#* this was from one of the ask you sent before : ' ))

[1d1195]

Independent

~10.6k words

From me: I know it's a long one, but it's a one-shot.

Warnings: angst, fluff. I've got about a thousand tropes in this one. Coworker Harry, Roommate Harry, love at first sight, he falls first and harder, one bed if you squint.

Summary: “Go on a date with me,” he groaned.

“Because of the cookies?”

“No! Well, yes. Right now, yes, because of the cookies. But s’not usually because of cookies.”

She laughed. “I don’t date, Harry.”

Harry was tall, with soft brown locks that begged to have fingers run through them, and cool green eyes that reminded her of the sage green bridesmaid’s dress she wore to one of her friends’ weddings the year before. He wore a dark purple button down with sleeves rolled up revealing a bunch of tattoos on his left arm but only a few on the right. His voice was melodic. Smooth, like he was going to sing her a lullaby and warm like it could toast a marshmallow.

Her group chat with a couple of her office friends had been buzzing the moment Harry took residence at the desk across the aisle and one row ahead of her.

Holy fuck. Val texted. Office eye candy 😍

Do you hear that thundering sound? That’s my heart 😍 Rachel continued.

She smirked at the desks, shaking her head.

Don’t shake your head. Say something! At least you’re single, you have a chance! Val sent the messages in quick succession, making her desk partner, Hunter, look at her curiously each time it vibrated.

“Do you have an emergency?” He asked her.

She shook her head. “Nope,” she smiled. “Not at all.”

*

Harry met her and asked her out on the very first day he started his new job. They both worked in an office. Their desks only a short distance apart while they worked together. He assumed there were no rules against dating as there were several married couples within the office as he quickly found out from the shared last names and wedding photos of his coworkers lining one another’s desks.

It seemed, as long as it didn’t interfere with their work, there was no issue.

Which was fine by Harry.

He was happy to ogle her all day long and he would spoil her rotten outside of work. “Hi, m’Harry,” Harry took his opportunity to introduce himself when everyone else left for their lunch hour and she was finishing something up. Leaving them alone in the office. Harry analyzed her desk as quickly as he could.

Their office was wide open with desks back-to-back nearly identical on either side with a long aisle leading to the office of their boss at the back of the room. Her desk faced the front of the room while Harry’s faced his boss’ office. He was on the opposite side of the room, and he had a great view all day long to watch her profile as she worked. Her hair was half up, her beautiful eyes hidden behind glasses, and her mouth set in concentration as she focused on her tasks. He couldn’t see her whole body, but he watched her pull her sandy colored cardigan around her white shirt multiple times that morning, like she was chilled by the air conditioner. His eyes were drawn to her. Like she was a lighthouse, and he was out at sea. All he wanted to do was watch her, keep an eye on her, and admire how stunning she was.

She had a little plant near her window—a bunch of red poppies wrapped up in a burlap vase, tied with a red bow. He couldn’t tell if it was fake or not, but he suspected it was. There was a picture of a large group of friends right by her monitor where she was off to the side in it, one of her girlfriends had an arm around her. Her stationery was cool tones of blues, greens, and purples. Her handwriting was scribbled on a calendar in front of her and he thought the way she curved her L’s was loopy and pretty beyond belief and he wished he had one in his name just to see how it looked. But it made him want to know how she would write his name anyway. There was a date at the end of September that was marked with a heart and he wondered why. Was it an anniversary? A birthday? Or the day her favorite movie came out?

A book sat on the windowsill, and he wondered when she had the time to read it during the day or maybe it was a security blanket kind of thing. There were two paper trays stacked on top of one another to organize her work and sticky notes all over her monitor and desk with ideas, reminders, and even a couple that said things like, “we love you” and “you’re so sweet.”

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled up at him to introduce herself. “Welcome to the team, are you having a good first day?”

He nodded, smiled a little brighter and dove right in. “I think m’in love with you,” she released a laugh that was so unbelievably beautiful Harry thought it sealed the deal. “I wouldn’t laugh, kitten. M’serious,” he frowned with faux sadness. He knew he was being a tad bit ridiculous. Maybe it wasn’t right to say it while they were alone, but he didn’t want to say it in front of everyone either. Hopefully he could convince her he was harmless, even if what he said was true.

Her cheeks reddened and she smiled. “That’s... very forward,” she reminded him. “And you don’t know me.”

“I know,” he rubbed the back of his head. “I was going t’hold off on saying it until tomorrow, but m’unable t’contain it. You’re very beautiful and everyone seems t’go t’you when they need help, so I imagine you’re a lovely person,” he pointed at the sticky note that said we love you once more. She snickered again and looked away covering one cheek with her hand. “M’going t’go t’lunch before I embarrass myself further, but I jus’ wanted to tell you,” he shrugged, stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned toward the exit.

“Nice meeting you Harry,” she called after him a smile on her lips.

He grinned and turned briefly to wave before he exited. “Don’t forget t’eat, kitten,” he called.

*

But now that Harry admitted he was in love with her, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched while she worked. Her eyes darted to his side of the room often trying to see if he was staring at her. He wasn’t each time which only made her feel guilty and worse. Maybe her standoffish disposition deterred him rapidly. It was probably for the best, anyway. For a lot of reasons.

Was it disappointment she was feeling from his lack of attention? That didn’t seem right.

“Harry!” Val called from behind her. “Are you enjoying your first day?”

“Immensely,” did his eyes drift over to her and her desk? She stared at her screen pretending to work while she listened.

“Did you just move to town?” Rachel was much further towards the front of the room. He turned to give her his full attention. It made her heart skip a beat with how kind it was. His politeness was a massive turn on.

Even if she wasn’t going to let herself admire Harry from across the way just because they worked together.

“I did, m’actually looking for a place t’live if y’know of any places. M’at a hotel until m’on m’feet.”

Her heart started beating about two hundred times a minute because she knew what was going to happen before it did. She could feel the bubbling excitement from her friends on either end of the room. “Mary Poppins has a room!” Rachel shouted.

Her cheeks turned bright red.

“Her roommate just moved in with her boyfriend like last week! How perfect is that, Mary? You were all worried about finding a normal roommate. I even did his background check, so I know he’s good to go!”

Harry chuckled. “Um... who’s Mary Poppins?”

The whole office giggled. “Miss Poppins, did you not introduce yourself?” Someone else called. Hunter snickered across from her and she glared at him.

This was mortifying. Wasn’t this supposed to be a mortifying day for Harry? His first day and all? How come she was being teased? She took a deep breath and turned from her monitor to make direct eye contact with Harry who was already looking at her. Like he knew exactly who Mary Poppins was without his coworkers needing to tell him. “It’s a two-bedroom apartment. One bath. There’s a nice kitchen, all new appliances.”

Harry’s jaw dropped as she spoke. Like he was surprised it really was her. “Val looks like she’s going to bounce out of her seat,” Hunter smirked as he whispered under his breath to her while she tried not to panic at the thought of living with someone so unbelievably attractive and just admitted he was in love with her.

“Tell him about your living room!” Val sounded like she was bouncing.

“Water’s included.”

“She’s the cutest interior designer. It’s so homey it feels like a warm hug when you walk in. Like living with a rom-com character,” Rachel continued.

“Rent would be about twelve hundred,” she ignored her so-called friends.

“She bakes something once a week too, so it always smells like sugar and Christmas. It’s seriously the coziest place I’ve ever been,” Val kept going.

“In-unit washer and dryer.”

“Then she brings whatever she makes for all of us here to devour. It’s incredible,” Rachel’s sentiment was answered with a hum of agreement from the rest of her coworkers. She even heard someone say remember her apple turnover pastries?

“You get your own parking spot,” she tilted her head and looked at the ceiling to see if there was anything else she had forgotten. “I think that’s it,” she met Harry’s eyes once more, holding his gaze briefly before she turned back to her monitor.

“Harry you should totally move in, you will fall in love with the place.”

“M’sure I would,” he chuckled. “Could I see it sometime?” He asked. His attention never strayed from her face. She could sense his gaze on the side of her cheek the whole time her friends embarrassed the crap out of her. “Whenever you’re free. Doesn’t have t’be today.”

“Today’s fine!” Rachel assured him. “She doesn’t do anything on Mondays.”

She rolled her eyes. “Today is fine,” she repeated and smiled sweetly. She scribbled on a sticky note and headed to his desk to drop the address off with him. Then she made her way toward the restroom because she needed to get out of the room. Needed away from everyone teasing her good-naturedly.

But mostly so she could keep herself from telling Harry that she was quite, very possibly, in love with him as well.

*

True to her friends’ words, the place was cozy as hell. There was a basket of throw blankets next to a sofa that looked like it was comfier than his bed currently in his storage unit. Artwork dotted the walls, board games stowed below her TV, and curtains pulled back from the windows letting in the afternoon sunlight. It felt like a home.

There were three boxes in the middle of the living room between the coffee table and the TV, but it was otherwise spotless. “You’re very clean.”

She nodded. “I know, I’m sorry.”

He chuckled. “Y’don’t need t’apologize,” he put his hands in his pockets, so he didn’t do something crazy like hold her hand.

“I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, is all. You can be... messy... I won’t have a freak out or anything. Unless you leave food in the sink then we get bugs. Then I’ll be kind of freaked out.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t do that. I like t’think m’pretty clean myself,” he assured her. “I also...” he took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head. “Y’friends kinda put y’on the spot. I know what I admitted at lunch was kinda out of... out of the blue,” he bit his lip. “Y’don’t have t’feel obligated t’house me.”

“I don’t,” she promised. “I need a roommate and like Val said,” she shrugged. “She did your background check so I assume you won’t kill me, probably. At least not because you’re a serial killer. Maybe because I’m too clean.”

He shook his head with a smile on his lips making the most adorable dimple dent his cheek. She wanted to stick her tongue in it. “Thank you, m’really appreciative.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome, Harry. Sorry we’ll be around each other a lot.”

That didn’t seem like a bad thing at all. “I think it’ll be okay. We didn’t really talk much today,” he shrugged. “If y’get sick of me, m’sure I can find another place t’live,” he winked.

She rolled her eyes. “Won’t be necessary. But okay,” she sighed. “You can move in whenever,” she grabbed her keys from the breakfast bar where she ate most of her meals and pulled a key off the ring and handed it to him. “I have a second job some nights, but if you give me a heads up, I can help you move your stuff.”

“S’very kind of you, kitten, but y’don’t need t’do that. M’not going t’have all that much stuff. M’friend Louis lives not too far from here. He’ll come help me.”

“Offer stands,” she assured him.

Harry’s eyes scanned the room again and landed on the three boxes once more. “Are those your old roommate’s boxes?” He asked.

She nodded. “Two of them. I’m supposed to bring them to her, but they’re super heavy so I’m like... working up my mental and physical strength to bring them to my car. It’s going to be two trips and I’m just being a little lazy about it.”

“I can bring them down,” he grabbed one. It was definitely heavy. It was evident Harry had defined biceps and triceps practically outlined by the pretty purple button down, but it was manageable for him while a struggle for her. “Still probably two trips,” he nodded.

“Oh, I can take—”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “Don’t want you t’hurt yourself. Let me,” he offered and snagged her car keys off the counter.

“Oh, thank you that’s... thank you,” she swallowed, feeling grateful.

“Not a problem,” he assured her and left immediately.

When he returned after putting the second box in her car to return her keys, she had opened the third box and begun laying out a bunch of fall items to decorate their place. “Do you mind decorations?”

“Of course not,” he smiled. “Can I help?”

She blinked at him and tilted her head. “Um... I can handle it. If you need to pack or go... get dinner or something.”

“M’fine,” he smiled, setting her keys on the counter and glanced around the room. He noted there were hooks screwed into the wall at various points. “Can I hang something for you? M’good for height.”

Harry wasn’t that much taller than her, she was definitely taller than the average woman, but it still meant she needed to drag out a stepstool when she wanted to put up her art and decorations. “That would be awesome,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, kitten,” he smiled.

*

Harry had a dreamy smile on his face as they talked and got to know one another. He hadn’t brought up that he was in love with her. Nor did he make her feel the least bit uncomfortable. Like it had never happened.

Why did it feel like she was disappointed about the prospect of that?

Maybe he wasn’t in love with her. Maybe the initial reaction of seeing someone roughly the same age as him at work made his senses a bit wild for a moment.

No. She wasn’t disappointed. Everything about Harry being in love with her would be a recipe for disaster and it was for the best that he didn’t fall in love with her.

It was just something a little bit out of the blue to say to the only person who was single in the office. Everyone had a significant other they had met within the office or elsewhere. She was the last single person. The same was true with her friend group as well. Everyone in her life had been paired off except for her.

He was her coworker. He was going to be her roommate.

But right as he left, he sent her heart into a frenzy. They were by the door. She wanted to make sure he got to his car safely even though it was a safe neighborhood. It was just the way she was. “Will you go on a date with me?” He asked.

She stared at him in shock, her lips parting like she was mid-sentence, and he had interrupted. “Seriously?” She giggled reflexively, but her cheeks felt hot. They had a lovely evening together getting to know each other. Harry helped with all the decorations and yes, in its own way it was a bit intimate. But he couldn’t possibly think that it was a good idea to date his roommate.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Harry, I can’t date my roommate.”

“Pretty sure s’how most rom-coms start,” he smiled. “S’okay. I’ll ask again later. Have a nice night,” he grinned with a wave and walked toward his car. Leaving her jaw slack, as she watched her roommate head off into the night.

*

Harry moved in later that week. He asked her to come with him to his storage unit to see if there was anything she would want in the apartment, but she had pretty much everything. It seemed silly to bring a double of everything when she owned all of it already.

But Harry would forever be grateful and indebted to his sister for her kindness as he watched her examine some of his belongings. One in particular caught her eye making him think that he had won the lottery with how excited she was.

She couldn’t believe Harry had a stand mixer and she was nearly in awe of all the attachments to help bake and cook easier. “I’ve always wanted one of these. They’re so expensive,” she blinked. “How do you have one?”

“M'sister got one when she got married,” he explained. “But she doesn’t bake and said it was taking up space in her kitchen.”

“Can we bring it to the apartment? Do you mind?”

The way her eyes lit up at the sight of it? Pure joy and happiness? Yeah. It was going to the apartment. If he ever moved out, he would probably leave it with her too just so she could always look that happy. “Course. Anything else?”

She looked around the organized storage room sifting through the items in different bins while Harry searched for some of his own trinkets that he thought he would want after his initial move. His room and bathroom items had already been moved in with the help of Louis. “This is stunning,” her voice full of awe once more, grabbing a print from behind a shelf. Harry wasn’t sure where it was from. He thought his mum purchased it to make his old place feel like home. “This would look amazing in the living room.”

“Bring it,” he smiled. She tucked it under her arm and continued searching. Harry grabbed a few more odds and ends and she plucked out a few more things she thought would work with the apartment’s décor and mainly helpful kitchen tools.

“It’s your place too, Harry,” she reminded him. “Is there anything you want there?”

He smiled, shook his head. “Y’seem t’have everything, kitten. M’not picky.”

“I don’t want you to feel like a guest,” she pouted. “Like you should bring these,” she gestured to pictures of his friends and family in a bin. “I can move some of mine to my room so you can put them up.”

He grinned. “Sure,” he shrugged. “If y’think s’what I should do.”

“Alright, could we come back in a few weeks and see if there’s anything else you want once you’re settled a bit?”

“Course.”

They gathered as much as they could, Harry would have to come back for the stand mixer. Harry closed the trunk and moved to open the passenger door for her before her hand fully pulled it out of the way. He waited until she was tucked into the seat safely and he handed her the car keys. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” she smiled.

“Hey kitten,” he said leaning against the door before he left. “Will y’go on a date with me?”

“Harry,” she laughed the same way she did the last time he asked her. The same way she laughed when he told her he was in love with her. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” he smiled at the delight on her face. The pretty pink color rising to her cheeks. “Will you?”

“I can’t go on a date with you, Harry,” she looked at him with a bit of sympathetic pity. Like he was ridiculous for asking. Again. Which he was.

“Then I’ll ask again another time,” he shrugged, closed her car door, and headed to get the stand mixer that made her happy.

*

“Hey Poppy, did y’want t’go get lunch with me?” Her eyes didn’t move from her screen. “Poppy,” he repeated. “Poppy,” he sang. She glanced around and realized she was the only one in the room.

“Me?”

He chuckled. “Yes, you.”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “Why did you call me Poppy?”

“Well, m’assuming s’your favorite flower,” it was a safe bet since there was a small bouquet right beside her. “Also, everyone else calls y’Mary, Poppins, or Miss Poppins. Which I still don’t know why, but I wanted t’be different. Want you t’know s’me when y’hear me talking t’you.”

Her heart raced. Harry was utterly adorable. “I see. Sorry,” she smirked.

“Anyway,” he came over to stand by her desk. “Do y’want t’get lunch?”

“Harry, I told you I don’t date.”

“M’not asking as a date. M’asking as your coworker who has never seen y’eat a bite of food while you’re at work. M’asking as your concerned roommate who worries y’don’t eat until y’get home for dinner. And I don’t even want t’think ‘bout how long y’go without eating when you’re at your second job.”

She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “I don’t go out to lunch with everyone,” she explained. “I don’t know if you noticed, but people always seem to need me while I’m here,” she gestured to her desk. “Lunch is the only time I get a minute to myself. And I can get caught up a bit before the afternoon and everyone comes back.”

“Well do you bring lunch?” He asked, his frown deepening still worried she wasn’t eating.

“I do, it’s in the breakroom. I’ll get it in a minute,” she promises. “Go, you’re wasting your lunch hour.”

“Okay,” he sighed. He stopped in the doorway of the entrance to the office. “Hey Poppy,” he smiled.

“Yeah?” She asked without looking up from her screen.

“Now that y’mention it though, will y’go out with me?”

*

At home, Harry took the trash out because he said it was a boy-job and she shouldn’t be out in the dark by a dumpster. It made his skin crawl just to think about it. He made her promise that she wouldn’t take out the trash and he didn’t mind if he had to go out twice in one day. She thought it was ridiculous. But she agreed.

He cleaned up after himself checking with her to see if it was up to her standard. Even though she assured him he didn’t have to meet her standard. His cologne overtook their bathroom, and it was so comforting she took long hot showers at night just to amplify the scent filling her nose. Harry stretched across the sofa and scrolled through various show options but often didn’t find something that piqued his interest. Instead, he would put on some background noise and read on an eReader. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration.

Harry bought groceries and didn’t ask for any money from them. “M’sure you’ll buy stuff too,” he shrugged. Plus, she already had all the cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, dishwasher pods, and the like. Harry hardly had anything useful so buying groceries was the least he could do.

Except the stand mixer. People moaned about her cookies. Harry got to see her make them firsthand and the very scene with an apron around her body, her smile bright as she tested various stages of the dough, it did wonders for Harry. Some kind of nearly pornographic idea that only Harry would think was pornographic. “Will you try one?” She asked, hope in her voice.

Was he supposed to say no to her? Absolutely not. So, he tried one. “Go on a date with me,” he groaned.

“Because of the cookies?”

“No! Well, yes. Right now, yes, because of the cookies. But s’not usually because of cookies.”

She laughed. “I don’t date, Harry.”

He frowned, faking his disappointment (although he was the slightest bit disappointed). “I’ll try again,” he shrugged and took three more cookies from her cooling rack before returning to the sofa to read.

*

“Mary!” Val sang. “Do you have the stain stick?” She called from behind. She opened a drawer, eyes unmoving from her screen and held it out behind her for it to be passed back by her other coworkers. Harry chuckled.

It killed her that she knew his chuckle without looking. “S’impressive,” he murmured quietly. But she could hear it from across the way.

“That’s nothing,” Rachel said from the other end of the room. “Miss Poppins,” she smiled delightedly. “I have a missing button,” she told her.

That was the other drawer, a small little sewing kit to fix a button.

“Hair tie!” Someone called from the other side of the room.

“Lint roller!”

They all called out items and she had every single one.

“Do you have anything stronger to put in this coffee?” Their boss was walking up the aisle and paused at her desk. She smirked, opened the bottom drawer and placed a mini bottle of liquid on the edge of the desk. The whole office laughed as he snatched it and headed to his office. “You’re getting a raise, Poppins,” he called.

Hunter turned to look at Harry. “I gave her the nickname,” he explained.

“I get it,” he chuckled.

“If you need it, chances are she has it.”

“If she doesn’t, she adds it,” Val explained.

Her smile was soft. Harry thought it was sweet how her coworkers adored her. It was clear she was loved by them. Her thoughtfulness was admirable. Harry wondered how he was supposed to top that. No wonder she didn’t want to go out with him. Why would she want to go out with anyone when she was ten times sweeter than anyone she knew?

*

Her best friend Josephine (Joey) was helping her in the bathroom when Harry got home from the gym one Friday evening. “Holy hell you said he was cute, not hot,” she gaped.

“Aw, y’think m’cute, Poppy?” He asked winking at her. Her cheeks flushed red, making it so she didn’t need any of the blush she was putting on her cheeks. He leaned against the doorframe; arms crossed over his chest. He was sweaty and really wanted to get in the shower, but he didn't mind a bit of time to stare at his sweet roommate.

“I should have known. Only a man that uses such high-end cologne would be this hot.”

“Didn’t you buy Matt high-end cologne?”

“Hence why I think he’s so hot,” Joey beamed. Her friend laughed quietly, shaking her head as she finished with her makeup.

“Sorry Harry, we’ll be out of the way in a minute.”

“Take y’time. M’not in a rush.”

“Oh, you should come out!” Joey squealed. “Harry, please! She’s always by herself keeping an eye on us it would be nice to have someone keep her company!”

“Thanks, Mom. I don’t need a babysitter,” she rolled her eyes. “No offense, Harry.”

“S’okay,” he chuckled. “I don’t want t’impose. Plus m’in need of a shower.”

“Don’t let us stop you,” Joey smiled widely gesturing to the shower.

“Can you not?” She rolled her eyes and looked at Harry with apologetic eyes.

He laughed again and shook his head. “Y’can call if y’need something,” he assured her.

“Harry, please come out! You can meet us there!” Joey said again.

She looked at him with a soft smile. A look in her eyes said he wasn’t going to get out of it. Not if he didn’t have a really good reason. But truthfully? He didn’t need a reason to get out of it. Spending time with her outside of work, outside of the apartment, and errands like the grocery store and running to the post office had him excited to see her in another frame of light. Did she let loose? He would love to dance with her. Even if it was only as friends, roommates, fuck as coworkers even. How did she act around her friends versus her coworkers? God, he was obsessed.

“I can wait for you,” she suggested, her voice soft. Harry smiled.

“Thanks, Poppy.”

*

Her eyes scanned for her friends as she sat on a stool at a high top beside Harry. It was like watching a teacher on a field trip counting heads to make sure everyone was still present. The table was littered with drinks all of which she minded just as intently.

Harry just gazed at her as he sipped his drink. He helped as needed pushing drinks toward her friends as they came back from dancing. “Y’don’t dance?”

“Oh...maybe later. I’m not very good,” she admitted. “I like dancing with Joey because she’s worse than me.”

She caught the eye of one of her friends, Hailey, approaching and she reached into her purse strapped around the front of her for something. Harry watched as Hailey made it to her. “Thanks Mary,” she gushed taking the bandage from her and made her way for the bathroom. It was pretty wild she could anticipate whatever her friends needed. It was like at work. Harry was a bit awestruck and looked at her with a surprised expression. She shrugged and continued sipping her drink.

Jaylen was next. Joey’s twin brother; they had the same facial expressions--mainly the smile that Joey had on her face when she suggested Harry shower in front of her and his favorite person.

The same smile appeared on his face and told Harry he was going to say something just as delightful as Joey had said of Harry. Sure enough, Jaylen draped an arm around her and leaned into her ear to whisper something over the sound of the music. She rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. His face turned serious and he whispered something again.

She frowned. Then reached into her purse again. Out came a tampon which he slid discreetly into his pocket and then she glanced at his outfit twisting her lips to the side in disappointment.

After a brief thought, she pulled her purse over her body and laid it on the table. The long cardigan she wore came off next, leaving her in a black tank top that tucked into her jeans. It hugged her curves like a glove making Harry’s mouth water and he glanced away worried he would look like a creep. He finished his beer before Jaylen grinned and thanked her profusely and walked away. She took a deep breath and put her purse back into position before wrapping one arm in front of he protectively, gripping the front of her shoulder.

“Are y’cold?” He asked.

She shook her head.

But Harry was sitting beside her. He could see the goosebumps on her skin. She selflessly gave her sweater to her friend for whatever reason (Harry wasn’t totally sure, but he suspected it was menstrual related). But she was going to pretend like she wasn’t cold? Harry was definitely in love. In case it wasn’t obvious by the moment he met her. Boldly, Harry reached below her bar stool and tugged it toward him. She jostled a bit but he maintained her balance. Then he draped his arm around her body pulling her toward him further and he couldn’t help but notice she didn’t pull away. She didn’t make a sound and her facial expression didn’t change.

But Harry felt her body relax into his side, her head dipping ever so slightly toward his shoulder. He smiled softly and brought his lips closer to her ear so she could hear. “Y’don’t have t’lie t’me, Poppy. M’your roommate and all. I know y’like the apartment a toasty temperature.”

She smirked and tilted her head up. Their eyes connected, their mouths only two inches apart. “Thank you,” she said kindly.

Harry really enjoyed holding her.

*

At the end of the night, she rounded up her friends ensuring those who said they could drive actually could and if they couldn’t she called for Ubers until everyone was safely on their way home. Jaylen’s girlfriend, Maya, had her green sweater wrapped around her white pants. She thanked her profusely, drunkenly.

Joey and Matt waved goodbye. “Bye Hot Roommate,” Joey called waving to Harry specifically.

“Jesus, Joey,” Matt rolled his eyes. “Nice meeting you Harry,” he called.

Once everyone was gone, she rubbed her hands on her arms to keep the blood flowing and warming her skin. Harry wrapped his arm over her shoulders again and tucked her into his side as they headed for her parked car a couple blocks away. “Go on a date with me," he spoke straight forward. Hoping if he didn't look, it wouldn't seem like as a massive deal--almost like he would trick her into a date.

She elbowed him. “I can’t go out with a coworker, Harry. Or my roommate for that matter.”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask later,” he boldly kissed the top of her head. Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind. Harry was sure to keep that in his head for future reference. He would most definitely be kissing her again. “You’re an extremely sweet girl, Poppy. Selfless, lovely, kind,” he listed. “Whoever y’end up with, m’going t’be very jealous,” he assured her.

She snorted and laughed quietly under her breath. “Thank you, Harry.”

*

For months it continued with similar routines, feelings, and questions. They grew closer as friends. At work he admired her from his desk from across the office. When she didn’t go to lunch, he reminded her to eat and not work too hard. At home, he grumbled that her loophole of taking the trash out in the daytime was not the point of his promise. He still bought groceries each week trying to figure out all the things she enjoyed eating.  

He helped her clean the apartment and when it was getting cooler outside, she asked to join him at the gym. Her outfits were cute and made guys stare at her as she worked out, unbeknownst to her. She asked for help from Harry which made him feel like he won an Olympic medal. His face was smug as the men in the gym finally stopped looking at her. Thinking Harry was lucky enough to be hers.

It made him happy to help her figure out new machines and with her sets of weightlifting (even though she didn’t like it).

Everywhere they went, people ogled her. She was so kind. Little kids would smile at her in grocery store lines and wave like it was a game of peekaboo. Dogs tugged on their leashes hoping to get a pet from her around the loop she ran in the neighborhood. Their elderly next door neighbor tried telling her a hundred times that she had a grandson her age and he would love to date her (that one drove Harry the most crazy).

She had her head leaning in her palm as she watched the stand mixer beat the brownie ingredients like it was the most interesting thing in the world. But Harry was watching her; so he was, in fact, watching the most interesting thing in the world.

He leaned against the wall just beside the kitchen entrance. “Poppy?” He asked. She looked up at him. “Go on a date with me, please," his expression soft.

She was finally getting used to it. She gave herself a lot of credit. It was pretty crazy she hadn’t caved yet. Harry was so lovely. Not to mention attractive. At the gym, his muscles rippled and glistened with sweat. The outline of every abdominal muscle was sinful. It was a miracle she didn’t drop her own weights or fall on the treadmill when she caught sight of him. It drove her crazy that the women there gazed at him longingly; like he was something to eat. But was she really any better?

She smiled, the blush on her cheeks still prominent, but not as deep. She was used to her heart skipping a beat, the butterflies fluttering in her stomach each time he asked. “That's very sweet, Harry. But I don’t date.”

It was six months since he met her when he finally asked. “Why not?”

She shrugged. He thought she wasn’t going to say anything more, so he frowned, sighed, and headed for the living room to get back to his book. “I just don’t date, Harry. I like being friends,” she told him.

He grumbled something about still being friends even if they dated but she either didn’t hear or pretended not to hear. Either way, it was quiet for a few beats. “If I hadn’t told you I was in love with you that first day, would that have changed your answer?”

She giggled and shook her head. “No.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. Ever determined. He smiled widely at her. “I’ll keep asking then.”

*

When she got dressed up for a family wedding and clicked down the hall in heels and a dress that flowed over her like she was the bride (only wearing green of course, not white). Her hair was curled and pinned so prettily Harry thought he was seeing a real angel in the flesh. “Oh, come on, Poppy,” he groaned and covered his eyes with his hand dramatically. “S’not fighting fair,” he frowned.

She grinned, her cheeks warming more than they had in a while. “I look okay?”

“Stunning,” he grumbled. “M’so jealous I won’t get t’dance with you,” he pouted.

She shook her head. “I don’t usually dance at weddings when I go alone,” she explained.

“Well, y’should’ve told me. I would’ve been your date.”

“Harry—”

“Platonic date,” he rolled his eyes. “This is worse than when y’wore that pencil skirt t’work,” he reminded her. She snickered and shook her head while she looked at her phone. She sucked her lip into her mouth and sighed wincing slightly and then turned to her room again. After several minutes she returned in a different dress. She was equally stunning, but she looked a little forlorn. “An outfit change?”

She nodded. “Yeah,” she shrugged. “My sister is wearing green.”

Harry frowned. “So?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just...” she shrugged. “It’s alright. I like this dress just fine.”

But it wasn’t green. She looked so pretty in green. It complimented her skin tone so perfectly. She looked stunning. Like she was a queen. “But—”

“Seriously, Harry. It’s fine.”

The muted purple dress looked lovely on her as well. But Harry thought the green made her look otherworldly. He wanted the happiness back in her eye. The light that sparked when he complimented her. “Well when can y’wear it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Season’s almost over for a wintergreen like that,” she shrugged. “Maybe next year.”

Harry frowned. But then he had a wonderful idea to help both her dress and himself. “Go on a date with me, Poppy.”

The smile reappeared on her face, and she shook her head. “I can’t, Harry.”

“Please? Do it for the sake of that dress,” he pleaded. “We don’t even have t’call it a date. An outing. An adventure. Whatever y’want. Y’jus’ need t’wear it before y’can’t.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Harry. But I can’t.”

He sighed. “You’re welcome, Poppy.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ll steal you a cupcake. I heard they come from this bakery that I love and if it doesn’t make it home to you, then we’re going to have to go there anyway.”

It didn’t replace a date. But he liked the way she smiled. And going to a bakery together was inherently a couple-y thing to do. So he would take what he could get.

“Sure, Poppy. I’d love to.”

*

She didn’t need people. Needing people had only ever broken her heart. She never asked for help ever. Well...only when they were at the gym but that was a safety thing more than anything.

Even when she should have asked.

Harry didn’t notice until he drove her to a house party that her friends didn’t invite her too. She was sleepy, it was obvious. Leggings, oversized sweater. Her hair was braided loosely and falling apart because she had woken in the middle of the night to answer a message. Harry was in the middle of a good book. Unable to put it down when she ventured into the living room. A yawn falling from her lips. Her eyes barely open. It took several questions and repeated convincing to let him drive her since he was awake, and it looked like she was going to pass out while standing.

Harry insisted on coming in even as she told him to stay in the car, but he refused. She found her friends, her voice was soft as she encouraged Jaylen to leave. A little over his limit and Joey and Maya were about just as gone and unable to convince Jaylen to go with them. A guy from across the room made a joke about Mommy coming to save him. As her pugnacious friend made a turn to deal with the offensive person, she stopped him. She was quick, grabbed his arm, and held tight.

When they returned to the apartment she corralled her friends into their sleeping arrangements. Maya and Jaylen in her bed, Joey on the sofa. “Sorry I took your reading spot,” she whispered as she tucked a blanket around Joey. She snagged another blanket and curled into the only other chair in the living room. “Thank you for driving,” she smiled, closing her sleepy eyes.

“You’re gonna sleep there?” He asked. She nodded, barely moving. Like she was already half-way to dreaming. Harry snagged her out of the chair, cradling her and bringing her to his room.

“Harry,” she protested.

“We’re grown adults,” he reminded her. “We can share a bed without it being weird. S’like a hotel room.”

“Harry,” she repeated, her objection evident in her tone. “I can’t—”

“M’not letting y’sleep in a chair or on the floor. So, it’s m’bed or y’aren’t sleeping,” he shrugged.

She sighed. Too tired to oppose any further, thankfully. Harry laid her atop the covers and draped another blanket over her. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and slid beneath his sheets and glanced at the sleeping angel beside him. He smiled. He liked the way she looked in his bed. Liked the way she seemed comfortable and sleepy beside him. His bed felt warm with her beside him. Even though she wasn’t touching him. She smelled good in his room too.

“Night, Harry,” she mumbled.

“Good night, Poppy,” he answered, reached out, squeezed her hand before releasing it so she wouldn’t break a piece of his heart by telling him they shouldn’t.

It was easy to fall asleep with her beside him.

It was even easier to dream of her with her intoxicating presence in his room as well.

*

Harry noticed how drained she seemed when the weather continued to get warmer. Her friends all had birthdays around the same time, and she was a mess of scheduling and reserving birthday dinners and planning things for all of them. Did Harry miss her birthday? He would have to ask. He hoped he didn’t. He hoped her friends would take the time to plan for her the way she did for them.

Work was approaching a busy season, and everyone kept coming to her more and more throughout the day. He could see the anxiety on her face as her growing to-do list looked nearly unmanageable. Harry tried to go to others if he had issues. But every time he asked someone else a question, they called out for Mary Poppins, and she would glance up and look at Harry with a sad smile asking how she could help.

Harry was worried she wasn’t eating her lunch. When everyone else left, her eyes were hidden behind those glasses, her face concentrating and relieved for the reprieve from people calling her name for help with work or needing something like a pen or a screwdriver. Sometimes Harry hated his job. Not because it was difficult. But it seemed like everyone in the office was incompetent. Or weaponizing their incompetence and foisting their tasks onto the lovely woman who would never say no to them.

Her friends did it too. With all the planning and such.

The poor thing looked exhausted. She didn’t join Harry at the gym and her second job seemed like the only time she got to herself. “I miss reading,” she grumbled when she got home late from her shift. She kicked her shoes off and flopped onto the opposite end of the sofa. “My eyes are exhausted though,” she rubbed them for good measure. “I think I would fall asleep if I tried to read. I think I need to wake up earlier and read.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t burn yourself out, Poppy,” he rolled his eyes. “What are y’reading?”

“I’ve been trying t’read this book for months,” she pulled it from the shelf below the coffee table. He had seen it tucked there for a while. He grabbed it from her, skimmed the back of the book, and opened to the first chapter.

Then, he started reading.

Out loud.

“Harry,” she whispered her eyes wide.

“Yeah?” He asked, pointing at the sentence where he stopped and looked at her curiously. “M’starting over, because I want t’know what’s happening,” he smiled. Her face looked so shocked and confused. Sad even. Like she didn’t know what emotion she was supposed to feel.

“You don’t have to—”

He shook his head, and continued reading before she could finish her sentence.

Harry read three chapters before he carried her sleeping self to bed.

*

Something changed in Harry. He almost turned into a stalker. He tracked her movements and routines for a week. He knew most of them. But he really tracked them. The daily ones were easiest. She went for a run in the morning, he followed her lead and didn’t say a word. He went to her favorite coffee shop and paid for her favorite drink for a week’s worth of drinks in advance.

He wished they carpooled, but she was so busy. So he timed his arrival so that he was at the entrance door holding it open for her. When everyone left to get lunch, he heated up her food and brought it to her desk before leaving silently.

One day, there was a note on her dashboard saying she had a full tank of gas. When she arrived home after her second job, she noted her spare car key was on Harry’s key ring. At home, her laundry was in the wash. The shirts she didn’t like to put in the dryer were hung in the bathroom.

Harry could see it. She was cracking. It was the first time someone had done something for her it seemed. The first time someone so selflessly did things for her, anticipated her needs the way she anticipated everyone else’s.

Her throat felt tight as she looked at Harry in the kitchen, making her favorite dinner—a soup that took hours and hours to make.

He didn’t even know it was her birthday that day which made her heart feel sicker than ever.

“Poppy,” he smiled sweetly placing a bowl in front of her exhausted figure.

“Yeah?” She whispered.

If she wasn't so in awe, she would have realized where his tone was. What was coming next. “Go on a date with me, kitten.”

“I can’t.”

“S’not so hard,” he assured her. “You sit across from me and be yourself because m’already in love with you,” he reminded her sweetly. An impish grin on his pretty pink lips. That dimple she wanted to sink her tongue into on display. “I tell y’how stunning y’look, I pay for you t’eat. I feed you a dessert of your choosing that you’re probably too full t’eat and then I can kiss you wherever y’want. Lips, cheek, forehead,” he shrugged. “Then we come home, and I’ll read a chapter of your book. Y’can decide if y’want t’go on a second date.”

She giggled, her cheeks red. “I can’t, Harry,” she looked at him apologetically, but she felt herself melting as much as the soup warmed her insides. It was ridiculous to eat soup in the middle of the summer. But Harry made it for her anyway.

His heart deflated a little. He wasn't kidding. He was definitely in love. He had to be because there was no other way he could explain the feelings he had for her. Someone so thoughtful, so pretty, sweet, and funny.

Harry had asked her out at least a hundred times. Around Christmas, she got her hair cut and he always found her beautiful, but he asked her almost every day following her new hair style for a month straight. Each time she said she couldn't. She didn't date.

For the first time in the near year since he had first asked her, first met her, he realized she said she can’t go on a date with him. She didn’t date. That he was crazy.

Not that she didn’t want to. She didn’t say no.

Hope bloomed inside him.

*

She didn’t need anything. She didn’t need anybody. It was clear someone or maybe many had let her down so many times. He watched her doing everything she could to make this party as nice as humanly possible for Hailey. Not that Hailey didn’t deserve it, but no one had done anything like this for her. Harry only found out it was her birthday after the fact, and he felt like shit for it. Even though she assured him that was one of the best birthdays she ever had.

All he did was make her soup.

She deserved so much more.

It almost seemed too obvious that they hadn’t done anything for her remotely as lovely as she did.

“You’re staring, Styles,” she murmured without looking up from the chair while he lounged on the sofa.

“Go on a date with me,” he smiled.

She blushed, shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

“You haven’t said no.”

"I've said no about a hundred thousand times, Harry," she rolled her eyes.

Why was it now? Why did he want to tell her what he was thinking about the whole situation now? But it was in his chest. He had to say it. Had to tell her.

“No, you’ve never said no,” he shook his head and looked at her head on, while she continued looking at her to do list, her planner. Her poor neglected book waiting to be read by Harry because her tired eyes couldn’t. She looked up at him and smirked. Ready to protest once more, but Harry shook his head again. “I remember everything you've said t'me. I would remember a 'no,' it would probably kill me t’hear y’say, no kitten. Y'call me crazy, y'say y'can’t or that y'don’t date. Never, not once, have y'ever said y'don’t want t'go on a date with me. Nor a flat out no. So m'going t’keep asking until y'say y'don’t want to. Because I think you do want t'go out with me but for some reason y'don't want t'allow yourself t'be happy. T'let someone else in. M'not going t'stop asking. Not until I hear y'say "Harry Styles I would rather die than go on a date with you. I never want to go out with you." Maybe that makes me conceited or creepy. M’sure it does make me crazy. But I don’t care. I want t'go on a date with you. I want t'go on a million dates with you, actually. So m'not giving up until y'call me creepy or y'say y'don’t want to.”

She swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. Her eyes didn't move from her lap.

"Kitten," he murmured. She didn’t look up. “Poppy,” he whispered. She finally met his green-eyed gaze again. His expression soft, pleading. “Go on a date with me,” his voice was soft. Harry swore his heart stopped beating because if he was wrong, if she really was saying no all those times, he wasn't sure he could ever stop asking her. The idea he would never get to take her out to eat and order her favorite dessert. He wouldn't see a movie and wrap his arm around her shoulders and that was completely unfair. He wanted to offer his jacket to her when it rained and hold her hand while walking through a museum. "Poppy," he repeated.

She bit her lip, her lips opening and closing like she wasn't sure which word was going to pop out. “I can’t,” she whispered. Her eyes looking at him in a way that he could read right through her. They screamed at him, please don’t stop asking me.

As if he could ever. Harry smiled. "Okay," he shrugged, hope and adoration for her flooding him. "I'll ask again tomorrow."

A sad smile graced her face. "You're crazy," she whispered again.

"Only 'bout you, Poppy.”

*

Harry felt like he was getting sick. Probably due to the sweet girl in his apartment who had worn herself so thin and weary that she had inadvertently brought illness home to him. His head was killing him. His pillow was calling for him the way he wished his favorite stubborn woman would call him.

He didn't even know if she was home. But honestly, he was glad. If she knew he was sick, she would dote on him. Even if she was starting to fell unwell. The thoughts of her were never too far from his mind. He would never be too sick, too lost, too far away from her that she could leave his thoughts.

Sleeping was one of his favorite hobbies because he loved to see her in his dreams. Loved to see the unaffected, carefree, beautiful, stubborn woman. The angel that enjoyed affection both giving and receiving.

It was his nightly dream. The one where she snuggled with him, and it was like they had been together twenty years and not zero. The one where he could taste her lips (even if in his dream she tasted like nothing) he knew it was wrong. She probably tasted like chocolate or caramel or something deliriously sweet.

Unfortunately, his phone vibrated below his pillow pulling him from his perfect beautiful dream.

“Harry?”

He squinted at his phone. Head aching, throat sore. Curious as to why he didn’t have the number saved. “Speaking.”

“Oh, thank god,” the voice sighed. “It’s Joey,” she said. “Harry. Something’s wrong. She won’t stop crying and she won’t say anything but your name.”

He leapt out of bed. Illness forgotten even if he was dizzy. His heart thudded like a chorus of drums, and he didn’t even grab shoes as he raced out of his room, snagging his wallet and keys off the counter as he exited the apartment.

He listened to Joey say a few more things. Something about being out at a club. She never left the bar area. There was no way someone had hurt her. But Harry drove through the night with his heart in his throat like someone had hurt her. He wasn’t sure seeing her would even calm him. He knew where Joey lived, fortunately, so he sped as quickly as he could. The ache in his head and his throat was lost behind him along the drive.

He didn’t knock as he hurried barefoot into Joey’s apartment. Matt was coming from the kitchen and making his way down the hall. He looked at Harry sadly as he approached the main room.

“Poppy?” he whispered as he entered the room, her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. "Kitten," he frowned and knelt in front of her. He picked her face up between his and he scanned her looking for signs of injury. Anxiety was in every inch of his body. But she fell into his arms before he could look any longer. Sobbing harder than when he entered. “M'here. M'here, baby. It’s okay. M'here," he kissed the top of her head, cupping the back of her head with one hand. The other arm winding around her and squeezing her tight to his body. “Oh kitten,” he sighed, sadness coating his voice. His heart ached. Like it was going to snap in half if she cried any longer. “M’sorry, baby. M'here. S’okay. Tell me. Please. I’ll make it better,” he promised.

Her sobs continued, like she was unable to speak. "Harry," she whimpered.

"M'here, Poppy, s'okay," he assured her even if it wasn't. "Baby," he frowned pulling away to look at her her tearful eyes. He tugged her back to his embrace and continued to soothe her. He rubbed his hand up and down her back hoping it was comforting as he hoped it was.

Harry caught Joey's eye, who looked over from the entryway and smiled weakly.

"You good?" She mouthed. Harry nodded and when he glanced back, her friend was gone.

*

Harry kissed the top of her head for the hundredth time. He continued rubbing his hand down her spine. His head was still screaming.

But she was well worth it. Her cheeks were streaked with salt lines. Her eyes puffy and red around the edges. He had pulled her to him so they could snuggle into the corner of the couch. Her body tucked between the back cushion and Harry's body. Like he didn't want anyone to see her if they entered the room.

“Harry?” Her voice was raw.

“Hmm?” He tucked her hair behind her ear and skimmed his fingertip along the same path repeatedly.

“Will you go on a date with me?” She whispered.

He smiled lazily. His heart exploding in his ribcage. “God, Poppy, I don't know. I have t'check m'schedule.” She smacked his chest with no weight behind it. He kissed the top of her head. “I’d take y’right now. Whenever y’want.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing t’be sorry for.”

"I have issues."

"We can work on them together."

"I don't know if you'll..." She trailed off.

"If I'll what?" He brushed his thumb on her cheek.

She took a deep breath. "I love love, Harry. I love watching people get married. I love when people have babies and grow a family. I want to have babies. I love reading romance novels and watching silly rom-coms where you can predict the ending before the movie even starts."

"Sounds pretty romantic and easy, Poppy," he murmured.

She swallowed continuing. "I will do a lot for you because I believe that's the way love is supposed to be. I want to make your life easier, and I want to do things that make you happy because I think happiness and love are in short supply and I want those books and rom-coms to be real."

Harry nodded. "Well—"

"I've never had that. I had a boyfriend for four years and..." she sniffled. "When we broke up, I said that I wouldn't do that again. I wouldn’t devote myself so completely to someone that wouldn't give me half as much. Then I met my next boyfriend and at first, I thought it was right, finally. It was equal. He loved me the right way, I mean. The way I thought I wanted, deserved... But then it was like he got tired of doing things. I don't know. Maybe my love language is acts of service. I don't know. I’m not making sense, I'm sorry. But..." she swallowed. "I broke it off after only two years that time. I just don't think I can be loved the right way... not forever. I don't know. I sound so selfish, don’t I? I don’t know why you want to go out with me so badly. I want someone to love me the way I love them, and I don’t think that’s...fair."

It was why she always had everything. Why she planned and hosted parties. Why she never drank and always took care of her friends. She loved everyone that was lucky to cross paths with her, with her whole, big, beautiful heart.

Harry tilted her chin up. "M’going to love you the right way,” he promised. “M’going to love you the way y’want because that's what y’deserve. If I love you anything less than you deserve then... well... I don't know what, Poppy. If that’s the case m’probably dead because s’the only possible explanation,” she snorted and tears dripped down her cheeks again but not like the night before. “But it's not going to be a problem, kitten. M’going to love you the way your books love. The way a rom-com loves. M’going to love you the way you love everyone that walks into your life. The way you so selflessly devote your kindness to them. M’going to love you the way you love," he promised. “Because s’an honor to love you,” he assured her. “S’an honor to be loved by you.”

She looked away from his gaze, closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to his chest. His throat was aching again. He was really tired, but he would suffer her wrath and frustration of going on about this later. He knew that she would be beside herself knowing he was sick and dealing with her anyway. But where else would he be? "Harry," she whispered finally. He met her eyes the back of his fingers skimming her cheek.

"What, Poppy?"

"Do you love me already?"

"Of course I do."

She sniffled, her face crumpling with relief. Like all of it had been a trick up until then. "Okay," she whispered. “Can we go home?”

“Course, kitten,” he kissed the top of her head and moved slowly to get up from the sofa. All of his muscles ached from sickness and from the awkward but perfect position of holding her all night in the cramped little space.

He held his hand out for her to take as she stood next. “Harry,” she whispered softly.

“Hmm?” He hummed and looked at her with a soft expression that made her stomach flip, her heart skipped a beat. "Yeah, Poppy?"

“I’m in love with you too.”

--

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[tsukimefuku]

You and Nanami decide to edge Hiromi to the verge of tears. content warning: smut, porn without plot, fem!reader, nanami x higuruma x reader, the roaring bisexuality agenda, piv, anal sex (m receiving), a few tears of frustration, overstimulation, teasing, soft dom!nanami. Roughly proofread. 2k.

"Stop teasing me and just do it!" Hiromi complained with a strained voice, words tumbling out of his lips in between whimpers. His arms were tensed, his hands bound behind his back by Nanami's signature yellow and black splattered tie, and small droplets of sweat smeared his temples as the back of his head rested on Nanami's shoulder. Hiromi's toes and feet curled nearly strongly enough to cramp, and his entire body shuddered violently.

You and Nanami shared a playful look, as you kept sliding your pussy over Hiromi's cock without ever letting it go past your entrance, and Nanami pressed just the tip of his length over Hiromi's hole, before retreating and repeating the same movement, again and again. The lawyer was at the mercy of you both, and got driven to the edge of overstimulation with all the teasing and denial.

Hiromi was sure he'd die out of sheer frustration as discreet tears pooled on his black eyelashes.

"Already? But we've been here for only a few minutes..." Nanami remarked with a hint of irony in his voice, his hand sliding up Hiromi's torso to hold the man's jaw.

"H-half an hour-" Hiromi replied breathless, before whining and scrunching his eyes shut when his tip's edge got caught under your folds. "P-please, I'm begging you both, I c-can't-"

You let out a soft chuckle in between your own pants and huffs, leaning forward to capture Nanami's mouth in a sloppy kiss that wasn't much more than tongue and saliva while you both sandwiched Hiromi in between your sweaty bodies. Your perked nipples brushed over Hiromi’s chest, and it was your turn to whimper into Nanami's mouth, robbing him of a leisurely grunt before you parted lips. As you did, you noticed his half lidded eyes simmering on some kind of need you were sure to be reflected in your own gaze.

You and Nanami were both already pretty wound up, too.

"Ask nicely and we'll do it," Nanami whispered against Hiromi's ear, before turning the man's face towards his own and thrusting his tongue inside Hiromi's mouth, earning him a sequence of delightful little whines and whimpers. A single tear of frustration rolled down Hiromi's cheek, while Nanami mindlessly pressed the tip of his cock once more against the lawyer's entrance. By this point, after so much grinding and lube, both condoms and a good portion of Hiromi's ass were all covered in slick.

The wet smacks of their lips combined with the scene of the two kissing sent a feverish throb directly to your core, and you mindlessly sunk the tip of his shaft past your ring. Hiromi immediately let out a loud moan into Nanami's mouth, and separated from the kiss in a sudden motion. His gaze went directly towards you, and his eyes begged for more.

"Love, my love, p-please-" His pleas came strained, almost in a high pitch, as his hips began thrusting softly in an effort to push his cock deeper into you. After so much teasing, you could feel every ridge of it trying to bully inside your dripping pussy, and with a loud moan, you finally caved, sinking completely on Hiromi's cock, his tip brushing against your cervix the moment he bottomed out.

His head dangled back, mouth falling open to let out the strangled voice of a man who had just received deliverance. In response, you cried out his name, entwining your fingers over the nape of his neck.

Nanami scoffed, a discreet smile pulling on his cheek, his voice filled with a half-hearted chide.

"You both crumble so easily..." he teased, his own pants in between his words betraying just how close he was to crumble down just as easy. With his hands, Nanami swiftly pulled on one end of the tie, freeing one of Hiromi's hands. In sequence, he commanded, "lay down, you two."

Hiromi didn't need to be told twice, and pushed you down beneath him on the bedsheets, plunging his cock as far as it would go into your walls while clashing his lips to yours. You moaned and mewled into his mouth, feeling the delicious stretch from having him inside you, and drew your nails down his back, marking him with pretty red lines all over his skin.

From his privileged viewpoint, Nanami watched as you both fucked, and pondered if he'd prefer to just sit back and watch. Hiromi was clearly pussy drunk, and you weren't fending off any better, not knowing if you should press your body against his or sink into the mattress as he dicked you down into it.

However, Nanami's twitching cock begged to differ, and he plastered his hands on Hiromi's waist, halting the other man's movements.

"Stay still," he ordered, much to your complaint. Hearing your frustrated whine, Nanami chided, "You two are incorrigible."

Not wasting any time, Nanami leaned forward, teasing the tip of two fingers on Hiromi’s entrance. With a whimper against your cheek, Hiromi involuntarily bucked his hips, dragging his cock inside your cunt. You whined, turning your face to press your lips against his once again. To hold him in place, Nanami reached out his other hand to hold the man’s waist.

“I said still.”

Collecting some lubrication left on the area from earlier, Nanami slowly inserted one finger, stretching Hiromi’s walls. The burning sensation prickled Hiromi’s eyes with tears, and you brought your hands up, thumbing the tiny droplets away from his eyelashes.

“Oh, Kento… go easy on him”, you cooed, peppering kisses all over Hiromi’s face. His brows furrowed, his cheeks flustered, his mouth agape letting out tiny sounds, and his eyes sealed shut morphed into one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

“I am going easy, I’m even warming him up,” Nanami replied, a minute smile flashing through his lips as he carefully inserted the second finger. His touch was tentative and deliberate, massaging Hiromi from within, each second of it driving the man a little more wild. 

“You know, I only told him to be still.” Nanami’s voice sounded curiously playful, as you looked up and saw his eyes burning into you. “You can move.”

You immediately understood what he was suggesting, and Hiromi had just about enough time to crack his eyes slightly open before you started to roll your hips against his. He moaned and instantly approached to kiss you, but you covered his mouth with one of your hands, smiling coyly at him.

With his body all hot and warm and cold and quivery everywhere, Hiromi was absolutely sure at that moment that you and Nanami were trying to kill him, and he was sure he’d die.

Well… There were worse ways to go.

“Fuck me, please, I c-can’t stand this any longer. I’ll- aaah, ah- God…” Hiromi’s voice came muffled through your fingers, his hot breath moistening your skin. He blabbered away in despair, while Nanami’s grip tightly against his waist kept him from burying himself into you or humping back on Nanami’s fingers.

It was torture all over again.

With an amused huff, Nanami finally pulled his fingers out of Hiromi. He quickly propped himself up and leaned himself over, having his cock sliding over where he had his fingers pumping in seconds before.

With a firm movement, he pressed his tip right through the initial resistance, easing himself inside Hiromi. In small pumps, Nanami made sure to slide himself inside as gently as possible, even though the prior relentless teasing would suggest otherwise. On your end, filled up to the brim and face to face with the brunette you and Nanami had tortured for the past God knows how many minutes, you saw Hiromi's eyes roll back into his skull as he let out the most intense, gut-wrenching, lewd moan you had ever heard falling out of his lips. 

If there had been any thoughts in his mind, they were sure as hell all gone by now. 

You uncovered his mouth while all the three of you began rocking each other's bodies, trying to find a rhythm, and shoved your tongue inside Hiromi's mouth without much other than hunger and desperation. His moans and whines reverberated inside your own, all over your tongue and sending a second heart beat directly into your pussy. Oh, God.

Nanami descended over Hiromi's body, and began nibbling, biting, kissing and sucking the skin in between his shoulder blades, all the way up to his neck. Nanami had his eyes screwed shut in the most blissful stupor you had ever seen on his face, his mouth agape, letting out a few gasps and low groans, few and not-so-far in between. He had one of his hands holding onto the bed headboard, and was absolutely sure he would end up tearing it off solely on brute force if he wasn't careful enough.

The entire room filled with the lewd sounds of your sweat glistened bodies slapping and sliding against each other, your and Hiromi's moans and whimpers mingling into one single symphony, and Nanami – arguably the only one who still held onto any sliver of sanity – only barely registered the sound of dragging wood. Perhaps the bed rocking on the floor, who the hell knew at this point.

Hiromi's cock was plunged inside you, and he moved his hips in between thrusting himself deeper into you and having Nanami filling him on pure instinct. If someone had asked him his name at that moment, he wouldn't know what words were. The way he pressed against your pubic mound and clit were dragging you towards your orgasm pretty fast, especially considering you were buried under the two hottest men you knew, but the way his length throbbed and pulsed inside – as well as his completely fucked out and messy face – made it evident you would not beat him to it.

In a few moments, his entire body jolted and shuddered in convulsive movements that had Nanami coming back to Earth just to slowly still his movements as Hiromi reached his peak. Brain fog wasn't a strong enough expression to convey Hiromi's state of mind – it was as if his brain had melted and dripped out of his ears with each spurt of white, hot, thick cum that filled the condom as he sloppily still tried to keep pumping himself into you. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, and he bit you down as if to hold you in place like prey, robbing you of a whimper.

"I… I need…" was all that Hiromi managed to whisper, his voice gruff and low, completely spent. His hand made its way behind towards Nanami, who gently slid himself out of Hiromi, having the man quiver as soon as he was done, falling to your side. 

Pent-up. Even though Hiromi had seen the face of God and came with all the might a human body was able to withstand without perishing, Nanami was still very much in need, like a stranded traveler in sandy deserts craving a glass of water. He pulled his condom out and collapsed in between you and Hiromi,  sighing deeply while he covered his eyes with his forearm, the angst of a stilted orgasm still lingering in his pained expression.

He dove one of his hands towards his cock, but you promptly held it, biting his jaw with a mischievous smile. Much to Nanami's surprise – who expected Hiromi to have fainted – the other man rolled towards him, encircling his own fingers around Nanami's length, planting a few kisses down his neck.

"Your turn."

-

End notes: Shoutout to whoever wrote this KusaHiguNana masterpiece that inspired my unholy thoughts (link here).

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[moonsgemini]

cherry wine - firefighter!rafe pt. 2

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summary: Rafe’s job gets in the way of your first date, but you’re not mad about it.

warnings: teacher!reader x firefighter!rafe, fluff, mutual pining, flirting, sexy rafe, SMUT, fingering, fem rec oral, fem!reader, inaccurate descriptions of firefighter duties, alcohol, cursing

an: I have no idea how a fire fighters schedule works so I made it up bc it’s fiction. oh & do we like the long fics?? oh & it’s my birthday yay to 24

part one

* ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ₊˚ ⋅

The night at the bar Rafe made sure you were sober to drive. He had you drink lots of water and even ordered you a plate of fries. His mind wandering off when you would lick the salt off your fingers. He was gone for you from the start and he didn’t mind one bit.

After walking you to your car he asked for your number and promised to see you the next day. Leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and permanent butterflies. The whole drive home you belted out the lyrics to your favorite pop music, feeling like a high school girl with a crush.

Rafe drove him in silence with a grin on his face. When he got home and texted you that he had a great time and couldn’t wait to see you again that grin never vanished. It only widened when you replied reciprocating the same feelings.

The next day came and a couple hours before picking you up Rafe got called into the station. Instead of texting he called you wanting to make sure you knew he wasn’t flaking. You believed him of course. Yet you couldn’t help the natural feeling of disappointment that flowed through your bones.

That feeling was soothed when he texted you late that night that he had finally gotten back to the station. Along with that he sent a picture of the station dog Max on his lap. You couldn’t help the way your mouth watered at the sight of his veiny big hand that was resting in the golden retrievers fur. In return you sent back a picture of your steaming mug of tea and a horror movie playing on the tv in the back.

It sparked a conversation about movies which led to you and Rafe talking non stop the following week. Besides the times you were teaching and he was out training or helping people.

Rafe promised you a proper date that upcoming Friday. Making sure to let you know that he would do anything to make it work out this time. You reassured him it was okay if something came up again. That made his heart burst, it wasn’t often that someone was willing to work with his hectic schedule.

-

The outfit you had planned for the previous weekend still sat on your vanity chair waiting to be worn. And hopefully waiting to be taken off. You had finished your hair and makeup all done to perfection. As it neared closer to the time he was picking you up your anxiety spiked. He hadn’t called to reschedule so it was really happening.

Rafe had gotten worked up all week with the pictures you’d occasionally send of what you were doing. The one that really got him was when you had gotten out of the shower and sent him a picture of you in a fuzzy robe with wet hair and your skin glistening. Most likely due to a skincare routine you had mentioned to him.

Rafe thought you looked like a goddess, he wished he could have gotten down on his knees and untied that robe with his teeth before worshiping you. His kind had been in the gutter all week.

He was making sure this date was going to go perfect. He bought a bouquet of flowers from a street vendor and worn his best date outfit. As he rang the doorbell to your small cottage he started to get a bit nervous. He hadn’t put this much effort into a date since high school. Even then how much effort could a teenage boy put in. He didn’t actually remember the last time he went on a date.

Rafe’s runaway thoughts were interrupted as you opened the door. Standing in front of him in a short black skirt and black top. A jacket hanging over your arm and your glossy lips turning up into a smile. The boots you were accentuated your legs making them look even longer. Rafe wanted to lick every inch of you. Especially after the smell of your perfume hit him, he wanted to kiss your neck.

“Hi,” You said with a teasing tone.

He didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything, “You look beautiful.” He made it a point to look her up and down.

She laughed as heat creeped up her neck, “Thank you Rafe.”

He loved how you said his name, “These are for you.” He handed you the flowers.

“Come in while I put them in water,” You nodded towards the inside of the house, “They’re beautiful Rafe. You really do know how to treat me good.”

He closed the door behind him as you began filling a vase with water, “Oh this is nothing.”

“If there’s more than this I might start to like you a little too much,” You joked hoping the weight of those words don’t send him running. You didn’t mean to say something so forward so soon. Literally on the first date, but you decided to stick by your words. You didn’t want to hide that you liked him.

“Perfect, because I already like you a little too much.”

You froze with the kitchen towel in your hands as you dries them. As you looked at him his smile was sincere, no hint of teasing or lying. You finished drying your hands as you laughed softly. The crush you had on Rafe was growing by the minute.

“Ready?” You asked.

He nodded opening the front door for you. He even opened the passenger door of his truck for you. Of course you knew these were bare minimum things but you couldn’t help how giddy it made you feel. Especially when it was him doing it for you.

-

Everything couldn’t have been going more perfect. Rafe was almost grateful he had to postpone the date because in the week the two of you talked he learned a lot. With the knowledge of you he had he planned the perfect date.

He took you to a record shop that you hadn’t been to before. You had told him about your extensive collection you had started building in high school. He even remembered a few of the bands you liked when he came across them. Of course he insisted on buying you a couple which you repeatedly told him not to. Obviously he didn’t listen and bought you them.

Next door was the Italian restaurant Rafe had been raving about all week. Promising you it’d be the best pasta of your life.

But as you looked over the menu, a ghost of a grin hasn’t left your mouth all evening, his phone started ringing. Rafe took his phone out of his pocket beginning to apologize for not silencing it. He was going to ignore the call but the name across the screen had his brows furrowing in worry.

“Everything okay?”

He looked up briefly, “Uh yeah it’s my captain. I’m so sorry I need to answer this.” You nodded understanding as he gave you a regretful smile as he slid out the booth to take the call. You continued to look over the cocktail menu.

Rafe sighed as he sat down across from you again, “Everything okay?” You asked

He shook his head, “I hate to do this but I got called in. I wasn’t supposed to work today but there’s a hug pile up downtown where there’s a big concert and they need all the help they can get.”

You tried not to show the disappointment you felt because it was his job after all. Rafe could still see how your eyes lost a bit of their shine and your smile wasn’t as bright anymore. He really hated this. In his career so far he had never been called in so much. But now when he meets the hottest woman he’s ever seen work is taking over his life. He was not about to have you slip through his fingers.

“Oh yeah I understand. You can just drop m-“ You began saying before he interrupted.

“Come with me.”

“Huh?”

He shook his head with a laugh, “Not to the wreck to the station. Wait for me there.”

He didn’t even wait for you to reply because for one he needed to leave now or Captain Matthews would chew his head off. And two if you decided you didn’t want to and wanted nothing to do with him anymore he’s take you home, but the sound of your laugh as he pulled you through the restaurant was enough of an answer. Your hands stayed locked together until you got back into his truck.

The station wasn’t too far from where you already were so the drive was short. Rafe rushed out to open your door and grab your hand once again. As you trailed behind him you saw a few of the guys from career day and some new faces as they all stood by an engine in the garage. A couple were checking equipment and a few others were already getting on the truck.

“Sorry to interrupt your date but we need your help here Cameron,” An older guy said as the two of you approached. You assumed this was his captain.

You smiled, “Duty calls right?”

He laughed, “It sure does.”

“I’ll be right out,” Rafe said leading you into the station. He walked you into a room that was like a big living room with couches and a tv. Max was laying on the couch and when he saw Rafe he immediately got up and walked over to the pair.

“This is Max. Say hi Maxie bug,” He pet the dogs head who then sniffed your leg. You bent down petting his fluffy head.

“Hi Maxie.”

“Make yourself at home and feel free to anything in the kitchen. I’ll be back hopefully in a couple hours. If you get bored and uber home I won’t be offended I promise,” Rafe said placing a hand on your shoulder.

You nodded, “Got it. Be safe and good luck.”

He leaned in with a grin and kissed your cheek gingerly. Even that small touch had your head spinning. You and Max watched as he jogged back outside and only a couple minutes later you heard the truck leave.

-

It had been almost two hours now and Rafe was still out. You had watched a fe episodes of your favorite sitcom and played with Max a bit. You even explored the station finding the kitchen and a few of the rooms used for sleeping where you stole a blanket from to lay over yourself on the couch. The only issue you were having was that you were starving.

Since you two had to leave dinner you hadn’t eaten since lunch and that meesley turkey sandwich was not cutting it.

That’s when you wandered into the kitchen and that habit of wanting to take care of people kicked in. You looked through to see what the guys had almost expecting to find the bare minimum. You were so wrong. The fridge and pantry were filled with groceries. You thought these guys must really eat a lot.

You started brain storming and decided on making lasagna and garlic bread. You figured they’d all be hungry when they got back and you were also starving. As the garlic bread finished in the oven and the lasagna cooled down you heard the rumbling of the fire truck. Perfect timing. You hoped you didn’t overstep but he did say make yourself at home. You even baked some chocolate chip cookie dough they had in the fridge. Even also tossing a salad to have on the side.

As Rafe opened the door that led to the station the smell of garlic bread and fresh baked cookies hit him. He thought he must be hallucinating until he walked into the kitchen and saw you getting plates out from the cupboard. A few of the guys walked in behind Rafe.

“Hey we’re back,” Rafe said stepping towards you, “Did you make dinner?”

You nodded a bit of embarrassment creeping up your spine, “Yeah hope you guys don’t mind. I was hungry and I figured you were too so I made food for you all.”

Josh stepped forward looking at the pan of lasagna, “Rafe keep her please, this looks amazing.”

“Seriously thank you this looks so good,” Captiain Matthews said as he stepped in.

“No problem please help yourselves,” You motioned towards the counter of food.

Rafe couldn’t look away from you. The way you stood so comfortably in the station kitchen talking to his coworkers. He walked closer towards you as the guys served themselves.

“You are just too sweet huh?” He teased.

“Well we missed our italian dinner so I made it myself,” You shrugged with a grin.

“That just means next time I’m cooking for you,” He said. The thought of there being a next time brough butterflies to your stomach.

“I’ll hold you to it,” You nodded.

Rafe grabbed a plate and began to serve you food. Handing over the plate before serving himself. All the guys thanked you as Rafe led you to the living room area. He also grabbed a bottle from one of the tall cabinets along with two glasses.

“Now I know this isn’t what I promised you but next time will be better,” He promised as he opened the bottle of wine.

“There’s no complaints from me about this date,” You shrugged, “Since when are you allowed to have alcohol in here?”

He smirked, “Well miss I’m technically off the clock again and this is from the christmas party we had a few months ago. Cherry wine?”

Your eyes lit up, “It’s like you know me already, I love cherry wine.”

-

After your stomachs were full of good food and a bit of wine that made your head feel a bit floaty you both settled on the couch. This was the best date you’d ever been on. Rafe was sweet and flirty never hiding his desire for you. Not even in a sexual way but in a way where he constantly asked questions about everything wanting to know more about you. He talked about his life as well which only made you like him more. Hearing about his troubled privileged childhood that led him to where he is now. It was admirable to hear him talk about it with no shame since it made him who he is.

As it got later Rafe drove you home. You were disappointed the night was ending but it was nearing one in the morning and you still had lesson plans to create.

He walked you up to your door with an arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“I had a really great time with you tonight. I’m sorry again for the interruption.”

You shook your head, “Don’t worry about it Rafe. I still had a great time.”

“The guys are going to want you around all the time now,” He laughed.

“Oops,” You shrugged with a smirk.

He stepped closer, “Be careful now I might get jealous.”

“Maybe I’ll keep going then,” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, “I know it’s late but uh do you want to come in?”

Rafe didn’t hesitate, “Yeah sure.”

You unlocked your door leading him in, “I can make you a cup of tea if you’d like or something else.” You asked as you set your things down on the entryway table.

“hmmm something else?” He asks as he steps closer to you.

You look through your cupboards, “I have tea, coffee, some random-“ your words caught in your throat as you turned around to look at him only to find Rafe behind you.

“That all sounds good but I think I want something sweet,” He said as he inched closer. Your hands rested behind you against the counter. Eyes wide with anticipation and curiosity as to what his next move would be.

“Like sweat tea?” You asked knowing exactly what he means but not wanting to jump to conclusions.

His smirk turned into a lopsided grin. He rubbed his hand over his mustache and shook his head stepping closer, “No that cherry wine was pretty sweet right?”

You nodded in agreement not taking your eyes off him.

“I think I want a bit more of that,” He was now practically caging you in against the counter. You felt like you were suffocating in him in the best way possible.

“Oh I don-“ He interrupted you by leaning forward and brushing his nose against yours. It shut you up immediately and then he broke the rest of the distance and pressed his lips to yours. You reciprocated moved your hands from the counter to pull at the blonde hair at the back of his head. His hands went to your hips pulling you closer to him then sliding up to your waist.

His thumbs going under your shirt the skin on skin contact made you shiver in the best way. Your mouths moved in sync as the kiss deepened.

Rafe could taste the sweetness but he wasn’t sure if it was the cherry wine or just you. He knew he was addicted to you now. He loved the way your hands felt in his hair and on his biceps and shoulders. He slotted his leg in between yours making you feel even closer to him. The small noises you were making made him sigh into the kiss.

He pulled away before kissing you a few more times and murmuring, “So sweet.”

You whined and tugged at his shirt to pull him back in. He smirked and gave you what you wanted. He’d give you anything you wanted.

This time you pulled away feeling a bit bold and the feeling of his thigh pressing against the place where you needed him the most helped you say, “You wanna see my room?”

He laughed softly kissing your nose, “You inviting me to your room?”

You scoffed a laugh, “Nooo I’m asking if you want to see my room. There’s a difference.”

“I’d love to see your room.” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully and shoved him. Grabbing his hand and leading him down the hallway to your room. You turned on the lamp on your nightstand which illuminated the room with a soft glow. Rafe had decidedly that he loved seeing you in that light. You looked like a real like angel.

“So this is it,” You said motioning to your surroundings.

He threw his head back with a hearty laugh, “Oh I really like you sweetheart. Come here,” He motioned with his fingers for you to come closer. A motion that had your mind in the gutter.

“Why do you say that?” You question as you walk forward to where he stood at the end of your bed.

“Because you’re all cute and sweet like you didn’t almost make me come just by making out.”

“Rafe!” You said with a surprised laugh.

He shrugged, “What? It’s the truth.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck still feeling bold. There was something about how unabashedly he admitted his feelings towards you that had you feeling confident. It felt good to be wanted. It felt good to be wanted by Rafe.

“You’re ridiculous,” You said as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His eyes moving down to your still swollen lips.

“Mhmm,” He hummed and nodded. He leaned in just like he did earlier in the kitchen. Kissing the air out of your lungs. His hands moved all over you gripping and holding anything he could.

His hand slipped down your back and over your butt, giving a squeeze as he past it, down to the end of your skirt, His fingers trailed up the back of your thigh and up your skirt. Hands gripping your ass under your skirt. You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips which allowed him more access into your mouth.

There was a small part of your brain that hadn’t quite turned off yet. Rafe’s lips began to trail down to your neck leaving open mouthed kisses that had you arching into him. The feeling of his mustache against your smooth skin had you shivering.That’s when that part of your brain decided to speak up.

“Oh Rafe,” You said breathily eyes fluttering shut, “are you sure, it’s late and don’t you have work?” Rafe groaned as he kissed the spot behind your ear. He couldn’t help but get more turned on at the sound of her caring about him, but work and sleep were far from his mind. Right now he just wanted to bury his head between your thighs and have you moaning and withering underneath him.

“Baby I could care less about that right now,” He walked you back until you were sat on the bed. The bed wasn’t very tall so when he stood in between your legs you had to look up at him. The way he towered over you had your flimsy underwear feeling soaked. You had never been so turned on by a man.

Rafe reached forward to cup your jaw. Thumb stroking your cheek gently. Now that part of your brain was completely silent. All you could think about was him.

“You’re so beautiful,” He mumbled almost to himself.

A soft smile appeared on your face and he practically groaned again. Your doe eyes looking up at him with an innocent smile had his cock hardening even more if that’s possible. He bit his lip and watched as your eyes moved to his mouth. He knew you wanted him as bad as he wanted you and that made this all the more exciting.

He slowly trailed his thumb to his mouth, pulling at her bottom lip teasingly. Almost like a habit your mouth opened slightly. He took this as a sign to gently push it into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around it sucking and licking.

“Fuck,” He muttered as he felt your warm tongue. Where had you been all his life. He was never going to let you go. He pulled it out and leaned down kissing you again.

“You’re so hot,” He mumbled as he got on his knees in front of you. He removed your boots that you were still wearing and kissed up both legs. The intimacy of it all had your chest rising rapidly. The anticipation of just how good you know this man is going to treat you was enough to make your toes curl.

“I’ve been thinking about these thighs since I first picked you up,” He said as he kissed your inner thighs. He had placed your legs over his shoulders, hands gripping the outside of them. You sighed as your body ignited in pleasure.

You let out a small yelp as he pulled your center closer to his face causing you to fall back, “And fuuuck I’ve been thinking about pushing this little skirt up all night.” He hummed in appreciation as he pushed the black material up. Your feet now resting on the end of the bed. Your barely clothed pussy on display. Leaning back on your elbows you watched with hazy eyes as Rafe admired you.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes and a smirk, “Can I please taste you?” He knew you wouldn’t say no but he wanted to be a gentleman anyways.

“Please,” You whispered slightly bucking your hips up.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lace covered clit. The black lacy panties you had on barely doing anything to cover your slick cunt. He took a mental picture for the next time he was in the shower.

You moaned softly as he continued to kiss over panties, eventually pulling them to the side. He murmured curse words as he lifted his thumb to run through your folds. Gently slipping the tip of it inside you to gather your wetness. He trailed it up to your clot beginning to rub soft circles. The motion had your head falling back with a sigh.

Rafe turned his head and peppered kisses on your inner thigh. He pressed down a little harder as he watched you get wetter. After a few strokes he tentatively dipped his head down and licked your clit.

That was enough for him to know this is what he wanted to taste forever. He roughly pulled off the lacey matterial throwing it somewhere in the room.

He groaned as he fully dived in. Licking, sucking, and kissing just where you needed him to. He listened to your moans and soft whines to see what you liked the most. He was so painfully hard but he didn’t even care. Rafe just wanted you to come.

“Oh god Rafe,” You moaned as his tongue dipped into you. Your hands gripped his hair tugging when something felt extra good.

He moaned and the sound sent even more pleasure through you, “You taste so fucking good.”

“Rafe I’m close,” You panted, “you’re so good don’t stop please.”

He shook his head with his mouth still on you, “Never baby, you’re gonna have to pry me away from this pussy.”

The dirty words sending you even closer to the edge. You had never been talked to like this and you loved it. You liked how he ravaged you and actually paid attention to what you liked.

You felt his finger nudge your entrance before he slipped it in. Your walls tightening around his thick finger. You arched you back as he reached one hand up to press flat against your stomach to lay you down more. Then he added a second finger and you couldn’t help the cry that escaped your lips. It felt so good the way he moved them in and out. Fingers curled up hitting that spot you so desperately needed.

The lewd sounds of his fingers fucking you and his mouth on your clit filled the room. Along with your loud moans and his occasional groans. The roughness of his mustache felt so good on the sensitive bud.

“Rafey I’m-I’m gonna,”

“Mhmmm let go for me pretty girl,” He encouraged as his fingers moved faster and mouthed hungrily at your clit.

You became a shaking moaning mess as he continues his ministrations. Your orgasm taking over your body. His hand gripped your thigh roughly as he kept going until your high was over. Once your back was flar on the mattress he slowly pulled out and pressed one last kiss on your puffy clit.

He made his way up your body kissing your stomach over your shirt and then you exposed cleavage. He kissed you fully and you could feel his mustache damp with your arousal. You could also taste yourself on his tongue which had you moaning again. Rafe lifted you to be farther up the bed so he can comfortably lay on top.

“You taste so fucking good I already wanna do it again,” He said smirking as he pulled away.

You smiled in a daze, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” As you reached your hand down to the front of his pants. Your hand cupped him through the material and he groaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Fuck I really really want to do more but I actually do have work in a couple hours,” He groaned. He wishes he could just call off and spend the whole night rolling around in bed with you.

You looked at him with slight disappointment but understanding, “You sure?”

He leaned down and bit your neck playfully, “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be easily convinced.”

You giggled, “I understand Rafe.”

“I’m seeing you again though. I never lied about that. Especially after you let me have a taste of you,” He groaned dramatically, “So fucking delicious I’m addicted.”

[veritasangel]

Can you do something with Simon and Price and reader? fluff or smut please:)

warnings: fem pov, contains nsfw content {mdni}, oral (giving/receiving), cum swallowing, handjob, threesome, price x simon

a/n: i haven't written smut in a while so it feels sloppy, sorry ↣ wc: 1.8k

Thinking about being one of the newer members to the 141 and you’ve quickly attached yourself to price and simon.

Late nights, when the rest of the team had turned in, you were often sat between them both. Price lights a cigar; the all-familiar tobacco smell mingles in the night air, the dancing flame casting shadows over his face.

Ghost, on the other hand, pulls you into his side with soft ease, as if it were the most natural thing. His arm falls over your shoulders, his body relaxed in ways you'd never see during the day-not when he's the silent, sharp-edged soldier everyone else knows. But here, in the quiet night on the base, he lets his guard down just enough.

Price's eyes flickered to where Ghost had you nestled against him, a quiet smirk playing on his lips. Though it wasn't just amusement lighting up his gaze-there was something possessive in it, something knowing, like he and Ghost were sharing some silent agreement over your head. 

Price turned to you, "Comfortable?" he asked, his tone layered with something more than curiosity.

You nodded, the warmth spreading through your chest, though whether from the closeness of their bodies or the way the gaze of Price lingered on you-you weren't quite so sure. You shifted slightly, only to feel Ghost's grip tighten, his fingers curling around your shoulder.

"Stay still, love," Ghost said, his voice in that low rumble, the quiet way he always spoke, but unmistakable beneath the tone tonight. His hand slid down your arm, deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of fire behind it. "We've got you."

Price chuckled low and deep as he watched your eyes flutter innocently at Ghost's words. "Poor thing," he said, the humour in his tone bleeding away to something a little softer, "Reckon you're not used to all this attention, are you?"

Before you could even respond, Price's hand landed on your knee, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over the smooth skin. It felt like they were closing in on either side, enveloping you entirely, and you leaned into it.

"You don't have to do much, y'know," Price said again, and though his tone was teasing, it remained soothing. "Just let us take care of you."

Your words caught in your breath, your heart beating just a little bit faster as you tried to make sense of the change in air between the three of them, there was a possessiveness to the way they seemed so attuned to you.

Ghost's fingers brushed against your chin, his fingers tilting your head slightly towards him. "You're sweet, precious," he whispered, his eyes dark with the search for a reaction in yours. The edge in his tone was full of meaning. "Maybe a little too innocent for your own good, yeah?”

“I’m not-”

Price chuckled again, this time leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath against your neck. "It’s alright, nothing to be ashamed of," he said softly, voice almost a purr now. "Simon and I… we'll look after you."

His tone sent shivers down your spine, not out of fear but from the silent promise beneath his words. How their hands seemed to caress your skin in unison, touching you in a way that belied their sharp and deadly exteriors, your pulse racing at just the thought. You felt as though you were theirs-a shared treasure between them, and they had no intention of letting you go.

Ghost's thumb brushed your bottom lip and his eyes darkened just a fraction as he spoke again. "We'll take real good care of you, love. Won't let anything hurt you. Not while you've got us."

Price's hand had moved from your knee, drifting upwards to your thigh with slow, deliberate care. "You've no need to worry anymore," he murmured, the voice rich with the familiar comforting authority. "Between me and Simon, you'll always be safe.”

His touch was a blanket of warmth that wrapped you whole, and you couldn't help but sink deeper between them. By the way they looked at you, it was clear they'd taken it upon themselves to protect and cherish you-so long as you were willing to let them.

And of course, it wasn't long before these nights together turned into a whole lot more.

Price's grip on you tightens as Simon licks along your slit, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave marks. He can feel your body tensing, your breath hitching as Simon's tongue flicks against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through you.

"That's it, love," Price murmurs, his voice a low growl in your ear. "Let him take care of you. You're doing so well." His hands wandered your body; one cupped one of your breasts, and the other drew circles on your side. He leaned into you, his beard rough against your neck as he nipped at the sensitive skin there.

Simon's fingers join his mouth, sliding inside you as his tongue continues its relentless assault. Price can feel your body seeking more, and he grins, knowing just how much you're enjoying this.

"Look at her, Simon," Price says in a husky voice. "She's fucking gorgeous like this. All flushed and needy." He leans back, giving Simon a better view of you, and watches as Simon's eyes darken with lust.

Price presses his cock against your ass, grinding into you, a low groan breaking free from him. "Fuck, angel," he mutters. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect."

You can feel the heat emanating from Price's body; the way he seems to revel in this moment-in your pleasure-is intoxicating. Simon's fingers curl inside you, and you arch your back, a moan slipping past your lips.

Price's hand slips from your breasts down to your clit, his thumb rubbing circles in perfect rhythm with Simon's tongue. The dual stimulation hits you at once, and you cling to Price, your nails digging into his skin as you allow yourself to fall deeper into the waves of pleasure that wash over you.

"She's close." Price growls, his voice hoarse. "You gonna’ come for us, pretty?" Simon's mouth works faster, his tongue flicking your clit with renewed urgency. 

You cry out, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you, leaving you trembling in Price's lap. Simon continues, drawing it out as much as he can before he pulls back, his eyes dark and hungry. Price's hand stays where it is, teasing your sensitive clit a little as he watches Simon stand up, his own cock hard and ready. Price's hand slides away, and he stands too, tugging you up with him.

"Get on your knees, love," Price orders in a strong voice. "Say thank you to Simon."

Still trying to catch your breath, you fall to your knees in front of Simon. His cock, thick and heavy, beading with precum.You don’t hesitate to take him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip..

Price stands behind you, watching you pleasure Simon, his hand resting on your head. "That's it-" he praises, his hand guiding your head, "Take care of him like he took care of you."

Simon's hand finds its way to the back of your head too, guiding you as his hips buck, forcing more of his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Price watches, the satisfied grin still plastered on his face as he leans over, his lips meeting Simon's in a heavy, passion-filled kiss. His hand disappears from your head, now sliding to Simon's hip to pull him closer as their tongues dance.

You continue to pleasure Simon, your lips sliding up and down his shaft, your hand joining the effort to help the parts you can’t reach. The sight of Price kissing Simon only adds to your own arousal, the two looking as though it’s not the first time.

Price draws back from the kiss. "She's a natural, isn't she?" he murmurs-low and husky. "Takes’ to everything we ask her to do like she was born for it."

Simon nods, his eyes meeting yours whilst you continue sucking him off. "Fucking amazing," he agrees. "She's so goddamn responsive. I love seeing her like this."

"And she's ours," he says, a possessive edge to his voice. "No one else gets to have her like this. Just us."

Simon's grip on your head tightens as his hips move faster. "God, yes," he growls.

As his breathing becomes increasingly ragged, he reaches for Price's cock with his free hand. His fingers wrap around the shaft as he begins to stroke it in time with your mouth on him. 

The sight of the two of them, the way they work together is intoxicating, your body humming with arousal. Price's fingers tug your hair gently while Simon's hips buck into your mouth, growing closer to the edge.

Simon's thrusts become more erratic as his orgasm washes over him, ropes of cum coating your tongue, before you swallow, much to his approval. Price observes this scene, his own orgasm not far behind either.

Price groans as Simon's strokes bring him closer to his own release. "Fuck, Simon," he growls, voice thick with desire. "You're going to make me come."

Simon's strokes don't let up, his thumb continuing to tease the head of Price's cock. "Go on then" he orders, his voice low in his chest. "Let go."

You draw back, eyes locked with Price as Simon's hand works him faster. You can see the tension in his body, muscles pulled tight and ready to snap.

Price's breath catches, his body straining as his orgasm rips through him. He groans, his head falling forward onto Simon’s shoulder as his release spills over Simon's hand and some dripping onto you as his body shakes from the force of it.

As Price descends from his high, he looks down at you, his eyes satisfied. He reaches out, hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushes away the white glob from your cheek.

"You're such a good girl" he utters in a soft, murmuring tone. "All ours."

Simon pulls you up into his arms, his lips finding yours in a deep passionate kiss. You taste yourself on him, and it only serves to turn you on further.

Price watches, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as Simon takes over the kiss, his hand sliding down your back to your ass.

The three of you fall onto the bed again, bodies intertwined. And in this moment, surrounded by their warmth and strength, you know you're exactly where you're meant to be.

༄ cod m.list

© veritasangel ↣ do not copy or translate any of my works.

[band--psycho]

Sylus x Reader - A Little Birdie Told Me

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Thank you the anon who sent in this request, it was such fun to write this!

L&DS Masterlist / Sylus Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Jealous Sylus, hints of mature themes towards the end

Sylus was fully expecting to get back home to feathers, metal and blood everywhere; what else was he meant to expect when leaving you and Mephisto together for a prolonged period of time. 

You two didn’t get along. 

Sylus knew this. 

But you owed him, since he looked after the dove you found, just before going away on a work trip. 

Much to his own surprise though, you didn’t argue with him when he asked you to check in on Mephisto; which naturally only made him more suspicious. 

You were planning something. 

He didn’t know what, but the mischievous glint that was showing in your eyes as he left, confirmed his suspicions. 

That’s why he was expecting at least part of his mansion to be somewhat trashed. 

But it wasn’t. 

There were no stray feathers. 

No shards of metal. 

No specks of blood from where Mephisto could have pecked you. 

There was nothing; everything was exactly how he left it. 

And instead of his home  being filled with the sound of yours and Mephistos petty squabbles, something that he’d gotten quite used to recently, his home was silent. 

‘Maybe Luke and Kieran were right,’ he thought to himself, hanging his leather jacket on the coat hook by his front door, thinking back to what the twins had told him a few days ago as he made his way down the hall. 

According to the twins, you and Mephisto were getting along fine; more than fine in fact, according to them you two were almost inseparable, like you were friends. 

But that was a ridiculous thought, you two didn’t get along, you’d both told him that, which is what made the picture he got sent even more puzzling. 

The picture was of you, reading, as you so often do, but this time Mephisto was perched on the arm of the chair next to and your free hand was on his head, petting him.

Was that part of the reason he came back a few days earlier than he’d intended to from his trip?

Yes. 

He needed answers. 

Though it was also because that picture made him realise just how much he hated being away from you and how much he hated that he wasn’t the one being given your attention. 

Granted you could be a pain in the ass at times, sassing him at any given opportunity as well as always pushing him to do the ‘right’ thing…but he’d grown to love those qualities about you. 

You changed him. 

He knew you’d had an affect on him long ago, however it wasn’t until recently whilst he was away from you that he realised two things, 1) How much of an affect you’d truly had on him and 2) How much he’d missed everything about you; your witty and sarcastic remarks, the way your infectious smile could light up a room, the way you hummed  along to whatever song was playing through your headphones as you danced in his kitchen, completely oblivious to his presence. 

Everything. 

And now that he was home, he just wanted to see you. 

Needed to see you. 

That was the whole reason why he asked you to look after Mephisto in the first place, not that he’d ever tell you that. 

He walked into the living room, a soft smile quickly forming on his lips as he saw you fast asleep on the sofa, your body wrapped in the blanket you’d claimed as yours after a few visits, your music blaring into your ears at the loudest possible volume. 

Though Sylus’ smile faltered as he took a few more steps closer to you, allowing him to see his mechanical bird nestled in the crook of your neck, little satisfied coos left his beak as the two of you continued to sleep peacefully. 

Of all the scenarios he thought he’d be walking into, this was the most unexpected; a complete juxtaposition to what he’d assumed he’d be walking into.

He should’ve felt relief in the fact that neither of you had killed the other, but relief was not the emotion he was feeling. 

Jealousy however was. 

The same feeling that he’d tried to push to the side when he saw the picture from the twins

That’s how maddening his feelings were for you, only you could ever make him jealous of Mephisto. 

What had happened whilst he was away?

Had he somehow ended up in an alternate reality where you and Mephisto were friends? 

He shook his head at the absurd thoughts racing around in his head; but what he was seeing was exactly that, absurd. 

He wanted to wake you so he could get some answers, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so, mainly because of how peaceful you looked. 

Mephisto though was different. 

Sylus had no issue in waking him up and thanks to the music you were listening to, you wouldn’t be disturbed by his annoyed caws once he was awoken. 

~~~~~~

Safe to say, Mephisto was very unhappy at being woken up. 

And his grouchiness was naturally directed towards the person who’d disturbed him. 

“All I’m asking is, what suddenly made you two so close?” Sylus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to ignore the jealousy remarks the crow was making. 

One thing was immediately clear to Sylus, Mephisto had certainly adopted your sassy retorts to questions. 

“I’m not,” Sylus denied; only to be mocked by the bird in front of him. 

He was becoming as infuriating as you were. 

“Are you two arguing?” You asked, your words catching Sylus off guard; he’d been so busy interrogating Mephisto that he’d been completely oblivious to you waking up or finding them in the study that they were currently standing in. 

“No,” Sylus answered simply, turning around to look at you. 

You were leaning against the doorframe of his study, your eyes meeting his and holding his gaze; it was like you were trying to read his thoughts. 

Thankfully, mind reading was not a skill you possessed. 

Much to Sylus’ dismay though, he didn’t need to answer you, because Mephisto answered for him. 

“Mephisto says you’re lying,” you stated, biting back the triumphant smile that wanted nothing more than to spread across your lips. 

Sylus didn’t know what was more shocking, the fact that she understood the Crow now behind him, or the fact that said crow had betrayed him in such a way. 

“I’m aware of what he said, sweetie,” Sylus pointed out, his voice laced with frustration as he quickly shot a glare at Mephisto. 

He knew you were going to ask why he was lying and just like that, those very words fell from your lips. 

Once again, Mephisto answered before Sylus could even open his mouth to speak; before flying very, very quickly out of the study, leaving you and Sylus alone together. 

“You were jealous?” You asked, taking a few steps closer to Sylus. 

Sylus didn’t want to admit it, but you were annoyingly persistent when you wanted answers. 

So unless he wanted to be continuously asked about Mephistos comment (Which he didn’t) he had no other choice to answer your question honestly.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice low as you continued walking towards him, only stopping once you were directly infront of him. 

“Why?” You pushed.

He hated to admit that he was jealous; let alone saying the reason why…revealing how much he really craved your attention.

“Because I-” his words trailed off as he began to notice a playful smirk tugging at your lips, the realisation dawning on him in that very moment. 

You already knew why. 

This had all been some elaborate plan to get him to admit his feelings for you. 

“Who told you?” Sylus questioned, watching as your smirk grew.

“Who told me what?” You teased coyly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a terrible liar, sweetie,” he whispered, leaning down slightly so that his lips were brushing over the shell of your ear. 

His words alone were enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

“Who’s idea was this, yours or Mephistos?” He asked, placing a feather light kiss just under your ear. 

“Both,” you breathed out; reveling in the closeness between the two of you. 

“Thought you two didn’t get along?”  He asked quietly. 

Granted, you and Mephisto had your differences, and you didn’t always get along, but recently you’d grown quite accustomed to one another. 

Of course you squabbled, but the same way someone would with a sibling.

You knew Sylus was going to ask you to look after Mephisto, because the crow had told you so in secret.

That’s when the two of you came up with this plan. 

A plan to make Sylus jealous. 

You were never one hundred percent sure of his feelings towards you, you flirted often enough, but some people just had that type of connection, it didn’t mean he felt the same way about you, that you did him. 

“Things changed,” you answered back, your voice just as quiet as his.

“Is it true?” You asked, changing the topic of conversation as you turned your head slightly, so now your lips were inches apart. 

“Is what true?”

“What Mephisto told me about how you feel about me?”

Being this close to him was torture for the both of you; both of you waiting for the other to make the final move and close the little distance that was between you both.

He saw the anxiety creeping in your y/e/c orbs as you waited for him to answer your question. 

But he knew that he could do something better than telling you how he felt, he could show you. 

And with that thought in mind, he closed the distance between your lips. 

It took you a few seconds to actually process what was happening; but once you did you wasted no time in allowing your eyes to flutter shut and melt into the kiss. 

The kiss started off gentle, soft, the two of you clearly processing what was happening; but everything changed when you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, deepening the kiss.

His hands found a home on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss intensified.

“Does that answer your question, kitten?” He murmured, pulling away from you slightly. 

“I don’t know, I think I could use some clarification,” you breathlessly chuckled before his lips met yours again, obliging to give you all the clarification you needed. 

Taglist:

@xacatalepsyx @the-slytherin-poet @deathkat657 @book-dragon03 @fangirlsfandomsss @evilldentists @hao-ming-8 @worm-in-a-bug @babygirl-panda19 @tasha-1994 @popcorn-mochi01 @cheesemachine44 @thegalaxysedge22 @inlovewithsylus

[writeaboutit]

Donation Boot

How firefighter Abby and Reader met

Hello hello it’s been a bit so sorry but I had this idea for a series of sorts following firefighter Abby x Reader through life. I have ideas for a couple more stories but if you have any suggestions leave them in my inbox for sure 🤍

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: none just fluff

You heard her key jingle in the lock from the kitchen. The metal on metal scratching noise was like music to your ears despite it being like nails on a chalkboard to others.

That noise meant your wife was finally home. All day you had been waiting for her to come home, missing her warm cuddles. She left for the station before you had even woken up.

Usually you stirred awake for the briefest of moments in those early hours when you heard the shower start, you made it a point to stay awake just long enough to say an I love you as you sent her off to do her work. You never knew when it might be your last so you didn’t chance it.

But last night the melatonin must have hit you extra hard because you didn’t even register Abby’s movements when she leaned down and pressed a warm kiss to your brow bone before clunking out of the room in her steel toed boots.

You regretted not waking up; no more melatonin for you.

The front door creaked open and you heard your dog’s collar jingle as she ran to greet your wife.

Abby must have been following the dogs lead to your presence in the kitchen because you heard her mutter, “Come on, where’s your momma?”

Your heart was instantly a mushy puddle on the tile floor following the comment. Just as you finished drying your hands the love of your life rounded the corner.

She was wearing her normal uniform. Not the big, bulky, fireproof suit but the fitted jeans and the navy blue t-shirt with the station’s logo over her breast.

You were such a sucker for a woman in uniform, it’s how she caught your attention in the first place. But what kept you around was that blinding smile she had plastered across her face that first day.

You and your friends decided to visit your local farmers market during second year of college. It was a fluke really, you weren’t even planning to go with them but after days of them whining that you could spare a couple of hours away from the text books and come have fun you agreed.

The local fire station had a booth set up collecting donations and the truck open for kids to climb in and take pictures.

One of your friends thought a fire fighter was hot and insisted on getting a picture with him by the truck (her very obvious way of flirting). You couldn’t blame her though because you had your eye on one of the younger trainees.

She was working the booth, tracking donation levels and you knew you would hate yourself for the rest of your life if you ignored your gut.

So, despite you being 19 and a broke college student you approached. They were collecting cash donations in one of the big fire suit boots.

You slipped the only cash you had on you into the dark depths of the boot, ten dollars, and were planning to make your way back to your friends, chickening out of talking to her, when all of the sudden you heard, “Hey, wait!”

You turned around and there she was. She had gotten up from her perch and made her way around the table. It was a bit jarring at first. She was tall, muscular, that tight ponytail made her look very sever, and here she was leaning over you with an expectant look.

“Yes?” you asked hesitantly.

“Don’t you want your coupons?” she asked suddenly realizing that she was close and backing up a step.

“Sorry?”

The confusion must have been written on your face because she immediately explained in a sort of rambily but very cute way, “When you donate you get a coupon to the local grocery store… and some other stores but honestly there all the old lady stores in the mall. The grocery ones the only one worth it.”

You just smiled softly at her over explanation. You expected her to be this over confident, maybe slightly douchy character from the way she approached before but really you could see her nerves peaking through now.

It only made you more attracted to her in all honesty.

“Oh right, yeah thanks.” you took the coupon sheet from her and after a moment of tense silence between the pair of you, you both went your separate ways.

It wasn’t until later that night when you went to cut out the grocery coupon and throw out the rest that you realized she had messily scribbled her name and number onto the think colorful price of paper.

You squealed, your roommate asked what was wrong and then you both quickly plotted on what you should text her.

It was simple really just a quick hey this is so n’ so, how are you?

Your phone only sat face down for a total of three minutes before you heard the chime of her reply and the rest is history.

Now seven years later your wife, the nervous fire fighter with the tight ponytail, was coming home to you. You would share a meal, a shower, a bed. It was the life you always wanted and all because you went to a farmers market on a random Sunday seven years ago.

That blinding smile that caught your attention all those years ago was plastered across her face now in the small kitchen of your small house.

Her setting her bag down on the island brings you out of your memory.

“Hey honey,” you greet, making your way to her.

“Hi baby, what were you thinking about just now?” she wraps her arms loosely around your waist.

“Hmm nothing much just your pretty smile,” she rolls her eyes, never one to take a compliment, “Speaking of which, that smile usually means you’re plotting something. What is it?”

She looks down at you and smiles, “You know me too well. I was plotting on what we are going to do over the next three days that I have off of work.”

That gets you excited. It’s not often that she gets time off of work. Sometimes you don’t even see her for days at a time when she has to sleep at the station. Three days off in a row is practically unheard of.

“Really?”

“Swear,” she kisses your forehead.

“Eek, so what were you planning?”

She chuckles and belts her arms just under your thighs, lifting you into the air, “Oh I think you know exactly what i have planned.”

Her voice turned seductive and husky. You squealed as you became level with her face. You both laughed into a soft kiss, one that was definitely going to lead to a forgotten dinner on the stove and a closed bedroom door.

[helen-with-an-a]

Will there be a second part of "Be The Best" where the girls help the reader. But at some point, the father comes and says that the reader needs to become even better, but the girls stand up for him and drive him away.

Or where the reader turns out to be a good person and tries to make friends with everyone, but it turns out to be awkward.

Hiiiii - so this is a little sadder than I anticipated but I quite like it. I might make a pt3 I'm not to sure - what do you guys think/if you have any reqs for it? Also please just imagine that there's like a foresty/woodsy type bit at Colney

Be the Best pt 2

AWFC x reader ; Leah Williamson x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Description: R has some self-realisation after trying to make friends

Word count: 4.6k

You had never felt so stupid in your life. Why? Why had you done that? Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over, as you walked. You couldn’t let them fall. No emotion. The best don’t feel emotion.

It was lunch time, a time you usually spent eating alone before going on a walk around Colney, usually ending up in the gym. After much reassurance from Kim, you had finally worked up enough courage to approach some of the team. Kim had made it sound so simple – just walk up to them and ask if you could join. You had rehearsed it in your mind a dozen times, mentally preparing for every possible reaction.

But when you finally stood there, tray in hand, in front of the group of girls who seemed to belong to an entirely different world, everything went wrong. They were sitting in the corner of the canteen, their laughter and chatter like a bubble you had no idea how to penetrate. You were so sure you looked ridiculous – just standing there, awkward and unsure, as if you had no right to even be in their presence.

“Can I sit?” you grunted, the words leaving your mouth almost of their own accord. As soon as they were out, you regretted them. You kept your eyes glued to the tray in your hands, desperately avoiding the gazes you could feel boring into you. The food on your tray – the food that looked so nice when you picked it out, looked bland and unappetising now – suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking up, to avoid seeing their reactions.

The silence that followed was suffocating. It stretched on, a tangible force pressing down on you, making you feel smaller and smaller with each passing second. The confidence you had painstakingly built up with Kim's encouragement was slipping away, like sand through your fingers. You had never felt so out of place, so exposed, as you did in that moment, standing there waiting for a response that never came.

Finally, you risked a glance up and caught Kyra’s wide, terrified eyes staring back at you. Did you really scare her that much? The thought sent a jolt of anxiety through you. Were you that terrifying that a simple question had her so scared? Was she always this afraid of you? You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, feeling more awkward by the second.

Alessia and Lotte exchanged concerned glances, their silent communication only adding to your growing unease. You could see the tension in their faces, the way they seemed to be trying to figure out what to do with you, as if your mere presence was some kind of problem they had to solve. Vic, who had always seemed so confident and collected, visibly gulped, her nervousness painfully clear.

No one spoke. No one moved. The entire canteen seemed to have dropped into a wary silence, as if the whole room was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. It was like a switch had flipped, and suddenly you were the centre of attention. The air was thick with unease, the kind that made your skin prickle and your heart pound.

What the fuck were you doing? The question echoed in your mind, growing louder with each passing second. You couldn’t sit with them. You didn’t belong there, in their world, no matter how much you wanted to. The realisation hit you like a punch to the gut, and the embarrassment that followed was almost too much to bear. You don’t need to sit with them, you told yourself, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left.

And then, just as quickly as you had convinced yourself to approach, you mumbled something unintelligible – a mix between an apology and an excuse that even you couldn’t understand – and turned on your heel. The shame was like a weight on your back, driving you away from the table, away from the awkward silence that had frozen you in place.

You walked as quickly as you could without breaking into a run, your feet carrying you away. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to spill over, but you forced them back, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat.

You continued walking out of the canteen, your footsteps quick and unsteady, the tray of food abandoned on a random table near the door in your haste to get away. The clatter of the tray as it hit the table echoed in your ears, but you didn’t care. You just needed to escape. The walls of the canteen felt like they were closing in on you, the stares of the other students—real or imagined—burning into your back.

The gym. That’s what you would normally do to squash the feelings down. It was your sanctuary, the one place where everything made sense, where you could channel everything into something physical, something real. There was nothing like running until you felt like your legs were going to give out, or punching the bags hanging in the corner until your arms ached and your hands were bloody. Pain was something you could deal with; it was tangible, controllable. The emotions, though – they were a different beast entirely. The best didn’t feel emotions. You had told yourself that so many times it had become a mantra. Emotions made you weak, and you couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now, not ever.

But you would be easily found in the gym. It was the first place anyone would look, and you couldn’t bear the thought of someone finding you like this – sweaty, shaking, and teetering on the edge of a breakdown. You didn’t want to be found. You couldn’t let anyone see the cracks in the armour you’d worked so hard to build. Not now, not after what had just happened. You had embarrassed yourself in front of the team, made a fool of yourself by going against your instincts, by trying to reach out and connect when you knew better.

You needed to find somewhere to hide, somewhere you could lick your wounds in peace. The locker room was out of the question – too many people coming and going, too many chances for awkward questions and pitying looks. The thought of facing anyone right now was unbearable.

You found yourself heading for the back exit of the gym, the one that led out to the far side of the training grounds. It was quieter there, the paths less travelled, especially at this time of day. You pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool air, the breeze hitting your face like a slap. You bit your lip, the pain momentarily distracting you from the hurt of your stupidity.  The coolness of the air was a sharp contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside, and for a moment, it felt like you could finally breathe again.

The gravel crunched beneath your shoes, the sound oddly satisfying, grounding you in the present. You weren’t entirely sure where you were going, but you didn’t care. You just needed to keep moving, to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the people inside. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You bit your lip even harder, tasting iron on your tongue. The best don’t feel emotions. The best don’t need friends. The best train and work hard. The best practice until they physically drop. You didn’t need anyone else, didn’t need to put yourself in situations where you felt so exposed. So why had you allowed yourself to think, even for a moment, that this time might be different?

The girls’ faces flashed in your mind – Kyra’s wide, startled eyes, Alessia and Lotte’s concerned glances, Vic’s visible gulp. The sudden silence of the canteen echoed in your mind. They hadn’t known what to do with you, hadn’t known how to react, and that stung more than you wanted to admit. A solitary tear rolled down your cheek. Besides that day in the media room with Kim, you don’t remember the last time you cried.

Actually, that was a lie. You remember the exact time and place where you last cried. You were 10, you had just received the academy letter that you were to be their second-choice goalkeeper for the Under 12s. You had shown your mum, she had been so excited for you, beckoning your father over to have a look. He had told you it was first choice or nothing. If you weren’t going to be the best, then you shouldn’t even bother. That night, you cried yourself to sleep, clutching the letter so tightly that you woke up with paper cuts. You wanted to prove him wrong, to show him that you could be the best, but that tiny voice in your head, the one that echoed his words, made you doubt yourself. It made you wonder if you’d ever be good enough.

The sky had transitioned from a soft amber glow to a deepening indigo, the kind of blue that swallows the light whole. You had found a bench just off the path, hidden by a canopy of trees that whispered in the evening breeze. The bench was old, the wood splintered and weathered. It was a place where you could disappear, if only for a little while.

You had never missed training before. Not even when you were 18 and had pneumonia. You could still remember that week, the way your chest burned with every breath, your lungs heavy with fluid that rattled every time you inhaled. But you stayed bundled in layers, forcing your body through drills with single-minded determination. Your coach had asked if you were okay, concern flickering across his face, but you’d just nodded, pushing past the exhaustion and pain. You could barely breathe, but missing training wasn’t an option. Not then, and not now. Or at least, that’s what you’d always believed. The best doesn’t show weakness. But today was different. Today, you couldn’t find that strength. The drive that usually pushed you onto the pitch, no matter how tired or sick you were, had vanished. Instead, you felt drained, hollowed out by emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You shivered slightly, a definite autumnal nip to the late summer evening. The long sleeve top you wore did little to prevent the cold from settling on your skin, but you welcomed the chill. It kept you grounded, made the swirling thoughts in your head a little less chaotic. The cold helped you think, or at least gave you something tangible to focus on when your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Your mind kept drifting back to Kyra. She had looked so genuinely scared of you. The memory of her wide, startled eyes made your stomach twist with guilt. You’d never seen her like that before – Kyra, who was always so confident, so full of life. She’d looked at you like you were a stranger; someone she didn’t recognise. And maybe, in that moment, you were. Maybe you didn’t recognise yourself either.

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly as if the pressure could hold you together. The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above you, and you closed your eyes, letting the sound wash over you. It was peaceful here, away from the noise and the people and the expectations. But the peace was deceptive, fragile. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever. Eventually, you’d have to go back, face the reality of your team. The cold crept deeper into your bones, but you didn’t move. You deserved this discomfort, this numbness.

A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another. You wiped them away quickly, but more followed, and soon you were crying in earnest, silent sobs that shook your shoulders and left you gasping for breath. You hadn’t cried like this in years, hadn’t allowed yourself to. But now, alone in the dark, surrounded by nothing but trees and the fading light, you let the tears come.

It wasn’t just Kyra’s fear that haunted you, but the realization that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as strong as you thought. The thought was terrifying, a crack in the foundation you’d built your entire life on. If you weren’t the best, if you weren’t unbreakable, then what were you? Who were you?

The tears slowed eventually, leaving you drained and exhausted. You rested your head on your knees, staring blankly at the ground as the darkness settled in around you. The training session was definitely over by now, the team heading back to the locker room, wondering where you were. They’d ask questions tomorrow, they’d want to know why you weren’t there, and you didn’t have any answers to give them.

But for now, you stayed on the bench, hidden away from the world, trying to piece yourself back together. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever, but for a little while longer, you allowed yourself to be weak, to be human. The best doesn’t show weakness – those were the words you’d lived by for so long. You didn’t know how to live without them.

You heard footsteps approaching. Whoever it was, was moving wearily - each step slow and calculated, like trying to approach a frightened animal. Is that what they saw you as? A wounded creature that had to be handled with caution, a volatile presence they needed to tread carefully around to protect themselves? The thought stung more than it should have. You used to like having that barrier. That bubble of self-protection that kept you alive.

You kept your eyes fixed on the ground, not wanting to acknowledge whoever was coming. Maybe if you stayed still, they’d turn back, leave you to your thoughts. But the footsteps continued, growing closer until they finally stopped just a few feet away. You could feel the presence lingering there, the silence heavy between you.

“Hey,” a voice broke through the quiet, soft and hesitant. It was Leah. You didn’t need to look up to know it was her – her voice was unmistakable, that Milton Keynes accent audible even on a single syllable word. You didn’t need to be told why they had sent her to find you. She was your national captain, your club’s vice-captain. You had always respected her.

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t really know what to say. You let the silence linger, stretching on to the point where Leah questioned if you even heard her. The silence hung between you, thick and heavy. Leah’s words were gentle, but they carried weight. “You missed training.” It was a simple statement of fact, but it felt like more – a subtle nudge, a reminder of the responsibility you’d momentarily abandoned. You expected her to follow it up with something more – maybe a reprimand, maybe an expectation that you explain yourself. But instead, Leah just sat there, her presence calm and steady.

You could feel her eyes on you, but you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, the words you wanted to say stuck in your throat. What could you possibly tell her that she didn’t already know? She had seen what happened in the canteen. She had seen your stupid attempt to make amends. She had seen everything.

But Leah didn’t push. She didn’t demand answers or try to fill the silence with empty words. Instead, she simply waited, giving you the space to speak when you were ready – or not, if that’s what you needed. It was one of the reasons you respected her so much. She understood that sometimes, silence spoke louder than words.

“You don’t have to explain,” Leah finally said, her tone soft, understanding. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all that matters.”

Her words caught you off guard. You’d expected some kind of judgment, some level of disappointment that you’d let the team down, but instead, there was just concern. Genuine concern, not just for the team, but for you. It was a foreign feeling; one you weren’t sure how to process.

“Kim told me that you were thinking of trying to start sitting with people at lunch,” she continued, her voice gentle but probing. There was no judgment in her words, just a simple observation. It was as if she was giving you an opening, a chance to share what was really going on inside your head. But even with the invitation, the words still felt tangled up inside you, too messy to untangle in front of someone else.

You shifted uncomfortably on the bench, the rough wood digging into your legs, grounding you in the present moment. It had seemed like such a simple idea at the time – a small step toward breaking down the walls you’d built around yourself, a way to prove to the team that you were trying, that you wanted to be a part of things. But now, in the cold light of Leah’s concern, it felt almost childish. What had you really expected? That one gesture would erase months of distance, that a seat at the table would magically make everything better?

“Am … am I a bully?” It was something that had been floating around your head all afternoon. No one looked that scared, that nervous of someone unless they had valid cause.

Leah’s eyes widened slightly at your question, and for a moment, she seemed taken aback. But she recovered quickly, her expression softening as she took in the vulnerability behind your words. She didn’t rush to answer, clearly understanding the weight of what you’d just asked.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice gentle but resolute. “You’re not a bully.”

You wanted to believe her, but the doubt still gnawed at you, clawing at the edges of your mind. “My dad’s a bully. And I act like him.”

Leah's expression shifted, her brows furrowing slightly as she processed your words. There was no immediate response, just a thoughtful silence that hung between you. You could see the wheels turning in her mind, the careful consideration she was giving to what you had just said.

“You’re not your dad,” Leah finally said, her voice steady and calm.

“But I act like him.” Your voice held no emotion. These were simple facts. At least in your mind. “He screams and shouts at me for the smallest thing. I shouted at Kyra in a training session. I asked if she was deaf or just stupid. I told her she shouldn’t think. I shout at everyone. I told Alessia she was a waste of money. I said to Laia that she was useless, and I couldn’t understand how she won the World Cup with her defensive skills. I said we were doing better without Laura during her first session back. I told Jen I was glad to see her go because we would make fewer stupid mistakes”

You weren’t proud of anything you said. Each accusation felt like a knife twisting in your chest. The realisation of the hurt you had inflicted was almost unbearable. You could see their faces in your mind – Kyra’s eyes wide and a little glossy with hurt, Alessia’s shoulders slumping, Laia’s frustration, and Jen’s quiet resignation. You knew you’d been mean, knew that all those little comments had chipped away at people’s confidence and self-worth. It was the technique your dad and old coaches had done to you. In order to be the best, you must be broken and rebuilt. Your dad had broken you a long time ago.

 Leah listened intently, her eyes never leaving yours as you laid out the fears that had been gnawing at you. Her eyes widened slightly as you listed the hurtful things you’d said. The gravity of your admissions was evident in the way her expression softened, shifting from surprise to deep concern. She took a moment before responding, her voice steady but compassionate.

“What do you think when you let a goal in?” The question took you by surprise. The question hung in the air, unexpected and almost jarring in its simplicity. For a moment, you were caught off guard, trying to piece together why Leah would ask something so seemingly unrelated.

“That I’m worthless. What’s the point in having a keeper if they can’t stop the goals, right?” You sniffed a little, thinking about all the self-deprecating thoughts that course through your mind at lightning speed if you let a goal in. You bit your lip, letting the familiar pain wash over you. 

Leah's eyes remained locked on yours, her gaze filled with a mix of concern and understanding. She took a moment to absorb your words before responding, her voice calm and measured. “Who told you that?” You blinked, looking at for her a brief second, confusion clouding your mind. “Who told you that you’re worthless if you let a goal in?”

“My … my dad, my old coaches. But everyone knows that goalkeeper’s who can’t keep clean sheets are useless," you laughed humourlessly. "I mean, look at our Champions League matches last season, we lost on penalties, that’s my fault. We came third in the league, I let too many goals in. We crash out of the FA cup because of a goal that I could’ve easily stopped. I let a goal in the Conti cup. All of them are my fault. I wasn’t good enough. And with England? I let the goal in in the World Cup, our Nations League losses were all my fault, goals that shouldn’t have been scored. I’m the reason we weren’t at the Olympics this year. We qualified for the Euros by the skin of our teeth – we lost to France and drew to Sweden on home soil.” It was the rhetoric that had been spewed to you all summer. Every day, you needed to be better, do better, be the best, you couldn’t make a mistake. Look at what mistakes had cost you.

Leah listened carefully. Yes, she knew you carried each loss personally, but she didn’t know you took it this badly. She could see the deep exhaustion in your bones, the deep circles under your eyes, the paleness in your skin. You looked like you hadn’t had a proper rest in years. Each statement you made was like a dagger, not only piercing through your own sense of self-worth but also hitting Leah in a place she hadn’t expected. The weight of your guilt and frustration was palpable, and it was clear how deeply you were affected by every perceived failure.

She could see the toll this relentless self-blame was taking on you. Leah had known about the pressure you faced, but hearing the full extent of your suffering was sobering. It was one thing to understand the high stakes of professional sports, but it was another to see someone so dedicated and talented struggle under the crushing burden of their own expectations. She was struck by how your relentless pursuit of perfection, driven by past experiences and harsh criticisms, had led you to this place of self-doubt. The emotional scars were clearer now, and Leah could see that your harshest critic wasn’t just your dad or your old coaches – it was yourself.

Leah’s heart ached for you. She remembered her own struggles, the pressure to perform and the fear of failure that often accompanied high-level competition. But what you were expressing went beyond that. It wasn’t just about the weight of a single match or a missed opportunity; it was about a pattern of self-destruction that had become ingrained, a relentless inner voice that constantly reminded you of every shortcoming.

“I’ve heard it all before,” you continued, your voice cracking as you went. “Every mistake, every goal that went in was my fault. If I don’t perform perfectly, then I’m useless. I’m supposed to be the last line of defence. What good is a goalkeeper that lets goals in? In order to be the best, you must be broken and rebuilt.” You sounded so lost, in so much pain. Yet you clearly believed every word you were saying.

Leah’s eyes softened even more as she listened to your words. The silence that followed your last statement was heavy, thick with unspoken emotions. Leah let it linger, allowing the gravity of your confession to settle between you.

When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, yet full of determination. "I don’t believe that," she said firmly. "I don’t believe that you have to be broken to be the best. And I don’t think anyone should make you feel that way."

You looked at her, an unfamiliar ache in your chest tightening as you tried to absorb what she was saying. "But I am broken," you whispered, the words almost choking you. "I’ve been broken so many times. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Leah. All I know is that I have to be perfect, or everything falls apart."

Leah shook her head, her expression resolute. "You’re not broken," she insisted. "You’re hurt. And there’s a difference. You’ve been hurt by people who should have supported you, people who should have built you up instead of tearing you down. But that doesn’t make you broken. It makes you human."

Your breath hitched as you processed her words. They were so different from the ones you had grown accustomed to hearing, the harsh criticisms and impossible expectations that had been drilled into you for years. Part of you wanted to reject them, to cling to the familiar pain because it was what you knew. But another part of you, a small, fragile part, wanted desperately to believe that Leah was right.

Leah reached out, placing a hand on your arm, her touch gentle and reassuring. "You’re not alone," she said softly. "We all make mistakes. We all have moments when we don’t perform the way we want to. But that doesn’t define us. You’re so much more than those moments. And you’re allowed to be human, to have bad days, to not be perfect all the time."

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, trying to maintain control. It was hard, though, with Leah looking at you like that, with so much compassion and understanding in her eyes. "What if I’m not good enough?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Leah moved over slightly, shuffling across the bench until she was almost touching you. "You are good enough," she said firmly. “We are a team. We help each other be the best. We rely on each other and push each other to be better. We can start slowly, there’s a team bonding next week. We’re going to the cinema and then out for a meal and drinks. I know you don’t usually come but how about you turn up. If you don’t like it or you want to go home, you can do – no questions asked.” You had never been to the cinema before. At least not that you can remember – maybe when you were a kid?

“Cinema … that sounds … nice.”

[vivwritescrappythings]

king of the joust

knight!könig x plussize!fem!reader

you go to a tourney, a knight you’ve never seen before wants your favor

an: this could become a series—not sure, just wanted to write this. inspired by a drawing of könig by @whocaresabouttactical that i just could not get out of my head (your work is amazing btw).

tw: fem reader, plus size reader

word count: 1.8k

masterlist

—

Tourney days were the worst of all.

It always devolved into madness–your mother devoted to getting your sister prepared enough to catch a knight’s eye. You primped and pinched and cinched all morning, stuffing her into a dress she could hardly breathe in and pulling the corset strings tight.

You were dressed similarly, your gown far less expensive and hair left loose around your face rather than the intricate braided style she wore. It was not worth it to spend the time on your attire. Your sister was older by a year and the prettier of the two of you, securing a marriage swiftly was becoming one of the most important things in her life.

You were welcomed with the other noble families beneath the tented area of the stands, your parents headed toward the back to greet your brothers and their wives as you milled near the front railing with your sister. She was staring dreamily at the arena.

The knights were already out, walking with their horses and talking with their squires.

“Do any catch your eye?” you asked, watching your sister’s gaze flicker over the armored men below. Some had their helmets off, casting charming smiles into the stands of onlookers. You could hear young ladies giggling around you.

“Maybe Ser Garrick,” she said after a few moments of contemplation. You followed her stare, seeing him speaking to another knight with his helm still on, the face of it shaped like a skull.

He was handsome, you couldn’t deny that. If anything, you were surprised he was a knight. He looked as though he had never seen a day of battle, his skin smooth and clear, no lines of worry etched into his face to match those of his companions.

You hummed, nodding. “He certainly is pretty,” you murmured with a giggle. Your sister rolled her eyes, embarrassed as she shyly agreed.

You could see it, the two of them married with an estate and children of their own. Rumors of Ser Garrick promised that he was kind, if not a bit vain. But your sister was vain, too—it would be perfect.

You both had favors: your sister kept running her fingers over the crimson scarf she’d brought with her while you twisted your woven laurel of leaves and flowers and ribbon over your wrist. You knew someone would ask for your sister’s favor—she was so beautiful that men would pine for her even if she were common born.

It would not be a stretch to assume that you would be bringing your favor home with you. You were of marrying age, but destined to be a spinster. It was your nature to let your sister shine, often lingering along the edges of the room or in her shadow.

The horns signaling the tourney was about to start pulled you from your reverie as your sister yanked you into the seat next to hers. Right in the front.

While you hated tourney days, jousting sent a thrill through you like no other—you often were halfway out of your seat, peering over the railing as you watched the knights. The horses were huge and sleek, their muscles rippling beneath their coats as they charged. The splitting sound of lances on shields echoes through the arena filled you with adrenaline as though you competed amongst them.

The knights trotted just below the stands, calling up to girls between bouts and earning favors. Your sister practically fainted when Ser Garrick shouted up to her, his lance resting on the railing in front of you. You had to shove her forward.

“My sister was telling me that you look rather gallant this morning, Ser Garrick,” you said, smiling sweetly at her as you nudged her with your elbow. The mortification was clear in her expression before she tweaked it into a smile as she nodded primly.

Ser Garrick laughed, the sound clear and deep. “Well, I would be pleased to have your sister’s favor if she is offering it,” he said, gaze focused on her.

You bumped her again, finally snapping her out of her shock. She smiled demurely, producing the scarf she had tied into a circle. The fabric was wispy and light, the baby pink contrasting with his black and red lance as she looped it over the end and let it slide down to the pommel. “I wish you luck,” she said, batting her eyelashes prettily at the knight.

“I thank you, my lady,” he called back up to both of you, smiling at your sister and nodding to you before bringing the visor of his helmet down and going to take his place.

You fell back to your seat with your sister, her hand wrapped around your arm as she squealed. Her excitement was plain to read, the grin on her face and the sparkle in her gaze said more than enough as she pitched into you. Her laugh was absorbed in your shoulder as you chuckled.

You never doubted that he would gaze at her.

Ser Garrick jousted admirably, defeating his opponent in just a few bouts. You could not be bothered to know who it was, only that his armor was dented as he was cleared away with his horse in tow.

The rest of the morning blended into listening to your sister blather on about Ser Garrick and the crack of lances on shields and breastplates. It was easy to stop listening, making soft sounds of agreement and occasional nods of understanding as you twisted your favor around in your grip. You knew if you listened you would only feel jealous.

Your thoughts wandered, pondering the way the bodice of your dress cinched in your soft stomach, the sleeves of your gown loose until they gathered at your wrists to cover the gentle slope of your shoulders and the extra flesh on your upper arms. You rested your chin on your hand, trying to subtly pull back the softness of your jaw. There was no hiding that you did not look like your waif of an older sister.

You knew that. The difference between you two was easy to feel, to understand. The way eyes glazed and shifted over you as though you were not there, as though you did not deserve to be there. The whispers of your parents discussing arranging a marriage with one of your father’s friends haunted you. But lords and knights and even common boys looked right past you regardless of your noble blood.

“Sister.” The sharpness of her tone brought you out of your spiral of self-pity. She was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Yes?” you asked, blinking a few times as you sat up in your seat.

There was a lance resting on the railing.

“I think he means to get your attention.”

Your brow furrowed, the words took a few moments to make sense before you stood. You placed your hands on the polished wood, carefully peering over.

The knight below was one you had never seen before. He was huge, limbs thick with muscle beneath his dark armor. The warhorse beneath him was large to accommodate him, dwarfing the other horses and squires. He wore no helm, holding it on his thigh as his other hand steadied the lance. But you still did not see his face, a black cloth with two circles cut for the eyes covering his head.

Like an executioner.

“You wished to see me, Ser…” you trailed off, waiting for an introduction.

His blue eyes simply crinkled at the corners like he was smiling beneath the shroud, he nodded. Then his hand left his helm carefully balanced on his leg, retrieving something from near his stirrup.

In a flash it was tossed up to you, harmlessly glancing off your arm. Your sister practically dove to retrieve the object, showing you a stuffed bear with a perplexed look on her face. It was small, but crafted nicely. There were two little X stitches for the eyes, no mouth or other features stitched onto the soft fabric.

Your brow furrowed as you reached out for it, turning the bear in your hands with care. It was sweet.

The knight was watching you carefully, seemingly waiting for your reaction. You could feel your cheeks warming, a threat smile made the corner of your lip twitch. You had never received a gift from a man that was not a member of your family.

Your sister cleared her throat. You were taking too long.

“Well, I suppose a favor for a favor is in order,” you said, loud enough for the knight to hear you below.

His eyes crinkled at the corners again. Another nod.

You took your favor of weaved flowers and grasses and ribbons scraps, pressing a kiss to the leaves before looping it over the edge of his lance and watching it fall toward him. The colors of the foliage matched the forest green spiral painted on the wood.

“I wish you luck,” you said, clutching the bear in one hand as you leaned over the railing.

He was looking at the favor, running his gloved fingers touching the ribbons and caressing the flower petals. Then his attention was returned to you, he tapped the lance against the railing one, two, three times.

It felt like a thanks.

You watched him settle his helmet over his head before returning to your seat. The shocked expression on your face was mirrored by your sister, the two of you staring at the small stuffed bear in your hands.

A gift from a knight was unheard of at a tourney. Maybe a gift would suit a marriage proposal, or an attempt at courting. But not a simple tourney day.

And not from a knight you had never even seen before.

The smash of a lance against a shield made you look up, watching the knight’s opponent go crashing off his horse. And it continued. Every competitor that faced him ended up bested, sprawling across the dirt.

One pulled his sword, the mystery knight sliding off his horse to meet the challenge. He was taller than you anticipated, standing a full head over his opponent as he drew the sword from his hip. It was hardly a contest, the smaller man made to yield after being quickly disarmed and a blade at his throat.

It was only at the end of the day you learned his name. Ser Kilgore—it was announced proudly across the arena in light of his victory. Whispers calling him “King of the Joust” carried as you found your parents and prepared to leave.

You kept looking over shoulders and heads in the crowd, standing on your tiptoes to try to get a glimpse of Ser Kilgore. The fluttering at the pit of your stomach already told you all you needed to know—you wanted to see him again.

It was only in the carriage back to your estate that you noticed the stitching on the leg of the bear, black and a bit clumsy.

KÖNIG.

[dcandmarvelimagines]

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt 5)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, this chapter is just smut, unprotected sex (p in v), rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, cum eating, nipple play, whiff of breeding kink (I'm very funny), biting, reader has a nightmare that's a little graphic but brief, Wade is very annoying lmao Author's note: I can't believe it's over!!!! It's insane to me how much love and support this had gotten :') I just want to say thank you so much from the bottom of my heart! Please enjoy! <3 ao3 Tags (if I forgot someone I'm so sorry!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @amararosesblog @bontensbabygirl @belgium2 @g0ldenstarr @wolvndmouth @sseleniaa @reddesires @harryshousewhore @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @clancy-the-pretty-odd-killjoy @geckosssssss

The next few days were a haze of food, sleeping, tender touches, and above all else, comfort. Most days I awoke to Wade cuddling close. Logan was too much of an early riser to stay in bed. He would get antsy the longer he lingered, grumbling about how he couldn’t just lay around all day. But I found that sleepy smiles and little nibbles to his jaw could convince him to stay. Even more so if I just happened to push my butt against his hips. 

My leg was healing well, the bruise fading to a dull purple after a few days. The pain was manageable but it always hurt in those first few hours of the day. Wade was more than happy to rub and kiss at my skin every morning. I stopped needing the painkillers during the day but Logan insisted I take one before bed to minimize any discomfort in the morning. It was easy to sleep with the numbing effects pumping through me. My body would feel heavy, my mind quiet and still. I never dreamed. I simply closed my eyes and awoke to the morning sun. 

But I was getting better. So I opted to not take one on their last night with me. It was hard to calm my racing mind and I tossed and turned before Logan snapped a heavy arm around me. “Do you want one?” He sleepily asked. Wade was already out, flat on his back, mouth open. Both of them were able to fall asleep in moments, a skill born from their military service, but Logan was unfortunately a light sleeper. 

“No,” I mumbled, tucking my head under his chin, running my nose along his throat. He had showered before getting into bed so the woody scent of his body wash was strong on his skin. “I need to stop relying on them, need to sleep on my own.” He hummed but stayed quiet. One of his big hands slipped under my shirt, rubbing soothing circles onto my skin. 

I was on the chair again but my limbs were free. I stood, looking around. No one was here. The concrete room was quiet and cold. I walked slowly to the large door, peaking through the small window. 

Nothing. 

Swallowing, I pulled it open. To my right was endless darkness and to the left was an infinite hallway. Something shifted in the darkness as I lingered. I quickly turned to the left. There were no windows or doors as I walked. 

I heard something over my shoulder. When I glanced behind, it looked like I had made no progress, the darkness still close to me. My pace quickened. I heard the sound again. A low gurgle. 

I could see a window at the end of the hallway, sunlight painted across the floor. A hand ran through my hair and I started to run. Whatever was behind me ran too. 

“Sweetheart.” 

The sunlight wasn’t getting any closer. 

But whatever was behind me was. 

I felt their breath along my neck. Cold needles pricked all along my spine. I couldn’t run any harder or any faster. Something caught my foot and sent me sprawling. Before I could scramble away, a hand latched around my leg, dragging me deeper into the darkness. I screamed, nails ripping at the concrete. 

“You’re safe, come on baby, wake up.” 

Then I was forced onto my back to look up at my attacker. It was him. His face was half gone, eyeball hanging from a destroyed socket, brain oozing and pulsating. I tried to fight him off, clawing uselessly at his mangled face. 

He glared down at me, hot blood splattering across my cheeks from his exposed skull. Then he held up the knife before plunging it deep into my chest. I wailed, fighting with everything I had. 

“Come on, you gotta wake up for me.” 

The knife tore from me with a disgusting sucking noise. Then he drove it in, again, and again. 

I sat bolt up straight, chest heaving as I panted. Cold sweat misted my skin and my clothes stuck to it. My eyes were cloudy from unshed tears. With shaking hands, I rubbed at them, and found something warm speckling my face. 

It was blood. 

“You back with us?” The voice was soft but I still jumped. Logan was also sitting up, his body tense. I could see four distinct scratches along his cheek in the weak moonlight. I let out a sob, clambering into his lap, arms latched tight around his shoulders. 

“I-I’m sorry,” I whimpered. He lifted the quilt over me and wrapped it tight. It didn’t stop my shivering. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. Should have known better than trying to touch you while you were having a nightmare.” I kept readjusting my hold, trying to find the position with the most contact. I wanted to crawl inside him, be encased in warmth and comfort. “It’s okay,” he hummed, throat vibrating against my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere.” His hands were under my shirt again, fingers digging into the tense muscles of my lower back. He let me shudder and cling to him for a few minutes, sobbing onto his shoulder, the skin quickly becoming slick with tears. “What do you need, princess?” 

“Just you, please,” I lifted my head from his shoulder, “just you.” Our mouths hovered close and he nearly went cross eyed to keep me in focus. Then he nodded. The kiss was sloppy and desperate but I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel him against me. He let me take charge, one hand braced on the back of my neck. For once, I wished he had worn a shirt just so I could grip it tight. I settled on digging my fingers into his hair. It had gotten long, trailing along the nape of his neck. The longer I kissed him, the more solidly in my body I felt. My head felt clearer as the last of the nightmare ebbed away. 

He was making these soft, tiny groans against my lips that made heat trickle through my veins. I needed more. My hands went to my shirt but Logan stopped me, his lips pulling back, forehead against mine. 

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, collecting both of my wrists in one of his. “You aren’t thinking clearly.” 

“Says who?” I wiggled, trying to snake out from his grip. I knew it was impossible. But as I shifted, I felt something press against my stomach and Logan let out a faint groan when I pushed myself against it again. “You don’t get to make that decision.” 

“I can smell how scared you are.” 

“I’m not.” I sounded like a petulant child. I was scared. But I craved him and Wade. I wanted to let go, let them chase away all my worries, feel their skin against mine. 

“Relax, take a deep breath,” Logan hummed, ignoring my useless protest. The grip on my wrists had loosened and I took advantage, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him against the headboard. Anger was swirling up in me. 

“Stop telling me what I want. I thought you said you would give me anything I needed. Why is it so hard for you to think I might need you? Might need to feel…” I stumbled over the word I wanted to use, loved. Logan’s face relaxed, the worry leeching away, a soft affection replacing it. 

“Just don’t want you to rush into anything just because you’re scared, that your emotions are in high gear.” I huffed. 

“Then help me calm down,” I pleaded, kissing his scratchy cheek. “I know you and Wade will take good care of me.” He groaned, the sound low in his throat, eyes squeezing shut. “Please,” I whispered as I nipped the corner of his jaw. My nails lightly scraped along his chest as I waited for his response. 

“Okay,” Logan sighed, tilting his head back to allow me to bite and kiss at the newly exposed skin. “We can do that for you sweetheart.” I kept up my assault on his neck, marveling at the bruises disappearing seconds after I had placed them. “Are you done pretending to sleep now?” 

“I was just watching. We need to work on your self-confidence, peanut.” I shouldn’t have been surprised Wade was awake, and even less shocked that he’s been observing us. The bed behind me shifted and Logan spread his legs to accommodate Wade’s body. “If a hot piece like this is begging for sex, you shouldn’t try to convince them that they’re wrong.” Logan growled, his palms hot as they skated over my ass, before dipping into my panties, gripping the flesh. I rolled my hips over his and was rewarded by a small hitch in his breathing. 

“It’s not my confidence, I just need her with us to do this.“ His voice dipped, soft and sweet again,”lean back for me baby.” I do as he asked, back flush with Wade’s chest. Wade’s lips immediately descended on my throat and he cupped my breasts through my shirt. My eyelids grew heavy as he started to circle my nipples, the fabric a pleasant scrape. “Lift her up a bit,” Logan commanded. Wade curled one arm around my waist, easily raising me an inch or two off of Logan’s lap. 

Logan’s fingers dipped under the elastic of my panties, his eyes never moving from my face, examining every expression. He moved between my legs, the pad of his middle finger brushing my clit. I wasn’t wet or turned on enough, yet, for that simple touch to do anything, but I still pushed my hips forward, craving more. Wade nuzzled his face into my neck, sucking at the skin. That made me whine. Logan moved in languid motions over my clit, not too firm, and just enough to reignite the warmth inside me. 

Wade removed his lips from my thoroughly spit covered neck and made a satisfied humming noise at the sight. “So beautiful.” He released my breasts and I opened my mouth to protest but he slipped under my shirt to resume his treatment before I could. 

“Go back to kissing her neck, she likes it, don’t you sweetheart?” I nod, biting my lip as Wade tweaks my nipples. Logan’s middle finger traces around my entrance, collecting my slick, but going back to my clit, the new wetness making his finger glide easier. 

“He gets so bossy in bed,” Wade huffed. “Next time I’m in control.” Logan’s fingers suddenly left me and I gasped in shock. He reached up, his two middle fingers extended, pointed towards Wade. 

“Shut up,” Logan growled, “get these wet for her.” Wade was more than happy to oblige, lapping like a dog at the tips before swallowing them to the knuckles. With his mouth next to my ear, I could hear his exaggerated sucking and slurping. Logan groaned, hips bucking against mine briefly, before he pulled his fingers back. A long trail of spit stretched and snapped between the two. His hand dove under my underwear again, soaked finger prodding at my entrance. 

“Did you, after that night in the bar,” Wade mumbled against my throat, lips tracing my racing pulse. “Logan came from just sucking you off my fingers.” I could feel the man under me tense, like he was going to attack Wade. But he relaxed when he felt how wet I had gotten from hearing that. A finger slipped inside me and I groaned, head falling back on Wade’s shoulder. Wade’s fingers were long, able to poke and prod anywhere inside me with ease. But Logan’s were thick and there was a pleasant stretch around it. “Oh look at that pretty, pretty face,” Wade cooed, abandoning my neck to kiss at my flushed cheeks. “He’s so big isn’t he?” I moaned in response as Logan started to pump into me. “But that stretch feels so fucking good. Makes your toes curl, doesn’t it?” 

“Yes,” I whispered. Logan’s chest rumbled, gripping my hip as he increased his pace. Wade reached for the hem of my shirt, one borrowed from Logan, and went to pull it over my head. 

“No,” Logan rasped, thumb pressing against my clit, forcing a moan from me. “I like her in it.” Wade chuckled. 

“He’s such an animal, isn’t he?” Wade teased, but let the shirt go. “He loves marking his territory. It’s going to drive him crazy to smell his cum in you.” 

“Wade, shut the fuck up.” Logan’s other finger eased inside me, being as gentle as he could be. My eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open. “Look at me, sweetheart. Wanna see your face, wanna see how good I make you feel.” Wade pinched my chin and used it to angle my head down. I couldn’t see Logan’s face well in the dim room but I could see little dark splotches on his cheeks. His nostrils were flared and his chest heaved. 

“God you two look so hot.” I could hear Wade sucking on something before his hands went back to toying with my nipples. My hips jerked, forcing Logan deeper into me, at the feeling of Wade’s wet fingers. He pressed himself closer and I could feel the defined ridge of his cock against my back. 

Logan’s grip on my hip became tighter as he guided me over his hand in long rolls. “There you go princess,” he mumbled. “Make yourself feel good for me. Take what you need.” Fuck. Those words made desire rush through me. I leaned forward, hands braced on Logan’s wide chest, and started to grind against his fingers. I could feel his heart racing under my palms. He curled his fingers just right that made pleasure shoot down my spine. Wade’s hands slipped from me in this new angle. 

“Feel so good,” I sighed, nails pricking into his skin. Logan showed no reaction of pain, his whole focus on me. He pressed against my clit, the pressure just firm enough that my toes curled. “Logan,” I mumbled and reached for his free hand. He gave it willingly and I immediately shoved it up my shirt so he could take over where Wade had stopped. He played with my nipple like he did my clit, long, firm strokes across the sensitive nerves. “Oh god,” I gasped, pleasure pooling deep in my stomach. My hips became more desperate as I chased after the orgasm just out of reach. 

“Aw, Lo,” Wade cooed, faux sympathy dripping from his words. “You’re so hard, do you want some help?” Logan’s hips jerked under me, his fingers spearing deeper, hand briefly clenching around my breasts. I let out a strangled moan at the stretch and rocked my hips quicker. 

“Leave it alone,” Logan hissed, eyes finally darting from my face to glare at Wade over my shoulder. “Don’t need anything but her. I’m taking good care of you, aren’t I baby?” I nodded furiously. I could feel that tension growing in my stomach, that heady rush of heat just within arms reach. “You’re close.” It wasn’t a question and I was too focused on my oncoming orgasm to answer. “You’re so wet for me sweetheart, probably taste like heaven.” 

”Oh she does,” Wade agrees, kissing the nape of my neck. Everything, their words, the rough scrape of Logan’s hands on my most tender areas, the knowledge that Wade is watching, kicked me over the edge. My body went rigid for a moment, a moan caught in my chest, before I ground against Logan with renewed desperation. 

“Fuck, Logan,” I panted. My nails were dug deep into his skin, the warmth of his blood soaking into my fingertips. 

“There you go princess, I got you.” His fingers were pumping into me, fucking me hard through my orgasm. It was exactly what I needed. 

“Logan!” My blurry eyes opened to see him gazing up at me. I was too far into the waves of my orgasms to find his expression, but I smiled down at him all the same. He made a little noise, halfway between a grunt and a moan. 

Soon the pleasure faded and my hips slowed. My breath was uneven. For a moment, that was the only sound in the room. Then Logan’s hand snaked up from my breast to cup the side of my neck. The neckline of the shirt stretched to accommodate his thick forearm. “Alright?” I hummed, little aftershocks rippling through me, my hips jerking over him. Once I stilled fully, his fingers left from me. I whimpered at the loss. He slipped his sticky fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling closed at the taste. 

“Come on baby muffin,” Wade breathed against my neck, licking a drip of sweat off the skin. “Let’s put on a show for him, yeah?” 

“Okay,” I sighed, “just one second.” I leaned closer to Logan, tongue flashing out to lick at the fingers still in his mouth. “Gimme a kiss,” I weakly demanded. He obeyed, removing the digits and dragging my face closer by my chin. His tongue delved into my mouth, the tang of me thick on it. I drew back with a faint smile before I nipped his bottom lip. 

“Let’s go, I’m not known for my patience,” Wade playfully growled, giving my ass a light spank. I giggled, rolling off Logan’s torso, the bed squeaking a little under me. Wade’s hands slid between my legs and spread my thighs apart. He hooked his fingers through my panties and inched them down my legs. I blushed as I felt the fabric cling to my wet pussy before it slipped away. “There you go, you nasty old man.” Wade tossed the bundle of wet fabric at Logan’s face again. The older man made an annoyed sound, throwing the sticky panties near my laundry hamper. 

“I don’t need it.” 

“You didn’t say that with the last pair,” Wade teased, my borrowed shirt climbing up my stomach. “You know,” he said, voice low like he was letting me in on a huge secret, “that last pair I grabbed was ruined. You wanna know how?” 

“Wade,” there was a hint of embarrassment in Logan’s voice. But I nodded eagerly, lifting my arms to let Wade slip the shirt off me, biting back a small giggle when he tickled across my ribs. 

“He made me come in them and then let me fuck him while they were shoved in his mouth.” Heat burned down my neck. “I can’t even see you, but I know you’re all turned on and pink.” Wade backed off the bed, shimming his pants down his narrow hips. I propped myself up on my elbows and squinted in the darkness, trying to take his naked body in. The shadows played across the ridges of his stomach, the V of his waist, and unfortunately lingered between his legs, completely obscuring what I actually wanted to see. “You look cute when you pout like that.” Wade clambered back over me, settling between my thighs, hands braced on either side of my head. His cock was heavy and warm as it rested on my stomach. “You know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” 

“I can take a guess,” I mumbled, arching my neck to brush my lips against his. A bead of warm liquid dribbled onto my stomach. “Why don’t you fix that?” He kissed me back, light pecks and lashes of his tongue on my lips. 

“As you command, my love.” My heart stuttered at the casual way he said the word. Wade leaned back on his knees, his fist pumping over his length. Just as he was lining himself up, my stomach tight in anticipation, Logan’s hand wrapped around Wade’s cock, stilling him. “You can wait your turn, peanut.” 

“Shut up you idiot.” Logan’s forearm flexed and Wade’s hips jerked with a strangled noise of pain. “Sweetheart, do you have condoms?” 

“No, but you guys can’t give me anything can you?” Logan shifted closer, his face becoming clearer in the dim light, there was a pinch of concern on it. 

“No, but we can get you pregnant all the same.” Logan’s nose twitched, clearly smelling that I got even wetter at the idea. “Fuck,” his voice was gruff, forehead falling to my bare shoulder. 

“Stop smelling me,” I hissed. “Anyways, I’m on birth control. Now let Wade fuck me.” Logan sighed and let Wade go. He took his cock in his hand, sliding it through my folds, rubbing my slick into his skin. 

“Ooh,” Wade teased, tapping my clit with each roll of his hips. “Remind me to get on your bad side. I like how you sound angry. Much better than big boy over there.” Wade notched himself at my entrance, pausing for a beat, then pushed into me. I moaned, back arching. He was so warm and twitching already. “Shit baby,” he mumbled, his focus solely on where he disappeared into me. He took his time, giving me an inch, before withdrawing, then working another in. 

It was absolutely maddening. 

“Wade,” I whined, the slow drag of his cock through my sensitive walls making my head spin. It seemed like he was never ending. I wanted him deeper and I tried to force it, but his grip was iron tight on my hips, completely freezing me. 

“Let me savor this, yeah? I only get this for the first time once.” His hips pressed flush to mine, all of him buried deep. He lifted my waist, the change in angle made my stomach clench, as he worked even deeper. 

“Fuck,” the word trembled as my eyes rolled back. The bed next to me creaked, then Logan’s lips were on my neck. He only left a few bites before he was trailing down my chest, tongue tracing along the hollow of my throat, the line of my collar bones. His beard scraped against my flushed skin as he moved. 

“I see what you mean,” Wade sighs, “she flutters so much when you kiss her neck.” He pulled out, just the tip lingering, before he surged forward. It wasn’t rough, but it made my breathing hiccup, ankles locking around him, heels digging into his ass. Logan’s tongue traced down my breast before circling a firm nipple. My hands locked into his hair, keeping him close. Wade continued his slow, torturous, push and pull. He was long enough that at this angle, he was able to rub against my sweet spot on each stroke. 

“Faster,” I pleaded, tightening my legs around him. This pace was only making me feel feverish, more desperate. I needed an edge, that bite of roughness, especially now. The nightmare was long forgotten but I could feel the lingering emotions in the back of my mind.

“Being so gentle,” Logan hummed against me, the hot air dancing over my wet nipple. I bit my lip at the feeling. “I would have thought you’d be fucking her like a rabbit.” When Wade didn’t respond, Logan titled his head to face him. “You really going to come already?”  

“You’re going to be the exact same way,” Wade huffed, shoving Logan’s face against my breast a little too aggressively. “You’re probably going to cry when you have her wrapped around your ancient dick.” Logan growled, sitting up straight, uncaring that I ripped several of his hairs out. He gripped Wade’s face, silver claws breaking his skin and glinting in the dim light. 

“Fuck her like she wants, or I’m going to.” Wade smirked. His face tilted, the edges catching on Logan’s claws, blood trickling down his bumpy skin. Shock mingled with the pleasure simmering in me. Wade had stalled in his movements so I was forced to wiggle my hips the best I could, giving myself a little friction. 

“Look at her Lo,” Wade nodded down at me, like there was anyone else her could be. “She likes it when you're rough with me. I knew you were lying about not wanting knives to be involved.” Wade seemed to enjoy watching me struggle. I reached up, Logan’s claws glancing across the back of skin, and bent Wade’s body in half, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss, arms latching tight around his neck. I bit at his lip hard enough to break the skin, hot liquid dripping into my mouth. Wade grunted in shock, his hips jerking roughly into me.

“You said you fucked harder with them involved,” I murmured between kisses. “Prove it.” Wade’s arms curled around my waist, clutching me close, plunging deep on a harsh thrust. I groaned, eyes fluttering, the angle making my thighs tremble. 

“Knew you had a mean streak in you.” His hips snapped into me finally giving me that needed roughness. I continued my sloppy kissing, nipping and sucking on his rapidly healing lips. His blunt nails dug into the soft skin of my hips as he gripped tighter. Another pair of calloused hands traced up my thigh, feather light as they moved up my skin. Wade trailed his lips along my cheek and jaw. Fingers pinched my chin and dragged my face to Logan’s. He littered my face with light pecks as Wade went to my neck. 

“Is he finally making you feel good? Took him long enough, huh?” 

“Do you,” my voice broke as Logan slipped his hand between Wade and I’s bodies, rolling his fingers over my clit. “Do you have to antagonize each other all the time?” 

“Yes,” they said in unison. Logan’s mouth went to my neck again, his teeth sinking into the curve of my neck, nearly hard enough to break skin. My hand went back to his slightly sweat-dampened hair while the other laid across Wade’s flexing shoulders. With both of their mouth’s occupied, the only thing filling the room was the wet sound of Wade pounding into me and my ragged gasps.That familiar swirl of heat was growing in me. My head felt light, overwhelmed by all the sensations. 

Wade’s forehead pressed between my breasts, his own uneven breath coasting across my sweaty skin. “Fuck,” he mumbled. His pace was losing its consistency but none of its harshness. Logan’s fingers on my clit picked up in speed, the scrape of his callouses extra intense on my tender skin. I whined, my body shuddering as pleasure shot through me. Logan’s mouth slanted against mine and swallowed down all my noises. It wasn’t quite a kiss, I was quickly growing out of breath to linger too long, but Logan didn’t mind. 

Wade was adjusting my position in tiny ways, a slight tilt to the right, a little lift, a small drop. I figured it was just a coincidence until he hit that perfect spot inside me that would have made my eyes cross if they weren’t already closed. I let out a strangled wail of Wade’s name, nails ripping into his shoulder. “There we go,” he panted. 

It only took four more strokes. 

“Wade, I- I’m gonna,” I barely got the words out before the hot coil inside me snapped. Just like Logan’s fingers before, Wade fucked me through my orgasm, groaning at the tight squeeze. Logan slowed over my clit, knowing that overstimulation was creeping up. 

“In or out?” Wade’s voice was clipped, hips finally losing all sense of rhythm, just becoming uneven jerks. It was hard for him to even move with the vice grip my legs had around him. 

“In, ah Wade, in please!” He made a choked noise, somewhere between a moan and whine, as he pushed in as far as he could with a shudder. Warmth spread through me as he came with a long groan. “Fuck,” I mumbled, my hips still trembling from the aftershocks. 

Our bodies slowed, all the shakiness easing out of us. Wade kept me close even when my legs fell from his hips. He laid his cheek against my sternum, body growing heavier over me as he relaxed. I gave his head a weak kiss just as another pair of lips found my cheek. “You okay baby?” I smiled at Logan, feeling just a little giddy. 

“Yeah.” Logan smirked back and I blinked sleepily at him. Wade was softening inside me and drips of cum traced down my skin to the bed. I winced at the stickiness. 

“I’ll get you a towel,” Logan said, already moving to get off the bed, legs on the floor. My arm stretched to grab his fingers. 

“It’s your turn.” I couldn’t see his face too well, but I saw his head tilt in question. I chuckled. “Wade, get off me now.” He groaned, sucking a hickey right on my chest before rolling next to me. I moved to my hands and knees, crawling across the mattress to be face to face with Logan. I heard his breath stutter. “Cleaning up can wait can’t it?” My hand slid between his legs, gripping his cock through his boxers. “How do you want me?” I felt him throb in my grip. 

“Jesus,” he huffed. I littered his neck in licking kisses while I awaited his response. “Go sit on Wade’s face.” Now it was my turn to look at him confused. He smirked, a flash of a pointed tooth catching in the street light outside. “Don’t you trust me princess?” Reluctantly, I released him, turning on my knees to inch across to Wade. I made sure to shimmy my ass for Logan as I moved. 

“Oh dessert.” I had barely swung my leg over Wade’s face before he pulled me down by my hips. His tongue parted my folds, flicking aggressively at my tender clit before sliding back and licking his cum from me. I shuddered, hands gripping his head. The bed shifted and I felt Logan’s palm slide up my spine before cupping my neck gently and guiding my torso to be flat to the bed. I braced myself on my elbows, adjusting my hips, the new angle only allowing Wade to continue his torture on my clit. Calloused hands spread me farther open. Logan lapped away all the cum that had leaked down my thighs. I whimpered, fingers knotting the bed sheets. But the sound grew in volume and pitch as Logan joined Wade, tongues tangling briefly, before he speared into my leaking pussy. Wade laughed as I shook above him. His hot breath fanned across my wet skin and I had to bite my lip to stop from wailing. 

“How do we taste?” I had no idea who Wade was even speaking as he was practically smothered under me. Logan groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into me, his grip tight enough to leave bruises on my ass. His tongue curled, licking every inch of my clenching channel. The scratch of his beard was like little pinpricks of pain but it only made me push my hips against him harder. The sounds I was making were downright pathetic. Just when I didn’t think I could take anymore, he reared back, breath uneven. I glanced over my shoulder to find his eyes glued to where Wade was pinned. When he looked almost content to just watch, I shimmed my hips, grinding harder on Wade’s face. The man under me eagerly sucked my clit into his mouth and I sobbed at the feeling. 

“Shit,” he huffed, “you two are gonna kill me.” There was more adjusting and then I felt the blunt head of Logan’s cock at my entrance. Wade released my clit, opting to just rub his nose against it. It was enough friction to keep me satisfied, but not enough to make me come too quickly. “Beg for it.” 

“Aw you’re being so mean!” 

But I was all too eager. “Please fuck me Logan, please! Been thinking about it so long! I promise I’ll make you feel so goo-ah!” With one long stroke, Logan was buried to the hilt. Despite how wet I was and the extra slick of Wade’s cum, there was still the barest hint of pressure as he stretched me. “Oh god,” I whimpered. Logan’s rough hands grasped my hips, giving an experimental roll. “Logan.” He shushed me, drawing his cock nearly out before plunging back into me. The force punched a moan out of me. “Like that,” I pleaded. 

“I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” he hummed. His pace was languid, but rough. He used my waist as leverage to drag me closer for each thrust. With each pull, I was forced to grind myself against Wade’s face, who stuck his tongue out so I couldn’t escape the pleasure. I was so wound up, so close to the edge after two orgasams, that I could only take a handful of his harsh strokes before I was coming again. I buried my face in the sheets, shuddering whines falling from my lips. “Shit,” Logan groaned. Wade made a muffled noise as my juices dripped into his mouth. His own hands joined Logan’s, clutching me close. I could feel Logan’s thighs trembling where they were pressed against mine. 

I hadn’t fully finished my orgasm before Logan was moving in me again. He was far less restrained now, fucking into me with quicker thrusts. My toes curled. “Logan,” I sobbed. Despite the overstimulation growing in me, I arched my back, forcing Logan deeper.

“Feel so good, I can’t handle it,” Logan grunted. He bent over me, messily kissing at my spine and shoulder blades. “Too much?” His voice was quiet as it tickled along my neck. 

“No!” I cried, bouncing against him as best I could with both of them holding me. Wade chuckled and the vibrations made me nearly rip the sheets in my grip. “More!” Logan huffed a laugh, kissing the back of my neck, before his hand replaced it, pinning me to the bed. The pressure was enough that I knew not to move, but light enough that I could slip out from it if I needed to. 

Logan fucked into me like a man possessed, hips rutting into me with reckless abandoned. I had no doubt there would be faint bruises on my ass from him. But that pinch of pain only drove me higher. I felt drunk on all the sensations. Logan rubbing against my tender walls. Wade’s tongue as it rolled between my folds, tracing my entrance. The ache in my hips from being spread so long. My moans of their names grew more slurred before it just became whimpers. Tears stung my eyes and I let them fall freely. 

“Goddamnit,” Logan growled, his hand briefly flexing around the back of my neck. He was panting, if only a little, and I took it as a compliment. His hips moved quicker, the slap of his skin against mine echoing around the room. Wade’s tongue stopped wandering and honed back onto my clit, making tight circles around it. 

“Wade!” I cried out, body jolting. Logan’s hand suddenly went to my shoulder, jerking me up straight, my back flush to his chest. He banded an arm across my chest to pin me close while he drove into me. His lips found his previous bite mark and sunk his teeth into it. The feeling of my skin breaking was a dull burn, soothed by Wade between my legs. Heat burst through me, an orgasm that nearly knocked the wind from me. My hand went to Logan’s hair, fingers twisted deep into the strands, and held him close, weak sobs of euphoria escaping me. His other arm curled around my hips before he shoved himself as deep as he could with a little snarl into the skin clutched between his teeth. I could feel every twitch as he came, filling me to the brim. I shook in his embrace. If not for his iron grip, I would have fallen flat on my face on the bed. 

The first thing to move was Logan’s teeth from my neck. “Fuck.” His worry was clear as he licked the dripping blood away. “I, I-shit, I didn’t mean to, I just got so caught up in you.” My weak hand slid from his hair, caressing his jaw. 

“S’okay,” I slurred. Exhaustion was quickly catching up to me. ”Felt good.” 

“You really can’t help but bite any piece of meat you see huh?” Wade’s tongue swept between my folds again, lapping up Logan’s cum as it leaked from me. Logan growled. I felt Wade’s fingers brush against me, curling around Logan’s softening cock before tugging it out. I whined as he obnoxiously slurped the mixture of cum from me. 

“Stop it,” Logan growled. “Make yourself useful and grab a towel.” With lots of adjusting, Wade was able to wiggle out from under us. But he didn’t go to the bathroom, instead he cupped the back of Logan’s head, meeting him in a kiss. Logan groaned. 

“Taste good right?” Wade leaned back, grinning, before licking Logan’s face from chin to nose. 

“How about you go grab a towel before I put my claws through your chest, yeah?” If anything, Wade’s smile grew wider, more wild. 

“Okay, okay. How about I get a towel to clean our precious girl up and then we can have some fun while she recovers?” Logan sighs. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. Wade shimmied in excitement, giving me a wet peck on the cheek, before disappearing out of the bedroom. My heavy head fell back on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you feel better now?” I gave a weak laugh and nuzzled my face against his cheek. 

“I can get used to this.” Logan hummed. 

“Me too sweetheart, me too.”

[7ndipity]

How They Text

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: What the members texting habits would be like with their crush or S/o

Warnings: slightly suggestive 

A/N: thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

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Jin: Jin I think is a very simplistic, but teasing texter. He’ll ask for your opinion on random things like “What should I get for lunch?” only to quip back like two minutes later with “wrong answer, I’m ordering chicken”. If you’re just in the flirty/crush stage, he tries to leave a bit of time in between texts, but once you’re dating, he texts regularly throughout the day about whatever he’s doing or thinking of “Do you think I’d look good with purple hair?”

Yoongi: I think Yoongi texts quite frequently, tho sometimes it’s only a *thumbs up emoji* He’s a man of slightly fewer words, and his texts reflect that, most of them being single word messages like “Dinner??” “Morning” “Missyou(intentionally written as one word like he’s mumbling)”. Every now and then tho, you’ll get one of his 2am, multi-paragraph messages about how much he cares for you and how much you mean to him🥺

Hobi: Hobi is consistent, responding quickly to all your messages, regardless of where you are relationship-wise. He makes sure to text you everyday, even if it’s just “Good morning!😊” and “Goodniiiiigt😘” so you know that he’s thinking of you. He also sends lots of playful selfies of his daily routine with teasing little captions like “bet you wish you were here” with a pic of him getting coffee or hanging out at rehearsals. He also randomly sends sweet little notes about how he’s thinking about you or how he misses you, especially if he’s traveling/on tour.

Namjoon: I think he texts a little inconsistently. If he’s home and in his usual routine, he texts you multiple times throughout the day, but if he’s busy or traveling, he tends to lose track of time and forgets til you text first. I think he prefers talking on the phone or in person, so he mainly texts to send updates abt his day/schedule. I feel like he texts a lot when he’s needy/horny, so if he’s suddenly really quick answering your messages, you know what’s up👀

Jimin: Jimin is a very cutesy texter, with lots of “<3”s and “smooch”s following whatever he says. He sends lots of lil reminders to look after yourself like “It’s cold today, don’t forget your jacket” or “I know you’re busy w work/school, but pls make sure to eat dinner”. He likes to play hard to get now and then, sending flirty little comments and then intentionally leaving you on ‘sent’ for a lil bit just to try and make you antsy, but if you do the same to him, he will get soo sulky 

Taehyung: I see Tae being semi-inconsistent with his texts. He’s the type to send you multiple texts in a row, but then once you respond, it takes him like an hour to reply back with just a“Yea”😑 He tends to get somewhat needy/sentimental in the evenings before bed, sending cute lil comments and scenarios like “we should buy a house somewhere by the ocean, that way we can go for walks on the beach whenever we want” “My bed’s not nearly as comfy w/o you to cuddle😔"

Jungkook: He’s a famously bad texter, leaving everybody on read constantly or taking half a day minimum to reply, but I like to think he would be more attentive if it’s from his crush or S/o(getting prompt answers from him is definitely a partner privilege) He tends to mostly send memes, but when he’s drunk, he texts a lot, rambling about how much he likes you and things he wants to do with you. They’re mostly innocent, but there’s definitely a few things that are a bit spicier too😳

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @universal-travel-er @bo0ghol @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[plussizeficchick]

OOOHH YALL walk with me but… I can’t stop thinking about douchebag guys that publicly voice their distaste for chubby women but are secretly the biggest chubby chasers on earth!

They’re your favorite to prey on because they’re just so easy. A little bit hair twirling, lollipop sucking and they’re practically putty in your hands.

They make it so obvious that they want you too, they say the makeup you’re wearing doesn’t suit your chubby face, so you tell them to fuck you so good you’re not wearing any anymore. They like to comment on how that crop top is too short and how they can see your stomach, so you ask why they’re so focused down there when your eyes are up here. They must want you cause they’re practically salivating at your tits! 

You promise them you won’t say anything to their friends when they slide in your dms later. You tell them that you understand, they’re just shy.

But you can’t help but laugh cruelly when you have them on their backs later. You have their phone in your hand, your cunt squeezing their cock so deliciously he wants to thrust up into you but you hold firm, I set the pace, you said. “Please.” he begs, beautiful crystalline tears in his eyes and you almost feel pity for him. 

Almost.

But then you remember how cruelly he laughed at you in front of his friends earlier and it just steels your resolve. 

You lift your hips and slam down on his cock, slow and steady and when you feel the telltale sign of his orgasm, you stop. “I- I can’t, just let me,” he tries to fuck up into you but clench around him so hard he has no choice but to be quiet. “Ah, ah, ah,” you chuckle venomously, lifting your hips out of reach. He tries desperately to buck up into your tight heat, but you’re sure to hold him down. “I’m in charge, remember?” You grin wickedly and he has no choice but to concede reluctantly. 

But you’re not cruel, obviously you want to get off too. So you slam right back down on his weeping cock, grinding your hips up and down his impressive length and you’re sure to capture the delicious, crystalline tears that build up in his eyes at your unforgiving pace. “Who’s fucking you good?” You ask, reaching a hand to tweak one of his sensitive nipples. “You.” He mutters under his breath, the pressure of his impending orgasm building in his lower stomach. “Me, who?” You say, slowing down the rhythm of your thrusts. He whines out at that, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You, mommy! Please, just fuck me!” He finally cries out, tears of pleasure pouring down his cheeks. He gasps at the feeling of your soaking cunt choking his dick, his hips fucking up into you involuntarily.

But you don’t mind, fuck you’ve been waiting for him to fill you up since he arrived at your front door and the fact that you have it on camera?

Absolutely delicious.

It doesn’t take long before your cunt is clenching around him, your pussy squelching as you both milk each other’s orgasms. His hips stutter as he spills everything he has into you, declarations of love and adoration pouring from his lips. But it’s the same song and dance you’ve been privy to for years, love you in private but never in public and if you even breathe a word of it, they try to deny. 

But you don’t mind, you’ve got plenty of evidence. And it’d be a real shame if your finger slipped and you sent it to a group chat with their friends.  

—GOJO, GETO,Sukuna, Bakugo, KAMINARI, MONOMA, Dabi, SHIGARAKI, CHISAKI, SANEMI, OBANAI, TSUKISHIMA, Atsumu, Oikawa, RAN, Kazutora, SANZU, EREN, Levi, BUGGY, Mihawk, Zoro, Your fav

[xwritingdixonx]

To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

Neither of you truly knew the other. Where did he grow up? Has he ever broken any bones? What was his favorite candy as a child? When did he have his first drink?

Daryl pondered the same of you. Who taught you to braid your hair? You spoke of your father but never your mother, what happened to her? Why the dog tags? Have you ever loved another?

It was a day familiar to all the others. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever. 

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through. 

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now. 

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.  

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape. 

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home." 

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart. 

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing. 

Why couldn't you just get on the bike? 

Why couldn't you breathe? 

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up? 

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine." 

"Daryl, it's getting dark." 

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it. 

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you. 

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast. 

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied. 

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl. 

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker. 

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness. 

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?" 

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before. 

"Maggie's talked about him briefly." 

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically. 

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah. 

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued. 

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings." 

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second. 

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle. 

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood. 

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long? 

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance. 

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed." 

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n." 

You didn't know why you expected anything different. 

"Goodnight Daryl." 

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face. 

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you. 

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; giving a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?" 

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy.  Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances. 

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen." 

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him. 

Patrick began to walk with you. 

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes…a short time after my mother died.”

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to be prepared for what the world was to through at you...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second.  "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults. 

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy. 

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy. 

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return. 

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. You’d recognize them even in the dead of night. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that." 

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to. 

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours." 

The river.

"Alright."

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him. 

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him. 

"Y/n no!" 

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.  

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything." 

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you. 

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.  

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar. 

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost. 

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be. 

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.  

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. 

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.  

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now. 

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run? 

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl." 

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!" 

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me." 

"I don't need you." 

"You fucking need me." You repeated. 

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. "Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden crunch of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was truly no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?

“I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the honey whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

“You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be. You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...I love you."

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

[hvllevator]

juno [hong joshua]

MDNI, 18+

SUMMARY | one of me is cute, but two though? give it to me baby

PAIRING | nonidol/fiance!joshua x afab!reader

CONTENT | unprotected sex (pls stay safe), fingering, few degrading names, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, just smut in general lol. lowercase intended

WORDS | 2.6k

A/N | inspired by juno by sabrina carpenter, highly recommend listening to it while reading. have fun babes!

joshua was perfect. it was no surprise that when he asked you to marry him, you said yes with no hesitation. even after four years of dating, he knew how to keep you off your feet, he knew how to love you right, and he knew how to fuck you right.

even out of your past relationships, no one knew how to make you feel good as much as joshua did. which is why you couldn’t help but stare at him as he took group pictures with his friends.

you were at a bar with his friends to celebrate seungcheol’s birthday. joshua was wearing a white button-up with the sleeves tucked up to his arms, which you couldn't help but go insane at. you don't know what it is, he has looked the same as he pretty much has all the four years you have known him, but somehow he looked even hotter than you could ever imagine. before leaving the apartment, you were already in a needy mood from watching your fiance prepare for this party. he was trying on different shirts in front of you and was asking for your opinions on them, even though you’d rather he just take them off.

you were pulled out of your thoughts when you spotted joshua walking towards you with a sweet grin on his face. you reciprocated his smile, his hand reaching your waist once he was near you.

“hi, beautiful.” joshua kissed you on the forehead, which sent sparks all over your body. “enjoying yourself?” his thumb rubbed circles on your waist, a small habit he found himself doing a lot once his hands were near your body. you already were in a dizzy state from the mere sight of him, him touching you in any way made you feel like your body was on fire. maybe you were ovulating?

cheeks flushed, you hummed in response, putting your drink down on the bar and admiring his slicked-back hair with strands falling off on the side. this was one of your top five favorite looks of him. he looked so sexy tonight, even with the dim lights of the club, you could make out the way his lips looked so plump and kissable, you couldn’t wait to just kiss the fuck out of him when the two of you are finally in private.

“y/n! joshua!” a distant voice called out, leaning your head towards the voice, you saw a very drunk seungcheol making his way towards the both of you, a small gift bag in hand. Halting in front of you, a cheeky smile on his face. “here’s a little thank you for coming to my party tonight, " he said, handing you the bag, a confused look on your face, glancing over joshua, who just shrugged at you. you took the bag from his hand, peeking over the top to see the contents inside.

pink fluffy handcuffs. that’s what was inside the gift bag. you couldn’t help but laugh at the silly gift. “really, cheol?” handing joshua the bag so he could check it out for himself.

“i want all my guests to have a fun afterparty!” he said, wrapping his arms around joshua’s shoulder. as much as the gift was indeed silly, you couldn’t help but imagine joshua using them on you in bed as if you weren’t already craving for him.

joshua smirked, eyes facing you. as if he could read your mind, he leaned in your ear. “can’t wait to try them out tonight.” making your stomach flip.

-

the entire ride home, joshua was teasing the hell out of you. his hand on your thigh while the other was on the steering wheel, sliding it down dangerously near your cunt. the little shit knew what he was doing, complementing you the entire time, telling you how your ass looked great in your red dress. he even mentioned the stupid pink handcuffs, asking if you were down to use it. you were more than down, of course, it wasn’t the first time you and joshua were going to incorporate toys into your sex life. but you couldn’t wait for the ride to end because you were so fucking horny, and he was all to blame.

you barely made it past your apartment door, and your lips were already attached to your irritatingly handsome fiance. he reciprocated your hunger, his hands roaming all over your body, pushing your coat off of your shoulders before settling his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him.

“what got you so worked up, princess?” he whispered, flipping you around so your back was against the door. your hands reached up to unbutton his shirt, his head leaning down to nuzzle his face on your neck, leaving soft kisses against it. you were too embarrassed to admit that you were just adoring him and got yourself horny.

successfully unbuttoning the last button, joshua lifted his head and tapped your thighs before helping you wrap your legs around his waist. he guided you towards your shared bedroom, grabbing the small gift bag dangling from your wrist and throwing it on the bed. he gently propped you down on the edge of the bed and kneeled in front of you, eyes lustfully trained on you. you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of him, his unbuttoned shirt giving you a peek of his toned chest. his hand made its way to your ankle, unclasping the lock of your heels. of course, he had to be a romantic lover. you kicked the heels off your feet, grazing his fingers on your feet, up to your thigh as he stood up. you felt a pool gather at your underwear.

“shua…” you whimpered. he shrugged his shirt off, leaving him in his black slacks. his hard cock evident against his pants. you wanted nothing more than to stuff your mouth with his thick cock.

“look at you, you’re practically drooling.” his finger hooked the strap of your dress, dragging it down your shoulder in an awfully slow manner. you glared at his pace, which he only chuckled at. “patience, princess.” your dress was now resting on your waist, boobs on full display which made joshua lick his lips. “beautiful.” he walked in between your legs, hand reaching to the nape of your neck, leaning down and pulling you into a sweet kiss. you reached up to undo the latch of his belt, excitement roaring throughout your body at the thought of finally having him after an entire day of endless torture. he pulled away from you, chuckling when you were obviously having a hard time getting rid of his damned belt, aiding you in removing the belt away from his pants.

joshua walked away from you, making you frown, but he just circled the bed to grab the gift bag that was discarded on the bed. returning to you, he sat next to you, patting his lap for you to climb into. you stood up, your dress falling to your feet, leaving you in just your lacy underwear. you sat on his lap, straddling his legs, feeling his hardened cock against your still clothed core. you whimpered at the sensation, jerking your hips forward to feel some kind of friction, making joshua tut.

“what an impatient little slut, hm? i bet you can’t wait for my cock to be stuffed in you, is that right, princess?” you couldn't care less about how pathetic you looked right now, you needed to be fucked by him badly.

“i need you so bad, shua.” you whined, placing your hands against his chest. your core practically aching with need.

“since you said it so nicely.” he supported you by your ass, flipping you around so that you were laying on the bed. he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, sliding them off of him. his cock practically begging to come out of the restraints, which were his boxers. you bit your lip at the sight of him, wanting nothing more than to bury his cock in your mouth. his body hovered over you, climbing in between your legs, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips before his mouth trailed over to your jaw, neck, and finally, your breasts. he enclosed one of your nipples with his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud while his hand kneaded your other breast, fingers toying with the nipple. you moaned at the sight of him desperately licking your breast, hand flying to grip his hair.

“fuck, baby.” you gasped as he gently used his teeth on your nipple, feeling him smile against you. pulling away, he reached for the handcuff that was inside the bag.

“hands above your head, princess,” he ordered, and you followed quickly; you absolutely loved it when joshua took command in the bedroom. he wrapped the fuzzy handcuff around both your wrists, not before leaving a gentle kiss on your hand. “tell me if it’s uncomfortable, hm?”

“shut up and fuck me already.” joshua laughed, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs and discarding them somewhere in the room. he circled his fingers around your clit, which made you shiver. he lined his index finger in your entrance, sliding your wetness between your folds and up to your clit, rubbing it just enough to drive you crazy. teasing you, he lightly inserted the tip of his finger before quickly pulling out, which made you gasp. “shua, please.” you pleaded, and he finally inserted two digits in your entrance without saying anything. soft whimpers escaped your lips, as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, slightly curling it every so often.

“you like that, baby? look at you, you're a whimpering mess just because of my fingers.” his gaze on you intense, as he quickened his pace. his thumb toying with your clit as he moved his fingers inside you. your hands fell to wrap it around his neck, but he grabbed your arm and returned it above your head. “if you move, i’ll stop.” you nodded. throwing your head back and arching your back when he added another finger. he attached his lips to your breast that was in his face, lapping the nipple around his tongue which drove you over the edge.

“oh my god! that feels so good, please, baby.” jerking your hips upwards to meet his hand.

“fuck, baby, your pussy’s always so tight for me, huh?” you felt an all-familiar knot gather at your stomach, and joshua must have felt that you were close because he picked up his pace even more. “so perfect, so needy for me. how bad do you want to come, baby?” his eyes trained on you as you could barely keep yours open.

“so bad, baby, p-please let me come. I want you to fuck me already.” joshua leaned down and placed kisses on your neck, feeling your pussy clench around his fingers as he repeatedly hit the spongy part that makes you dizzy.

“you take my fingers so well, princess.” grabbing your hand, he placed it against his clothed bludge. “can’t wait to have my cock inside you. come on, baby, come for me.” that was all you needed to hear before you felt your inside explode, moaning his name as you came undone on his fingers. pulling his fingers out, he brought them to his mouth, collecting your juices with his tongue, not wasting a single drop. your body still recovering from the high you felt

when joshua was finally done, he pulled away from your body and removed his boxers. his cock springing against his stomach, all hard and spurts of pre-cum dripping from the head. he wrapped his hand around the shaft, pumping it a few times before reaching up to your wrists. he unlocked the cuffs, hands gently rubbing the skin that was in contact with it. he returned his position over your body, hands on either side of your head as he attached his lips to yours once again. feeling his cock graze your cunt.

“wanna fuck you so bad,” joshua whispered against your lips, gripping his cock with one hand as he rubbed the head against your folds. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you? you’re such a slut for my cock, huh?” he pushed his cock into you, your mouth falling open into a silent gasp at the sudden sensation. you have been waiting for him all day and now you have finally received your wish. he stops inside you for a second to let you adjust, but it doesn’t take long before he starts moving in and out of you. “so fucking tight for me.” he groaned, grabbing your legs and pushing it against your shoulder as he repeatedly rammed his cock against you.

“o-oh my god, josh.” grabbing a fistful of sheets as you felt his cock kiss your cervix from the position you were in. his every thrust left you breathless, panting his name as he quickened his pace. sweat was forming on joshua’s forehead, his free hand sneaking down to your clit, rubbing circles that made you see stars.

“i fucking love your tight pussy, baby.” crying out for him as he leaned down to kiss you while continuing his thrusts. you felt your second orgasm forming at your stomach, which caused you to bite his lip lightly. “mhm want to come inside you, baby. let me make you pregnant.” he grunted against you which made you even more wet, if that was even possible.

you moaned at the thought of joshua filling you up. you loved him, and you couldn't wait to marry him. giving him a baby was definitely one of your plans, so it did not faze you when he wanted to do just that.

“make me a mommy, shua.” you managed to let out, which made joshua smile. he pulled his cock away completely before slamming it inside you without warning, making you throw your head back.

“good girl, take my fucking cock, baby.” the pained pleasure of his cock repeatedly hitting your cervix brought tears to your eyes. it hurts so fucking good.

joshua’s eyes focused on your tits that were bouncing with every thrust of his. you looked perfect taking in his cock so well. you would look even better with his cum spilling inside your pussy.

“baby, i can’t–” you cried out, your hands gripping his shoulders. walls clenching around his cock, as your orgasm forms around your belly. he straightened his body, his hands guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. his pace absolutely addicting as you felt his dick twitch inside you.

“fuck! baby, i'm so close.” his thrusts got sloppy as he neared his climax. you turned into putty under his grip as he fucked you through your orgasm. chanting his name as you came for the second time. seconds later, you felt his warm cum paint inside your walls. “god, i love you.” he groaned, leaning down to desperately kiss you.

after a few moments, he pulled his cock out of you, cum spilling out of you. he dragged his fingers into your entrance to push back the cum that was dripping out, which made you jump.

joshua laughed, “sorry, baby. wouldn’t want to waste a drop for mommy.” his body dropping beside you, pulling your body close to his chest. “did you mean it? do you want to start a family with me?” wrapping his fingers with yours.

“of course i do. one of me is cute, but two though? i bet we’d be even cuter.”

[writeriguess]

katsuki x reader where the reader is pregnant but in like the early stage and doesnt know she is pregnant yet, she is experiencing morning sickness AGAIN and katsuki takes care of her. she goes to take a test and is positive but doesnt know how to tell him

You wake up feeling that all-too-familiar nausea bubbling in your stomach again. For the past week, mornings had become your worst enemy. At first, you thought it was a bad batch of food or a stomach bug, but this was the fifth day in a row you had sprinted to the bathroom the moment you opened your eyes.

Slumping over the toilet, you groaned, head resting against the cool ceramic. Your body felt drained, and your stomach was still queasy.

"Oi, you in here?" Katsuki’s voice came from behind you.

You barely lifted your head as he walked into the bathroom. His eyes softened, concern immediately washing over his face.

"Again?" he muttered, kneeling down beside you. He gently pulled your hair back and rubbed slow circles on your back. “I thought you were over this crap. Been almost a week now.”

You nodded weakly. “I don’t know… maybe it’s something I ate? But nothing’s off… I don’t know what’s wrong.”

He let out a grunt, not entirely convinced. Katsuki wasn’t exactly the type to freak out, but you could tell he didn’t like seeing you like this. His hands lingered on your back, trying to provide you some comfort.

"You think you should go see a doctor?" he asked, his voice lower now.

You shook your head. "I’ll be fine. Maybe it’ll pass today."

Katsuki was silent for a moment before helping you up. "Here, drink some water. Get yourself together. If this doesn’t stop, I’m dragging your ass to the doctor tomorrow." His tone was gruff but filled with genuine worry.

You chuckled softly, taking the glass of water from him. "Thanks, Katsuki. You’re sweet when you want to be."

He clicked his tongue. "Yeah, whatever."

As the morning went on, you felt slightly better, but something about it kept gnawing at you. The sudden sickness, the fatigue, the strange cravings you’d been having the past week. You weren’t one to jump to conclusions, but there was one thing that kept crossing your mind.

Could I be… pregnant?

The thought alone sent a jolt through your body. You and Katsuki hadn’t exactly been trying, but you hadn’t been overly cautious either.

You excused yourself and slipped out to the drugstore nearby, your heart racing as you picked up a pregnancy test. Back home, you took a deep breath, staring down at the little plastic device. Waiting for those couple of minutes felt like an eternity.

Then, there it was. Positive.

You stared at the result, blinking rapidly, trying to process it.

Pregnant. I’m… pregnant.

The excitement and fear clashed within you. Your mind raced, wondering how Katsuki would react. He wasn’t the most expressive person when it came to emotions, but you knew how much he loved you. Would he be ready for this? Were you ready for this?

You sat on the edge of the bed, holding the test in your hands, trying to think of how to tell him. You couldn’t just blurt it out. Your heart pounded as you imagined his reaction.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Katsuki stepped in, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Why the hell are you just sitting there like that?" he asked, crossing his arms. “You’re all weird today.”

You bit your lip, your hands trembling slightly as you hid the test behind your back. "Katsuki, I… I have something to tell you.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “What is it? You’re being all weird again. What the hell is going on?”

You took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage you had. Slowly, you revealed the test, holding it out to him. His eyes flicked from you to the test, his face going from confusion to shock in a matter of seconds.

Katsuki stared at it, his mouth slightly open. "Wait… are you serious?" he asked, his voice much softer than usual.

You nodded, your own emotions threatening to overflow. “Yeah… I think I’m pregnant.”

He remained silent for a moment, just staring at the test as if he couldn’t believe it. Then, slowly, a smile began to form on his face—a real, genuine smile, the kind you didn’t get to see often. He knelt down in front of you, resting his forehead against your stomach gently.

"You’re pregnant," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "We’re gonna have a kid."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you placed your hands on his head. You nodded, your heart swelling with love and joy. "Yeah, we’re gonna have a kid."

For the first time, Katsuki’s tough exterior cracked, and you could see the pure happiness in his eyes. His hand rested on your stomach, and he looked up at you, his expression soft and full of emotion.

"You’re amazing, you know that?" he said, his voice low. "I’m gonna take care of you… both of you."

And just like that, you knew that everything was going to be okay. You were both in this together, and no matter what, Katsuki would be by your side, ready to face this new chapter with you.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[madamabelladonna]

𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Young Lady Dayne captivated the feast held by King Viserys in honor of his grandson, her presence and dance stirring much interest among the court. The murmurs of a possible union between the Seven Kingdoms and The Principality of Dorne swirled in the air, though beneath the revelry, rumors threatened to unravel such hopes. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Jealousy, Criston 'Rice Krispy' Cole, Rumors, Blood, Fighting, Doubt 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The sun beat down mercilessly on the field, the clang of metal ringing out as one knight after another thundered across the jousting lane, their lances held firm. The air buzzed with the tension of each collision, the cheers of the crowd swelling like a wave each time two mounted warriors clashed.

Dust flew up from the hooves of their horses, and the ground shook with the force of the charges. Splinters of wood burst from the shattered lances, and the crowd roared. Knights that missed their marks wheeled around for another attempt, fresh lances thrust into their hands by eager squires, eyes wide with anticipation.

Most contests were settled swiftly. A single blow often sent one knight tumbling from his steed, his armor clattering loudly as he fell to the earth. The victor paraded triumphantly while the vanquished was left sprawling, sometimes unconscious, sometimes worse—lifeless.

The ground had already claimed several today. Their bodies were dragged away, while the winner would bask in the moment, trotting proudly toward the stands where a lady’s favor awaited.

It was brutal, yet the crowd relished it. Blood, broken shields, and the scent of sweat mingled with the afternoon air, intoxicating the onlookers who howled for more. It was hardly what you imagined as a fitting celebration for a name day. But then, war was never far from sport.

Another knight crumpled to the ground, and his opponent—the victor—didn’t hesitate to prance his horse over the fallen man, barely missing trampling him underfoot. The crowd roared its approval, unconcerned with the fate of the fallen.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. If a knight survived the fall, the contest turned into a duel on foot, steel against steel until one yielded—or bled out. The tournament showed no mercy.

Ser Criston Cole, in all his egotistical glory, was next. His white armor gleamed beneath the sun, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked dirt beneath him. He faced a knight of House Darklyn, their sigil clear on his tattered shield.

Cole lowered his lance, charging with such ferocity that the impact shattered the Darklyn knight’s shield to splinters, the wood and metal flying into the crowd as gasps erupted from the onlookers.

Without hesitation, Cole turned his horse, readying himself for another pass. This time, there was no contest—the Darklyn knight was dispatched with brutal efficiency, crumpling to the ground as Cole reined in his steed.

He removed his helmet, revealing a self-satisfied smirk as he sauntered toward the Royal Box. “I ask for the favor of the Queen Consort, Alicent Hightower,” he declared, his voice ringing out across the arena. The smirk on his lips was unmistakable, a show of arrogance that made the moment all the more uncomfortable.

Queen Alicent stood gracefully, her cold gaze sweeping over you, Jacaerys, and Lucerys before landing on Criston. The air between her and the Royal Box was frosty, her movements measured as she descended the steps to meet him. Her gown, rich green silk, shimmered as she approached. She slid her favor—a delicate ribbon—down the length of Criston’s lance, her eyes dark and unreadable.

“I wish you luck, Ser Criston,” she said coolly, her voice sharp enough to cut. The look she gave him was clear: win, or else.

She returned to her seat beside King Viserys, leaving an uneasy tension in her wake. You exchanged a glance with Jacaerys, who sat beside you, his brow furrowed. “Did you make a favor?” he asked quietly, his gaze flicking to the small bundle beside you.

You had. A small token woven from purple larkspurs with Isla’s help. Yet, you doubted any knight would ask for it. You were only seven years old, far too young for the attention of knights seeking favor. Courtship, after all, was a part of this tradition, and no knight in his right mind would seek a favor from a child.

“I did,” you admitted, nodding toward the carefully crafted ribbon beside you. “But I doubt anyone would ask for it.” If Merek had participated in the tourney, the favor would have undoubtedly been his. He was your older brother, after all, and there was no knight you trusted or admired more.

You could already picture him astride his white steed, his silver armor gleaming in the sunlight as he charged with the grace and strength that came so naturally to him. Merek was the Sword of the Morning, and though he bore the weight of his title with quiet dignity, his presence commanded respect on the field.

Jacaerys shifted in his seat, glancing at the purple favor. “I’ll take it,” he said, his words abrupt, but his tone sincere. The suddenness of the offer made you blink in surprise.

A laugh escaped you. “You’re not even in the tourney.” But there was warmth in your voice. The idea of Jacaerys taking your favor, even if it served no purpose, made the rejection of it by others sting less.

Jacaerys smiled, his hand brushing yours. “If no one else asks for it, I will,” he promised. You smiled softly, nodding as the next match was announced. Ser Harwin Strong, the Breakbones, was up, facing a third son of House Footly. As the knights prepared, you glanced once more at Jacaerys, feeling a small swell of warmth.

Even if the world overlooked your favor, he wouldn’t.

The roar of the crowd surged as Ser Harwin Strong, known as Breakbones for his unmatched strength, readied himself for the next tilt. His massive frame loomed over his horse, the dark steel of his armor gleaming ominously under the midday sun. His opponent, the Footly Knight, looked small in comparison, the colors of his house pale and fragile against Harwin’s imposing presence.

You leaned forward slightly, your heart quickening as the two knights prepared to charge. The banners of both houses fluttered in the breeze, but the crowd's excitement was palpable—they knew who the favorite was. The Footly knight lowered his lance, the wood trembling in his hands. Across the field, Harwin’s lance was steady, aimed directly at the center of his opponent's chest.

A horn blared, and the knights surged forward. The ground shook beneath the horses’ hooves, a rumbling that vibrated through your feet and up into your chest. The Footly knight made the first move, but his aim faltered.

His lance grazed Harwin’s shield, but before he could recover, Harwin’s strike hit true. The impact was thunderous. Wood splintered as Harwin’s lance shattered against the Footly knight’s armor, sending him sprawling to the ground in a tangled heap of metal and dust.

The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the noise almost deafening as Ser Harwin rode victoriously to the center of the field. His helmet gleamed in the sunlight as he dismounted with ease, casting a glance toward the royal box. There was no hesitation in his step as he walked toward Rhaenyra, his broad shoulders cutting through the sea of spectators.

Your breath caught as the crowd fell silent, watching with bated breath. Harwin removed his helmet, his dark curls tumbling free, a confident grin on his face. His gaze was fixed solely on Rhaenyra as he knelt before her, offering his lance in a gesture that made the meaning of his request clear.

"I ask for the favor of the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," Harwin said, his voice booming enough to carry over the arena. Rhaenyra, seated regally beside Laenor, allowed a small smile to play across her lips.

The wind tugged gently at her silvery blonde hair, but her eyes never left Harwin. Slowly, with the grace befitting a princess, she stood, her gown of black and red shifting like molten fire as she descended the steps to meet him. The crowd watched in silence, hanging on her every move.

When she reached him, Rhaenyra carefully tied her favor—a ribbon of deep crimson—around the shaft of Harwin’s lance. The moment felt intimate, even among the throngs of onlookers. Her fingers lingered briefly on the silk, and there was an unmistakable spark in her eyes as she looked down at him.

“I grant you my favor, Ser Harwin,” she said, her voice soft but filled with unmistakable warmth.

The crowd roared again, but this time, there was something different about their cheers. The favor of a princess was not something to be given lightly. You could feel Jacaerys tense beside you, his gaze flickering to Rhaenyra and then back to the field.

He seemed to understand the significance, as did everyone watching. Ser Harwin rose to his feet, a glint of triumph in his eyes as he accepted Rhaenyra’s favor, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

If it were not for King Viserys’s unwavering protection, the whispers would have turned to open accusations. The legitimacy of Jacaerys and his younger brother, Lucerys, was questioned by many. Though Laenor Velaryon claimed them as his sons, they bore none of the striking Targaryen features—the platinum blonde with a metallic sheen hair, the violet eyes.

Instead, they seemed to favor the strong, dark looks of House Strong. The resemblance was too glaring for some, yet no one dared to utter such suspicions aloud. To question their parentage in the presence of the king was to court death. King Viserys made sure of that, and the court had learned to bite their tongues, lest they lose them.

Beside you, Jacaerys turned toward Lucerys, who was blissfully unaware of the tension that hung in the air. His younger brother, still innocent in the ways of court politics, grinned widely, his eyes shining with admiration for the man who had just bested his opponent in the lists.

"Ser Harwin is really the strongest man in the world!" Lucerys sounded, his voice filled with boyish enthusiasm. His words rang out, innocent and pure, as if the truth of Harwin’s strength was all that mattered to him.

Jacaerys, however, remained silent. He had grown up with those whispers—whispers that gnawed at him like a festering wound. Though he never spoke of it, you could see the weight of those rumors in his eyes. He had heard them all his life, questioning who his true father was. 

You caught his faint smile, a weak attempt to mask the uncertainty that lingered beneath the surface. When his gaze met yours, you could feel the silent plea for reassurance. Jacaerys had always sought comfort in you, a steady presence amidst the doubts that shadowed his existence.

You clutched Jacaerys’ hand with both of yours, squeezing it gently but firmly. “My prince,” you said softly, your voice steady and sure. Despite being of the Principality of Dorne, your House Dayne sworn to Martell, it made no difference. Jacaerys—whether he looked Targaryen, Velaryon, or even Strong—would always be a prince in your eyes.

His eyes flickered toward yours, searching for reassurance in your face. You gave him a slight shake of his hand, grounding him in the moment, and in your loyalty. In a world where bloodlines and appearances could doom a man before he even spoke, your allegiance was clear. Jacaerys Velaryon was the prince you followed, and no amount of courtly whispers would change that.

A faint, grateful smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though the weight of his unspoken doubts lingered in the air. He nodded, just enough to let you know that your words had reached him. And though he had never voiced his fears aloud, the unspoken truth lay between you, heavier with each passing day.

But no one could question his blood. Not when he had a dragon. The birth of Vermax from his cradle had silenced many of the rumors, at least on the surface. Dragons only hatched for those with the blood of Old Valyria, and Vermax had bonded with Jacaerys from the moment the egg cracked open.

That, at least, was proof enough for many that he carried the blood of House Targaryen. And more than that, he was the heir, destined to follow in his mother’s footsteps, whether the realm accepted it or not.

He was a prince of the realm. And his dragon would be a reminder to those who doubted him that he was, indeed, of the blood of the dragon.

The tournament field as the final match loomed on the horizon. The air was thick with the mingling scents of earth and sweat, each breath heavy with anticipation. The crowd’s roars rumbled like distant thunder, an ominous reminder of the spectacle that was about to unfold. Today’s contest was no mere exhibition—it was a clash of titans, a contest between the sworn shields of the heir and the queen.

Ser Criston Cole, the Queen’s Sworn Shield, stood tall and unyielding in his polished ivory armor. His presence was a beacon of steely determination, his eyes like flint, scanning the field with a single-minded focus. His reputation as a fierce and relentless fighter had preceded him, and his confidence seemed almost to radiate from his very being, burning brightly in the fading light.

Opposite him, Ser Harwin Strong, the Heir’s Sworn Shield, waited with the raw, untamed intensity that had earned him the fearsome title of Breakbones. His armor, dark and imposing, contrasted starkly with Criston’s gleaming ensemble. Harwin’s eyes burned with a fierce resolve, the promise of brutal force evident in every line of his powerful frame.

As the horn blared, signaling the start of the final match, the knights charged with a thunderous roar that shook the very earth beneath them. The ground trembled beneath their steeds, their hooves pounding in a rhythmic fury. Lances were held high, their deadly points aimed with lethal precision.

The collision was monumental. Criston’s lance met Harwin’s with a splintering crash that reverberated through the arena. The impact was so intense it felt like a shockwave, rippling through the ground and the air. The crowd's cheers crescendoed into a fevered roar, a cacophony of excitement and tension that seemed to envelop the entire field. The clash of metal rang out like a grim symphony of war, echoing through the stands.

Criston’s shield shattered under the relentless force of Harwin’s assault, the fragments scattering like broken glass. With a roar of fury, Criston pressed forward, desperate to regain control, but Harwin was relentless. His lance, now bereft of its shield, struck with a decisive blow, unseating Criston from his horse with a resounding crash. The Queen’s Sworn Shield hit the ground hard, the clang of his armor echoing sharply as he struggled to rise, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The crowd fell into a tense hush as Harwin dismounted with purposeful strides. “Bring me my sword!” he barked to the squire waiting at the side. The boy scrambled to obey, his face a mask of urgency. Criston, rising from the ground with visible effort, reached for his morningstar, which had been retrieved by another squire. The match had shifted, now turning into a fierce duel of skill and willpower.

You, Jacaerys, and Lucerys sat close together, your hands clasped tightly, the unity of your grip a small comfort amidst the escalating tension. You could feel the steady pulse of your heartbeat in your fingers as you held on to them, your gaze unwaveringly fixed on the arena.

Lucerys turned to you, his face a picture of anxious worry. “He’ll win…won’t he?” he asked, his voice barely more than a breath. His eyes were wide, reflecting the weight of the moment, the uncertainty that clung to him as the match transitioned into a grueling contest of arms.

You bit your lip, the anxiety evident in the gesture, as Criston Cole swung his morningstar with a vicious intent that spoke volumes about his desperation. Each swing was a brutal testament to his skill and aggression, the weapon cutting through the air with a deadly grace. The determination in Criston’s eyes was palpable, and each strike was a calculated effort to subdue Harwin.

“I…I don’t know,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly as you squeezed Jacaerys’ hand tighter. You found yourself praying to the Warrior, only hoping that Harwin’s formidable strength and unyielding spirit would see him through to victory.

Criston’s morningstar whirled through the air, its menacing arc aimed to deliver a crushing blow. The sight of the weapon, swinging with such force and precision, made your stomach churn with unease. 

With a determined roar, Harwin pushed through Criston's defense. He deflected the morningstar with a powerful swipe of his sword, then, with a forceful thrust, drove Criston back. The Queen’s Sworn Shield stumbled, his armor clanking loudly as he struggled to maintain his footing.

Harwin’s next strike was decisive. With a roar of triumph, he swung his sword in a sweeping arc that caught Criston off balance. The blow landed with a resounding crash, and Criston was sent sprawling to the ground, his morningstar flying from his grasp. The impact was so forceful it seemed to echo through the arena, the crowd erupting in a roar of astonishment and excitement.

Criston hit the ground hard, his armor ringing with a loud clang as he tried to rise. His breath came in ragged gasps, his once-proud figure now battered and humbled. Harwin stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion, the gleam of victory in his eyes.

The crowd watched in breathless silence as Harwin raised his sword high, a gesture of both triumph and challenge. “Yield, Ser Criston!” he bellowed, his voice carrying across the field with a commanding authority.

Criston, his pride bruised but his spirit unbroken, nodded in acknowledgment. “I yield,” he shouted back, his voice strained but clear.

A triumphant cheer erupted from the stands, the roar of the crowd a deafening wave that surged through the arena. Harwin’s supporters hailed him as the victor, their cheers mingling with the clatter of armor and the sound of clanging swords. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the field as the final moments of the match played out.

You, Jacaerys, and Lucerys sat side by side, your hands still clasped tightly. Lucerys’s eyes were wide with a mixture of relief and awe, his earlier anxiety replaced by a smile of triumph. “He did it!” he exclaimed, his voice full of youthful excitement.

You and Jacaerys exchanged a lighthearted laugh as Lucerys's exuberant cheers filled the air. The excitement was palpable, his shouts blending into the collective roar of the crowd. You leaned closer to Jacaerys, the warmth of his presence a comforting anchor amid the sea of elation.

“He deserves to be called the Strongest in the Realm,” you whispered, your breath warm against his ear. Your words were meant to be reassuring, a quiet acknowledgment of Harwin’s remarkable victory. You glanced towards the victorious knight, who was now basking in the adulation of the crowd.

If any shadows of doubt about Jacaerys’ parentage lingered, if the whispers of Ser Harwin being his father held any truth, then today was a moment to be proud of. Harwin’s prowess was undeniable, a testament to strength and honor that transcended mere rumor.

Jacaerys’ eyes softened, and he leaned his head gently on your shoulder, a gesture of trust and comfort. The weight of the day’s tension seemed to lift as he allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of relief.

The tournament, with all its intensity and spectacle, was finally drawing to a close, and the satisfaction of Harwin’s triumph seemed to ease the burden of the day. You could feel the warmth of Jacaerys’ breath against your neck, the cheers of the crowd faded into a distant hum as you shared this quiet moment together, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the simple joy of the tournament’s end.

Harwin strode over to the Royal Box, where Rhaenyra sat with the regal poise that had become her signature. The queen’s eyes met his, a glimmer of pride and relief shining through her composure. With a deep bow, Harwin presented her with the lance, its shaft still adorned with the crimson ribbon she had bestowed upon him.

“Your Grace,” he said, his voice ringing clear in the twilight, “I crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The words hung in the air, a declaration of triumph and honor. Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her gown flowing like a river of flame as she stepped forward. The crowd’s cheers swelled, a roaring tide of approval and adoration.

As she accepted the crown of victory from Harwin, her smile was radiant, the culmination of her victory and the culmination of a day steeped in fierce competition and honor.

As noon arrived, the festivities continued in full swing. The field had quieted after the grand tournament, and now, amidst the lingering echoes of cheers and laughter, you, Jacaerys, and Lucerys found yourselves caught up in a playful game of tag. The warmth of the sun kissed your cheeks, and the gentle breeze rustled through the trees, adding a lively backdrop to your impromptu game.

Jacaerys and Lucerys darted around the garden with youthful exuberance, their laughter ringing out like a merry chime. You, equally spirited, chased after them with determined glee, your dress swirling with each quick step. The game was a joyful reprieve from the grandeur of the tournament, a chance for the young princes to unwind and revel in the simple pleasure of play.

The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the faint aroma of feast preparations. In the distance, the sounds of nobles conversing and glasses clinking hinted at the festivities to come. Tonight’s grand banquet in the Throne Room was anticipated with great excitement—a celebration of Jacaerys’ eighth name day that promised opulence and splendor.

As you played, nobles from across the Realm mingled and drank merrily in anticipation of the evening’s festivities. The garden was abuzz with conversation, their voices a blend of animated chatter and laughter.

Many had brought their young daughters, hoping to catch the young prince’s eye. However, despite their efforts, their attempts seemed to fall flat. Prince Jacaerys, blissfully unaware of their designs, was absorbed in the joyful company of a certain Lady of House Dayne—namely, you.

The nobles’ eyes followed the game with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, but it was clear that the prince’s attention was fully engaged with you. Jacaerys’ infectious laughter and genuine delight were focused entirely on your shared game, his gaze rarely straying from your smiling face.

The nobles’ reactions ranged from curiosity to thinly veiled disapproval. They whispered amongst themselves, casting sidelong glances and speculating on the motives behind House Dayne's presence. Their murmurs hinted at a simmering bitterness, directed not only at you but at the perceived intrusion of a Dornish girl so close in age to the prince.

It seemed as though their animosity extended to their own daughters, who had envisioned themselves as potential princesses. Their aspirations were now thwarted by your presence—an outsider from a land they considered beneath them.

Your hand connected with the back of Lucerys, and he squealed in delight. “You’re it!” you called out, your voice full of playful mischief as you darted away. The younger prince’s face lit up with a competitive grin as he set off in pursuit of Jacaerys.

Lucerys, his small legs pumping with energy, chased after Jacaerys, who was laughing and shouting, “Don’t go after me, go after Wren!” The words came out in a burst of breathless laughter as Jacaerys veered off to the side, making a feint in your direction before doubling back to avoid the eager pursuit.

You ran across the garden, your heart racing with the thrill of the game. The lush greenery and the vibrant flowers blurred past you as you increased your speed, though you could feel the weight of your dress pulling against you.

The fabric, though beautiful and rich, was heavy and cumbersome compared to the lighter dresses you were used to in Dorne. The heat of the sun and the effort of running in such attire left you panting, your breaths coming in short, quick bursts.

Finally, you slowed to a halt near a cluster of blooming lilacs, their fragrance mingling with the earthy smell of freshly cut grass. You bent over, hands on your knees, and gasped for air. The warmth of the sun felt pleasant on your flushed face, but you couldn’t help but think how a lighter dress would have made this chase far easier.

The fabric of your gown clung slightly with sweat, and you could almost hear the distant laughter of Jacaerys and Lucerys, now engaged in their own game of tag. You took a moment to catch your breath, the gentle rustle of the breeze through the trees and the distant clinking of goblets at the banquet setting a serene backdrop to your respite.

"It was insult enough for her son to become heir, but for her to openly display such depravity amongst the public, shame upon her!" The voice was sharp, cutting through the afternoon air like the hiss of a drawn blade.

You froze, the playful smile that had lit your face moments before draining away. Heart pounding, you ducked instinctively into a dense cluster of bushes nearby, the prickly branches tugging at the fabric of your dress as you crouched low. The rich scent of damp earth filled your nose, mingling with the sweet fragrance of the lilacs that bloomed around you. Hidden among the foliage, you strained to listen, your breath shallow, afraid to even let the rustle of leaves give you away.

The voice had been unmistakable—Queen Alicent. Her words were laced with venom, the indignation clear in every syllable. You peeked through a gap in the branches, your heart sinking further when you spotted her in the distance. She stood tall, queenly in her emerald and gold, her face set in an expression of disapproval so stern it looked carved from stone. Walking beside her, his expression a mirror of her displeasure, was Ser Criston Cole.

His hand rested lightly on the pommel of his sword as they moved through the garden, their steps slow and deliberate, as though the weight of their conversation was not meant for anyone else’s ears.

Yet here you were, an unintended witness. "It is unseemly, Your Grace," Ser Criston said, his voice a low rumble of agreement. "To flaunt her... indiscretions so brazenly. The Princess has no shame. And neither do her children."

A chill slid down your spine at his words. You felt a surge of anger rise in your chest, but the fear of being caught held you fast. You bit your lip, blood pounding in your ears as their conversation continued. "Her children," Queen Alicent said bitterly, her voice almost trembling with anger.

"Bastards, every one of them. The realm knows it. I know it. She knows it. Yet, the King... he refuses to see what is right in front of him. Or worse, he sees it and does nothing."

Criston glanced around as if wary of unseen listeners, though neither he nor the queen had yet spotted you. "King Viserys would rather blind himself to the truth than admit it, Your Grace. But the people... they are not so easily deceived. They speak of it in the streets, in taverns. They whisper, louder with each passing day."

"Whispers," Alicent spat.

"What good are whispers when the crown ignores them? It emboldens her, you see? She flaunts her children as if they are the trueborn heirs of House Targaryen, as if Laenor ever fathered them. The insolence, the arrogance..."

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you listened. The tension coiled in your chest like a serpent ready to strike. The Queen's words were filled with poison, dripping with the bitterness she had long harbored. They were not just idle complaints; they were accusations, a deliberate attack on Princess Rhaenyra and her sons—your friends.

Your friends… you thought of Jacaerys and Lucerys, laughing so carelessly only moments before. How could they know the weight of the hatred that simmered so close to the surface, the contempt that their mere existence seemed to inspire in the queen and her sworn shield?

“Then there is that Dayne girl,” Queen Alicent said, her voice laced with an undertone of disdain as she picked at her fingers. Her gaze was distant, as though she were scrutinizing a troublesome stain on her own gown. “I would have taken her under my wing myself, considering how I sympathize with her plight—leaving her home in Dorne and all. Yet, of course, Rhaenyra has already done so.”

Her lips pursed in frustration, and she bit at them, a habit you had noticed in moments of deep irritation. “It’s quite the scandal,” she continued, a bitter edge sharpening her tone. “Talk about a union between her and Jacaerys—an idea I believe was suggested by the King himself, if memory serves.”

Ser Criston Cole, ever the silent sentinel by her side, shifted his weight slightly, his expression unreadable. “Yes, Your Grace,” he replied. “Such a union would indeed bring together significant houses, and the notion of cementing alliances through marriage is not lost on the court.”

Alicent’s fingers drummed lightly on the hilt of her sword, a sound that seemed to echo with her frustration. “It’s not merely a matter of alliances,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, almost as if she feared someone might overhear. “It’s the audacity of it. Here we have a Dornish girl, a mere child from the desert, paraded around as though she were of equal standing to the Targaryens themselves.”

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing with barely concealed animosity. “And to think that Viserys, in his infinite wisdom, would even entertain the notion of binding Jacaerys to her. It’s an insult to the very fabric of our house and the integrity of our bloodline.”

Criston’s eyes flickered with a hint of concern. “Your Grace, the King’s ideas often seem to defy conventional wisdom. Perhaps he sees something we do not.”

Alicent’s gaze turned sharp, her frustration boiling over. “Perhaps,” she conceded, though her tone was far from forgiving. “But let us not forget the power of perception. The court’s eyes are sharp, and the whispers grow louder by the day. If Rhaenyra were to secure such an alliance, it would not only bolster her position but undermine ours.”

You shifted slightly in the bushes, trying to get a better view, but the dry leaves underfoot betrayed you with a sharp crunch. Both Alicent and Criston turned sharply in your direction, their eyes narrowing as they scanned the garden.

Your heart nearly stopped. For a terrifying moment, the piercing gazes of Queen Alicent and Ser Criston Cole swept over the very spot where you crouched, hidden among the shadows of the lilacs. The branches and blossoms rustled faintly, as though whispering their own secrets, and you held your breath, praying to the Old Gods and the New that your concealment was sufficient.

Criston Cole, his armor glinting ominously in the dappled sunlight, stalked closer to the bush you were hiding behind. Panic surged through you as his shadow loomed near, and before you could make a move, a strong hand suddenly clamped down on your shoulder.

You flailed instinctively, a muffled gasp escaping your lips as you were dragged roughly to the side. “Shhh,” a voice whispered urgently, the sound barely more than a breath against your ear.

You looked up in bewilderment, the initial shock fading as you met the gaze of Prince Aemond. His distinctive head of frosty silver hair, streaked with soft blonde undertones, gleamed in the filtered sunlight. The scent of fresh parchment and cedar wood—a blend both subtle and distinctly regal—permeated the air around him.

Aemond’s eyes, sharp and assessing, locked onto yours with a mixture of concern and determination. His grip on your hand was firm but gentle, a contrast to the tension that rippled through the garden. “We need to move,” he said in a low, controlled voice, his gaze flickering back towards the path the Queen and Ser Criston had taken.

Before you could fully process what was happening, he guided you swiftly away from the bush, pulling you into the cover of a nearby alcove shrouded in shadow. The scent of the garden’s blooming flowers mingled with the cedarwood aroma of Aemond’s presence, creating a disorienting blend that heightened your senses.

In the relative safety of the alcove, Aemond’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes remained vigilant. “You should not be here,” he said quietly, his voice a hushed murmur as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile cloak of secrecy surrounding you. “It is dangerous, and you have overheard something that could stir trouble.”

Your mind raced as you tried to gather your thoughts, the gravity of the overheard conversation sinking in. “Prince Aemond,” you said, struggling to maintain a steady voice. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just—”

Aemond held up a hand, silencing you with a gesture. His eyes, cold and assessing, bore into you with an intensity that belied his calm demeanor. “Now that you know the truth,” he said, his voice a low, deliberate whisper, “are you going to continue befriending Rhaenyra’s sons?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and accusatory. You stared at him, confusion and hurt mixing in your gaze. Was he suggesting that your friendship with Jacaerys and Lucerys was not genuine? Was he implying that the only reason you spent time with them was to advance your position or gain favor?

The warmth of the garden seemed to drain away, leaving behind a stark, uncomfortable chill. The once vibrant colors of the blooming flowers now seemed muted and distant, as though the very essence of the garden had shifted with the weight of Aemond's question.

You hesitated, grappling with the weight of his words. The delicate balance of your position in the court, the playful game you had enjoyed moments ago, and the whispered secrets you had overheard all seemed to converge in this singular, daunting question.

“Of course I am,” placing a hand over your heart, your voice trembling slightly. “They’ve been nothing but kind to me. Jacaerys and Lucerys, they—” You faltered, searching for the right words, “—they see me as a friend.”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, but a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity or concern—passed through his eyes. “And if it were to be known that you are associated with them, do you understand the potential repercussions?” he asked, his tone sharp but not unkind.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words sink in. “Yes,” you replied, though the full scope of the danger still felt like a distant, abstract concept. “But friendships, especially with them, mean something to me. I’ve come to care for them.”

Aemond studied you for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering. “Be cautious,” he finally said, his voice softening slightly. “The court is a treacherous place, and allegiances are often tested. If you value your safety and your place here, you must tread carefully.”

With that, Aemond stepped back, his presence receding into the shadows once more. 

Isla and Sienna worked diligently as you stood before the grand mirror, their skilled hands adjusting your gown with practiced care. The dress, a mesmerizing shade of amethyst, seemed to shimmer with every movement. Layers of delicate tulle cascaded down to your ankles, creating an ethereal effect as if you were cloaked in a sky adorned with twinkling stars. Embedded within the fabric were tiny stones that caught the light, making the gown sparkle like a constellation.

“You’ll be the most beautiful lady at the ball, my lady!” Isla gushed, her eyes sparkling with admiration. Her excitement was contagious, filling the room with a noticeable sense of suspense. The gown, with its delicate shimmer and graceful flow, was indeed a sight to behold.

Sienna, whose gentle smile reflected in the mirror, stood beside Isla, her hands smoothing out the final creases. She was a recent addition to your service, brought to you by Rhaenyra, who had insisted that you should have more than one maid to attend to your needs.

Sienna’s experience was evident in her graceful movements and the ease with which she handled your gown. “However did you find a dress like this?” she asked softly. Her voice was tinged with awe, and it was clear from her tone that such opulence was a novelty to her, given her experience with the more austere fashions of the Red Keep.

Isla glanced over her shoulder at Sienna, her pride evident. “Lord Julius had it commissioned and shipped here just for her ladyship!” she announced, her words imbued with a touch of reverence. “He wanted her to have something truly special for the ball.”

Sienna’s smile widened, her appreciation clear. “It’s magnificent,” she said, her gaze lingering on the gown’s sparkling stones. “I’ve seen many exquisite gowns in my time, but this… this is something entirely different.”

You stood in front of the mirror, the gown’s elegant layers shifting with each breath you took. The combination of the shimmering fabric and the intricate design made you feel as if you were floating in a sea of stars. The light from the flickering candles danced across the gown, casting gentle shadows and highlighting its every delicate detail.

The two maids continued their adjustments with careful attention, ensuring every pleat and seam was perfectly in place. The soft rustle of the fabric and the occasional murmur of their voices filled the room, creating a sense of calm amidst the excitement.

A knock resonated through the room, and Sienna gracefully moved to answer it. She opened the door, revealing Ser Merek standing in the hallway. His attire was a striking reflection of Dornish elegance, though carefully tailored to avoid any undue attention from the more conservative lords and ladies. The deep, rich colors and intricate embroidery of his outfit paid homage to Dornish style while blending seamlessly with the more restrained fashions of the court.

“Ser Merek,” Sienna greeted with a respectful bow, her voice carrying a note of reverence. The soft rustle of her skirts and the faint scent of lavender lingered as she stepped aside to let him in.

Merek stepped into the room, his gaze immediately drawn to you. His eyes softened with a mixture of pride and admiration as he took in your appearance. He adjusted his cuffs with a practiced flick, then turned his full attention to you, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t you look lovely, sister,” he said, his voice rich and sincere. His compliment was accompanied by a look of genuine pleasure, reflecting his approval of the effort that had gone into your ensemble. The way he spoke conveyed more than mere words—it was a heartfelt acknowledgment of the transformation you had undergone, and a sign of his supportive presence.

You returned his smile, feeling a surge of affection and gratitude. The bond between siblings was evident in his gaze, and his words were a comforting reassurance as you prepared for the evening’s events. The room seemed to brighten with his arrival, and the warmth of his praise added a final, reassuring touch to the preparations.

“Thank you, Merek,” you replied, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “I’m glad you think so.” Merek’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a fond smile.

Sienna and Isla flitted around you, their fingers deftly working through your hair, which had been left loose and free as you had requested. They brushed and arranged it with practiced ease, their delicate touches a contrast to the more intense preparations you had undergone earlier. The final touches involved a collection of silver hairpins, each one set with small, glittering stones that caught the light and added a subtle shimmer to your appearance.

As the two maids carefully pinned your hair, your thoughts wandered back to the unsettling conversation you had overheard between Queen Alicent and Ser Criston Cole. The implications of their words hung heavy in your mind, the weight of their discussion about alliances and marriages casting a shadow over the otherwise festive mood.

You cleared your throat, the question slipping out before you could fully consider it. “Am I set to marry?”

The question hung in the air, and the room fell into a stunned silence. Sienna’s hands paused mid-air, the silver pins she held momentarily forgotten. Isla stopped her brushing, her eyes wide with surprise. Merek, who had been adjusting his own attire, looked as though he had been struck dumb, his mouth slightly open as if he had choked on his words.

Merek’s reaction was the most pronounced. His usually composed demeanor faltered as he struggled to regain his bearings. His eyes widened, and he cleared his throat with a conspicuous cough, his face flushing slightly. “What... what makes you ask that?” he finally managed, his voice tinged with a mixture of confusion and concern.

In the world of highborn families, where alliances were often forged through marriage, the idea of being betrothed wasn’t entirely unexpected. Children your age were frequently betrothed, their futures often decided long before they could voice their own desires.

It was a common practice among the highborn, designed to secure alliances and preserve bloodlines. You imagined that, in all likelihood, you would be wed to another house from Dorne—perhaps one of the Yronwoods or Allyrions. Your mother had been a Manwoody before marrying your father and adopting the Dayne name, so aligning with another prominent Dornish house seemed plausible.

Sienna and Isla exchanged uneasy glances. Their hands had paused mid-motion, the delicate hairpins momentarily forgotten as they awaited your explanation. The festive atmosphere that had once filled the space now felt distant, replaced by the knot of uncertainty that your question had stirred.

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, attempting to downplay the gravity of the situation. “Just curious is all,” you said with a casual air, carefully omitting the specific details of the conversation you’d overheard about the potential marriage between yourself and Jacaerys.

Your gaze met Merek’s in the mirror, and you offered a reassuring smile, though the lingering worry in your eyes belied your outward calm. Merek, his expression softening, nodded with understanding. “Curiosity is natural,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of sympathy. “But any decision regarding marriage would involve you, and your wishes would be taken into account.”

Merek’s eyes locked with yours through the mirror, his gaze a steady anchor amidst the whirlpool of your thoughts. The warmth in his eyes was a comfort, though it was clear he was not entirely at ease with the notion of you contemplating marriage at such a tender age.

“You still have a long ways to go before worrying about such things,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of reassurance and playful exasperation. As he spoke, he reached over and gently pinched your cheek, his touch light but affectionate. “You’ll have to cease eating cakes if you wish for your betroth not to run away,” he teased with a grin that softened the serious edge of his words.

The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, even as you felt the familiar warmth of a flush creeping up your cheeks. With a playful huff, you slapped his hand away. “Hmph! Says the one who’d try to use me to garner attention from the ladies back home,” you said, rolling your eyes at the memory of his mischievous schemes.

Merek’s laughter, rich and warm, filled the room as he gave a slight bow, his expression a mix of amusement and affection. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted with a grin that spoke of shared secrets and familial bonds. His eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, reflecting the light of the candles that flickered softly around you.

He extended his hand toward you, the gesture both elegant and inviting. “Shall we go?” he asked, his tone light but filled with genuine warmth. You took his hand, feeling the reassuring firmness of his grip. The touch was steady and grounding, and you walked with Merek toward the ballroom.

“House Dayne of Starfall!” The herald's voice rang out through the great hall, carrying the announcement with a resounding clarity that cut through the low hum of conversation.

You and Merek descended the sweeping marble steps, each step echoing softly on the polished stone. The grandeur of the hall was a feast for the senses: the air was rich with the aroma of roasted meats and spiced wines, and the flicker of countless candles cast dancing shadows upon the walls.

As you approached the King and his family. King Viserys sat at the head of the long, ornately decorated table, his presence commanding and regal. Princess Rhaenyra, elegant in her black and red dress which was adorned with golden embroidery, flanked him with a poised grace. They were the focal point of the room, and the murmurs of the assembled guests fell into an expectant hush as you and Merek presented yourselves.

You executed a deep curtsy, the layers of your amethyst gown swirling around you like a cascade of twilight stars. Merek followed with a respectful bow, his demeanor both polished and genuine. “Thank you for inviting us to such a grand event, Your Grace,” Merek said, his voice carrying the appropriate blend of formality and warmth. “House Dayne wishes good fortune upon Prince Jacaerys.”

King Viserys acknowledged the greeting with a nod, his expression a blend of courtesy and benevolence. Princess Rhaenyra offered a smile, her eyes reflecting a hint of the pride she must have felt for her son. The air around the high table was thick with the scent of rich wines and the subtle perfume of royal guests.

You scanned the hall, noting with a slight frown that Jacaerys was not yet present. The feast, being held in his honor, seemed incomplete without him. Perhaps he would make his appearance once all the guests had arrived and settled.

As your gaze swept across the high table, you caught sight of a familiar figure. Lucerys, sitting at one end of the table, waved enthusiastically in your direction. His smile was bright and genuine, and he mouthed something you could just make out through the distance and the murmurs of the crowd:

“You look very pretty.”

King Viserys's voice carried through the vast, candle-lit hall, his words imbued with the gravitas of his position and the warmth of his intentions. “We are most honored to have House Dayne present on my grandson’s eighth name day,” he declared, his gaze sweeping over the room with a paternal pride.

“It fills me with joy to witness that the relations of the Seven Kingdoms and Dorne are healing after many years of conflict. This bodes well for a new era of peace and unity.” His statement was met with nods of approval from many, the atmosphere charged with a sense of hope and renewal.

The King’s eyes then settled on you with a glimmer of mischief and expectation, as if he were a stage player delivering his lines with deliberate effect. “And perhaps in the future, House Targaryen and House Dayne will develop a closer relation as well.”

The air in the Throne Room grew thick with tension as his words hung in the air. The room fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the clinking of glasses. Queen Alicent's posture stiffened noticeably, her face a mask of barely concealed displeasure. Her fingers, clasped around her wine goblet, tightened until her knuckles were white.

You and Merek stood at the center of this charged moment, caught in the spotlight of royal intentions. The weight of the King’s words pressed down upon you, making the room feel both grand and claustrophobic. Merek’s face was a study in surprise and discomfort, his usually composed demeanor momentarily faltering. He glanced at you, a mix of concern and confusion in his eyes, recognizing the gravity of what the King had implied.

Merek had always been aware of your growing friendship with Jacaerys, but he had dismissed any notion of significance, considering it a mere product of youthful camaraderie. The sudden shift in royal discourse, however, made the possibility of a betrothal not just plausible but imminent.

You shifted slightly, trying to process the implications of the King's words amidst the stifling atmosphere. The murmur of the nobles, who had resumed their conversations with a blend of curiosity and speculation, served as a backdrop to your introspection.

To spare you from the growing discomfort, Princess Rhaenyra's voice cut through the silence with the practiced ease of someone well-versed in courtly charm. “What a beautiful dress you’re wearing, Lady Dayne,” she remarked, her words laced with genuine warmth. Her gaze swept over your gown, the amethyst fabric shimmering in the flickering candlelight.

Her smile was gracious, her tone kind, but as her eyes met yours, you detected something just beneath the surface—something that made your heart quicken in unease. It was subtle, the way her lips curved ever so slightly, a hint of amusement or perhaps knowing.

You couldn't quite place it, but an inkling tugged at your thoughts, as if she were privy to something you were not. The murmur of the court continued around you, but in that moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just you and Rhaenyra. Her eyes, sharp and watchful, lingered for a heartbeat too long.

Swallowing your sudden apprehension, you placed a hand over your heart, the weight of the dress grounding you in its luxurious folds. “You are far too kind, Princess,” you replied with a humble nod, your voice steady though your mind raced.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered if Rhaenyra knew more than she let on—about the King's earlier words, about your growing friendship with Jacaerys, about... something. But just as quickly as the thought appeared, you brushed it aside. You were overthinking, surely. This was a feast, a celebration, and Rhaenyra’s compliment was nothing more than that—a simple, well-meaning gesture.

You straightened your spine, forcing a smile to your lips, but the air felt heavier now, every glance and word weighed with unspoken meaning. Merek gave a slight nod, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, and guided you toward your seats. You moved gracefully, though the subtle tension in your limbs betrayed your inner unease.

As you settled into your place, the herald continued announcing house after house. The lords and ladies of the Crownlands came first, draped in rich velvets and brocades, their sigils gleaming in the firelight. They made their bows and curtsies to the King, offering blessings to Prince Jacaerys. The Stormlanders followed, their appearance more rugged, though no less proud, each house carrying the weight of their legacy with them.

You watched it all with a detached fascination, though your mind drifted in and out of the ceremony. The colors and crests blurred together—the bold gold of the Westerlands, the deep reds of the Riverlands, the cool grays and blues of the Vale. Their words all echoed the same formality, their faces wearing masks of courtesy and ambition.

Merek leaned toward you slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sister, feign indifference." His gaze met yours, cautious yet reassuring, a silent warning beneath his words. The ripple caused by King Viserys' statement had drawn too many curious eyes in your direction, some filled with intrigue, others with calculation.

You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself. Merek’s advice was not just a brother's concern; it was a shield, a reminder that in a room full of powerful families, every glance could hold hidden intent. You kept your posture relaxed, offering only polite smiles and nods, though you could feel the weight of those watching, assessing.

The laughter and chatter of the hall seemed distant now, muffled under the heavy awareness that hung in the air. You could sense Queen Alicent's gaze linger longer than most, the sharpness in her eyes unmistakable even across the room. Rhaenyra, too, was watching, though her expression was softer, unreadable.

You turned your head slightly, pretending to admire the tapestries along the walls, letting your indifference show. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to that,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for Merek to hear. His hand briefly touched your arm, a silent gesture of support.

“You will,” he said quietly, his tone steady. “But not alone.” The clink of goblets, the murmur of voices, and the soft shuffle of gowns and cloaks filled the silence between you.

The trumpets blared, their sharp notes cutting through the murmur of the hall, and in an instant, every noble rose from their seats, the rustle of silks and velvets filling the space. The drums followed a deep, rhythmic pulse that echoed through the corridors of the Red Keep, reverberating in your chest.

You stood with Merek, your gaze drawn toward the grand entrance where the music seemed to crescendo. Every eye was fixed on the doorway, the anticipation in the room palpable. The air felt charged, thick with expectation. The banners of House Targaryen, crimson and black, fluttered above, their three-headed dragon catching the candlelight.

Whispers surged through the crowd like the distant rumble of a coming storm as the heavy wooden doors groaned open. All eyes turned, the once-muted conversations now reduced to anxious breaths and darting glances. You couldn’t help but fiddle with the hem of your dress, the amethyst fabric slipping between your fingers as the herald stepped forward, clearing his throat with a cough that echoed in the vast hall.

“Announcing!” The herald’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade through silk. His chest swelled as he prepared to speak, and you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down upon you. The gathering stilled, every noble straining to hear.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon of House Targaryen!”

The announcement reverberated across the Throne Room, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to hang suspended. Your gaze, like everyone else’s, was fixed on the grand doorway. The flickering torchlight illuminated the dark hall beyond, casting long shadows as Prince Jacaerys stepped into view.

Jacaerys moved with a grace beyond his years, the poised elegance of a prince who bore the weight of legacy with every step. His cloak billowed behind him, the silver dragon of House Targaryen intertwined with the seahorse of House Velaryon, the sigils catching the light and drawing the eye.

But it wasn’t the familiar black and red of his Targaryen blood, nor the silver and sea green of Velaryon that stirred the crowd.

There were whispers, soft at first, then rising like the hum of bees in the summer air. A few gasps punctuated the silence that followed. Your breath caught in your throat as you noticed it too. His doublet wasn’t the colors of his houses.

It wasn’t black.

It wasn’t red

It wasn’t silver or sea green.

It was…

“Amethyst.”

The same shade as the gown you were wearing.

Your heart skipped a beat as realization struck. This was no coincidence. The entire room seemed to hold its breath, watching you, then him, then back to you. Eyes darted from noble to noble, trying to read into the meaning of it all. Even Merek, standing rigid beside you, couldn’t conceal his confusion. You could feel the weight of a hundred questions without a single word being spoken.

If you and Merek had seemed a coordinated pair, then you and Jacaerys were two gloves of the same hand. The deep amethyst of his doublet mirrored your gown so precisely that it felt intentional—no, it was intentional. The shimmering stones in your skirt caught the light just as the embroidery on his chest did, as if you were meant to stand beside him, not apart.

The whispers grew louder now, like ripples spreading across a still pond, each one carrying more weight than the last. You could feel the eyes of the room shifting between you and Jacaerys, reading into every stitch, every thread of your matching attire. Even the King’s earlier remark about future ties between House Targaryen and House Dayne suddenly felt less like idle conversation and more like an unspoken declaration.

Merek stiffened beside you, his fingers tightening into a fist. He leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. “What game is this, sister?” But you had no answer, only a growing sense that the night had been carefully orchestrated, and you were unwittingly part of its grand design.

King Viserys stood, his commanding presence drawing all eyes to him. The room fell into a heavy silence as he raised a goblet, its ornate surface catching the flickering light of the chandeliers. His voice, though softened by age, carried the weight of authority and warmth.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, esteemed guests from every corner of the realm,” Viserys began, his gaze sweeping across the gathered nobility.

Viserys raised his goblet higher, his expression one of pride and hope. “Let us toast to Prince Jacaerys. May he grow in wisdom and strength, and may his future be as bright and illustrious as the stars that grace the night sky.”

At his signal, the herald called out, “To Prince Jacaerys Velaryon!” The guests rose, their voices joining in a chorus of toasts and cheers. The clamor of glasses clinking together rang out like a joyful symphony, mingling with the soft rustling of fabric and the low hum of conversation.

The room’s applause swelled and reverberated like the roar of a distant sea, its waves crashing against the walls and echoing through the hall. You took a delicate sip of your apple cider, its cool sweetness offering a brief respite from the charged atmosphere. The music began, a stately melody drifting through the air like a gentle breeze.

From across the room, you caught Jacaerys’ gaze. Rising gracefully from his seat, he made his way towards you, each step deliberate and assured. His cloak, adorned with the intricate sigils of Targaryen and Velaryon, seemed to flow behind him like a river of dark velvet.

You could feel the weight of the room’s collective gaze upon you, the air thick with expectation. Jacaerys’ approach was like a beacon cutting through the murky sea of guests, drawing all eyes toward the center of the hall where the dance floor awaited.

As he reached you, Jacaerys offered a courteous bow, his hand extended in a gesture both refined and familiar. His smile was warm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of the tension he carried from the evening’s earlier events. “My Lady,” he said, his voice carrying a note of earnest charm,

“May I have the honor of this dance?”

You placed your hand in his with a nod, feeling the firm yet gentle grasp of his fingers. The touch sent a pleasant shiver through you, a stark contrast to the chill of the cider still lingering on your lips. The music swelled, and Jacaerys guided you onto the dance floor.

As you moved in time with the rhythm, the world around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you amidst the swirl of melodies and the gentle rustle of your gowns. The tension of the evening gave way to a moment of shared grace. Jacaerys’s movements were fluid, his steps precise and confident as he led you through the dance.

Every glance and touch felt magnified, the connection between you both seeming to bridge the space between the grandiosity of the feast and the personal intimacy of the dance. The dance floor was bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, casting a golden hue over the scene. The scent of roses and polished wood mingled in the air, heightening the sensory experience.

As you twirled and swayed, the music swelled to its crescendo, the notes wrapping around you like a cocoon. For a brief, timeless moment, you were no longer a guest at a grand feast, but simply two young souls enjoying the delicate art of the dance.

Jacaerys led you into a graceful turn, his hand steady on your waist as the music lifted and carried you both across the polished floor. The swirl of your gown, with its amethyst hues catching the light, mirrored the soft shimmer of his doublet. It felt as though you were two stars orbiting within the same celestial dance, perfectly in sync.

Around you, the room blurred into a haze of vibrant silks and whispering nobles, but all you could focus on was the rhythm beneath your feet and the steady beat of Jacaerys’s presence. His feet were careful but uncertain, his gaze focused on the floor more than on you, as if he feared stepping on your toes.

You tried to ease the tension by smiling at him, your own movements light and practiced. “You’re doing fine,” you whispered, your voice soft with reassurance.

Jacaerys glanced up at you briefly, a flicker of a smile crossing his face before he looked down again. “I’m trying not to trip,” he admitted, the slightest hint of embarrassment in his tone.

You stifled a small laugh, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re doing much better than the last time we danced. Remember? You stepped on my foot, and we both fell into the fountain.”

A grin tugged at Jacaerys’s lips, his confidence boosted by the memory. “I’m trying to forget that part.”

The music swelled, and you guided him into a simple turn, your movements practiced and sure. Around you, the hall seemed to melt away—draped banners of black, red, and green blurring into the background. The curious eyes of the nobles seated at the tables were far less intimidating when you focused only on the dance.

For a moment, Jacaerys looked up, meeting your gaze properly. His smile was softer now, more genuine, as if he felt a little less burdened by the expectations of the night. “You look really nice,” he blurted out, his face turning a little red as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean—your dress.”

“Was it your idea to match?” you asked, still perplexed as to why Jacaerys had chosen to wear colors so starkly different from the usual Targaryen black and red or Velaryon silver and sea green. The deep amethyst of his doublet mirrored your gown in an almost uncanny way, as though the two of you had been planned as a pair for the evening.

Jacaerys, cheeks flushed from the dance and the weight of so many eyes on him, shook his head. He glanced subtly toward the high table where his mother sat, watching you both with an approving smile. “It was Mother’s idea,” he admitted quietly, as if sharing a secret.

His hands found yours again, guiding you through another slow turn. “She said it would... 'symbolize unity,'” he added, though his tone suggested he wasn’t fully sure what that meant. “Besides, why do you think Sienna was brought into your service?”

The name caught you off guard, but the memory clicked into place—the handmaid who had been brought to your side by none other than Princess Rhaenyra herself. You hadn’t questioned it at the time, thinking it a gesture of kindness, but now you felt a different kind of unease creeping into your mind.

Your brows furrowed, and you nearly missed a step in the dance. “Her Highness arranged for Sienna?” The realization was unsettling. The Princess had always been kind, treating you with warmth whenever you came to the Red Keep, but there was something unnerving in the way Jacaerys said it now—something that suggested this was more than a mere gesture of friendship.

Jacaerys, noticing your brief stumble, steadied you with a firm hand on your waist. His expression was a mixture of concern and a boyish pride that he could guide you, even in this moment of awkward revelation. “To aid you, of course,” he said. “Mother thinks of you often... more than you might realize.”

You blinked, your mind racing. Was this part of a larger plan? Rhaenyra had always been politically astute, and House Dayne’s ties to Dorne made you valuable. Where you really being played with?

The final notes of the song echoed through the hall as Jacaerys gently led you through the last steps of the dance. His hand, warm against your waist, guided you effortlessly, though both of you were still weighed down by the silent undercurrents of your conversation. You curtsied as the music drew to a close, your heart pounding not from exertion, but from the implications of everything you had just heard.

Jacaerys released your hand with a graceful bow, a fleeting smile playing on his lips, though his eyes still carried that guarded, knowing look. “You danced beautifully,” he said, his voice soft, though his words felt like they were trying to patch over something much larger.

You nodded in return, trying to ignore the way your mind kept circling back to his earlier comment. "As did you, my Prince," you replied, falling into formality as you curtsied again, your gown swaying gently around your legs.

Before you could exchange another word, more children began to gather on the dance floor, their laughter breaking the tension. Lucerys, grinning widely, bounded forward, pulling a reluctant Baela along with him. "Come on!" he called to Jacaerys, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Don’t leave me out here alone!”

The sight of Lucerys, eager and carefree, brought some levity to the moment. Jacaerys chuckled, glancing at you as if to say duty calls, before stepping toward his brother. You followed suit, grateful for the distraction. The herald announced the next song, and soon the hall filled with the sound of flutes and harps, their light, playful melody coaxing more of the noble children from their seats.

Children from the noble houses of Westeros—Baratheons, Lannisters, Masseys, and even a few other minor houses—joined in, their laughter a strong disparity to the silent, watchful eyes of their parents at the tables. You soon found yourself spinning and twirling with other children as the music picked up pace.

The significance of the earlier conversation, the tension at the high table, even the calculating stares from the adults, faded away, replaced by the giddy rush of movement. Your feet slid effortlessly across the smooth stone floor, your gown billowing around you as you spun with one child and then another.

You twirled once more, the world around you spun in a blur of colors—golden candlelight, shimmering silks, and the vibrant tapestries that adorned the walls. Yet, even in the midst of this joyful dance, you couldn’t shake the lingering feeling that something larger was at play. It clung to the edges of the evening like a shadow, always there, just out of sight.

You cast a glance toward the high table where Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra sat, their eyes following the movements of their children—of you.

The music continued, the rhythm shifting to a slower, more deliberate pace, the laughter and chatter of the children softened, replaced by quieter movements and more formal steps. You had just caught your breath when a figure approached from the side, moving with a grace and purpose that immediately drew the attention of everyone around.

Aemond, his champagne blonde with silver frost hair catching the candlelight, stepped forward. His presence commanded silence, the playful energy in the room instantly shifting to something more subdued. He was taller than most boys his age, with an intense gaze that made him seem older than his years. 

He stopped in front of you, bowing with an elegance that felt rehearsed, but there was something genuine in the way he extended his hand. “May I have this dance, Lady Dayne?” His voice was soft, smooth, his eyes narrowing at a certain direction behind you.

You hesitated for only a moment, your eyes flicking to where he was looking only to find Jacaerys standing there, his face unreadable, though his jaw clenched slightly as he watched. But there was no reason to refuse—Aemond was a prince after all, and you knew it would be improper to deny his request.

You nodded, placing your hand in his. “Of course, Prince Aemond.”

The music swelled around you, soft and flowing, as Aemond expertly guided you into the steps of the dance. His gaze never wavered, watching you closely as if weighing his next words carefully. “You’ve become quite the centerpiece of tonight’s festivities,” he remarked quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“The colors you and Jacaerys wore have not gone unnoticed.” His hand rested lightly at your waist as he guided you through the steps, his touch careful, though his posture was rigid, controlled.

You glanced at him, unsure of his intentions. There was a weight to his words, a subtle hint of something more beneath the surface. “It was a surprise to me as well,” you replied cautiously, keeping your tone neutral. “His mother arranged it.”

Aemond nodded, his expression unreadable as he spun you in a graceful turn. “It seems there are many surprises in store tonight. I wonder how many of them were planned without your knowledge.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, sensing that his comment held more meaning than simple small talk. He had always been an observant boy, more reserved than the others, and his words often carried an edge of insight beyond his years.

The two of you danced in silence for a moment, the music filling the space between you, before Aemond spoke again. “It is rare for someone from Dorne to be invited to such a grand feast. I imagine your presence here is... significant.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, though you weren’t sure why. The Targaryens were a powerful family, but Aemond’s words carried a weight that suggested he was offering more than mere conversation. “I suppose that’s for my older brother to know,” you said carefully, trying to deflect his probing. “I am here only to enjoy the festivities.”

Aemond’s smile tightened slightly, though his eyes never left yours. “And yet, I find myself curious. House Dayne holds great influence in Dorne. Perhaps, in time, your presence could sway more than just the opinions of the court here.”

You blinked, surprised by his candor. Was he truly suggesting what you thought? Aemond’s hand on your waist tightened ever so slightly as he led you into another turn, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There is strength in aligning oneself with the right people, Lady Dayne. The Greens have long valued loyalty, and we reward those who stand with us.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, and you struggled to keep your expression neutral. Aemond was not just offering friendship—he was subtly suggesting something far deeper. The Greens, led by Queen Alicent, were vying for influence against Princess Rhaenyra and her supporters, the Blacks. His offer, veiled as it was, spoke volumes.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a cloak. “You speak of alliances,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze. “And yet, I am but a girl from Dorne.”

Aemond tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “A girl from Dorne, yes. But a girl who is clever, who understands more than she lets on.” His tone softened slightly, almost... earnest. “Perhaps we could be friends, Lady Dayne. I would value that greatly.”

Before you could respond, the dance came to an end, the music fading as the other children returned to the floor. Aemond released your hand with a formal bow, but his eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer, his meaning clear even if unspoken.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could say anything, Jacaerys was at your side, his expression darkening as he stepped between you and Aemond. “I believe this is where we part ways, Uncle,” Jacaerys said, his voice cool, though there was an undercurrent of tension that was hard to miss.

Aemond regarded his nephew with a quiet smirk, unruffled by the interruption. “Of course, my Prince,” he said smoothly, inclining his head. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping Lady Dayne all to myself.”

Without another word, Aemond turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the crowd of dancers. You could still feel the lingering weight of his words, and Jacaerys’ sudden presence beside you only heightened the tension.

“Are you alright?” Jacaerys asked, his voice softer now, though there was a flicker of jealousy in his eyes. His hands, still warm from the previous dance, hovered protectively near your own, as if to remind you of where your loyalties should lie.

You nodded, though your thoughts were far from settled. “Yes,” you replied, offering a smile to reassure him. “Just a dance.” But even as you said it, you knew that Aemond’s words would stay with you long after the music ended.

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[daydreamerwoah]

Love Through It All Pt. 12

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; anger; rollercoaster of emotion; sadness; arguing; crying; depression; mentions of therapy/counseling; brief mention of sexual content; kidnapping

Please read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

Eventually, your eyes fluttered open, looking down at your lap. Your head was swimming and hurting equally, and you felt like you had been hit by a car or something. When you raised your head up, the feeling only intensified, making you groan a little. Glancing around, you could make out that you were in a medium-sized room that had a table, a few chairs, a small TV on the wall, and a door that stood out in front of you.

You were about to stand up, but the moment you tried moving your arms and legs, you realized you were tied to a chair with ropes wrapped around your ankles and the legs of it, while your hands were tied behind you and the back of the chair.

What the-?

Suddenly, the flash memory of almost reaching your apartment but feeling arms grab you tightly rushed through your mind at all once. You remembered being thrown into a vehicle, something sharp touching you, but that was it. What happened after that?

You tried wiggling your body against the restraints, but they were so tight you knew it would probably leave bruises. Panic began to set in as you hastily looked around the room once more for something.. anything to help you.

"Easy there," a voice said behind you.

Your body tensed, scared to even turn your head to look back or respond to the voice. But it didn't matter. Heavy boots slowly made their way around your sitting figure before standing right in front of you. The moment your eyes glanced up, you wanted to pass out again.

No.

"W-what is...this?" you asked, voice dry.

Jax, standing in front of you with an excited, menacing expression on his face, chuckled, "This?.. Well, I can't give all my secrets out. That'll ruin the fun... You know you're weaker than I thought," he smirked.

Your eyebrows furrowed, making him chuckle once more at you before walking around you in a circle like a lion ready to attack its prey.

You tried not to sound scared, but how could you? "What do you want?"

Walking over to the table and leaning over it, he placed his arms on the table, eyeing you up and down, "There's the question I was looking for," he exclaimed, "You pick up quick Mrs. Riley." The way he said your last name had your heart dropping to your stomach before your mind could even register it. "This is where you help me out." He paused, walking back over to stand in front of you again, "I want you to call your husband. Tell him to come here-"

"No," you cut him, "I'm not doing that. Whatever the fuck you have against him- if you're so mad, why won't you talk to somebody about it." You tried wiggling out of the ropes again.

A wicked snicker escaped his lips, "Oh darlin'... it was never about just me having something against him. He has to pay for what he did to us."

Confusion ran across your face, "You mean Williams?"

That got a barked laugh from him that echoed throughout the room, making you try to free yourself once more. You didn't like the way he thought it was funny you asked that question.

"You think this is about her?" It was like he couldn't stop laughing, "It was never about that slut who wanted to shag every man that even looked her way.... although she was amusing. But she was not very helpful."

Utterly confused. That's what you were. The first time Jax even approached you, he got in your face, upset about Simon. Upset that Simon was the one who sent that girl away. Now he spoke as if none of that mattered, and you only continued to wiggle your body so much you were about to cry.

"Let me go!" you yelled.

He clicked his tongue a couple of times, "You know that's not how this works, right?" He teased.

"Please... just let me go!"

"Call your husband." He demaned

Now you were getting mad and desperate, "Fuck you! I'm not helping you!"

"Yeah?... Not even to say goodbye?" Your eyes widened, making that stupid smirk form on his face again, "You see... I didn't want it to come to this. But you really left me no choice... you should have left Ghost the day I talked to you. Would've been easier for all of us... especially the boss man."

He walked to the door, banging on it with his fist before coming back to stand in front of you. The door opened, and another set up of footsteps was heard walking into the room, but you couldn't see who it was since Jax's body was blocking your view at first. But when they finally approached you saw who it was, and you felt the bile in your stomach run up to your throat.

"Hm... you look even better scared than you did the other night," he said a very small smirk on his face before he frowned.

"Mrs. Riley... I'm sure you've met my friend, Andrei, here. I know you two," he eyed you up and down in disgust, "got very close a few nights ago."

You wanted to fucking lurch out of the chair. You were breathing so quick it felt like you were almost hyperventilating as you looked back at the blue eyes of the man you let go down on you not even three nights ago. You hated the memories that swam through your mind of drinking at the bar with him and going to his room.

Andrei leaned against the table with his arms crossed and a neutral - almost bored - expression on his face as he looked at you. Completely opposite of how he did when he sat down at the bar next to you.

"Now," Jax said, making you look at him, "We can make it hard for you..." he said as he pulled a pistol out from behind his shirt, "or you can call your husband."

Was he really going to shoot you? Probably. You didn't know. But the way that both of the men looked at you most certainly told you they had no problem doing it. You thought Jax was this young soldier who was jealous of Simon; jealous of his rank or something... But something deep down told you it was more than that... and you had only two choices: Sacrifice yourself so nothing would happen to your husband, or call him.

************************************************************************

It had been weeks since Simon went to the gym. His usual 4-days a week routine had been reduced to nothing the night after he left you in the apartment. And now his body was paying for it as he did bench presses.

A little over a month had passed since he saw you or even talked to you. The first week when you didn't show up for the counseling session with him, he almost wanted to break the damn couch in the chaplain's office. But he knew it was no use... Lt Jones reminded him that what he did had consequences. And since you had decided to stop showing up for therapy, Simon used that time to meet with the chaplain twice a week. He talked about everything that happened, everything he thought about, and everything that he wanted to do to make it right in the future with you..... if you even decided to take him back.

Though he was worried, he also was on the verge of wanting to do anything to make you happy. If that meant getting the divorce papers, then he would. He even started planning on how he would make sure to go off the grid so you wouldn't fear running into him ever again if you said you wanted the divorce.

The only people he talked to that entire time were Kyle, Price, and Johnny.

Johnny - being the best bud ever - let Simon stay at his place and sleep on the couch. Most nights, they stayed up just watching football and drinking beers, but other nights, Johnny listened to Simon talk about his feelings... even if it were just a couple of words he said. He had never seen his lieutenant look so... defeated, crushed, and depressed. The usual stoic demeanor changed to that of a man who was ready to jump off a cliff. And couldn't help it... he was honestly worried about his friend.

Price and Kyle were worried as well. The Captain almost ordering for the man to take a leave until things were resolved between you two.

"Still here L.T.?" Johnny asked Simon as he walked up to the man who had just finished his bench presses.

Simon hummed, leaning down to grab his water bottle and taking a sip, "Need somethin' Johnny?"

He shrugged, "Thought we could all go to the pub right off base. Catch a match tonight? You need to get out the apartment mate," He asked. He was being cautious... Simon hadn't really gone out anywhere the last month except to work.

A nervous feeling set in his stomach. The last time he went out was to look for you at the club. He couldn't help but be a little anxious at the thought of running into you somewhere. But maybe that would be a good thing... he could at least see if you were alright if he even saw you. So he agreed... reluctantly so, before heading back to Johnny's place to take a shower and put on more comfortable clothes while the rest of the group headed to the pub.

After he laced up his second boot, his phone rang in his jacket pocket. When he pulled it out, his heart skipped about three beats as he saw your name light up on his screen.

Were you calling to tell him to come home? Or that you were wanting the divorce papers? He swallowed the lump in his throat as his answered the call.

"Hey," he said. God even just the thought of hearing your voice had him in shambles.

"H-hi... uh how are you?" you asked, seeming just as nervous.

He let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding in, "Good. You?"

"I'm... good," you paused for a moment, "I-I wanted to know if we could talk."

The tone in your voice made him internally shiver. You didn't sound happy or even sound like you were thinking as hopeful as he was.

"Course." He said as he waited for you to continue.

It felt like minutes had passed before you spoke again, but he was just eager. He wanted to hear your voice again. Hell, he wanted to pull you into a hug, get down on his knees and beg you to forgive him.

"Uh, I thought about this song today. It reminded me of you," you softly said, making Simon's world completely stop.

Time and everything else stood still.. So still that he thought his heart stopped beating completely.

When you first started dating, Simon always made sure you knew that if anything were to ever happen to you, that was the sentence you would tell him. It would let him know that if you were ever around someone and couldn't yell out that you needed help, you would tell him that you thought about a song that reminded you of him.

He tried to keep calm, he really did. But so many thoughts were running through his mind. Had you been captured this whole time? Where were you? What had you needing to say that?

"Yeah?" he said, his voice calm even though his insides were shaking, "What song?" It never mattered what song you said. You knew to pick any song at random, and you did, making him hum.

Another long pause came from you, frightening him for a moment, "Can we meet somewhere?" you sniffed, something he immediately noticed, "Maybe talk in person?"

The trained soldier that he was, your husband picked up on why you asked to meet him. He had conducted plenty of trainings in his career, one being hostage situations. And the thought of knowing you were being held as one almost sent him through the fucking roof. Still, he sounded as if he was unemotional about all of this; that it was just another conversation with you.

"Where?"

As you told him the place where to meet you, Simon wrote down the address and description of it before you said bye to him over the phone. He didn't even wait as he sent the information over to Johnny in a text message. He didn't even know if the sergeant would see it in time, as he knew they probably were already drinking and enjoying the football match. But he didn't care. His main priority was you, and he rushed out of the apartment with the only thought in his mind.

Okay... how are we liking the twist with Jax in it? I know reader is going through it! I'm so glad you all are still reading and liking the story! Especially everyone who is ready to beat up Simon lol! I'm right there with you! But I appreciate you sticking around to still read and enjoy :)

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