as the door swung open, mixing with the stale air of the plane. Bali, the island of gods and unbridled beauty, welcomed them with open arms.

"We're finally here," Minju whispered to Eunbi, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She playfully tugged at the hem of her friend's skirt, which had ridden up slightly during their nap. "Let's make this week one to remember, yeah?"

Eunbi giggled, her cheeks flushing. "You bet we will," she murmured, a hint of mischief in her voice.

The two friends collected their luggage and stepped out into the warm, humid air, feeling it envelop them like a lover's embrace. The vibrant sounds of the bustling airport surrounded them as they made their way through customs, the exotic languages a symphony to their ears.

In the taxi, they chattered away about their plans for the week. They had rented a luxurious villa, nestled between the emerald rice fields and the azure sea. It was a place where they could truly unwind and indulge in the pleasures of life, away from the prying eyes of their small town in Korea.

As the vehicle wove through the chaotic streets of Kuta, the heart of Bali's nightlife, Minju leaned in close to Eunbi, her voice low and conspiratorial. "You know what we should do to spice up our vacation?"

Eunbi's eyes grew wide with curiosity. "What?"

Minju smirked. "A little competition."

The taxi pulled up to the grand entrance of their villa, and the driver popped the trunk with a flourish. As they stepped out, Minju elaborated, her eyes gleaming with a wild idea. "Let's see who can...you know, hook up with the most guys. It'll be our own little challenge."

Eunbi's eyes narrowed, a competitive fire igniting within her. "You're on," she said, her voice filled with excitement and a touch of defiance.

The villa was a paradise, with a private pool that shimmered like a jewel in the sunlight. Their bags were whisked away by the friendly staff, leaving them to explore their surroundings. The walls of their suite were adorned with intricate carvings that told ancient tales of love and passion, setting the stage for the adventure that lay ahead.

"This place is perfect," Eunbi said, her voice filled with awe. "Now, let's get started on those registration papers."

They retreated to their separate rooms, each a sanctuary of comfort with four-poster beds draped in fine linens and private balconies that beckoned with a view of the swaying palm trees. Minju watched as Eunbi pulled out a notebook and pen, placing it on the nightstand with a determined look.

"No fabric touching our bodies, right?" Minju asked, her voice a mix of excitement and challenge.

"Right," Eunbi nodded, a devilish smile playing on her lips. "Let's keep it interesting. No clothes, no barriers."

Minju watched as Eunbi sailed out of the room, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. This was it; the game was on. She quickly undressed and lay on the bed, her body glistening with a sheen of sweat from the warm Bali air. She felt a thrill run through her as she imagined the parade of men who would soon be crossing the threshold.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the villa in a warm, golden glow. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore served as a soothing backdrop to the nervous energy that crackled through the air. Eunbi stood on her balcony, her bare skin kissed by the soft breeze. She had decided to wait for the first contestant to arrive. Her heart thumped in her chest as she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching the villa.

A knock at the door made her jump. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. She opened the door to find a tall, tanned local man with a charming smile. His eyes swept over her naked body, a blatant hunger in his gaze that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Hi," she managed to say, her voice a sultry whisper. "I've been expecting you."

He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with a click that echoed through the suite. He didn't waste any time, closing the distance between them in two strides. His strong hands found her waist, pulling her against his firm body. His kiss was fiery and demanding, his tongue dancing with hers in a passionate tango.

Eunbi's body responded instinctively, her legs parting slightly to allow him closer. He took advantage of the invitation, his hands roaming her curves, exploring every inch of her bare skin. His kisses grew more insistent, moving down her neck to her collarbone, then lower to her firm breasts. He took a nipple in his mouth, suckling gently, eliciting a gasp from Eunbi. Her knees grew weak as his fingers traveled lower, finding the slick heat between her thighs.

The man's touch was like nothing she had ever experienced before—rough yet tender, claiming yet reverent. She felt a strange sense of empowerment as she gave herself over to the moment, allowing him to lead her in this erotic dance. The competition had begun, and she was ready to give it her all.

Eunbi guided him to the bed, her breath coming in shallow gasps as his hands continued to explore her body. He laid her down, his eyes never leaving hers as he positioned himself between her legs. He entered her with a smooth, practiced ease that made her moan with pleasure. His rhythm was intoxicating, a slow and steady build that had her arching off the mattress.

Their bodies moved in a silent symphony of desire, their skin slick with sweat as they lost themselves in the primal rhythm. The bed creaked in time with their passionate thrusts, a testament to their unbridled lust. Eunbi's hands roamed his muscular back, her nails digging in as he picked up the pace. Their whispers grew louder, turning into a cacophony of dirty praise and encouragement that filled the room.

"You're so tight, baby," he groaned, his hips slamming into hers. "You feel so good."

"Keep going," Eunbi panted, her voice thick with desire. "I want to feel you fill me up."

He obliged, his strokes growing more forceful, each one pushing her closer to the edge. The room was alive with the sound of their skin slapping together, the sweet sound of pleasure echoing through the villa.

"Yes," she screamed, her body tightening around him as she climaxed. "Keep going, fill me up. Give me everything you've got."

The man's pace grew erratic as he approached his own release, his grip on her hips tightening. With one final, powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside her, their bodies shuddering with the intensity of the moment. They lay there, panting and tangled together, the air thick with the scent of sex.

Eunbi felt a sense of victory as she watched the man roll off her, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She had won the first round, but the week was long, and she knew Minju would not make it easy for her. The game was on, and she was ready to play.

Her thoughts were interrupted by another knock on the door. She glanced at the notebook on the nightstand, her heart racing. The next contestant had arrived, eager to stake his claim in their wild competition. She slid out of the bed, her legs unsteady from the last round, and padded to the door.

As she opened it, she found a line of men waiting outside, each more handsome than the last. They had heard about the contest and had come from all corners of the island to take part. The thought of it made Eunbi's pulse quicken. She had never been so desired, so wanted.

The first man in line stepped into the room, a cocky grin on his face. He was young, with a lean, muscular body and a mischievous glint in his eye. "I've been waiting for you," he said, his English tinged with an Australian accent.

Eunbi's smile grew wicked as she led him to the bed, her body already preparing for the next round. This one would be rough, she decided, her competitive spirit driving her to push the boundaries. He pinned her down, his strong hands holding her wrists as he kissed her neck, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. His teeth grazed her sensitive skin, making her gasp.

He was aggressive, taking her with a fervor that left her breathless. Each thrust was punctuated by the sound of the bed frame hitting the wall. She could feel the tension building inside her again, a delicious ache that grew with each bruising kiss and bite. He whispered dirty words in her ear, his breath hot and ragged, and she found herself responding with equal vigor.

The night stretched on, a blur of faces and sensations. Eunbi's body was a canvas of pleasure and pain, each encounter more intense than the last. Some men were gentle, worshipping her body with tender kisses and soft caresses. Others were more demanding, pushing her limits with each stroke. There was the quiet, intense artist who painted her in hues of passion with his fingertips, and the burly biker whose rough hands left her feeling both used and adored.

Through it all, she kept count, scribbling names and details in her notebook with a trembling hand. Each orgasm brought her closer to victory, and she reveled in the power she wielded over these men. Yet, she knew she had to be careful. The competition was only just beginning, and she didn't want to burn out too soon.

As the first rays of dawn began to peek through the curtains, Eunbi collapsed onto the bed, her body sore but satisfied. She had fucked them all, each one leaving his mark on her body and her soul. But she knew that she had to keep going, to push through the pain and the pleasure. The prize was in her sights, and she was not about to let Minju win without a fight.

The men came and went, a never-ending parade of desire and need. Each time she felt a new cock fill her up, she would grip the bed sheets and whisper sweet nothings into their ears, making them believe they were the best she had ever had. The sweet sound of their moans and grunts became a symphony that played in the background of her thoughts, fueling her determination.

And then it happened. With a particularly skilled and energetic partner, she felt something new, something she had never experienced before. Her body tightened around him as a warm gush of liquid spurted from her, soaking the bed and leaving her panting for breath. He looked at her with amazement, his eyes wide with surprise. "You squirted," he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

Eunbi giggled, feeling a newfound sense of power. "It was amazing," she gasped, her voice still shaking from the intensity of the orgasm. She leaned in and kissed him deeply, tasting the salt of his sweat on his skin. "You're really good at that."

Her newfound squirting ability became a secret weapon in their competition. Each time she felt a man's warmth filling her up, she would whisper those magic words, "Keep cumming on my womb, fill it," urging them to give her all they had. It was a heady feeling, one that made her feel alive and in control. The men responded with a fervor she hadn't anticipated, their eyes glazing over with lust as they worked to satisfy her every demand.

Days turned into nights and back again, as Eunbi and Minju's game of conquest grew more intense. The villa's walls echoed with the sounds of passion, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. Eunbi's body grew more sensitive with each new lover, making each climax more explosive than the last. Her cries of pleasure could be heard throughout the night, a siren's call that drew even more men to her doorstep.

As the week progressed, Eunbi's list grew longer, filling page after page of her notebook. She had lost track of the number of men she had taken to her bed, each one leaving her feeling both drained and exhilarated. Yet, she never once considered backing down. The thrill of the challenge had become a drug, a high that she craved with every breath.

One evening, as the sun painted the sky with a riot of colors, Eunbi found herself with a particularly eager participant. He was older, with a silver fox charm that made her knees wobble. His hands were rough and calloused, yet gentle as they explored her body. He took his time, savoring every inch of her as if she were the last woman he would ever touch. His kisses were tender, yet filled with an urgency that made her heart race.

As he slid into her, she felt herself opening up to him in a way she hadn't with the others. His strokes were deep and deliberate, each one hitting that perfect spot that made her toes curl. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she begged for more. "Keep cumming on my womb," she murmured, her voice a breathless whisper. "I want to feel you fill me up."

The man's eyes grew dark with lust as he obeyed, his movements growing more forceful. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room as he drove into her, over and over again. With a roar, he released his seed, and she felt the warmth spread within her, a delicious sensation that made her shiver with pleasure.

The week had been a whirlwind of passion and competition. Eunbi had pushed herself to the limits, her body aching yet craving more. Each day had melded into the next, a blur of sun-kissed skin and whispered promises of pleasure. Her once pristine bed now bore the stains of countless encounters, a testament to the marathon of lust she had endured.

As she lay there, her body trembling from the last climax, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. She had done it—200 men had claimed her, leaving her feeling more alive than she had ever felt before. The taste of victory was sweet on her lips, a heady concoction of sweat and cum. She glanced over at the notebook, the number scribbled in her shaky handwriting. "200," she murmured, her voice filled with amazement and satisfaction.

The final night of their competition approached, and with it, the tension grew palpable. Both women knew that their endurance was being tested, their bodies pushed to the brink. Yet, as they lay in their beds, listening to the distant laughter and waves crashing against the shore, they couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie. They had shared this wild, unforgettable experience together, and no matter who won, they had both conquered their fears and desires in a way they never thought possible.

Eunbi's final day was upon her, and she approached it with a mix of excitement and trepidation. She had one more encounter to go, one final man to add to her tally. As the hours ticked by, she found herself both dreading and eagerly awaiting the moment. Would she be able to handle it? Would she be able to give him the experience he sought?

The door to her room opened, and in stepped the final contestant—a mysterious figure who had been watching from the sidelines all week. His eyes were dark and intense, his body sculpted like a Greek god. He walked over to her with purpose, and she felt her heart race in anticipation. This one, she knew, would be different.

He didn't waste any time with pleasantries, instead he began to touch her, his hands skimming her skin with a confidence that sent shivers down her spine. His kisses were demanding, his teeth grazing her lips in a way that made her gasp. He picked her up effortlessly, laying her on the bed, and began to explore her body with a hunger that matched her own.

Eunbi had been with many men, but none had ever made her feel like this. Each touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. He knew exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure to apply. It was as if he had studied her, learned her body's secrets, and was now using them to his advantage.

Her legs spread wide, she offered herself to him, her pussy slick and swollen from the week's exertions. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, leaving no part untouched. His tongue danced around her clit, teasing it into a frenzy before plunging into her depths. She writhed beneath him, her body a tapestry of sensation.

When he finally entered her, it was with a slow, deliberate stroke that made her moan with pleasure. He filled her completely, stretching her to the point of pain, yet it was a sweet agony she had grown to crave. His rhythm was relentless, each thrust sending a fresh wave of cum spilling from her over-sensitive womb.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a dance of desire that had been a week in the making. Eunbi could feel the pressure building, her orgasm threatening to consume her. She met his eyes, her own glazed with passion, and whispered, "I want you to breed me. Give me your all."

With a roar, he complied, pumping into her with a ferocity that made the bed shake. She felt his hot seed fill her, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. Yet, she reveled in it, her body clenching around him as she climaxed once more.

As he pulled out, she lay there, panting and exhausted, her body drenched in sweat and cum. She had done it—she had conquered her fears, pushed past her limits, and claimed victory. The competition had taken its toll, but Eunbi felt a sense of triumph that washed away any hint of fatigue.

Minju Side :

As Eunbi's cries of pleasure pierced the stillness of the villa, Minju couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. She lay on her bed, the sheets twisted around her body like a lover's embrace, listening to the muffled sounds of her friend's passionate encounter. Her own body thrummed with need, her pussy pulsing with anticipation for the first man she would claim in their wild competition.

The door to her room creaked open, and she held her breath, her heart racing in excitement. A shadow fell across the threshold, and she made out the silhouette of a man, his features obscured by the dim light. She watched as he approached the bed, his eyes gleaming with lust.

He was nothing like the gentle, loving men she had known back home. His touch was rough, his kiss bruising as he claimed her mouth. She could feel his hand at her throat, his grip firm yet not unpleasantly so—it was a show of dominance, a silent declaration of his intentions.

With a sudden jerk, he pulled her up and pushed her down onto the bed, her cheek pressed against the cool, crisp linen. He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look back at him. His eyes gleamed with a dark, almost sadistic hunger that sent a shiver down her spine. He was going to be rough, and she could feel her body responding with a mix of fear and excitement.

Minju gasped as he bent her over, pushing her down onto her hands and knees. He didn't bother with preamble, instead, he took a firm grip of her hips and yanked her back towards him. She felt the tip of his cock brush against her cunt before he thrust inside without warning, filling her in one swift motion. She yelped with surprise, the sensation of his thickness stretching her out sending shockwaves through her body.

He began to fuck her hard, his hips slapping against her ass with a rhythmic thud that echoed through the room. Each time he pulled out, he'd smack her cheeks before plunging back in, the sting adding to the intensity of each thrust. She felt her pussy grow wetter with every spank, her body begging for more of the delicious pain-pleasure that danced along her nerve endings.

"How does it feel, baby?" he grunted, his grip on her hips tightening.

Minju moaned, her voice thick with lust. "It feels...amazing. You're so big, so deep."

The man chuckled darkly, his teeth gritted with the effort of holding back. "Keep talking, sweetheart. Tell me how much you love it."

Her words spilled out in a breathless stream, each one more explicit than the last. "Your cock feels so good, so thick, stretching me open. I've never felt so full."

He rewarded her with a particularly deep thrust that made her cry out. "That's it," he encouraged. "Tell me how much you love being my little whore."

Minju's cheeks flushed at the harsh words, but she found herself craving more. "I love it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I love being your whore, being filled with your cum."

The man's strokes grew more erratic as he approached his climax, his breaths coming in harsh pants. "You're going to take it all, aren't you?"

"Yes," she gasped, her body trembling. "I'll take everything you give me."

With a final, powerful thrust, he came, his warm seed flooding her insides. He collapsed on top of her, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. Minju lay there, her breath coming in ragged gasps, feeling both used and utterly satisfied.

As the man withdrew, she couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, despite the ache in her body. She had never experienced such raw, animalistic sex before, and it had awakened a side of her she didn't know existed. The competition had taken an unexpected turn, but she was ready to face whatever the week had in store for her.

The next man to enter her room was a stark contrast to the first. He had a gentle demeanor, his eyes soft and kind. He approached her with care, as if she were a fragile treasure to be cherished. Minju felt a twinge of doubt—was she ready for tenderness after the rough treatment she had just received?

But as he began to kiss her, she realized that she was craving something different. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to take her with the same fiery passion as the first, but he resisted, instead choosing to explore her body with feather-light touches and whispered sweet nothings. She found herself arching into his caresses, her body begging for more.

"I want you to go rough," she panted, her voice strained with desire. "Please, make it hard."

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers for consent. She nodded eagerly, her cheeks flushed with excitement. He took her cue, his gentle strokes turning into firm, demanding thrusts that made her cry out. She had never felt so alive, so wanted. Her nails dug into his back as she urged him deeper, her body craving the delicious friction.

"You're so good at this," she murmured, her voice thick with lust. "I've never felt so...so alive."

He grunted in response, his grip on her hips tightening as he picked up the pace. His cock hit that perfect spot inside her with every thrust, and she felt herself climbing towards another shattering orgasm. The man's eyes never left hers, his gaze intense and focused. It was as if he could see into her very soul, as if he knew exactly what she needed to push her over the edge.

And when she did, it was with a scream that tore through the quiet night, her body convulsing around him. He followed shortly after, his own release a testament to the power of their connection. They collapsed onto the bed, their hearts racing in unison.

Minju lay there, her body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. She had done it again, conquered another challenge in their wild game. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter had meant something more, something beyond the competition.

But there was no time to ponder as the door to her room swung open once more, admitting another eager participant. The cycle repeated with an almost mechanical precision—the feel of a stranger's cock claiming her, the sweet agony of climax, and the warmth of his seed filling her up. Each man brought a new wave of sensation, a different flavor of lust to savor and record in her notebook.

Her body grew sore, her pussy tender from the relentless onslaught, yet she remained insatiable, craving the next round. Each encounter blurred into the next, a never-ending symphony of passion and pain. The men came and went, a faceless procession of desire that fueled her competitive spirit. She had lost track of time, her existence now a series of moans and cries that filled the air, a crescendo of pleasure that never seemed to end.

But tonight, something was different. As the latest participant slammed into her, she felt it building—that peculiar tension that had been coiled within her for days. Her body began to quiver, her muscles tightening around him in a vice-like grip. And then it happened. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before—a sudden, explosive release of fluid that soaked the bed beneath her. She looked down, astonishment etched on her face as she watched herself gush with each powerful thrust.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her voice filled with a mix of shock and excitement. "I'm squirting."

The man's eyes widened in amazement, his own arousal spiking at the sight of her pleasure. "Keep going," he urged, his strokes growing more frenzied. "Let me see you drench the bed."

And she did, her body responding to his words with a fervor that surprised even her. With every pump of his hips, she squirted more, the sensation growing stronger and more intense. The room grew wet with the sound of her release, a testament to her unbridled passion.

It was as if her body had discovered a new form of climax, one that left her trembling and begging for more. Each time she felt the pressure build, she whispered the words that had become her mantra—"breed me, fill me up." And he did, one after the other, eager to leave their mark on the canvas of her womb.

The days grew hotter, the competition fiercer. Minju's body became a battleground of pleasure and pain, her moans a constant symphony that resonated through the villa. Her appetite for depravity grew with each encounter, her masochistic tendencies revealing themselves in full force. She craved the sting of a firm hand on her ass, the burn of a bite on her neck, the sharp tug of her hair as a man claimed her.

Her voice never faltered, a siren's call that grew more demanding with each passing hour. "Spank me," she'd command, her ass reddening under their palms. "Choke me," she'd beg, her eyes fluttering as they tightened their grip around her throat. "Make me squirt," she'd demand, her cunt spasming around their cocks as they pounded into her. And they did, eager to satisfy her every whim, to be the one who brought her to that ultimate release.

As she lay there, her body a battleground of ecstasy and endurance, she couldn't believe it had been a week since their competition had begun. Her notebook lay open beside her, the number "200" scribbled in her handwriting, a testament to the men who had claimed her, filled her, and left her trembling with pleasure. It was a number that once seemed insurmountable, but now, it was a badge of honor, a symbol of her triumph.

The door to her room creaked open once more, and she turned her head, her eyes half-lidded with lust and exhaustion. In the doorway stood a man, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the moonlight. He was the last contestant, the one who would determine the victor in their week-long quest for carnality.

Her eyes widened as he stepped into the room, allowing the light to reveal the monstrous cock that jutted from his hips. It was the largest she had ever seen, a thick, veiny beast that made her quiver with a mix of fear and excitement. She had faced many challenges in the past week, but this one was the ultimate test.

With a smug smile, he approached the bed, his massive cock swaying with each step. He didn't say a word as he climbed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. He positioned himself at her entrance, his tip nudging against her swollen folds. She could feel her pussy contract around the sheer size of him, a silent plea for mercy that went unheard.

"I've been waiting for this," he murmured, his voice deep and filled with promise. "I've heard about your little game, and I'm here to make sure you remember me."

With that, he pushed into her, inch by torturous inch. She felt herself stretching to accommodate his girth, her muscles protesting before giving way to the sweet agony of fullness.

"Fuck, it's too big," Minju whimpered, her eyes rolling back as the man's monster cock continued to press deeper. He took his time, watching her face contort with every movement, his own expression a mix of triumph and lust. Her body fought against the intrusion, but she knew she had to take him—this was the final round, and she wouldn't let Eunbi win without a fight.

He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "You can handle it," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "Take it all, baby. Take it all for the win."

Her jaw clenched as she forced herself to relax, her pussy stretching to accept his massive length. She felt herself being split apart, the pressure intense, bordering on pain. But with each inch he sank into her, she felt a new kind of thrill—a challenge that she had to conquer. She could feel her body adjusting, her muscles wrapping around him like a tight fist.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. "You're already squirting around my cock."

Minju bit her lip, her eyes squeezed shut. She hadn't realized it was happening—the initial penetration had been so overwhelming that she couldn't focus on anything but the pressure building within her. Yet, as he began to move, she could feel the wetness trapped inside her, a pool of desire waiting to be unleashed.

He picked up his pace, his strokes deep and deliberate. With every thrust, she felt her pussy clench around him, the sensation of her squirting internal. It was as if she was a dam holding back a flood of pleasure, the water rising with each beat of her heart.

"Let it go," he urged, his hands gripping her hips. "Show me what you can do."

The words acted like a dam breaking, and she felt it—a rush of liquid heat that filled her to the brim. Her body tightened, her muscles clamping down on his cock as she climaxed around him. Yet, the squirt remained contained, a delicious secret that only they knew.

Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. He grinned, a knowing glint in his eye. "That's just the warm-up," he said, his voice low and seductive. "You can take more."

And so he began to move again, his strokes slower, more deliberate. Each one was calculated to push her closer to the edge, to coax out another explosive climax. She could feel the tension building once more, her body responding to his expert touch.

He leaned down, his breath hot on her neck. "How does it feel, having my cock fill you up so completely?"

"It feels...amazing," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "So full."

The man's grin grew wider, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. He began to fuck her with more vigor, his hips pistoning into her with a brutal rhythm. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of pain through her, but she found herself craving it, begging for more. Her body was a maelstrom of sensation, the pressure in her pussy growing with every beat of her heart.

"Ahh, I'm going to cum," she screamed, her body bucking beneath him.

The man's eyes gleamed with triumph as he watched her approach climax. He knew he had her, that she was his to use and discard. Yet, something in the way she writhed and begged for more made him feel alive. He pounded into her, his own release building.

"Fuck, your dick was so good," Minju gasped out between moans. "I can't stop cumming."

Her words seemed to fuel his desire even more, his strokes growing more urgent. He leaned down, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You like that, don't you, slut?" he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. "You like feeling me fill you up?"

"Yes," she moaned, her eyes rolling back into her head. "I love it. Breed me. Make me squirt again."

He chuckled darkly, his grip on her hips tightening. "With pleasure," he growled, and with one final, powerful thrust, he emptied himself into her. She felt the warmth of his cum fill her, the sensation of his seed shooting into her womb sending her spiraling over the edge once more.

As he pulled out, the pressure grew too much. Her pussy contracted around nothingness, desperately seeking the release it had come to crave. And then it came, a geyser of cum that shot out of her, soaking the sheets and painting the bed beneath her. Her body trembled with the intensity of it, her muscles spasming as she squirted over and over again.

Her vision swam, stars dancing before her eyes. Her orgasm was so intense it was almost painful, her body no longer her own. The only thing that remained was the feeling of her pussy pulsing, the sweet agony of her squirt that seemed to have no end.

As the man stepped back, admiring his handiwork, Minju felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the bed, her body quivering uncontrollably. She had never felt so used, so utterly spent.

The room spun, and she felt her consciousness slipping away. The competition had pushed her to her limits, and she had emerged the victor. Yet, as the darkness claimed her, she couldn't help but wonder if it had all been worth it.

Her body lay there, a testament to the week's excesses, as the final droplets of cum trailed down her inner thighs. Her mind was a blur, her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. The only thing she knew for certain was that she had never felt more alive, more desired, more...complete.

As consciousness returned, Minju felt the sticky warmth between her legs and the heaviness in her belly. She groaned, her eyes fluttering open to see Eunbi leaning against the wall, a concerned look etched on her face. "Are you okay?" Eunbi asked, her voice filled with a mix of worry and amazement.

Minju took a moment to gather her breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort. She nodded weakly. "I think so," she managed to murmur. "What happened?"

Eunbi's eyes widened as she recounted the scene she had walked in on. "You kept squirting non-stop," she said, her voice filled with awe. "It lasted for a very long time."

The reality of what had happened hit her like a ton of bricks. She had done it—she had pushed herself to the edge and beyond, conquering the final challenge of their depraved competition. The thought filled her with a sense of victory, but also a hint of fear. What had she become in this week of unbridled lust?

"How many did you get?" Eunbi asked, her voice tentative.

Minju couldn't help but smile through the haze of pleasure and exhaustion. "Two hundred," she said, her voice a mix of pride and disbelief. "Same as you."

Eunbi's eyes widened. "No way," she breathed, her voice filled with both amazement and envy.

"It's true," Minju said with a tired laugh. "We're tied."

Eunbi nodded, her expression thoughtful. "So, what's next?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Should we try to beat our records on our next vacation?"

Minju considered this for a moment, her body still trembling from the exertion of the past week. "I don't know if I can do that again," she admitted, though the challenge in her voice was unmistakable. "But I do like the idea of another game."

The two women lay there, their bodies still entangled, their thoughts racing. They had pushed each other to the brink of their sexual limits, and yet, there was a bond between them that had only grown stronger with each shared experience.

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #gg smut #izone smut #izone minju smut #minju smut #eunbi smut #kim minju #kwon eunbi

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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 23 days ago

Text

It Should Have Been You

Imagine: Pearline is Stack’s wife. She finds out the hard way when her husband continues his adulterous behavior.

Pearline Moore ONE-SHOT

Warnings: Smut. Angst, LOTS of dirty talk.

There is a humid, subtropical climate afoot in The South. Everyone takes shelter, and those with homes on raised beams above the waters that flow from the Mississippi River are the more fortunate. The rich, agricultural soil of The Delta is muddy and automobiles have a hard time getting through. A characteristic of alluvial deposition in deep water, where the river actively builds new land through sediments.

Shops close downtown, church’s postponed their congregations, and the plantation fields are overgrown and empty of sharecroppers picking cotton. The heavy showers beat down on rustic, tin roofs and bounced off the edges of iron tubs. Farm life make aggravated noises, stomping and shifting in their designated stalls surrounded by haystacks and various tools.

The weather didn’t keep Pearline Jacqueline Moore away from a local pharmacy owned by a Black Pharmacist named Robert Browning Jr.

Pearline wore her favorite riding boots, a trench coat, and a cloak hat over her moisturized curls with the help of Annie Minerva Turnbo Malone’s Poro Products. Her lush skin glistened from sweat and water as she hurried through downtown from her parked automobile. Pearline shoved past the doors to the pharmacy, the tiny bell above dinging softly, alerting Dr. Browning Jr. as he busied himself within a back room that he used as a storage unit.

She brushed her boots off on a mat as best as she could to keep mud from tracking the floor. Pearline removed her cloak hat, twisting it in her hands nervously, not realizing that she was ringing it out onto the floor. Her riding boots squeaked as she walked further into the pharmacy.

It was a bustling community hub with a strong focus on soda fountains and sundries. While they sold medicines, they also served as social gathering places, particularly during Prohibition, with soda fountains becoming popular. Pharmacists were not just dispensing medications but also providing advice and even counter-prescribing.

Pearline grabbed a basket and loaded it with random items, trying to appear less suspicious on why she was really there. She slipped past a newspaper rack and peeked at the headline on the front in bold, onyx print.

“Mrs. Moore? What you doing out in this awful weather?”

Pearline snapped her eyes towards the front counter.

Dr. Browning Jr. removed his reading glasses and stood dapper in a brown and beige suit with a maroon bow tie. He got rid of his suit jacket and replaced it with an apron, sleeves rolled up past his elbows revealing skin the color of pepper corn. He had a full goatee with a mustache that curled at the tips, sprinkled with gray hair and the hair on his head was close cut. He was a little over fifty years old and married to a stunning black woman from Alabama.

“Evening, Dr. Browning. My pantry is looking a little low. And I…I need some Arsenic to help with these pests hanging around my garden.”

Dr. Browning Jr. accepted Pearline’s basket and began ringing her up at his cash register. Pearline shifted her weight, anxious eyes looking around as if she were being watched.

“Would you like a vial of the poison or an entire bottle?”

“…I’m sorry?” Pearline inquired, seemingly lost as a nervous smile graced her heart–shaped lips.

“I’d suggest a bottle if the pest problem is serious. It’s quite pricy though, Mrs. Moore.”

“Oh! Oh…I think I should go ahead and buy the bottle. You never know, I may need it again.”

Pearline rushed to open her change purse, digging inside to grab a crisp twenty dollar bill. Dr. Browning Jr disappeared within his supply room for all but two minutes. He returned with a bottle of Arsenic, placing it within a box before gently covering it with a paper bag.

“That’ll be eighteen dollars.”

Pearline’s heart raced.

Pearline shifted her gaze towards the door, making sure no one was behind her.

“Mrs. Moore?—”

“Sorry,” she handed him the twenty dollars, “Keep the change. Thank you, Dr. Browning.”

Pearline accepted her bag, carrying it hugged to her slim–thick frame as she backed away.

“You need some help? I’m surprised Stack let you out in this mess.”

The mention of her husband’s name gave her pause.

It also filled her with rage.

“He’s a busy man, Dr. Browning. You know that. I won’t keep you. Have a good rest of your night.”

“You do the same, Mrs. Moore.”

Pearline entered her home, quickly shrugging off her coat to hang on a rack and she took a seat on a wine red chesterfield ottoman within the front foyer of her home to remove her boots. The rain had turned to drizzle by the time she returned home. Pearline wore one of many silky slips, a scandalous choice for wear in public, but she was on a mission.

Pearline lived in one of few luxury homes in The Delta with her husband, Elias ‘Stack’ Moore. It was surrounded by rolling hills and they had their own greenhouse where Pearline enjoyed spending time sipping herbal tea and tending to her botanical garden. Stack had it built for her as an anniversary gift because he knew how much it meant to her. Reminding her of days spent with her grandmother. A Botanist and Holistic Nurse.

Pearline entered her kitchen and sat her grocery bag down on her dining table. She scanned the mess she’d created hours before, old photos cut into pieces, scattered along the floor. Her husband’s dress shirt resting over a dining chair with lipstick stains on the collar. A gut wrenching reminder of what Stack had put her through.

Pearline was every man’s dream girl. She’s beautiful, can sing, built like a brick house, and smart. She’d turned down many boys, all except Elias Moore. He was a little older than her by nine years, but when he set his eyes on her, he made it his business to court her. Stack was a man that moved with a carefree personality. He joked and smiled and charmed everyone in his path. Deep dimples and a smooth tongue.

The opposite of his stoic, quiet, observant brother. Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore was known for bringing the smoke; the smoldering heat. You didn’t want to get to close for comfort and cross him. Smoke had no problems laying you out with a gun or his fists. You’d think he was made of railroad steel and cast iron.

Pearline was drawn to Stack’s playful energy and the amount of passion and chemistry they shared was like no other. Pearline didn’t care that she was falling head over T-straps for a criminal, Stack made her feel special. He bought her the lifestyle she’d always dreamed of. That made women envious, especially when he married her before leaving to Chicago. They had a beautiful barn wedding where all of The Delta attended.

But, Pearline had to learn the hard way that her husband was a rolling stone. He couldn’t keep his married dick to himself. Whispers of women he bedded while vowed to Pearline sparked heated arguments and lies that rolled off his slick tongue and past his plump lips. One woman living in Little Rock, Arkansas had him by the balls.

Mary.

And her lipstick is what stained her husband’s shirt.

Pearline grew tired of crying. Tired of sleepless nights and waiting for him to return home. Tired of the manipulation and the constant drama filtering back to her. Her so–called girlfriend’s side eyed her. Her mother chastised her for being weak and not going after her man like a proper wife should.

She thought about what it would be like to make him hurt. There was no man in town that she could even think to fuck as a get back. Elias ‘Stack’ Moore and his twin are practically gods within The Delta. Sleeping with some random man would only make her look like the fool. She wanted to kick him off his high horse. And her anger drove her to buy some poison.

And bake it into a chocolate pie.

It’s a luscious chocolate custard resting on a flaky, almost salty crust, topped with a springy meringue. For Pearline, it’s la pièce de résistance and whether times are good or times are bad, it’s always welcome and appropriate.

Stack loved her chocolate pie. She made it for him once a week. If she didn’t stop him, he’d sit and eat the entire thing for himself. At first, she thought to poison his moonshine, but that would only contaminate the entire batch since he prepared it in barrels with Smoke.

Pearline put away her groceries and then she grabbed the poison, setting to work on the chocolate pie.

Ingredients for the pie:

4 tablespoons cocoa or 1 1/2 squares baking chocolate

3/4 cups sugar

5 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 egg yolks, lightly beaten

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1 tablespoon of butter

Ingredients for the meringue:

2 egg whites

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt

4 tablespoons sugar

And a splash—maybe a cup of Arsenic.

As she moved about the kitchen, the smell of rain and grass brought in by the humid wind through her open kitchen windows, an apron secure around her petite waist, Pearline hummed to calm her nerves down and stop herself from crying.

She hummed a song she’d written.

Poison was seen as a discreet way to eliminate someone, with arsenic being a particularly popular choice due to its tastelessness and ability to mimic natural illness.

No one would be able to suspect. It could be something as simple as bad moonshine.

And Stack drank a lot of it. He was well on his way to becoming the next Delta Slim.

Smoke couldn’t stop his brother, that would make him a hypocrite. He had his own addiction to smoking.

Flour painted her cheek and chocolate splattered her apron. Pearline wiped sweat from her forehead as she stared down at the pie. She placed it on a towel before washing her hands to prepare dinner.

She couldn’t believe she was going to kill her husband.

Pearline dressed in a gold silk burlesque flapper cocoon dress with batwing sleeves and a deep plunge in the front. It glided across her skin and molded into the shape of her frame as she walked, the long train dragging along behind her elegantly. Her curly hair was styled in an updo with tendrils framing her oval face. She plucked away unruly hairs from her thick brows to keep them neat and smoothed coca lip balm on her lips.

Chandelier earrings in, skin the color of espresso, she heard the front door open from her place at her vanity. She listened, making out distant laughter and the familiar sound of her husband’s voice. He wasn’t alone. Pearline took meditating breaths to calm herself. She’d already done the deed. It was only a matter of time before he cut himself a slice.

Revenge. Sweet revenge. A desire for freedom. Divorce wasn’t even an option. She wouldn’t get a penny. He needed to die and she would collect all his money and move up north. Maybe New York. Sing in the Cotton Club. Make a new life for herself.

Pearline spritzed perfume on her skin, activating the squeeze bulb, opening with dewy gardenia, its floral heart blooming with African neroli before settling into the intoxicating depth of a merlot wine accord. The essence of magnetic beauty and luminous grace.

One final look at her reflection, Pearline made her way down to the kitchen. In the living room, helping themselves to bourbon from a drink cart, were Smoke and Stack. Stack poured from a decanter, filling Smoke’s glass tumbler full. He did the same for himself. They whispered, smoke puffing on a cigarette as he nodded his head in response to Stack’s scheming words.

Smoke drew his eyes towards the stairs, eyes that took in the sight of Pearline. She looked down at him, meeting his intense gaze, looking away to focus on her husband who not once stopped to acknowledge her. It took for Smoke to nudge his little brother for Stack to finally pay attention.

That cut deep. Pearline flicked her gaze away to her feet covered in kitten heels. She released a shutter.

“Baby…”

Stack left Smoke’s side to approach Pearline. She gave him a practiced smile before opening her arms to hug him. Stack buried his face against her neck, inhaling her perfume while his hands rubbed and groped her.

“Mmm, you smelling good. Looking good too,” Stack leaned back to admire her, “Beautiful, baby,” Stack kissed her hands, “I missed ya’.”

“Missed you,” Pearline bat her lashes at him and tucked her chin with a coy smile, “You hungry?”

“I sure am. Is it aight if Smoke stay for dinner?”

Pearline drew her attention to Smoke. He perched himself against the fire place, lighting the end of his cigarette, orange flame vibrant. He looked at her with this expression that Pearline couldn’t quite understand. He was always unreadable.

“Only if it’s okay with you, sis–in–law,” Smoke spoke with a rasp.

“Of course.”

Pearline hadn’t expected an extra guest. Now, she had to figure out how to get the pie out of the way. Smoke could sense things. He’s observant. He can probably tell Pearline was being sneaky and devious. Seeing as he possesses those exact qualities. She inwardly panicked, wanting to escape from Stack’s hold to dump the pie in the garbage.

“Saw that chocolate pie in there, was about to dip my finger in it but Smoke stopped me before I could…”

Sweat trickled down her temple. She looked between both twins, smiling as best as she could and laughing in a flirty way she’d always had. Stack kissed Pearline’s lips, humming softly as he smiled.

“I got the finest woman in all the fuckin’ world.” He boisterously said, flashing his golds, “Let’s go eat us some food!”

“I’ll set the table, ya’ll go on and drink. I’ll call to supper when it’s ready…”

Pearline turned to walk away, hips switching. She couldn’t control the fact that she had a dump truck. Stack popped her on the underside of her behind, the motion causing her deep brown cakes to jiggle around. Her breath hitched and she swatted Stack’s hand away with a roll of her eyes.

She gave Smoke a sideways glance, heat rising over her face as he watched the two of them.

Pearline entered the kitchen and practically sprinted over to the pie. She exhaled with relief, glad to find it untouched. Pearline lifted the pie and hesitantly tossed it into the trash. She paced for a minute, trying her best to come up with a lie.

She choked on her words slightly as she spoke.

“I–I gotta make a new pie!”

Stack entered the kitchen with his brows pinched together.

“What? Why?”

He searched the kitchen for the pie before walking over to the trash. He lifted the lid, peering inside. The pie was on its side and sliding out of the dish.

“It–uh–it was covered in flies. I saw a couple flies on it.”

Her eyes fell on the open window.

“Must of gotten in through the window,” Pearline released a nervous laugh, “No worries, Stack, won’t take me long.”

“Damn…”

Smoke leaned against the entryway to the kitchen. He removed the cigarette from between his lips, eyes dancing back and forth between Pearline and Stack. His eyes fell to the cupboard beneath the sink, squinting slightly.

“I was looking forward to it, Pearlie. You sure you wanna make another?” Stack asked with a disappointed look.

“Won’t take me long. Promise.”

Stack sucked his teeth.

“Aight, baby…me and Smoke gone be in there listening to some tunes while we talk business. Holla when you finished.”

Stack pecked Pearline on the cheek before leaving the kitchen.

Smoke lingered.

“Errythang aight, Pearlie?” Smoke asked with a hushed tone.

“Yes. Why you askin’?” Pearline replied, eyes darting away from his.

Smoke’s eyes roamed the kitchen before focusing back on Pearline with a penetrating stare, “Listen, Stack—”

“Don’t.”

Pearline held up a shaky finger. She shut her eyes to hold back tears.

“Smoke!”

“Be there a minute, nigga. Be patient!” Smoke shouted back.

He gave Pearline one final look before leaving her alone.

She should have never thrown that pie away.

Hearing his laughter enraged her.

Knowing that he was fucking his octoroon whore inflated her anger.

What the fuck that bitch got on Pearline? What she got over her?

Privilege

Freedom

Fare skin

Loose hair

The beauty standard of America

And Stack craved it. Even though he’d fucked around with other black women, the minute Mary crossed paths with him after she returned to The Delta to bury her mom, Stack wanted that old thing back.

Pearline baked a new pie, silently crying.

But the chaos in the kitchen with her constant stomping and slamming of things had Stack’s attention.

Pearline set the table, almost breaking their fine China.

Stack took longs strides, oxfords loud as he walked.

“The fuck goin’ on, Pearlie?”

He snatched his toothpick from his mouth, glaring at her.

“Diner’s ready!”

Pearline snatched her apron off and tossed it onto the counter aggressively. Smoke trailed in behind his brother, eyes wide and unblinking. He tracked Pearline’s footsteps, jaw clenching.

“I can see the table is set,” Stack swept his concerned eyes over the plates of food, “But why you slamming shit? Got something you wanna say?”

Pearline whirled around, a look of surprise and confusion etched into her pretty face.

“ME?” She inquired with a loud tone.

“Yeah, YOU.”

“Wow…After all the shit you been putting me through. And you askin’ ME if I got something to say?!”

Smoke raised his hands to diffuse the situation.

“Let’s just eat now, aight? Save this shit for later.”

Pearline pinched the bridge of her nose. Stack sat down at the dining table. Pearline almost shivered when Smoke lightly grasped her arm to get her attention. She held his gaze, fighting hard not to break down.

“Come eat, Pearlie…”

“I’m not hungry.”

Stack’s fork and knife clattered to the table. He chewed the rest of his smothered pork chop down before turned his attention to his wife.

“Whatever it is, just say it, woman. I ain’t been messin’ around!”

“Yes you HAVEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!”

Smoke and Stack stared at her.

“Liar…fucking lying ass…piece of shit…”

Pearline opened her pantry and snatched up the shirt with lipstick stains. She marched over, balled it up, and threw it at Stack. He caught it, opening the shirt and when he noticed the lipstick stains, he froze.

“CARE TO TELL ME WHY THE FUCK YOU GOT LIPSTICK ON YOUR SHIRT?! A SHIRT I DISCOVERED WHILE TAKING IN DRY CLEANING?! A SHIRT YOU TRIED TO HIDE FROM ME?! YOU CHEATING BASTARD!”

Smoke fought to keep Pearline back. Stack stared off into space, no words, no more lies. What could he say to get himself out of this?

Pearline shouted between cries of heartbreak, “HOW COULD YOU? AFTER EVERYTHING? WHY DO YOU KEEP GOING BACK TO HER?! WHY, STACK?!”

Pearline snatched a butcher knife from the counter and launched it at Stack. He quickly pushed away from the table, the knife whizzing past his cheek and lodging in the wall. His chest rose and feel with rapid breaths. Smoke grabbed her up by her upper arms to keep her still.

“You crazy?! Tryna kill me?! That shit could’ve been in my head!!!!” Stack yelled, spit flying.

“PEARLIE! ENOUGH!” Smoke boomed.

“Get off me, Smoke!”

“You throwing knives, the hell, Pearlie?!” Smoke shook her to stop her from writhing.

“LET GO OF ME!”

Pearline slapped Smoke. Slapped him across his handsome face. He clutched his cheek that stung from her strikes.

“STOP PROTECTING HIM! HE’S A GROWN ASS MAN! YOU KNOW WHAT HE DOES AND YOU JUST LET HIM DO IT! FUCK YOU. BOTH OF YOU!”

Stack stood, tossing the shirt over his unfinished meal. He was ashamed to even look her in the eye.

“BE A MAN AND FACE ME, ELIAS! OWN IT!” Pearline laid into him with venom, “DO YOU LOVE HER?!”

“Pearlie—”

Pearline grabbed the chocolate pie and catapulted it, watching it hit Stack in the chest. He rocked back on his heels, arms outstretched, his eyes bugged out and his lips curled into a menacing pout.

“ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!!!!!!”

Pearline tried to catch her breath. Stack looked at her with wavering eyes. He titled his head down at his oxfords.

“I…Pearline…”

She gasped.

“You do…”

Smoke shut his eyes.

Stack gave her a cowardly look.

“You can’t even be a man and say it. You’re such a coward, Elias. Why did you marry me? To trap me? To have a notch on your belt? Afraid I’d find a man that really loves me? Your cracker slut is married to a cracker man In Arkansas and yet you can’t stay away from her and be loyal to me?”

Pearline clutched her chest as if she were going into cardiac distress.

“Am I not beautiful? What did I do to deserve this—”

“I have urges, baby. I’m sorry—I know it ain’t the apology ya’ want, but I…can’t control myself. I hate that I keep hurting ya’.”

“No,” Pearline shook her head as tears fell, “you ain’t sorry. You sorry you got caught.”

Pearline folded her arms over her chest. She exhaled, wiping tears away with her fingers.

She sniffled, “And the sad part is…I love you.”

She locked eyes with him. Smoke didn’t pull his attention away from her face for a second.

The grandfather clock on the wall within the living room ticked and ticked.

“I want both of ya’ll to leave.”

“Pearlie—”

“Fuck you, Elias. You don’t get to be sweet and charming. I want you to leave. NOW. Before I grab that knife from the wall, and cut your fucking dick off and feed it to you instead of this food I made!!!!!!”

Stack’s mouth was agape.

Smoke stepped aside.

Pearline made as if she were going to leave but instead she jumped on Stack, beating her fists on his back. Stack tried to grab her arms while shielding himself from being struck in the face.

“PEARLINE!”

Smoke picked her up and sat her on the counter.

“Get your shit, Stack. GO. We leaving.” Smoke ordered.

“Let her blow steam. I deserve it.” Stack said.

“Oh, so now you want her to kick your ass? She wanna kill you, nigga! Unless you wanna be scraps for pigs, I suggest you get your shit and leave!”

Stack looked from the dining table, to his wife, parting his lips to speak. Instead, he walked away, climbing the stairs to pack a luggage.

Smoke looked at Pearline, “If I let you go. Will you stay here while he gettin’ his shit?”

Pearline nodded her head slow.

Smoke released her arms and stepped back. He lit a cigarette and didn’t take his eyes off of Pearline.

“I’m real sorry, Pearlie. I know that don’t mean shit to you comin’ from me…but you don’t deserve this shit. You too good of a woman. Always been. I tried to get him to come home to you…I did…he can’t control himself with that bitch and…I hate to see ya’ hurting.”

“Smoke,” Pearline was exhausted, “You could have told me. You could have come to me. I need to be alone. Just leave. Please leave.”

She hung her head and started bawling. Her cries broke Smoke. Deep, sorrowful, body shaking. Her tears leaked to her dress. Smoke wanted to comfort her. He tried to touch her and Pearline flinched.

Stack’s footsteps caused Smoke to back off. He locked eyes with his little brother, glaring at him. Stack turned away, luggage in his hands.

Smoke allowed his eyes to sweep over her. He didn’t care if she fought him off. He didn’t care if she slapped him.

Smoke positioned himself in front of her, grabbed her face, and planted a kiss to her forehead.

That made her cry harder.

Word spread like famine.

And Pearline refused to feed into the nosy crowd.

She walked around town with her head held high and hips swaying seductively. No matter how hurt she felt, she looked ravishing.

Pearline entered The Chow’s negro store, picking up oranges and lemons, checking to see if they were a good batch before buying them. Bo Chow walked out from a room with a notepad and a pen behind his ear. Little Lisa took care of the line. Pearline helped herself to a jar of strawberry jam.

“Mrs. Moore! You’s doing alright?”

Bo pulled Pearline into a hug.

“I’m doing fine, Bo. Hello Lisa,” Pearline waved to her, “Grace good?”

“Is! She’s expecting.” Bo said with a side smile, glossy black hair falling over his forehead handsomely.

“Oh! My! Congratulations, Bo!”

Pearline beamed.

“I’m hoping for a boy this time.” Bo said.

“Just be glad for a healthy bundle of joy.” Pearline said.

She stood in line behind four people until it was her time to be helped. After paying for her items, she waved goodbye to Bo and Lisa before leaving the store.

The rain had finally stopped and in its place was that humid, Mississippi air. The sun shone down brightly, heating Pearline’s skin. She found her car and got in, heading back home.

Driving back, Pearline pulled up to her home, finding a truck she recognized immediately. Pearline stared at the truck, eyes fluttering with resentment. It’s been damn near two weeks.

Pearline couldn’t deny that she missed her husband, but at the price of her own happiness? Why should she have to put up with his constant disregard for her feelings?

It won’t last, Mary is just a phase.

She hated that she had that voice in her head.

After another minute, Pearline exited her car and with her groceries she walked up to her home. Pearline didn’t pay the truck any mind, expecting Stack to shout her name from the window and beg for forgiveness.

Instead, she caught a whiff of tobacco.

Pearline turned, eyes falling on Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore with his back against the truck. He stomped out his cigarette. He clasped his hands in front of him and over his crotch. He stared at her beyond the brim of his blue hat. Smoke pushed off his truck, one hand clutching onto the opening of his tweed suit jacket as he approached her with methodical eyes and careful steps.

A breeze picked up, ruffling the bottom of her fitted, purple, floral–printed lapel dress. She wore white T–straps on her feet, and a hat with lace gloves to match the colors in her dress. Pearls decorated her ears.

“How you be?” Smoke finally spoke.

“…I’m okay.”

Smoke stood at the bottom of the steps, staring up at Pearline.

“Stack stayin’ wit me. He not there right now.” Smoke revealed.

Pearline tilted her head, eyes searching for the inevitable truth, “He’s with her?”

Smoke rubbed his hands together, eyes roaming the ground.

“She came knockin’. He answered.”

Pearline stood still and watched Smoke.

“Say sum’, Pearlie.”

Pearline exhaled.

“I want a divorce.”

Smoke frowned slightly.

“I’m tired, Smoke. I deserve better.”

Pearline turned away from Smoke to open her door. She sat her groceries down at her feet. Smoke climbed the steps, picking up the bag. Pearline didn’t say a word. The door swung open and Smoke followed her inside. He walked past the front foyer and disappeared into the kitchen.

Pearline sat her purse down and removed her gloves and hat.

She walked into her kitchen and her footsteps slowed down when she caught Smoke putting away her food.

“Smoke, I can handle it.”

“No, no, no, now…you have a seat.”

Smoke pointed to a dining chair. Pearline took a seat, crossing her ankles modestly and folded her hands within her lap all ladylike. Her back was straight, body screaming confidently, but her eyes told a different tale. She was sad. Lonely. Torn.

Smoke opened her icebox to pour her a glass of lemonade. He then grabbed a napkin, walking over to her and placing it on the table. He removed his hat and sat it on the table. Pearline didn’t say a word as she grabbed the glass, helping herself.

“Why you come checkin’ up on me?”

Pearline searched Smoke’s eyes.

“…Because ya’ mean a lot to me.” Smoke replied.

Pearline scuffed, “Sure I do, Smoke. Poor old Pearline.”

Pearline stood, smoothing out her dress as she walked towards her pantry, grabbing a bottle of wine.

“I need something stronger…”

She drank from the bottle. Smoke watched her with a single brow raised. They sat in silence, Smoke with a cigarette and Pearline with her almost empty bottle of wine. She grew warm and relaxed, tipsy and just as sad and angry as before.

“I wonder if Stack thought of her every time he made love to me…”

He blew smoke from his nose.

“Don’t wonder. Stop thinking about it.”

Pearline rolled her eyes at Smoke.

“Serious…”

Pearline sucked on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering.

“Smoke, am I not good enough? I’ve done things for this man…to please him…make him happy.”

Smoke glanced at her sideways while reclined back in the dining chair, legs wide.

“What things?”

Pearline laughed bitterly, “Doesn’t matter. And it’s personal.”

“You said the shit.” Smoke replied defensively.

“I’m just talkin’. Okay? Venting.”

“And I’m here to listen. Aight?”

Pearline stared at him intently.

“…sexual things…”

Smoke hummed, “Okay…” He made a gesture for her to proceed, “And?”

“…Settled here for seven years. Dealt with all the bullshit. Rubbed his feet and massaged his shoulders. Put my dreams aside to help him fulfill his. Gave him every hole to use…”

Smoke twisted his lips as he listened.

“I thought it made him happy. I guess not.”

Smoke studies his cigarette, the wheels in his head turning.

He licked his lips, “Can I tell ya’ a secret?”

Pearline looked at Smoke curiously.

“You? Opening up?” Pearline teased.

“It’s about you. So I don’t see why not.”

Pearline shifted to face him, hip jutted out enticingly. She propped her elbow onto the table, resting her chin against her palm.

“Well?” She uttered.

“I ain’t want Stack to marry you.”

A pregnant pause.

“…what? Smoke? You serious?”

Pearline didn’t know how to interpret what Smoke revealed. She drew her thick brows together, intrigued by what he said. And the feeling of butterflies.

“Why the hell not?” Pearline questioned.

Smoke struggled to answer her question. He puffed on his cigarette, smoke billowing from between his thick lips. His hand shook slightly until he flexed his chest to gain control of his muscles. He finally met her gaze, never looking away as he parted his lips to speak.

“Cause you should’ve been mine.”

Pearline was paralyzed with shock. She couldn’t believe Elijah’s words. All this time? He’d wanted her too? No way.

“Smoke–Smoke I–I–you’ve always felt like this?”

Smoke gave her a sideways look with unwavering eyes.

“I have. Still do.”

Pearline almost dropped her wine bottle.

She shot up from her seat.

“Go, Smoke.”

Smoke rose to his feet.

“You don’t feel the same?”

Pearline couldn’t believe his words.

“NO!” She shouted with a disbelieving expression.

“I don’t believe ya’, Pearlie. The way ya’ look at me…the way ya’ always looked at me.”

“Stop…”

Pearline brushed past Smoke, climbing the stairs to her room. Her vision blurred with tears. She could hear his footsteps behind her.

“Pearlie…”

Smoke moved around her swiftly, blocking her path.

“I love you—”

“HOW DARE YOU?!”

Pearline shoved at his chest, no use because he was too solid and strong to move. Smoke watched her fire herself out before locking her wrists in his firm grip. He leaned in, eyes boring into hers like he was staring into her soul.

“Go on and beat away, Pearlie. I mean what I say. I’m in love wit’ ya. And you deserve to be happy. I care about my brother, but I ain’t gonna keep fighting this feeling. And ain’t no way I’m a let you sit up here thinkin’ you ain’t the prize.”

Pearline blinked up at Smoke. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. Softly. Delicately. Reassuringly.

“…You bastard. How dare you take advantage?”

Smoke cocked his head.

“I’m pouring my heart out, and you say that?”

Pearline slaps Smoke. Hard.

“GET. OUT.”

Smoke growled, top lip snarled.

“You gon’ stop hitting me.” He warned.

“You deserve it.” She sassed.

Smoke toward over Pearline. She jumped slightly.

“So, you don’t feel the same?” Smoke’s husky voice challenged her.

“No.” Pearline replied, looking down his body with a slow sigh.

Smoke stood firm. Pearline peered up at him.

“…I’ll leave. But I’m still keepin’ my eye on you.”

Smoke gave her a once over before making his way down the stairs. Pearline’s chest heaved up and down with a shaky exhale.

Some nights later, Pearline got dressed to perform a new song she’d written titled Pale Pale Moon. She spent majority of the day emptying the closets and drawers of Stack’s things, part of her wanting to burn them but deciding it wasn’t worth it. Instead, drove down to a local thrift store and dropped the bags off without a backward glance.

He’d taken the things that meant more to him. His money. His jewelry. Leaving behind the one person he vowed never to leave. She’d done enough crying herself to sleep. And yet she couldn’t get Smoke out of her head. His confession.

Pearline deep down admired Smoke beyond him being her brother–in–law. She’d always known him to respect women and he always treated Pearline kindly. He would listen to her speak about things he didn’t understand, like how to grow certain flowers. He always took up for her, checked in on her, and stared at her with What Pearline now understood as deep affection.

She was seen with Smoke.

That’s all she ever wanted.

“Stop talking to her like that, Stack for I beat ya’ ass.”

“You ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, Pearlie.”

“You just as important to me, Pearlie.”

Everything he’d ever said to her. Every hug, every smile, every look. All of it was much more. Much deeper.

Messenger’s gave her a standing ovation.

Delta Slim and his band played to the words of Pale Pale Moon.

Pearline felt alive. Her lush skin so smooth like the sultry blues music.

She needed a distraction from Smoke.

But his words the other day…

He told her that he was in love with her. Told her to her face and with no shame.

Pearline was dropped off by a friend to her home since she’d been drinking. She waved goodbye before entering, shutting and locking the door behind her. Pearline braced herself against the wall, removing her shoes. She walked the length of her front foyer and the sound of a lighter flickering caused her to grab a vase, ready to lunge it at whoever broke into her home.

Vase raised above her head, she turned the corner.

“Who’s there—”

Standing tall and wearing a soft blue shirt rolled up his arms and black slacks, was Smoke.

“You broke into my house?”

Smoke dug into his pocket, swinging a key ring in front of her face.

“Put that shit down before you break it.” Smoke ordered.

“Why should I? You show up unannounced.”

Smoke took it upon himself to take it from her. Pearline didn’t fuss. Smoke placed it back where she’d gotten it from.

“You performed at Messenger’s?”

Pearline’s eyes swept over his body. She drew her shoulders back, strutting past him, removing the silk scarf draped over the front of her neck and down her back. Smoke caught it before it hit the floor. He folded it neatly and placed it on the coffee table, patting it with his fingertips. Pearline gazed at him.

“You look lovely, Pearlie.”

“What do you want, Smoke?” Pearline asked with an exasperated look.

“The truth.”

“It’s late. You can see yourself out…”

Pearline crossed her arms and poked her hip out.

Smoke motioned towards the kitchen with his head, “What that arsenic for?”

Pearline’s arms dropped.

“Mhm,” He puffed on his cigarette, “You tried to poison my brother with that pie.”

Pearline exhaled, “I did. No use in lying. Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped him from sampling it.” Pearline replied with her voice laced with unshed tears, “Don’t matter, I ain’t gonna poison him.”

“Cause of me.”

“So? I chickened out, Smoke.”

“Why you keeping it?” Smoke probed with narrow eyes.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Pearlie…” Smoke clenched his jaw, “I care about ya’…And I need to know if ya’ feeling the same.”

Pearline bounced her foot.

“You won’t stop unless I tell you…”

Pearline locked eyes with Smoke.

“Smoke..I…I should have picked you. Then I know I’d be treated better.”

A single tear fell.

“You can still chose me—”

“It’s too late for that. Won’t do us any favors acting on those feelings, now would it?”

Smoke disagreed.

“It’ll do us more than just a favor, baby…”

Pearline nibbled on her bottom lip.

Smoke strolled up on Pearline. Her breath hitched, eyes closing when his body pressed against hers. He placed a hand on the nape of her neck, tilting her head. Smoke leaned in, closing the distance between them. Pearline parted her lips ever so slightly, giving Smoke and entry. His fluffy lips touched hers with uncertainty. Pearline snaked her hands up his chest and secured her arms around his shoulders.

Smoke intensified the kiss. Soft pecks turned into open–mouthed movements. Pearline’s skin tingled with desire. Smoke’s chest bloomed with passion. He’d longed to taste her. He regretted not making a move on Pearline when he should have. His little brother had always been the smooth talker, the lady magnet.

The sound of lips smacking and soft breaths.

The feel of his rough hands gliding over her hips to grab ass.

Pearline pulling him in closer with her hands clutching onto his shirt.

They kissed their way towards the stairs. Smoke broke away from her lips to pick Pearline up. She wrapped her legs around him, diving in for more. Their tongues battled for dominance as Smoke climbed up the stairs. They stumbled, knocked against walls, and snatched off each other’s clothes all the way to her room.

“I need you,” Pearline whispered longingly.

“I’m here…I’m right here…”

Pearline wiggled out of Smoke’s arms and she dropped to her knees in a flash. He snatched off his shirt and watched her pull his belt from the loops. She tossed it to the floor and with her eyes on his, Pearline opened his zipper and unbuttoned his pants.

“Let me pleasure you, Elijah.”

“Go on, bring him out.” Smoke commanded.

Pearline did just that. She hummed sensuously. It was heavy in her hand and warm to the touch. She jerked him a little, watching the way he licked his lips down at her. Pearline wrapped her lips around his head and started sucking with no hands.

“Ahhh, fuck…”

Pearline gathered spit on her tongue as she sucked. Smoke watched like he was staring down at a circus act. Pearline was doing tricks he ain’t never experienced in his thirty plus years on earth. She made spit bubbles and slurped it back up. Her tongue curled around his shaft like a slick tentacle. She would pop her lips off and spit on it. Over and over. Getting down right disgusting like some street walker.

“This how you do it, Pearlie? FUCK.”

She attacked his balls with gusto. Moaning and whimpering with a mouth full of his nuts and big dick. Smoke couldn’t believe his eyes. He guessed the saying pretty girls love sucking dick that his little brother always said was true. He had a woman at home that did it like this? Ain’t no other woman come close to Pearline.

“Pearlie…don’t stop…”

She inhaled his dick and stroked him with two hands. Bawdy blues and all. Smoke weaved his fingers through her soft curls and controlled her movements. He fed her mouth some dick since she worked so hard to make him cum. His eyes turned puppyish and he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth.,

“I’m a cum so fucking hard!”

Pearline did a disappearing act with his dick. Smoke almost saw heaven. He grunted deep with his release. Not a single drop wasted.

He stared at her as she licked him clean. He backed away, slapping his tip on her wet tongue.

“So nasty wit’ it. You suck me like I’m ya’ man.”

“I’m passionate about giving, Smoke. It’s my favorite job,” Pearline licked her lips, eyes staring at his dick like it was made of the purest gold, “Especially when it’s nice and big like this. One thing about me,” Pearline stroked him and tongue kissed his tip between words, “I was known for being the best dick sucker. I’m not ashamed to admit…when you’re good at something,” Pearline ran her tongue from base to tip, “you keep going…and going…”

“Dayum…”

She was sucking on him again. Smoke stroked her face, caressed her hair, told her how pretty she looked, and moaned her name.

“You nice and thick in my mouth again, Elijah. Wanna give me what I’m workin’ so hard for?” She teased.

“Pearline! Ahhhh…”

She gulped his cum down again, giggling at his face.

“Get up.”

Smoke didn’t wait for Pearline to do it, he picked her up himself. Smoke spun her around and let his hands explore her naked body. Toned and thick at the same time. He watched her ass recoil beneath his palm, chocolate ass bouncing like jello.

“All this body…I’d handle ya’ ass erryday.” Smoke talked slickly.

“How would you handle me, Papa?”

That papa drove him crazy.

“I’d bend ya’ over…stick my tongue in ya’ pucker and ya’ cat…make ya’ suck my dick outta my sleep…after a hard day,” Smoke whacked her on the butt, “Then I’d make nasty, messy, love to ya’ baby…all over this fuckin’ house…”

Smoke picked Pearline up and placed her on the bed. She crawled away from him and he followed like a predator to his prey, nibbling on her flesh with his teeth, licking the soles of her feet. She got on all fours and dipped her back like a feline. Smoke put his face in it, suffocating himself on purpose. Pearline moved her hips, riding his face.

“Smoke…” she moaned, “Just like that…eat Stack’s pussy…”

“This ain’t his no more…”

Pearline whimpered.

“It’s yours?”

“All mines, baby. All this twangy pussy…”

“Shiiittttt…”

Smoke resurfaced, growling. He put his face in it again and growled some more. Pearline arched her back and cried out when Smoke jabbed her entrance with a pointed tongue.

“I can’t see you…I need to see how you doin’ that, Papa…”

Smoke couldn’t agree more. He flipped Pearline over and she opened up so wide her hips ached.

“Can’t get no wider than that, baby…so eager…”

“Feast on me, Papa…let me watch…” Pearline begged.

Jagged, labored, and sharp breaths escaped her mouth. Smoke’s handsome face and those juicy lips munched on Pearline’s pussy with gluttony, exactly what she wanted to see from her position on her back. His eyes are low like he was high off of her tangy taste and his lips and tongue moved in sync with each other. Pearline tightened her vaginal muscles around his fingers that were seated deep in her pussy and just like that, she leaked on his tongue. As long as his tongue, lips, and fingers stay on her she’ll give him what he wanted.

“Your pussy is so pretty and tight, baby…” Smoke takes two fingers to gently stroke her cum covered inner lips with an enthralling and spellbinding expression on his face, bottom lip all pouty, and golds on display, “I’ll take care of ya’ Pearlie…anything ya’ need…ya’ pussy ate up…fucked real good…spoiled…loved on the proper way…I’m there…”

Pearline held her legs up like Smoke instructed. She begged for him to eat her pussy. Smoke wanted to taste that twat, taste the mixture of salty sweetness. The way Pearline moved like a feline on stage, captivating the audience, hips gyrating and ass moving in a slow motion, smoke wanted to dig his tongue in it and sample it. He wanted her to do all that on his tongue and his dick.

“I think these inches about right for ya’, huh?” His onyx eyes flicker up to gaze at her. The way his irises looked, she can feel his eagerness to fuck the shit out of her instantaneously. No words needed, just his eyes doing the talking. Pearline nodded her head slowly before chewing on her bottom lip.

“Smoke,” Pearline started pushing her pussy against his tongue, humping as Smoke wiggled it and sucked away, “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck!”

Her musk crowded his nose and grew stronger the more she creamed.

“That’s right…feed me this good pussy…”

“As tasty as you are…mmm,” Smoke showed her just how delicious she is, “Don’t you worry, Pearlie, I’ll give you what you deserve…”

“I…I–I deserve it…” Pearline struggled to form words between moans.

She stilled her hips so he could suck her up. Pearline gasped, hands shaking and unsure if she wanted to grab his head or the sheets.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—”

Smoke’s rattling breaths fanned her pussy. He licked his lips and stared at the beautiful flower before his eyes with an intoxicating gaze. He covered her inner thighs with soft kisses, listening to her calm breaths. He stared up the valley of her glistening body.

“I need you on top, Pearlie…”

Smoke gets up to sit on the end of the bed, helping Pearline climb on top of him. His large hand is on the back of her head, pushing her face towards his so he could make her taste his lips. Smoke smirked as he kissed her, slipping his skillful tongue into her mouth so she could taste that sweet pussy all over his taste buds. All you could hear was the slurping of lips and heavy breathing.

Pearline fumbled with his pants, his lips fighting to keep kissing her and each time she pulled on the fabric his fat dick would jump and brush against her pussy lips. Finally, skin-to-skin contact. Smoke’s muscular thighs, heavy balls, and that thick dick. Pearline didn’t even wait, as soon as his pants were pushed past his dick she squatted over him while his toned hips pushes his dick up to meet her.

“Elijah…” Pearline grabbed onto his shoulders.

All she can feel is solid, throbbing, long girth entering her from beneath. Her inner lips all the way to her clit pulsates with need. Smoke continued to pump her pussy at a slow pace with his hand reaching up to grip her throat. Pearline’s eyes are focused between her legs and she watched with awe at the seductive motion of his hips burying his dick deeper and deeper...his abdominal muscles crunched and the more noise her pussy made, Smoke’s thrust deepened.

She was staring back and forth from his dick to his face with a delusional expression—still in disbelief about how much dick this man possesses. Identical to his brother. Pearline is still in shock that she was fucking her brother–in–law. She let out a gasp and her head goes back so far Smoke had to cradle it. The closer Smoke pulls her body towards him, her erect nipples brush his lips. He opens his mouth wide, his long, thick tongue showing both stiff peaks some attention before gently sucking it.

He had her slim waist in a firm position as he rocked her up and down his dick. It was a sensual dance.

“Why you fuckin’ me like you love me?” Pearline whispered.

“Cause I do love ya’…”

“We shouldn’t be doing this…” Pearline whined.

It was too late for that.

“I’m ‘bout to tear that ass up,” Smoke warned her with a forceful, guttural voice. He picked Pearline up by her waist and turned her around, “Spread your fucking thighs...c’mon, baby, open that pussy up I need that shit so bad...yessss...got this pussy driving me crazy, Pearlie...this wet ass pussy...make love to this pussy all fucking day, baby…”

“Oh, my goodness!”

"Pussy getting wetter with papa’s fat dick up in it?”

Pearline moaned in response. This was the most vocal Smoke had ever been. He couldn’t wait to have her.

"Pearlie…fuck…" Smoke moaned, "darling...I swear to God,...do you know how I’d kill to be up in this? Huh? Make you mines...I’m stroking it…all this wet pussy wrapped around my fucking dick...alla ‘dis ass? dassit baby...fuck on daddy like that…”

Pearline couldn’t help herself as she leaned over, ass high while she rode Smoke’s dick in reverse cowgirl. She looked back at him, curls in her face and heart racing from the workout she was giving her pussy. She could feel Smoke’s fingers graze her ass cheeks before they were on lower lips. Pearline’s peach fuzz tickled his thumbs as he spread heropen so that he could watch the way his dick pushed past her swollen vulva, producing more cream.

“Damn, Pearlie…it’s like ya’ pussy been wanting this dick…you’re so wet…”

“Unh, yes—”

“Ohhh, you work it like that, huh? That’s how you riding this daddy dick?” Smoke groaned and it made your clit twitch.

“You makin’ this dick hella sloppy,” Smoke said and she heard the obstacle in his voice to hold his nut off. Pearline was working the tip of his dick now, all that beautiful dark skin and the muscles in her back mesmerizing him.

“Elijah…” Pearline moans, but it’s so low with how loud her pussy is.

Smoke was in a trance watching her ass bounce and clap against his crotch each time she came down on his dick. The cotton candy pink center in contrast with her deep brown skin made him salivate.

“Ooh—”

“Papa hittin’ that spot? Yeah? Here, lemme hit it for ya’ some more.. ooh, baby, ya’ takin' it…there ya’ go…hmmmm, pussy is yankin’ me...here some more dick for, ya’…”

Pearline looked back and saw the intensity in his eyes and then she could feel his dick in her stomach. Her face felt tight and hot and the heat from Smoke’s body had her shimmery skin sweating. Pearline felt tears pricking her eyes and her mouth fell open, drooling with lust. This shit was too good.

“Ima cum on this dick, Papa!”

“Gon’ head that’s what the fuck I want,” Smoke said menacingly, “Where the fuck is it?!”

“Ohhhhhhh, Shit—”

“Bounce on that dick…just like that…bring that ass down on me, girl...ahhhh, fuck…you do it so nasty on this wood, girl...so fucking nasty. Been wanting me to fuck ya’ tail up…you like fucking the other twin, baby?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Pearline’s ass flopped down in Smoke’s lap, her walls like a tight capsule squashing his dick for dear life.

“Fuck, Pearlie…”

Smoke stood with his dick still buried inside of her and turned her around with her back arched, knees on the bed, and feet hanging over the edge. His eyes swept over her body as he spread her cheeks apart. Pearline glanced back, eyes lowering between his legs. Thick. Veins pulsing. She reached behind to spread her creamy folds for him. Their eyes met and he purposely sank into her agonizingly slow.

“I love the way you moan when I push all this daddy dick deep inside of you…” Smoke pulled out, doing it again, “Like ya’ singing the blues to me…”

“It makes my pussy feel so full, Papa...I love the way you fuck me...it feels so good, baby, don’t stop stroking me…”

“You love knowing you fuckin’ Smoke, huh?”

Pearline’s warm, wet, tight pussy gripped his dick and when she reached back to grab for his balls, she couldn’t believe how heavy they were. If he keeps going at a slow pace like this, making her pussy cream and sound like this, Smoke gon’ erupt and make a large mess all in his sister–in–law’s pussy.

His hands were slapping her ass around to let her know she made his dick feel good with the loving he was giving her. It was deep and his words were nasty but his strokes were patient and savoring—like he wanted to stay in her married pussy as long as he could and make her moan as much as her voice box can produce.

His thick dick is slow and torturous sliding in and out her, pussy lips snug around the head of his dick every time he enters her. Smoke would slide all the way in, her pussy making all kinds of noises, then he would pull all the way out. Pearline knew why he was doing this—sliding in and pulling out. He loved the way his wide tip pushed past her walls. He loved the warmth and her juices making his dick all sticky.

He was taking his time, learning the hole his brother fucked, the pussy his little brother neglected. Smoke could only imagine slippery and sticky Pearline could make his dick. She was creaming and oozing out with each stroke and it’s all over his dick and balls.

“You like it messy, yeah?” Pearline asked with a gasp in between.

“Arch that fuckin’ back.” That was his response.

“Like this, Papa?” She whispered as she pointed that plump ass further in the air, shaking it a little for him, “I want you to hit the bottom of this wet pussy...hold it there and feel me squeeze that dick…”

“Pearlie…”

“You like it messy, make your pussy cum—”

Smoke grunted.

“This shit mines? I thought you said we ain’t suppose to be doin’ this here?”

Pearline whimpered when he pushed deep enough for her to feel pressure. He was playing with her. She loved it.

“We ain’t…it’s wrong…”

Smoke hooked his hand around the front of her neck and he peered down at her with a mug on his face.

“I shouldn’t be fuckin’ my pussy? Thought ya’ wanted this dick?”

Smoke gave her two forceful strokes as a reminder. Pearline’s eyes crossed. He did it again, watching her face contort in the vanity mirror across from them.

“Talk to me, baby. Want it?”

“Yes, yes, please, give it to me…”

His punishing strokes hit Pearline out of nowhere, knocking the wind out of her chest and tearing her guts up.

She continued her shit-talking while her ass clapped back on him, “Yes, Elijah, fuck this pussy, take it, I’m a cum all over that dick...fat dick making me cum right now...oh my God…that big dick making me cum right now…uhhhhhhhhhhh…”

She was cut off from Smoke’s hand on the back of her neck, pushing her face down into the mattress.

“This fuckin’ pussy...I’ll get ya’ knocked up, baby. I swear I will.”

Her lips parted and she started drooling on the bed.

“I know you feel these nuts banging that clit...that’s what I’m talkin ‘bout.”

“SMOKE!”

“Yeah? Yeah, baby?” Smoke teased.

He was beating her walls out.

“Don't you ever think you ain’t special...look at all this…you ain't playing with no lil’ boy…you know what a beast can do to ya’ sexy ass…”

Smoke was reminding her that this is what she’ll be getting tonight, the next morning, the day after that…

Smoke pulled out and rubbed her clit back and forth with his dick, and all she could remember before seeing stars was pushing out a fountain from her pussy—wetting up the sheets, the hardwood, and Smoke. He kept going, his dick rubbing her swollen clit back and forth.

“This pussy is too fat and juicy...wet pussy dripping...making a fucking mess on this dick...keep it up and I’m sucking on ya’ pussy again.”

“Please…I wanna feel your lips again, Papa.”

Smoke groaned.

He got down behind Pearline and ate to his hearts desire. She reached around and grabbed his head. Smoke massaged her ass while french kissing her pussy from the back. Loud, smacking of the lips.

“You think you can steal this pussy from your brother every night?” Pearline dirty talked.

Smoke’s tongue worked harder. When he was finished, Pearline turned over onto her back, thighs spread and knees to her chest with her fingers pushing her puffy folds back to show him where he needed to nut.

“Clean Big Papa dick off first,” Smoke is knelt on the bed near her face. All she can see hovering above her is the underside of his dick and his balls. Pearline extended her neck, mouth wide and tongue flicking before grabbing him by the balls. Mouth engulfing him, Smoke swipes two fingers over his tongue before bringing them to her clit while she sucked.

“Get that motherfucker nice and wet too, baby…”

Her lips pop off his dick, “Drain that dick in me, Papa.”

“Shit, get ya’ pregnant? Pearlie don’t say sum shit that’ll get ya’ in trouble…let my dick go.”

Pearline’s lips left Smoke’s tip. She looked up at him with glossy eyes.

“I wanna cum like this,” Pearline spread her thighs so far that her feet touched the bed on either side of her. Smoke walked around and between her legs, his erection in hand, jerking downward to open his slit and show her his tasty pre-cum.

“Damn...my dick...shit so stiff I could bust from the sight of ya’ pretty ass,” Smoke was back inside of her, “ima always have ya’...ya’ love me, girl?”

The gruff tone mixed with his words has her breath uneven and her heartbeat a little faster.

“...Wha?” Pearline was astounded. He was still sexing her missionary, her body moving back and forth against the bed in time with his strokes.

“I said...do ya’ love me?” His jaw clenched tightly and his eyes were serious.

“...Yesss…” Pearline turns her head away because now she can’t look at him as her tears begin to cloud her vision. Smoke wasn’t having that. He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. His brows are furrowed and his lips are parted.

“I love ya’. I love you and I ain’t letting ya’ go...I want ya’ to remember that and take every fucking word I’m saying seriously, Pearlie.”

Smoke’s lip had curled up and his eyes were so intense that she could literally feel them burning into hers.

“Do ya’ understand me, girl? I fucking love you...”

Pearline weeped. Smoke’s tongue found its way to her nipples and he starts sucking each one softly. His patience. It didn’t matter how long it took for him to finally have her, he made that his mission. Her happiness means the world to him. She had moments of insecurity but his reassurance makes her realize it doesn’t matter. He dreams of all the ways he can take care of her, how he would treat her better and love her better. She’d wake up happy knowing she was properly taken care of. She’d feel more at home with him than she ever felt with Stack. And she believed him.

Smoke buries his face against her neck and with his hands wrapped around her shoulders to keep her still and his hips pistoning in and out, Pearline can feel him pushing all the love that he could deep inside of her.

She locked her ankles around him and shut her eyes tight to stop her tears. He was licking, sucking, and biting all over her neck. Pearline continuously gasps in his ear with each deep thrust of his. Her hand is on his firm ass and she start forcing his hips down even more.

“Dig fucking deeper,” She whispers to him.

“Dayum...dayum,” He groaned in her ear, “Pearlie…I wanna cum inside of ya’!”

“Yes!”

“I’m about to bust this shit wide open—”

Her mouth went wide with ecstasy and Smoke’s hand was on the back of her head to watch her face while he forced himself deep inside, stopping at the precise moment he heard her try to utter a sound before doing it all over again and making her eyes roll. Smoke kissed and nibbled along her jaw. Her pussy didn’t make no sense to him.

Pearline felt the same about his dick. He was really stretching her out and the way his biceps trembled she knew he was about to cum heavy and hard. Pearline widened her legs for him some more. Smoke brought her ankles up to rest on his shoulders and he lifted to his hands, dropping dick off in her.

“It’s right here for you...cum in your pussy, Papa...this your pussy,...this your pussy, Papa...this your pussy—”

“Take my cum...take all my cum up in this pussy...ahhh...shit...I got more for ya’...that’s it...goddamn this pussy won’t let me go...keep cumming—”

Pearline could feel the sensation of his cum filling her pussy up and that’s when her own orgasm extended from the bottom of her pussy all the way up to the surface and made her spasm beneath him. It was fucking, but with so much affection for each other. Smoke eases out of her and even with him not there she still felt stretched out and aching. Smoke is on his back next to her, his dick still rigid. Pearline turns to the side, one leg coming up to rest on top of his while her feet rubbed against his inner thigh. She looked up to see Smoke staring at her—just studying her face.

“I love you.”

Pearline’s shyness took over. The intensity in his eyes. She knew he meant it.

“You really love me?” Pearline asks with a shaky and sweet voice.

“Real shit, baby...real shit.”

She beamed and hid her face. Smoke chuckled.

“I can’t believe we just had sex.”

“We made love, Pearlie.” Smoke corrected.

The harsh reality of what just happened loomed over her.

“…What does this mean?” Pearline asked with a small voice.

“It means whatever ya’ want it to mean…but just know, I can make ya’ happy, Pearlie. Let me love ya’.”

Pearline sits up.

“Smoke…if Stack finds out—”

“So what?”

“You came in me! What if I get pregnant? We ain’t had sex in months! He would know!”

“Pearlie…”

Smoke stilled her. Pearline locked eyes with him. Smoke tried to find the words to say.

“What is it, Smoke?”

He was crestfallen.

“Pearlie…Stack…Stack been seeing Mary more…cause he thinking of how to get her away from Arkansas without her husband finding out she pregnant.”

Pearline cocked her head back. A fresh wave of tears swam in her eyes.

“W-what? What you sayin’? She pregnant with his baby? Smoke? No…no, no, no, no—”

Smoke wrapped his arms around Pearline.

“You knew all this time?!—”

“She just found out. She came to tell him. Pearlie…”

Smoke lifted her into his lap. He allowed her to cry, stroking her back and kissing her hair. She cried for a while, shaking against him. Smoke stared down at her, his thumb caressing her cheek.

“Pearlie?”

“…I should have killed him.”

Pearline sat up in Smoke’s lap. She had this far away look in her eyes.

“Stack a grown man. I can’t keep blaming you for his faults, Smoke. You’ve done enough to protect him and look after him. He never knew how to watch his own back without you being there…”

Smoke dropped his eyes. Pearline finally looked at him. She tilted his chin up, her eyes flicking from his face to his chest.

“Why didn’t you steal me from him? Why did you let him take me away from you?” Pearline contested with a knot in her throat.

“…why did ya’ have to fall in love wit’ him instead of me?” Smoke brazens.

Pearline held his gaze, even as tears streamed from her eyes.

“It should have been you.”

@blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @slut4smokemoore09 @readingaddict1290 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @theethighpriestess @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @girlsneedlovingfanfics @cancerianprincess @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @dashhoney25 @pinkprincessluminary @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams @rolemodelshit

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #sinnersfanfiction #elias stack #elias stack moore #elijah smoke moore #elijah smokes #pearline sinners #sinners smut #smokestacktwins #smoke x stack #smoke sinners #stack sinners

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moineauz · 1 year ago

Text

જ⁀ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 , various ! pt two

synopsis: his voice lines about you as his beloved partner

including: boothill, aventurine

side comments: my first voice line fic was well received and for that I thank you all <3 so of course this is for all my boothill and aventurine lovers out there! (including myself for boothill...)

extra: gn reader, angsty and fluffy moments, I genuinely loved writing boothill's, minor spoilers for both favourites: boothill word count: roughly 1000+

care to see the first part? includes dr. ratio, jing yuan, & blade!

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

WHO ARE THEY? I "Out here askin' question huh? Well if you're that curious... then you better listen close."

FIRST MEETINGS? "Met them on a bullet train in a neighbouring star system. Turns out we were chasing after the same fudge-heads. You could've seen them- a sly creature that's who they were, whipping out the most slick sniper I've ever seen. I'd reckon that was one of the most thrilling fights I've ever had: came out with dents all over my arms and a broken gun. Their bullets nearly punched a hole through my cheek... hah!"

GREETINGS? "They may be a load of dormant gunpowder, but they sure are sweet! Full of laughter and courtesy. But I'll let you in on a little secret... ( Name ) likes to walk in, pretty as always- and plant kisses all over my cheek before they even say a word."

PARTINGS? "Being a Galaxy Ranger means never staying in one place. ( Name ) is no Galaxy Ranger... I'd reckon it's better that way."

ABOUT US: SHOES IN THE HOUSE "I can't exactly 'take off my shoes' now can I? But ( Name ) likes to keep the house tidy and I best not anger them... like that one time- anyways, we came up with this whole fudging system just to keep the bottom of my damn boots clean! It's fudging ridiculous! *Chuckles* I can't help it, but ( Name ) is understanding. Even if I trudged through all the grime in the universe- they'd still wipe it all off."

ABOUT US: FAMILY "You see, ( Name ) has this big family. Siblings, cousins, extended cousins, aunts and uncles, you name it. We were on their home planet once, and I finally understood where ( Name's ) knack for puttin' a real good home together came from. Their family lives in the countryside where all you can see are open fields, lush hillsides, free-roaming animals and wildflowers. Consider it a quiet paradise. They even grow their own food for fudging sake! Everythin' made by hand and land. Darlin' nearly coaxed me into joining them for dinner once, but I knew better. Best not spoil the family get-together."

CHAT: HATS N' POSES "Personally, I like my hat and flare the way it damn is. How would fightin' be without it? But of course, your partner has to be a cheeky tease about it."

CHAT: WARMTH " I've seen it in the movies- those fudging 'romcoms'- and read it in books. When it gets cold... I'm no help. Can't do much except reach for a blanket and wrap them up. But even then, metal and skin don't fudging work."

PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Count me in on a dance sugar plum! Have to admit, darlin' has a fair share of good dance moves. Nothin' like a hard-earned victory being celebrated with a cool glass of whisky and a smooth dance."

ARGUMENTS: "Bitter things that's all they are. Leaves you knocked out cold. Reminds you of all the things you can't take back."

SOMETHING TO SHARE: "Following the hunt ain't an easy task. But someone has to punish the wretched. That's the thing about the hunt- you get cold, hard. Sugar follows another path that doesn't make any fudging sense to me. But that doesn't matter. None of that ever mattered, not to them, not to me or even the hunt. Call it selfish, but I'd like to one day settle down... Just like their family. Out where no one could find us."

WHO ARE THEY? II "They call me their 'sweet lover'. But really it should be me saying that. If anything I am the sweat of their brow- a nuisance at times. But they still love me. They still fudging love me."

EXTRA: IPC ENTRY "Normally, Galaxy Rangers travel alone. However, we have seen the wanted Galaxy ranger- Boothill- be accompanied by someone who appears to be a vagabond follower of Xipe. Despite the information we possess, the relationship between Boothill and his supposed 'partner' is very limited."

𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

WHO ARE THEY? I "Fancy meeting you here- oh? A rumor you say? Rumours do have peculiar ways of reaching the ears..."

FIRST MEETINGS? "All business ventures possess their gains and losses. However, I did not expect my pockets- alongside others- to be picked on a night meant to celebrate the Strategic Investment Department. The person who did it played their cards exceptionally well. I applauded them and the subtlety of their skills."

GREETINGS? "Despite their rather cunning nature, ( Name ) is quite kind... shockingly so. I thought their smile was a chip they played for their own meticulous advantage. *Chuckles* I was wrong, there was simply nothing to understand behind that smile."

PARTINGS? "One transaction after another, the universe keeps spinning. Don't keep up, you fall behind. Simple. I don't have to worry about that around them, or at least, for a while, until another wager must be made. Until the peck on the cheek is over."

ABOUT US: LOCKET "( Name ) has a keen eye for trinkets and bought- well stole- a locket for the two of us to share. I keep it with me, a lucky charm if you may."

ABOUT US: NAPPING "Personally, I don't nap. But, ( Name ) is a terrible influence and says I should. I must admit, waking up to them in the afternoon is not a bad way to spend my time."

CHAT: THEVERY "( Name ) is a thief... a good one at that. Oh don't worry, they struck a deal with the IPC. Primarily on their terms because they have been such a nuisance to the IPC. It's rather amusing seeing the IPC chase their own tail. We've definitely shared laughs over it."

CHAT: CONFESSIONS "Who could possibly love something so broken? It's like keeping a clock that won't tick or a deck of cards missing a queen. Sometimes, I wish they didn't care so much. It would be... easier."

PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Of course, a good game of cards is a fun way to pass the time. *Chuckles* Though, ( Name ) is a terrible player. Not that I mind, I'll guess I'll play the role of 'loser' this time around- best you not tell them."

ARGUMENTS: "What else is there to say? Nothing. That part is the worst."

SOMETHING TO SHARE: HEART OF GOLD "( Name ) steals to give to the poor. It's their motto... I saw them once with a group of kids on a planet in a distant star system. They were giving back to the orphanage- the smiles on the children's faces when given toys, marbles to be exact, were so bright."

WHO ARE THEY? II "In all honesty, I'm not quite sure. However, what I do know is that luck finally worked in my favour... I'll hold onto that for as long as I can."

EXTRA: DR RATIO'S OPINION "The gambler- without hesitation- will bet 'all in' even if it means his own life hangs in the balance. However, amongst the chaos of his bets, there is one person who will drag him back to reality... ( Name ). Aventurine will never gamble nor forfeit the one person who truly understands him. Even I don't fully understand the gambler's crafty nature. I suppose a thief is the only one who can and more importantly, will."

masterlist.

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junojoel · 16 days ago

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Woman Inherits the Earth

Ellie Williams x fem!Reader, 6.6k

Summary: You came to Jurassic World for industry connections, a killer CV, and maybe a LinkedIn flex. You didn’t expect to fall for the raptor girl.

Warnings: dinosaurs (scary (not really)) and fluff

this came to me in a fucking vision. i love jurassic park so much and i love a nerdy dinosaur girl even more. HAPPY FUCKING PRIDE MONTH.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You’d never seen trees this green.

Even from the window of the ferry, long before the first monorail glided into view, Isla Nublar looked like it had been pulled from a storybook. Unreal and mythical, lush in a way that didn’t seem modern. Like you’d time-travelled, or stepped into a planet no one had touched yet.

But of course, they had touched it. Touched, branded, monetised.

The first thing you saw when you stepped off the dock was a smile. Big, toothy, perfect. The kind that came with corporate training and a contract. The greeter handed you a cold drink and a pamphlet with a map of the island, the Jurassic World logo shimmered in glossy blue foil.

“Welcome to paradise,” they chirped.

You smiled back, polite, but your fingers clenched just a little too tight around the strap of your bag.

This wasn’t what you’d imagined when you applied for the communications internship. You thought you’d be documenting field conservation work. Real science. Camera in one hand, clipboard in the other, boots deep in the mud beside palaeobotanists and wildlife biologists.

Instead, it came with air conditioning, swipe access, and a smoothie bar. Your badge still felt surreal in your hand, no matter how many times you’d read the word COMMUNICATIONS next to your name.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed toward the staff gate, trying not to feel like an imposter. A monorail train whirred overhead, casting a brief shadow across the sun-bleached pavement. In the distance, a long-necked sauropod lifted its head above the treetops, and a group of tourists shrieked in delight.

It felt like a zoo.

“You lost?” came a voice from behind you, dry and amused. You turned. She stood with one hip cocked and a clipboard tucked under her arm, chewing the end of a pen which was leaving ink on her lip. Her uniform shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled up, collar open like it’d been yanked loose. Her name badge was clipped to a carabiner on her belt, hanging with a mix of keys and decorative chains.

ELLIE WILLIAMS RAPTORS

A velociraptor had been doodled beside her name, the first you’d ever seen with sunglasses on. You glanced up at her, blinking once. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted. “Trying to find Admin.”

“Figures.” She jerked her chin toward the path curving behind the guest welcome pavilion. “You’re going the wrong way. That’s the tourist route and you want the staff tram.”

You followed her gesture. “Thanks.”

Ellie took a few steps down the path, then paused and turned to look over her shoulder. “You coming or what?”

You scrambled to follow her, jogging a few steps to catch up.

It was quieter here, just beyond the sound radius of the tour groups and audio guides. Jungle air hung thick and damp, fragrant with wildflowers. You could hear insects buzzing, cicadas thrumming like a heartbeat.

“Comms intern?” she asked eventually, as you both ducked under a low branch.

“Yeah, PR.”

Ellie snorted. “That’s cute.”

You looked at her, frowning. “You think that’s funny?”

“I think cloning ancient apex predators to entertain tourists and using PR to make it seem ethical is kind of hilarious.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So why do you work here?”

She stopped walking to turn to face you.

“Because they’re not monsters,” she said simply. “And someone needs to be here who sees them that way.”

Her voice changed when she said it. You saw the passion then—not just behind her eyes, but in the way she spoke. Devout, almost. She didn’t talk about dinosaurs like exhibits, she talked about them like people talked about art, or music, or something ancient and breathtaking and alive. She started walking again, but slower this time, allowing you to catch up.

“I’ve been obsessed with them since I was eight,” she said, almost absently. “Used to sleep with an encyclopaedia under my pillow. Drew feathers on every T Rex I saw in books and got in trouble in school for correcting my science teacher.”

You laughed. “Sounds familiar. I had an entire binder dedicated to Stegosaurus migration.”

Ellie looked at you sidelong. “You know they’re not actually that dumb, right? Their brain-to-body ratio is small, yeah, but that doesn’t mean they were stupid.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

Her smile—just for a second—was radiant.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The staff dorms were nestled behind a canopy of flowering trees, shaded and still. Just far enough from the bustle of the park to feel like their own little ecosystem. Your room was on the top floor of Dorm C, down a quiet corridor that smelled like lemon cleaner and warm pine. No roommates, just you and the view—a forest stretching endlessly beyond your window. Ellie had walked you there herself your first afternoon, pointing out the vending machine that never worked and the communal washer that always overflowed. She stood in the doorway while you unlocked the door, arms crossed, a little smirk on her face when you looked around and said, “Not bad.”

She’d only said, “You’ll get sick of the crickets,” and then wandered off.

That next morning, you reported to the marketing branch’s main office. The main conference room was glass-walled and aggressively minimalist. Every surface gleamed and succulents lined the windowsill in matching white marble pots.

Inside, women in sleek neutrals sat around a long matte-black table, each one with a tablet or stylus in hand. No one looked particularly stressed. They didn’t speak much, just tapped and swiped in perfect silence, like synchronised swimmers in Lululemon. Their hair was glossy, their nails minimalist. Someone sipped a matcha from a branded Jurassic World cup that probably cost more than your entire lunch budget for the week.

You lingered just outside the doorway, unsure if knocking was too formal or if speaking would ruin the mood. You opted for clearing your throat lightly.

“Hi,” you offered. “Marketing intern. Here for assignment placement?”

A woman near the head of the table looked up. She wore a navy linen suit that probably had a brand name you hadn’t heard of and her gold-rimmed glasses caught the overhead light. Her name badge said AUBREY in minimalist font, with the word STRATEGY underneath it. No drawings like Ellie’s.

“Oh, right,” she said, her voice creamy like the oat milk in her latte. “You’re the PR girl?”

You nodded, already regretting whatever energy you were bringing into this room. You felt too loud.

“Well,” Aubrey said, turning her tablet with a soft tap of manicured nails, “good news and bad news.”

You resisted the urge to sigh. Of course there was bad news. There was always bad news.

“The bad news is: you’re not in this building often.”

Of course not. You didn’t fit in here anyway. These women looked like they did Pilates before and after work. Like they carried moon water in their tote bags and gave each other skincare advice. You doubted any of them had ever gotten dirt under their nails, much less had a real conversation with a field biologist.

Aubrey gave a pleasant, symmetrical smile. “The good news is: you’ve been assigned to our highest-profile initiative.” A few swipes, and your personnel card floated across the screen like she manifested it. Your photo was awkward.

“We’re launching a new engagement campaign—Humans of Jurassic World. Emotional branding with candid moments with our top experts.”

You tried to picture the slide deck that had birthed that phrase. Probably beige, with animated transitions from Canva. You imagined the words relatability and authenticity in bold, overlaid on a stock photo of a tranquil-looking intern smiling at a stegosaurus.

“We want content that connects,” Aubrey continued. “Emotion-forward, but not messy.”

God forbid it ever be messy.

She tapped your card into a new category. “You’ll be shadowing Ellie Williams.”

Your mouth opened before you could catch it. “The… raptor girl?”

Aubrey blinked, her expression unchanged but visibly cooling by half a degree. “She prefers animal behaviourist,” she said. “And I’d watch your tone.”

You nodded, swallowing the embarrassment. Noted. No jokes. No personality, either, apparently. Not here.

“She’s a little...feisty and... temperamental,” Aubrey added, delicately. “But she’s one of our key experts. The higher-ups want her front and centre.”

You couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a warning.

So, the highest-profile assignment on the island… and they were sending you into a paddock where you might get bitten. And there’ll be raptors there, too.

You gave a polite smile, even as your stomach folded itself neatly in half.

“Great,” you said.

Because what else could you say?

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

That afternoon, Ellie knocked and let herself into your dorm room like it was nothing.

“Hey,” she said, stepping inside without waiting. “I was… in the area.”

You turned from your half-folded laundry on the bed, one eyebrow raised. “This area?”

She leaned in the doorway, grinning like a cat in a sunbeam. “Okay, fine. I came to see if you had a clean towel. Mine’s still soaked from yesterday, and I figured you’re probably the organised type. Please, I need to dry my hair.”

“You could’ve asked literally anyone else on the floor.”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, shrugging. “But I didn’t want to.”

Your stomach fluttered. Weird. Probably nervous that she’d found out you were assigned to her and she’d come to bite your head off about it. Temperamental, remember.

You wordlessly walked to your wardrobe and tossed her one of the folded ones from the top shelf. She caught it with both hands, smiling with her eyes more than her mouth.

“Smells like citrus,” she said, lifting it to her face.

“Laundry sheet. Sorry if it’s too floral for your whole field-biology aesthetic.”

Ellie chuckled and stepped further inside, this time with purpose. “Please, I’ve smelled worse.”

You laughed and turned back to your laundry, only half paying attention as you folded a clean shirt, but you were acutely aware of the sound of boots thudding to the floor, of fabric rustling behind you. When you finally looked again, Ellie had stripped off her overshirt, now dressed in just a black tank that clung to the water she was unable to dry off. You noticed a patch of silvery scar tissue near her shoulder blade, like something long and narrow had raked across her.

You caught yourself looking too long and turned quickly back to your duffel bag.

Ellie noticed. Of course she did.

“They’re not from the raptors,” she said casually. “One’s from a thorn bush. The other one’s from a juvenile ankylosaur who didn’t like being sedated.”

You turned back, smiling faintly. “Is that better or worse?”

“Depends on your insurance.”

Her right forearm bore a black fern, curling in a slow spiral up her skin. A small moth nestled in the roots, wings outstretched like it had just landed to rest there. The lines were fresh, almost glossy in the dorm light.

Her other tattoo sat high on her left arm, above the curve of her bicep. It was older, slightly faded, but still striking: a raptor skull, drawn in precise anatomical detail, the kind you’d see in a museum display. Ferns and bones looped around it in a circular crown, delicate and wild at once.

“The moth one’s new.”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah?”

“Got it after I transferred out here. It’s a death’s-head. Some cultures say it’s bad luck.”

“Do you believe that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I like it. That’s enough, right?”

You nodded, then gestured toward her shoulder. “What about that one?”

Ellie looked down at the raptor skull, smiling like it was an inside joke. “I got it when I was sixteen. Had to lie about my age.”

You laughed, but the sound caught in your throat. She was still close—too close, maybe—and the way she stood, so casual and self-assured, made something twist in your chest.

You smiled faintly, folding another shirt. “Hey,” you said after a moment, trying to keep your voice even. “I, uh—found out where I’m placed today.”

Ellie paused, mid-pat of her face with the towel. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed. “Marketing’s doing some new campaign—Humans of Jurassic World or whatever. They’re assigning interns to departments for storytelling and engagement.”

Ellie raised a brow, sceptical. “Sounds fake.”

“It does,” you agreed. “But apparently I’m shadowing someone from the Raptor Program.”

Ellie blinked, then narrowed her eyes a little. “Wait. Me?”

“Yeah. Aubrey said you’re temperamental,” you added, smirking.

Ellie grinned, a little wild. “Temperamental’s just code for doesn’t suffer fools.”

You laughed. “Guess I’m in trouble.”

She studied you for a moment. “Nah. You look like you might surprise me.”

Your fingers brushed a fold in the laundry you weren’t folding anymore. “You could’ve just said you wanted to hang out.”

She tilted her head, voice low. “Would that’ve worked?”

“Maybe,” you said. “Next time, try it and see.”

Ellie stepped back toward the door but didn’t open it right away. She lingered, fingers brushing the frame.

“I like your room,” she said. “It suits you.”

“Is that your way of asking if you can come by again?”

“Not asking,” she said, grinning as she slipped out. “Just warning you.”

And with that, she was gone.

But your room still smelled faintly of sun and citrus and Ellie.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You woke to the sound of your alarm playing the Jurassic World theme in low-fi synth—a joke you’d set up on your first night, which now felt vaguely threatening at 5:45 a.m.

Through the open window, the jungle was still waking up. The air was thick with dew, soft birdsong trilled between branches, and far off in the distance, something massive made a low groaning sound— Good Morning.

Your hands moved through routine before your brain caught up: quick shower, camera bag over your shoulder, badge clipped, shoes already damp from the dew on the steps as you headed out into the humidity of early morning.

Ellie had said to meet her at the raptor supply shed by 6:30. You arrived at 6:25 and she was already there, sitting cross-legged on top of a crate, sipping coffee from a dented thermos and picking grass off of her cargo pants. Her hair was tied back in a loose knot, her boots unlaced. Her face lit up when she saw you, and your stomach betrayed you with a little flip.

“You’re late,” she teased, hopping down.

You raised a brow. “I’m early.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she handed you a cup. “But I wanted to say it. I was here at 5:45.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Also, the system flagged a motion trip around four. False alarm. Bird or something.”

You took a sip—strong, a little burnt. “God bless you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Ellie said, hopping off the crate. “You’re on raptor duty today.”

You blinked. “I thought I was just filming?”

“You are,” she said, already walking toward the gate. “You’re filming me and I’m working, so raptor duty.”

The raptor enclosure was larger than it looked on the map. Part jungle, part reinforced paddock, part bunker. The outer gate opened into a winding path lined with reinforced steel and topped with electric fencing.

Ellie moved through it like she was part of it—radio clipped to her belt, keys jangling from a carabiner, hands already gloved as she scanned a tablet for sensor data.

"You’re not gonna see this on the tours,” she said. “These girls don’t perform.”

Three of them, each moving with uncanny precision as they darted between the trees. One lifted her head, her gold eyes scanning the tree line. The other two circled near a feeding station. You felt a pulse of adrenaline as one of them lifted its snout and made direct eye contact.

“They’re watching us,” you whispered.

“They always are,” Ellie said.

The outer gate hissed open with a groan. Another handler pushed a steel cart in—two heavy haunches of meat, marked and logged. The scent hit immediately, the girls went still.

“That’s Jinx,” Ellie said. “Leader.”

“She doesn’t look aggressive.”

“She’s not. She’s calculating.”

You watched Jinx tilt her head, just slightly, then the others followed. Ellie nodded once, like she understood something no one else could hear.

“She knows you,” you said quietly.

Ellie’s mouth curved.

You blinked. “Imprint?”

“She was too old to imprint properly. But yeah. Something like that.”

“Is that… safe?”

Ellie shrugged. “Nothing here’s really safe.”

Then she glanced sideways. “But she’s never come for me. Not once.”

The cart was wheeled back out. The gates hissed closed behind the handler. The girls returned to the trees slowly.

“They’re amazing,” you breathed.

“They’re misunderstood,” Ellie said. “Everyone thinks they’re monsters.”

You turned to her. “Why do you think that is?”

She paused. “Because they’re smart. People don’t like being outsmarted, especially if who they’re being outsmarted by isn’t human.”

There was a long moment of silence between you, broken only by the whir of a distant drone circling above the canopy. Ellie leaned her weight on one hip, glancing down at her arm where her raptor skull tattoo peeked out from under her tank top.

Unfortunately, Ellie’s morning raptor routine was not fit for public consumption.

She barked into radios, swore when a feeding gate jammed, wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. She talked to the raptors and they responded in a way with soft huffs and curious clicks.

You’d filmed interviews before. Sat through seminars, cut and edited dozens of high-gloss campaign reels for campus groups and charity drives. But this wasn’t that. Ellie Williams didn’t have a camera version of herself. There was just Ellie.

That meant she also had no interest in being directed.

“I don’t want to do the influencer crap,” she had said. “No offense.”

“Some offense taken.” You said, crouched beside a control panel, adjusting your camera. “Let’s try something for TikTok. Just, like, say your name and job? Maybe give a fun fact about the raptors?”

Ellie squinted at the lens like it had personally offended her. “Why would I do that?”

You blinked. “Because it’s part of the job?”

She turned toward the paddock instead, shielding her eyes to scan the treeline. “Fun fact: their eye sockets are larger than yours. Next question.”

You huffed. “Ellie.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “What?”

“You’re making this hard.”

Her mouth quirked. “I thought you PR types liked a challenge.”

You pointed the lens at her anyway, just to spite her. “Fine. I’ll work with what I’ve got.”

“If I catch you filming my ass without permission, I will feed you to them.”

Later, when she took a break in the shade of the fence wall, you passed her the water bottle from your bag.

“Don’t say I never give you anything,” you said.

She took it, eyeing you with mock suspicion. “You poison it?”

“Tempting.”

She drank anyway.

You sat beside her, back against the warm concrete. The raptor sounds faded behind you.

“Hey,” you said. “You’re really good with them.”

Ellie looked away, squinting at the sun breaking through the canopy.

“They’re predictable,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“They don’t lie. They don’t fake anything. If they like you, they show you. If they don’t… well. You find out fast.”

You nodded slowly. “Sounds refreshing.”

“People,” Ellie said, almost absently, “aren’t like that.”

You studied her profile—sharp jaw, sunburnt nose.

“No,” you said softly. “They’re not.”

For a moment, she looked at you like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she stood.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re not done.”

The juveniles—the babies, as she called them—were only slightly less terrifying than the adults. Half-sized, sleek, wicked fast. Ellie led you into a smaller enclosure for behavioural training.

“You can film,” she said. “Just don’t run.”

“Why not?”

“They chase.”

You laughed nervously. “Oh.”

One of them, a smoky blue female with a slitted golden eye, approached Ellie and bumped her thigh with its snout like a puppy.

She crouched, whispering something you couldn’t catch. The raptor tilted its head, then chirped. A moment later, it lay down and rolled onto its back, exposing its belly.

You caught the whole thing. Ellie laughing, hand buried in feathers, dirt smeared on her cheek, her whole face lit up.

That night, back in your dorm, you sat at your desk with the lights off, your laptop glowing.

You edited late into the night—cutting through shaky footage, filtering the sun just right, lining the audio to a soft indie track. You saved the file, but you didn’t upload it. Tomorrow, you’d show her first, just in case she wanted to see herself the way you saw her.

Before the rest of the world did.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The fluorescent light flickered above your desk like it, too, was tired of this job. Half your shift had been spent hunched over your laptop, headphones in, sorting through footage from the Raptor Paddock. You didn’t really mind.

The head of PR wanted more behind-the-scenes enrichment content for the park’s YouTube channel—playful but grounded, edgy but safe, and most of all, viral. Their emails used a lot of adjectives.

Your headset buzzed.

Minor incident, that’s how they phrased it.

“Minor,” in Jurassic World terms, meant no deaths, no lawyers yet.

You sat up straight.

A group of influencers had been taken too close to the Raptor Paddock. Someone thought it would be great content and someone else ignored the guest photography guidelines.

The raptor who lunged wasn’t Jinx. Thank god. It was Roo, the most skittish of the three. The flash went off and she reacted on instinct—leapt toward the fence, jaws wide, a blur of feathers and teeth. Now it was online.

Your screen lit up with hashtags you didn’t want to see. #DinoDanger, #SheAlmostDied. You stopped the autoplay, but the thumbnail was enough— Roo mid-snarl, one girl halfway into a dramatic faint. Her friend laughing, shakily.

You forwarded the footage to the Comms lead. A response came ten seconds later.

Get a statement from a trusted handler. Soften this. Now.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You found Ellie behind the garage near the paddock gate, sitting on an overturned crate with a can of iced coffee sweating in her hand. She was coated in dust and grease, like she’d crawled straight out of a ventilation shaft. Which, knowing her, wasn’t impossible.

She looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you have press releases to copy and paste?”

You gestured toward her with your tablet. “Don’t you have raptors to whisper to?”

Ellie grinned, tired and amused. “Touché.”

You sat across from her on a cooler. She didn’t offer the coffee, you didn’t ask.

“I need a quote,” you said.

Her smile vanished. “About what?”

“The influencer thing,” you admitted.

She exhaled through her nose and rubbed the back of her neck. Grease smeared higher across her cheek.

“I told them,” she muttered. “Told them not to bring cameras near Roo. She doesn’t like flashing lights. Makes her nervous.”

You stayed quiet. Not the time to turn on a camera.

“They had a whole goddamn ring light,” Ellie said, voice low. “Pointed straight at her. The guests got scared, so did she. Then security panics and sets off the siren. Good job, everyone.”

Eventually, she stood.

“You want a soundbite?” she asked, brushing her hands off on her cargo pants.

You waited.

She looked down at you.

“Tell them this isn’t a petting zoo,” she said. “These animals aren’t props. They’re thinking, breathing creatures. If you poked a bear in the woods with a selfie stick, whose fault would that be?”

You swallowed. “That’s not exactly... soft.”

Ellie tilted her head. “You want me to lie?”

“No,” you said, softer. “I want you to keep your job.”

That got her. A flicker of something passed through her eyes—surprise maybe. She stepped closer and dropped her voice.

“Okay. Try this: ‘The handlers at Jurassic World prioritise the mental health of every creature in our care. Safety and respect come first—on both sides of the fence.’”

You typed as fast as you could.

Ellie leaned over, tapped your screen with a single finger.

“Then add: ‘Some animals, like Delta, are sensitive to sudden light. We ask all guests to follow our guidelines to protect both themselves and the dinosaurs they came to see.’”

You looked up at her. “That was... actually perfect.”

She smirked. “I can do optics. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Later, you sat alone on the roof of Dorm C, tablet balanced on your knees, watching the video you shot yesterday before uploading.

In the final cut, you watched a shot of Ellie walking alongside the paddock fence with the sun burning gold behind her.

You clicked publish.

The video went live at 6:49 pm, by 7:03 it was trending and the comments poured in.

Hear me out, She’s so serious I love her, and Mother.

You didn’t tell Ellie, but you saved the top comment anyway.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

Every now and then, the schedule lined up just right. Two staff members off-duty. No emergency drills. No PR fires to put out. A window. A breath.

And Ellie took it.

You didn’t take one of the trams. Ellie drove you out herself—an old off-roader that smelled like engine oil, tires kicking up trails of red dust as she pulled away from the paved park roads and into the island’s interior. The farther you went, the more the sounds of the resort faded—until there was only jungle. It wasn’t on any map they gave guests, no visitor trails or attractions.

“You’re not gonna murder me out here, are you?” you joked, peering through the trees.

Ellie grinned. “Not unless you start talking about CGI inaccuracies again.”

She parked at the edge of a ridge overlooking a narrow river. The canopy opened above you into streaks of blue and gold. A breeze moved through the high branches, the air wet and fresh, bird calls echoed through the valley.

Ellie plopped down in the dirt like she’d been here a hundred times before. “This was all here before the board meetings, before the fences, before the holograms. And it’ll all still be here when the last attraction breaks down.”

You sat beside her. The earth was warm under your palms.

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if you hadn’t come here?”

You nodded. “All the time.”

“And?”

You shrugged. “Maybe still in PR. Just… for a less cursed brand.”

Ellie smirked. “Like cereal.”

You laughed. “Exactly. Something safe. Something where the biggest crisis is oat milk backlash.”

She picked up a stick and started absentmindedly dragging it through the dirt—first a spiral, then something more detailed: the suggestion of a raptor skull, curved and sharp and familiar. She was quiet for a while, drawing.

Then she said, “You know what I wanted to be when I was a kid?”

You shook your head.

“Astronaut.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Ellie smirked. “Yeah. Had the poster on my wall. Memorised the Apollo missions. Wrote a letter to NASA when I was nine asking if they’d let me bring my best friend.”

You laughed softly. “What’d they say?”

“They didn’t write back.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug, casual on the surface but threaded with something more tender. “I kept dreaming about it anyway. Floating above Earth. Being the first person to touch something that hadn’t been touched.” She paused. “Guess I still got that last part.”

You looked over at her. “What changed?”

Ellie pressed the stick into the soil. “I hit high school, and science was harder. Math was never fun. Biology clicked, and space didn’t.”

There was something in her voice that made your chest ache. Not regret, exactly. Just the trace of a fork in the road, a fig that hadn’t been taken from the tree. The version of her who might have gone up instead of underground.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The dorms weren’t glamorous.

Faux-wood floors, standard-issue twin bed, metal desk with drawers that stuck, a narrow kitchenette with two mugs that were never clean at the same time, one window that opened exactly three inches. Jurassic World spared no expense for the dinosaurs, but the interns? You learned quickly how to make do.

Somehow, though, the place felt luxurious when Ellie was in it.

She kept leaving things behind: a thermos, a hoodie, the Jurassic World issue of National Geographic with her notes scribbled in the margins. She always ended up back here, always found her way to your side of the compound when shifts ended and the park dimmed for the night.

Lunch wasn’t a planned thing.

It started after a meeting, both of you too tired to go back to work, the cafeteria mostly empty. Ellie dragged her tray to your table without asking, dropped into the seat across from you like she’d been doing it forever. She had her sleeves rolled up and a smudge of something dark under her cheekbone, like she’d leaned against the wall of the paddock and forgot about it.

She looked exhausted.

You slid your extra protein bar across the table without a word. She didn’t say thank you, just peeled it open and ate half in two bites.

“A trainer tried to feed Scylla a banana.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“She said she read somewhere that primates liked them and thought maybe—” Ellie cut herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t keep having these conversations.”

You bit your lip to hide your laugh. “Did Scylla eat it?”

“She spat it out!”

You pushed your tray closer to hers. Shared space, shared air. When she picked at the lettuce on your plate without asking, you didn’t stop her.

That afternoon, back in your dorm, Ellie dozed on your bed with one foot still on the ground. You sat at your desk, typing half-heartedly, sneaking glances every few lines.

Her breathing slowed. Softened.

You turned down the brightness on your screen and let yourself stare. There was something vulnerable about her when she was asleep. Less fire, less focus.

Her arm shifted, and her fingers brushed your pillow like she was reaching in her sleep.

Your heart jumped.

You turned away, flustered. Pretended to read a park protocol memo. Didn’t take in a word of it.

That evening, she cooked.

Not well or efficiently, but she refused any help. You offered, but she waved you off and handed you a drink instead. “This is a one-woman show. Sit and be amazed.”

She stood barefoot, chopping onions with the dullest knife in the drawer and humming something under her breath, maybe Fleetwood Mac or something from her endless playlist of 70s deep cuts, you weren’t sure. She burned the first round of garlic toast. She swore loudly. You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.

Dinner turned out… edible. You both sat cross-legged on the floor, plates in laps, knees bumping.

“This is terrible,” you said around a mouthful.

“Shut up,” she said, grinning. “You’re eating it.”

“Only out of fear.”

She nudged your knee. “Coward.”

You leaned back on your palms, looked at her.

“I like this,” you said.

Her smile faltered slightly, became something smaller. “What?”

“This. You. Here.”

Ellie looked at you for a long moment, unreadable.

Then she reached for your plate and took the last piece of toast.

“Me too,” she said.

Later, when the lights were off and the window cracked open to let in island air, she curled up behind you without asking, one arm slung loosely around your waist. Her breath warmed the back of your neck.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The week hit like a monsoon, you barely had time to breathe. You fielded incident reports, coordinated guest services, drafted press responses in thirty-second bursts. You worked through lunch. You took dinner at your desk. You fell asleep in a chair two nights in a row.

And through it all, there was Ellie.

Sort of.

You saw her once—midweek. Briefly.

She caught you outside the main building, a clipboard tucked under one arm, sunglasses perched on her head. She looked flushed and windblown, like she’d just come from the raptor paddock. Her shirt stuck to her back. Her hands were dusty.

“Hey,” she said, jogging to catch up. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You were already walking.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I’m heading to the office—there was a perimeter breach yesterday, and apparently that means communications has to rewrite the entire emergency script again because no one in legal can do their fucking jobs.”

She fell into step beside you, smile dipping a little. “Right. Yeah. No worries.”

You didn’t notice the shift in her tone. Or if you did, you ignored it.

Ellie gave a short nod, one hand hovering awkwardly like she’d meant to reach for your arm.

Then she said, “Don’t work yourself to death, okay?”

But the door had already closed behind you.

She didn’t come by that night, or the next.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that she was busy too. If she needed you, she’d say so.

But every time you opened your dorm door and saw that she hadn’t left anything behind—no hoodie, no coffee cup, no scrawled note—something in you pinched.

The silence wasn’t cruel. It was worse than that.

It was polite.

By Friday, you were frayed at the edges. The comms team cleared out early. Some kind of mixer for the PR interns, catered with branded cupcakes and a weirdly peppy playlist of noughties throwbacks. You told them you had emails to finish, but you lingered in the empty office, lights half-dimmed, hands idle.

And finally, when you couldn’t stand it anymore, you grabbed your badge and left.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

The raptor paddock was quiet at this hour.

The jungle edge glowed gold. You leaned against the low fence, heartbeat a little louder than it needed to be.

You weren’t even sure why you’d come.

But then—you heard her voice.

“Good. Good, Jinx, yeah, that’s it—move slow.”

You turned just in time to see Ellie moving through the inner track. She had one hand raised towards Jinx, her movements fluid, confident. She was in her element, every line of her body relaxed but alert. The trainers nearby deferred to her, stepping back when she approached.

She was magnetic.

You suddenly felt like a ghost.

You waited until Jinx was redirected, until Ellie handed off her radio to another staff member, until she peeled off her gloves and stepped toward the break area alone.

You followed.

“Hey,” you said.

She looked up.

The smile she gave you was faint. Careful. “Hey.”

“I—uh, I didn’t mean to blow you off the other day,” you started. “It’s just been… a lot.”

Ellie nodded. “I figured.”

You hated how neutral her voice sounded. Like she’d coached it into steadiness.

“I missed you,” you said, softer.

Ellie didn’t look at you right away. She stared out toward the trees, jaw tight.

“I didn’t want to make it weird,” she said finally.

You stepped closer. “It’s not weird.”

“It felt weird,” she replied, still not looking at you. “Like maybe I imagined more than what this is. Or was. I don’t even know if you even like— Forget it.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

“You didn’t imagine it.”

She looked at you then, maybe a little hurt.

“I’m bad at balance,” you said, a little broken. “I pour into the job until I forget there’s a me underneath it.”

Ellie’s shoulders eased slightly. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

“I didn’t mean to make you doubt.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She gave a small smile. “But I’m not going to chase you through it. I care about you. Enough to give you space. Just… don’t wait too long to come back.”

₊˚⊹ 𐂯

You stood outside her door for what felt like a full minute.

It was too quiet. The usual hum of the compound felt distant here, muffled behind thick walls and late-night haze. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

One knock, that’s all it took.

When the door opened, Ellie was standing there barefoot, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. She wore an oversized grey shirt that hung off one shoulder and loose black shorts that looked like she’d had them since high school. Her eyes were tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping.

You stepped inside.

Her dorm was nothing like yours. The lighting was dim—one warm bulb over the bed, the rest off. The smell was a mix of sandalwood and cedar that clung to her clothes. A raptor plush sat on the windowsill next to a sun-bleached paperback copy of The Lost World and a tin of black guitar picks. Her desk was half-covered in field notes, fossil diagrams, and a mug full of broken pencils. There were stars painted on her ceiling—tiny, glow-in-the-dark ones, peeling at the corners. A few had drifted down to the floor.

And in the far corner, propped against the wall next to a stack of old music magazines, was a handmade guitar, a moth delicately carved to match her arm. The strings were a little loose. One of them looked like it had been replaced with fishing wire.

She noticed you looking. “My dad made it.”

“Seriously?” You approached it gently, like it might crumble if you touched it wrong. “It’s beautiful.”

“Sounds like shit if it’s not tuned,” she said with a smile. “But yeah. It’s mine.”

There was a long pause.

Then, from her spot by the door, Ellie asked, “Did you come here to say something?”

You hesitated. “No. I just wanted to be near you.”

Her expression didn’t change. But something behind her eyes softened. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I missed you.”

Ellie broke.

She reached for your face, and her touch was both careful and hungry. Her fingers brushed your jaw, your cheek, and then she kissed you.

And god, did she kiss you.

You melted into it, into her, into the way her lips moved slow and certain over yours, into the warmth of her hands sliding behind your neck. She tasted like mint, like she’d just brushed her teeth, ready for bed. The bed— you backed her towards it without even realising it, one hand tangled in the hem of her shirt, the other gripping her waist. She gasped when her knees hit the mattress, and then you were climbing into her lap, half-straddling her, mouths still locked together.

Ellie pulled back just long enough to breathe, her forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve wanted this,” she murmured.

You kissed her again, deeper this time, slower. Your hands roamed over her hips, the curve of her back. She made a sound in the back of her throat when your lips grazed the corner of her jaw, then her throat, then just below her ear.

“You smell like rain,” you whispered, lips brushing her skin.

“I have showered,” she said, voice shaky but smiling.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

She shifted, pressing up into you, hands now sliding under your shirt, palms splayed warm across your spine. Her touch was reverent, exploratory, like she couldn’t believe you were really here.

You pulled away just enough to look at her.

Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and glassy like you were something she was still trying to process.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

“More than,” she whispered.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams fanfic

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luminnara · 1 year ago

Text

Traditions | Feyd-Rautha x Reader

REQUEST: As Feyd-Rautha's wife-to-be, you have moved to the Harkonnen homeworld to await your wedding. You're doing your best to adhere to their customs, but when a supposed doctor examines your 'purity,' Feyd-Rautha's reaction is anything but calm.

MASTERLIST

Requests are open! This was one of the first I received for Feyd-Rautha, I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: SA in a medical setting (not graphic but also more than just implied), canon typical violence (also not graphic)

Harkonnen customs were strange.

Harkonnens were strange.

Everything about Giedi Prime felt alien to you—its black sun, bathing the world in infrared; its barren landscape, polluted and abused by years of unbridled industry; and, perhaps most of all, its nobility, the Baron and his his nephew, Feyd-Rautha.

“A Harkonnen?” You had choked out when your parents informed had you of the decision. You had been in disbelief, as if reality had come to slap you in the face. All you had ever known was your homeworld and the comforts of the family palace, on a planet that was lush and beautiful. Everything you had ever heard of the Harkonnen homeworld was the opposite—harsh and inhospitable, its people even more so. You had resisted the information initially, refusing to believe that your life was changing so suddenly and so dramatically.

But, ever the dutiful daughter, you stood and met the na-Baron when he arrived, openly staring at his appearance while another Harkonnen introduced him. Feyd-Rautha was extremely pale, his skin nearly white, and, like the rest of the delegation from Giedi Prime, he was hairless. He did not even have eyebrows, and as your father welcomed him to your world, you wondered if he was truly hairless, everywhere.

As your thoughts wandered, the na-Baron’s eyes slid to you, meeting yours. You suddenly felt as though you had been caught doing something naughty, the way he looked at you, drinking you in, tilting his head slightly as he appraised you.

“Is the na-Baron pleased with what he sees?” You spoke up in a moment of bravery.

His eyes raked over your body and he smirked, making a rough sound you assumed might be a laugh.

“Oh yes, princess.” His voice was just as harsh as you’d expected. “Very.”

Feyd-Rautha spent a week on your planet, courting you in the ways of your House. He presented you with gifts of refined spice and Harkonnen riches, knives and strangely austere jewelry. He walked with you in the evenings, where you spoke of mundane things, unsure of what you were meant to do in his presence exactly, and he watched you like a hawk hunting a field mouse. When the week was up, you accompanied him back to Giedi Prime to prepare for the wedding, leaving your homeworld behind.

Feyd-Rautha was less well behaved when not surrounded by the members of another House. He was an unsettling, panther-like man, always on the hunt for something to kill…and when you arrived on his planet, you saw that he sometimes killed without abandon, fighting drugged prisoners in a public arena to satisfy his own ego.

You were not sure that you wanted him as your husband—he seemed somewhat disinterested in you, leaving you to the guest chambers you would eventually be moving out of in favor for his bed. Your first week on Giedi Prime was another of courtship, though this time in the ways of his people, and you were honored to witness his fighting prowess in that arena beneath that strange sun. You dined with him and his uncle the Baron Vladimir, a large and unpleasant man, one you could tell your husband-to-be felt no real love towards. Feyd-Rautha simply enjoyed that he would one day take the Baron’s place, and when Vladimir commented on your figure one evening, you saw the way Feyd’s jaw tensed. Perhaps he did want you as his wife, after all.

Another strange Harkonnen custom revealed itself to you toward the end of that week, when a doctor entered your chambers and informed you that your purity was to be inspected.

“My apologies, but…what?” You asked, confused. You had never heard of such a thing. Surely he couldn’t possibly mean what you thought he meant…?

“We must ensure that none other than the na-Baron have had you, milady.” The man explained. You noticed he sported a gray sash around his middle, and you assumed it was some sort of uniform. “It must be guaranteed that you are untouched, and that the heir you provide will be the na-Baron’s and no one else’s.”

You felt your face grow warm with anger and embarrassment. “Is my word not enough?”

“I’m afraid this is tradition, milady.” He stared at you with intense, beady eyes. “The na-Baron was eager to honor the customs of your House. You do not want him to think you are refusing those of House Harkonnen, do you?”

No, you did not. The last thing you wanted was to anger Feyd-Rautha and potentially drive your future husband even further away from you. You did not want to seem rude, nor did you want to cause a fuss…and you had been examined by doctors before, though perhaps not for this exact reason. You could withstand a few moments of awkward discomfort, you reasoned, if it meant avoiding an unhappy marriage.

“You do not have any instruments,” you noted.

The doctor smiled, revealing the black teeth of the Harkonnens. “Medical instruments are not necessary for this, milady. Please, move to the bed so that I may examine you.”

You rose from your place at the simple table in the center of the room, abandoning your half-eaten breakfast. As you turned, you felt the doctor’s eyes watching you a chill prickled the back of your neck. You needed to relax, you told yourself; if you were expected to produce an heir, there would be many more invasive check ups far stranger than this. You had seen your mother pregnant with your younger siblings, and had heard her speaking with the midwives and Bene Gesserit woman who stalked the halls of the palace back home. Perhaps this was how you could ease yourself into all of that.

When you turned to face the doctor once more, you were relieved to see him standing just as you had left him. His smile unsettled you, but then so did most Harkonnen features, you realized as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“Lay back and relax, milady.” He said, approaching you. “This won’t take but a moment.”

-0-

To your surprise, Feyd-Rautha joined you for lunch that day. A servant had been sent ahead to inform you that the na-Baron would be arriving to your chambers shortly, but when he did, you insisted on eating elsewhere. The encounter with the doctor had done more than simply unsettle you—it had rattled your nerves, leaving you feeling angry and confused. Though the man was long gone, you had no desire to remain in that room any longer than you absolutely had to, and lunch could not come early enough.

The na-Baron led you to his own chambers and food was served for you there, at a well-sized table just as austere as the rest of the building’s furniture and decor. He watched as you picked at your food, pushing it around on your plate but hardly eating any, and he took the opportunity to attempt conversation.

“We will be wed soon,” he said.

You wanted to roll your eyes. You were in no mood for small talk, but remembered who exactly you were dealing with and stifled a sigh. “Yes, na-Baron, we will.”

He smirked. “I look forward to the consummation, milady.”

You felt bile rising in your throat. The thought of anyone touching you again at the moment made you sick and angry, and you hated him for his people’s customs.

Feyd-Rautha tilted his head as he looked at you. “Do you not?”

“I am sure it will be everything we hope for and more,” you grumbled, looking down at your plate.

“It is unavoidable,” he growled. “We must produce an heir.”

“And we will!” You snapped, glaring up at him. “And you will be happy to hear that your doctor’s examination went as expected, my lord.”

The venom in your words stunned him almost as much as the words themselves. If Feyd weren’t so busy working through what exactly you had just said, he may have been tempted to bend you over that table just to show you how hard you made him, wedding night be damned…but there were other matters at hand now.

“Doctor?” He asked, eye twitching as his brow furrowed in thought.

“Yes, the one who confirmed that I am, in fact, pure,” you spat, voice laced with pure malice now.

You saw what could only be anger bubbling inside of him as he straightened his shoulders. “How exactly was this achieved?”

“By—by the usual means, I presume,” you said, quickly growing afraid of Feyd-Rautha’s infamous temper should it make an appearance. “He…confirmed that I am…that I have never…”

The na-Baron stood suddenly, knocking in the table in his haste. “Describe him to me.”

“I-I don’t know, he was a doctor!” You stammered. “He looked like every other Harkonnen, I don’t know—“

“What did he wear?”

“A-all black, like everyone here…a sash, a gray sash, around his waist, and he had no instruments—“

“What?” Feyd-Rautha roared, fists slamming down onto the table.

You jumped at the sudden outburst, staring in confusion as he stood. "I apologize if I've upset you, I don't understand why you--"

"Come." he hissed, grabbing your arm roughly and hauling you out of your seat.

You shrieked in surprise, stumbling to keep up as he dragged you out of the room and down the corridor. "Na-Baron, what is the meaning of this?!"

You received no answer. Feyd-Rautha was too angry to speak, shoulders hunched and full of violent tension as he stomped down the halls. Servants and Harkonnen nobles alike scattered upon seeing him, and as you twisted your head to look back at them, you saw them whispering and looking after you with pity on their faces.

"Feyd-Rautha, this is absurd!" you protested.

He came to a halt in front of a door. Though the wait for it to slide open only took a few moments, it felt like agony, and you had nowhere to look aside from the na-Baron's heaving form. You had never seen a person so angry before, so utterly enraged that he was practically incoherent. His silence was frightening, as when the door finally opened, you felt relieved...until he grabbed you once more and brought you inside with him.

The room was full of Harkonnen men, and as they looked to the door in surprise, you realized that you had entered some sort of lounge. You recognized their uniforms as military, and at the sight of their na-Baron, they all immediately stood, saluting him and bowing their heads.

"Which one?" Feyd-Rautha hissed, pulling you to stand at his side.

"What?" you asked, still confused by this entire operation.

"Which man?" he asked, voice strained as if he were holding himself back.

As you looked around at the Harkonnens, whose faces were stoic but whose eyes were frightened, you realized what your almost-husband was asking of you. It was difficult to tell them apart--their pale faces blended into one, their uniforms all nearly identical save for subtle distinctions of rank. Then, an idea; the gray sash you remembered, surely the doctor still wore it? If he were there in the room with you, perhaps you could--

Yes.

There he was.

You recognized his face and your lips pressed into a thin line. Feyd-Rautha, whose eyes had been glued to you, watching your every tiny, minute move, noticed the way your eyes lingered. His lip curled into a sneer as he turned to look at the man, whose comrades had all immediately stepped away, leaving him alone and exposed.

"Captain." the na-Baron's voice was dangerous. It was terrifying. You had never heard another human make a sound so guttural, so animalistic, and yet still manage to form it into a recognizable word.

As the man took a panicked step backwards, Feyd-Rautha stalked toward him. Your future husband smoothly pulled a long knife from a hilt on someone's hip as he passed them by, and you could only stare as the captain was brutalized.

You had never seen such agony.

When Feyd-Rautha was finished with him and the room had finally quieted after the screams died out, he stood from the fresh corpse and turned to you, holding a weapon now dripping with dark blood as he faced you.

"For you," he said simply, sincerely, bowing his head yet never breaking eye contact.

You stared. You had no idea how to react upon witnessing such a barbaric act, one that was sure to play out in your nightmares for weeks to come. When you felt panic rising in your chest you forced it down, and mustered all of the courage you possibly could to say, "Thank you, my lord," and bow your head in return.

He seemed satisfied with this as the knife clattered to the floor and he strode forward to you. "Let us leave."

You agreed wholeheartedly, following him and leaving the other soldiers to collect the pieces of their captain, now strewn across the lounge. Feyd-Rautha held your arm once more as he led you down the corridor, though this time, he was far more gentle. Something had been released from within him, his bloodlust sated and his anger quelled for the moment, and as the reality of what you had just witnessed him do crashed down around you, you stumbled to a halt and doubled over.

"Milady?" he asked, confused, before he turned to see you holding a hand over your mouth as you desperately tried not to be sick. His hands gripped your elbows as he faced you, undeterred by your retching. "What is this? He is dead, there is nothing to--"

"You killed him!" you choked out as you gasped for air, the bile in your throat still threatening to come up.

"Yes," he said, head tilted as he looked at you. "Of course I did. For you, as a gift." Then he paused, thinking. "...Was there another? An assistant?"

"No!" you managed to swallow down the last of the bile, throat burning as you grasped your sweat-slick forehead with your palm. "No, there was only him, but--why would you do such a thing?"

Now he was truly bewildered. "Why wouldn't I kill the animal whose hands touched you before mine?"

"Because...I..." you huffed, glaring at him. "What is going on? What is all of this, over a custom of your people? I did not enjoy his examination by any means, but I am doing everything in my power to accept the customs of House Harkonnen with grace and dignity no matter how awful they are and this entire spectacle has now made that very difficult, na-Baron!"

"House Harkonnen does not practice such a thing," he sneered, eyes angry once more.

Your shoulders dropped in horror. "...Excuse me?"

"That man should never have been within a thousand lengths of you."

"...Oh..." the panic had returned, but now, it felt much worse, and your voice sounded impossibly small. You lowered your hand to your lips, chewing your nail in agitation.

"Do you understand?" Feyd-Rautha asked, still holding your elbows.

"...Yes, I'm afraid I do..."

He leaned in, his forehead meeting yours as he still stared at your eyes. You found his to be a deep, dark blue, an abyss that threatened to swallow you up. But right now, you wouldn't mind such a thing, if it meant you could hide away from the world forever.

"No one will every lay a hand on you." he growled. "No one but me."

"...You killed him for me," you whispered.

"I did."

"You avenged me...yet you did not proclaim your reason in front of those other men?"

"I do not need a reason to take a life," he barked a laugh.

You just nodded.

"And I would not humiliate my wife in such a manner." he straightened once more, letting go of your elbows and offering you his arm once more.

"Thank you," you said as you took it and began walking.

"It does not matter to me if you another man has had you before." he said, staring forward. "I know the children you will bear will be mine."

He said it with an arrogance that may have annoyed you had the situation been different. Now, it was a comfort that he had such a big ego.

"That is correct, na-Baron," you said, sighing in relief. At least the whole ordeal was over now, and you doubted anyone would be foolish enough to cross your path now that one man had already been publicly eviscerated.

"Call me Feyd."

"Thank you," you glanced up at him with a small smile. "Thank you, Feyd."

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #tw SA

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ruby-kissed · 2 months ago

Text

"Did you enjoy your birthday?"

Sylus leans back and smiles, thinking about the events of the day.

A roadtrip wtih his beloved girl, lush fields, her laughter, the face she made when she bit into the piece of orange, cuddling in the grass, maple-sweet kisses and holding hands, followed by a candle-lit dinner with a home-cooked meal in the base.

It was all warm. Sylus felt "fuzzy", as one kitten would put it.

It would have been a regular day for the leader of Onychinus but she wedged her way into his life and changed everything. The most welcome inconvenience.

Now back in his home, he lays languid in his luxurious bed. Eyes slightly hazy, lipstick marks scattered on his chest and face, hair unruly, and skin sporting a light sheen of sweat from previous exertions.

The love of his life, literally his other half, is neatly tucked in his embrace with her head on the crook of his neck.

He looks at her and takes her in. Beautiful, flushed, a fire of determination in her eyes, and all his. He picks up a lose curl from her shoulder and gently twirls it in his fingers.

"I think we both know the answer to that, sweetie."

She opens her mouth to say something but Sylus places a finger on her lips.

"Ah ah. Let me finish. This is the first time I have celebrated my birthday and it is with you. My love, my girl, my kitten."

"That's nice but I need you to be specific and provide me with feedback."

He smirks, eyes focused on the lock of hair still in his touch.

"What ever for, sweetie? Should I leave a rating as well?"

She lightly thumps her fist on his solid chest and looks at him. "I want to know so that I can plan next year's birthday accordingly."

Sylus stops twirling the lose curl in his fingers to put all his focus on the woman before him. His heart is full, as if it hasn't been already. He pulls her on top of him so he can look at her properly. He needs to.

"I can celebrate my birthday in whatever way or not at all. My only condition is that you'll be beside me, just like today."

She blushes at his vulnerability. Nuzzling her cheek on his bare chest, she whispers "Deal."

Cute, he thinks. Months of doing almost everything together and she can still be shy. Sylus slowly feels his heart racing.

"You're a divine being, you know? You managed to haul me outside of the N109 zone and gave me the most well-thought-out birthday a regular man can only imagine for himself. Now, let me worship you. Let me thank you properly."

Her world spins as he positions himself on top of her. She yelps and instinctively places her hands on Sylus's shoulders. As her vision steadies, she is met with the most beautiful view. Tufts of silver hair hanging on his forehead softening his rougish charms, that particular smile (a favorite of hers), and the look of purest love in his eyes.

"It's only 11:09 in the evening, sweetie. My birthday hasn't ended yet so I think I can be a little more greedy and ask for... another present. What do you say?"

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus #mine

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lay-z · 2 months ago

Text

Simon Riley is your nemesis.

cw/info: 18+ | time skip; cheating/infidelity; smut; angst; cussing; open ending

♰ [back to black | masterlist]

He’s here.

Standing on the opposite side of the field by himself under the old chestnut tree, his heavy gaze is glued to the lush grass of the soccer field. He looks slightly different than he did the last time you’d seen him a few weeks ago—a little more put together and somehow even bulkier. Strong.

He’s watching you, observing the way you walk over to the sideline, settling down next to the parents and waiting for the game to start while his heart is nearly bursting through his chest, sweaty palms stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans.

Meanwhile, you could sense his presence before you could see him—you somehow always do—and after greeting the other parents currently present to watch their kids play, waiting for the game to start, you politely excuse yourself and make your way over to him.

It finally stopped raining three days ago, and now it’s a surprisingly warm and sunny April spring day; warm enough to wear one of your new dresses. Tommy, who turned five just last month, has a soccer match and while John is running errands with Annabelle, having a daddy–daughter day, you stayed to support your son.

The moment you start walking over to him, Simon straightens his broad shoulders; trying to keep his nerves at bay. He didn’t expect this to happen. You haven’t much as spared him a glance since your wedding.

He’s filled with tension, a mix of anticipation and trepidation building up in him as you approach, his eyes trailing over your curves, your new hairstyle, the way the sun dances off your dewy skin—

Bloody hell. You’re still the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on.

He clears his throat, looking slightly awkward, as you come to a stop right in front of him.

“Hey,” he manages, a hint of uncertainty lacing his gruff tone, muffled by his mask.

“Hey,” you greet back, slightly less awkward as you take off your expensive pair of aviator sunglasses to get a better view of him.

Even in this weather, he dresses in thick jeans, combat boots and hoodies. His skull balaclava secured in place.

“If you wanna keep a low profile, I suggest leaving that bloody mask at home, Riley.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smirk beneath the black cloth as he shrugs unapologetically. “Can't help it, pet,” he replies with a quiet chuckle, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his trousers.

It’s been some time since he’s seen you this up-close without any disturbance, and he uses the moment to study you closely, his gaze taking in every inch of you, lingering on the way your summer dress hugs your curves; how the colourful floral pattern on the crème-coloured fabric accentuates your complexion.

Seeing you dressed like this, all loose and free, makes his heart twist painfully in his chest. You’ve changed some since having your second child and his fingers itch to touch as his eyes flicker down to glance at you ample bosom.

For a brief moment, he wonders if you’re still breastfeeding.

“Mhm, sure.” You kiss your teeth appraisingly as you give him another once over before crossing your arms. “You came to watch Tommy play again.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you can't blame him for being here and trying to see his son grow up—albeit from the shadows.

You’ve been wondering how he knows when and where Tommy has his matches, he certainly didn’t ask John, but then again, it doesn’t surprise you at all that he keeps himself informed.

“That obvious, huh?” he mutters jokingly, lifting one corner of his mouth in a slight smirk. His gaze drifts off to the side, watching the kids running onto the field and warming up, their parents cheering them on. He knows Tommy is one of the fastest, never afraid of the ball, a bloody Liverpool fan—thanks to Price.

He lets out a quiet sigh as he looks back at you, his expression turning serious, but you caught that flicker of longing and sadness in his tawny eyes.

“I can’t stay long,” he adds, his voice low. “Just... jus’ wanted to see him, y’know?”

And despite everything, you can’t not worry about him.

Your stomach churns and you hug your arms around yourself tighter as you gaze up at him, squinting against the bright daylight without your sunglasses. John didn’t tell you about a new upcoming assignment, and the news don’t fail to piss you off.

“Where are you going?”

His gaze locks with yours, and even through the balaclava, you can see the slight frown on his face. Simon hesitates before answering, debating whether he should tell you the truth or not; he can tell that you don’t know about it yet. Finally, he heaves a heavy sigh and looks towards the field again, avoiding your gaze.

“Special Forces business,” he answers simply. “Can't say more than tha’.”

You let out an involuntary snort, a rather whimsical sound, before cupping your hand over your mouth and nose. “Sorry.” You make a dismissive small gesture with your other hand. “I just–”

Composing yourself again, you continue: “Uh, nevermind.”

You don’t want to mention John right now and how he usually always tells you where he’s going whether he’s allowed to or not.

However, Simon can practically read the thoughts running through your head, and another pang of guilt hits him.

“Listen…” he starts slowly, taking another careful step closer to you. “I–” he pauses, fighting the urge to reach out and touch your face, your arms, your hair. He wants to feel you again, to hold you, to pull you close, to be near you. It’s been years since he last held you—his woman.

Your lashes flutter as he murmurs your name and suddenly, the warm air around you seems to fizz with tension. Dangerous tension, but you stand your ground; refusing to flee despite knowing better.

“What?” you rasp, tipping your head back to gaze up at him with bright doe-eyes.

“Use your words, Simon.”

His heart is pounding in his chest at the sound of your voice saying his name so sweetly, at the way you look at him, eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight. He can almost feel the electricity crackling around you, and he feels like he might go insane from it. He steps even closer, practically towering over you now, chest to chest, invading your personal space. His dark eyes are fixed on your face, drinking in every feature like he’s never seen you before.

His throat feels dry when he swallows thickly, his voice is gruff, raw with the emotions he’s holding back as his words rumble from his chest: “You know what, pet.”

The wooden door to the storage room falls shut behind you with finality; the sound echoing through the empty club house building while everyone is outside, watching the soccer games on the fields, enjoying the nice weather.

You should feel utterly ashamed about this—how easy it was for him to coax you away from the herd of your flock like the big bad wolf he is—but you cannot bring yourself to think about anything else but him right this moment.

It’s dark and dusty and you can barely see him except his large silhouette, thought you sure can feel him—big hands, once so familiar, groping and roaming over your body with urgency while you’re slowly backed up against the nearest wall.

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the feel of his hands on you, at the way his body towers. His touch is rough, desperate, fingers digging roughly into your hips, your waist, and your thighs as he presses himself against you, pinning you against the chilly wall.

His forehead drops down to rest against yours, and his ragged breathing mixes with yours.

“God, I missed you,” he whispers gruffly, voice rough with need.

The words are stuck in your throat—I missed you, too,—but you swallow them down and focus on his presence instead, the here and now.

A brief indulgence, it’s what this is.

“Take your mask off.” Your hands are fisting into the front of his hoodie, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away for good.

And yet, you find yourself standing on your tiptoes like a lovesick schoolgirl to nudge your nose against his clothed one: “Kiss me.”

Simon takes a shuddering breath, his fingers gripping your hips tightly over your dress, his body trembling with the effort to not lose himself in you, to not fully give in to the desire coursing through his veins like molten molasses, but your voice, the way your fingers curl into his hoodie, the way you ask him to kiss you—it’s his breaking point. He doesn’t hesitate a second as his mask hits the floor carelessly. Fuck, he’s missed this.

He cups your face with both hands and his lips crash onto yours. God, you taste just the same.

The kiss is rougher than anything, all teeth and tongue; both of you drowning in your shared passion. It’s been so long, too long, and that knowledge makes him kiss you even harder, his tongue pushing into your mouth with a possessive need while he cups your jaw and squeezes to make you open up wider. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place against the wall, while his body presses you into it, trapping you there.

It’s like a shockwave to your system as his lips connect with yours for the first time in years.

Shock and awe, because this isn’t supposed to feel this good, this bloody right, and you should put a stop to this, but his chapped lips mould as perfectly to yours as they used to; his tongue licking into your mouth so eagerly that it’s taking your breath away; tasting of cheap cigarettes and peppermint gum.

You can feel your pussy throb and slick up within seconds while he sighs into your mouth; toying and nipping at your lips as playfully and feral as ever.

And it’s a losing battle. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak—

“I–fuck–” Holding his face steady in your hands while your breaths mingle and his forehead rests against yours, you can feel your brain short-circuit. “I need you.” I want you.

He’s drunk on you, on the taste, on the feel of you against him. Your ragged breaths, the feel of your fingertips, the little sounds spilling from your throat—it’s all driving him insane. His hand sneaks under your skirt, his calloused knuckles grazing your quivering inner thigh. So bloody soft.

Your words are his undoing, the ones he was never meant to hear again. He knows he doesn’t deserve this.

“You have me.” You bloody own me. The words come out guttural and raw, more of a growl than anything as his fingers dig into your flesh. A shuddering breath leaves your throat as the pads of his fingers slowly rub along your clothed slit, and he groans when he finds the cotton damp already.

Reaching out with a shaky hand, you cup his crotch in retaliation and feel a familiar bulge straining against his jeans, large and warm, and too big for your palm.

Simon lets out a deep, ragged grunt at your touch, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest as he feels your hand on him after so much time of neglect. He’s been outright starving for you, for the feel of your hands on him, the way your supple skin feels against his, and he grinds his shaft into your palm, his body trembling and his cock weeping into his boxers with need. His eyes are closed, and his forehead is still pressed against yours.

“Fuckin’ hell, I'm losin’ my bloody mind here, love.”

Cupping the back of his head with your free hand, you swiftly ruck up his hoodie and undo his belt before unzipping his jeans with your other hand. He doesn’t stop you, only breathes hard, and when you finally slip your hand inside and past his boxers, you slowly start stroking his throbbing cock, earning a deep exhale of relief from him.

There’s so much you want to say, but you keep biting your tongue and let your eyes fall shut as you touch and explore him, drinking in his reactions while you feel his thick shaft throb in your grasp.

Simon leans into you, his hips rocking instinctively into your hand as his cock twitches and leaks precum into your palm, the feel of your touch igniting a blazing fire within him. He’s been craving you so badly, his body aching for you. He’s drowning in the sensations, his brain short-circuiting as badly as yours.

Both his hands are roaming over your body under your dress skirt, exploring the curves he remembers so well, his lips leaving a trail of heated kisses on your neck.

“God, I–” he breaks off, his voice rough, “I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, brows furrowed in a pained frown as you keep rubbing his length almost reverently, stroking back his smooth foreskin until he hisses at the sensation. “Me too.”

Simon can feel the heat pooling low in his gut at your touch, your quiet admission, and he fears he might finish in his boxers at this rate, his breathing coming out ragged and harsh. He presses his hard, muscled body against yours, pinning you to the wall as he buries his face in the crook of your neck; inhaling your scent, the familiar smell of your skin sending a wave of emotions through him.

“I need more.” He breathes against your throat, chapped lips dragging over sensitive skin, teeth grazing over your pulse point while his hands grope your plush thighs.

“Then take it.” It’s all you can reply as a myriad of emotions threatens to choke you.

And when you give him permission, you can feel the rough pads of his fingers teasingly caress over your upper thighs and hips before he pulls and slips your cotton panties off your legs while his face never leaves the crook of your neck; shaky breaths puffing against your flushed skin. He gropes your ass cheeks with a string of muttered curses and chuckles at your squeak of surprise, when he squeezes them hard enough to make your pussy lips spread.

You swat at his biceps with a soft hiss, but that only spurs him on, and he rucks your skirt up before gripping the backside of your thighs and lifting you up effortlessly to wrap around his hips as he pushes you up against the wall.

You’ve almost forgotten how playful and passionate you tow used to be with each other, and for a split second, an almost carefree smile ghosts over your lips.

There’s a tense moment, a brief pause, where he’s holding you there, his fingers stroking the flesh of your thighs as he rubs the sticky tip of his cock through your slick folds. He takes a deep breath through his nose, his lips pressing against your forehead, savouring the feel of you against him.

“You're so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice gruff. “For me, right?” He sucks in a breath. “Say it.”

You let out a small whimper, a pathetic noise in the dark of this dusty storage room. It’s a surreal moment; teetering on a nightmare and yet you’re clinging on to it. To him.

“For you,” you obey softly. “All for you, Si.”

The nickname slips out and then his cock slides in without any trouble, like he’s never left, like he’s been stretching you out every night like he’s supposed to. You gasp and groan in unison and your spine arches at the intrusion; toes curling inside your ballerina shoes as he bottoms out while your whole body buzzes deliciously.

You’ve gotten more sensitive since the pregnancies, and for a split second, you worry he might not like what he’s feeling, but then he lets out the most wanton moan—loud enough for you to swiftly clamp your hand over his mouth to muffle it momentarily.

“Fuuuuck.”

He’s truly losing his mind now as it spins with the feeling of you around him, his eyes rolling back in pure bliss as he feels you silken walls ripple around his rock hard prick. He’s home. There’s no better way to describe it. He’s missed this, missed you, the way you move, the way you feel, the sounds you make. He has to take a deep, grounding breath, his grip on your thighs tightening as he tries to calm his racing heart. “I’ve dreamt about this.”

He’s possessed, desperate and hungry; needing to touch every inch of you, to touch every place he’s been craving and longing for so badly. His lips find yours again, his tongue driving deep into your mouth. It’s a possessive kiss, raw and hungry, and he can’t get enough of you, of the taste, of the way your body fits against his.

“Touch me,” he murmurs against your mouth.

Your legs wrap tighter around his waist while your dress is tucked under your armpits, keeping it out of the way. Your whole lower half is bared to the warm air inside the stuffy storage room, rear pressing against the cool wall as he starts thumbing your rapidly swelling clit while you moan into his mouth. His admission that he’s been dreaming about this, about you, makes your pussy clench and flutter around his thick shaft buried deep inside your sopping walls.

And then, you obey him as you drag your shaky hands over his buff chest, feeling the fabric of his black hoodie under your palms. He must be sweating bullets and your mouth waters at the thought of your tongue licking over pale, scarred skin—lapping up his salty taste.

When you cup his face tenderly, you lean in to capture his lips once more; deep and passionate, eagerly swallowing his low moans.

He can’t get enough of you, of the feel of your skin against his, of the taste of your lips on his own. His body responds instinctively, his hips starting to rock slowly, the movements rough and desperate, like he can’t get close and deep enough.

“Love ya,” he grunts, his words raw and ragged. “Been so goddamn cold without you.”

It’s a confession filled with pain and regret, the words spilling out before he can stop them. He’s vulnerable, he’s broken, and he’s desperate as he presses you against the wall, his body trembling with the effort to hold it together, to not let the emotions he’s been bottling up tightly swallow him whole.

“Need you,” he breathes against your lips, his voice rough and strained. “Need ya so damn bad, love.”

You bite your tongue in return, unwilling to reciprocate his love confession yet. He doesn’t deserve to know that you never stopped loving him; that you never quite stopped being his despite the name Price engraved on your golden wedding band—the bloody ring that seems to be searing the skin around your ring finger in reprimand.

In your lust-filled frenzy, you’re tempted to take it off and throw it into the darkest corner of the room.

“Then fuck me like you mean it,” you retort instead as you wrap your arms around his neck to stay close, to breathe with him. “Our son is outside playing soccer with his friends and I don’t have any fucking time for this.”

His eyes darken at your words, a low, primal groan escaping from his throat. He obeys, because he always has; because he’ll do anything you ask of him, because he still has no damn dignity when it comes to you.

Simon grips you more firmly, his blunt nails biting into your flesh as his hips start to snap upwards. “Like this, huh?” he snarls. “Want me to make ya feel me, love? Make ya feel how much I fuckin’ need ya, how goddamn much I missed ya?!”

“That right?” you manage to grunt, still holding his face as you keep your forehead pressed against his, sweat now starting to make your skins sticky.

He’s holding onto you, desperate to keep you close, to make you feel him, make you feel and remind you how much you’re his. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breaths ghosting over your skin, and his words are almost a reverent prayer: missed you, missed you, fuckin’ missed you.

His fingers dig into your thighs, his grip tight and possessive, as his hips angle you towards him just a little bit better before he practically bounces you on his cock like a ragdoll; biceps bulging with the effort underneath his hoodie.

Soon enough, you can hear how embarrassingly wet you are while he pumps his hips and fucks you with deep, powerful strokes that leave you gasping and mewling for him.

“Fuck, baby,” you whine, lips brushing against his temple while his fingers dig into the plush fat of your ass.

Baby. It’s just one word, but it tears through him like a bolt of lightning. He loves you so goddamn much, he always did, and now, he’s drowning again, concrete weights pulling him under. He can hear the slick sounds of your body taking him so well, the way you whimper and whine against his ear. And he wants you to say it again, wants to hear that word spill from your lips again and again.

“Don’t call me tha’,” he grouses with a huff.

“You called me love,” you hiss in return, nipping at his cheekbone. “I’ll call you whatever the ah! f-fuck I want.”

He lets out a low growl at your defiant words, his powerful hips snapping into you with more purpose now; grunting and cheeks flushing at your comment, because you’ve always known how to get under his skin. He grips your thigh, pulling you down onto him rougher, his cock driving into you with determined, punishing thrusts.

“You,” he grits his teeth, “are goddamn infuriating.” Simon wants to shut you up, to make you focus on him, on the way you feel, on how good he makes you feel.

He wants you to say that you’ve missed him, that you’ve craved his touch, his presence. Something, anything to hint that you still love him, that you still need him.

The pleasure is almost unbearable and you go limp in his arms; too overwhelmed and too focused on your strange feelings at the same time. You can feel your orgasm readying to break you apart in his embrace, though you know Simon is right here, all too eager to catch you as soon as you fall.

As you bury your face in his neck to muffle your cries of pleasure, you suddenly feel your throat tighten and your eyes well up with fat tears.

Meanwhile, Simon can already feel you coming apart in his arms, can feel the way you tremble and clench around him. He knows the bloody signs; has studied them during his time with you. It’s everything he wants, everything he’s missed, and it almost undoes him. He clutches you close, one hand wrapping around the nape of your neck to hold you tight against him, and his movements become even more desperate, borderline frantic as the harsh sounds of skin slapping skin fills the small room.

Simon can feel the tears building up, too, feel the lump in his throat grow bigger until it nearly chokes him. He doesn’t quite know what cocktail of emotions he’s currently experiencing, but he’s too lost in it all to care. He’s struggling to contain himself; struggling to hold back his own sobs as he buries his face in your hair, his body shaking with the effort, his muscles tight. His whole body is taut with tension, getting lost in the way you’re making him feel.

He can’t hold back the words anymore; they come out in broken whispers against your skin: “I love you. God, I love you so fuckin’ much, I missed you, I love you, baby. I love you,” he utters like a mantra as his eyes squeeze shut, causing his tears to spill.

His words push you over the edge and rip you apart at your carefully mended seams, cracks and holes where he’s trying to sneak and settle in again.

And you’re too weak to deny him.

You cry out in pleasure and pain as you hold on to him; arms wrapping around his muscular neck tightly while your tears soak into the fabric of his hoodie, and you cream around his throbbing cock like your needy cunt has a mind of her own.

As if your body knows how to take him despite years of not having him; of being depraved from the man you love.

Simon can feel you, he can feel every inch of your body as it clenches and tightens around him, and it’s too much, too much, too goddamn much.

He can’t speak anymore, can’t do anything but cling to you, like you’re the only thing keeping him together. His hips are stuttering, losing their rhythm, and he’s so close, so damn close; trying to hold on, to savour this, but it’s too much, too much, and he’s breaking, he’s breaking, he’s breaking—

“Say it. God, baby, please jus’ say it,” he groans, begs, demands, his voice a ragged, desperate gasp. “Say you miss me. Tell me you miss me as much as I miss ya, love.”

You grit your teeth until your jaw aches, muffling your pathetic mewl as he fucks you to the brink of overstimulation. With your eyes squeezed shut, you whimper against his neck: “Come f'me, baby. Just, please... come–”

The sound of you, the words you’re panting into his neck—it’s not what he wants nor needs to hear, but he’s willing to take whatever you offer him, and it pushes him over the edge at last. Simon gasps out your name, his body shuddering, his vision going white. His balls draw up tight; his cock throbs violently as he fills you up with his needy load. He holds on to you, his bulky arms wrapped around you like a vice.

All spent, his body trembling, his head spinning, he keeps grinding his hips, desperate to keep his sensitive cock nestled against your womb. It’s intense, and yet he can’t stop the words that spill from his lips once more, as sincere as they are raw: “I love you. Oh, God, I love you. I missed you so much, loved you every day... every fuckin’ day.”

He’s losing himself completely, but he welcomes this madness if it means he gets to keep you at last. He can’t let you go, can’t bear to feel you slip away again.

He presses his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged, and his chest heaving with the exertion. With a hoarse, broken voice, he rasps out the words again, pleading, begging you: “Please... say you still love me.”

Your heart is thudding so harshly in your chest that you fear a cardiac arrest for a second while your brain is filled with cotton, only slowly processing the moment—what just happened, what you’ve done.

Slow tears are still running down your burning cheeks as you pull pack to gaze at him, sniffling softly, and in the semi-darkness of this random storage room, you can barely make out the shape of his features, the blackness of his eyes.

When you cup his cheek with one shaky hand, you feel wetness beneath the pad of your thumb, causing your breath to hitch and your heart to shatter as you realize that he’s crying, too—yet you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“Why... Why does that even matter, Simon?” you croak out. “This won’t happen again. It–It can’t.”

He can hear it in your voice, the way you’re already pulling away, already shutting him out again.

It’s like a knife to his wretched, rotten heart.

He tightens his arms around you, refusing to let you go, refusing to let you slip away, and refusing to pull his softening cock out of your warm, welcoming cunt. His eyes are dark, his expression fierce, even with the tears streaming down his rugged face.

“Because it matters,” he says his voice rough with emotion. “It matters, dammit!”

He pulls you closer against his chest, his grip so tight it’s borderline painful, like he's afraid that if he lets go of you, even just for a second, you’ll disappear into thin air like a rainbow bubble that gets popped, and he won’t let that happen—won’t let you slip through his fingers like drift sand.

His grip is unyielding, his body tense as he holds onto you tightly, keeping you pressed against the wall. His heart is pounding in his chest, his breathing ragged as he tries to control the maelstrom of emotions that are surging through him.

“Please,” he whispers, “Please don’t push me away again.”

Your nimble fingers tangle in his hair roughly while you caress your other hand over his broad back soothingly, and you feel the damp, heavy fabric of his hoodie as his sweat soaks through it.

It’s so hot in the room at this point and the weight of what you two have done is starting to push down on your chest, making it harder to breathe all of a sudden.

“I’m married to John,” you weep into his neck, nails digging into his skull. “We have a baby together now and Tommy... Tommy calls him daddy, Si–” Your voice cracks and you hold him tighter, trembling in his arms.

“And I can’t forget what you’ve done to me.” To us.

His heart is clenching painfully in his chest as he listens to the words you’re saying, each one a stab to his gut, though he can’t hold back his desperate response nor the fresh wave of tears spilling over and dripping onto your skin.

“I know,” he says, his voice thick with regret, with guilt. “I know, baby, but I regret it. Every day. Every fuckin’ day I regret it.”

He frantically blinks away his tears as he trembles against you, and he knows how pathetic he must be sounding right now, though he cannot bring himself to care.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. I will never fuckin’ stop lovin’ you.”

If you vote, please consider reblogging, liking, or commenting! Thanks :)

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moonlightsolo · 2 years ago

Note

Imagine going to the bioluminescent forest to research plants and neteyam is bathing there but you haven’t met and you try to sneak away before he sees you watching him🫣🫠

wow i finally finished this after literally months & it was definitely worth the wait ;)

very descriptive smut 18+ minors dni pls!!!! & thx to @cinetrix for fueling my delusions w these photos <3

the forest of pandora; one of the many treasures of the extrasolar moon.

coming from earth, where the greenery has been absorbed by concrete jungles, this new planet is fascinating to you.

pandora’s lush paradise is filled with rich varying colors, and trees that tower into the atmosphere. being a xenobiologist in this environment, is like hitting the jackpot.

the bizarre flora can keep you occupied for hours, every time you step foot outside you always find something new to observe.

but when you stumble upon a na’vi you haven’t seen before- and somehow looks vaguely familiar… you can’t help but gawk at him as he washes himself in a steaming lagoon.

being surrounded by na’vi is intimidating. especially when they’re tall, and lean, and everything that your human form is not. you work alongside the omatikaya clan, thankful that you were too young to travel in cryo after the war.

but as you continue to stare from the tree line, you observe the adornments in the man’s hair, and the neckpiece that confirms he belongs to the clan you work alongside.

how have you never seen this na’vi before? you know everyone! from the olo’eyktan, to the tsahìk. you crouch down in your spot in the shadows of the trees, watching how he softly scrubs his body and creates white suds over his blue skin.

you admire him from afar, taking note of the valleys of his defined muscles and how they protrude magnificently from having a low percentage of body fat, if any.

although you appreciate the plants, the best part of the planet is ingenious species of the world— the na’vi.

their skin is a muted cyan, and adorned with stripes that are not all uniform. they’re also tall, much taller than an above average human male- and their bones are reinforced with a naturally occurring carbon fiber, making their muscles sharp and chiseled…

…and this one is absolutely breathtaking. his nose is perfectly slanted, and his ears are pointed yet soft at the same time. his eyes are round and golden like the star that shines in the sky.

god, is he fucking tall, like a tree. you feel like if you would stand next to him, you would only reach his goddamn elbow! oh man, you’d like to climb him.

you shake away your dirty thoughts, almost laughing at yourself for thinking so irrationally. you’re crouched here, stalking a na’vi as he bathes— what a creep.

you stand up fully to turn around and walk the opposite way, but your foot crunches loudly on a thick twig. it’s almost like a chain reaction as a nearby animal in the bush darts out in attempt to escape from your human self.

instinctively, you let out a screech as you stumble backwards to run away from the scared little thing. your heels catch the fallen log, the one you were previously hiding behind, and your knees buckle which sends you hurtling over the wood.

you tumble backwards past the treeline, and into the open field. you land on your butt with your back facing the lagoon. your heart is pounding out of your chest, whether it’s from the animal startling you, or the embarrassment of the na’vi now knowing you were in the trees near him.

you take a deep breath to calm your nerves, one of your hands rest on your chest as you attempt to control your breathing. oh god, you’re such a weirdo. he has to know you were watching him. maybe you can play it off as you simply tripping and falling.

before you could seek out where the na’vi is, a large heavy hand lays on your shoulders from behind. the feeling startles you, and makes your entire body jolt to spin around on your butt and face the intruder.

“oh god… hi.” you puff out breathlessly, and your eyes look over his damp body and the pearly-white smile on his face.

“you okay?” his accented voice speaks in english.

your face obviously looks taken aback, which makes him take a step away from you and his hand falls back to his side. “i’m okay, yeah… yeah, wait — you speak english?” your eyes peer up at him curiously as you stand to your feet, and he can’t help but smile at the inquisitive look on your human face.

“i do.. i grew up speaking it alongside my family, i’d rather speak my peoples language, but you’re not one of them.” his deep voice hums, and you can’t help but notice how his gaze flits over your body.

you’ll say it is a warm day today on pandora, so you’re not completely covered up; you’re wearing a thin tank top that you ripped into a crop, and some tiny khaki shorts that sit high on your waist and short on your thighs.

you can feel your cheeks heat up from him evidently checking you out, which makes your arms cross over your chest to shield your body.

his eyes slightly widen when you unintentionally press your breasts closer to each other. the man swallows and lifts his eyes to your face behind your mask, now knowing that you caught him in the act.

“i’m neteyam.” he extends one of his very large hands, which you gladly take. his hand is warm and heavy in yours, practically engulfing your own hand in his palm.

you smile at his introduction, then your face screws up in confusion. your brain wracks through every memory of where you could have heard that name before. then it clicks, and suddenly your eyes widen in realization, “neteyam sully?” you blurt out, still unknowingly shaking his hand like a mad man.

“uh… yes. that’s me?” he chuckles awkwardly, and looks at your hands still moving between your bodies.

neteyam sully— the olo’eyktan’s son, the stealthy warrior of the sky. the one who rarely makes an appearance in the clan because of his strenous mission to seek out the RDA.

“i know your dad, and your entire family. i work with the omatikaya!!” your eyes dart down to your shaking hands before pulling away in embarrassment.

“oh. you’re the girl? the one norm and max brought in..” he hums, almost like a purr, and his arms cross over his toned chest.

the girl? so he’s heard about you.

“i guess that’s me…?” you let out a nervous laugh, “i’m y/n by the way. it’s nice to finally meet you, i’ve heard a lot about you.” you can’t help but beam at him.

it’s almost as if he is a legend to the omatikaya because seeing him is such a rare occurrence. after his family had returned from the island clan, neteyam went into hiding to track down the RDA, to avenge his people that were lost in the war.

your eyes trail down his body, unable to help yourself; sometimes you can’t get over how beautiful the na’vi are.

neteyam places his hands on his hips as he watches your eyes rake over the expanse of his body, “like what ya see?” he arrogantly asks with a smirk.

you take a step back once you hear his words, “no- no… i—.” you raise your hands in surrender as your cheeks burn with a blush.

“i’m sorry. i was just… admiring, i guess.. i study the entirety pandora so it’s always fascinating to see something new.” your voice is slightly muffled from your mask, and your hushed tone.

slender fingers wrap around your wrists to gently tug your hands away from the surface of the mask, “don’t worry, i’m just messing around.”

when neteyam comes into view, his face is much closer to you from him being slightly bent down. you can see every detail, every subtle knick in his skin from previous injuries, and the slight pink tint to the tip of his nose and his cheeks.

god, he is one beautiful na’vi.

he stands up straight and clears his throat, “go ahead. examine whatever you want. i’ll be your test subject.. doctor.” he sarcastically nods toward you from the nickname, and places his hands on his hips.

the nickname makes a shiver run down your spine—you’re definitely no doctor, but you’ll take it.

you gulp as you allow yourself to peer over his body, letting your eyes run over his muscles and the stripes that adorn his skin. the sun hides behind clouds in the sky, casting a dark shadow over the two of you.

his bioluminescent freckles sparkle in the shadows, and you can’t help but reach out and touch them. his body shudders under your soft touch as your fingertips gracefully run over the spots that adorn his chest. following the trails that lead farther down his abdomen.

neteyam seems to have been sculpted by eywa herself.

“may i say… you are quite beautiful.” his deep voice blurts in the tension-filled air, causing your lungs to constrict from the compliment.

you stare up at him through your eyelashes, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. “so are you.” you reply with a small smile.

he lets out a little breathy, ‘hmph’ from your reply, as if he was amused by it. he bows his head toward you in an act of silently thanking you.

one of his hands rise to play with the wild hair sticking out beside your ears. then he lets his fingers trail down the border of your mask and down your neck; the feather-light touches make your skin crawl.

the look in his eyes darken as he stares down at you, which makes your stomach fill with butterflies. how does someone you just met have such an effect on you?

“i know you were watching me earlier.” his sultry voice purrs out, as his thumb works to rub soft circles into your throat.

your eyes blow wide, and your mouth slightly falls open from his confession, “i–i.. what?” you breathe out as heat fills your entire body, and humiliation burns at your skin.

“it’s okay. do not worry…” he chuckles from your obvious panic and swipes his thumb under your chin to tilt your face up, “i enjoy having your eyes on me.” his deep voice rumbles quietly, but still loud enough to make your skin crawl with goosebumps.

you can feel the heat pool in between your legs from his soft touches. his eyes peer into yours, and you watch how his pink tongue darts out to lick his lips as he stares at you.

you feel shame sit heavy in your chest from how aroused you are. you shouldn’t be doing this and he shouldn’t be encouraging it; he’s na’vi and the son of your boss, and you’re human. there’s absolutely no way this would be possible.

neteyam can tell your mind is overworking itself as your eyes flicker over his face. he takes the opportunity to swoop down and press his lips to your ear, making you gasp in surprise.

no fucking way he’s this close to you right now.

he pulls back, but just enough so his lips were ghosting over the glass, fogging it up and wishing you could kiss him.

the striking yellow of his irises makes your lower stomach clench, and the firm feeling of his hands running down your body makes you bite back a moan.

“tell me to stop… and i will.” he breathes out with a hint of a smirk crawling on his perfect lips.

“we–we shouldn’t…” your voice is breathless, and you can feel your body trembling; whether it’s from nervousness or the anticipation of what is about to happen.

there’s an inexplicable chemistry that cannot be ignored between the two of you.

“you’re right, we shouldn’t…” he takes a step back, tearing himself away from you; which makes you suck in a sharp desperate breath. you don’t want him to stop, “but wouldn’t it be fun?” he swoops back and grabs your hips harshly to pull you into his body.

neteyam can only be honest with himself. being a warrior is tough, especially being away from his family. but one of the worst parts is that he doesn’t have a woman to feed his hunger, to release his pent up frustration— the only thing he is left with is his own hands.

so when a beautiful human girl stumbles onto his path, he can’t help but allow lust to cloud his vision.

a whimper escapes your throat when his hot body presses into you, and the feeling of his bulge sitting on your stomach makes your knees want to buckle. “is that a yes?” he hisses out under his breath.

you fervently nod in agreement, “please. i’ll let you do anything you want to me.” you whine out, almost turning into putty in his strong hold.

neteyam’s tail whips behind him at the sound of that and a cocky sneer forms on his face. he finally closes the gap between your bodies as his hands grip your upper thighs, lifting your body up to his level.

your arms swing themselves around his neck, and your thighs tightly squeeze his waist as he holds you in the air.

he attaches lips to the junction of skin that connects your neck and shoulder, kissing and sucking on your warm body- sending shivers to wrack down your spine. his entire presence is intoxicating to you, and you crave even more from him.

the na’vi stumbles forward to a nearby tree to press your back against it, now your hips are almost flush. only separated by his loin cloth, and your thin shorts. you can feel the weaved fabric of his cloth press against your center, which makes a soft whine spill from your lips.

neteyam smiles against your neck, pulling back to look over your face for a moment. the look in his eyes makes you want to drop to your knees right at this moment, but he’s quick to lean down and continue his attack against your neck.

his sharp teeth carefully nip at your skin and his lips suck little love bites, causing lovely red spots that’ll inevitably show up darker later. the feeling causes an explosion of flutters to erupt across your nerve-endings.

his hands hold your body in place against the tree as he lowers himself, kissing down your collarbones and making his way to your breasts, “take it off.” he breathes out, almost like a desperate hiss.

his eyes dart from your face to your tank top, licking his lips in anticipation. you quickly oblige, pulling your hands from his braids to swiftly tug the flimsy fabric over your head.

you toss it somewhere beneath you to the mossy ground, now left completely shirtless. you silently thank yourself for not wearing a bra today.

neteyam’s tail waves entrancingly behind him as he looks over your naked chest, “mmm, sevin..” he purrs in his native tongue, which almost made you climax at the sound of it.

you recognize that word as ‘pretty’… he called you pretty. the compliment obviously makes your cheeks flush, and he takes notice to it and a smile grows on his handsome face.

he grins at your shyness, and leans forward to look into your eyes. “you are.” his voice rumbles, as one of his hands snakes up to rest on your naked chest.

the feeling of his large hand on your body makes you bite your bottom lip, his hand covers your entire breast and his fingers reach to your collarbone. he takes his time with you as he leaves wet kisses all over your chest until he reaches the other unoccupied one.

he kisses along your nipple, playfully licking at it like a cat before making his way farther down your body. the hand on your breast keeps your body in place as he lowers himself. his teeth nip as the waist band of your shorts, expertly undoing the button with his mouth.

the heat of his mouth unfortunately leaves your body, which makes you wriggle in his grip. “be patient, little one.” he chuckles, and uses one arm to hold your entire body up while the other busies itself tugging your shorts off of your legs. thankfully, he doesn’t ruin them for future use, since human clothes are a rare thing to come across on pandora.

he frowns when he sees your underwear, “so many layers… why?” he grumbles.

a giggle tumbles past your lips, but you snap your mouth shut to stop yourself, “why are you laughing?” he stares up at you from between your legs. the sight of him so close to where you need him makes you salivate.

“m’sorry. it’s just funny.” you stifle more laughter from sputtering out, as a mischievous smile tugs up onto his face. “your kind is funny. na’vi only have our tweng, and that’s it. none of whatever this is..” he huffs as he expertly moves your legs onto his shoulders, now face to face with your center.

one of his fingers hooks into the elastic of your panties, and lets it snap back against your skin. the feeling makes you jolt in his arms as the burn soothes itself.

neteyam places lazy kisses along your inner thigh, smiling as he feels you shudder in his hands, “sensitive.” his hot breath puffs against the damp fabric of your underwear.

you whine in his arms, instinctively bucking your hips forward. he tsks and his ears flatten against the side of his head, “patience, love. patience.” his voice soothes you as he unsheathes his blade from his hip.

“wait! what are you doing?” you attempt to wriggle out of his grip, but he is relentless and too strong- which in all honesty turns you on even more.

“shhh.” he hushes you as one of his fingers stretch the fabric of your cotton panties away from your hip, and he brings the knife up to cleanly slice it in two places.

the thin fabric falls to the ground and your mouth is hanging open in shock. somehow, you can’t even be mad at him for ruining your underwear from how fucking hot that was.

“this okay?” he breathes out teasingly over your core, and all you can do is nod. you’re about to get eaten out by a na’vi, for the matter of fact the olo’eyktan’s eldest son. you wish he could pinch you right now because this seems like a dream.

once neteyam receives your consent, he dives forward. his long tongue explores your folds, making the back of your head slam against the trunk of the tree as you cry out to the sky.

your hands instantly find solace in his braids, as the heat of his mouth finds every possible pleasure-filled spot.

“oh god…!” you let out a loud moan, and your fists grip his braids harsher. your movements cause a hoarse moan to vibrate from his mouth, up into you.

which earns neteyam another loud cry to spill from your swollen lips; it’s like music to his ears. he digs his face farther into your mound, wiggling his face back and forth to coax more of those delightful sounds out of you.

your chest puffs crazily and your back arches off of the rough surface of the tree bark, “yes, oh my god.. fuck- i’m gonna- don’t stop!” you ramble out, as your hips involuntarily buck against his face.

neteyam chuckles as your eagerness, smiling against you as he pulls away to allow you to calm down. the scene between your legs makes you feel as if you could come untouched. no way this man is edging you right now.

he is smiling all giddy, his pearly whites on show with your slick glistening around his mouth. it’s something of your deepest darkest fantasies, you wish you could take a picture so you could never forget it.

your chest heaves as your body attempts to soothe your built up high that was sinfully stolen from you, “what is this god you talk about?” he questions as he pulls you away from the tree, and slides your body down his so your legs are around his waist again.

“someone we humans admire. like eywa to the na’vi.” you sigh out and lean back against the tree.

a sudden surge of confidence floods your body, allowing your nervousness to wash away. knowing that neteyam is strong enough to hold you up, so you allow yourself to unhook your hands from around his neck.

“like eywa?” he questions with a hum, his round eyes intently watch your every move.

your hands run down his neck, to his chest and over his muscles and scars. “yes, like eywa, and i prefer eywa as well.” your breathing shudders as you lean forward rest your mask against his chest.

you can’t help but notice the tiny smirk on his lips from your comment.

your fingers reach up to your face, sliding your finger under the seal to pull it away from your face. his eyes go wide as he stutters over his words, and his hands fly up to press it back against your face.

“what are you doing? you will die, we’re too far to get help.”

your glossy eyes look up at him through your eyelashes, “trust me. i won’t die. please let me take it off.” you whimper desperately, chewing on your bottom lip.

the begging look you give him makes his stomach do somersaults, unable to stop you from doing whatever you want. with those eyes and that look, you have him wrapped around your finger.

his grip leaves the sides of the mask, and a sneaky smile beams on your face. he surrenders to you, and rests his hands against your sides as he watches the mask fall from your face to hang around your neck.

finally, your beauty is exposed from behind the hazy glass. he’s able to see your face fully, drinking in every beauty mark and the twinkle in your eyes.

while holding your breath, you lean forward to press a kiss against his neck. you allow your tongue to dart out, to lick at his clean skin, to feel his heartbeat pumping against your lips. neteyam lets out an obscene groan, one that rumbles deep in his chest and vibrates against your body.

speaking of your body, it feels as if it’s aching for him, like he put a spell on your mind to obsess over him- as if he’s taken over your nervous system like an addictive drug.

you can feel your lungs starting to scream for oxygen, burning in your chest. with one last moment, you push yourself farther by tugging his face down to yours.

his lips are finally on yours. kissing you with passion and fervor, knowing this will be your first and last kiss unless he sees you again after this affair.

his tongue urgently slips past yours and into your mouth, sucking you in like a vice. he breathes you in as he presses his entire front into your body, pinning you against the tree.

you instinctively suck in a breath of pandora’s air, hoping you would receive the blissful feeling of fresh air in your lungs, but instead it feels as if you’ve inhaled hot embers.

neteyam swiftly shoves the mask back over your face, allowing you to take a deep breath of the oxygen that you desperately needed. the color flooding back into your face as you take deep, slow breaths.

“please…” you breathlessly beg. your voice is more whiny than you intended it to be, but you could care less. his hands busy themselves by pulling the elastic back around your head to situate the mask. his eyes full of worry, but he realizes that your mind is not thinking about how you almost just suffocated.

your head falls back against the tree behind you as your back arches, and your hips buck against him. your body is instinctively trying to seek out the pleasure that he once stole away from you.

“please what, little one?” neteyam’s large hands slide down your soft sides until he reaches your ass. his fingertips dig into the pillowy flesh, kneading it slowly as if he was cherishing the feeling of your skin.

“you are soft. much softer than my people.” his compliment comes out like a growl.

“please, i want to feel you. i need to feel all of you.” your voice whispers out, too embarrassed to really tell him exactly what you want. his golden eyes peer down at you intimidatingly, making you turn your eyes away from him.

“feel me where?” neteyam ducks down to your height, letting his breath ghost over your ear. “tell me.” he demands.

“i—i want you…” your voice trails off as your face burns up in humiliation. “speak with your words. tell me what you want.” his voice raises a little higher than a whisper now. he’s so close to your face, you can feel it.

a little whimper escapes your throat from his demanding tone. you hesitantly turn your face back toward him to stare up into his eyes, “i want you inside of me, neteyam.”

his fingertips dig harder into your ass as he looks over your face for any apprehension. truly, he doesn’t even think he could fit himself in your human body.

“i told you that you could do anything you want to me.” you breathily shudder out, “and i want you to do that to me.”

neteyam doesn’t say anything for a moment, which strikes you with a moment of worry before he pulls you both away from the tree. he walks away from the treeline into the field, to rest your body beside the lagoon in a bed of moss as he kisses at your neck.

the soft feeling of the ground against your naked back makes you shudder from it gently tickling your skin.

as you settle into the warmth of the earth, neteyam settles between your legs. his mouth pulls away from your neck to travel down your jaw, over to your ear.

his hands are busy to spread your thighs around his hips as he suckles at the sensitive spot below your ear. the feeling makes your breathing pattern stutter, and your nails to dig into his back.

“please.” you beg again, “need you.”

one of the hands on the back of your knee rubs down the back of your leg until he meets your inner thigh, “i need to warm you up.”

your eyes dart over his face, “but you already did.” you murmur, eyes blinking up at him dumbly.

neteyam doesn’t listen to you but instead runs a finger through your wet folds, causing you to shut your mouth.

“no warning?” you let out a little laugh, but it quickly turns into a moan when one of his slender fingers slides inside of you.

“oh my…” you moan out, and instinctively reach up to grip at his shoulder. his finger expertly curls up inside of you to press against that spot. and then another finger is added which practically makes your eyes bulge out of your head, “fuck- that feels so good, neteyam.”

“so warm… so tiny.” he grumbles as if he’s talking to himself.

his two fingers feel like a regular human dick, how would you ever be able to take his actual one?

instead of focusing on a pace, he takes his time to massage your walls to open you up. somehow, it feels better than anything you’ve ever felt. he’s pressing against spots you’ve never even discovered. you could even say its a little painful, but it feels too good to protest against.

you cry out, and your hips buck up when he hits a sensitive spot which sends his fingers deeper inside of you. “please. i need you now. i don’t care. please!” you sob out.

neteyam’s eyes are level with your breasts before he sits up on his knees, his fingers pulling out of you to leave you laying there empty.

he intensely watches your tiny body twitch beneath him as he strips himself of his loincloth. he pulls the intricate knots apart and throws the leather cloth to the side.

his cock springs up onto his stomach, finally free from the tight restraints of his tweng.

holy fuck. he’s huge.

and now you understand why he said he needed to warm you up for the second time. your scientist brain takes over as you look over his cock, biting your lip in curiosity. it’s so pretty, which isn’t surprising to you at all.

it’s beautifully blue and has the same stripes as the rest of his body, and the darkening sky makes his white freckles shine as they adorn the veins. his tip is swollen and pink, leaking luminescent pre-cum. you want to take samples, but that would ruin the mood entirely.

you sit up in front of him, licking your lips as you stare up at him. almost silently begging him, “can i touch you?”

“don’t have to ask for that, pretty.” he leans back on his heels, wiggling his hips as he gets comfortable. as you crawl forward, one of his hands reach from his hip to cup your jaw to lead you forward.

your hand reaches down to wrap your tiny hand around his girth, your thumb toying with the almost holographic liquid dribbling from him.

your eyes stay trained to how it trembles under your touch, and how the protruding veins feel under your palm.

you wish you didn’t have this goddamn mask on your face so you could taste him. “wish i could taste you..” you sheepishly admit into the heated air, earning you a guttural groan from neteyam.

which just gives you more motivation to hear more of those heavenly sounds. you tighten your grip around his length, adding your other hand to fist his cock. another melodic sounds escapes his swollen lips, as he watches your hands grip him.

the large blue hand on jaw trails up the side of your face into your hair, carding through the soft wefts and slightly tugging on the roots.

his head falls back when your thumb swirls over his slit, and his hips unintentionally move upwards causing you almost fall backward.

seeing you with your slightly steamed up mask, and an evil grin plastered on your face makes him even more turned on (if that was possible).

neteyam tugs you by your hair up to his face, “no more of that. c’mere.” his voice puffs against your lips as he pats his muscular thighs. which you comply to quickly by scrambling onto him, essentially like climbing a tree.

his hands find their way home to your ass, digging his fingertips into the flesh as he holds you up. you let out a little squeal when your feet leave the ground, and your arms wrap around his neck.

the man chuckles deeply in his chest, and his sight flickers over your face to admire you for a moment. “beautiful.” he breathes out, and leans forward to press his nose into the center of your neck.

neteyam breathes in your scent, letting his tongue swipe up the center to gather it in his mouth. you can feel your body trembling from the longing of wanting to feel him inside of you.

every little movement, or touch he gives you makes you feel as if you’re a ticking time bomb ready to explode. as he kisses at your neck, he keeps you distracted while one of his hands rubs up and down the back of your thigh.

even in the humid night of the forest, goosebumps rise on your skin from the soft touches. with his free hand, he positions his cock under you slowly letting some slack go from holding you up.

his tip prods at your entrance slightly, making your entire body jolt upwards from the surprise of the feeling. “sorry, i-..”

“shhh. let me take care of you.” he hushes against your skin, his breath feels cold from the wetness he left behind. he rests his forehead on the center of your chest between your collarbones, his eyes training on the spot between your legs where your bodies begin to meet.

the stretching feeling of his cock pushing inside of you is almost unbearable, and you instinctively dig your nails into the muscles of his shoulders.

the feeling of your tightness around him is almost painful for him too, you’re just so small.

a pained whimper tumbles past your lips as you dig your head into the side of his neck, panting against his blue skin. the grip on your ass tightens as he stops your body from lowering more.

you can’t help but glance down between your bodies past his head to see you’ve taken about half of him inside of you.

“doing so good, little one. you want more?” his eyes look up at you, his pupils blown wide.

“yes.” you hiss out, honestly not even knowing why you agreed to that when you’re still adjusting to the length of half of him.

neteyam greedily let’s you sink farther onto his cock, relishing in the feeling of your fluttering walls sucking him in farther.

your head falls back as you cry out, feeling slight tears spring into your waterline from him splitting you open.

“lemme hear you.” he groans out against your warm skin, his rough tongue licks at your skin and sucks red marks into your jawline.

“o-ooh ffff-fuck.” you stutter out, eyes rolling back in your head as you take it all in. your ass sits flush against his thighs, your own legs wrapped around his hips.

it takes every amount of neteyam’s inner strength to not fuck up into you like you’re his own personal toy; to completely destroy you from his unrelenting pace.

but his heart tugs at even the slightest thought of hurting your tiny body. knowing his larger size has the power to do so.

he lets you adjust to his length and girth, his own muscles quivering from the feeling of your wetness contracting around him. sweat starts to form at his temples, his eyes blown dark with lust.

you experimentally shift your hips to test the waters, pain strikes up your spine but it’s not as bad as it was before.

neteyam’s unintentionally jolts his hips upward into you, making your eyes blow wide and your arms scramble to wrap back around his neck. “sorry, sorry..” he rushes to apologize.

you know that you sitting on his cock is slowly eating away at his brain, so you finally take a deep breath. “you can move…”

neteyam let’s out air he didn’t know he was holding, relieved that he can finally fuck you like he’s been aching to do.

both of his feet plant into the ground as he wiggles his hips upward into you. he pulls his hips back before snapping them up so his cock pushes back into you, “fuck!” you cry out, gasping as he continues the same movement.

neteyam works up to a steady pace, groaning as your body bounces on his lap from his sharp thrusts.

the pain finally starts to subside, and turns into pure ecstasy. “just like that, neteyam.” you push away from his chest, resting your hands on his chest as his hands grip your hips like a vice. there’s definitely going to be bruises there tomorrow.

your body is pushed past it’s limit as his cock drills into your small body. the sound of slapping skin filling the environment around you, alongside your pornagraphic sounds leaving your mouth.

neteyam watches how your hair flies with every thrust of his hips, how your skin slightly jiggles from the force, how your breasts bounce deliciously in front of his face. he is in awe; he couldn’t find any na’vi that is this soft and pliable.

in a swift turn of events, neteyam flips himself over and lays you down on the plush ground. you whine from the emptiness of him leaving you, which is cut off by a gasp as he quickly pushes back inside of your warmth.

his pace quickly finds its rhythm again, as one of his hands pushes on the back of your thigh so your knee meets your collarbone.

the new position makes you feel even fuller than before, and this give neteyam full range to bottom out inside of you. out of pure blinded pleasure, your hands reach out to grip his sides- digging your nails into his flesh as your body jolts whenever his hips meet yours.

“m’gonna come.” he groans out deeply, his voice raspy and yet so smooth. neteyam feels embarrassed from being so close already, but he hasn’t felt anything this good in months, maybe a year. he’s been stuck with his own fist, and ultimately gave up on it a few weeks ago.

his frustration was at its peak, and ready to release.

“come for me, ‘teyam. inside.” you manage to blurt out in your cock-drunken haziness.

that was it for him. he continues pushing his cock info you as his body shudders and he moans. it’s like music to your ears.

your eyes flutter open to watch his beautiful face screw up in pleasure, the pleasure that you’ve given him. but your eyes widen when you realize, his freckles are pulsing subtly as he finishes inside of you.

oh my god, he is magnificent.

that sends you over the edge, and you tighten around him like a vice which makes him hiss. you cry out as your back arches off the ground, and your hands grasp at any muscle in his back you could find.

neteyam takes the opportunity to slither an arm under your back as he lazily fucks up into you. your hips twitch wildly, and your thighs tremble as you wrap them around his hips.

your heart pounds out of your chest as you attempt to catch your breath, the ringing in your ears subsides and all you hear is your loud breathing inside of your mask.

“you are amazing, oeyä yawntutsyìp.” he breathily speaks his native language to you, which makes you grin.

“your darling, hm?” you puff out with a tired smile on your face.

“wish i could kiss you right now.” he hums, and experimentally wiggles his hips which makes you squeal. “don’t do that!” you cackle.

neteyam chuckles, and slowly pulls out of you and leans to rest beside you on his side. he watches your face screw up in pain and he frowns.

“was i too rough with you?” he genuinely asks and his hand moves to rest on your belly. you instantly shake your head no.

“no, it was perfect. amazing, even. i’m just sore- i haven’t… ya know, had sex in a while.” you admit with a flush to your cheeks.

“i’m embarrassed to admit that was the same for me.” neteyam shyly chuckles, before something flashes in his eyes.

he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the middle of your chest, “i must thank you. i’m glad you fell over that tree.” he playfully adds.

“i am too.” you agree as one of your hands come up to card through his braids.

“should i get you back to the village? they must be worried about you, it is dark.” his bright yellow eyes glance around the forest.

you finally realize that it really is pitch black, other than the bioluminescent foliage, and both of you are naked and exposed to the environment.

“i should, yeah. but i don’t want you to leave.” you mumble sheepishly, which makes the man grin arrogantly.

“maybe i’ll stick around for a while, yeah? see my family, my clan… and spend some more time with you.” his hand rubs patterns into your belly as it erupts with butterflies.

“that sounds like an amazing plan.” your face cannot contain the bright smile on your face.

“now, let’s get you dressed and i’ll call my ikran to take us home.” his hand pats the side of your thigh and stands up tall to find his loincloth.

man, what are the boys back at the lab going to say about you arriving back with the one and only neteyam sully?

#neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar twow #neteyam x reader #avatar #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully x y/n #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #jake sully #atwow #neteyam x human!reader #neteyam headcanons #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar neteyam #neteyam fluff #neteyam smut

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scorpioriesling · 4 months ago

Note

i need some smut with liam mairi. specifically maybe based to the concept of bed chem by sabrina carpenter 👀 we know he’s the cute guy with the wide blue eyes and the big bad mmm 🫠

I Bet We'd Have Really Good...

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Liam x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, nsfw, sex, p in v, fingering

Summary: Everyone knew how threshing typically went; however, no one could have prepared you for how it would actually go this time around.

SR’s Note: Not me LITERALLY planning to use this for Kinktober -- LOL. I was going to use Lucien, though. Nonetheless, I believe Liam is quite literally the perfect candidate for this type of story. Enjoy!!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Initiation was rough.

The parapet? Hell.

The first few months of challenges? Hell.

Training? Hell.

However... there was an entire new Hell, meant to scare and inspire riders during the hardest challenge they'd face yet.

Threshing.

"We haven't even met all of our yearmates yet," your new friend Malea mutters, crossing her arms over her chest. "How do they expect us to meet and bond with a dragon? A mere stranger to us?"

You sigh, looking out across the quad full of other riders.

"I mean... at least we've met some of them, right?" You shrug. "There's Violet, and Ridoc, remember him? Funny guy?"

Malea chuckles, her eyes locking on the brunette across the way.

"Yeah, real funny."

You bump her shoulder and she looks to you.

"Met me too, right?" You raise your eyebrows. She rolls her eyes.

"Yesssss," she groans, shaking her head. "I suppose you're right."

You shrug. "So I guess bonding a dragon won't be that hard, right?"

* ✧･ﾟ: *

The following morning, you followed routine as usual.

Get up.

Shower.

Brush teeth.

Ponytail.

I was in a cheer dress, the day that we met

We were both in a rush, we talked for a sec

You're friending me up, so we could connect

You nod along with the newest Sabrina Carpenter song playing from your phone, brushing back the last few flyaways up into your ponytail.

And what are the odds? You send me a text

And now the next, thing I know I'm like

Manifest that you're oversized

You click the pause button as Malea bangs her fist on your shared bathroom door, and look yourself over one last time.

"Y/N! C'mon, its almost ten -- we need to be down there!"

You loose a breath, reaching for the doorhandle. Tugging it open, you look into her worried hazel eyes. She places a tentative hand on your shoulder, faking a reassuring smile.

"We'll both bond dragons, the strongest there are." She affirms. "C'mon, say it with me."

You take a deep breath, trying hard to repress the fear clawing at you from the inside.

"We'll both bond dragons," you repeat. "Strongest there are."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

The flight field was full of eager riders, all dressed in black. The stark contrast of color against the lush green grass, the early sun making the air around you more energized than ever.

You gulped. This was it, this was truly it. You'd either bond a dragon today, or you wouldn't.

I digress, got me scrolling like

Out of breath, got me going like

Oooh

Silly song, clouding your thoughts. You literally flinch when Malea places an excited hand on your forearm.

"Hey! Just think, after we bond our dragons, we get to go to that really sick party tonight," she bounces with excitement. You look incredulously at her. You were literally about to go through Threshing, and all she could think about was the party tonight?

"Yeah, uh, I don't know if I'll go to that, Lea," you say with uncertainty. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a flash of green among the nearly trees. Malea sighs, chattering behind you.

You look closer toward the trees, the shimmering scales among them catching the light again. Your eyes widen, and you take a small step toward the forrest.

"Y/N, c'mon you know it'll be so fun, we can meet all the other first years like you said..."

Her voice faded out as you continued on your path, venturing closer toward the treeline. You squinted, peering in as much as you could but finding nothing.

Step. Step. Step.

Who's the cute boy

With the white jacket

And the thick accent? Like,

You hum as you venture further, the song still playing through your mind.

Ooh

Maybe it's all in my head, but-

Your breath catches, the tune halting in your mind. You inch closer to one of the trees, trying to calm the racing of your heart.

You peer between two thick oaks, watching as a shimmer of orange stalks nearer.

No, no no.

Your blodd pumps fast, making it hard to hear. You strain to listen, but the sound of crunching grass beneath the huge beast's claws is unmistakeable. You bite your lip, fear wrapping its razor sharp claws around your heart.

Taking a daring glance around the tree, you freeze.

Its eyes lock onto yours.

You let out a single breath.

The huge dragon blows out a stream of fire, its mouth curling upward as though it is smirking at you. Your breaths come out short, ragged even.

It charges.

You inhale as quickly as you can, running as fast as you can away from the huge creature. You're on a path, running running running...

Deeper into the forrest.

Oh, shit.

Heat blasts behind you, and you don't dare to turn back. You know that the orange is still chasing you, which only propels you further. The beast roars behind you, and you squeak in fear. How would anyone find you out here, alone in the woods?

Burned to a crisp, likely.

You pass tree after tree, continuing on as the ground shakes. He's getting closer, and your heart lurches when your foot catches on a thick root. You are sent flying, crashing to the dirt path.

You gasp, the wind completely knocked from you. When you push yourself up, you wince at the searing pain blooming across your cheek. There's no time to dwell on it -- quickly flipping over, your vision fills with the image of the feisty orange charging you.

You scramble back, kicking against the dirty moss-ridden ground in a flightless attempt to get away. You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for the worst, when suddenly...

"Back! Stay the Hell back!"

Your eyes widen, the rush of adrenaline spearing through you as you scramble to your feet. The orange's eyes are no longer focused on you, but rather the blonde male before it, weilding a rather sharp sword.

"Don't make me use this," he shouts, and the dragon breathes out a short spurt of fire. The blonde swings the blade, nearly slashing the beast's neck. It rears its head, preparing for another blast before-

It starts slowly backing away.

You finally release the breath you'd been holding, watching it's retreating form through the trees. It seemed to focus on something behind you, something... else.

You turn, breathing coming more and more shallow before you spot it.

A large, red dragon. It slowly stalked closer to you.

You yelped, stumbling back once more and finding yourself yet again, on the ground. Backing up against a tree, you clamp a hand over your mouth.

But, the red daggertail walks right past you.

The blonde finally turns, and you catch a glimpse of his face.

His, handsome, face, that is.

His gaze focuses squarely on the approaching being, his shoulders rising and falling before he sheathes his sword across his back. You'd half expected him to keep it out, considering what just happened, but instead... he smiles.

You completely ignore the tingle in your tummy as you watch the red dragon walk to him, bowing his head in greeting. The handsome man laughs, full and hearty as he reaches for it, extending a hand to brush kindly over his nose.

Your heart warms at the sight -- so this is bonding. You can't help the small smile on your face, watching a fellow rider find it's match.

When it has been a few minutes too long, you feel like you're intruding, you brace your hands on the ground. Preparing to stand, you jump when a voice is heard just before you.

"You alright?"

You gasp, your gaze jerking up to meet the most gorgeous, icy blue one you'd ever seen. The blonde had walked to you, back turned to his newly bonded dragon. Nodding, he extends a hand to you.

"Good," he continues. "I'm Liam. Mairi."

You work to control your breathing, your voice coming out shakier than you'd like.

"Y/N," you offer, and take his hand firmly in yours. Expecting a handshake, you grip tight -- however, he holds your fingers in his lightly, turning your palm to the ground as he brings the back of your hand to his lips.

The blush spreading across your face is downright shameful.

"Y/N," he repeats, dropping your hand and looking you in the eyes. "I don't think we've met."

You shake your head slowly, your gaze lost in his endless ocean of a stare. He chuckles, flashing his brilliant smile -- and the tingles in your tummy return.

"Have you... bonded, yet?" He asks. You straighten, the tingling sensation gone again as you recall what you were actually supposed to be doing out here.

"N-no," you stammer, embarassment heating your skin. Liam only shrugs, placing a guiding hand on your lower back as he steps toward the path once more.

"Don't worry," he encourages. "I'm sure you'll find one -- maybe not all the way out here, but." He grins, and you look up at him. He gives you a reassuring smile, walking alongside you as his dragon trails behind.

"Might have a better chance out in the open, ya know. On the flight feild?" You huff, and he looks down to you. "What were you doin' all the way out here, anyways?"

You recount the events that had led up to you being so far in the forrest, and as you retell it... you can't help but feel the pang of disappointment. Telling this handsome, fearless male about your encounter with a dragon -- and running from it?

Your stomach churned.

"That's when you came along," you finish the retelling. "Thank you, by the way." You look to the ground, and Liam's steps slow.

"We're almost to the edge of the forrest," he says, looking between you and the treeline. "Are you ready?"

You loose a long breath, the small of your back still ablaze where his hand had rested.

"Ready as ever."

He flashed you one more look of reassurance, before stepping out into the sunlight. You followed, your gaze catching on the tones muscles concealed beneath his black tee.

In that moment, you could only think about one thing.

I bet we'd have really good bed chem.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Yeah, and he totally wasn't interested at first, but all I had to do was flash these guys and Aotrom totally wanted me!"

You chuckled as you chewed on your straw, listening to Ridoc's retelling of his threshing experience. You watch as he flexes his muscles, and girls near him laugh. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Malea roll her eyes, bringing her cup to her lips and taking a long sip.

Chatter continued around you, busybodies interacting with one another under the neon lights of the club. Mostly first years had come, but you'd spotted a few second and even thirds mingling with the crowd.

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

That's bed chem

How you're looking at me yeah I know what that means and

I'm obsessed

Are you free next week?

I bet we'd have really good...

You nod along as the speakers blast your favorite song, and Malea leans in close to shout in your ear.

"Hey! I think I see that guy you were telling me about earlier," she yells, and your head swivels in the direction of her line of sight. "Is that him?"

The blonde hair. Radiant smile. Overjoyous laugh at something his friend just said.

Yeah. It's him.

"That's... yeah, uh..." You trail off. His arms bulge beneath the black longsleeve he wears -- a nod to how muscular he is. His cargo pants sit perfectly on his hips, and your eyes track his movements as he runs a hand through his hair...

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" Malea teases.

Come right on me

I mean-

"Camraderie," you chuckle nervously. “You know… friendship and all that.” She raises an eyebrow at you, and you take a large gulp of your drink.

"Sure." She shrugs, and you shake the thoughts from your head. Ridoc makes his way toward the two of you, his gaze mainly focused on your red-head counterpart.

Said you’re not in my time zone but you wanna be

"Oh, where art though? Why not uponeth me?" He teases, earning himself yet another Malea-famous eyeroll.

"In your dreams, Ridoc." She sighs, looking up at him. "I only date second years."

You frown at her. That was downright untrue.

Ridoc laughs, leaning in to speak directly to her.

"Well good thing I fuck like a third."

You giggle as her cheeks pinken, her wide-eyed gaze up at your yearmate.

"I see it in my mind, Malea -- c'mon, lets fulfil the prophecy." He winks at her, and she shakes her head, tipping her cup back once more. Ridoc makes to depart, but you catch his forearm before he can make it too far.

"Hey, maybe you know... who's the cute guy, with the wide blue eyes?" You ask him, pointing to Liam across the way. And the big bad mmm...

Stop.

"Oh, Liam?" He says, catching sight of the other male across the way. "Yeah, his family was part of the rebellion or something. I know he's like, best friends with our Wingleader, but. Yeah. Cool dude, I guess." He shrugs. "Beat the shit out of me at challenges, if I'm honest."

"I know I sound a bit redundant, but," you continue. "Is he... single?"

Ridoc laughs, side-eyeing you. "Why don't you go find out yourself? I think after a successful day of bonding a dragon, the least you could do is chat the guy up."

That's exactly. What you were afraid of.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

Another hour and three more drinks in, you were ready to call it quits. However, finding Malea on the dance floor was not as simple a task as one may think.

You searched as best as you could, that is while stumbling through the crowd. It seemed everywhere you looked, she just wasn't there. Your eyes began to blur as you took in each and every face around you -- some familiar, some not. The more and more you weaved and turned on the dance floor...

"Woah there! You alright?"

Your stomach lurched as the familiar voice sounded behind you. Two strong arms gently wrapped around your waist holding you upright, and you couldn't help but lean into the culprit.

"I believe you already asked me that today."

Liam laughs, his chest rising and falling against your back. He leans in, pulling a strand of hair from your forehead and tucking it behind your ear.

"Cute and funny -- I like it," he says. You crane your neck to look at him, a dumb smile overtaking your face. His cheeks are redder than they were a few hours ago, but you notice the absence of a drink in his hand.

"You don't drink?"

He shrugs.

"Not regularly, but seeing as its nearly midnight, my Wingleader stepped in and suggested the cutoff." He jabs his thumb over his shoulder in Xaden's direction. The third year doesn't notice; he's too caught up in the silver-haired girl in front of him.

"Do you drink?"

You continue your smiling, turning to face him fully.

"Tonight I do."

He chuckles, his grip releasing a bit around your waist. You frown, your hands reaching for his forearms to put them back.

"Waitttt," you whine, and his brows raise in amusement. "I like them there."

His grin turns into something... darker, a flicker of something more than attraction passing over his features. You bite your bottom lip, pressing against his chest once more.

He not so subtly glances down at the neckline of your dress -- and, like you'd hoped, a moment later his hard-on is pressing against your stomach.

You wind your arms around his neck, tugging him close so you can whisper in his ear.

"Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

You giggle. "I bet we'd have really good bed chem."

He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, pulling back only slightly as his grip on your waist tightens.

"Oooh... you have no idea what you just got yourself into."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

The song continued replaying in your mind as you walked back to your dorm. You'd agreed to meet Liam in 30 minutes, and your dorm being at the very end of the hallway certainly didn't help.

That's bed chem

How you're looking at me yeah I know what that means and

I'm obsessed

Are you free next week?

I bet we'd have really good...

When you finally reached your dorm, you all but texted your friend goodnight before racing around the small joint like a racehorse. She wouldn't see it anyway, she left the club with Ridoc... and you knew what that meant.

The mental checklist ticked off with every task you completed; the cutest lingerie, running a brush through your hair, retouching your makeup...

Not that it mattered. You hoped it'd get ruined anyway.

One spritz of perfume later, and you were out the door, racing down the hall once more.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You all but skipped to the boy's dorms, delusionally betting that you and him would arrive at the same time. Would his room be hot? Freezing cold? You paused in thought; maybe, he'd set it the perfect temp: 69.

You rounded the corner, finding dorm 15 and taking a deep breath. You really hoped this wouldn't only be better inside your head--

The chuckle you let out surprised you. It was Liam Mairi; surely, whatever happened would be perfect.

His door opened as soon as you walked up to it, and he leaned against the doorway with a lazy smile. He'd already done the honor of removing his shirt; and in your state of mind, your gaze roved over his ripping abs unashamedly.

"Stop oogling me and c'mere already," his voice came out deeper than when you heard it last, and a rush of heat went straight to your core. He reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you inside.

How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

The room was dark, and sure enough; the perfect temperature. You giggled as he pulled you against him, his hands immediately finding your ass before squeezing.

You squeaked as he walked you to the bed, pushing you down upon it and leaning in to smash his lips onto yours. You groaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as his mouth moved against yours.

He broke away moments later, his fingers finding the hem of your dress and shoving it up to your waist. He sucked in a breath, his gaze lingering on the crotchless panties you so kindly wore for him.

How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

"Fuck, baby..." he groaned, his fore and middle fingers parting the lacy garment in search. "Already so wet for me, aren't you, gorgeous?"

That's bed chem

You blushed, though you doubted he could see it in the moonlight. His fingers sank inside of you, so slowly... you moaned in satisfaction. He withdrew them, shoving them back in only a moment later.

"That's a good girl," he cooed, and you bit your bottom lip hard to surpress a moan threatening to break free. He leaned in, his idle thumb swiping across your lower lip before kissing you again. This time, he was more forceful, sliding his tongue in to explore your mouth with intrigue.

You had your own ideas though, as your fingers dipped below his waistband in search of his cock.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head when you found it.

"Oh Gods Liam... you're so big-"

He hissed when you started tugging on his length, his head thrown back at the sensation. After a few strokes he looked down at you again, hungrier than ever.

How you're looking at me yeah I know what that means and

I'm obsessed

His hand yanked your fingers off of him, and he slid his from you. In an instant, you were flipped onto your tummy, his fingers yanking your ass into the air. You felt his velvety skin against yours, his own hand fisting his cock a few times as he prepared to fuck you.

"You sure you still want this?"

You nodded, responding quietly.

"Please, Liam. Fuck me good."

He needed no more encouragement.

His long, thick cock thrust into you, so deep that you could only gasp at the feeling. Your pussy was instantly stretched to accomodate his size, and he loosed a breath at the sight before him.

Pulling out halfway, he rammed himself back in -- and again, and again. Small pants erupted from you, your forearms barely holding you upright on the mattress as he continued pounding mercilessly into you.

You arched your back, giving him a new angle to hit and he groaned. His fingers gripped your ass so hard you knew there would be bruises -- but, you didn't quite care.

"Fuck... this pussy was made for me, Y/N," he gritted out, his hips snapping against your ass at a quicker pace. "Fuckin' love how you feel."

You could only gurgle a response as one of his hands reached around your throat, giving a slight squeeze -- just enough that you saw stars.

"Oh God -- Liam, I'm gonna cum--"

You squeezed your eyes shut as pleasure-filled tears slipped out, the sensation of your pussy being absolutely wrecked guiding you to the edge faster than ever before.

"Fuck... oh fuck-"

He yanked his cock out of you, his cum spurting from it only a second later. Your walls clenched and released, the empty feeling inside no match for the orgasm rolling through you. Hot ropes of cum decorated your panties and ass, and Liam stared as he caught his breath behind you.

When you turned to face him, he was reaching for a towel on the floor. You turned back to face the sheets, your chest still rapidly rising and falling. He gently ran the fabric over you, cleaning up the remnants of your prior activities before chucking it to the floor once more.

"As much as I'd love for you to stay just like that," he begins, chuckling. "I think we should probably get some rest."

You giggle, turning to sit on the mattress properly as he got on beside you. He relaxed against the cushion, kicking off the heavy blanket and pulling the sheet up to his chin. He gave you a wide-eyed, sad puppy look before motioning for you to join him.

Who would you be if you didn't oblige?

You crawled beneath the sheets beside him, your head resting against his arm as he snuggled you close. You gazed right up into those beautiful blue eyes, sleep threatening to soon take you.

"Was that... did you..."

He grins, placing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

"I guess you were right, Y/N. We really do have good bed chem."

You chuckled, the laughter soon turning into a yawn. Liam followed with one of his own, his eyes closing as he spoke again.

"And, you? Any thoughts?"

You grinned, closing your eyes as well.

"Just one... are you free next week?"

* ✧･ﾟ: *

#liam mairi x you #liam mairi smut #liam mairi imagine #liam mairi x reader #liam mairi #fourth wing smut #fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame imagine #iron flame #onyx storm #smut #read more

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kqutie · 5 months ago

Text

EPIC : THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER THREE : THE NEW ISLAND

relations. : platonic various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader ; hermes/reader

chpt. sum. : You and the crew spend some time on your island, where they try to stay sane from all the crazy antics you pull. One God in particular, however, is having all the laughs, much like his great-grandson.

tags. : reader continues being a disney princess ; female, mute reader ; pure comfort ; reader helps ody get home ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; this chapter is kinda chaotic XD ; the crew are simps ; hermes makes an appearance ; hermes being a flirty menace ; isekai and transmigration ; fix it fic ; characters know their future ; happy ending for everyone!

length. : 6.5k

a/n : I wrote this to feel better from my cold and monthly cramps all at once and I've gotta say, it was the perfect remedy (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)♡ it's just that it may read like the person who wrote this was suffering from sleep-deprivation and if you think that then you're absolutely right! please forgive me (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) i needed something to do other than rot in bed when i couldn't even sleep because it was so hard to breathe without pain anywho~ enjoy!

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Venturing onto the island, you lead the way and invite Odysseus, Polites, Eurylochus and the crew to explore. You know that your island is safe, so you turn to everyone with open arms and a bright smile as if to say ‘Welcome! Please make yourselves at home’. Polites couldn’t help but grin at your obvious invitation, his heart-warming over the ‘open arms’ message he has managed to pass onto you.

“Thank you, fair maiden,” he takes a knee and bows, prompting everyone else, even Odysseus, their king, to follow his lead, “Thank you for welcoming us here,” The bashful image of you they look up to makes their hearts melt. Soon enough, they were happily setting out to explore the island, taking in its beautiful scenes while you venture off on your own, too.

You had one goal in mind: setting up a bath. Nothing is more relaxing than having a hot bath to soak in and getting to feel refreshed and new when you’re done washing up. Finding a secluded location, you design a bathing area composed of three outdoor baths with lots of bamboo surrounding it for privacy and equip the general area with the amenities needed, such as baskets full of bath towels and dispensers for shampoo, conditioner and body wash. You even set up a section of shower booths, where you plan on demonstrating how to use the shower before they get in the hot springs, for sanitary purposes.

The entire time you were putting things together, the crew had settled down, enjoying stable ground for the first time, in a long time. They had never seen such lush grass and thriving wildlife before. However, it only made sense. This was your island, after all, their fair maiden, who only seems to bring peace and comfort. Naturally, your home island would be a paradise.

“How wondrous,” Polites voices in awe, spotting an orchard of fruit trees and a crop field across the river where a beautiful wooden bridge arches to cross the gap. He’s never seen such elegant architecture quite like it before and speculates that it may come from the distant East.

“What a beautiful place,” Eurylochus comments, also in awe of the island’s gorgeous scenery and herbage. It was an unknown place that they were exploring for the first time and yet, he’s never felt safer.

“Where is our fair maiden?” Odysseus asks his nearest crew member, unable to admire the landscape for long, his mind too occupied by where you’ve disappeared off to without warning. Over the few days he’s spent in your company, Odysseus has grown a strong feeling of protectiveness over you. It’s a feeling he can comfortably liken to one he feels over Ctimene, his younger sister. Immediately recognising the warm tenderness and unable to deny it, he falls fully into the emotion instead. He’d happily take on another sister. It’s needed, especially with 600 men surrounding you.

“I believe I just saw her speed by,” Lycaon comments, making the Captain raise a brow.

“How fast could she possibly be running to—” Odysseus was cut off, however, when he catches your speeding visage in his periphery. Astonished, everyone close by stands still for a moment to observe your activity. One minute, you were racing one way, and the other minute racing the other way. And then, you stop in front of a tree, where the crew are convinced that you’re finally done with your zooming about — that is until you suddenly materialise an axe and begin chopping at the tree, earning you perfectly chopped logs of wood. Some log piles are differently coloured, clearly coming from a different type of tree, but you were hacking your axe at only one tree.

“Huh?...” Elpenor asks, confused as Perimedes stares at you with a blank look on his face.

Everyone’s jaws collectively drop to the floor. Was a beauty like you always capable of such strong feats of strength? And were the trees here as magical as you?!

“H-how is that possible?” one crew member asks nobody in particular, scratching at his head.

“She’s the fair maiden, it’s best not to question anything,” another man comments loud enough for all surrounding persons to hear and hum in agreement over.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Odysseus chuckles fondly with a shake of his head. Just before you are off zooming again, Odysseus comes up to you and politely asks, “Fair maiden, may we have some of the fruit from the orchard?” smiling, you happily give your consent with a nod, “Thank you,” he bows his head slightly, “do you have a preferred method of how we should go about collecting the fruit?”

You think for a moment before deciding it won’t harm them much to learn how to shake trees. It’ll save you the hassle of getting them the fruits whenever they feel a little peckish. With a nod, you lead the men over the bridge to your orchard and step up to a pear tree with three ripe and incredibly large pears on it. From a distance, the men watch as you move your soft hands to grip the tree’s trunk and begin violentlyshaking it until the three pears drop, unbruised, from their perch. Their only reaction was stunned silence. Again, had you always been this strong?

(From a distance, Odysseus can swear he hears a familiar, brain-tickling giggle.)

“I-I assume you want us to keep away from the crop fields’ produce,” Polites asks, stuttering through his stupefied state.

As expressive as always, you nod, gesturing to the neighbouring crop fields before tapping your chest, as if to say, ‘Yep! That’s mine,’, you then wiggle a finger at them with a teasing shake of your head: ‘Not yours,’ you make an ‘X’ with your arms and then gesture to your hand, ‘Don’t touch,’. Nodding, Polites agrees and spreads the word with instructions on how you want the crewmen to harvest the fruit trees but to keep away from the crop fields.

“I wonder what you’ve been up to while we’ve been exploring Fair Maiden?” Eurylochus asks, curious about your hidden activities. By now, a majority of the crew have fed back to comment on the things they’ve found about the island, talking about its geography, the landscape, its large variety of vegetation from flowers to overgrown weeds, the path of the freshwater, drinkable rivers, the waterfalls, the large lake and lack of natural threats. This was an island paradise, perfectly safe, as is expected from the island you call home. How lucky they were to have met you and to have landed on your island.

Happy he asked as you were just putting the final touches to the outdoor bathing area, you lead Eurylochus, Odysseus, Polites and some of the crew to the established bathing nook you’ve built. What you show them is nothing like their Greek public baths but it was familiar enough to get their hearts racing with excitement. Bathing in warm waters was always a rejuvenating experience, helping many soldiers with aching muscles and low spirits regain their strength and mental wellness. After their battles and journey, everyone was eager to have a long, hot soak.

“This is incredible!” Odysseus laughs in his joy, going up to you and fondly messing up your hair, “Did you really set all this up for us?” There were fresh towels in baskets, a nearby waterfall for a cold plunge and three sizeable hot water pools surrounded by heavy rocks. There was even a table provided for their belongings next to an area with alien contraptions and small bottles. Odysseus could only guess that those bottles held the appropriate soaps they needed for a thorough wash.

Playfully, you nod but huff and cross your arms, gesturing to yourself with a look that says ‘Yes but it’s for me too,’. Your gestures only made Odysseus laugh more, his warm, brown eyes looking fondly at you with a touch of gratitude.

“Of course, of course, for you as well,” Polites laughs as Eurylochus smiles with his arms crossed, “but I wonder how we should go about using this apparatus…” he points to the shower area you set up on one side, next to the small waterfall — hoping that the association with the waterfall would help them learn that the showers functioned the same way.

Happily, you demonstrate how to turn the water on and off, doing your best to tell the men to shower first before soaking in the hot springs. You even go so far as to show them the different dispensers for their different washing needs. Everyone has since grown attentive to observing your movements and expressions so it was easy enough to understand which coloured dispenser did what and the order they should go about using them. It was quite novel in appearance but familiar enough that navigation would easily become second nature. Everyone was excited to finally wash the salt off their skin and feel refreshed again. Once they were clear on how things went, you led them out of the area and see if they were satisfied with the privacy the bamboo trees offered along with the strategically placed bamboo partitions. Firstly and most importantly, however, your instructions on how they should use the baths needed to be met strictly.

“Understood,” Eurylochus voices in his usually strict tone, “I’ll make sure everyone else knows what to do,” gratefully, you nod at him and move to get out of their way but are stopped by Odysseus.

“Now that you’ve shown us, I believe you should be taking the first bath, Fair Maiden,” he nods towards the showers, “you’ve done so much for my men and me thus far, you are the first of us all who deserves a relaxing bath,” you give him a questioning look, asking ‘are you sure?’. “We’re sure, don’t worry,” he smiles at you kindly before a shout cuts through the tender moment.

“I will guard the Fair Maiden while she bathes!” a distant hand is raised within the crowd of men, the shout coming out so sudden and loud that it visibly startles you. Seeing your frightened expression, however, gets Odysseus visibly irate and he readies himself to give that particular crewman the tongue-lashing of his life. But before anything can be said, a conflict has already started.

“No! I will guard the Fair Maiden!”

“I am better with a sword, I can protect her better than you!”

“There’s nothing to protect her from on this island. I am a great conversationalist, I’m sure she would appreciate the talk while she bathes—”

“Don’t be so stupid, who’d want to listen to your stupid voice while bathing?!”

Not long into the argument, a fistfight breaks out, but even before that, Polites has already helped you sneak into the baths, making sure you were settled before heading out, promising that he, the Captain and the second commander would take care of things so that you can relax. With a loud shout and a fierce look, Odysseus has the crew behaving again, feeling no sympathy for those showcasing visible black eyes, bruises and swelling cheeks.

“I expected more of you two,” Odysseus shakes his head at Perimedes, who had a black eye, and Elpenor, who sported two painfully swollen cheeks. Elpenor tried to explain their motivations, but with both of his cheeks swollen, his words were barely decipherable and can be best described as incoherent nonsense.

“We only fought back because someone dragged us into the fight,” Perimedes explained before uttering under his breath, “it’s not like anyone else could take better care of our Fair Maiden…”

“Can you really say that after your antics at the boat earlier?” Polities appreciated that the two, at least, had the decency to look bashful.

“Eurylochus and I will guard the Fair Maiden,” Odysseus announces firmly, leaving no room for argument as Eurylochus stands tall beside him, arms crossed over his chest and making his appendages look all the more muscular — a silent threat to his own men, “Anyone who would like to challenge that is free to prove themselves in a one on one fight with either of us…” obviously, nobody would dare to openly oppose their captain and second commander. “Nobody?… Good, you know your place. Now set up your camps! Polites will supervise you,” Polites nods when Odysseus meets his eyes and happily goes along with his duties, herding the crew away from the bathing area.

Bathing first really was a good idea. It allowed you to test out the functionality of the baths and provided a rare quiet after days spent with the crewmen. It was so relaxing you didn’t think you would ever leave, but alas, you were getting hungry, and if you were hungry, then the crew were hungry too. You’ll look into your storage for tonight, but tomorrow, you will begin gathering more ingredients again for freshly cooked meals. After your bath, you pull out your wand and easily magic yourself into a new outfit. This one was something you prepared beforehand that matched your new cottage core theme. This outfit featured another custom-designed dress you made. This one was also long and was designed based on the 1804 French evening dress, with a ribbon tied just under your breasts and delicate short sleeves to give you a square neckline. It was a beautiful dress that made you feel like a water sprite. It took you ages to design but, looking in the full-length mirror to one side of the baths, you were happy with the results.

Stepping out of the baths, you greet Odysseus and Eurylochus with a smile, both of whom return the greeting kindly.

“You look refreshed,” Eurylochus comments with a curt nod of approval.

“I must say your sense of fashion is very nice, Fair Maiden…” Odysseus’ words make you tilt your head curiously. You wonder where he was going with this, he’s not usually the type to make such comments about your appearance, unlike the other unmarried men of his crew, “Do you suppose you have some similarly styled clothes I can offer to my wife, Penelope?” His words make you beam with excitement, nodding enthusiastically, which makes him grin in return, “You do?! And you’re willing to give them to my wife?” you nod again, “Thank you so much!”

You wave off the King’s gratitude casually as if you were saying that it wouldn’t be a big deal, and it really wasn’t. It was then, however, that you catch Eurylochus’ shy expression. When you turn to him curiously, Odysseus seems to already know what he wants to ask and has the biggest, teasing grin on his face as you patiently wait for the second commander to explain himself.

“W-would you be able to do the same for my wife Ctimene?” excitedly, you nod your head as well, instantly wiping away Eurylochus’ worries and making the large, imposing man, grin widely.

Group by group, Odysseus and his crew all take turns soaking in the baths. The only problem after was the clothes they would have to change into knowing that their current attire wasn’t any good. But you had an easy solution to that. Wanting to give them clothing items that seemed familiar, you offered clean Chitons, thankful that you had access to the catalogue from your Nookphone, which was always helpfully tucked away in your back pocket. Conveniently, there was no waiting time needed here, and your orders appeared before you immediately. You save the differently coloured Togas for Odysseus, Polites and Eurylochus to help differentiate them from the rest of the crew members. Odysseus was wearing his signature purple sash, whilst Polites and Eurylochus wore red sashes. Thankfully, you were right to assign the clothing like this, and everyone was thankful for the relaxing bath, clean clothing and the delicious meal you had prepared afterwards: a delicious novel dish (to them) of Fish and Chips. There were satisfied hums and complimentary remarks made all throughout dinner, with everyone taking the chance to look towards you in appreciation at some point in the evening.

“Polites and my crew have informed me of a house on the northeast side of the island,” Odysseus casually brings up as you eat your portion of fish and chips beside him. “Would that happen to be your home?” having perked up at his words, you nod. So your house was still standing… you wonder why your villagers’ houses aren’t, nor the other buildings on the island. “Polites made sure nobody broke in unnecessarily. Tonight, I’m sure you would appreciate sleeping in your home. My men and I have made our camps about the island already, so don’t worry about us,”

You smile at his thoughtfulness and bow your head gratefully, “None of that now,” Odysseus hurries to lift your head, “at this point, we all stand on level ground. You’ve done more for me and my crew than I think you’re aware of,” growing flustered under his high praise, you look away with a bashful smile. Truly, it wasn’t hard for you to do the things you’ve done, you loved playing animal crossing and it’s a joy to experience it in real life, especially when you get to offer the help your favourite characters need at just the right time. It would feel wrong if you didn’t offer your help knowing you had the power to.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The next morning, you spend your time making fishing poles for everyone so that they can fish for their own meals and help you speed up the cooking. They were all more than happy to help you, and eager to learn from you as well. Elpenor especially; he doesn’t seem to have any technique working in his favour. Perimedes, on the other hand, has already caught his dinner and handed it over to you, but, as a faithful friend, he had vowed to stand beside Elpenor until the hopeless fool finally catches a fish himself. Sometimes, the taller blonde was tempted to pull the fishing pole from Elpenor’s useless hands, impatient in his helpfulness, but wanted his friend to feel the achievement of catching the fish himself first.

“Are you going to fish with us?” Eurylochus asks, turning away from the ocean to look at you curiously. Several other men were set up close by, also waiting for fish to take the bait. Nodding enthusiastically, you look forward with determination as the crew members look on curiously from where they’re stationed. Odysseus and Polites had already caught their fish, and you had helpfully stored away their catches for them. The two stand by, simply observing and eying your flowing dress curiously. You seem to have a habit of doing chores in the most unexpected attire. They suppose it’s because you are that exceptional — no item of clothing will hold you back from the things you want to do, even if they are long flowing, beautiful dresses.

“If the Fair Maiden catches a fish before you,” Perimedes begins, playfully jabbing his friend’s side with a sharp elbow, “I would begin to question your masculine prowess, dear friend,”

“The Fair Maiden catching a fish before me doesn’t bring my masculinity into question, Perimedes,” Elpenor huffs with a slight redness in his cheeks, “It only attests to the Fair Maiden’s greatness,”

“I suppose you’re right,” Perimedes shrugs, and they both watch you from their periphery, as is the habit of every crew member whenever they see you nearby. They just can’t help themselves; you draw their eye easily, and they are weak to beauties like you. Beauties with the kindest heart known to man. They yearn to bring you close but are well aware of their self-deficiencies — no man alive is worthy of someone as fair and wondrous as you. Not even the king himself.

Not long after you’ve cast your fishing pole you get a tug and everyone watches with baited breath as you fight with the fish at the end of your line. Everyone silently cheers you on until their jaws slacken at the monstrous creature you pull out of the water and proudly present to them, carrying it as if it weighs no heavier than a leaf.

A whale shark! This will earn you good money when you sell it to Tommy and Timmy.

“Wh-what sort of ocean creature is that?” Polites asks in disbelief, adjusting his glasses as Odysseus laughs from beside him, clutching his stomach as tears of laughter fill his eyes. The kind had long since abandoned all need to find an explanation for your ‘odd’ behaviour, he’s learned to shrug it off and, instead, find joy in the astonished, jaw-dropped, eye-bulging expressions of his crew members. Never before has he laughed so much, and he has you to thank for it. Odysseus wasn't finished laughing, however, as another wave of surprise exclamations, shock and disbelief flooded his crew when you casually stored away the gigantic creature in your back pocket.

(From a distance, Odysseus hears another familiar giggle overlapping with his own laughter.)

“H-HOW?!” Perimedes shouts with his hands clutching at his head in disbelief, his eyes wide as his brows have flown to his hairline. However, everyone knows that his question will never be answered as you flash him an innocent smile. You can’t speak; they just have to accept things as they come from you.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Savouring the stable ground and the grand scenery of your island paradise, the crew members observe you zipping around the land as if you have all the energy to spare, hitting rocks over and over to draw out raw materials unlike they’ve ever seen anyone else do. It’s as if Mother Nature herself wanted to provide you with everything you need; she was at your beck and call, and it was astonishing to witness. You even manage to draw out solid gold chunks from ordinary rocks, making the crew’s eyes bulge before they furiously rub at them in disbelief. Of course, they don’t confront you about it; it would be extremely rude to do so. They also don’t want their Captain and commanders breathing down their necks about any disorderly behaviour towards you. It’s clear to everyone that you are someone they care very deeply about, and all three have grown especially protective of you, so not only are you the most ethereal being to exist, but you’re also the most protected and secure.

It was a little scary now that they think about it…

Some of the men have come very close to openly protesting against you, however, especially when several have seen you burying sacks of gold after digging up a glowing area of land a fellow crew member had pointed you towards. Those who witnessed your strange behaviour were very vocal in encouraging you to dig the sack of money back up, but you were adamant about refusing, no matter their sound reasoning. All those men quickly shut up under their Captain’s sharp eyes, their second commander’s growling but firm command to stop, and their third commander’s scary, silent smile. Several days go by, and the crewmen realise that they hadn’t just seen you bury gold coins uselessly but they’ve actually witnessed you plant and grow a money tree.

As you’ve done many times before, once the tree has grown to its full size, you go up to the trunk and violently shake it to make the three large sacks of money fall from its branches. Before anyone could utter a word, however, you’ve already collected the money and zipped away without a single penny left behind. You were like a greedy little chipmunk, who had looted all the nuts and hurriedly sprinted away without an ounce of remorse at the fact that you left nothing for the others. All the could do was watch with sagging shoulders and depressed expressions as you ran into the sunset, happy with your bountiful haul.

Sadly, that money tree doesn’t sprout sacks of money again…

(Distantly, you hear laughter that tickles your brain just right, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.)

The crew also silently observe as you passionately shake trees every day for sticks and fruit as well as random items ranging from small, miscellaneous trinkets that don’t typically belong on trees to fully built furniture. They’ve all experienced small heart attacks every time, worried for your wellbeing when they see a large piece of furniture emerge from the branches and soundly drop. Thankfully, all items conveniently drop a safe distance away from you. But that’s because you’re the Fair Maiden. They don’t believe they have the same luck as you and it’s deterred a majority of them from shaking trees unless they know what would be dropping down, limiting them to shaking only the fruit trees in your orchard.

There was a time when you had shaken a tree, and a bee hive fell, sending everyone into an immediate panic as the angry bees rose in anger. Without thinking, Elpenor jumps in the way just as you’ve raised your net, taking the horrible storm of bee stings for you. You fall to the ground with him, holding him close as your apology is clearly expressed in your features, your brows furrowed and tears in your eyes. You want to call him an idiot so badly, didn’t he see your net?!

…What a loveable fool he was…

You see that he wants to smile in assurance from where you hold him in your arms but the bee stings make it close to impossible. His lips and eyes are swollen, his cheeks too and his arm and neck! Goodness, everywhere you look there are bee stings! This is much worse than in the game! Frantic, you lay his head on your lap as Perimedes falls to the ground beside you and takes his best friend’s hand in his own.

“How idiotic can you get Elpenor?!” Despite his words, you can tell the blonde is far from annoyed. Rather, he is more worried for his friend than anything else.

“The fair maiden was in danger…” Elpenor answers simply, his voice strained but you both shake your heads at him, silently asking that he don’t overtax himself.

Flicking through your storage, you bring out the bag of medicine you always prepare for emergencies. Usually, you would simply press the ‘take medicine’ option, however, now that this was real life, you were having to reach inside the bag. When you do, you bring out a simple balm, but the case is empty of any instructions or labels. Everyone watches closely as you take some of the balm onto your fingers and spread the ointment over their youngest crew member’s visible stings. All those who are watching, visibly awe at the immediate effects your medicine has on Elpenor. The balm barely stays on for a second to sink in before Elpenor’s injuries completely disappear, his skin no longer swollen, the concerning redness of his stings gone, and his boyish smile has returned.

“What is this…?” Perimedes asks, eyeing the medicine in disbelief but it had also disappeared along with Elpenor’s injuries. “I can’t believe it…”

“Fair maiden,” Elpenor turns to you with a bright smile, ready to express his gratitude and astonishment but is cut off when you jump into his arms, hoping your tight hug will convey the amount of gratitude you had in your heart for him. He was so brave but what a fool! You hope he never jumps in front of danger like that again!

“It’s okay,” you feel Elpenor gently brush his hand along your back, “I wouldn’t mind taking all the bee stings for you. Especially knowing that you can cure me instantly,” his happy smile can be heard in his words as you bury your face into his broad shoulder.

“You’re an idiot…” Perimedes laughs as you meet his fond gaze from over Elpenor’s shoulder. You give his much taller friend a look to convey your thoughts somehow and Perimedes nods, “The Fair Maiden doesn’t want you to do that again, so promise her right now or else you will incur her wrath!”

Elpenor laughs bashfully, “I-If that is what the fair maiden wishes,“ he reaches for your hands and kisses your knuckles to seal his promise.

Those who stood by watching gaze at you in unfiltered amazement. Never before had they seen medicine heal at the rate and effectiveness you have just demonstrated. Every day, they realise just how otherworldly of a person you are. Are you even a person? Maybe they were closer to figuring out your true origins when comparing you to the Gods and Goddesses, after all.

“None of you are allowed to speak of this to anyone outside of those here, got it?” Odysseus utters, appearing to materialise out of the crowd observing the scene. His sudden appearance startles everyone, but they silently agree with him the instant his words process in their minds. A dark look had overtaken their captain, and it wasn’t one they were fond of. Nobody asked questions, nobody harassed you, nobody stood out of place awkwardly. They know that acting out would only endanger you, making you a target of the gods, much like the way their captain had been targeted in the potential future they were forced to witness through song. There was a silent agreement among them that they weren’t letting anything like that happen again. Not if they could help it. And that means keeping quiet.

Seeing the amount of things you were doing daily on the island, however, had the crewmen itching to be productive. You understand they want to prove themselves helpful so after you collect the crops, you hand them watering cans to water the crop fields for you, you even teach them to make ingredients such as flour and sugar from the permanent outdoor cooking area you’ve set up. You’ve also helped them use your workbench to create tables and chairs to set up around your cooking area so that food can be eaten more comfortably. Everyone has gotten into the habit of catching their own fish and rationing the fruit so that everyone gets a piece. After only a short time, a functioning routine had been built amongst you, all centred around the chores you would typically do each day about the island but now, you had more people helping you, meaning that you could concentrate on stocking up supplies, cooking good meals for them and creating fun memories of all the wonderful people on Odysseus’ crew.

Everyone was just doing their part to contribute and make your task of taking care of them that much easier. This was your island, after all; it was the least they could do. If only you weren’t constantly stunning them with your strange antics. At least not any ordinary day goes by.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

After a week or so spent on the island, you were on the right track to filling up your storage with the right amount of food and ingredients, and everyone had gotten into a good routine. Hermes, however, was just itching to make an introduction. The mischievous god had been observing you for a while. Ever since the rumours began amongst the crew, his curiosity had been piqued, and Athena’s subtle ways of dismissing the gossip only worked at making him all the more curious about you. The messenger god was glad he took the time to investigate you himself; never before had he laughed so much and been so entertained. Despite never having interacted with you, he’s grown a fondness for you already, he delights in your innocent but outrageous displays, leaving the 600 men in your wake with bulging eyes, slack jaws and racing minds that still come slow to comprehend what they were just witnesses to.

He’s waited long enough, and quite patiently, he’d like to add. It was about time he finally revealed himself to you. And what better time to do so than while the sun sets and you had just said your farewells with the crew for the night, starting your way back home alone? He can’t miss this opportunity.

“My my, what a beauty~” he coos, doing his best to suppress a giggle at the stunned look on your face when he suddenly floats down from his high perch. “I say, is your name really ‘Fair Maiden’?” seeing the recognition on your face, Hermes flings his luscious, brunette locks over his shoulder with a coy smile, “I see you’ve heard of me~ yes, it is I, Hermes, the God of merchants, thieves, travellers,” his eyes glow a pure white beneath the shadow of his hat, staring at you for one knowing, uncomfortable moment as a large grin occupies the unshadowed part of his face. “And these dashing good looks of mine, of course~” he ends on a cheeky note, winking deviously as you try to muster a smile despite the chill lingering in your spine from his earlier expression. Does he know?

“Of course, I know~” he looks at his nails with admiration, “I was one of the few gods who knew of you the instant you came here,” Hermes flies down, his feet up in the air as he lowers his face to level, leaving only an embarrassing inch of distance between you, “You’re quite the hot topic you know. Athena has her hands full, keeping talks of you to a minimum up in Olympus. I suppose you two have some sort of deal going on between you…” Hermes carefully inspects you as you avoid his eyes. How adorable you are~ So cute!

It’s not like that…

“Oh? Explain it to me then, pet~” he coos with fondness, reaching up to play with your hair innocently as you try not to get too bashful. Not only was he an intimidating presence, but he had a very handsome face. You can see where Odysseus got his admirable features from. It was in Hermes’ handsome-framing hair, his golden, sun-kissed skin, his charming but disarming eyes, and his pretty lips meant for more than just pleasant words… “Don’t leave me waiting now~ Beauty and sweetness can only get you so far when it comes to wasting the time of a god~” he giggles, leaving his remark suspiciously suspended between humour and a serious threat.

I- uh…

“Just kidding!” he giggles into your temple, nuzzling your head affectionately and displaying something similar to cuteness-aggression, “I know you’re only captivated by my gorgeous face, so feel free to take all the time you need in answering me darling~” Hermes wraps his arms around your neck, using you as his anchor to the ground. He continues nuzzling his face into your temple as he kicks his legs in the air like a teenage girl reading her favourite ‘x reader’ fanfiction in bed. Hurriedly stepping away from his dizzying nearness, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, avoiding his teasing grin as you catch your breath.

Athena and I only share a similar goal. We find that it’s best to work together to achieve it. There isn’t a single bargaining chip put down from either side. You explain in your head as the god nods along, seeming to hear your thoughts telepathically. You suppose all gods have a way of communicating with you.

“I see~ That’s good! That’s very good actually,” he flies forward, his face inches from your own once again, eager to keep the close proximity as you slowly back yourself into a nearby tree. “That means you don’t have Athena’s blessing,”

N-no, I don’t…

“Fabulous!” Hermes throws his arms up, finally drawing back and striking a celebratory starfish pose whilst suspended mid-air. However, just as quickly as he celebrates, he just as quickly moves closer to you once again, his face so impossibly close that you’re falling into the glow of his eyes and feel the brush of his lips against your own as he speaks, “then I will be giving you my blessing, darling. A great honour, I know~” he suppresses a giggle and affectionately tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before placing his palm against the tree trunk beside your head, effectively pinning you in place, “No need to thank me, pet~ But we do need to seal the deal, somehow,” he talks at such lightening speed that you barely have the time to register his words before he’s capturing your lips in his own, his large hands softly holding your face in place and drawing out the kiss for as long as he wishes. You don’t know whether to push him away or deepen the kiss further.

Wh-why—…?

“All great travellers are mine to take care of,” he explains in a firm whisper, pulling away as he licks his lips and coos at the stunned, flushed expression on your pretty face, “Call me whenever you need, darling! Take care now~” Hermes begins to float up and slowly disappears into the night sky, revealing from behind him another one of your storage sheds.

Hermes had left your brain in shambles and your heart in a dangerous race with itself. You don’t know how long you stayed slumped against the tree that mischievous god had just claimed your lips against but the sunset had long since passed.

After calming your racing heart, you step up to the shed and curiously look inside. It looked like any other one of your storage sheds but the black void within was more ominous looking… was this Hermes’ doing? Or was it just because it was nighttime and dark outside?

A sudden nudge in your back makes you fall into the black void with a yelp, and you fall for a moment before dropping forward onto a hard, cold, wooden floor. Looking around, you take in your surroundings and recognise the layout immediately. You’re on Odysseus’ ship, on the top deck, and in front of your open storage shed. This one was the first you had fallen out of and into this world, which you had kept on board, knowing that you just had to look for your home to access your full storage again. And you had plenty more storage sheds to spare, there was no need to do all that moving about.

Did you just…?

Rushing to the shed, you hold your breath and throw yourself forward before you have the chance to second-guess your actions. The same blackness consumes you as a rush makes your head spin but, this time, you fall onto soft grass — you’re back at that other storage shed now. Gasping silently, you admire the grass beneath your hands as your heart begins to race at the incredible gift Hermes had bestowed upon you.

“What’s the latest, Sulky?” a cute voice enters your ears, making you shoot your head up and gasp at the sight of your villagers. They were not the anthropomorphic cute avatars from Animal Crossing that you were familiar with, but stood before you as normal animals— only, they’ve managed to retain their unusual colouring and patterns.

“Marshal?...”

navi. | series m.list |

next | four. the washed-up stranger →

next | small imagine : you didn't have to kiss her hermes →

a/n : phew~ I hope everyone had a fun read! I loved writing Hermes hehe~ and if anyone's curious, I imagine his design from Zieru's 'Dangerous' animatic on YouTube. Also the villagers will be appearing in the next chapter but I don't know whether to base it off my villagers or take some favourite villagers suggestions... either way we're definitely having Marshal as a villager!

For those of you who are curious about who my villagers are, here's the list for you: Fauna ; Shino ; Poppy ; Filbert ; Marshal ; Chrissy ; Fang ; Boots ; Gaston ; Mitzi

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @celestialzdiviner (almost forgot the taglist phew~)

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vantetaes · 6 months ago

Text

SPRING FLING🫧🥂

COUNTRY BOY! EREN X CITY GIRL BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! yn goes back to visit what once was her home 15 years ago, only to meet a new face.

WARNINGS!!! 18+!!! high sexual themes! oral (f receiving), penetration, slow burn before smut

a part of you missed it. waking up to the fresh smell of sausage sizzling in hot grease while grits simmered on a burner next to it. feeling the cool summer breeze whip around your sweltering body from playing kickball in the large mowed field with some of the towns kids. drinking freshly squeezed lemonade your grandmother made before tending to her garden.

as the driver slowly approaches your grandparents estate, your heart couldn’t help but to let up a little. the large white house still sat perfectly on their plot of land.

“yn, sweetheart!” the houses screen door flys open with a screech. your grandmother dressed in a flowing white dress, tan beach hat, arm decorated with small gold bangles and her wedding band catching rays of sun.

the driver places his car in park, opening his door to retrieve your suitcase from the trunk. hopping out of the yellow vehicle, the older lady meets you halfway. wrinkled hands caressing your face, she smiles.

“it’s been too long. you’re all grown up on us!”

before anything could leave your lips, a grunt comes from around the bend of the house. your grandfather, covered in motor oil and dirt caked overalls. he removes his gloves, walking towards you and his wife, smile reaching his ears.

“ah i would hug ya honey but im dirtier than the pigs!”

your grandparents liked the life they lived away from the city. the way they could sit on the wrap around porch, grandfather sipping a beer and grandmother some lemonade, their towns newspaper tucked in their palms. watching as the sun ducked their bright red barn, casting a golden glow over the crops and animals grazing on the lush landscape. the stars peeking through transparent clouds, moon creating its atmosphere in the sky.

your grandmother enjoyed picking fresh fruits from her orchard, baking pies and making jams with the delectable fruits. your grandfather loved the lake that sat on the other side of the large property. growing up you’d grown to love these things about them.

as for yourself? you wouldn’t be caught dead doing half the things they do.

your career path led you to pharmaceutical consulting. working for one of the biggest companies in the world. it wasn’t something you enjoyed, but it funded the life you wanted.

living in a penthouse, well off from the city below you. the work was intense, demanding, and you needed to stay on top of it. anyone is replaceable in jobs such as those.

which is why you put in every single pto hour you had into a month long vacation.

to the middle of nowhere.

the wheels of the suitcase clank against the wooden stairs as your grandfather lugs it up the flight. following behind the older lady, excitement bubbles out of your grandmother while she quickens her pace, rushing to the door at the end of the hallway.

when she pushes the door open, it gives way easily, the hinges murmuring softly. the air that greets you is faintly cool, laced with the sweet scent of spring. someone had left the large french windows cracked open, the lace curtains drifting in slow, ghostly ripples.

“just like you left it, darlin’!” the lady says cheerfully.

stepping in feels like stepping back into a memory too fragile to hold in your hands. the room is pale, almost dreamlike. soft white walls, still wearing faint shadows of posters long torn away, frame the space. A canopy bed sits against the far wall, its sheer, pastel pink and ivory drapes spilling down like delicate water, pooled at the floor as if waiting for someone to step through them. the bed itself is made, layered with quilts of faint creams and frilly edges, whispering of afternoons spent sprawled on its surface with a book or diary.

“mary anne, we gotta get back to town to pick up some more feed for the chickens! ‘for the sun go down! i ain’t got my glasses either.” after placing your suitcase inside the threshold, your grandfather gives the back of your head a slight hold before placing a small kiss to the top.

“okay! okay! you ain’t gotta rush, clyde!” the two eventually leave you alone to unpack and do as you need.

to the right, a dresser waits, its porcelain knobs cool and familiar, though you can see chips where small hands must have struck too hard, too often. a vintage vanity mirrors the scene beside it, its surface cluttered with an array of glass perfume bottles, now dulled with dust. the mirror above has started to haze, its edges flecked with age, but you can still catch glimpses of yourself. a cushioned stool still sits beneath, its ruffled seat faded and threadbare.

the light here is alive. golden and warm, it pours through the cracked windows, catching on floating dust motes that swirl like restless fireflies. outside, unseen branches scratch faintly against the frame, their new leaves brushing with the weightlessness of spring. the breeze curls in through the cracks, carrying the faintest hints of magnolia and freshly turned earth, slipping beneath the canopy and rustling the skirts of the curtains.

there’s a rug in the center of the room, its edges frayed, and around it—near bookshelves that haven’t been touched in years—small details stand out like relics: a porcelain music box with its lid still half-open, a stuffed rabbit missing one eye perched on the window seat. all of it feels caught in a quiet kind of waiting.

your footsteps are softened by the wooden floor beneath, the boards groaning faintly under your weight. you look around and inhale deeply. it smells faintly of lavender, of clean linens, freshly cut grass, and mahogany wood.

the hot water washes away the weight of the morning and plane rides, the steam curling in soft, misty clouds that cling to the glass. you stand under the spray longer than you need to, letting it loosen muscles you hadn’t realized were tight, letting it strip the last remnants of dust from your skin. when you finally step out, the room feels cooler, the steam clinging to the mirror and walls in beads of condensation.

lathing your body in cocoa butter and applying a fair amount of lip balm.

you pull on something simple: a soft white tank top and a pair of loose cerulean cotton shorts, light enough to let the sun find your skin. carefully pulling your shower cap off, the water droplets falling down to your shoulders, running off your moisturized skin. you grab a new bottle of sunscreen from your spwarled out suitcase, the book ‘if cats disappeared from the world’, and your black chanel sunglasses.

as you make your way barefoot down the creaking staircase, everything tucked in between your arm. the house warm and bright in a way that feels both lived-in and empty. you’re halfway to the back porch when the front door swings open, and your grandparents call for your attention.

“hey, hold up a minute-” your grandfather says, pausing just inside the doorway, his hat in one hand and the keys to the truck jangling in the other. Your grandmother lingers behind him, hands resting on her hips, her face soft but serious.

“-we’re headed into town for a bit.” she says. “need some supplies for the farm and a few other things.”

you nod, shifting your weight onto one foot as you glance toward the back porch, toward the promise of sun and quiet.

“‘fore you run off-” your grandfather adds, pulling the hat onto his head.

“one of the town boys is ‘posed to be stoppin’ by. hes gone take a look at the barn, see about fixin’ up some of the beams we been neglectin’.”

“you’ll know him when you see him.” she says, a touch warily.

“so just keep an eye out. he’s probably fine, but you know how folks can be.”

something about their tone. half warning, half habit. makes you bristle. you know how quickly people judge someone based on a name, a family, a shadow cast long before them.

“all right.” you say lightly, hoping to end the conversation before it becomes something heavier.

“i’ll be outside if he shows up.”

your grandmother nods, giving you one last lingering look, and then they’re gone—boots on the porch steps, the truck’s engine growling to life and disappearing down the road. you linger by the door for a moment, watching the dust settle in the empty yard. the house feels quieter now, a little too still.

when you turn toward the back porch, the sunlight calls to you again, warm and golden, a balm for whatever comes next.

the back door opens swiftly, letting in gusts of spring air to sweep across the floors. trudging through the plains of grass tickling your thighs, you find yourself at the small floating pond your grandfather built. it sat in front of the large red barn, creating a scene of what farm living actually is.

the pond is fairly quiet, except for the hum of cicadas and the faint lapping of water against its banks. the cows deep moo a little in the distance. the sun hangs high, drenching everything in gold, and the heat wraps around you like a second skin.

you’re stretched out on a reclined lawn chair, a thin towel draped beneath you to catch the sweat. your sunglasses shield your eyes, and a book rests open in your hands, though the words blur a little under the laziness of the afternoon. a half eaten sandwich and a glass of fresh strawberry lemonade sweats beside you, the condensation leaving rings of water on the tiny wooden table. it’s sweet and cold against your tongue, a small relief in the heaviness of the heat.

your top is flung casually over the back of the chair, leaving you in a white bathing suit, comfortable and unbothered as you let the sun soak into your skin. the soft breeze off the water kisses your shoulders every now and then, rustling the pages of your book.

it isn’t until the sharp, uneven sound of boots on gravel carries over the quiet that you lift your sunglasses, brow pinching.

at first, you only catch a shadow moving toward you from the far side of the reservoir. someone tall, broad-shouldered, and clearly not your grandparents.

“hey!” the voice calls, deep but rough, like he hasn’t spoken much today.

you sit up a little straighter, your sunglasses slipping down the bridge of your nose as you look him over. he’s closer now, close enough for you to see the sharp lines of his face, the way dark hair falls a little too messily over his forehead. he’s wearing a plain t-shirt, worn jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed boots that kick up small puffs of dirt as he moves. there’s a toolbox in his hand, which he sets down carelessly at his feet.

“you’re, uh…-” he trails off, scanning you quickly before looking away, his jaw tight. he was issued to seeing old people on this property. but you were a sight for sore eyes. he couldn’t help but fixate his green eyes back onto you. watching as the beads of condensation dripped from the glass to your exposed cleavage, sliding down between your moisturized boobs. that were too big for the swim top your sported. his eyes fed off the way your e/c* eyes shined in the light under the black shields, lips glistening under the rays.

“im here for the barn. your grandparents said someone would be around.” his words are tight and frigid.

you blink, caught between annoyance and curiosity.

“yeah, they mentioned you.” you let your sunglasses slide back into place, leaning back in the chair as if his presence hasn’t disrupted anything.

“didn’t realize you’d be here so soon.”

“you’re welcome.” he mutters, a hint of sarcasm threading through the words as he squats to grab the toolbox.

you raise a brow, bristling.

“didn’t say i was thanking you.”

that makes him pause, glancing up through his lashes like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. a scoff releases from his lips.

“you sure are a real warm welcome, huh? and you’re reading a book about.. cats?”

“and you’re a little grumpy for someone who just got here. not that it’s any of your concern, i prefer cats over mutts.”

he huffs out a breath, maybe a laugh, but it’s hard to tell, and shakes his head, muttering something you can’t quite hear. you watch as he straightens up again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as if to dismiss you entirely.

“look, i’ll stay outta your way. just here to fix the barn, ma’am.” he says, nodding toward the distant structure.

“you can go back to… whatever this is.” his gaze flickers briefly over your lemonade, the book, your sprawled-out figure in the sun, before he turns on his heel and starts walking toward the barn.

you glare after him, irritation bubbling to the surface. the nerve of him, showing up out of nowhere with a chip on his shoulder like you’re the one invading his day.

“you’re welcome.” you call after him pointedly, though he doesn’t stop, just throws a hand up in a half-hearted wave of dismissal.

the barn door groans open in the distance, and you sink back into your chair with a huff, flipping your book shut. for the first time all day, the quiet doesn’t feel so peaceful anymore.

he had been long gone by the time your grandparents arrived back at the house. watching the sun set on the horizon out of the kitchen windows, casting a warm orange and pink hue to the house. you couldn’t help but to think about how strange of an interaction that was today.

“some’ wrong, darlin’?” your grandfather asks, pulling apart a small peice of his dinner roll, slipping it into his mouth.

“nothing papa. just tired i think. not really used to the time difference again.”

the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and lemon zest. thick and warm in the morning light streaming through the windows. you stand beside your grandmother at the granite counter, your hands dusted in flour as you work a soft, pliable ball of dough, rolling it carefully under her watchful gaze. the little puffs of flour catch the light as they float lazily to the counter, turning the morning into something hazy and dreamlike. outside, the morning doves are already humming, and the breeze carries the faintest whiff of honeysuckle through the cracked window above the sink.

“not too thin now, dear.” your grandmother says gently, leaning over to inspect your work. her hair is pinned back neatly, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek that she hasn’t noticed.

“these tarts need some structure, or they’ll fall apart ‘fore they make it to the church. we can’t have a lock in with no tarts, honey.”

“yes, ma’am.” you mutter, suppressing a small smile as you focus on the dough, guiding it into perfect little circles for the tart shells.

the table is cluttered with bowls and ingredients. deep red raspberries, bright and glistening, piled in a pale ceramic dish; a glass juicer with lemon pulp still clinging to its grooves; a small jar of sugar, the lid left slightly askew. your grandmother moves around the kitchen like she always has. calm, methodical, humming a hymn under her breath as she fills the air with the scent of baking pastry. you help her spoon the tart mixture into the shells, carefully pressing a few raspberries into each before she slides them into the oven, her hands covered in oven mitts patterned with sunflowers.

while the tarts bake, she chats softly about who will be at the church service, about old friends and new faces, her voice lilting as if trying to bridge the years that you’ve been gone. it’s comforting, her easy way of speaking, and you let it wash over you as you wipe down the counters, the scent of caramelizing sugar growing richer by the minute.

“i really appreciate your help this mornin’.” her sweet voice fills the silence.

your grandfather appears in the doorway just as you’re checking the tarts, a small grin tucked beneath his mustache. hes holding a set of keys. old, scratched, and gleaming faintly in his calloused hand.

“got something for ya.” he says, the words light but carrying a weight that makes you stop mid-step.

your grandmother glances over her shoulder, smiling softly as if she’s been expecting this.

“go on, now. see what he’s got.”

you follow your grandfather outside, the morning sun already high and hot, the light pooling across the gravel driveway. parked just off to the side of the house is a truck—not new by any stretch of the imagination, but clean, its pale blue paint shining faintly in the sunlight. it’s an older model, rounded and boxy in that classic way, and you can see where he’s spent hours tinkering with it. fresh tires, a polished hood, the faint scent of oil and steel lingering in the air.

“you’re givin’ me this?” you ask, a little breathless.

“sure am.” he replies, pressing the keys into your palm with a nod that’s gruff but affectionate.

“i’ve been workin’ on it a few months now. runs smooth s’ever. figured you might want somethin’ to get around while you’re here.”

the gesture hits you harder than you expect, and you swallow against the sudden warmth building in your chest.

“thank you,” you say softly, running your fingers over the keys before looking back at him.

he pats your shoulder in that firm, no-nonsense way of his.

“you go on, take her for a spin. just don’t let it sit idle too long, y’hear?”

you decide you can’t possibly drive your new truck around town in the same pajama bottoms and rumpled tank top you’ve been in since morning. after a quick shower, you stand in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom, brushing your hair as the sun filters softly through the lace curtains. you choose something easy. a flowy white sundress, the fabric soft against your skin, cinched at the waist, flaring out below. it’s the kind of dress that moves when you walk, catching the breeze and making you feel like youre floating. slipping on tan sandals and grabbing your sunglasses.

sliding into the truck feels surreal, the leather of the driver’s seat warm beneath your legs as you turn the ignition. the engine rumbles to life with a satisfying purr, and you grip the wheel with a grin you can’t quite suppress.

the drive into town is nothing short of idyllic. the windows are rolled down, the warm breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of your dress as you cruise past fields of tall grass and wildflowers. radio crackles softly, static giving way to an old country song you don’t recognize but hum along to anyway. the town comes into view slowly. a handful of streets lined with brick buildings, white picket fences, and storefronts with painted signs. it’s small and familiar, a place where everyone knows everyone, and yet it feels entirely new through your eyes.

you park the truck just off the main street, slipping the keys into your bag before heading toward the square. the town is quiet, but there’s enough movement to remind you that life trickles on here. people chatting on porches, kids weaving through alleys on their bikes, a group of guys sitting on the bed of an old truck parked near the general store.

you don’t notice them at first, too busy taking in the details of the place. but their voices, loud and lazy—drift over as you pass.

“well, well.” one of them drawls, amusement curling through the words.

“ain’t expect to see you all the way out here.”

you glance over sharply, your gaze landing on none other than him. eren jaeger. leaned back against the tailgate of the truck, his arms crossed and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. his friends exchange looks that border on curious and entertained.

“didn’t expect you to talk to me.” you shoot back without missing a beat, stopping just a few feet away.

eren raises a brow, clearly enjoying this already.

“oh, don’t worry. i’m just surprised you’re not still sunbathing by the pond, princess.”

“princess? it’s yn to you. and all of you.” you repeat, folding your arms across your chest.

“also, big talk for someone who can’t even find full jeans.” your acrylic points to the dirty man-made holes decorating the boys jeans.

that earns you a snort of laughter from one of his friends, but eren just tilts his head slightly, the smirk never faltering.

“guess you’re still mad about yesterday. why you so upset at me, darlin’?”

“mad? please.” you say, rolling your eyes. “nothing even happened.”

“mmh. sure you aren’t.” he says, pushing off the tailgate to stand up fully, his height a little more imposing up close. there’s something sharp about him. his voice, his gaze, but beneath it is something else, something less certain. you get the feeling he’s used to being looked at sideways, just like your grandparents warned you about.

“you always this charming, or is it just for me?” you ask, tipping your chin up slightly. eyes meeting his low green ones.

he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as his friends snicker quietly behind him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he mutters, more to himself than to you. turning on your heels, you rush to excape the uncomfortable encounter.

“see you around, princess.”

the next day stretches out slow and quiet. the house feels bigger without your grandparents, their absence leaving a stillness that clings to every corner. you’ve taken full advantage of the solitude, padding barefoot through the rooms in an oversized t-shirt and little else. the fabric brushes against your thighs as you move, worn soft with age, like an old friend. the back of the shirt reads something about a fishing derby from a year that predates you, and you’ve rolled the sleeves haphazardly up your shoulders, letting the collar slip wide against your collarbone.

you spend the morning lazing on the couch, your legs sprawled across the cushions as you flip halfheartedly through a book you aren’t really reading. somewhere outside, birds chatter, and the cicadas hum their slow, pulsing chorus.

it’s the kind of day where time feels like it doesn’t exist. you shuffle into the kitchen whenever you’re hungry, toast a bagel you don’t finish, drink lemonade straight from the pitcher, and leave the radio on low just to fill the silence. some soft, crooning voice filters through the speakers, adding to the lazy weight of the afternoon.

you’re perched on the arm of the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, flipping through an old fashion magazine you found tucked in a drawer when the knock comes, sharp and sudden against the door.

it startles you, your head snapping up as the noise echoes through the quiet house. the second knock follows quickly, impatient this time. you glance toward the clock on the wall, but it’s no help, just another reminder that time isn’t real today.

frowning, you slide off the couch, tugging the hem of your t-shirt self-consciously as you head toward the door. the knob feels cool beneath your fingers as you pull it open just far enough to see who it is.

and there he is.

eren, standing on your grandparents’ front porch like he belongs there, though his posture suggests otherwise. hes got one hand braced against the doorframe, his other hooked loosely in the pocket of his jeans. a thin white t-shirt clings to him in the heat, faint smudges of dirt streaked across the fabric like he’s been working outside all day. his dark hair looks even messier than it did before. some tucked into the cowboy hat, other strands falling over his forehead and curling faintly from the humidity.

for a moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze catching on your bare legs before he flicks his eyes up to meet yours. his expression shifts, something unreadable dancing just beneath the surface. you realize too late how you must look: hair messy, t-shirt oversized and sliding off your shoulder, a little breathless from having rushed to the door.

“what?” you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest as if that might protect you from the way he’s looking at you.

“nice greeting.” he says dryly, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

“well, you did show up uninvited.” you shoot back, arching a brow.

“what do you want?”

eren exhales through his nose, almost like he’s amused but trying not to show it.

“your grandparents asked me to stop by. said there’s a busted pipe in the barn and they didn’t want to wait until they got back to fix it.”

you frown, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe.

“and they sent you?”

“clearly.” his lips twitch, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“believe it or not, i know how to do more than just piss you off.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“well, the barn’s out back. you know where it is. the big. red. building.”

“i do. smartass.” he says, but he doesn’t move, and there’s a spark of something in his eyes. mischief, maybe. that makes you suddenly aware of just how much skin your t-shirt doesn’t cover.

“what?” you ask again, sharper this time.

“nothing.” he shrugs, the movement lazy as he pushes off the doorframe and takes a step back.

“just didn’t peg you for the type to lounge around in your underwear all day. but what do i know? you wore a bikini outside.”

heat flashes across your cheeks instantly, and you grip the edge of the door tighter.

“it’s not underwear, creep. it’s comfortable.”

“sure.” he says, smirk fully formed now as he starts toward the barn, hands tucked into his pockets.

“looks real… comfortable.”

you slam the door before he can say anything else, the wood rattling in the frame.

“asshole.” you mutter under your breath, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of his boots on the gravel, his laughter carrying faintly through the cracked window.

the hum of the radio drifts on, and sunlight still slants through the windows, but something about the space feels restless now. like the air has been disturbed and won’t settle again. you find yourself standing by the door, chewing your lip and staring at nothing in particular.

it’s curiosity, you decide. that’s all it is. you’re just curious about him. about the boy who showed up at your door unannounced, dripping sarcasm like it’s second nature, as though he thrives on pressing your buttons. that’s why, after pacing the kitchen once or twice, you tug on a pair of shoes and head outside.

the barn stands at the back of the property, worn and familiar, its paint faded and roof patched with tin that glints under the afternoon sun. the gravel crunches beneath your feet as you cross the yard, your shadow stretching long ahead of you. you can hear him before you see him. something clattering against metal, followed by a low muttered curse that drifts out through the open barn doors.

you pause just outside, peeking around the corner. eren is crouched low near the base of a wooden post, his toolbox spread out beside him, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. sweat glistens faintly along the line of his neck, dark hair curling slightly against his temple, though he seems too focused on whatever he’s fixing to notice you.

“i hope you don’t talk to the pipes like that.” you say, stepping into the doorway.

eren glances up sharply, his eyes narrowing as soon as he sees you.

“what are you doing in here?”

“just checking on you.” you lean against the frame, arms crossed, the hem of your t-shirt fluttering faintly in the breeze.

“you could be in here stealing, for all I know.”

he snorts, turning back to the pipe.

“yeah, im gonna steal an old tractor and a pile’a hay. that’ll really set me up for life.”

“you’ve got the attitude for it.” you shoot back.

eren doesn’t respond right away, just reaches into his toolbox and pulls out a wrench, testing the pipe with a faint metallic screech. you take the opportunity to wander further into the barn, your bare legs brushing against the dust-speckled air, the smell of earth and old wood thick in your nose.

“don’t distract me.” he mutters after a moment, though there’s no real heat in it.

“distract you from what?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him.

“you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“i do.” he replies quickly, then pauses to glance up at you again, that familiar edge of sarcasm tugging at his voice.

“but I don’t need you hovering over me like a supervisor.”

“im not hovering.” you say, wandering toward the ladder that leads up to the loft. You trail your fingers along a beam as you go, the wood rough and splintered beneath your touch.

“im just… observing.”

“observing me.” he corrects, the corner of his mouth twitching.

you shrug, tilting your head to look at him.

“maybe. you’re hard to figure out.”

“well… why are ya tryin’ t’figure me out?” he fires back, turning his full attention to you now. his gaze is sharp, but there’s something behind it. something curious, like he’s trying to pick you apart the same way you’re doing to him.

you hesitate, feeling your face heat up despite yourself.

“im just bored.”

“bored ?” eren repeats, his voice dry.

“well, sorry im not here to entertain you, princess.”

you bristle at the nickname, pushing off the beam to face him fully.

“will you quit calling me that?”

“what?” he says, smirking now. “does it bother you?”

“obviously.”

“good.” he huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he goes back to the pipe, adjusting the wrench with a sharp twist. the muscles in his forearm flex with the movement, beads of sweat dripping from his body.

“you’re insufferable.” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you turn and start to climb the ladder to the loft. the wood creaks faintly under your hands and feet, but you ignore it, needing to put a little distance between you and him.

“where are you going?” he calls from below, sounding more amused than anything.

“away from you!” you shout back, hoisting yourself onto the loft and brushing the dust from your knees. the space is dim, beams of sunlight filtering through the slats in the walls, catching on cobwebs and hay strewn across the floor. you sink down near the edge, letting your legs dangle as you glance back down at him.

“don’t worry. i won’t distract you from all your hard work.”

eren glances up at you with a look that’s half exasperation, half something else. he stands, tossing the wrench back into his toolbox with a faint clatter.

“or you could just gone back in the house. you’re a real piece’a work, you know that?”

“you’re one to talk.” you shoot back, swinging your feet slightly.

“you act like you hate me, but you keep showing up.”

“i don’t hate you and i keep showing up for your folks, not you.” he mutters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his forehead as he looks away.

“you just talk too much.”

“and you’re just cranky.”

he lets out a soft laugh, one that seems to surprise even him. when he looks back at you, his expression is different, though it’s hard to tell in the dappled light of the barn.

“you don’t know anything about me.” he says finally, his voice quieter this time.

you tilt your head, studying the man below you.

“maybe not. but I know you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

eren stiffens slightly at that, his jaw ticking as he averts his gaze. for a moment, the only sound is the wind pressing against the barn, rattling the boards, and the distant hum of cicadas.

“you don’t know that either. and what about you, huh? showing’ up outta nowhere. bein’ as bossy as you are?” he says eventually, his tone flat.

“im a pretty good judge of character. and i used to live here. a lot changes in fifteen years.”

he scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it.

“you’re annoying.”

“and yet you’re still here.” you say, letting a smile creep onto your face.

the loft creaks beneath you, but you don’t think much of it at first. it’s old, worn by years of weight and weather, and the barn itself seems to hum with the memory of its age. eren is below, fiddling with his toolbox, muttering curses under his breath as he wrestles with some stubborn pipe or post. you’re perched on the edge of the loft, legs dangling as you watch him, not bothering to hide your smirk.

“you’re taking forever.” you tease, your voice carrying through the barn.

eren pauses, glancing up with an annoyed glare.

“if you think you can do it faster, darlin’ , be my guest.”

“oh, i didn’t say that.” you reply, leaning back with a huff of satisfaction.

“i’m just observing how inefficient you are.”

he mutters something under his breath, shaking his head, and you’re about to push his buttons again when the sharp sound of splintering wood freezes you. the beam beneath you gives a slow, aching groan. erens head shoots up, noticing the lift giving in right where you sat.

you don’t have time to react. the wood cracks loudly, shattering the stillness, and suddenly you’re falling.

it happens in a rush. your stomach lurching, air rushing past you, hands scrambling for anything to grab. you hit something solid but not the ground. the impact knocks the wind out of you, but there are arms around you, holding you tightly.

“jesus christ!” eren’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and alarmed. “are you stupid?”

your brain catches up slowly, heart still slamming against your ribs as you look up to find eren staring down at you. his face is just inches from yours, his arms wrapped firmly around you where he caught you before you could hit the floor.

“i—” you start to say, but the words catch in your throat.

eren lets out a breath, long and shaky, as he lowers you carefully to the barn floor. his hands linger at your sides, steadying you. “are you okay?”

you try to nod, but then you feel it. the sharp, searing pain radiating up your leg. you wince, shifting slightly, and his eyes dart downward.

“you’re hurt.” he says flatly.

“no, i’m fine,” you lie, but as soon as you move your leg, the pain worsens. you look down to see a gash along your shin, blood streaking your skin where the wood must have splintered against you.

eren notices immediately.

“shit-” he mutters, reaching for you before you can protest. “don’t move.”

“eren, i’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers when you try to put weight on your leg.

“yeah, sure you are,” he shoots back, already scooping you up before you can argue. his arms slide beneath your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly.

“stop squirming, unless you wanna make this worse.”

you freeze, stunned at the way he carries you, like you weigh nothing at all. his face is set, focused, though you swear you can see a flicker of concern beneath the irritation.

“you don’t have to carry me.” you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck.

he doesn’t look at you. “and what, let you drag yourself back to the house? don’t be stupid. now imma have to fix up the loft.”

the walk back to the house feels longer than usual, the silence stretching between you save for the crunch of his boots against the dirt. you steal glances at him—at the way his brow furrows in concentration, at the way his arms flex slightly beneath your weight. his grip is careful, like he’s afraid of jostling you too much.

“you’re really dramatic, you know.” you say quietly, trying to lighten the mood.

eren snorts, glancing down at you with a raised brow.

“me? you’re the one who decided to fall through the damn barn.”

“it wasn’t a choice.” you mutter, pouting slightly.

“whatever you say, princess.”

he carries you through the front door like it’s nothing, kicking it open with his boot before setting you down gently on the couch. the shift makes you wince, and he notices, crouching beside you immediately.

“last door on the left, under the sink.”

“stay put.” he says, voice low but firm, before disappearing into the bathroom.

you sigh, leaning your head back against the cushions as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind nothing but the dull ache in your leg and the embarrassment settling deep in your chest.

when eren comes back, he’s holding the first aid kit and a damp towel. he drops onto the floor in front of you, his knees brushing the edge of the couch as he sets everything down.

“this might sting.” he warns, wetting the towel before carefully pressing it to your shin.

you hiss through your teeth, nails curling into the couch cushion. “you could be a little gentler, you know.”

“i am being gentle.” he says, though his tone lacks its usual bite. he works quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scrape before carefully dabbing it dry.

you watch him quietly as he unwraps a roll of gauze, his movements surprisingly careful, his expression softer than you’ve seen before.

“you didn’t have to do all this.” you say softly.

eren doesn’t look up, focused on securing the bandage.

“yeah, well. you’re not exactly good at taking care of yourself.”

“is that your way of saying you care?”

he pauses for half a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. the look he gives you is unreadable, but there’s something there. something warm.

“just… don’t do anything stupid like that again.” he mutters, his gaze dropping back to the bandage.

you bite back a smile, watching as he finishes and sits back on his heels. his hands linger on your leg for a moment, testing to make sure the gauze is secure before he finally stands.

“thanks.” you say quietly, your voice soft.

eren just shrugs, grabbing the first aid kit and standing to his full height. “don’t mention it.”

you try to mimic his movements, grabbing onto the arm of the couch for support until the pain shoots you right back down. eren wastes no time meeting you at eye level again, frowing a little.

“you need to stay put. stop being so damn hardheaded, yn.”

“finally you use my name.” his eyes burn deep holes into yours, brown chunks of hair framing his face.

“eh. i still like princess.”

he pauses, just for a second, as if he’s considering something. then he turns, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“both are real pretty though.” he mutters, but his voice is quieter now, softer. there’s an edge of something else there, something that’s hard to place.

you feel your heart pick up, and before you can even process the thought, before you can even think to stop him, he’s closing the space between you. his hand comes to rest gently on the side of your face, and then, with surprising tenderness, he leans in. the kiss is slow, hesitant at first. just a brush of lips against yours. but it deepens quickly, and for a moment, it feels like time itself is holding its breath. maybe you were holding your breath. his hand curls around the back of your neck, and you instinctively lean into him, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his lips presses against yours, soft and urgent.

the kiss is over almost as soon as it started, and when he pulls back, his face is so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your skin. his eyes are dark, a little unsure, but there’s something raw there too.

“eren?” you whisper, breathless, unsure of what to say, what to do with the sudden surge of emotions.

he doesn’t speak at first, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. his fingers linger against your skin for a second too long before he pulls away, stepping back.

“um, guess i’ll get going then.” he says, voice low, almost like he’s unsure of himself for the first time.

he basically rushes out the front door, leaving you with a bloody gauze pad wrapped around your shin and a sense of confusion.

the farmer’s market buzzes softly with life. the air smells of ripe peaches and freshly baked bread, and the sunlight filters through the trees, dappled and golden. you weave through the crowd, your basket swinging lightly on your arm, filled with a small loaf of sourdough and a jar of honey. it’s your favorite part of the week, wandering between the stalls, picking out produce and listening to the steady murmur of the townsfolk.

you’ve got a small crumpled list tucked into your hand: oat milk, a jar of honey, maybe some fresh greens, and you’re weaving your way through the market when you spot him. eren. he’s standing with a man you can only assume is his father. the resemblance is impossible to miss: the sharpness of the jawline, the same dark hair, though his father’s is streaked with gray, and the way they both carry themselves. quiet and a little standoffish. they’re posted at a vegetable stand, crates of carrots, onions, and cucumbers spread out before them. eren’s arms are crossed as he listens to something his father says, his brow furrowed like he’s only half paying attention.

something about the way eren glances around, almost restless, makes you hesitate. you watch for a beat longer, tucked slightly behind another booth, debating whether to approach. but then eren looks up, and his gaze lands on you. for a second, he’s still, his face unreadable. then his eyes shift slightly, narrowing, and it almost feels like he’s warning you.

you step forward anyway, hobbling a little on your sore leg.

“eren.” you say, your voice soft but steady. his name feels strangely loud against the background chatter, and both he and his father turn to look at you.

eren’s face tightens slightly, but he doesn’t look away. his father, on the other hand, gives you a long, slow once-over, his sharp green eyes cutting into you with a coolness that makes your chest tighten.

“who’s this?” his father asks, his tone mild but clipped, like the words have edges.

“yn, sir.” you offer quickly, stepping closer and giving him a polite smile.

“i’ve been staying with my grandparents for the spring. i’ve seen eren around, so i thought i’d introduce myself. he helps around a lot.”

you hold out your hand, but his father doesn’t take it. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the booth’s counter, his gaze steady and unwavering.

“introducing yr’self, huh?” he says, his voice light, almost amused, but there’s something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

“not many of the town folk bother to stop by our booth, let’lone introduce themselves. guess you must be curious.”

you pull your hand back awkwardly, your smile faltering as you glance at eren.

“i just thought it would be nice, sir. i apologize.” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.

“your vegetables do look great.”

his father lets out a soft huff of a laugh, barely more than an exhale.

“yeah, they do, don’t they? we put a lotta work into this land. more than most people around here would know.”

eren shifts beside him, his jaw tightening.

“dad.” he mutters under his breath, but his father doesn’t even glance at him.

“you stayin’ with the wrights?” his father asks, tilting his head slightly.

“figured. they’re good people, always minding their own business. shame not everyone in town does the same.”

you blink, the words settling in your chest like stones. there’s no malice in his tone, not directly, but the weight of them is unmistakable.

eren’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck, his shoulders tense.

“she’s just trying to be nice.” he says, his voice low, almost resigned, like he knows it won’t make a difference.

his father finally straightens, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“nice is fine-” he says, glancing at you again. “-but not everyone ‘round here is friendly as they seem. might be worth ‘membering.”

the air between you feels tight, uncomfortable, and you’re not entirely sure if his words are meant as advice or something closer to a warning. you force another smile, even though your face feels stiff, and take a small step back.

“well, it was nice meeting you.” you say, your voice a little quieter now.

“i’ll let you both get back to work.”

eren looks at you then, his lips pressing together like he wants to say something but can’t. his father, however, just gives you a small, curt nod.

“have a good day, darlin’.” he says, the words clipped and formal.

you turn quickly, your cheeks burning, and make your way back into the flow of the market. the cheerful voices and warm sunlight feel duller now, muted by the lingering tension.

it’s not until you’ve stopped by another stall, pretending to inspect a bunch of lavender, that you feel eren’s presence beside you. you glance up, and there he is, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pulled into a scowl.

“sorry about him.” he mutters, his voice low. “he’s… he’s just like that.”

you shrug, trying to act like it didn’t bother you, though the knot in your stomach hasn’t quite eased.

“it’s fine.” you say softly, but the look he gives you says he doesn’t believe you.

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the market swirls around you, full of life and sound, but between you, there’s only a quiet tension. finally, eren sighs, tilting his head toward the edge of the market.

“come on,” he says. “let’s get out of here.”

you’ve learned to move quietly, to slip through the back door of the house when no one’s looking, to meet him at the edge of the woods by the lake when the sun has set and the stars are just beginning to prick the sky. everything feels like it’s wrapped in silence, soft and secretive. even the air between you seems charged with something unspoken, something thrilling. for two weeks.

he was addictive.

soft whispers under your large quilts as his lips traced kisses from your neck to lips. engulfing you in a warm embrace. wind blowing through the windows he snuck into.

he loved seeing you drive past him casually in your truck while picking up groceries for your grandmother. watching your hair whip in the wind and the low hum of the trucks engine passing by.

when you and him sat in his living room, playing with the golden lab he named ‘scout’ when he was four. your fingers comb through his mane, tilting your face upwards to avoid from being licked by the drooling animal.

whenever your grandparents gave him yet another daunting task around the farm, he’d watch as your sprawled out in a bikini. sipping the sweet tea, beach hat shading your face. watching as the droplets of water dripped down your chest. he’d hate to admit how many times he’s almost nailed his hands to the barn.

“you okay over there?” your arm, half up in a wave, drawling his attention from your new position. you lay on your chest, slowly pulling at the strings holding your top up. letting them dangle off the side of the chair, you slide the waistline of your bottoms down a little.

“eren! why don’t you come have some lemonade with me?”

you were driving him nuts.

he loved how lively you would get after spending the afternoons in a tiny, quaint bar located on the outskirts of town.

the drives back usually consisting of you halfway out the passenger window, eyes gazing up at the sky as you took advantage of the open landscape. eren would watch you intensely, eyes bouncing from the road back to you.

pulling into erens dirty path driveway, he pulls your body across the long front seat, carefully tucking his arms under your knees and around your back.

“im not drunkk!” you whine, face buried into the crook of the man’s neck while he places you down softly on the dark leather couch. closing his front door, his hand runs through his brown locs with an exasperated sigh.

“you need to sober up so i can take you home, yn. i ain’t trynna deal with a angry mob of old church people.” his height blinds out everything in your path as he stands over you. his large hands cup your face gently.

“boy im grown, come here.” you whisper, pulling him down by the forearm, eyes never leaving his. green eye flicker from your eyes to your glossed lips. your essence was like a gravitational pull.

lips locked onto one another, you can’t help but to notice he much softer his lips have gotten.

“you been exfoliating?”

“i’on know what that is, shut up and kiss me.”

it was hungry. borderline filthy the way his hands rubbed you down slowly. caressing the dips of your waist, cold jewelry slides across your stomach, hitching your breath. the tank top you wore stood no chance. brown nipples poking through the sheer cotton fabric.

hes smiling. feeling his hands roam you so freely. he couldn’t help but to take his thumbs and pointer fingers, slipping them into his mouth and out with a quick pop! going back under your shirt, he takes your perky buds in between his fingers, rolling them slowly as the rest of his hands cup your breast.

“oh! eren- oh my god.”

his lips pepper kisses all over your exposed skin, nipping at spots before kissing over the pain. hands roam down to your thighs, giving them tight grips before sliding down the couch.

eyes latched onto each other, you can’t help but to whine.

“please eren.”

this was the first time in years you’ve felt this strong of an attraction towards someone else. crazy for it to be eren of all people.

“please, what?” he’s slowly tugging at the drawstrings of the shorts you wore. eyes locked on you with a burning passion. sitting up against the arm of the couch, your shorts make it to the other side of the room.

your jaw is wide , eren hissing when you tug at his long brown locks. the moment he’s sliding his middle fingers into your burning core, stretching you open as his thumb slowly teases your clit. his body proceeding lower, all you can feel is slight gust of air hitting your cunt. his lips wrap gently around the swollen bud, sucking agonizingly slow, saliva and slick stick to the man’s face. he hums into your taste, wrapping his arms around the base of your thighs. he laid fully out on the couch.

instantly, you’re falling apart. moans breaking out in short whimpers and high gasps, grinding into his palm and nose. feeling his tongue slip inside your clenching hole, only to add two of his slender fingers.

his fingers scissor up into your throbbing cunt, hitting your sweet spot.

“babyy” you whimper, barely able to get anything out with the man’s face devouring you below. eyes closed in euphoria and concentration. hands interlocked into his head full of hair, your moans grow louder.

“doin’ such a good fuckin’ job, princess.”

feeling how he used his thumbs to spread open your pussy, using his tongue to penetrate your clenching hole. his tongue dips into you, coating his tongue in your cum, before coming back out and circling your swollen bud. the repetitive sensation sends you into a fit of louder moans, enticing the man to keep going.

“oh! ba- fu,fuck eren! im fucking c-“ the pressure builds, coiling tighter in your abdomen until you can't hold back anymore. not even when you’re cumming all over the man’s face, does he stop. he wants more now. he needs more.

from the first day he saw you out by the water, he knew he wanted you for himself. he watched the way you interacted with the townsfolk and farm animals. how sexy you were effortlessly. walking around your grandparents farm with nothing but a bikini on and practically see through shorts.

he hated to see other men in town look at you. the way the old, decrepit men would sit in the farmers markets and watch you browse around. whispering to each other while you naively chose your fruits and vegetables.

he didn’t want to share you with anyone.

his body jolts to a standing position, with ease he’s dipping down to pick you up off the couch. a large wet spot decorated the leather where you lie. he’s carrying you over his shoulder down the narrow hallway of the house.

“where we goin’?” you ask, eyes low and hazy.

you make it to the well decorated room. posters and band prints scattered on the wall , a radio sat in the corner, humming random songs from the station eren left it on. his bed was royal blue and well kept.

that was until you were being pounded into the bed.

you nails grip for anything they can reach. digging straight into the bed set, while his throbbing cock dips in and out of you. he has your right leg thrown over his shoulder, hands pinned to your waist as he draws out. face twisting in pleasure. his dick coated in the slippery substance, a faint white line forming the base of his cock as he moves in and out of you repeatedly .

“makin’ such a mess on me. pretty fuckin girl.”

he waste no time, throwing your other leg over his shoulder, locking you in as he quickens his pace. shallow breaths escape his mouth, eyes locked in concentration. you’re stuck with your mouth in an -o- shape as the man pounds you relentlessly. with a swift pull out, he taps against your side.

“on your knees, princess.”

on all fours, he wastes no time reinserting himself, bottoming out while his nails dig into the supple skin on your waist. the sound of skin slapping together and the wet squelches of your abused cunt bounce off the walls, filling your ears.

“i’ve wanted you for so long, you’re so good to me- fuck!”

the more your honey coated words fall from your lips, the more the man wants to ruin you. he wants to see you beg for him. he needed to have it.

pulling your arms from under you, he pins them to your back, locking you in an unforgiving arch. he feeds you slow, agonizing pleasing, strokes. loved watching the way your pussy desperately gripped around him as he pulled out.

trying your hardest to escape the abuse of your cervix, you try to pull away, only to receive a fire fueled spank on your ass.

“take this dick, baby. you had all that mouth ‘member? you can do it, i know ya can.”

his pace quickens, yearning for your release. the only thing you can form is small gasps of air as the man shows no mercy on your smaller frame.

“eren! oh shit- im cumming again ple-“

he releases your hands, using his free hand to rub at your clit as he continued fucking into you.

your body goes limp, clear liquid spewing out onto the man’s blankets. he flips you back over, eyes dark and full of hunger still.

“gimme just one more? please, honey. she just so good.”

folded into a middle split off the bed wasn’t something you ever thought you could do. yet here you were, on your back, eren standing in front of you, holding your legs apart.

his hips roll into yours, digging at your inside slowly. head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed and eyes low. your hands hold onto his muscular forearm, trying to keep grounded as the man was wearing you out.

with a few more thrust, he pulls out. long white ropes decorate his chest.

“you’re something special, yn.”

after your grandparents had gone into town for their usual errands, you find yourself at the edge of the lake, hidden in the soft embrace of the willow trees. the faint glow of fireflies flickers in the warm spring air, and the world feels still, like it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. eren’s there before you, waiting, leaning against a tree with a smile that always makes your stomach flip.

“thought you’d never show up,” he teases, his voice low and smooth, like it’s a secret only meant for you. his eyes flicker over you, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a crooked grin.

“you just like being dramatic,” you reply, though you can feel the flutter in your chest as you walk closer, the pull between you too strong to ignore.

he steps forward, closing the space between you, and before you can say anything else, his lips are on yours. quick, soft, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless. it’s always like this, quick, a rush of feeling that neither of you can seem to contain. he pulls away just as quickly, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“you’re insane.” you whisper, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

he grins, taking your hand and guiding you down the worn path toward the lake. the grass brushes against your bare legs, soft and cool under the fading light. the blanket he’s spread out by the water is a patchwork of colors. faded reds and yellows that look almost too bright against the darkening sky.

you settle down beside him, the scent of wildflowers heavy in the air. the lake reflects the dimming stars, the quiet ripples in the water mirroring the racing of your heart.

“y’know. ive been havin’ a lot of fun with you.” he playfully nudges your body, rocking you to the side.

“i know. imma miss you, country boy.” the fake southern accent rolled off your tongue sarcastically. although the tone was funny, something about erens aura shifted.

“what’s up? why’ve you gone all quiet?” you ask, eyes fixated on the male. the moonlight illuminated his face, exposing every freckle, unshaven parts of his face, and his eyes locked onto yours.

“i jus’ really don’t wanna let you go, princess.”

“don’t go all sappy on me now. i’ll visit when i can, you know that right?” he just nods, taking a drink of the beer he had before your arrival. the air was thick and warm, your knees pressed together, watching the water reflect the bedazzled night sky as eren just shuffles in his spot.

“yn, promise ya wont forget me?”

“eren-“ you try to stop the conversation before it happens. instead ending up in a tight hug from the man. his arms latch around your waist, head resting over your shoulder.

“im serious, yn. i ain’t ever felt this way for nobody.” pulling away, all you can see is his bright green eyes burning into yours.

“how could i ever?”

you lean in, your free hand brushing against his jaw as you kiss him. it’s slow, deliberate, and familiar, yet it feels new in the way it sends warmth flooding through you.

his hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his touch firm but gentle as he deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to hold onto the moment for as long as he can. the world around you fades. the quiet lap of the water against the shore, the soft hum of the crickets. until there’s nothing but him.

when you finally pull back, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. eren’s thumb brushes over the curve of your jaw, and his lips curl into a small, almost sheepish smile.

“you ever thought about visiting the city?”

random inspo pics at the bottom? yes!

838 notes · View notes

finelinefae · 1 year ago

Text

the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours.

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis.

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying.

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path.

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all.

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there.

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best.

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle.

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed.

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for.

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans.

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him.

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out.

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said.

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them.

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?”

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on.

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot.

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles.

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him.

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.”

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.”

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards.

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish.

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy.

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway.

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face.

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water.

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.”

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts.

. . .

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis.

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes.

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with.

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match.

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat.

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better.

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents.

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated.

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them.

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again.

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone.

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?”

“No,” Harry lied.

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone.

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere.

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . .

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school.

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her.

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to.

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him.

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?”

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was.

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her.

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly.

“What?”

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at.

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation.

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry.

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?��

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,”

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.”

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned.

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained.

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?”

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face.

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,”

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing.

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’.

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further.

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him.

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

“Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her.

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured.

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N.

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all.

. . .

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them.

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities.

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible.

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision.

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him.

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken.

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?”

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.”

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him.

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.”

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him.

Harry’s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others.

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet.

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled.

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down.

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him.

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam.

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly, "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers.

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . .

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend. He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time.

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder.

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned.

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her.

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,”

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,”

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,”

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked.

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one.

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers.

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard.

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed.

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.”

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?"

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead.

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted.

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to.

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mourning-sapphire · 1 month ago

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bruised fruit | aemond targaryen | chapter two

Summary: he wasn’t the warmest man on earth, he walked ashed fields and scattered fruitless seeds, that was until the sun delivered him the ripest fruit from the arbor, his to harvest. The story of a man learning to love his saccharine ladywife and all her softness.

Pairing: aemond targaryen x redwyne!reader

Chapter warnings: there is some bullying in this chapter, manipulation, ablesim, mocking of aemond's physical apperance (not by reader), some brief descriptions of anxiety, some mention of uncomfortable predicaments.

Word count: 16k (oops)

authors note: all i can say is enjoy, while i look at my plans and wonder how tf this turned out to be this long.

previous part | masterlist | next part

Aemond was officially losing his will to live.

Each step he took back to his chambers echoed that frustration, the hopelessness that he was feeling just from a few short seconds with his new endeavour. Everyone in the keep was used to his boots striking stone in some sort of attitude but it was never like this, he had never felt like this before. Thoughts of mounting Vhagar and soaring away from it all to some far-off city in Essos— away from duty, from court, from expectations, from this fucking betrothal—grew increasingly more seductive to him with every passing moment.

Gods, how the image seemed so lush in that moment

He could almost feel the sharp winds of open sky, the endless stretch of somewhere like Volantis beneath him, the screams of his name lost to the roar of wings. The idea didn’t just tempt him anymore—it whispered to him, breath hot against his ear like a lover, coaxing, urging him to flee.

It was erotic in its promise of freedom, it was what he wanted.

The introductions at the docks had gone exactly as he expected— completely and utterly abysmally. His mother’s reaction had been instant to his tone, though quiet. That look in her eyes, like a brewing storm, one she rarely gave him when he acted out of par. She hadn’t raised her voice at his disregard for the Redwyne girl, hadn’t even spoken, but he knew what that particular silence meant. It was the same brittle stillness before she snapped at him, her normally softer eyes widened with rage that she rarely felt for her second youngest. No, his mother had simply taken the Redwyne girl’s arm—gently, diplomatically—and guided her away from him, not sparing Aemond so much as a reprimand in the moment.

But he knew. Oh, how he knew that the verbal thrashing was coming, sharp and cutting,. He could practically hear it now.

But he just didn’t care.

The girl was beautiful, he’d give her that. Striking, even with delicate features, with eyes too wide and too hopeful for her own good. But beauty meant little to him these days, it stirred nothing in him—not warmth, not kindness, not even the faintest urge to impress her. When she’d curtsied to him, dripped with politeness and soft expectation, he could barely bring himself to acknowledge her with little more than a nod and a cold, flat greeting.

In the eyes of his mother, and most likely the gods, he might as well have have spit on the ground in front of her. He’d watched the light falter in her face, fade like a candle by an open window, and for a brief, twisted moment, he’d felt something close to satisfaction.

He knew he was cruel. He could feel it in his marrow, like his own rot beneath polished leather armour.

Usually, he had the sense of mind to feign courtesy towards people he didn’t like, to mask his contempt behind silence. But something about her, maybe her innocence, provoked something vicious inside him. A reflex, like a wounded animal snapping at the kindness of an outstretched hand.

His pain and his anger towards marriage couldn’t be soothed with a pretty wife, no matter how gorgeous she was. If all he wanted was someone beautiful to look at, he had enough coin for that. Aemond could pay for softness, for sweet lies whispered in the dark if that’s what he truly desired. He didn’t need a wife for that. Certainly, not one who would be thrust upon him like a political offering, all smiles and subtle desperation.

The doors to his chamber practically shuddered as Aemond shoved them open, the sound biting through the corridor like a threat. He didn’t pause to acknowledge the servants within who were changing his bedding. He wasn’t usually in his chambers at this time of day, he just stormed inside in his anger, letting the doors swing shut behind him with a thunderous slam. The startled servants quickly bowed and vanished, knowing better than to linger when the prince was in such a state.

He stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by morning light and silence, chest rising and falling with an emotion he couldn’t name. It wasn’t panic or fear, nor was it anger; it was something nasty that had taken all of that and burrowed in his chest. His hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles cracking with the force at which he curled his fist. The quiet of his chamber itched at his skin, he hated it. Hated the way his thoughts almost echoed around the room, bouncing off the stone walls and reminding him of the hollowness of it all.

“It was all a farce, a ridiculous farce” he thought as he tore off his sword belt and tossed it on his writing desk with a thunk, his ink bottles rattling and paper crunching with the lack of care he had.

Aemond was used to being able to keep a level head about most things, about things that shouldn’t matter, but all he could think was this was another thing taken from him as his boots struck hard against the floor. He couldn’t help it but he paced —once, twice, again in front of the balcony doors—a tight line carving into the rug like a trench of his own anger.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice the door open behind him until he heard her voice.

"Aemond." His mother’s voice was calm and controlled, too controlled, for how angry she probably was.

He stopped mid-step at her tone, his body stopping to look out the balcony doors. He didn’t turn to face her, he couldn’t, he didn’t want her to see the turmoil on his face and he didn’t want to see the disappointment on hers.

“Aemond,” She repeated, firmer this time, the sound of her slippers thudding on the floors told him she was walking closer to him, too close.

He exhaled through his nose, the sound more of a huff than a breath, and finally faced her. Alicent stood just by his couches, the light that bled in through the windows catching in the green and gold silk of her sleeves. Lighting her in almost a saintly light. However, what she wore best though was the light of vehemence, banked but, unmistakable in her eyes.

They stood and faced each other off like they weren't mother and son. Like something closer to enemies in that moment, enemies that shared memories, blood, and shared pain. It was heavy, so heavy that the silence in the room was only broken by a guard outside shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

“Would you like to explain to me what that was?” His mother asked calmly, with no raised voice, no theatrics. Just that tone, the one that said she was holding herself together by inches. The one she had used on him and all his siblings since they were children.

Aemond didn’t respond right away, no he looked at her like one might look at a ghost. A relic of something that used to make sense, his mother once made sense to him. “Do you want the truth?” he asked, voice low.

“I always want the truth, Aemond.” She snapped softly, something rare, but there was hurt in it, dripping with it. “Though with you lately, I never know which version I’ll get.”

“Then here it is, I didn’t want to meet her, I never asked for this." He laughed—sharp and humourless, cruel. "I won’t play husband to some dainty girl with stars strung in her eyes who thinks she can smile her way into my good graces.”

“She is your betrothed,” Alicent said, stepping further into his space. “You didn’t even try to be civil, nor attempted to be welcoming.”

“She curtsied like I was a prince in some song,” he bit out like it was a mockery to him, that she couldn’t see how he was. “I spared her by not lying to her face.”

“And what exactly do you think you gain by acting like a beast?” Alicent said, anger beginning to simmer in her voice now, rumbling in her chest. “You not only humiliated her, but you humiliated me.”

Aemond turned away again. “Good,” he muttered. “Let her realise early what she's getting into.”

“That girl is meant to be your wife,” Alicent said, each word clipped, controlled, eyes widening with that familiar anger she often carried for her children. “She could have been your ally. Someone to—”

“Someone to warm my bed? To bear my children?” He whipped around to face her, teeth gnashing like the dragon he claimed to be. “To pretend she doesn’t flinch when she sees what’s under this?” He gestured to his eyepatch, the ache of his sapphire in his socket reminded him of all his agony, his voice cold with venom. “She’ll never love me. And I’ll never love her, so why should I pretend?”

Silence fell at that, thick and heavy. But Alicent’s gaze didn’t waver, though something in her expression softened—a flicker of his mother beneath the queen.

“I don’t ask you to love her,” she said quietly. “I ask you to act like a man, not a wounded boy lashing out at the world.”

That landed deeper than he expected. He looked away, jaw tightening.

She stepped closer, her voice lower now. “You think I wasn’t afraid? That I wasn’t bound to someone I didn’t choose? That I haven’t felt caged by duty since the moment I first bled?”

He didn’t answer, he couldn’t really.

His mothers had an affinity to twisting the situation, something he’d seen grow over the years in the resentment for his father and his half-sister. Despite looking like a pious doe most days, she still had the Hightower ability to twist something entirely so that it may forge something else. Even if that something was reminding her children of all she had sacrificed in life to bring them to this moment.

“I learned to live with it,” she said. “You don’t have to love her, but you must at least respect her, Aemond… You cannot keep spitting in the face of every chance you're given simply because you still bleed over wounds long since scarred.”

He wanted to scoff at that, she too mourned wounds that had barely scarred, longing in her eyes for cuts that would unfurl at the slightest tug.

“I only want you to survive this world,” She added, lingering around him like she usually did; his mother was one of his few allies in his world. “And in this world, you do not survive alone.”

“I make no promises.” He swallowed slightly, his face away from her, he had never been able to deal with her version of scolding. “I cannot pretend that this is what I want.”

It was the closest he would ever come to a confession.

His mother didn’t sigh, didn’t bristle. She merely stepped a little closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm—not to comfort, but to remind.

She was still his mother, and she would always be watching. Her touch was featherlight, but it burned hotter than the forge, like it would melt the leather of his tunic.

“You think I did?” she asked quietly.

And then she was gone, leaving the space colder for her absence.

Aemond stood there for a long time after, unmoving, his eye drifting to the nearest window as the afternoon light stretched slowly across the city. The sky was clear—blue and vast in a way that made the walls of the Red Keep feel all the more stifling.

The thought of mounting Vhagar lingered still, tempting and sharp. He wouldn’t leave, not entirely—he never could—but a ride, just far enough to taste the air and dull the weight in his chest, would be enough.

Something just enough to push the thought of her from his mind.

Despite only being in King’s Landing for a mere few hours, it had already felt as though you’d aged lifetimes already. The capital moved on a different rhythm than home—everyone louder, faster, more watchful. The moment you stepped off the ship onto the stone docks, your every breath felt observed, weighed, and recorded. From the lingering heat of the sun on your shoulders to the heavy scent of smoke and sea air that clung to your skin, the day had been endless, thick with expectation.

It wasn’t like Aemond and his excuse of a greeting helped that case either, the sting of his disinterest still lingering in your chest like a paper cut that just kept throbbing.

It was only under Meredyth’s gentle care that you found the resolve to slow down after you got to your rooms, to come back to yourself after the storm that was this morning. Her touch was practised and grounding, her fingers moving with quiet precision as she brushed the tension from your scalp. It was sad but her movements were familiar in a way that you know you’d also mourn soon. She didn’t speak much after her words of encouragement—she didn’t need to.

The silence between you had always been one of comfort, and right now, it was the only thing keeping you from unravelling entirely in your new rooms.

Though it was much too early to begin preparing for the evening’s feast, Meredyth had started regardless. She knew better than anyone that it wasn’t just about being ready, it was about feeling steady and looking the part you needed to. The simple, deliberate motions of care: hair detangled, oils smoothed into the skin, the rustle of linens being laid out, each act gave shape to something solid inside you. Something you could cling to when the walls felt like they were closing in again.

And that’s exactly what she did.

It was just after a modest lunch had been delivered—a tray of warm bread, honeyed fruits, and spiced wine left mostly untouched—when Meredyth got to work. You feared for your stay here if she remained as sharp-tongued with the palace staff as she had been that mid-day, but it seemed to serve its purpose.

The palace servants did as they were told, tight-lipped and efficient, scurrying about under her brisk orders, despite her having no standing here besides being your chosen maid. It was at her request that a bath was drawn not long after the lunch was cleared away, a breath of relief passing your lips as soon as you saw the steam beginning to rise from the copper tub that they placed near the hearth.

Like always, Meredyth tested the temperature herself, rolling up her sleeves and adjusting the heat with a metal kettle of boiling water until it met her standards, the ones she knew you liked from the back of her hand. Only then did she turn to you, wordlessly beginning to undo the fastenings at the back of your gown with deft fingers.

There was no true ceremony to it—only quiet familiarity of a task she'd done a hundred times over. The layers came away one by one: the soft outer bodice, the shift, the stays, the undergarments, all peeled away like the shell of someone you couldn’t afford to be tonight. It felt final to watch your comfort turn into a soft pile of clothing on the rugs, but it was needed.

When you finally stepped into the tub, the heat was near scalding—but you welcomed it, it was like a kiss to your aching soul. The water lapped at your skin, loosening the tightness in your shoulders, washing away the grime of the docks and days on a ship, slipping away the weight of watchful eyes. You sank in slowly, eyes fluttering closed for a breath or two. For a moment, the world outside the bath ceased to exist.

Meredyth didn’t leave your side, she pulled a stool close and began to wet your hair with a cup instantly, her fingers moving through the wet strands with a tenderness that contrasted the steel in her voice earlier. She said nothing, but her silence was not cold. It was protective. A shield she held up for you when you could no longer hold your own.

The scent of floral, spices, and sage filled the air as she poured oils into the water, turning it that milky colour you loved so much, her sleeves dampening at the edges with each pour of the cup. You weren’t sure whether it was meant to soothe your skin or your nerves—perhaps both. Either way, it helped.

“You’re wearing the pink silk tonight,” she said after a while, her voice low, more thought than command. “The one with the embroidered flowers and veins on the bodice. It’s gentle, but not meek. And it’ll set you apart from every other girl draped in garnet and gold.”

You nodded, eyes still shut, the warmth making it easier to breathe, you knew the dress well.

It was an exquisite gown, the colour of blooming peach blossoms at the height of spring. It was a treasured gift from a group of traders who passed through the Arbor regularly during the height of trading season. Woven from the finest silks, the dress itself almost looked alive with the way it shimmered with any soft light. It was light enough that the fabric just moved like it was constantly catching the breeze, like petals on the wind.

You knew it wasn’t exactly the fashion of the capital but you wanted some sense of self. Even if a part of you worried that the ladies of court would side eye its deeper, sweeping neckline and flowing skirts, it was romantic. All while it was topped off with a gorgeous masterful embroider; a cascade of hand-stitched florals and delicate foliage in gold, green, and rose crawling down the bodice, onto the skirts and up the shoulders too.

The dress was hanging on the dressing partitions on the other side of the room, but you could see the tiny blossoms trailing down the bodice and gather at the waist like vines in bloom. It was a gown meant to be worn under the soft lantern light in the gazebos at home, surrounded by wine and song. Not politics—it was something that was supposed to be a whispering reminder of the sweet, heady promise of spring.

It was all idyllic thought, but it was enough to detach from reality for a while, just staring at the dress and all its intricacies while Meredyth scrubbed at your body and scalp. She let you stay in the water longer than usual, sensing your reluctance to emerge. But when she did eventually help you out, wrapping you in soft linens and patting your skin dry with care, it wasn’t with impatience. It was with the understanding of someone who knew you needed a gentler hand.

Preparations continued like this into the late afternoon.

Eventually, your hair dried with the freshly lit fire, and was brushed, and styled away from your face for the evening. While you often preferred to have your hair loose and down, tonight called for it to be gathered in an updo at the base of your skull. All while Meredyth took delight in sliding floral pins and little pearls into your hair like it had been kissed by morning dew.

Personally, the best part was your skin being scented and powdered lightly; giving you the chance to try the violet and woody oils that you had been gifted on your last name day, their pepperiness and subtle sweetness causing an aura around you like a comfort blanket. Getting ready truly was a ritual for you, as your underlayers too were eventually fitted and smoothed.

And through it all, Meredyth remained your quiet constant, guiding you through each step with the same calm certainty she always had. Tonight, would not be easy, but with her hands steadying you, with her voice anchoring you, the night didn’t feel impossible. Not yet.

She moved with quiet purpose, smoothing out your gown, selecting jewellery, smoothing silks with practised efficiency. She worked like someone who knew who you were even when you didn’t, who remembered what you looked like before the Aemond Targaryen had stolen the colour from your cheeks.

You had declined the offer of assistance from the palace staff—just for today. The Keep’s servants were probably skilled, yes, but they were also strangers with too many eyes and too few loyalties. In this place, every small gesture could be noted, every weakness catalogued. You couldn’t afford to be a novelty or a cautionary tale whispered about in corridors.

Not today.

Today, you needed Meredyth, you needed her presence like breath—quiet but essential. She moved through the room with that same silent command she always had, the air bending subtly to accommodate her certainty while you stood in the centre of it all, truly a stranger in a strange place.

Her motions were purposeful, almost reverent, as she laid out the final items for your attire. Jewellery gleamed softly from your box, the dress checked for any loose threads, slippers positioned just so by the edge of the hearth to put on later.

She adjusted your posture with a nudge to your shoulders, smoothed the fabric gathered at your shoulders without a word, and checked your reflection like it held the truth of your readiness. And perhaps, in a way, it did.

Because somewhere between the soft pull of pins, the scent of violet oil clinging to your wrists, and the quiet murmur of her voice reminding you to keep your chin lifted while she added a small pearl necklace, you began to believe you could do this.

She didn’t ask if you were alright, Meredyth never had, she never needed to. She knew better than to prod at wounds not yet closed. Instead, she gave you tasks to accommodate your busy mind, small ones; lift your arms, hold still, turn, breathe.

It had always been this way, even when you were a child. You were clever, always curious and hungry for knowledge but your nerves were another thing entirely. They were sharp, unpredictable, and often paralysing. Saying no was something you’d never mastered.

Standing your ground felt like walking into the sea without being able to swim. That was part of why home had always felt like a sanctuary: there was no one to challenge, no arguments to endure. Your father, though distracted by matters beyond you, had let you move through life as you pleased. Your sisters had grown and left, leaving you the home mostly to yourself to adventure and imagine as you wanted to.

Sadly, it was only when he took you along on his journeys—through the Reach, for trade, for introductions, for marriage prospects—that the ground began to shift beneath your feet and you felt the weight of those feelings. Even the most familiar towns felt foreign when you arrived as someone to be presented, discussed, considered. You never quite found your footing right away, and more often than not, it took days before you felt like yourself again, if you ever did at all.

Each of Meredyth’s subtle commands returned you to your body, to this moment, to the rhythm of preparation that felt more sacred than ceremonial. And still, she said nothing of the morning. Nothing of the Queen, or the eyes that had followed you through the court like you were prey. Nothing of the prince who’d looked at you with ice in his gaze and no sign of what he was thinking.

Instead, she focused on now, on what she could control.

At one point, she stepped behind you and gently rested her hands on your shoulders, just for a beat. Her thumbs pressed into the knots beneath your collarbones, grounding you, pulling you back from slouching in on yourself.

“You’re holding your breath again,” She murmured, her voice low, calm as she looked you over.

You hadn’t even realised that your breath was trapped.

“Breathe.” She soothed you softly, much like you would a child.

So, you did, slow and unsteady. But you did.

“Sorry.” You murmured softly, voice barely a breath as you smoothed your sweaty palms down your pretty dress.

“Don’t be, just breathe.” She hummed back, circling you and adjusting the smallest of details, “Your father will be here soon to walk you down.”

Meredyth gave you a quiet nod of approval in the mirror, then turned her attention back to the final details. You had refused the help of the palace servants earlier without apology, and you didn’t regret it. Meredyth was the only person in this place you trusted to see you vulnerable. The only one who knew how to hold the fragile pieces of you without pressing too hard.

The Keep’s attendants would have been polite, and efficient—perfect in the way court demanded. But there would have been glances. Questions unspoken but heavy in the air. Whispers waiting to bloom into rumours. You could not afford that, not tonight. Not while everything was still so newly set in motion.

So, Meredyth stayed, and in her staying, you stayed whole for a few moments longer.

A silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with the hush of firelight, the distant sound of bells chiming the hour, and the soft rustle of your skirts as you stood, hands clenched lightly at your sides.

She stepped back, eyes scanning you one last time. There was no flourish, no grand declaration—just the quiet finality of readiness as she nodded at you.

A knock sounded at the door, sharp and composed, your father was here to escort you down the stairs.

The hour had come.

Your father wasn’t the most talkative man, but when he arrived at your chamber door, dressed in deep blue velvet and smelling faintly of wine and cedarwood, he took one long look at you and offered a quiet, honest, “You look lovely.”

No elaborate praise, no flowery embellishments for his youngest daughter. Just those three words, steady and warm, the way only a father could say them. And strangely, at that moment, they meant more than all the silken compliments you’d endured from lords and courtiers over the years combined.

Regardless of the turmoil inside you, you still offered him a soft smile, not forced for once and slipped your arm through his so that the two of you could be on your way. While you weren’t the closest as you got older, your father was still a presence that grounded you.

Though he had spent much of the day apart from you, locked behind council doors with the Queen and the Hand of the King, presumably going over dowries, titles, and the tedious logistics of your future, he seemed noticeably lighter than he had that morning. There was a glimmer in his eye that wasn’t there when you got off the boat, it was the kind you hadn’t seen in some time.

He was pleased with everything you guessed, in his head already convinced that this arrangement would secure something better for you.

It was strange, then, how the sight of his joy only made your chest feel heavier.

Nothing felt as heavy as the corridors of the Red Keep though.

They were vast and echoing, their walls tall; lined with tapestries of the Seven and heavy with history that you were sure you’d come to understand in time. Every inch of carved stone and stained glass that lined the halls reminded that this was the dragon’s domain now. It was all topped off with torchlight casting flickers of gold across ancient murals of dragons and kings long dead.

There was no need for words as the two of you walked in silence, both of your footsteps softened by the rich carpets laid down for the evening most likely to protect the floor from the guests. The scent of roasted meats drifting faintly toward you from the direction of the throne room. Music, too—soft strings and lilting pipes—floated like smoke through the air, growing louder with every step.

You were glad that hadn’t spoken to Aemond since the introductions at the dock, and that by some hope he hadn’t been convinced to walk you down to the feast. He had looked at you, no through you, once today—with that cold, pale eye of his, and you didn’t feel the need to immediately dampen the evening again by seeing him so soon.

It was cruel, but the idea of his presence had felt like needles in your skin, you had never encountered such indifference before. And not just this indifference—this quiet cruelty that didn’t manifest in direct words or gestures, but in the complete lack of them.

As if you were not worth even the effort of his disdain.

You’d spent most of the afternoon trying to tell yourself it didn’t matter, that many noble marriages were made of worse things than silence. That, Aemond Targaryen, for all his coldness, was still a prince—one who could ensure security for your house, if not happiness for yourself. But it hadn’t helped. Not when the memory of his blank stare returned to you again and again in your thoughts, uninvited.

Your father’s voice broke the quiet between you as the throne room doors came into view.

“There is no need to be nervous,” he said, though his tone was more a suggestion than a reassurance, like he couldn’t feel you gripping his arm. “You’ve spent your whole life preparing for nights like this.”

You didn’t correct him. Because while yes, you had been prepared to deal with people, those people didn’t include everyone in the Red Keep. That the people you’d prepared for were closer to a smaller house, or even domain. You couldn’t tell him that nights like this, where all the eyes in the realm would fall upon you, where you’d be dressed up like a doll and offered like a prize, were the nights that were your worst nightmare.

No, you simply nodded, your fingers tightening again on his arm.

He glanced down at you as you walked. “You’ve always known how to carry yourself with grace, it’ll serve you well.”

You gave a faint hum of agreement, your eyes glued on the towering doors now just a few feet ahead. They were carved from heavy oak, gilded with the image of a three-headed dragon coiled around itself. Two guards stood to attention before them, silent and still, save for the gleam of their polished breastplates and the same symbol as the door, ready to defend their king and crown.

Behind the doors, you could hear that the feast was already well underway. The door did little to muffle the laughter now, raised voices, goblets clinking, the low pulse of a drum weaving itself beneath the higher notes of the music.

The sound of celebration, of duty, disguised as joy.

The moment the great oak doors opened, a wave of heat and candlelight surged toward you. The throne room had been utterly transformed, tapestries in rich hues of green and gold billowed faintly in the warm air, while a thousand candles flickered in their sconces, reflecting in the glasses on tables like scattered stars. Tables ran the length of the hall, heavy with silver platters of roasted fowl, smoked meats wafting in the air, fruits glistening with honey glaze, and decanters of Arbor wine shimmered beneath the chandeliers.

A gift from your family to theirs.

The music swelled as you stepped inside, a quartet of musicians strummed lively but elegant notes from the raised platform by the far wall, and all around them nobles and highborn ladies laughed, whispered, clinked goblets, and feasted as though they weren’t aware you were ready to perish inside.

And yet, as you entered, they quieted down—not complete silence, but a noticeable softening of the room as heads turned and eyes fixed on the court's newest meals. You felt them settle on you like the sky when it begins to rain: quiet, cold, and inescapable.

It was as if you could feel their thoughts the further you walked into the feast. Sensing their speculation, judgement, curiosity, and beneath it all, the smugness that reeked from those who’d long since accepted how the game was played. A young lady from the Reach, dressed like a springtime bride, walking to the table of dragons. Another lamb sent into the dragon’s maw, only this.

While your eyes kept forward, towards the queen who sat at an emptier head table than you’d imagined, you could feel the urge clawing at you to look around. A part of you wanted to search for him. For some pathetic sign that he might be there waiting with a happier face at his new betrothed. That he might have changed his mind about you, that the man who had offered you such coldness that morning might reappear tonight with the polished mask of courtly manners.

Even if it was a lie, even if it was only for show.

Your father gave your hand the smallest squeeze, “Smile, if you can.”

And with your chin lifted, your steps even, and your heart steadily sinking into your stomach, you walked forward closer to the royal table.

Dozens of eyes followed you across the floor, some curious, some appraising, and a few too familiar for comfort. You recognised them instantly from the corners of your eyes—the faces of the Reach. Lords and ladies you’d grown up seeing at harvest feasts, who had eaten at your family’s tables, whispered in corners with their heads together. You could sense their attention as clearly as if they had spoken aloud.

You wondered what they saw in you now. A future princess? A girl sold off? A lamb walking herself to the butcher’s table? You gave them nothing of yourself in return.

Just a steady gaze and carefully measured steps.

As you and your father neared the raised dais at the far end of the hall, Queen Alicent stood. Her expression, though warm and perfectly composed, held a gravity beneath the surface—not unkind, but certainly guarded. She descended the steps as you approached, robes of deep green velvet trailing behind her, her seven-pointed star catching the firelight at her throat.

“Lady Redwyne,” she said, with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, not like this morning. “Thank you for honouring us with your presence this evening.”

You curtsied low again, more eyes were watching than at the docks. “The honour is mine, Your Grace. I’m grateful to be welcomed so graciously.”

She extended her hands toward yours. The gesture was gentle, even maternal, though her touch was cool. It reminded you that her grace was not kindness while she squeezed your own clammy hands—it was composure, finely sharpened over decades in the keep.

“This dress is stunning, the colour matches you well,” she said, voice smooth and practised as her eyes looked over you. “I trust your rooms are comfortable? Did you settle in okay?”

You nodded with polite assurance. “Very much so. King’s Landing is… magnificent.” You lied.

Alicent studied you for a moment, her eyes dark and steady. Then, with a softer tone, she added, “We are pleased to have you, I can only apologise that King Viserys could not be here this evening, I believe he wasn’t feeling the best.”

“It is okay, Your Grace, I understand that the King needs his rest.” That seemed to please her.

A subtle smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She offered a final, approving nod before turning towards a table just next to the dais, where you were to be seated for the evening. The music swelled again around you, chatter resumed, and you felt the full weight of the room return.

And still, the chairs beside the Queen’s remained conspicuously empty.

No silver-blond hair. No cold gaze. No dragon’s son to greet his bride.

Even among the candlelight and laughter, something cold nestled at the centre of your chest.

He wasn’t here.

Eventually, you were led to your table just below the royal dais, your father’s arm resting lightly atop your own as you descended the final steps. It took a conscious effort not to falter beneath the weight of so many eyes, you could feel them, quiet and observant, sweeping across you like fresh meat. Nobles from all corners of the realm lined the vast room, arranged in neat rows of long tables dressed in golden runners, goblets of wine already in their hands.

Your place had been set beside your father, toward the front, close enough to feel the subtle heat that emanated from the dais above, where the Queen and her children would sit. Aemond was absent, and unsurprisingly so was his brother.

Still, your eyes were drawn to the table.

From beside the Queen, you caught sight of another pale head bowed low, her fingers laced delicately in her lap, like she was fidgeting with something. The light caught in the strands of her hair, white-gold and softly curled, unmistakably Targaryen.

"Helaena." The name passed through your thoughts like a whisper.

You hadn’t met her yet, you had only heard vaguely of her from your maids back home, but there was no mistaking her from this angle. She sat quiet, withdrawn, her chin tucked so low it nearly touched her collarbone, and you doubted she’d looked up once since your arrival.

It couldn’t be Rhaenyra. You knew that. She was leagues away at Dragonstone, surrounded by her own children and her own dragons. No, the silver-blonde head near the Queen could only belong to her.

A sliver of unease wound its way through your spine as you studied her. There was something delicate about the way she sat, as if she wasnt really there to. But it was fleeting as you looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring.

Instead you drew in a slow breath where you sat, the cool wood of the bench grounding you more than anything else had all day. Your father was already reaching for the silver pitcher of wine, pouring himself a modest amount before glancing your way. His expression was still reserved but there was a lightness in the corners of his mouth, a crinkle beside one eye that spoke of quiet satisfaction.

He was happy with you.

“You carried yourself well,” he murmured, voice pitched low for your ears only. “You’ll fit in just fine here.”

You wanted to tell him then and there, that no, you would not fit in just fine. You were sure that you would probably throw yourself from Maegor’s holdfast within a month.

But instead, you offered him a faint smile in return and a soft. “Thank you, Father.”

He nodded, then turned his attention toward his cup and the people around him, apparently content to leave you to your own devices for now. If you had to guess, the number of people from the Reach that was here was your father's doing, the familiar colours around the room and the odd familiar face more likely something he was conjuring up with the hand.

So, you sat with hands folded politely in your lap as you allowed your gaze to roam across the grand, candlelit space around you.

It was beautiful, not just in the way that royal courts were always beautiful, but it was beautiful in a way that was so distinctly Targaryen. Overhead, great iron chandeliers faced with dragons dripped with wax and light, casting a golden warmth over everything they touched. Musicians played from an alcove beside the sword throne; drums, soft harps and strings weaving a melody that danced just beneath the murmur of voices. Servants glided between tables with silver trays like mice. All bearing foods they've never get to touch; dishes of roasted quail, carved venison, and piles of sugared figs. The air smelled of food, spice and smoke, of baked honey and wine.

Nobles from every house you could name sat together in varying degrees of comfort and formality. You saw girls with glass beads woven through their hair, and Lannister men in embroidered tunics worth more than some smallfolk would earn in a lifetime. Some spoke quietly, heads tilted together in earnest gossip as they flickered around the room; others laughed, bold and booming, unconcerned with the impression they made.

You recognised a few faces. Not names, not titles, but glimpses of familiarity. Ladies you’d once seen at feasts in the Reach, knights who had competed in tournaments where you’d been kept from watching the brutality, too young to truly understand the stakes. For a moment, it almost felt like home. Almost.

But the warmth didn’t quite reach your chest.

You took up your goblet, sipping carefully, if only to give your hands something to do. The wine was sweet and sharp on your tongue, tinged with peaches and citruses. It was definitely your familes making, you noted as you looked again at the dance floor. A few couples had risen already, taking hesitant steps to the music. A trio of children in courtly dress darted between the adults with giggles, narrowly avoiding the skirts of a well-fed lord who barked laughter after them.

You allowed yourself a moment to simply watch.

Then, just beyond the nearest column, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement—and you felt paused.

There was something oddly familiar in the shape of the man who stepped into view, his head turned slightly as he spoke to a companion. He was average height, lean rather than broad, with tousled flaxen hair. A green tunic, the fabric rich but well-worn, but clasped at the front was the silver pin of House Fossoway.

An apple, rendered in red enamel.

Your eyebrows raised as your chest gave a small, surprised jolt of recognition.

Ashton Fossoway.

You hadn’t seen him in years, it felt like. But you remembered him from a visit to the Reach sum years ago when your father was still looking for potential matches closer to home. You hadn't spoken in some time, not since the last time you had accompanied your father to Cider Hall.

You didn’t like to think about that particular trip.

You could still feel the burn of something foul in your chest as the memories of the last time you met came back. There had been an edge to your last conversation, a moment where civility thinned into something uncomfortable and something less kind had bled through in him. He wasnt the quiet little lordling you met at first, and even to this day you weren’t even sure if he’d meant to offend you. Perhaps that was the most irritating part.

You watched now as he took a sip from his goblet, glancing sideways at something his companion said with a smirk. He looked older, of course, hardened slightly over the years. The boyishness had faded from his features, replaced with the leaner edges of adulthood, but there was no doubt that it was him.

He had definitely seen you walk in, there was no way he couldn’t, but still, you didn’t wave or try to draw his attention. Didn’t nod either, you turned your face away just slightly and refocused on your empty plate, heart thudding with a quiet heat you hadn’t invited.

So many faces in this room—and of all of them, it was his that made your pulse spike to something uncomfortable. You were frozen in time as your father leaned toward you once more.

“I’ll take the opportunity to speak with Lord Beesbury,” he said in a low tone. “Perhaps Lord Merryweather, too, if he’s drunk enough to say something useful.” That small, rare flicker of humour passed across his face again, and then he gave your hand a brief, approving squeeze before rising and disappearing into the crowd.

You watched him go, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you blindly reached for some food to put on your plate. You wouldnt eat it, but you could exactly sit and look like you were refusing the Targaryen's hospitality. The seat beside you felt impossibly empty—a hollow gap in the warm hum of the room.

All around, people were laughing, eating, passing platters between them, slipping into old conversations. All while you sat quietly at your place, hand tightening on the silver fork like a weapon you could brandish to stab away these feelings.

You could feel the room pressing in. Not overtly, no one was looking at you directly now, but the weight of your place here, of what your presence meant, lingered on your shoulders like two hands pressing down. Aemond hadn’t even made an appearance yet, if he ever would, and still, you were on edge like you were being hunted for sport.

Laughably you were, while no one was overtly looking at you, there were people at the table near sneaking glances, or looking from the corners of their eyes.

It was already exhausting.

You let your eyes drift again, though you already knew what they would find. Ashton was still across the hall, holding court in his own quiet way, not the centre of attention, not exactly, but comfortably near it. He had a knack for positioning himself just so. Just close enough to matter, just far enough not to be noticed when he wanted. You wondered if he was still that boy who could charm a septa into breaking fast rules and talk his way out of a minor scandal with nothing more than a crooked smile and a convenient memory.

You had hoped he wouldn’t care to talk to you.

Which, of course, meant he did because at this point there might as well have been a fool screaming “LOOK AT SHE” beside you.

You caught the moment it happened. He’d been turning slightly, saying something to a seated knight beside him when his eyes flicked past the crowd and landed directly on yours. Not by accident. Not a passing sweep. His expression didn’t change, not right away, but the pause in his movement. It was that subtle stillness, told you everything. He had recognised you and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

You looked away, instinctively, but it was too late.

You saw him move from the corner of your eye—a step back from his group, a quick word of parting, and then he was crossing the floor. Not with urgency, not boldly, but casually. Almost lazily, like this was nothing at all.

You braced yourself, fingers curling lightly around the stem of your fork again as he approached your table, it was instinctive. He didn’t make you feel comfortable anymore.

“Lady Redwyne,” Ashton greeted, stopping a careful respectable distance away, one hand resting loosely against his belt. “My, it’s been some time.” His voice hadn’t changed either, smooth and neutral.

He was always too polite to be unfriendly, but also too light to be sincere.

You tilted your head slightly, meeting his eyes as you carefully put down your fork. They were a shade or two darker than you remembered, but still bright with that unreadable glint—a flicker of amusement? Curiosity? Calculation?

“Ser Fossoway,” You replied with a small nod, standing with a slight head nod; as much as he unnerved you it was still rude to have a conversation with someone sitting. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

He smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly and shrugged. “You and me both, my father was keen to curry favour.” He glanced toward the dais, then back at you. “I drew the short straw and had to attend this time.”

You let a breath escape through your nose, not quite a laugh.

The air between you remained taut like a string tied too tight, stretched thin with unspoken words between the two of you. There was a circumstance never acknowledged, and memories best left buried, but it clung to you more than him, anxiety gripping at your throat just at the mere sight of him.

It clung to you like humidity before a storm rolled in, tension thick and hard to breathe through. He seemed aware of it, though whether it bothered him was harder to tell. Ashton wore discomfort well, wrapped it in arrogance and smiled through it, as if any unease was something to be thrown back at the other person like a challenge. He was the type to lean into silence, just to see if you’d flinch.

“And you?” he asked, after a brief pause. “From what I hear, this isn’t a social visit.”

No, it was far from that, but still, you kept your tone steady hands holding your wine goblet. “No. It’s not.”

He gave a thoughtful hum as if that answered more than you’d said. “Didn’t think so. Though I’ll admit… I hadn’t expected to see you walk in beside your father tonight.” A brief pause. “I wasn’t sure if you still travelled with him.”

There was something in his voice, it was not quite an accusation but it wasn’t of concern either. Just the faint suggestion that he remembered more than he let on, or at least he was leaning into something you didn’t want to get into, not with him at least, not now.

You looked at him properly then, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel deliberate.

“A lot can change in a few years,” you said simply, lips pulling in what could be a smile from afar, your hand briefly lifting the wine to take a nervous sip.

There was a flicker again in his eyes, and in the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t disagree.

“And now here you are, sitting at the front like a prized swan.” He gestured loosely to the hall around you, where dancers were beginning to gather again. “So, which one of them won the honour, then? Who’s your lucky groom-to-be? Daeron?”

You hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to weigh whether telling him was worth the trouble. But then, what was the point in dancing around it? Word would spread by morning if it hadn’t already.

You met his gaze with a subtle nod, jaw flexing ever so softly like it was a drag to even let out his name, like it would summon him, “Prince Aemond.”

For a heartbeat, Ashton didn’t react. Then, a half-laugh escaped him with a tipped-back head like it was so much funnier than it was. Your skin crawling with the low, incredulous sound that was entirely unsuited to polite company, especially so close to his family.

“Aemond Targaryen?” he said, leaning back slightly as if the very idea tasted bitter on his tongue. “Seven save us, I thought you were marrying into royalty, not into a sermon.”

The sneer in his tone was unmistakable, it wasn’t just mocking, but biting. Something laced with the kind of disdain that sought to wound more than amuse. His mouth curled like he’d bitten into something rotten, as though even saying the prince’s name aloud offended his sensibilities.

“Tell me,” He went on, lifting his brows in mock curiosity, “Will your wedding vows come with a lecture? Or does he just glare at you in High Valyrian until you submit to bed him?”

Your expression didn’t change, though your stomach curled tightly beneath your ribs, the invisible fist of shame or anger tightening with each word.

He was being cruel.

He stared at you for a moment, then shook his head like he was willing something away, grin spreading cruelly over his face like oil on water. “Gods, you’re joking either.”

His voice dropped lower, certainly not veiled, not subtle. “They’re marrying you off to the one-eyed freak? That stiff phantom who skulks around the court like a bad omen? Seven hells, I thought maybe they’d give you to someone real, something warm.”

You swallowed, keeping your hands tightening around the goblet as you politely smiled, eyes flickering around in case anyone heard, like he wasn’t talking about a crown prince so close to the dais.

He leaned in closer, making it look as if he confiding something with me. “You do know what they say about him, don’t you?”

“Ashton—” you began, but he cut over you.

“No, truly, I’m curious.” His eyes sparkled with the cruelty that someone would have while butchering a small animal. “Did you draw the short straw, or did your father throw you to him like a bone to a dog just to win a favour with the Targaryen’s?" He laughed.

“Is it duty? Penance? Some sort of punishment you weren’t told about?” He continued, still leaning into your space while you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible

Your jaw tightened before you could stop it, not in defiance, but in the quiet, instinctive way your body reacted when your words failed you, the way that made you feel like the smallest person alive. He saw it, of course he did, the flicker of satisfaction that lit his face told you that was all he needed. He fed on it like the smallest crack in your composure might sustain him for weeks.

You wanted to say something, anything, to push back to defend yourself but you stood there with your throat constricted. Your voice caught behind the wall of politeness and fear you’d never be able to climb over. Your silence wasn’t strength, it was a cage you locked yourself in and hadn’t yet figured out how to open.

“By the Mother,” he muttered, more to himself now. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

Almost.

He took a slow step closer, voice lowering. “Tell me, are you excited? Or are you hoping he somehow loses that other eye too, so you’ll never have to look at him properly?”

"Maybe you'll take it, finish what his nephew started." He grinned.

You forced your expression to stay calm, your voice low, hands relying on you goblet to stop them from shaking. “You’ve said enough, you’re being cruel for what reason? You do not know him.”

“I haven’t said half of it,” He shot back, too quick, too pleased with himself. “But don’t worry, I’ll save the rest for now, wouldn’t want to spoil the festivities.”

You didn’t bother replying to that, content with looking at the crowd until he left.

Suddenly, Ashton turned making a small, theatrical bow and extending his hand out to you with a glint in his eyes. “Come,” he said, loud enough that the people at the nearest tables glanced over. “It’s a feast, isn’t it? Dance with me, at least someone will be able to look at you with two eyes.”

“I’d rather not,” you said softly, eyes flitting across the room, looking for an out, a distraction, anything, your voice barely carrying over the crowd. “Really.”

But still, Ashton kept his hand out, the gesture unwavering with a smile too wide and too pleasant, like it had been nailed into place. “Ah, but you must,” he said, faux-gently, as if coaxing a child. “What kind of noblewoman sits sulking in the corner while the rest of us enjoy the night?”

You stared at him, your lips pressed into a fine unmoving line, the pulse at your throat fluttering faster, but your expression didn’t shift.

Then he leaned in again, just enough for his voice to slither into your ear like a whisper wrapped in thorns. “Unless you want to seem cold in front of everyone before your prince even arrives,” he murmured, breath warm against your cheek. “Or… are you already practising what marriage to him will be like?”

The insult landed harder than the last, not just because it was cruel, everything he said was. But because it was manipulative, and it came at just the right volume, not loud enough to draw true attention and nor quiet enough for you to ignore.

You didn’t answer his ask, frankly, you didn’t need to, the damage had already been done.

People on the frays around you were still watching the two of you, not many, but enough. Enough to murmur if you refused, and enough for it to mean something, like a match dropping into a pile of paper.

And Ashton, of course, knew it, hence why he asked in the first place.

So, placing your goblet down, you took his hand.

Your fingers curling into his palm, light and reluctant, like you were touching a snake you didn’t trust not to bite you. While he grinned, ever triumphant, and pulled you gently but firmly towards the centre of the floor, where the music was rising into a new tempo and more couples were stepping forward.

“You always were good at pretending,” he murmured as the music swelled. “Let’s see how long you can keep it up.”

You didn’t reply.

The longer Aemond lingered up here on the balcony that overlooked the throne room, the more inevitable it became that his mother would eventually send Ser Criston looking for him. She always did when he vanished too long, especially during events like this where his presence was mandatory. After their talk earlier, he knew he was walking a thin line, and was expected to perform the part of the prince, but he found himself caring little.

The notion of going down there and sitting with the rest of them stirred no urgency in him, only a faint, familiar ache of defiance that he was clinging to.

His fingers flexed around the cold stone railing out of habit, tightening as he leaned forward. His one eye cast down to the feast below. It was a sightly affair, that much was true, some wholesome golden thing that looked almost unreal from his perch above it, watching the affair like the Stranger.

His mother truly had spared no expense for the Redwyne’s arrival. The long tables were heavy with silver platters of food and treats, gilded goblets on every surface, the centrepieces lush with grapes brought in most likely with the Redwyne’s. Topped off with rich pomegranates and early spring flowers. Musicians played from near the corner tucked by the throne, and laughter drifted upward him in intermittent bursts, carried by the fragrant waft of roast meats and wine.

It looked like a truly joyus affair, but Aemond just stared, unmoving, reminded that feasts were never his thing.

It was all so perfectly constructed and so carefully staged by his mother and grandsire. A performance, like every other thing in his life and it didn’t matter that he wasn’t down there, seated at her side or standing tall for the court to see. As long as the spectacle unfolded as planned, Aemond himself was just another figure to be slotted into place.

His grip on the stone tightened again, knuckles paling as his worn hands gritted against the stone. From up here, it was easy to forget he was part of the farce, that somewhere in the crowd below, his bride-to-be sat beneath the glow of candelabras and courtly stares. It was easier to imagine himself a ghost haunting the rafters, unseen and untouched, than a man meant to walk down those steps and claim a life he did not ask for.

Aemond had little interest in partaking in the festivities, he wished for some peace to himself before they only got more extravagant as the wedding neared, and his contribution would be forced. But for now, he could only stand in wait.

Waiting for what, he was not sure, but Aemond’s eye scanned every inch of the floor in assessment. Anyway to kill the time he so dearly longed for.

He wasnt looking, but he did spot you like a beacon of soft pink and nervousness. The demise of his peace was stood off to the side, deep in conversation with someone he completely didn’t recognise. From his place on the balcony, it was hard to completely make out this man’s features without being face-on. But from what he could see, the man you were with was of average height, slimmer but still built enough to swing a smaller sword, perhaps a knight? Or one of the many minor lords littering the court in hopes of favour?

Aemond truthfully had little interest in what you were doing down there with the crowd of feast-goers or with that man, you could puff into smoke for all he cared. His mind truly was at ease where he was, that was until his eye narrowed on the way you stood with the man. It was not indecently close, no, still within the bounds of propriety and your standing. But it was near enough for Aemond to notice something between you, the subtle lean of the man's posture, the faint curve of his comfort in your stance as he stayed close.

There was a familiarity there from the man, unspoken, but there.

You smiled at whatever was said—light, polite—as you lifted your cup to your lips, a gesture that, to Aemond could tell was tinged with nervousness and something else. It was hard to tell from so high up but there was a look on your face that spoke volumes. And it only deepened as the man leaned in to whisper something, something clearly meant for your ears alone—something Aemond couldn’t make out from where he stood on the balcony.

It was only a brief few seconds of chatter but the look you gave was enough to have his fingers tightening on the railing instinctively.

You were uncomfortable.

It was clear on your face, and even clearer when the man held out his hand to dance, all flourish and grin, and you hesitated. Aemond saw it, the fraction of a second where your body held still like your instincts had gripped your ankles to the floor, and your eyes scanned around you like you were looking to flee. But after a second, something passed over your face and your hand rose, slowly, and you let him lead you toward the dance floor.

Whatever was going on between the two of you, clearly wasnt in your favour and he watched you endure it with the same kind of grace he’d recognised over the years in the keep. The kind bred into girls at court, taught to smile through discomfort, to bow their heads instead of raise their voices. You didn’t pull away, but neither did you lean in to it. You didn’t retreat, but you didn’t respond in kind.

The scene below unfolded in vivid detail, the man took your hand and placed his other lightly at your waist as he started to guide you in a more upbeat dance. Unexpectedly, you were composed with your eyes locked on some vague middle distance and never on him. It was a curious thing but you danced like someone trying not to be seen, while he moved with casual confidence, wanting to be looked at, speaking all the while to you. Intimately and too low for anyone but you to hear.

But too loud for Aemond’s liking.

Whoever that man was, whatever title or sigil he bore, his interest in you was laid bare for all to see. It was not subtle and certainly not harmless. Aemond could see it in the way the man looked at you like he was drinking in every inch of your presence, not just admiring, but consuming. Feasting on you with his eyes as though you were something delicate and sweet set out just for him, ripe fruit for the taking.

There was no mistaking it, not in the way the fool smiled too easily, leaned in too close, nor in the way he dared to touch you under the veil of dance, fingers grazing your hand with too much ease. It was the look of someone who wanted, who believed he had the right to want, who didn’t care if others noticed.

And Aemond noticed, even from this high up.

Whether you realised it, that was another matter.

You didn’t lean into his attention, didn’t glow under it the way some ladies in your situation might. No, your movements were tight, graceful as expected, but still nervous and a tad awkward if someone was looking hard enough. There was tension in your shoulders, in the way your jaw set when the man spoke. You smiled, but Aemond saw it for what it was, something brittle, the kind worn by women at court who had been raised to endure.

He watched your smile flicker with each step, watched you nod along to whatever insipid thing the man was saying, even as your eyes betrayed you. Uncertain, darting, never still for long. You weren’t enjoying it, that much was clear.

Aemond was no fool, he knew what it was like to be pulled by the tide of expectation, to dance when you’d rather flee, to play at pleasantries with those who made your skin crawl.

You weren’t refusing because you couldn’t.

Because your refusal would be seen, remarked upon, something for the vultures to feed on. It would be just another whispered thing tied to your name.

Aemond didn’t know your full history with the man and frankly, he didn’t care to. You were his betrothed and that was the extent of it. You were a match signed and sealed by his mother, king, and council. Another step in the tower of alliances and politics. There was no disillusionment, not after this morning and the fuss he’d kicked up, Aemond did not want you, he barely knew you.

However, your name would soon be chained to his in the mouths of lords and ladies across the realm, and frankly, he didn’t care to have a wife who would so openly dance with other men, or even have one speak to her as such. Even if it wasnt your choice.

As soon as you stepped off that fucking boat, your reputation was married to his.

He could stay where he was, and let the snakes pick you apart, but it would be far too easy for gossip to fester so early. A woman seen dancing too closely, too warmly, with a man not her intended, and before the betrothal had even been finalised? The court would feast on the scandal like dogs on meat. They wouldn’t care that you hadn’t chosen it, he knew they never did.

And then his name would be dragged into the mire alongside yours.

Aemond Targaryen, forcibly cucked and made to watch his wife fuck a reachman right under his nose, or whatever notion they’d spread around.

No, he would not let that happen.

Not because he harboured any romantic delusions about you. He didn’t. He barely thought of you beyond the obligations you represented. But as a woman soon to be his wife, whether he liked it or not, you were a reflection of him. And he would not be made to look a fool before the court while some foppish lord with wandering hands played puppetmaster on the dancefloor.

His grip tightened again on the stone balcony railing as a huff of annoyance breathed through his nose. Many ideas rolled around his head of what to do, he could have his sister intervene and ask to talk to you, or perhaps have some scene made, but the likelihood of anything happening was slim.

Annoyingly there was only one thing, he could do.

So, with one final glance down, he stepped away from the edge.

There was no rush in his stride as he descended the stairs leading down to the great hall. No urgency. No fury. He moved with the quiet certainty of a man who never questioned the rightness of his own decisions.

He would cut in. Not because you needed saving—whether you did or not was irrelevant—but because this farce had gone on long enough.

The Reachling had made his move.

Aemond’s descent into the hall was slow and methodical, rushing towards anything was beneath him, and he wouldn’t be seen scurrying towards some pretty welp of a girl. The music swelled as the musicians shifted into a new rhythm, something with a softer edge, a song made for gliding steps and brief touches, something couples would usually dance to. He took the stairs one at a time back down to the throne room, his hands folded neatly behind his back, and though the hall was bustling with the energy of the feast, it felt to him almost quiet.

As he closed the distance, he could see the discomfort in her smile clearer and clearer. It was small, so small most wouldn’t notice, but Aemond had been trained to read tension and he still saw it in the way her shoulders didn’t rise with laughter. In the way her hand looked limp in his hold, almost indifferent.

She was performing, dancing not out of joy, but out of expectation. The man she danced with, that flaxen-haired, smirking creature who looked far too pleased with himself. He held her not with reverence or courtesy, but with something else. Something indulgent. Like he was playing a private joke.

And the court was watching. Aemond felt their eyes like embers as he stepped fully into view. He was not a man who was made for feast halls. He preferred libraries, candlelit chambers, and rooms where things were quiet enough to think.

But tonight, he was reminded of the use of spectacle, of what it meant to be seen.

He crossed the floor without hurry, and as expected dancers moved around him, skirts and sleeves brushing him, heads turning as he passed, they were just as shocked as he was to even me out in the middle of the dancefloor. He heard his name in the hush, spoken in soft surprise, and watched as nobles craned their necks to see where he was going, and who he was going to.

Aemond didn’t spare them a glance.

His attention was on her, the girl in soft pink silk moving through the steps with her partner like a ghost in her own body. She was trying not to flinch when the man leaned in too close again and said something low in her ear, too low for anyone else to hear, but Aemond saw it.

Saw the small, stiff line of her jaw, the strain in her eyes.

He arrived just as the music shifted again, a convenient moment, one that made his interruption seem, at least to the casual eye, almost natural.

He stepped directly into the space next to them.

The man startled, not dramatically, but enough to falter for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the sudden presence of the Prince between himself and his dance partner. Aemond didn’t care enough to give him time to recover or even look at him. He merely extended a single hand, palm open and steady, expectantly wordlessly cutting in.

There was a moment of uncertainty, the kind that clung like damp wool, he knew he could not be denied.

“My prince—” the man began, his tone laced with false charm, the kind of arrogance only second sons and minor lords carried with such ease.

“I believe I’ll have this next,” Aemond said calmly, not loud, but sharp enough to slice through the music. His eye, cold and pale, didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He looked directly at the man, unflinching, and held his hand out without wavering.

The man hesitated, a falter in his step that told Aemond that he wasn’t as confident as he seemed. Perhaps the fool was weighing his station, his pride, against what it might cost him to challenge a prince. Aemond waited, whatever challenge the idiot could bring would be handled.

He never moved, he didn’t need to.

And like that, the other man caved like a paper house in the wind.

He resisted the want to smirk as the man stepped back with a mocking little bow, one not deep enough to be respectful, but not shallow enough to be overtly rude. Cowardice thinly veiled in civility, but Aemond paid it no mind for now. He no longer existed to him at that moment.

Instead, his eye shifted to her.

She looked up at him, startled, not afraid, but unsure. She hadn’t expected him to come down, not when he had so clearly removed himself from the night’s festivities. Her fingers trembled faintly at her sides.

“Lady Redwyne,” he said smoothly, without warmth, “Dance with me.”

There was no choice in it, not really. He was not asking her to dance, he was telling her, and they both knew it.

Still, she hesitated, a placid little thing out of uncertainty, not rebellion. There was a beat of hesitance from her before placing her hand in his, her fingers were warm, slightly clammy, and for a moment he wondered if she was embarrassed, or simply exhausted by the performance of the evening.

Aemond wasted little time and drew her into the proper frame without ceremony, his hand resting lightly but firmly at the curve of her back, his other hand cradling hers with practised grace.

And with a breath, they moved.

The first few steps were awkward, as they adjusted to one another’s rhythm. She didn’t look at him. Her gaze lingered somewhere over his shoulder, flitting from face to face in the crowd like she was counting how many people were watching.

And many were. Lords and ladies leaned closer to whisper behind their cups, and he didn’t need eyes in the back of his head to know that someone had already passed word to the Queen. Aemond didn’t speak, he didn’t ask her if she was alright, he didn’t tell her she looked well. He simply danced, guiding her with ease, his body fluid, elegant, trained not for joy, but for appearances. For control.

The silk gave under his touch like water, cool yet warm from the heat of her skin beneath. The bodice had structure, yes, but the rest of it moved like it barely clung to her frame, brushing against his fingers and his boots as they turned through the dance.

It suited her, that dress, perhaps more than it should have. The colour softened her and caught the light in a way that made her seem gentler, more breakable, like a figure carved from porcelain. And Aemond, even in his indifference, noticed. Not because he wanted to, but because it was impossible not to.

Every step they took together reminded him of it, how small her waist felt beneath his hand, how the brush of her skirts swirled like wind around his boots, tangling against his legs like she was trying to trap him. There was something dissonant about it, this softness paired with the tension he could feel in her spine. She contrasted him in every way, the soft silk clashed harshly with the leather of his garments; like the way sand would meet rock, there was a line between them that was ruled all the way down to their clothing.

She moved with grace, yes, but there was a stiffness just under the surface. She wasn’t at ease. He could feel that in the slight hitch of her breath when he guided her into a turn, the way her hand twitched ever so slightly within his own.

Still, she felt light in his hands, not fragile, but held in a way that spoke of restraint. He could sense how much she wanted to shrink, to disappear from this moment. Perhaps not from him, but from the weight of the night; from the eyes, from the whispers, from the man who had tried to drag her into something unseemly just moments before.

Aemond didn’t care for her feelings, or how she would probably flee as soon as he released her from his hold.

But he did care for her name, and his.

Letting her be paraded by some shrewd Reach peacock would do nothing for their engagement. The court would smell blood, and the rumours would outlive the night. She’d only been here a few short hours but he knew that people would already be questioning the match, comparing her station, his reputation. Aemond wouldn’t have her looking weak, not because he pitied her.

But because she was his betrothed, and weakness by her side reflected on him.

So, he danced, wordless and focused, body poised like a blade sheathed in velvet.

He hadn’t come to rescue her; he had come to remind the court exactly who she was marrying.

The silence of your chambers was nearly deafening after the roar of the feast.

It greeted you like an old friend the moment the heavy doors shut behind you, muffling the fading notes of music still lingering in your head from the great hall. Having declined any help for the evening, you stood there for a breath too long to centre yourself. Your back pressed to the carved wood as if the weight of the night hadn’t truly settled on your shoulders until now, until the moment you fled and returned to your rooms. It was only then, in the solitude of the candlelit room, did your body find the will to sag, the effort of appearances finally dragging you downward as you slouched for the first time in hours.

Despite how upset you felt, you didn’t cry, you weren’t sure if that was from restraint or exhaustion, but no tears left your eyes yet. They would come, but right now, exhaustion riddled you useless.

It felt like a godly effort, but you found the strength to push off your door and walked slowly into the room, fingering itching as they reached behind to the ties of your dress. Undoing the clasps of your gown with stiff fingers and bated breath.

It wasn’t the dress’s fault, it had looked beautiful, it was beautiful, but after this disaster of a night, it clung to you like a memory you didn’t want.

The fabric was soiled with Ashton’s laughter and his cruelty, the feel of his fingers curling too tightly around yours, the mocking grin that never left his face no matter how soft his words became. It clung to the hem and the bodice like perfume, unwelcome and sour. You wondered if the embroidered flowers on the dress would somehow wilt due to his wretchedness.

The closer you drifted to your vanity, the more the weight of the evening clung to your skin like oil, like something foul that needed to be scrubbed off.

Your fingers worked on pure instinct, finding the ties and clasps, loosening seams that had felt too tight since the moment you’d stepped into the gown hours before. You didn’t even look down as it slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a sigh of fine pink silk. You could only step away from it like it was ash, something scorched and ruined, unfit to be touched again.

Let it lie where it fell. Let it burn a hole in the rug if it wanted to.

The room felt quieter without it, not in sound, but in pressure. It was like your lungs could finally expand again as you drew the first calming breath of this evening.

The fire roared in the hearth and flickered across the room, crackling softly, the orange glow crawling across the cold stone walls, licking gently at your bare skin. It didn’t chase away the chill completely, but it was something. Something tangible, something real, when so much else that night had felt like a performance.

The air was still, but not silent. There was the distant whisper of the wind outside the keep, the occasional pop of resin from the logs, and the rustle of your underthings as you peeled the last of them off. You stood there for a moment, wholly unguarded, stripped down to your skin in this foreign chamber, where nothing yet had your scent, the bed didn’t have your shape.

You could feel the weight of your hair falling down your back as the pins were plucked from it. Pearls falling to the ground like tears, and the gooseflesh rising along your arms. with each soft ping of them falling to the floor. Your heartbeat was loud, thudding steady and stubborn beneath your ribs as your hand drifted to your bare torso, soothing the skin with ghosting fingers to try and remedy the anxiousness.

It was strange, this bare newness, to be unwrapped and naked in an unfamiliar space. You weren’t used to being watched at court, not like that, not like tonight, and yet you still felt the phantom burn of eyes on your back, the heavy weight of stares you hadn’t invited to even look at you. You tried to push them out of your head, tried to will them back to the feast hall where they belonged.

But they followed you here, haunting you while their hands clung to your shoulders, a memory you couldn’t shake.

It was out of nervousness, but your gaze slid to the bed, to the nightgown hung neatly over the bedpost, waiting for you to climb into—something gauzy, simple, soft, untouched. You reached for it instantly, with fingers that were colder than you realised, brushing the linen like it might vanish if you moved too fast. You slipped it on in silence, letting it fall over your frame with a sigh.

And only then, wrapped in something that was yours, did you exhale fully. Your shoulders slumped, your throat ached as the fabric kissed your skin.

The fire in the hearth was the only warmth in the room as you moved toward it, arms wrapping around you, chilled despite the heat from the dancing flames. It was still early spring, and the heat hadn’t settled into the nights yet. It was cold and lonely in your rooms, even if there was still voices echoing in the sharp of your mind.

Ashton? No, you willed him away, your brain trying to focus on something else, you couldnt think about him, not now.

Aemond.

You hadn’t dared look at him during the dance, not properly, not like this morning on the docks. And certainly not straight-on. Your eyes had flitted, caught in the space just barely over his shoulder, to the far walls of the hall or the blur of movement from other dancers.

Anything but his face, not because he wasn’t beautiful, he was, but because what if you looked and saw disdain? Or worse—nothing at all again?

His expression from the moment he had stepped in had been carved from stone. You weren’t the type to be able to read anyone, but he was truly unreadable, untouched by the warmth of the feast. Not cold exactly, but distant, like he was seeing straight through you. His hand at your back had been firm, unmoving as his fingers sunk into the fabric, the weight of it solid and inescapable through the thin fabric of your gown.

But it hadn’t hurt, no, there was no cruelty in his touch.

You had danced with him like a ghost of yourself, there in body, swaying in time to the music, but your spirit had splintered somewhere else. You moved because you were meant to, because he had extended his hand and the room had turned to watch. Denying him wasn’t an option, not when his eye had locked with Ashton’s like he knew something you didn’t.

It had felt like you were being hunted.

When he’d taken your hand, there had been no softness in the gesture, no attempt to ease your nerves or offer comfort. It was all duty, and as he’d placed his hand on your back and led you into the dance, there had been no flicker of familiarity or curiosity in his face. Just that same look you’d seen earlier at the dock. Detached.

He was exhausting.

Not in the way that loud, foolish men were like Ashton were—no, this was something else.

It was the weight he carried, the way he seemed to suck the air from the room by simply standing in it. The way his silence spoke volumes and forced you to fill it with endless questions you weren’t brave enough to ask.

You wanted to talk to him, extend a hand and tell him that the two of you were in the same situation. But it was clear, painfully so, that he had no intention of getting to know you, not truly. You were a name, a political match, his new obligation.

A body to wed and keep.

Every thought of him had you sinking to the floor in tiredness, your fingers brushing the edge of the mantel as you stared into the fire, trying to will the heat into your skin.

The rug was rough even through your nightgown, but you didn’t care. The cold tonight wasn’t just physical, it came from a place deeper than that—clawing its way from the hollowed pit in your stomach, the ache in your throat from saying too little, and the shame that now sat so stubbornly in your chest.

There was something wrong with sitting here, childish, you thought vaguely. Something undignified in being on the floor, in nothing but your nightgown, legs curled beneath you as you watched firelight flicker and warp the edges of the room.

But still, you stayed, the warmth of the fire was the only thing that reached you and even that felt undeserved.

You tried not to think about the dance. Not about his hand at your back, not about the silence between you. Not about the way the air in the hall had shifted, how people had looked. Not about Ashton’s cruelty or smirk when he stepped away, or the way your stomach had twisted in panic when Aemond had reached out for you.

But the thoughts came anyway.

The fire snapped, and your shoulders flinched, even though it wasn’t loud. Every sound felt like it might splinter something inside you, the anxiety hadn’t lessened with the night, if anything, it had grown roots.

And you were left here, body curled in, chin resting on your knees, folding inward like maybe you could disappear into yourself.

Disappear into the heat, into the shadows cast against the stone, somewhere else but now. You hadn’t said a word to him. You hadn’t said a word to anyone that mattered, and now your silence clung to you like smoke.

You didn’t know if it would ever come off.

The stone corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast were still cold at this hour—not just in temperature, but in spirit. But they had always felt like that to Aemond, a series of quiet, winding networks that little knew about. A hidden home of half-forgotten passages built for secrecy, for war, for escape. The kind of place where ghosts felt more at home than men.

He liked it here.

His boots struck the ground in a measured rhythm, their echoes soft against the stone walls. The torch in his hand sputtered with each step, its flickering light barely holding back the shadows that clung to the corners like cobwebs. The air in the tunnels always reeked of damp stone, dust, and something older—something metallic like rot.

Not that he cared, he never walked through them for the atmosphere. He was walking because if he’d stayed a moment longer in the feast hall with her any longer, he really would have climbed onto Vhagar and flown away that very night.

Part of him wanted to argue that this wasn’t about her, not truly.

It wasnt about the way her fingers trembled slightly as she danced with that smug green-and-gold Reach bastard.

No, he didn’t care. She was his betrothed at this moment, not his wife. The arrangement wasn’t of his choosing and it wasn’t a matter of love or want. She could dance with half the court for all he minded, so long as she understood the boundaries. So long as they did.

It was about that man… Ashton Fossoway.

Aemond knew his type well, soft-handed, easy-tongued lords who grinned as they slid daggers between ribs. The mocking kind who whispered poison behind goblets of Arbor gold and pretended it was a jest.

Aemond flexed his fingers even the thought og his name. His jaw tense as he passed deeper into the tunnel, his eye burning from the light of the torce—or maybe from the restraint he’d forced on himself all evening.

He had held it in, he had danced with her, cold and civil. He had kept to his role, even though he didn’t wish to. And now, here he was. Walking through the underbelly of the Red Keep in search of something. A place. A person. A moment where he didn’t have to keep holding the mask to his face.

Aemond needed release.

He had gold tucked in his belt and his cloak wrapped tight to hide his hair from any prying eyes. The guards at the postern gate knew better than to ask where he went on nights like these, or even stop him from coming and going. Some men drank. Some hunted. Some chased women.

Aemond preferred clarity. Something brutal. Something honest.

He didn’t lie to himself about what it was. There was a woman in the city, tucked away in a quiet quarter far from the eyes of court, whom he visited when his thoughts grew too loud or his temper pressed too tightly against his ribs.

A woman who asked for no tenderness, gave none in return. There were no lies in her hands, no illusions in the way she was paid to talk to him or the way she looked at him like he was not a prince. He was not a dragon in there, but a man—a man wound too tight, too cold around the edges. Who was just desperate to feel something that did not come wrapped in duty or shame.

That was what drew him into the tunnels.

What had him turning down a narrower stairwell, the stones slick with age, and inhaling slowly. It wasn’t desire, that drove him. Not lust. Not love. It was need. A crack in the wall of control, a hunger for silence in the aftermath of the spectacle he was made to endure. He had danced. He had allowed her to be touched by a fool and had said nothing.

Now he needed the storm to break somewhere.

And not within the Red Keep. Not where the walls had ears.

Not near her.

He needed something he had control of, something of his choosing, something fleeting.

He just needed release.

He had navigated the tunnels to the holdfast more times than he could count, he could walk it with his eye closed and his ears plugged, and still would end up in the same places. It was always a left at his mother’s wall, where it was always quiet. He could sometimes hear the soft shift of her footsteps, or her muted voice in prayer or conversation.

From here he knew hiis sister's apartments were further off, filled with the distant echo of her children’s laughter or the mumbles of her talking to her crickets.

Now, the part he walked down now contained the nicer guest chambers, the ones down here were often empty, and when they weren’t, they were too loud, too foreign to hold his attention long. He didn’t often didn’t linger there.

Aemond’s steps slowed as he approached the narrow corridor that let someone squeeze past the guest chambers, the light falling in through the lattices in the wooden walls. His boots made barely a whisper against the stone as he shuffled. This part of the holdfast was always quiet—intentionally so. As they should be.

He expected the silence, relished it, that was until the silence cracked.

It was soft. So soft he almost missed it if he was walking any faster—it slipped through the tunnels like the creak of old wood or a breeze slipping through a window left ajar.

But Aemond was not a man who missed things.

In losing an eye, his other senses sharped drastically, and while others might have missed it, he found himself stopping mid-step, head tilting slightly. The sound had come from behind the carved lattice to his right—one of the intricately patterned walls built to let heat and air pass from room to corridor.

It was curious, but he turned his head toward it slowly, the torch he carried lowered to the ground to let the fire burn out incase the person on the otherside saw.

He thought that maybe it was a one off noice, but there, it was again the closer he got.

A choked inhale, a trembling exhale, quiet but soaked in emotion. Then a sob, not sharp or shrill, but the kind that sat in the back of the throat, struggling to be kept down.

Through the narrow, patterned gaps in the lattice, Aemond leaned in just enough to peer into the chamber, the thick carved wood cool beneath his palm as he steadied himself. His eye fixed on the sliver of the room beyond, adjusting slowly to the contrast of light and shadow. The light from the room bled faint golden stripes through the cutwork panel, trailing down his face like stained glass.

Everything was dim, the candles had slowly gone out, but the hearth still gave the room a light that bathed everything in warm tones. The firelight licking up the shadows made the space feel softer than it truly was, filled with false warmth.

His eye narrowed further, focus sharpening as he looked around what he could of the small space. The light inside the room was steady, but not bright, which made details slow to come into clarity. What he saw first was the rug, thick and plush, patterned with rich thread, it absorbed the firelight like old velvet.

And then movement, a shift, subtle and hesitant, he stepped slowly to the side to see just past the couch, his head tilted slightly downward.

Someone was there.

When he realised who it was he felt his body go still, his breath softening as he adjusted his angle slightly, tilting his head just so just to get a clear picture.

There she was—the Redwyne girl.

Sitting low near the hearth, folded into herself as though trying to vanish entirely into the space she occupied. She sat near the hearth, wrapped just in her nightgown. The material was gauzy enough that the light from the fire caused an outline of her body. She was curled like a soft piece of cotton with knees drawn close, arms looped loosely around them.

The fire warmed her skin, painting her bare arms in soft tones, but it didn’t reach what he could see of her expression. Her face was turned slightly to the side, but it was not enough to hide the way her brow pinched and her lips trembled. Small beads of water gathers on her cheeks.

She was the one crying, not loudly, not desperately. But it was raw, real, and more honest than anything he’d seen from her since her arrival. Her shoulders hunched forward slightly, almost childlike in the way that she cuddled herself. Every so often, her breath would stutter from trying too hard not to make too much of a sound.

He didn’t move, he barely breathed as he watched her.

There was something deeply strange about watching her like this. It was not out of amusement, nor desire, nor pity. He didn’t even know what he felt. Only that he was watching, and that he could not look away.

There was something about the fragility of the moment, about seeing her so small, so unseen—that settled something uncomfortably in his chest. Something familiar, like he’d been that person before.

He should have left the moment he realised, turned and gone the way he came, left her to her grief. But his feet remained planted, his single eye fixed. Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps calculation. Or perhaps something far simpler: an understanding of what it meant to bleed behind closed doors.

Watching her cry had killed that need for release that he had, that need to sink himself into some warm body and replaced it with something he hadn’t felt in years. Something he kept locked and controlled, the astute and uncomfortable feeling of being laid bare.

The restless hunger that had driven him to the tunnels in the first place—his need to sink into some faceless warmth, to dull himself in carnal release, to claw something human out of the night—died quietly in his chest the longer he watched her.

His desire was snuffed out like a candle with no air.

Aemond clenched his jaw and let his eye drift shut for a moment at her sobs, dragging in a slow, steady breath as he tried to take everything in.

Then, without a sound, he made his decision.

Finally turning and melting back into the tunnels, back to his rooms to deal with it himself, the whisper of his boots on stone the only sign he’d ever been there.

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