#A Gentle Collapsing II

[liliacamethyst]

Web of Shadow and Light (Part III)

Sequel to Webs of Fate

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2 K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III

The Spider-HQ echo with an unsettling symphony - a child's piercing cries and the hushed whispers of concern from some of the multiverse's bravest Spider heroes. They stand clustered around the smallest yet most powerful disturbance they've ever encountered - a baby boy. His wails have been echoing through the HQ since Miguel left the room, leaving the baby and dozens of Spider-man behind. Each cry is a call for help that pulls at their hearts, demanding attention, challenging their patience.

After much deliberation and coaxing from the rest, Miguel gave his team an ultimatum - they have until dawn to find an alternative solution, before Gabriel has to be eliminated, before the universe collapses on itself. His voice was a cold whisper when he spoke, "Figure out another way by tomorrow morning, or..." Nobody dares to complete the sentence, not even Miguel, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. And with that Miguel was gone, and the baby immediately started wailing and hasn’t stopped since.

Now Gwen, with her brows knitted in worry, rocks the baby with desperate gentleness. Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, a look of sheer helplessness painting her usually confident face. Beside her Peter B. is attempting to cheer Gabriel up but his efforts as pointless as they are endearing. The usually funny and charming Peter B seems to be losing a battle of wits with a one-year-old. It would've been humorous, had the situation been any different.

The sight of the little baby boy weeping his heart out, oblivious to the chaos his presence is causing tugs at their hearts, binding them in a collective resolution - they must protect this child. The shadows and the light, entwined in this web they’ve all been thrown into. And the clock is ticking.

Hobie scoops up the little boy, cradling him close in an attempt to soothe his relentless tears. "See, the cow says muhhhhh," he coos. His tiny cries falter, curiosity momentarily replacing distress. He gazes at Hobie with wide eyes, intrigued by the cool looking man. "And the butterfly," Hobie pauses dramatically, "well, the butterfly don’t say nothin’." He continues his little game, while rocking the baby gently in his arms. "And the pig says-"

 Miles chimes in with an eager grin, "Oink, Oink."

"Nah, bruv," Hobie laughs. “The pig says, ‘You have the right to remain silent!’”

Gabriel’s face scrunches up, and the waterworks start again. Hobie chuckles, "Fair enough, little fella. Cops make me wanna cry too."

Meanwhile Jessica Drew, clad in her black and white Spider-Woman outfit, her dark locks cascading around her shoulders, is leaning against the doorframe, half entering the room, her eyebrows raised. "Well? I assume he didn’t stop crying?“

Beside her Peter B.  with his shaggy brown hair and five o’ clock beard just shakes his head. 

“This is nuts. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is working.“ Gwen states.

In the background, the cries of baby Gabriel cotinue, little fists flailing as he continued his tantrum. Jessica, arching an eyebrow, comments, “He’s still going at it?”

Hobie Brown, just gives her a quick nod. “Oh yeah, the kid has got a set of lungs.”

Suddenly, Pavitr Prabhakar, yelps as a makeshift toy, made out of wood and spiderwebs, hit him square in the forehead. "Ow! And one hell of arm throw."

Methodically, Jessica starts running through a mental checklist. “Diaper?”

Peter B. Parker nods. “Clean.”

“Food?” Jessica glances at Miles who holds a baby food jar and a bent spoon.

Miles, in his black and red suit, shrugs. “Kept smacking the spoon out my hand.”

“Nap?” Jessica's questions further.

The entire room answer in unison, clearly frustrated “Literally the first thing we tried.”

Pavitr smirkes at them. “Jinx.” But his joke is short-lived as Gabriels screams become even louder.

Gwen, then takes charge, “Ok, we have to do something,” her eyes flicking around the room with determination. She points to Jess, “You have to talk to Miguel. You’ve been around him the longest, maybe you can get through to him.”

Jess looks hesitant but nods.

“And Peter,” Gwen turns to Peter B who’s still juggling items in his hands, to entertain the baby and stop his crying. “Get Mayday’s toys. Maybe the baby’s just bored.”

Peter gives a thumbs up. “You got it, boss.”

“And Pav, Hobie,” Gwen instructs, her voice steady. “You need to rally the other Spider-people. We need everyone on board to protect this little guy.”

“Margo, you’re with me, girl. We are  paying our old friend Lyla a little  surprise visit. Something’s a little fishy with her.” Margo nods eagerly. 

As everyone scatters into action, Miles stands there, looking slightly lost and raising his hands. "Hey, guys, you forgot about me! What am I supposed to do? How can I help?" he calls out to the rapidly moving group.

Pav whirls around and points at Miles, "You, take care of the little guy, newbie," he says, as Hobie thrusts the still crying baby into Miles' arms.

"Great," Miles grumbles, balancing Gabriel on his hip and looking down at the squirming bundle of tears.

 He starts to bounce up and down gently, trying to imitate what he's seen in movies. The baby continues to cry, unfazed by Miles' efforts.

“Alright buddy, let’s figure this out together. I can swing through New York, so how hard can babysitting be?” Miles whispers to the baby.

Hours drag on and Gabriel's relentless cries continue to echo through the HQ. Despite his earnest attempts, Miles, armed with only his spider powers and limited babysitting experience, is unsuccessful in calming the baby. He’s tried everything he can think of – makinf funny faces, telling funny stories in a soothing tone, gently swinging him back and forth with his web-slinging skills, and even humming a little tune (it was Humble by Kendrick Lamar, but the thought counts, right?). At one point, he even tried to entertain the baby by creating animals out of webbing, but that didn’t work either. The baby is relentless, and his cries only seem to get louder. 

In the meantime in Miguel’s office, the echoing cries penetrate through the walls. Migel is sitting behind his desk looking at some documents, while Jess stands in front of him.

“Please, Miguel, it’s a baby boy. How did you imagine doing this, huh?” Jess exclaims, her voice rising. “Did you plan to build some sort of machine to just vaporize him? Or did you think of strangling him with your own bare hands? I know you’re not a monster.” But Miguel's face remains stoic, his eyes never leaving the papers on his desk.

“And look,” Jess continues, pointing vaguely in the direction of where the baby’s cries are coming from, “this baby is already older, and nothing has collapsed yet. The universe is still here.”

“I can’t risk any more lives, Jess,”Miguel responds coldly, finally looking up at her.

“But what if there is another way? We haven’t even tried everything. We have brilliant minds here. Let’s...let’s figure something out that doesn’t involve.. that,” Jess pleads, her voice softening.

Miguel looks at her for a long moment but his expression remains unreadable. The cries of the baby continue to fill the air.

Jess then turns her gaze towards Lyla, , who is stationed nearby, her holographic interface flickering with data. “Lyla, what are the kid’s powers? Run a genetics test, a DNA test. We need something to work with.” 

Lyla’s synthetic voice answers in an eerily calm tone, "I have already processed the genetic information, Jessica. Thanks very much, genius. As per my findings, the child’s power attributes remain undefined. In regards to the DNA test..."

Lyla hesitates just a fraction of a second, but enough for Miguel to notice. It's an unexpected response from an AI that's programmed to be efficient and direct. A strange tingle rises within him but he pushes it aside, refocusing on the matter at hand.

“is inconclusive.” Jess squints at Lyla. “Inconclusive? What do you mean? Is he an anomaly or not?”

“He’s an anomaly, certainly. However, the DNA analysis is...complicated,” Lyla maintains her composed tone. “Complicated how?” Jess presses on. “Just...unfamiliar and intermingled genetic markers,” Lyla responds vaguely. “The child is an enigma.”

"Miguel, please" she continues, turning back to Miguel, clearly frustrated with Lyla's vague responses that are not helping her case. Her tone is still serious, "this isn't some variation of a monster, this is a baby."

For a moment, Miguel’s gaze flickers, his usual icy aura briefly wavering. "It doesn't matter," he finally grunts, closing his eyes as if to physically shut out the argument. Jessica's voice turns unexpectedly brittle. "I didn't join the Society to kill innocent kids."

Miguel clenches his jaw hard. "We do what we have to do for the greater good. No exceptions." Jessica takes a deep breath, her next words coming out almost in a whisper. "What if there was my Gerald or a version of your-" she begins, but is quickly cut off.

"DON’T. Don't even go there, Jessica" Miguel growls, his hand forming into a tight fist. "And why the hell is it still crying?"

Jessica's gaze softens slightly. "That child, that little boy, probably misses his parents. Parents who are going through hell right now, searching for their baby." Miguel's fist tightens further, a spark of something, maybe regret, guilt,  flashing in his eyes. Jessica presses on trying one last time to convince him. "He was found in 586, right? Maybe we can reconnect with Su-" 

"No," Miguel interrupts sharply, his voice a final command. “Until tomorrow morning, Jess,” he finally says in a low voice, putting an end to Jess’ outburst. “That’s all. You can leave now.” 

There’s a heavy silence, where the only sound is Gabriel’s distant crying.

Jessica looks at Miguel, her gaze piercing. "Think about what you’re doing, Miguel," she whispers and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the heart of the HQ, Margo sifts through the labyrinth of Lyla's concealed data. She uncovers a file that captures her attention – the baby's DNA results. "There you are," she mutters to herself, an air of triumph in her voice. As she opens the file, her eyes widen in disbelief, "Oh no…“

"What is it, Margo?" Gwen asks making her way over to Margo.

Margo's voice trembles slightly. "So, while looking through the hidden data, I found the baby's... there was a parental match."

Gwen's heart skips a beat. “I knew something was was off with Lyla. Of course she knows more. Well, who are the little guy's parents?"

Margo hesitates, then blurts out, "Miguel and Sunny."

Gwen stops dead in her tracks, her mind reeling. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"The baby's mother is Sunny, and the father is Miguel," Margo reiterates, her voice steady.

Gwen eyes widen. "But... are you sure? I know Sunny's baby. I was there when baby Gabriel was born!“

"Yes, I'm sure. There were two parental matches for the baby in the spider DNA logs:Sun Spider and Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time you saw the baby, Gwen? Babies change quickly at that age." Margo confirms. 

"Miguel and Sunny? That's not possible... how have we never noticed that there's something going on between those two?" Gwen's mind whirls with confusion.

"Oh, I noticed," Margo's voice holds a hint of smugness, "The way he was sneaking into her room at night? And the way he looked at her every time she set foot in a room, like a lovesick puppy. It was adorable. Wait, nobody else noticed?"

Gwen splutters, taken aback, "What? No, I... well, he's all 'we need to sacrifice ourselves to protect the multiverse. No more traveling for fun'" she imitates Miguel's voice with a teasing lilt, then she adds, "And Sunnys is literally the personification of a warm embrace."

Gwen's mind whirls but she continues, “ Woah, okay lets focus on the important part. I mean, I knew something was wrong with Lyla, but why... why would she do that?"  

"There's more, Gwen," Margo says, her voice shaking slightly. "I found another thing in her data. It's... it's about how she's processing information."

Gwen frowns, "What do you mean?"

Margo takes a deep breath before explaining, "In simple terms, Lyla's been teaching herself new things. She's changing, growing beyond her original programming. Her code is self-evolving."

"And the data about the baby?" Gwen asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margo sighs, "She's been... twisting it, making the baby seem more dangerous than it actually is."

Gwen's mind reels with this new information, the world around her seeming to tilt. "But why?" she finally manages to ask. "Why would Lyla do this?"

"I don't know, Gwen," Margo admits. "But we need to find out and warn Miguel. And soon."

Meanwhile in Miguels office, the wailing becomes louder, almost as if piercing through the walls, trying to reach something, or someone. Miguel's face betrays his discomfort, as if the cries are tugging at his walls around his heart. There's a weight on his chest, something unidentifiable that makes it hard to breathe.

Suddenly Lyla’s holographic interface hums. She begins to show the outline various strategies for eliminating the child. Her voice, analtytic but almost cheerful, fills the room. “So, we could create a temporal displacement field, effectively erasing the child from existence. Or perhaps expose him to a slow-acting molecular destabilizer..." 

 "Based on the trial," she continues unfazed by Miguel’s lack of response. "the device should work as intended, wiping out any of its DNA and trace. Be like the anomaly never existed." There's a hint of satisfaction in her words.

Miguel, until now staring blankly at the wall, finally turns towards Lyla, his complexion pale and his eyes wide.

His insides twist painfully, the mere idea of bringing harm to this innocent child becoming now unbearable.

“Stop,” Miguel chokes out.

“Apologies, Miguel. We must consider all options for preserving the multiverse. You out of all people should know that,”Lyla retorts.

But something within Miguel snaps. His ice-cold distant facade crumbles. Rising abruptly, his chair clatters loudly onto the floor.

Without saying another word, he strides out of his office. “Miguel? Are you listening? Where are you going?” Lyla calls after him, but her words are unanswered in the empty room.

Walking down the hallway, Miguel slows down as he passes the room where the infant's cries come from. He pauses when he hears Miles' pleas inside.

“Little dude, if you stop crying promise I’ll get you some cool kicks. Maybe some baby Jordans? Please, please just stop crying,” Miles pleads, his voice sounding desperate and utterly exhausted.

After a moment hesitation, Miguel pushes open the door and steps into the room. His gaze, sterner than ever, as he takes in the scene: Miles looking near defeat, his energy spent trying to soothe the wailing child, his spider suit rumpled and hair disheveled.

"Enough," Miguel comms sharply.

Miles looks up from where he's been pacing with the baby, his eyes wide like he's just been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “You,” Miguel points at Miles, who is holding the still-crying baby. His voice booms with authority. “Put him down”

Miles, slightly dumbfounded, obeys and carefully lays the child down on his makeshift bed. “I need you to return to Earth 586. Get some of his belongings - toys, blankets, anything you can find," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"But Miguel--" Miles startsbut gets cut off immediately.

"Now," he says, his red eyes flashing dangerously. Miles opens the portal hastily and disspears to your universe.

The crying has subsided to whimpers, and Miguel finds himself kneeling next to the little one, who reaches out for him. As if on autopilot, Miguel’s hands scoop him up abruptly from the bed.

"Quiet, niño. "Miguel growls at him with a  low and threatening tone. "I could just... do it right now." His irritation gets the better of him, and he bares his fangs at the little one. This sight shocks Gabriel into silence for a moment, his big, teary eyes widening at the sight. 

But then, to Miguel's surprise, the baby breaks into a fit of giggles, the sound infectious and joyous.

Gabriel suddenly mimics Miguel, baring his own little teeth – two tiny milk teeth and the beginnings of baby fangs peeking from his gums, causing Miguel to stiffen in shock.

Caught off guard Miguel's hold slips and Gabriel lands back on the web-shaped bed with a bounce. The baby's laughter ends abruptly and is replaced once more with tears and cries.

Still in shock, Miguel stumbles back a step, but Gabriel's cries soon pull him back into the present. With a sigh, he picks up the little boy yet again andGabriel immediately snuggles into the crook of Miguel’s neck, his tiny arms winding tightly around his throat.  Miguel swallows hard, unsure of what to do next. 

Then, almost instinctively, he starts to hum a tune he thought he'd long forgotten. "Tú eres mi sol de la mañana, el sol que brilla..." His voice is barely audible, the words shaky. Gabriel's little body relaxes against him, a content sigh escaping his lips followed by a quiet yawn. He nuzzles closer to Miguel, his tiny breaths falling into sync with the rhythm of the song. "...alegra todo, mi corazón," Miguel coninues softly, his mind flooding with memories. He sees a bright, lively girl with the same curious eyes as the boy in his arms. 

"Daddy," Gabriella asks, her large eyes bright with curiosity as she looks up at him, "why do you call me your morning sun? I'm not yellow."

Miguel chuckles at her innocence, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He cradles her against his chest, looking into those eyes so full of wonder. "No, mija" he replies, his voice soft with affection "you're not yellow but you are my sunshine."

"But why?" She wrinkles her little nose, her childish curiosity making Miguel's heart fill up with love.

"Because, mijita," he begins, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "just like the sun, you light up my world. You chase away the darkness with your laughter and your love. You are warmth, you are joy, and just like the morning sun, you are a new beginning, a promise of a brighter day." 

Gabriella blinks up at him, her lips curving into a small, and she hides her smile in the crook of his neck. "I like that, Papi," she whispers, "Sing the song again, please?"

“brilla, conmigo, brilla que brilla, alegrandome esta cancion. Tu eres mi sol de la manana…“

Eyes closed, Miguel draws Gabriel unconsciously closer, his heart full, and for the first time he’s feeling a sense of contentment he hasn't experienced in years. 

The moment is shattered by the sound of a throat being cleared, pulling him abruptly out of his peaceful trance.

Peter B is standing in the doorway, arms loaded with various dolls. "Wow, he's finally asleep," he remarks, looking between Miguel and the now sleeping Gabriel with a relieved smile. "I was starting to think that was impossible." 

Without responding, or even sparing a glance in Peter's direction, Miguel turns away from the door and heads to the bed. He gently places the sleeping toddler down, pulling a small blanket over him. Once he's confident that Gabriel is settled, Miguel quietly leaves the room, his demeanor as frosty and aloof as ever, making no acknowledgment of Peter's presence. 

Peter B is quick on his feet, rushing after Miguel. "I brought him toys from Mayday," he blurts out. "She won't miss them. She's not too good at sharing, but I guess she won’t mind in this case."

Miguel continues his stride, not giving Peter so much as a backward glance. "Que maravilla," he mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Ignoring the dismissal, Peter B. reaches out and places a hand on Miguel's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Miguel raises an eyebrow and glances back at him half-heartedly, clearly not interested in a conversation.

Peter takes a moment, his gaze intensifying. "Hey, boss," he begins, his voice shaky yet determined. "We can't let anything happen to this boy, right?" 

At Peter's words, Miguel closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Back on Earth 586, you're in the throes of a meltdown. Your little boy, Gabriel, is nowhere to be found. You've scoured the whole city of Nea Yorkey, every nook and cranny you can think of, but there's no trace of him anywhere. Desperation gnaws at your insides, and fury bubbles up, hot and fierce. Your mind is in turmoil, swirling with anger and fear, clouding your ability to think straight. One thing is crystal clear though: whoever dared to touch your child will pay dearly for their actions.

You're frantically trying to find a way to contact anyone from the Spider Society, while simultaneously considering every possible avenue to traverse the multiverse yourself. Alchemax - the multinational conglomerate known for its cutting-edge research and technological advancements - seems to be your only hope. As you're about to make your way there, a sound from Gabriel's room stops you in your tracks.

Your Spider senses, already on high alert due to the unexpected circumstances, seem to kick into overdrive. Every instinct within you screams that something is about to happen. Your heart pounds in your chest like a wild drum as you slowly approach the room.

Meanwhile, in Gabriel's room, Miles is having his own share of troubles. In his haste, he stumbles over a toy car that starts making an assortment of noises and brightly lit animations. "Ah, this stupid toy!" he curses under his breath.

A thought suddenly crosses his mind and he wonders aloud, "Wait, does he need a blanket?" Just as he's about to reach for a small bunny stuffed animal that lay discarded on the floor, an intense blast of sonic energy sweeps across the room.

Caught by surprise, Miles finds himself flung across the room, his back hitting the wall with a thud. Before he can even let out a gasp, a spider web shoots out, pinning him securely against the wall. There he hangs, suspended, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he attempts to comprehend what just happened. Well its safe to say he didn’t saw that coming.

Miles, still stuck against the wall, manages to blurt out, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" you echo, incredulity lacing your tone. "You break into my son's room and ask me whoI am?"

Your mind races as Miles stammers, "Wait, your son's room? Wait, are you...are you a Spider-person aswell?"

Ignoring his question, you stride towards him, an aura of threat radiating off you. "Stop talking!" you command, "I ask the questions!" In your hand, a ball of solar energy forms, crackling with power and casting a glow across the room.

"Why are you here? Where is my son?" The words are more of a growl than a question, the motherly instincts in you sending waves of danger rippling across the room. "Your son is okay, please don't hurt me!" Miles pleads with a shaky fear laced voice.

Squirmy and visibly frightened, Miles stammers out his confession, "We-we took him...it was our mission... He's an anomaly...we needed to get him out of this universe, send him to his own, so it wouldn’t collapse and interfere with the multiverse...but he doesn't have one, and I'm so sorry..."

His voice dwindles to a murmur, words tumbling over one another in his haste. Amidst his ramblings, your icy inquiry slices through like a blade, "Who instructed you?"

A sharp wince contorts his face, betraying his fear. "Our boss..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "Miguel... Miguel O'Hara."

The energy in your hand dissipates, leaving only shock in its place. It's almost too much to take in - the idea that Miguel, your Miguel, could have done something like this. "He's okay, we... we didn't know he was the son of a Spider-woman. I'm Miles Morales, by the way." he introduces himself, attempting to inject some normalcy into the situation.

"I'm Spider-Sun," you respond automatically, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"Wait … you?" Miles' eyes widen in recognition. "You're Sunny?" When you give a numb nod in response, he continues, "You look more like 'Stormy' if you ask me." Your gaze snaps to Miles, the intensity of your death glare immediately silencing his attempt at humour. "Sorry, sorry," he stammers, raising his hands in surrender. "I just...I've heard Gwen and Peter talk about you."

"They never stop talking about you," Miles continues, trying to regain his composure. "They always say you have such a radiant personality and how much they miss you. They take care of your son, don’t worry. Hes safe for now.” 

"What do you mean he's safe 'for now'?" you cut him off abruptly, your voice cold and hard. Miles gulps nervously before responding.

"Eh...we have until morning to find a solution for this...anomaly," he stammers. You interrupt him, seething with a fury that makes him cringe. "My son's name is Gabriel. He is not an 'anomaly'," you spit out the words like they are poison, hating the way they make your sweet little boy sound like some kind of mistake.

"Eh, yes, for Gabriel," Miles corrects hastily, "because, eh... if we don't find an alternative, they need to, eh...eliminate..." He trails off, speaking so quickly and softly that you almost don't catch his last word.

"ELIMINATE?????" You scream and for a split second, Miles is sure he sees your eyes blaze with a terrifying, luminating light. 

"We can stop them. We can talk to them and say it's your son," Miles says quickly, desperately hoping to calm you.

"I don't talk. Bring me to my son," you demand. Without wasting another moment, you order him to open the portal. "Y-yes, right away, Sunn... eh, Mrs. Sun, eh... Ma'am," he stammers, visibly trembling under your steely gaze.

 It takes him two shaky attempts before he manages to successfully open the portal, his hands still unsteady from the encounter.

Back at the headquarters, Peter chases after Miguel into his office. "Boss, all I'm saying is, what if Lyla is wrong?"

Miguel is pinching the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The weight of the situation is quickly becoming too overwhelming and he feels himself teetering dangerously close to his breaking point.

Just at that moment, Gwen, Pav, Margo and Hobie burst into the office, their faces set withdetermination. "Miguel, there’s something you need to know.  Please hear us out. Margo and I, we found something.Lyla is - ," Gwen starts but Miguel is quick to silence her with a raised hand.

Just as Miguel is about to speak, the lights flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the room. Hobie looks around nervously. "Is that eh...normal?"

Peter quirks an eyebrow. "Did you forget to pay the electricity bill?" 

The lights flicker even more violently, plunging the room into a dance of shadow and light.

With a violent burst, the door is flung open, and a brilliant surge of light blinds everyone. You stand in the doorway, an ethereal aura glowing around you.

"O'Hara!" Your voice thunders through the room, heavy with wrath and revenge. As Miguel turns around to face the source of the sound, a massive, lightning-tinged sonar blast slams directly into his chest. He's pushed backward, knocked off balance before he can brace himself for the attack. He tries to recoverr, to shift into defense mode but he doesn't get the chance. You're relentless, a solar goddess in human form, hurtling blast after blast at him. Miguel has no time to regain his stance, each attack landing with more force than the last. 

Gwen makes to step forward, her instincts screaming at her to intervene, but Peter grabs her arm, pulling her back. "That's Sunny," he says, his voice a mixture of awe and concern. Hobie's eyes widen comically. He cocks his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Our Sunny, eh? Blimey, I never knew she had it in her. That rebellious firecracker," he mutters, a distinct note of admiration creeping into his typically laid-back British drawl.

Miles bursts into the room, breathless and disheveled. He stumbles towards Gwen, his voice hurried and concerned, "I tried to stop her, but she was...she was furious. Woahhh, I've never seen Miguel get beaten like this before."

And he wasn't exaggerating. Miguel was fighting back, his fangs bared, his claws out and ready but he was no match for your rage-fueled attacks. You were right up in his face, delivering punch after punch at a brutal pace

"Where's my son, O’Hara? What have you done to him?" you demand, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

At your words, Miguel's movements falter. His defense wavers, and he barely manages to gasp out, "Your son?" He doesn't dodge your next blow, doesn't attempt to shield himself or strike back. Instead, he allows you to continue.

Miguel is shocked. His reflexes kick in as he sees the next punch coming and he grabs your wrist, halting your next powerful punch aimed for his face. He locks eyes with you, his gaze holding an emotion you've never seen in him before. Is it fear? No, it's much deeper, more profound.

As he stares at you, your luminescent eyes gradually lose their fiery intensity, shifting back to their human form.

"I... I didn't know," Miguel stammers, his voice a trembling whisper. "Lo – lo siento. I – I didn’t know.”

His breaths are ragged, and you can see a war waging inside him.

"But...how?How didn’t I know?" His voice is choked, your wrist still securely in his grip. “Your son?” Miguel continues,his voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes search yours and all he sees is raw, untamed anger with an aching pain that pierces his soul.

“Yes, MY son!” your voice echoes through the room like a whip. “Did you think that you could just take him from me? That I wouldn't come for him?”

Miguel’s grip on your wrist loosens as he stumbles back. His heart feels like it’s about to explode as realization dawns on him. The dark curls, the small fangs the baby had bared at him –pieces of a puzzle start falling into place. His own blood runs cold.

“Where is he, Miguel? Where’s myGabriel?” your voice breaks as you say the name, and it feels like another punch to Miguel's gut.

“Gabr...” Miguel chokes. “No... no...”

His voice is barely audible, the air knocked out of him by the significance of the name. His knees buckle, and he falls on the floor. "NO."

“You, who I thought would protect any child, wanted to eliminate my – our – flesh and blood!” Tears, full of anger and hurt, stream down your face, but your voice doesn't waver one bit. 

Miguel, still on the floor, looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I didn’t know. I swear on my life, on Gabriella’s memory. I-I wanted to do the right thing. I- I never, -Lo siento.” 

There’s a moment of tense silence as you look down at the shattered man before you,the love of your life, the father of your child, who almost made the most horrifying, unforgivable mistake.

Just then, from another room, the faint sound of a baby's cries pierce through the heavy atmosphere. You abruptly yank your wrist out of his grasp and towards the door to leave.

Your heart clenches as you break into a run, following the pitiful cries. You don’t look back.

Miguel remains on his knees. He doenst follow you, he doesn’t dare to move, anchored by the crushing weight of what he's done, as the sounds of Gabriel's cries fade into the background.

"Gabriel," he whispers, the name escaping his lips like a vow. A promise of redemption. And with that single word, Miguel knows he'll move heaven and earth to protect his child.

Part 4 "Webs of Redemption"

Hello, you wonderful souls! I want to say a big thank you for your patience and kind words about this series. I really appreciate each of your sweet comments and messages – they mean so much to me. Thank you all for the insightful ideas and suggestions you contributed for part 3. I've incorporated as many of your concepts as I could because they're simply brilliant. I'm eager to hear more of your thoughts, criticisms, and proposals for part 4. I also want to give a special thanks to Jess, @wolfjessedragon . Her inspiration and amazing ideas were the driving force behind Part 3, and I couldn't have written it without her! love you guys, keep being awesome!

[wileys-russo]

attention thief II m.león & i.engen

attention thief II m.león & i.engen

"oo! what about this one?" you eagerly showed the phone to ingrid who awwed and took it off you. "he is so tiny!" the norweigen cooed as the two of you chattered back and forth, missing the dirty looks sent your way by your other girlfriend.

"oh and he has had his shots already! that means he will be fine around the cat." you nodded as the two of you read through the small dogs profile, a loud scoff pulling your attention away.

“the cat, she has a name!" mapi huffed with a roll of her eyes, finally speaking up as she’d spent the last couple of hours brewing silently in the corner, having made her feelings toward this new addition well known however she’d been outvoted and was not taking it well.

"now say sorry! you both hurt bagheera’s feelings." the spaniard scooped up the black cat who was sitting happily on the edge of the armchair she'd previously been occupying, gentle mews heard as she presented the disgruntled feline toward you and ingrid with a frown, holding her much like how simba had been presented in the lion king as you bit back a smile at the thought.

"sorry bagheera, a very beautiful name for a very regal girl." you stood and scratched behind her ears with a soft smile, mapi nodding her agreement. "the most beautiful girl." ingrid agreed as her thumb rubbed over the black cats spine and she purred happily before jumping from mapi's arms, stretching out again over the back of the sofa.

“and now say sorry to me! because this whole idea is also hurting my feelings.” mapi crossed her arms over her chest and scowled as you and ingrid shared an amused look and did no such thing, collapsing back onto the couch together.

“oye! the disrespect.” your girlfriend gasped as you rolled your eyes at her dramatics, more than used to them by now as you poked her with your foot.

"stop being a baby maría and come look. we picked one mi amor, a little boy." you scooted over and patted the spot next to you as mapi seemingly accepted she wasn’t getting an apology and sat down with a sigh, her head dropping to your shoulder.

“but why do we need a dog? we already have bagheera, the three of us, our friends, the team, the family is full." the defender grumbled, taking your phone and reading through the profile for the small frenchie puppy none the less.

"because my love bagheera is a cat, and you promised that she could get a puppy once we moved into the new place. and that was four months ago!” ingrid answered her with chuckled, hugging you tightly and kissing your cheek fondly as your hand squeezed her knee.

“so? we still take bagheera for walks, out for lunch, she sleeps with us and gives us lots of cuddles and love. same thing as a puppy would! but dogs are noisy and messy and loud and energetic. and i made that promise under…different circumstances.” mapi rolled her eyes and handed you back your phone as you gave her a toothy grin, knowing exactly what circumstances she meant.

“you are noisy and messy and loud and energetic and we still love you maría.” you teased, mapi pouting at you and crossing her arms again. “the dog is not even here and you are already using it as an excuse to pick on me!” your girlfriend huffed dramatically.

"i do not need an excuse to pick on you amor. but sí bagheera is wonderful but she is not a puppy, and ingrid’s right you promised me months ago! i have been very patient, pleasee baby." you clasped your hands together and pleaded, hitting her with a look you knew always had her melting as the older girl sighed.

“or we could bring back those circumstances, and i can ask while ingrid has you on the edge again, begging and begging.” you whispered in her ear, kissing her neck and hearing the norwegian beside you chuckle and hum her agreement as your other lovers face blushed bright red.

“oye, do not forget your place mi amor or i will hold you on the edge while you beg and beg!” the spaniard warned with a look as you merely grinned and kissed her cheek in a silent apology, tugging on her earlobe with her teeth as she pinched your thigh and mumbled something about being cheeky.

"bien! but you are in charge of him princesa. which means anything he needs, destroys, eats, breaks, hides or poops is your responsibility." mapi groaned giving in as you nodded eagerly and pounced on her, kissing all over her face in thanks as her lips curled into a smile.

“vale vale, you are welcome. anything to see you happy hermosa.” the girl smiled, tattooed hand pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as your cheeks began to hurt from how hard you were smiling, kissing all over her face again as she let out a laugh

"hey! there was none of that when i said yes." ingrid scoffed, faking offence as she crossed her arms on your other side. "too bad corazón, should have said no and made her work for it. you don't normally find much trouble with that and you know how much princesa loves to please." mapi grinned teasingly, strong arm wrapping around your stomach and pulling you back onto her lap as you tried to move toward your other girlfriend, the insinuation of her flirty words having your cheeks flushing pink slightly.

"such a child maría, never good at sharing." ingrid tutted with a sly smile, shuffling over to press her body closer and leaning around you as if to kiss the older girl but pulling back right as mapi puckered expectantly, hands falling to your cheeks and pressing her lips to yours instead.

your head swam as her mouth devoured your own, senses heightened at the feeling of your other girlfriends tattooed and calloused hands roaming your body. pinching and squeezing everywhere she knew drove you crazy, ingrid eventually pulling away with a smug smile at the slightly dazed look in your eyes.

but barely having a moment to collect your thoughts there was already a new set of lips ravishing yours, the kiss a perfect balance of rough and tender as mapi's hand held your jaw, turning your head so your mouth slotted perfectly against your own as you shifted on her lap, ingrid’s fingers toying with the hem of your her shirt.

then just like before the warmth was gone, both of your girlfriends starting a new conversation over your head about what was needed to be bought in preparation for the puppy as if they hadn't just sent you spinning into another universe as you sat there a little shell shocked.

"oh! but what are we going to name him?"

~

hugo was the name you settled on after many debates.

though you weren't complaining at that as your inability to pick a side between either of your girlfriends endless suggestions earnt you a great deal of hushed promises, sweet words and stolen kisses in an attempt to sway you one way over the other, your vote the deal breaker.

but as always, the final decision was yours to make and the settled on name hadn't been either of their suggestions, though seeing the way you lit up as you thought of it neither girl could find it within them to say no to you.

no matter where your place was in the relationship when it came to bedroom activities, you had both girls wrapped right around your little finger and you knew it.

you'd met the puppy a couple of times before you could take him home because of how young he was, ingrid going with you each time as mapi opted only to come once you were due to bring him back with you, though she’d agreed to his arrival she was still not thrilled.

but you made sure each night up until he arrived to show both her and ingrid just how grateful you were for their agreement, and that seemed to soften up the stubborn spaniard just a little.

once hugo did finally come home you couldn't help but feel as though your little family was now perfect, not to say you ever felt it was missing something but having him around just felt right.

both of your girlfriends had both secretly assumed they'd have to take the reigns when it came to the finer details of dog ownership. you were known to be a touch scatter brained and more of a dreamer than a doer, but proving them both wrong you'd found your stride as the mother of your fur baby and there wasn't anything you didn't do for him.

ingrid found it endearing to watch how much you cared for the puppy who clearly returned that love, following you around wherever you went always under your feet or sat by your ankles as you learned to be careful how you walked when wandering the house completing errands, your little shadow never far behind.

mapi on the other hand, was not quite as taken with the small dog as either of her girlfriends, bagheera sharing her feelings as she too avoided hugo like a disease. often perching herself up on her cat tree or the counter or the very top cupboard of your shared closet, anywhere she knew was out of reach of the energetic frenchie who always wanted to play with his feline sister.

"ah! bebita no, you know the rules." mapi warned, giving you a firm look over the top of her laptop as you wandered into the bedroom with hugo nestled in the pocket of your hoodie, reveling in how small he was as everyday he seemed to get a little bigger.

"but bagheera gets to sleep in the bed!" you pointed out with a frown, ingrid smiling slightly but returning her gaze to her book, opting to stay out of this one. "yes she does and hugo does not, so take him to his crate amor, now." the tattooed spaniard warned rather sternly as you scoffed.

"fine! i'll sleep on the sofa with him then." you shrugged, turning on heel and retreating to the living room. "joder! what?" mapi hissed as ingrid sharply pinched her thigh and gave her a look.

"no no no, you agreed with me when we set the rules with her mi amor, no dogs in the bed!" mapi protested as the norweigein stayed quiet, only raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

a silent stand off ensued, both girls attempting to stare the other down wordlessly as in the mean time you'd grabbed a blanket and made yourself comfortable on the sofa, already having taken hugo out to do his business as the small puppy curled up tiredly on your chest.

"he is not sleeping in the bed. she can move the crate in here but that is it! and if he cries and cries then she takes it back to the living room.” mapi huffed, relenting though only slightly as ingrids lips curled upward and she kissed her girlfriends cheek, snapping her book closed and swinging her long legs out of bed.

though by the time she reached you it was too late, your chest rising and falling, face calm and eyes closed as hugo had wiggled to tuck himself between your neck and the back of the sofa, curled tightly into a ball.

smiling softly the taller girl snapped a photo and bent down, smoothing your hair from your face and kissing your forehead, shushing the small dog who stirred and lifted his head, leaving you both be and retreating back to bed.

mapi rolled her eyes at the news you'd not be joining the two of them in bed, bagheera taking advantage of the gap and settling herself in between the two girls as ingrid shut off the lamp and plunged the bedroom into darkness, kissing her girlfriend goodnight as mapi stared longingly at the door as if that might make you appear, eyes growing tired as they strained in the dark and eventually she drifted off to sleep.

but when she awoke the next morning it was to an entirely empty bed, the defender stretching out groggily and frowning when there was no other warm welcoming bodies for her to wrap herself around as she usually would.

ingrid had always been a morning person and an early riser however you at least would normally placate mapi’s clingy tendencies, fingers wound through her hair and scratching at her scalp as you’d murmur how it was time to wake up, chuckling at her refusal as the defenders face remained smushed into your neck.

rubbing her eyes she pulled herself into a sitting position, eyebrows furrowing at how suspiciously quiet it seemed to be.

making her way out of bed she stroked a single finger down bagheeras back where she was curled up in the sun on the windowsill, kissing her head and leaving her be to sunbake.

calling out for both you and ingrid the girls frown deepened as she received no reply, but when there wasn't a clattering of nails against the floorboard or a tiny blur of tan fur under her feet she put two and two together, the note on the fridge confirming it.

you and ingrid had taken hugo for a walk, the small frenchie always at his most active in the mornings as he would get the 'zoomies' as you affectionately called them, the small dog hurtling himself around the house crashing into everything and anything in his way.

the habit grated at mapi to no end despite how amusing you and ingrid seemed to find it, poor bagheera learning to steer well clear of these zoomies as well.

"well chiqui, just you and me." mapi sighed at the black cat beside her, the gorgeous day outside far too alluring to miss as mapi changed into a bikini and a pair of shorts, scooping up bagheera and retreating outside.

settling on a lounge chair bagheera made herself comfortable on the cushion mapi’s head rested on, the defender dozing off without a second thought now bathed in the gloriously warm rays of the barcelona sun.

"good boy! lots of water please handsome." you cooed at hugo as you let him off the lead and he raced over to his water bowl, scratching behind his ears and leaving him to it as ingrid ducked off to use the bathroom.

"cariño? mi amor? maría?" you called out, checking the bedroom with a frown at the now made bed without your girlfriend inside it as you assumed she would still be, always fond of a sleep in on your days off.

chuckling at hugo who'd sprawled out panting on the cool tiles of the kitchen you grabbed a bottle of water for yourself and finally spotted a familiar tattooed hand peeking over the back of the patio furniture.

taking a lavish gulp of water you downed half the bottle, skin prickling with sweat from the rapidly rising temperatures outside, handing the bottle then to ingrid with a gentle peck to her lips before she padded back to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

you topped up hugo’s water and gave his puppy belly a little rub, sitting with him for a moment until he’d fallen asleep on the kitchen floor and you left him be, stroking bagheera who jumped up into the back of the lounge as you passed her by.

you smiled as you stepped outside and made your way toward your other girlfriend who lay asleep in the sun, cap pulled down over her face and toned tanned and tattooed body out on full display, her shorts rolled right up as to not get any odd tan lines.

she stirred as you sat down on the edge of the lounger, snatching her cap and pulling it on as her eyes fluttered open, the older girl squinting up at you tiredly. "hola sleepy." you teased, running a hand through her mane of hair affectionately.

"you left me behind." mapi croaked out, slight pout on her lips as she stole your sunglasses from where they hung from the neckline of your tank top and slipping them down over her eyes. "we tried to wake you mi vida but you refused to get up." you grinned with a shake of your head.

"i do not remember this so it did not happen." mapi dismissed with a flick of her hand, shuffling herself to sit upward a little more. "oh is that how it works baby?" you grinned, the older girl nodding with a hum as her arm reached out to turn her hat backwards on your head.

"think you need to make it up to me for leaving me behind bebita." the girl whispered, pushing herself up further to capture your lips with her own, her hand settling to the back of your neck and easily taking control of the kiss.

"having fun?" you pulled away as ingrid stood behind the chair with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile, arms crossed and changed into a bikini of her own, hair damp from the quick shower she'd taken.

"si, without you." mapi teased, fingers rubbing small circles into the back of your neck as you moved to make room for the taller girl. "again with this sharing problem of yours kjæreste." ingrid tutted, clicking her tongue and settling herself on the lounger, leaning down to kiss the spaniard hello.

"no! off hugo." mapi scowled as the small puppy suddenly appeared to ruin the moment, leaping on top of her as his nails scratched at her stomach and she shoved him off sending the small puppy toppling to the ground.

"maría!" you gasped in shock, pushing her hands off of you and scrambling to to pick up the unfazed puppy who licked at your face as you hurriedly checked him over for any injuries. "you're a bully! you are always so mean to him." you scowled before storming off inside as mapi scoffed, muttering how you’d overreacted and the dog was absolutely fine.

"what! do not tell me you agree with her?" the defender gave ingrid a look as the taller girl raised her eyebrows at the defender. "you treat him very differently to bagheera love, thats not fair." ingrid explained with a small smile. "because i have had bagheera for years, she is my daughter! hugo is...hugo." mapi struggled out with a roll of her eyes.

"yes, her hugo. amor you have seen how attentive and loving she is with him, and do you know why she wanted a puppy so badly?" ingrid took mapi’s hand in hers, squeezing gently as the older girl shook her head no. "to keep her company when we are away, i heard her speaking with alexia about it today on our walk." ingrid revealed, the barcelona captain quite enamoured with your little four legged fur baby she often joined you of a morning to walk with him.

"but she has bagheera we have never left her completely alone!" mapi protested with another huff. "yes, your bagheera. i love her, we all do, but you know having a cat is very different to a dog. much as you are a cat person, she is a dog person amor." ingrid chuckled, kissing away the defenders pout.

"she loves that stupid little dog more than me, you both do." mapi scowled, crossing her arms as ingrid resisted the urge to laugh. "is that what this is about? you are jealous of hugo?" ingrid raised an eyebrow, squeezing mapi's hand again as her other one traced shapes against her bare torso.

"the two of you are always with him. fussing over him and feeding him treats, taking him shopping or for walks or napping with him, he sits in my spot on the sofa now!" mapis scowl deepend as ingrids features softened.

"if you think we love a dog more than you amor you are not as smart as you look." you joined the two of them again, having put hugo down to take a nap in his crate. "excuse me i am trying to be honest about my feelings here, you are always going on about healthy communication." mapi huffed as your body pressed into ingrids from behind, arms wrapped around her neck and chin resting on her shoulder as she kissed your warm skin fondly.

"you are really jealous? you think we spend more time with hugo than with you now?" you asked, voice an octave softer, directing the question to the disgruntled defender glaring up at you.

"sí! you do." mapi nodded firmly, frown unwavering as you rolled your eyes. "well he is having a sleep, so is bagheera. do you need us to make up for neglecting you maría?" your voice switched tones, both your girlfriends bodies tensing as it did and your lips curled into a sultry smile.

"not here!" your seductive facade cracked and you laughed as ingrid turned and suddenly tugged you down properly onto the lounger with them, arms pinned by your head and straddling your hips, the taller girl now hovering over you with a wolfish grin.

"we can’t! we have neighbors." you reminded sternly, though your voice cracked slightly as rough but attentive lips attached to your neck and ingrids hands moved slowly down your body. "then maybe we should give them a show princesa." mapi whispered in your ear, sucking a harsh mark into your skin as ingrids hands teased at the waistband of your shorts.

but gratefully neither of your girlfriends were ever really up for sharing you with anyone other than one another as suddenly all contact dissapeared from your body and you found yourself being pulled back inside.

all three of you hurried to the bedroom, the door quietly closed shut as to not wake up either of the animals as your body was quickly pressed against it, ingrid on one side and mapi on your other.

quiet laughter filled the room as all three of you shared kisses and soft words of endearment, eventually hitting the soft surface of your mattress as mapi leaned against the headboard and you settled yourself to straddle her lap, ingrid pressed up behind you as you both looked to the older girl with matching grins.

"now, where have we been neglecting you that needs some extra love and attention maría?”

[kasagia]

Let me follow

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Fremen!soulmate! reader Summary: You were taught that there were monsters lurking in the darkness. That you should never talk to them—those who are just waiting to get at you in your defenceless state. But how do you avoid something that haunts your dreams every night? And what to do when a nightmare suddenly enters your reality? Warning: violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; soulmate au!; Taglist for Feyd: @avidreader73 Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part II ~•♤♤♤•~

At first you thought it was just a nightmare.

One of those terrifyingly stupid ones that happens when you collapse into bed in exhaustion after a long day of training with your father.

You don't remember exactly how you ended up on Arrakis, but you know for sure that it wasn't your home planet. You may have been too young to remember everything from your past or to have one sure memory about living somewhere else than that one huge dune, but it didn't change that at night you are haunted by images that the human imagination couldn't create on its own.

However, you preferred not to mention it to your father. He kept the story of your little family close to him, not telling anyone from your Sietch any details. For him, the past was supposed to stay in the past. So you didn't push him. The life you had... was, for lack of a better word, enough. You didn't go hungry, you didn't lack water as much as other groups, and you lived a peaceful life far from the Atreides and Harkonnens who tried to take over Arrakis or the cunning plans of the Bene Gesserit. You lived in peace.

Until some time.

It all began with a nightmare…

You shiver as you feel the heat rising from the desert sands surrounding you. A warm wind blows into your eyes, mocking you as it hits grains of sand in your eyes. You curse, rubbing your hand over your eyes as you try to cover them so you can take in as much of your surroundings as the crazy sandstorm will allow you.

In the distance, you see something like a cave carved into a rocky dune. You head there in hopes of finding shelter there. You go slowly, step by step. Sand gets inside your shoes; you feel it everywhere. On the skin, in the hair, on the eyelashes, on the lips. You feel like you're about to choke on it.

The pungent scent of the spice fills your lungs, making you feel stronger and more alert as you wade through the folds of sand.

And suddenly, you hear it. Gentle, dull thumps on the ground. You freeze, realising what they could mean—or rather, what they could attract.

You run ahead even before you notice the sand moving due to the sandworm's arrival. You feel the ground shake as you desperately try to escape the bloodthirsty creature of Arrakis. But, as always, you're too slow. The sandworm emerges, engulfing you completely. Darkness envelopes you as you feel yourself falling.

Only this time you don't wake up with a racing heart or jump out of bed with rapid breathing, grabbing for the sword that rests safely by your bed.

No. This time, you land in a large, empty, black room.

You shudder, wrapping your hands around yourself and rubbing your arms as you feel the coldness of the room hit your skin. You frown as you walk over to the mirror, which seems to be the only thing in the room illuminated by the dim glow of the torchlight on the wall. You're wearing a long black nightgown; your nails are painted black, as are your lips. Your skin is a little paler than usual, but you're relieved to no longer have to deal with the sands of Arrakis. You are fed up with this planet every day, seeing it in your dreams only kills you more…

You don't recognise this place, but something about the darkness surrounding you makes you feel uneasy. Your heart quickens as you look for a way out of the empty, black chamber.

Your bare feet lead you into the darkness, all you can hear is your breathing, your heartbeat, and your quiet footsteps as you take quick steps, trying to have as little contact as possible between your skin and the cold, black marble underneath your feet.

You start to hear whispers. Quiet, feminine. You don't understand most of them; they all merge into a tangle of sounds, from which it is difficult to distinguish single words. You walk forward, only to once again stand in front of the same mirror as at the beginning of your journey.

You examine the black frame, looking for some hidden mechanism they might be hiding, convinced that there is some secret passage hidden behind the mirror. You run your fingertips lightly over the frame of the mirror and flinch when you accidentally prick your finger.

You hiss as a trickle of blood runs down your finger. You put it on your lips, but before you can lick the blood off it, you see in the mirror that someone's large, white hand is firmly gripping your wrist, stopping you from doing so.

You freeze when your eyes meet the icy blue irises of a man emerging from the shadows behind you. Your heart beats faster when you see his white, bald head and eyebrowless face. The sneer on his face allows you to see his pitch-black teeth for a moment, which makes you shiver.

Harkonnen.

You feel him pressing his chest against your back. He wraps his other hand around your waist like a snake, making you feel trapped, like you can't breathe anymore.

Somehow, you can't move your gaze from the mirror. And even when you're in Harkonnen's dangerous grasp, all you can do is look at him, or more precisely, into his eyes. You are hypnotised as if you have never seen one in your life, as you have never killed one. You can't shake the feeling that he's familiar to you. Your stupid heart calms down at his proximity, but your mind screams at you to run away from the enemy. And it's right. As always. But you're too stunned to listen to reason, too enchanted by the developments you're seeing in the mirror in front of you.

As he tightens his grip on your wrist, you break out of whatever strange spell you're under, letting your survival instincts take over. You try to fight him, to break free from his grip, but he doesn't seem to care that you are struggling against him. He directs your hand with your bleeding finger to your neck, leaving a trail of blood from your mouth to your neck, collarbone, and shoulder.

You shiver as he finishes, and, keeping his gaze on you in the mirror, he guides your hand to his mouth. The inside of his mouth is warm, his tongue wraps around your finger, drawing in every drop of blood that still escapes from the wound that is healing. He sucks up the last of your blood, licking his lips as he releases your finger.

"Sweet." His soft purring in your ear gives you goosebumps.

He leans down and places a wet kiss on your shoulder. His tongue caresses your skin as he licks up the blood he placed there earlier. You stare at the mirror, frozen, as his pale, almost white skin touches yours as he follows a trail of blood, leaving small bites and a black streak in his wake. You're not sure if it was his saliva that was black or if it was from the paint they probably used on their teeth and the inside of their mouths (or at least you hoped they weren't naturally black).

You fight against him as he peppers your neck with kisses, leaving a few hickeys there. But he's too strong, and with your movements, you rub against him, not causing him any serious pain, which somehow makes him even more aroused. He is pressing the evidence of his... excitement uncomfortably against your ass.

Suddenly, his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck as he turn you to face him and pins you to the mirror. Looking at him through the mirror was completely different from looking at him straight in the eyes. It all felt… more real, however real a figment of your horrible imagination might feel.

He leans down, making you very aware that he had one spot left where your blood was still. Your lips. You try to move away from him, but the more you press yourself against the mirror, the more his body presses against you.

"Oh, she's a little warrior... that makes all of it even sweeter." He chuckles darkly, playing with a strand of your hair. You shiver, feeling his hard length press against your clothed core.

The whispers around you turn into screams and chants as he leans down to kiss the last drop of blood from your lips. You turn your head, causing his pale lips to land on your cheek. You feel his breath against your skin as he chuckles again. He takes the opportunity to lick a path from your cheekbone to your temple before catching your jaw in a tight grip.

"You won't get far, little mouse. Accept your fate." He says, leaning in again, his nose brushing against yours, you feel the cold radiating from him as he digs his fingers hard into your skin as he lazily and leisurely brings his lips to yours...

Feyd opens his eyes as the metal tray clatters against the black marble floor of his chamber.

He automatically reaches for the dagger hidden under his pillow and throws it at one of his concubines, who accidentally dropped the tray down. The other two freeze, staring at their dead sister. The dead body falls to the floor with a thud. The blood quickly begins to pool around the body of the dead harpy.

Feyd smiles, seeing both fear and hunger in their eyes when they see the opportunity to eat good meat. Pathetic. He had warned them not to wake him up today.

"Clean up and get out." He growls at them, furious. He carefully watches as they carry out the body (presumably to feast on it as the remnants of humanity within them lose to starvation) and clean the floor before obediently leaving his chambers.

Furious, he falls on the bed. He covers his eyes with his hand in a feeble attempt to return to his dream and taste your lips. He wonders if maybe it wasn't for the better... after all, he should have tasted the real thing instead of toying with you in dreamland, where his options were... quite limited.

He sighs, taking from the bedside table an empty vial of magical liquid that an old Bene Gesserit witch had given him. To connect with his soulmate in a dream.

As a little boy, he was prophesied that he would only become emperor if his soulmate stood by his side. Of course, his uncle and brother made it difficult for him to find you, believing it to be the mad ravings of an old witch. They said it wasn't the time, that he should train to be a warrior and not play some pathetic character into a romance history, that Giedi Prime needed him more, and that he shouldn't believe the old witches' prophecies and the stupid initials on his wrist. His uncle believes that he will bring him to the highest throne himself. That he doesn't need any whore whose initials match those on Feyd's wrist. That his soulmate will only weaken him.

Soulmates were rare on his 'home planet'. The baron didn't have his. His brother was too cowardly and inept to even think about looking for his own. People here rarely loved anyone other than themselves. Feyd was perfectly fine with it. Until visions began to haunt him in the night. About his soulmate. The hazy future he might have had began to plague him more and more often as he approached his age of maturity.

Before his father died and Feyd killed his mother, he remembers glimpses of good times. Where he was loved. Where he was the apple of his parents' eyes, who were each other's soulmates and loved each other more than life itself. So much so that after his father's death, his mother stopped living. She just existed, not paying attention to anything or anyone, including her own son. Her own blood… By killing her, Feyd ended her suffering and his own at the same time. Did he regret it? Not at all. Not after the training he received at the hands of the Baron.

He told himself that he only wanted to find you because he has promised a great future with you as his wife. That he has to have you if he wants to get to the top. But the passage of time only intensified his sense of loneliness. Longing for someone who is meant for him and who is supposed to be his and only his. Entirely. Willingly. Always by his side. He runs his fingertip thoughtfully over the initials tattooed on his wrist—a daily reminder of the one thing he wants most and which is out of his reach.

Feyd got used to always getting what he wanted. The ruthlessness and cruelty he learned under his uncle's supervision ensured that his every whim would be fulfilled. Either by himself or as a result of his service to the baron when he received gifts from him. But lately, he hasn't been happy with anything. He passively accepted the baron's praise, new concubines, blades, and other gifts. It no longer mattered to him. His ambitions began to grow. And after they had successfully disposed of House Atreides, Feyd realised the possibilities before him. Imperial throne. The promised golden future with his soulmate was within his reach. He just needed to find you and catch you in his iron grip.

You occupied his days, nights, and thoughts when he was fighting in the arena and at the extremely boring council meetings. And it's not like Feyd fell in love. He was incapable of love. Not after everything he's been through. But there was something irresistibly tempting about the idea of having someone who was completely HIS.

He considered it more of an obsession, a desire for something he had never had, something no one had shown him—care, affection, and devotion. And in his visions... in his visions he saw you giving him all these things. So he decided to make it a reality. And when he gets tired of you... he will always have the title of emperor, which you are destined to provide for him. He didn't know exactly how, and maybe he had previously dismissed the Bene Gesserit's prophecies and plots as a bunch of nonsense, but this one seemed... quite good to fulfil and to believe in.

"You asked for me, my na-baron." The artist he commissioned to draw your portrait stands in his doorway, shaking like jelly. He probably heard about how he killed one of his concubines this morning. Feyd had to start getting rid of them. After all, once he has you, he won't need them anymore.

"What took you so long?" He growls at him irritably as he gets out of bed and puts on a black silk robe. Maybe he would have laughed at the terrified man if his first encounter with you in dreams hadn't been so brutally interrupted. He had to find that old hag to give him more of that liquid...

"I arrived as quickly as I could, my lord na-baron. Please let me show you what I managed to create."

Feyd nods at him impatiently, letting him spread out his sketches on the desk. Feyd snaps his fingers at the maid waiting at the door. She pours him a glass of water, which he takes as he lazily saunters along the desk, assessing the sketches the man was supposed to create based on Feyd's description.

"The nose is too small. The jaw is too sharp. Is it supposed to be a woman? Burn it before I burn you. Breasts and hips are too big. Do you think my soulmate has a bulge? It looks like a caricature made by a child." He grades the drawings one by one, going through the dozens of sketches the artist has made over the past three days.

Just as Feyd is about to pick up the dagger from the chest of drawers nearby to kill an incompetent artist, he notices one particular portrait that almost perfectly captures you and your beauty. He takes it between two fingers and looks at it carefully.

"Hmm..." he hums, drinking water. He hands this drawing to the artist. "My congratulations, you managed to keep your head and prove your usefulness. Fix it. Eyes a little smaller, cheeky twinkle. I want a version of this in different outfits. Nobility, beggar, knight, whatever comes to your mind, except a whore, otherwise you'll end up like one. How long will it take you?"

"I…um…a week, my lord?" He almost rolls his eyes and loses his patience with him. If he had a dagger close at hand, he would definitely have plunged it into the man's throat by now.

"You only need one hand to draw. So don't test your lucky, or I will make sure you only have that one. I want to have portaits which fully reflects the beauty of my na-baroness by the end of the week - before I leave to Arrakis. Understood?" He asks, appreciating that the artist has the decency to at least show real fear.

"Yes, my na-baron."

"So don't waste my air."

The relieved artist quickly leaves the room before he changes his mind. Feyd nods to the maid, who follows the man and closes the door behind her. Feyd looks at the portraits on the desk again.

No higher families had a daughter who looked like you. So he had to expand the scope of his search and give orders to his soldiers to... gently capture you (or women like you) and bring them to him. After seeing you clearly in a dream, and not as the result of some distant vision of the future that wasn't that clear, he knew exactly what face he was looking for. He also had initials.

He was thinking about you as his fingertips traced the two precious letters on his wrist. He will find you. He'll look into any hole to do it. You cannot hide from him for long.

You jump up from your bed, your heart beating rapidly as you breathe heavily after waking up from another nightmare.

This went on for a week. You'd be transported from your usual nightmare about Arrakis and put into a black room with a Harkonnen who... was doing completely different things to you than they normally did.

You blush, wiping your sweaty forehead as you remember all the... almost lewd dreams you've had. You curse your imagination for coming up with such a terrible and embarrassing scenario. You began to fear that you were developing some sick desires towards a nation that brutally persecuted your brothers and sisters, disturbed your peace, and murdered more than one friend you had managed to make here.

You should be dreaming of killing them, not of being… groped and defiled by one of them. Especially on the day when you were supposed to rescue your people imprisoned by the Harkonnens.

"Karamakala." Your friend enters your tent. "Move your ass; they're calling for sandworm."

You roll your eyes when she calls you by your tribal name. Due to your… unique skills, the Naib of your sietch bestowed it on you. The miracle of the desert.

Your father wasn't happy about that. That name attracted attention he never wanted. He preferred it when you stayed in the shadows, away from the people you travelled with in the desert. The fact that he even allowed you to go on a rescue mission with them and others was a miracle. He made his decision only through the persuasion of your Naib, who said that only if you were coming with them would they have a chance to recover the prisoners and safely go back to your camp.

You and your friend left the tent fully prepared for the mission, joining the group while waiting for the sandworm to appear. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to feel the monster breaking through the sand. What you felt most strongly was the heartbeat of your companions, but when you focused a little more, you could feel a small heartbeat in the distance, buried several metres beneath the sands of Arrakis. You twist your fingers, controlling the flow of blood from the sandworm's arteries, trying to direct it more towards where you were waiting with your hooks to dig into its body.

"Save your strength for the Harkonnens." Your father's voice booms from behind your shoulder. You sigh and let your hand fall freely, stopping playing with the animal's blood. "I want you close to me; in my sight, no stupid heroic actions, okay? We're in and out as fast as all hell breaks loose, or we get our people back."

"It's just a small base. Even without being outnumbered, we would be able to kill them all."

"Not now. They changed power. Now the baron's youngest nephew gives the orders. A psychopathic, bloodthirsty madman. But he's a good strategist; you have to give him that. He took back control of parts of Arrakis that Muad'Dib had managed to retake, so Harkonnens now again have the lands they once took. And they are not going to stop until the Arrakis is completely theirs. If they go further south we will have to leave this planet." He speaks quietly, carefully observing the people around you. You frown, staring at him in surprise.

"But you said that here was the safest for us to live. Are we supposed to run away like cowards?" You ask indignantly.

He always presented you with a fait accompli, with a decision that he made for you. Which was supposed to be best for you and your safety. But you were tired of constantly running and hiding. You wanted to take your life into your own hands. Contribute to something rather than passively watching the decline of the people you grew up with.

"It is better to be a coward than to be a dead hero. Since you were born, all I have done is protect you. So don't doubt me, daughter. I know what I'm doing." Your father scolds you, readying your hooks as you see sand moving in the distance due to the sandworm's movements.

"It would be much easier if you told me what you are protecting me from, father." You scoff at him, getting even more angry when a sudden gust of wind sends sand flying across your face, stopping in your hair. Your father chuckles, at which you glare madly at him.

"From a fate that is not seeming to be very kind for you."

"Well sometimes we have to accept it." You position yourself next to him, preparing to attach yourself to the body of the sandworm that would take you to the small Harkonnen's military base.

"As long as I'm breathing, I won't let this happen. We create our fate. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He says that before you both find yourself on the animal's back. You hide your face behind scarves and safety glasses, preparing for the long road.

Your thoughts involuntarily wander to the Harkonnen you have been dreaming about lately. Maybe a sleep potion could help you get rid of those strange, erotic dreams where one of these monsters is trying to seduce you. You had to test it later.

Feyd takes a swing, driving his spiked whip into the body of a Fremen his men recently captured. He rarely deals with prisoners himself, but lately, when he drinks a Bene Gesserit potion every night just to meet you in his dreams, he feels... frustrated. And he knew of no better way than to take it out on his enemies.

He swings his whip. The man's moans come to him as he recalls his last encounter with you, from which he woke up a few hours ago.

He watches you from the darkness of the chamber. You look gorgeous wearing a black silk nightgown that hugs your body to the delight of his eyes. He notices the muscles you had to develop during combat or training. You must have been much more than just a delicate, pretty petal.

Which made him extremely happy. He liked a good fight. He enjoyed winning them even more.

He approaches you silently, as always, and wraps his arms around your waist. He hums contentedly against your ear, fingertips roaming your body as he makes sure you can't break away from his grip and you're pressed tightly against him.

"You should be used to me being close to you by now, my little warrior." He whispers in your ear, stopping you from fighting him in any way. He doesn't like the way you're so tense in his arms, but he's more than ready to coerce you, gently or not, into cooperating with him.

"Get your hands off me, Harkonen dog!" You growl, elbowing him between the ribs. Feyd grabs your wrists and twists them behind your back, making sure you can't move them. You gasp as he pushes you against the wall, pressing his growing length against your ass.

"Relax, I won't hurt you… yet. Keep acting like that, and I'll tie you up so you won't be able to struggle anymore." He whispers in his husky voice into your ear. He nuzzles your temple, trailing it to your neck. You hold your breath as you feel his teeth graze against your tender skin.

You know that in a moment he will sink his teeth into your body, that he will start marking you with tiny bites and hickeys. This time, however, you want to win the fight with him. You are fully ready to use against him everything you learned on Arrakis.

The moment his teeth pierce your skin, you reach for the blade at his side and push him away from you. You stick the blade out at him, making sure to make a cut on his shoulder before bringing the steel to his pale throat.

He chuckles darkly, watching you carefully as his fingers reach out to his thick black blood flowing from his wound. He licks the blood from his fingers, making sure your eyes follow the way his pink tongue wraps around his fingers, sucking the black liquid from them.

"Clever little thing… believe me, you don't want to know my wrath. Put it down. It's not a toy... well, not for you." He takes a step towards you. Before he manages to get any closer to you, you press the blade against his skin, causing a small cut along his jawline and at his Adam's apple.

Fascinated by the way the black blood flows gently down his throat, you don't notice as he knocks the dagger from your hand. He throws it behind him, causing it to fall to the floor with a thud as he reaches for you.

You growl, kicking, trying to break free from his grip as he carries you across the room. Your efforts intensify when you feel the smooth, velvety material of the sheets beneath you.

He hovers above you, one of his hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the mattress above your head. His hard length rubs against your core through the fabric of your clothes. You sigh, trying to push him away or bite him when he leans down to tease the skin of your neck again.

"You smell so beautiful, so different. My little soulmate. So fierce. So brave. My little warrior. I could teach you so many things… if only you would stop hiding from me." You shiver as his fingers trail under your black nightgown. He cups his hand around your breast and plays with your nipple, pinching and nibbling it, wanting to see the little pebbled mounds that lift the black fabric of your clothes. He rolls up the fabric of your nightgown and rubs himself against your bare core, groaning at the way you soak his pants with your unwanted arousal. He throws his shirt aside and grabs your throat in a tight grip, forcing you to look into his eyes whether you want to or not. "But you know what? No matter how far or fast you run, no matter how deep you hide, I will find you. I will find you in every corner of the world. I will follow you. Follow after every trace of you, whether you let me or not, and I WILL find you. I will catch you in my arms, I will dig my claws into you, and I will not let you go. Enjoy your freedom during the day, little warrior, while you still can. But in the darkness of the night, you are utterly mine."

You growl in anger, making one last attempt to fight him off. You lean towards him and bite down roughly on his neck. He groans, digging his fingers and nails into your hips, making you gasp as you feel him leave crescent-shaped marks on your skin.

You take advantage of his moment of inattention and dig your nails into his chest, dragging them across his collarbones and down to his abdominal muscles. You push him away from you, kicking him out of bed, and just as Feyd's head lands on the floor, he wakes up from his dream.

"Na-Baron. We… The Fremen attacked the south gate." One of his soldiers hesitantly approaches him. Feyd glances at him briefly, selecting his dagger from the body of a prisoner, but still watches the soldier out of the corner of his eye.

"What do you mean they attacked us?"

"These rats want to retrieve the transport of prisoners that arrived last week, my lord." The man replies, horrified by the calmness with which Feyd addresses him.

Everyone knew perfectly well that the young Na-Baron could compliment your fighting skills one moment and then slit your throat like nothing happened. He was dangerous in any state of humour. This was common knowledge and opinion that Feyd had been working on for a long time.

He didn't need a reason to do something.

"So gather two troops. Let's have some fun with them. It's not every day that they come willingly and eagerly to their slaughter." Feyd responds with a sneer, readying his blades. It was exactly what he needed—to take his frustration out on those rats who thought they could outsmart him and his men.

You run through the corridors of the Harkonnen's base from the soldiers with your friend by your side. They held your people for several days without water or food; most of them couldn't move on their own, so as soon as you saw a face you had known since childhood among the prisoners, you threw the man's arm over yours and dragged him to the place where the entire squad was supposed to gather.

You hold your breath and hide in one of the side corridors. You hold him close to you and breathe softly, trying not to attract anyone's attention. You manage to reach your group of men safely, but that's where your luck ends.

Within moments, a group of Harkonnens surrounds you. You must disperse. Each of you is on your own after you manage to attach your unconscious friends to a sandworm's body so they can survive the trip to your sietch.

You manage to avoid most of the Harkonnen soldiers, and you kill those who get in your way without blinking an eye. You're halfway to the second emergency exit you and your men had marked out before raiding the base when you bump into someone as you run to another corridor.

You gasp, trying to regain your balance. You freeze when you recognise the black Harkonnen's armour on the arms, which keeps you from falling to the floor. You look up and freeze, seeing the same blue irises that haunt you in your nightmares.

"Well, well... what do we have here?" You're shaking. His voice in real life is as hoarse, deep, and dark as in your nightmares. He is exactly as you dreamed of him. You hate the way your body somehow recognises him and automatically relaxes in his arms—the way his scent and closeness have become familiar to you.

You struggle in his arms and manage to push him away from you. You run as fast as you can, trying to lose him among the corridors. You hear his raspy laugh behind you before his quick footsteps begin to echo down the empty halls as he follows after you.

You scream as he lunges at you and pins you to the stone floor. You struggle under him, kicking and trying to scratch him, but he grabs your wrists in his strong grip.

"Take it easy, little warrior. We knew from the beginning how it would end. Do not move. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you try to escape." You sigh, closing your eyes. You freeze, focusing on your surroundings, your mind racing as you wonder how to get out of his arms and this place. You shiver when you feel his nose brush against yours. "Exactly like this. Beautifully. That's my pretty girl. Who would have thought you would be one of those rats?"

"Be careful with your words." You growl, enduring the intense gaze of his blue eyes.

He laughs hoarsely and leans in. His full lips brush against yours in a kiss. First, he takes his time checking how far he can go, but when he sees that you are not trying to bite him, push him away, or run away, he deepens the kiss. His hand tangles in your hair, and the other frees your wrists to trace you through your Fremen attire.

For a moment, you allow yourself to lose yourself in the feeling of his lips, the way he caresses your lips so gently and with such passion, and the way he practically wants to devour you just because he actually can—that this is not one of your dreams but reality. A reality that Feyd was yearning for so long—too long—to even admit.

Eventually, however, you manage to break free from his strange charm. You run your hands down his chest to his hips. He moans into your mouth, entwining his tongue with yours. You reach for his dagger and stab him in the back without blinking an eye. You push him off of you, and, ignoring his growl, you get up and continue running away.

Your heart is beating like crazy, and your muscles are starting to ache from exerting yourself for so long, but you continue running until you can no longer hear any footsteps behind you. You sigh in relief as you reach a group of other Fremen. You are getting ready to evacuate; you are about to summon a sandworm when another group of Harkonnens attacks you again.

You look around in panic, searching for your father in the crowd, but you can't find him anywhere. Your heart speeds up, and adrenaline rushes through you, speeding up your reactions to the blows. You fight like crazy, not stopping even for a moment. However, you notice that slowly, the Harkonnens are starting to win. You signal to your companions and retreat into the desert. You release a small bomb whose main purpose is to raise the sand and create a cover for you.

The sands of Arrakis swirl around you. You run forward, trying to get as far away from the base as possible. As far away from HIM as possible.

Your lungs hurt from the sand you inhale. You want to cough and cry from the sand getting into your eyes, but you don't stop running. You gasp as the sand beneath your feet suddenly begins to move strangely. Strangely familiar. You curse under your breath, realising that the sandworm is about to appear in a second.

And suddenly, you feel like being back in your nightmare. You see the mouth of a sandworm again. You stare at his teeth again, a black abyss that is soon going to swallow you completely. You stand there frozen, completely forgetting about all your training, as if you had accepted a long time ago that this is how you were going to die.

And everything happens exactly as in your nightmare. Only this time, as you surrender to the darkness around you, you hear the roar of the ship's engine and the harsh language of the Harkonnens when you pass out.

You feel your head pounding. Huge pain, as if thousands of tiny needles were being stuck into your temples. You open your eyes, squinting as you adjust to the dimness around you. Judging by the immense pain you felt, you definitely weren't dead. Or you did, and you were in hell now; you weren't sure yet. You look around you, noticing a fire in the middle of the small cave you were in. You lean back on your elbows and freeze when you see Harkonnen's bald, pale head.

You get up silently and move to where your gun was, looking carefully at the man kneeling by the radio who was trying to transmit a signal. With a knife in your hand, you begin to examine your surroundings more closely. You notice that the entrance to the cave has been blocked by a ship. If you wanted to escape, you had to get past or kill Harkonnen and guide the ship out of this place.

"If I were you, I wouldn't do that, little warrior." A shiver runs through you as you hear the familiar, raspy voice that has tormented you in your dreams many times. You tighten your grip on the blade's handle and point the tip of it at him, maintaining your fighting stance. "You have a torn ankle ligament, a minor concussion, and you're dehydrated. Even with your knowledge of the desert, you won't survive there when a sandstorm rages. Here." He turns to you for a moment and throws the water bottle at you. You grab it with one hand, still eyeing him warily.

He speaks something in his language; you only manage to recognise a few words, such as Na-Baron, Dune, reinforcements, ship, and your location data. When he finishes, he stands up, turns to you, and furrows his hairless eyebrows, watching you closely.

"Drink. You'll feel better." He says this and sits down by the fire as if nothing had happened. You blink a few times, staring at him in shock as you try to understand why he acts so strangely... calm. You step back and hiss as your foot goes out of alignment, straining the torn muscle. "I told you so."

"Where are we?" You ask, wincing at the sound of your hoarse voice. He stares pointedly at the bottle of water in your hands, but you'd rather die than try anything he gave you.

He sighs, annoyed, and stands up. You raise your knife, pointing it at him as he starts to walk towards you. However, he doesn't stop, only when the tip of the blade pierces gently into his chest. He reaches for the water bottle and unscrews it. He takes a small sip and licks his lips, giving you a glimpse of his black teeth.

"Not far from our base. Your people summoned a sandworm. If I hadn't flown the ship to you and taken you away, it would have swallowed you. A moment later, a sandstorm came, and I had to take us to a safe place. We'll wait it out here, and you'll come back with me to the main stronghold. So be a good girl and listen to me while I feel like going easy on you. I guess you can do this for me for saving you, right, my desert rose?"

"You do one decent thing and expect me to submit to you? I didn't ask you to save me, and besides, I think in the grand scheme of things, one saved life doesn't do anything to make up for the many others that you took." You reply furiously and take the water bottle from him. You take a few sips, appreciating the way it soothes the dryness of your chapped lips and throat.

"Said the woman who killed 10 of my men with a small knife." He replies, amused. His eyes linger on your mouth for a moment as you lick your lips, spreading the holy water across them. Feyd has a strong desire to lean in and kiss you; maybe even let you stick your little knife into him...

"It's not my fault they are so incompetent." You say, pushing past him and walking towards the fire. The night was starting to fall, and it was starting to get colder in the cave. You sit next to the fire, wrapping your arms around yourself and staring into the flames as you try to ignore HIS presence.

"Things I could do to you…" He mumbles to himself as you brush your arm against his. Your scent reaches his nostrils, and Feyd closes his eyes, inhaling it like a drug. He imagines things he wanted to do to you, things that would make him feel more closely that sweet scent coming from you.

Goosebumps appear on your skin as he takes a few steps closer to you and stands behind you. You try to ignore him, but the burning sensation where his initials are carved into your wrist keeps you from forgetting who the Harkonnen you are trapped with is. You tense as he drops to his knees next to you. He places his hand on your ankle, and you almost make a move to kick him when you feel his low growl in your ear.

"Relax. I just want to check your leg. You almost lost it in the mouth of a sandworm." With one hand, he pushes you to lean against his chest. You reluctantly let him, becoming more and more aware of the burning sensation in your leg.

He takes off your shoe and places it in your hands. He takes his time, slowly peeling off the layers of fabric. You are surprised to see that you already have a dressing—a dressing that is soaked in your blood. You shiver, feeling his fingertips on your skin as he unwraps the bandage. You hiss as he tears the fabric away from your slick skin, fully showing you your wound. A few centimetres deeper, and you wouldn't be able to move it.

"I need to disinfect this again. When we get back to base, we'll give you the anti-venom serum." He hums, leaving you for a moment. He walks over to the ship and pulls out a first-aid kit. You wince as you move so you can rest your back against the cave wall.

"I'm not coming back with you anywhere." You growl, still gripping your knife tightly, though in your current state, you realise you're not that much of a threat to him. He snorts at your response, kneeling down next to you. You bite your lip as he disinfects your wound and begins to bandage it.

"Hush, little warrior. You're talking nonsense because of the effects of the venom." His condescending tone makes your blood boil. You tilt your leg to make it harder for him to bandage you, and he just gives you a furious look before returning to his task without a word. You frown, staring at him. To be honest, you would rather expect him to stab you, cut you into pieces, and eat you than voluntarily take care of you and your health.

"Why are you doing this?" He stops what he's doing and looks at you like you're an idiot, like you asked the most absurd question possible.

He reaches for your hand. You tense up, ready to elbow him in the teeth, but you stop when you see him gently roll up the fabric of your linen shirt and wrap his hand around your wrist. You shiver as his thumb strokes the initials on your wrist.

"Can't you guess, a snarky little thing?" You remove your hand from his grip and hug your knees to your chest, curling into a ball and watching him warily.

"You do not know me. You kill people like me without blinking an eye."

"I do." He says, staring at you intensely, as if that fact had no significance and shouldn't affect your opinion of him. "And you kill people like me. I guess we can call it even."

"I do it only because you are invading our land and people! You are desecrating our holy places; you have no respect for our culture; you treat us worse than... don't look at me like that." You whisper the last sentence, moving closer to the wall as he leans into you. You swallow, shifting your gaze from his blue irises to his bloody hands. Large, rough, bloody hands. Bloody hands that could touch you so well in your dreams.

"Like what?" He asks hoarsely, reaching his hand to cup your cheek. You shiver as he spreads your burgundy blood there. You close your eyes and breathe shakily, which is your biggest mistake. He takes advantage of your distraction and leans down to lick the blood from your cheek.

He moves away from you. His eyes are locked on you as he wraps his lips around the finger of his other hand. You lick your lips involuntarily, watching him lick your blood from his fingers. You shake your head and clear your throat, moving away from him as far as you can, feeling one of the rocks dig into your back.

"Like that." You mutter, shifting your gaze to the flames in the fire.

"Why?"

"You know why. We… we are from two completely different worlds."

"Are we?" He asks, moving closer to you. You shiver as his arms wrap around you, and he rests his chin on your shoulder. His warm breath against your ear makes you feel warmer—something you don't want to admit to yourself and something he noticed the moment your shoulders shuddered slightly at the coldness emitting from the cave walls. You still hold the knife stubbornly in your hand, as if it would somehow protect you from Harkonnen.

You sit there in silence. You let him cuddle you, enjoying a little of the warmth he gives you. You sigh, trying to ignore how good you felt in his arms and how his scent enveloped you nicely, making your eyes close on their own. However, you try to remain vigilant, still unable to trust him in any way.

You sigh as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his chest. He lies down on the blanket he spread for you earlier and covers you with the other one, making sure that you are comfortable and warm. You don't try to argue with him or get out of his arms. You know there's no point in fighting him. It's starting to get colder, and he's becoming a better source of heat with each minute you are in his arms.

You know that if anyone in your sietch saw you right now, cuddled up to the Harkonnen, sharing your body heat with him, you would be banished, maybe even sentenced to death for associating with the enemy.

You had very conflicted feelings about him. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you to come to your senses and plunge your knife into Harkonnen's heart while you had the chance, but your heart, a strange instinct, was drawing you to him, encouraging you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and listen to his soft breathing.

Your heart speeds up slightly as he reaches out to intertwine his hand with yours, the one that still holds the knife. He pulls you closer to him, his arms trapping you in an iron-tight embrace. His lips brush against your earlobe as he whispers to you, his husky tone of voice giving you goosebumps.

"Are you afraid of me, my little warrior?"

You swallow and close your eyes, grateful that he can't see your face, which is blushing involuntarily. You wonder what's wrong with you to react to him like this and why the mark of your soulmate, or rather, his initials on your wrist, burns you hotter than the sun of Arrakis has ever done.

"Of course I am. You're a Harkonnen. You are our greatest enemy. I hate you just as much as I fear you."

"And as much as you desire me?" A gasp escapes your lips as his other hand is suddenly under your clothes. You can't help but moan as his fingertips tease your bundle of nerves, gradually moving to the spot where your juices ungodly and humiliatingly leak out of you. Your water. "You think I can't smell you? That I don't see the way you tremble every time I touch you? The way warmth radiates from you every time I'm this close? I may not have known you here while awake, but I know you from our dreams. I recognise your every little reaction to me, to my touch, to my kisses. And what's more, my little warrior, you are breaking more than one law of your people. You give me your water in such a sinfully delicious way, and you don't even know my name."

You squirm in his arms, but he holds you tightly with his other hand, so all you do is rub against his hand in your feeble attempt to escape. You tighten your grip on the knife, but that's all you can do as he explores areas of you no one has ever had access to before. You're helpless, too dizzy from the sudden, intense pleasure he also gave you in your dreams. You never thought you could feel such... sensations while awake. Pleasant experiences.

"Maybe I should give you something you can moan and scream, hmm? Tell me, sweetheart, do you want to know whose fingers are touching you? Who do you give your precious water to? Who showed you things in our dreams that you would be ashamed to mention to your people?"

It's embarrassing. The way he made you melt under his touch. All you could do was moan and grind against his hand as he brought you immense pleasure. You move your hand with the knife and press the blade against his neck at the back of his head. You trace patterns on the skin of his bald head with your finger, resting your head on his shoulder as a wave of an unfamiliar feeling washes over you, cutting off all your senses. All you can feel is your core and his fingers as they continue to push into your depths, intensifying your indescribable pleasure.

"Feyd." He whispers into your ear, biting the lobe. You repeat his name stupidly, moaning and screaming it as he teases your over-aroused core, making your water flow out of you uncontrollably a second time, wetting your pants and his hand.

When he finally removes his hand from your pants, you shiver uncontrollably, curled up on his chest. You breathe quickly, staring at the cave's stone ceiling, waiting for your brain to finally reconnect with your body. You gasp as he pushes his fingers through your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself.

"Don't waste your water. Sweet, right, little warrior? When we get home, I'll spend a week between those beautiful legs. You'll wrap them tight around me, won't you? Will you dig your heels and claws into me, pressing my face against this wonderful source of water in this damn desert?" The way he talks to you, so blatant and disgusting, should make you stab a knife into his throat without a moment's hesitation. Instead, you let the blade fall next to his head as you tried to recover from what you just experienced. You're warm. Hot. And you want more. You need more.

He takes your hand and guides it to the bulge in his pants. You sigh, feeling all of his glory. And suddenly you feel extremely empty.

"Mmm… another time. Sleep." He mumbles and presses a kiss on your temple. His arms wrap painfully tight around you as he makes sure there is no space between you. The cocoon of blankets keeps you warm from your... last sensation at his hands. And you feel as embarrassed about it as you feel comfortable lying in the warmth.

You allow yourself to listen to his calm breathing. He don't fall asleep. Neither do you. You both wait to see who will faint from exhaustion first, and as much as you want to surrender to sleep, you know that the moment you close your eyes, you seal your fate forever. You will irreversibly become Harkonnen's prisoner.

Feyd's prisoner. Na-Baron's captive. You don't want this fate.

So close your eyes, relax your muscles, and slow down your breathing. Pretending to fall asleep is all you can fool him with, because yes, he saw you in your dreams in various situations and knew you inside and out, but he didn't know one thing. He didn't know what you looked like when you fell asleep.

You didn't know what he looked like when he was sleeping either, so you took a little risk with your not-so-well-thought-out plan, but you knew it was the only way to somehow escape from Harkonnen's grasp.

You wait a bit for him to relax, too. He puts his chin on your head, hugging you like some cuddly toy. But you know better than to assume that these monsters have some cuddly toys. If anything, teethers with spikes.

You lie there for a good few minutes, maybe even hours, going over your escape plan in your head. You breathe calmly, thinking about what you will do if you fail... you can always stab yourself if things don't go your way.

You quickly reach for the knife and plunge it into his knee. You twist it, damaging his joint, so he can't follow you, and you stand up. His screams and growls make you ignore the pain in your leg and run towards the ship that was blocking the exit. Somehow you manage to open it, your hands shaking as you unlock the door. Somehow he manages to get up and walk towards you, approaching dangerously fast, but you are more agile than him. You lock yourself inside the ship, break the window on the other side, and run forward.

You ignore his screams and threats and run deep into the desert, knowing full well that he won't catch up with you. The sandstorm had long ended, and the sun had risen again over Arrakis. You were in your territory; you were unstoppable.

You feel remorse, but only a little. You know perfectly well that the Harkonnens were incapable of love. You would be his prey and nothing else. You had to run away from him as far as you could.

And if he wanted to chase you? You would let him.

He could follow you wherever he wanted, but here on Arrakis, he could never catch you. And you really hoped you wouldn't have to run away from him to another planet.

[killerlookz]

Dirty Dancing | Joost Klein (Groupie Love Series)

Part II of the Groupie Love Series starts immediately after part I

description: joost klein x groupie!f! reader- following their hookup, Joost learns that reader will be in Belgium for one more day and decides to invite her out clubbing, wanting to see her once more.

warnings: 18+ NSFW, MDNI, semi-public sex (i guess technically), unprotected P in V, drunk-ish sex... do not post my work to other social medias, this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable, and please block the rpf tag

word count: 4870

"Did you enjoy the show tonight?"

You inhale, allowing the smell of Joost's burning cigarette to enter your lungs,

"I think I enjoyed a little more than the show," Your eyelids hang low, your words are slow, almost sloppy- as if you had just a little too much to drink.

A knowing smirk continues to linger on Joost's face, "Really, did you the show?"

"I wouldn't have traveled to three different countries to see you if I hadn't been enjoying myself." You tilt your head to the side, taking in his features- he was the sort of perfect that kind of hurt to look at, each of his features in perfect harmony with one eachother, "I didn't travel all this way just to try to sleep with you- but tonight certainly was a pleasant surprise."

"You make it sound like trying to sleep with me was part of your plan,"

"And could you blame me if it was?"

Joost leans back on the couch, the satisfied look on his face making it all too obvious how much he's enjoying your praise. and the way he moves makes you wince- still inside you, your eyes shut tight, and your muscles clench.

"Hmmsorry sweetie," He hums, placing his free hand on your thigh, beginning to rub gentle circles into the supple flesh. His delicate touch made you want to collapse into him- to melt into his chest and make this night much more romantic than either of you had anticipated. But you stay still, instead waiting intently for him to speak again, "How long are you in Belgium for?"

"Two days." You shrug, responding matter-of-factly.

"Good," A smile creeps on his face as he lifts his cigarette back up to his lips, "I'd like to see you again." He takes a drag, and you watch as his chest rises with his inhale, glistening with a fine layer of sweat. He turns his head to the side, his sharpened jawbone only becoming more pronounced as he lifts his head up to exhale- careful not to blow the smoke towards you.

He'd like to see you again

You attempt to bite back your excitement, bottom lip tucked under your teeth as he continues.

"We're going to a club not too far away tomorrow night, and I think you should come." He spoke so nonchalantly like you were just supposed to know who "we" referred to, or really even know the area you were in.

"Sounds..." The word lingers on your tongue as you search for the proper adjective, "Fun." You smile, careful not to give too much away, attempting to stay as cool about the situation as he was, "But I'm staying here with a friend, is it alright if she comes with me?"

"As long as you're there," Joost squeezes your thigh where his hand had been resting. His small move gets a breath stuck in your throat and you swallow, attempting to adjust your breathing back to normal without him noticing.

You only nod in response, affirming you would indeed be there.

Your body grows hot the moment you step into the crowded club. The music boomed from the speakers that filled the venue, the bass so loud you could feel yourself vibrating.

"Do you know where he's supposed to be?" Your friend leans in, raising her voice to be heard over the music.

"No," You pause, taking a second to scan the crowd of people that filled the club. It was a little hard to see, the only lights illuminating the dark space were scattered LEDs that cast the place in a glow of various colors, "He just said what time he'd be here." You couldn't find him in your quick scan of the place, "I think I'll just let him find me." After all, he had been the one to invite you out, so you figured it should be on him to seek you out.

"Fine," She shrugs, "But we're drinking in the meantime." She grabs you by the wrist, pulling you to the crowded bar. The two of you push past the sea of sweaty bodies on the dance floor, adrenaline rushing your veins as you realize just how packed the club is- you were always one to jump at the chance to party.

Practically leaning over the bar, your friend outstretches her hand to flag down the bartender. You continue to scan the area surrounding you while she yells her order- where was he? You worried that maybe he bailed, or you accidentally got the wrong address.

However- your worries quickly subsided as the bartender placed the two rounds of shots your friend had ordered for the both of you down. You don't bother to ask what she ordered, at the end of the day, it all went down the same.

You smile down at the glass, wrapping two fingers around it before clinking it against the glass your friend held.

"Bottoms up," She smirks.

The liquid slides down your tongue, warming your esophagus and spreading to your stomach. Goosebumps form atop your skin as you try to stop yourself from wincing at the way the alcohol bitterly burns at your tongue. Before you let the unpleasant sensation subside, you're already throwing back the second shot.

You exhale as you tap the glass down on the bar,

"Another round?" You smile.

Your friend holds a single finger up to you, as to tell you to wait, before she mimics you, downing her second shot. Her face crinkles as she slams the glass down with a thump.

"Give me a second, you're better at this than me," She shakes her head, attempting to rid herself of the taste.

Suddenly her eyes widen, and you feel someone grab your hand. The initial shock makes you jump, quickly flipping your head to see who it is.

"I've been looking for you," It was Joost, a smile on his face as he brought your hand further up, placing a kiss to your knuckles. The small gesture makes your face grow hot, and you're unable to control the small giggles that fall out of your mouth as he gently sets your hand down.

"Hi," You grin, studying his face. He looks much more put together tonight than yesterday, seeing as the night had just begun. Your eyes trail down from his face, looking down towards his neck, the surface above his Lola Bunny tattoo covered in splotches of red and purple- marks caused by your mouth and you briefly wondered if things would escalate between you again tonight.

"Hello," The smile lingers on his face as his eyes flick to your friend, "And who is this?"

"Nora," She smiles back.

"I'm Joost!" He exclaims, excited to introduce himself to someone new.

"Oh, I know," She nods

"We were just about to do another round of shots, care to do one with us?" Your eyelids flutter as the question leaves your mouth, a quiet beg for him to say yes.

"Ja!" He nods, enthusiastic at the prospect of getting another drink in his system. "What are we drinking?"

You turn around, a motion to tell your friend to answer the question,

"Oh-uh," Nora furrows her brows, "Whatever the house vodka is- I don't know, something cheap."

"Works for me," Joost shrugs before leaning down to you, lightly grazing your arm with his palm as he goes to talk into your ear, "Your drinks are on me after this one though."

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the giggle that was about to escape you at the feeling of Joost's breath against your neck.

"Works for me," You repeat his words back to him.

The small shared moment is quickly broken by the bartender placing another round of shots in front of the now three of you. Joost is the first to take a glass, raising it to the rest of you to follow,

"Proost!" (cheers) He just about yells, and you and Nora minic, clinking your glasses together before downing the liquid.

Swallowing down the liquor didn't get much easier for you- but you knew you were at the point where you would start feeling it a little. Joost seemed unaffected, swiftly putting down the glass without as much as a flinch-like he was only drinking water.

Joost raises his voice over the music, "I'd like to introduce you two to my friends, ja?"

Sitting at a section in the back you watch on as Joost and one of his friends dance around, in front of you, screaming the words to whatever Dutch song that had been booming through the club.

Nora had wandered off somewhere, having hit it off with some girl who had offered to buy her a drink.

"What?" Joost asks, "You don't dance?" He teases, a smirk pulling at his lip.

"Says who?" You flick your gaze up to him

"Says you who's been sitting here just staring at me for the last twenty minutes."

"Maybe I like staring at you."

He rolls his eyes, outstretching a hand for you to grab so he can stand you up. You oblige, his strong tattooed hand wrapping around your own as he tugs at your arm. He barely gives you enough time to stand up before he's pulling you off to the dancefloor.

The enthusiasm with which he moved was kind of adorable you couldn't lie, the smile plastered on his face, drink in hand as he danced around you- it was a little like he was in his own world, like he didn't care one bit about the other people around him.

As he's behind you he slips his hands to your waist, pulling your back to his chest. He sways you from side to side in time with the music, and you eventually get into the groove of it, throwing your head back to rest by his shoulder.

Despite the position you were in, the movements between the two of you remained fairly chaste for the time being. After a few minutes, Joost lowered his head to rest his chin on your shoulder, leaning to speak in your ear,

"Stay here, I'm gonna get us another round of drinks." He finished his sentence with a light peck to your temple before hurrying off to the bar.

The small kiss left you feeling hot- and wanting more, leading you to decide to really put the moves on Joost when he got back.

You keep to yourself for the time being, continuing to feel the music as the alcohol slowly sweeps away your inhibitions.

It wasn't long however until Joost came back, holding two glasses full of a dark liquid. You didn't need to ask- in the under an hour that you had been here you'd quickly become accustomed to Joost and his friend's affinity for Bacardi and Coke- even having given the drink some dumb name you couldn't remember.

He hands you the glass with a grin, eager to get back to you.

"Thank you," You stand up on your toes, reaching to give Joost a kiss on the cheek as a show of your gratitude. You're able to suck down about a quarter of the drink before wincing, a soft chuckle leaving Joost's mouth at the way your face twists. It was evident he was much better at holding his liquor than you were.

Soon enough you had found yourself once again with your back pressed against Joost's chest, his free arm wrapped around your waist. However, things felt a lot less wholesome this time- the way your hips circled with intent with your ass pressed against his crotch. You tipped your head back, eager to get a look at him as the pair of you danced with one another. As you stared up at him there was no longer a goofy smile plastered on his face, rather he was staring back down at you, his eyes lit with a familiar lust.

You're taken out of your thoughts with a gasp as you feel someone knock into you, before a liquid hits your chest, making you fling your head up from where it had laid against Joost. Above you stood a man, taller than you but shorter than Joost, clearly hammered holding a half-emptied beer in his hand.

"Kom op, kijk uit waar je loopt!" (come on man, watch where you're going) Joost's arm leaves your waist as he throws up his hand, practically scolding the man for knocking into you.

There's a sheepish look drawn upon the man's face as he holds up a hand in defense, A slurred, "Uhsorry," leaves his mouth before quickly walking away.

Joost grabs at your waist to motion you to turn to face him,

He mutters something in Dutch, shaking his head in annoyance before returning his full attention to you, eyeing the drops of beer that had been spilled all over your front, "I'm sorry, I'll get that," his arm slipping around your waist, lowering his head, making you suck in a breath as his tongue meets your skin, licking at the liquid that sat on the exposed flesh of your cleavage.

You can't help but tip your head back to allow him better access, the small licks at your chest to help clean you up soon turning into small kisses up the side of your neck. You weren't sure how much longer you could keep this up before you were begging him to take you back to his hotel room.

"What's got your pulse so quick, liefje?" He picks his head up from your neck, his lips curved in a knowing smile. Damn him.

"I didn't know you were a doctor," You raise an eyebrow, challenging his flirting.

"Yeah," He chuckles, "Maybe you should let me give you a physical exam." He gives you an overexaggerated wink, aware of the corniness of the line.

You bite your tongue, shaking your head as you slide your free hand up his chest before letting it rest on his shoulder. He's quick to pull you back to him, his hand now trailing below your waist, lightly grazing your ass.

"So beautiful tonight," His eyes trail you up and down, taking note of your entire body and just how little what you had been wearing left to his imagination.

"Had to dress up, I'm supposed to be meeting someone special here tonight." Your words are passive, teasing.

"Oh yeah?" He raises an eyebrow, his grip tightening on where his hand laid on your ass, "Must be a lucky guy."

"Mhm," You hum, though you doubt he can hear it over the music, "Kind of hoping he'd rather take this outfit off of me, though."

Joost tilts his head forward, his lips brushing your ear,

"Well- I can't speak for this someone special, but I can tell you I'd love nothing more." His voice is low and seductive but his proximity to you makes his words clear even with the sound of the club around you.

You push yourself forward, grinding your hips against the buckle of his belt.

"Maybe that can be arranged," You place a small kiss to his neck before biting at his earlobe.

You feel the tip of Joost's hands grabbing at the hem of your skirt, pulling it up slightly- had you not been so desperate for him by this point you would have slapped his hand, teasingly chastizing him for being so dirty, but you let him continue. He had only pulled your skirt up a little just barely exposing some of your ass before he palmed at the supple flesh, fingers trailing towards your inner thighs.

Your back arches into his touch, forcing your chests even closer together. Your movement forces his fingers to just barely graze the crotch of your panties, his hand now fully under your skirt. A whispered, "Fuck," leaves your mouth at his gentle touch. God this all felt so dirty.

With his head still lowered by your neck, Joost began kissing lightly, his hand not leaving from where it pressed between your thighs. You attempt to play off the subtle movement of your hips as if you're swaying to the beat, though it's all a desperate attempt to feel some friction against Joost's hand.

Your body feels tense, your arousal becoming pent up as Joost continues to kiss at your neck. You're so wrapped up in the moment you nearly forget there's an entire crowd around you, but you were sure no one was exactly interested in what had been going on between you two.

Some more mumbled curses fall from your lips before Joost looks up from where his head had been buried in your neck, his hand falling from your thighs. You pout at the lack of contact.

"Come on," His tone is almost aggressive as he pulls your hand, leading towards the back of the club. He's determined as he pushes through the crowd, bringing you to the bathroom, its small, and dark, a singular light illuminating the tiny room over the sink.

Joost just about rips the drink from your hand, slamming both of your glasses onto the skin counter before returning to you. You share a knowing glance between the two of you, before he pushes you against the tiled wall, his lips devouring yours in a hungry kiss.

It isn't long before he's feeling you up, his hands moving up and down your sides, eager just to have you in his grasp.

His hands trail down to your skirt, lifting the fabric up to your waist before he nudges his knee in between your legs, urging you to part them for him and you're quick to oblige. As soon as your legs are opened, just a little he's reaching for the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side.

The tip of his pointer finger lightly brushes your clit, forcing you to exhale a light whimper between kisses. He doesn't waste too much time teasing you, an unlocked club restroom was not exactly the ideal place for long, drawn-out lovemaking. Instead, he presses harder, drawing circles against your swollen bundle of nerves.

The feeling of his fingers mixed with his rough kisses is absolutely heavenly. His fingers trail a little further back, collecting your slick before returning to your clit, and you gasp at his fluid motions.

"I've barely touched you," He muses, his lips parting from yours for an instant. You didn't have it in you to feel ashamed for how wet you had grown in such a short amount of time.

"Need you," You mumble

"C'mon, you've got me," Joost pulls away from you completely, leaving you gasping as he steps away. He cocks his head, motioning you towards the sink to command you to stand over there.

You nod, taking a few steps to the side, meeting the sink's counter, and you stare at yourself in the mirror before flicking your eyes to Joost's reflection as he walks over to you.

He places a hand on your upper back, urging you to bend over the sink. You bite your lip, slowly leaning forward, resting your elbows and forearms on the counter.

Joost's hand trails down your back, to your ass, giving it a light slap before squeezing tightly, the feeling of his fingernails pushing into your flesh making a small yelp leave your mouth.

But his hand quickly drops, and you can hear the metal clinking of his belt coming undone. The simple sound fills you with excitement, a tightness growing in your lower stomach at what you know what was going to happen next.

You watch intently in the mirror as he pulls down his pants and underwear to just about his mid-thighs, but you can't see much past that with you being in front of him. But you can certainly feel as his hardened cock springs loose from the confines of his clothes, the tip grazing your upper thigh.

He lightly kicks the inside of both your feet, spreading your legs a little further as he strokes his cock behind you. A hand comes to your waist, and Joost leans forward,

"Ready for me schatje?" He grumbles into your ear.

You can't do much in the way of biting your lip and nodding, you had been more than ready.

He lets out a deep exhale as you feel the tip of his cock graze your puffy folds. His free hand coming to your upper thigh to spread you open for him. Gently, he's pushing himself into you, your eyes shutting tight as you have to readjust to his size. You take in the familiar stretch as he bottoms out in you, pausing for a moment before pulling out so just the head stays inside you. He continued these slow, teasing motions until it was almost painful how bad you needed him.

"Please," You whimper out, your head hanging low.

He doesn't make you beg much further before both of his hands are on your waist, forcing you down onto him as he thrusts into you at a faster pace now. The small room echoes with the dirty sounds of each thrust in and out.

He's much more aggressive than he had been last night- but you couldn't complain, not at the sensation of his cock hammering deep inside you. A sharp moan leaves your lips with each of his movements.

Oddly enough, knowing that someone could walk in at any time and catch what the two of you were doing only added to the arousal you felt. You were sure at this point if Joost insisted on fucking you in front of an audience you'd probably let him.

Some praises in Dutch leave Joost's mouth that you can't quite understand, but they make you feel like you're melting nonetheless. A hand snakes up your side to your neck, lightly gripping at your throat as he continues drilling into you.

"Look at yourself, liefje." He grunts, but you barely have the strength to pick your head up from where it hangs. He sighs, his hand loosening from your throat to your chin, forcing you to look up into the mirror.

You can't help but look at Joost instead, biting his lip, face contorting with each forward thrust. Watching Joost as he fucked into you was what was beginning to send you over the edge, your legs starting to tremble beneath you, your cunt beginning to spasm around the length of his cock.

"i-I'm close," You stutter, feeling the tightness inside you beginning to reach a shattering point.

"That's oka-fuck- cum for me,"

It doesn't take you long for you to obey his words, your orgasm smacking into you with a force you fear may knock you out. Joost's hand leaves your chin, instead, he reaches down to your clit, rubbing the swollen bud to help you through your orgasm.

The stimulation is enough to make you scream while your pussy clenches, spilling your release onto Joost's cock.

Your orgasm, however, did not deter Joost from maintaining the same pace he'd been fucking you at. Your body slumped over the sink counter while he continued to thrust into you at whatever speed felt right to him, his finger still drawing harsh circles to your clit.

A few tears slip down your cheeks due to the overstimulation, overwhelmed with an intense amount of pleasure that you weren't sure you had ever experienced before.

"Just a little longer," Joost assures, his breath losing a pace as his thrusting becomes wilder and more sloppy.

Soon enough he's spilling into you, his warm seed coating your walls with an animalistic groan. His head falls back as he fucks into you a few more times before finally stopping.

He's slow to pull out of you, leaving you whining as you feel the full length of his cock exit you once more. But as soon as he's out he's quick to pull up your panties, his release slowly dripping out of your cunt onto the crotch of the fabric.

You're still slumped over the sink as Joost buckles his belt before pulling down your skirt to cover you.

"Fuck," He grunts, "I need a smoke."

By the time you had found yourself back in Joost's hotel room, you had lost track of how many drinks you'd had that night. The warmly lit room felt like it had been spinning as you laid back against the thick comforter of the hotel bed. Uncomfortable was certainly an accurate word to describe how you had been feeling. Far too drunk, makeup smudged on your face, your clothes too tight on your body. You groaned as you shut your eyes, cursing yourself for not knowing your limits.

You heard a chuckle from somewhere beside you, followed by the balcony door closing. A mild scent of cigarette smoke filled the air, and you had figured Joost had just gotten back inside from smoking another cigarette.

"I think it's time for someone to go to bed," He chuckles once more

"I'll be able to sleep once the room stops spinning," You moan, rolling onto your side.

"Let me get you something to wear."

You can hear Joost shuffling around, unzipping a suitcase and digging through clothes.

"C'mon," He says a few minutes later, his hand grazing your calf, "I'll help you get changed."

Your eyes flutter open, rolling back onto your back to look at him. You sigh,

"Can't get up."

"That's okay," He laughs, You can tell by the look on his face that he's drunk too, the way his eyelids hang, and his cheeks glow a pretty shade of pink- but he's clearly more coherent than you are despite having drank more than you did. He places a gentle hand on your thigh, "Can I take your skirt off?" There's no hint of sensuality in his voice, clear he just wants to help you get into something more comfortable.

You grumble out a yes in response, resulting in Joost pulling the skirt down the length of your legs,

"Are you comfortable in these?" His finger ghosts over the waistband of your underwear.

You shake your head no.

"Can I take them off?"

Yes.

Your panties follow your skirt, falling in a pile at the foot of the bed. Your top was the next to go, your lashes fluttering as your eyes opened at the feeling of Joost's hands brushing your stomach, lightly tickling you.

"Sorry," Joost grins, looking down at you as he lifts your top over your head.

The cold hotel blows onto you and you're suddenly aware of just how exposed you are. Embarrassed, you roll over to face away from Joost, not wanting to make any further eye contact with him while being so naked.

"No need to be embarrassed, schatje," He says sweetly- it was like he could read your mind, his palm rubbing against your back to comfort you. "You need me to get you dressed,"

You mumble out a no in response, feeling bad for how much he had already helped you thus far.

"Okay, here you go." You hear Joost drop the clothes he had gotten for you onto the bed, prompting you to roll over to put them on.

A smile instinctively formed at the first article of clothing you saw, one you had recognized. He had given you a pair of his boxers to wear- the ones with his name embroidered onto the waistband. It seemed a strangely intimate move, but you had figured it was probably the first thing he had pulled from his suitcase- not daring to see it as anything past that.

You quickly slip on the clothes he had given you, pulling a simple white t-shirt over your head before eagerly getting back into bed. You crawled further up the length of the bed, grabbing the comforter from its nicely made position, and getting under it.

Laying on your back, your eyelids threatening to close completely any second, you watch as Joost strips down to his underwear, tossing his discarded clothes somewhere in the room.

The bed dips as Joost climbs in next to you, quickly shutting off the lamp on the bedside table as he does so.

Had you been sober you probably would have kept the distance between the two of you, only using Joost's bed as a place to sleep and not as an excuse to get close to him- but something in your drunk mind almost made you instinctively turn onto the side and snuggle into him.

He didn't seem to mind, actually, as your cheek nuzzled into his bare chest. He wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you a little tighter to him, affirming you hadn't done anything wrong by attempting to cuddle up to him.

You feel yourself drifting off, the subtle bumps of his heartbeat gently lulling you off to sleep as your breathing slows. Joost must have caught how quickly you seemed to be dozing off, humming contently before speaking softly,

"Slaap lekker," He sighs, the last thing you remember before finally being consumed by sleep is Joost pressing his lips to the crown of your head in a soft kiss.

[highvern]

Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes)

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive, idiots in love, they’re both big ol’ chickens

Warnings: drinking

Length: ~1k

Note: idiots to lovers is my favorite trope :) I might write some drabbles based on this pair in the future

Sequel: Drunk Goggles (Heart Eyes) II

Related Drabbles:

Pre-Drunk Goggles (in order): Peaches [f], Bite the Bullet [f, h], Jealousy [a, h]

Post-Drunk Goggles (in order): Silk [s], Aphrodite [f, s], Discovery [s], Lucky Me [f], adamas et aurum [f], Honey [s, f], Baby Blues [f]

“You’re cute.” You giggle, dragging out the last syllable in a whine.

Mingyu’s blood freezes, caught between wanting to feed into your drunken stupor and wanting to push you off completely. You’re too close. The smell of your shampoo and perfume clouding his nose, palm burning against the muscle of his chest, teasing smile and hooded gaze drawing him in. The booth in the corner of the packed club was a godsend after hours of dancing and drinking but now Mingyu thinks it might be the place where he dies from cardiac arrest.

You two had been friends for years but lately your relationship toed the line. The friendly dynamic shifted at some point, subtle at the time but echoing loud and clear now. Like a stream changed into rapids before you noticed, sucking one in and swallowing them whole. Lingering touches gave way to heated gazes; tension palpable but never acknowledged. And because neither of you said anything, nothing ever happened; one person always retreating before reaching the point of no return.

Of course the first time you admit any sort of attraction to him is when you’re three sheets to the wind and can barely stand straight. Mingyu himself is no better, mind fogged with the liquor pumping through his veins courtesy of the shots Soonyoung kept distributing. Mingyu can’t speak, tongue dry from the words dying in his throat. All he can see, smell, and feel is you; pressed against him in a way that is less than friendly.

You don’t even bother to conceal the way your eyes are trained on Mingyu’s mouth, mind far away. All your thoughts focus on if his lips are as soft as they look. If you kissed him right now, would he kiss you back? Would he let you touch him? Would he touch you?

Mingyu watches with baited breath as you lean infinitesimally closer, eyes sliding shut, chin lifting slightly. But you’re drunk, and the grace you think you possess left the building long ago. You end up collapsing face first into Mingyu’s neck, lips sliding against the hot skin causing the muscles underneath to jump in surprise. You’ve already accepted the change of direction, now content to take a rest in the crook of his shoulder as the thud of music lulls you closer to sleep.

“W—“ Mingyu clears his throat, “we should go.”

You hum in agreement but make no effort to move away.

“Y/N, baby,” he shakes you gently, “let’s go home.”

With Herculean effort, and gentle prodding from your best friend, you leave the safety and warmth of Mingyu’s body to shimmy out of the booth. When Mingyu gets up after you, he places his hand to the small of your back to guide you to the exit.

Once outside, you wrap around each other again, like magnets that can’t be pulled apart. The sudden chill of midnight air has you turning back into his chest, the arm previously on your back curling low on your waist. Mingyu uses his free hand to order an Uber, resting his chin on your head while the app loads.

“We didn’t say bye to everyone.” You mumble into his T-shirt.

“They’ll be fine.” Mingyu laughs, focusing on his phone.

“You said that last time and Chan still called at 3am to ask if we got home safe.”

We. The simple word has Mingyu’s ears turning red. We, like you’re a couple. We, like you're going home to an apartment you share rather than the one you live alone in and he finds himself crashing at more and more frequently. He brushes off the thought, choosing to focus on getting a car as soon a possible.

Not one to be ignored, you turn your gaze upwards, chin now resting against Mingyu’s sternum. The shift breaks his attention from his phone and he looks down his nose at you.

“Just text the group, pretty sure a few of them left already anyway.” He dares to drop a quick kiss to your furrowing brow, pleased when it relaxes under his lips.

“Ubers here.” Mingyu steps back, snagging your hand to pull you behind him.

The ride home is a blur. The heat of Mingyu’s arm under your cheek and the way his fingers play with yours on his lap keep you from falling asleep completely but you remain in the hypnotic state between wakefulness and dreams. Here you can pretend Mingyu is your doting boyfriend, that all the sweet drunk kisses and daring touches have a deeper meaning.

When you feel the car slow to a stop you open your eyes to the driver pulling up to the curb in front of your apartment. Mingyu is gently ushering you out of the backseat and into the warmth of the lobby as quickly as possible.

While waiting for the elevator, you invade his space once more. In your mind, the need for warmth is the perfect excuse to disregard the usual touching limit you impose on yourself. It’s easy to get addicted to having Mingyu like this and you dread the hurt that’ll come if you let yourself be too greedy. But tonight, you let your arms wrap around his waist once again and fall into him.

When the elevator chimes its arrival, Mingyu tries to keep your bodies intertwined and walk you backwards into the compartment. He stumbles the entire way, having to balance for two since you’re barely trying to hold yourself up. All you can do is whine at him to be more careful and he does everything he can not to crowd you against the wall and kiss you until you’re both gasping for air.

More stumbles, more giggles, and a crushed foot later, you finally make it into your apartment. Shoes discarded at the door, you pull Mingyu down the hall to your room. You change into your pajamas in silence, an oversized T-shirt for you (Mingyu doesn’t comment on the fact that it looks suspiciously like the one he noticed missing weeks ago), and a pair of sweat shorts for him (you don’t comment on how his bare chest is giving you less than friendly thoughts). As you both dive under the covers, moving to settle yourselves amongst the soft sheets, sleep rushes to takeover.

You’re mumbling something against Mingyu’s chest that he can’t quite decipher but the movement of your lips on his bare skin makes his heart lurch and his stomach twist in knots. However, it's the gentle kiss you leave on his collarbone before drifting into your dreams that leaves his mind in a tailspin.

Tomorrow. He thinks. He’ll tell you everything he’s feeling tomorrow.

[jadeschambers]

CHAPTER 1: Trueform!Sukuna x Isekai!gn!reader

(reader has no gender but has f genitals.)

Parings: Ryomen Sukuna

Tags: Slow burn, eventual Smut, god/godess demigod reader, sukuna needs his own warnings, huge!size kink (that man is like 8 ft tall), mentioned cannibalism, noncon? (just beware, reader ❤️ him/ don’t read if it makes u uncomfy), cunnilingus, breast play. Some cursing n crack. original idea to this series on my page.

intro, II

In Teyvat, an old friend would persist that gods cannot be trusted. Is Sukuna the god that calls your knees to the floor and pulls the praise from your throat? Or is he a temptation of desires from a life you never knew you could have.

given by your enemies; wounds and gashes heavily mar your body. recent battles have not been kind, and sometimes you wonder if victory is worth winning. Sukunas estate was shrouded by an eery silence as the sun settled, and it was almost like it was only just you in the world. “Uraume. Give them a bath and bring them to me after.” Sukuna’s broad back met your gaze as he strode away, his white haired subordinate obeying with no hesitation. “thank you…”

the curse turned, an arrogant smile plastered on his face. “Sukuna, thats Lord Sukuna for you little dove.” it was almost like his arrogance transformed him.

the halls to the bathing chamber looked like it was intricately carved by the hands of a dragon sovereign, and it was admirably distracting. standing by your side as you entered the bathing chamber, uraume held out their hands. they wanted you to strip

“oh uhm— i can bathe myself-“ before you could even finish the robes on your tarnished body slipped off, and lukewarm water stung in the deep gashes decorating your body. “to keep lord Sukuna waiting will not suffice.” they grumbled, trying to scrub you as gently as possible. “h-hey! that hurts!” uraumes hands were not very gentle, but seeing as the dirt floated into the water their roughness was proven to benefit.

warm water was a luxury to commoners back in Teyvat, boiling water naturally was a pain in your ass. but as a well respected demigod, it was something you wouldn’t really have to usually worry about. soft towels were used to dry off your skin, and you were handed a beautiful silk robe.

it looked and felt heavy, and would most likely be hard to fight in, but if you weren’t to except the gifted robe would they see you as ungrateful. “oh.. this is very beautiful; but what if it gets ruined…?” the silk felt so soft rubbing against your hands.

“either way lord sukuna will end up ruining it. except the gift, he is not always this generous.” uraume replied, insisting to help you put it on. their words widened your eyes. what in the celestia were they babbling about? “took ya long enough.” sukunas voice was deep and sensual.

he carried an aura that was definitely unmatched to what i have seen. “thank you for the robe sukuna.. and thank you for letting me stay here.” you whispered, giving him your gratitude. “pull out your weapon.”his chin lifted slightly, and by god did he really look intimidating.

stepping back in hesitation, you began to double think. were you lured into a trap? “w-why? you aren’t going to fight me are you?” your body most definitely could not handle another fight right now, and it honestly felt like you were going to collapse. sukuna looked like a demon, and charging into a fight without knowing your enemies strength is a death wish.

suddenly you found yourself right in front of him, his huge frame towering over you. “w-wait! if we’re going to fight at least let me change robes!” you placed your hands on his chest in defense, and without realizing, Sukuna was sent flying backwards. Uraume stood with their eyes open wide before crouching by their master. it took a few moments to realize what you had done. “oh my archons! im so sorry!” you gasped, immediately running to his side.

Sukuna chuckled as he sat up, his large hands grasping yours. “a strong opponent, how interesting.” he suddenly pinned you beneath him— despite the huge hole in the wall from his body he seemed utterly fine. “just what are you exactly..?” sukuna tilted his head, absolutely infatuated with that innocent look in your eyes.

looking into his eyes felt like he was hypnotizing you, in defense you managed to wiggle out from his grasp. “im really sorry sukuna… you aren’t hurt are you..?” your eyes widened as you noticed the inky black tattoos stretching across his biceps. “non sense.” he shook his head, helping you up before leading you out into the hall. “you must be fatigued, little one.” sukuna smirk faltered as he turned. just what were you? no modern sorcerer in his time could even lay a finger on him, even those who lie in the Gojo and Zenin clan.

before you now were large dark oak double doors, and as sukuna pushed them open he lead you into the room. “rest here, let us resume in the morning.” he sat you down onto the plush bed. “thank you, i really didn’t-“ sukuna placed a hand on your head, preventing you from finishing. “it is nothing on your part. now sleep.”

“We shall turn to Oratrice Mecanique d’Analyse Cardinale to render the final verdict on the charges.” Neuvilettes voice reverberated off the opera houses walls, the audience below held in silence by the anticipation. “hm? this cannot be right..” the dragon muttered under his breathe. noticing the look on Monsieur Neuvilettes face, your mind pondered on what was about to happen. “The hydro archon, guilty.” the Chief of Justice paused, holding his breath. “To be punished via…the death sentence.”

with his words a wave of gasps erupt from the crowd below, and Navia stumbles beside you. “T-This cant be right!” someone shouts below. Furina sat in the opposite gallery, tears streaming down her cheeks. “The death sentence? Thats way too far!” they retort, many beginning to question the laws of justice.

A powerful earthquake suddenly struck the opera house, sending the audience to flee for the exits. “The waters are rising!” they screamed in horror, the stampede panicking for safety, praying to their archon for strength. Suddenly a gaping hole ripped through space in the middle of the opera house, and from the darkness a gargantuan whale leapt forward, weeping.

—

“So we’ve finally met it at last… I understand very well why it has chosen to make an appearance here.” The hole in space began to close as Neuvilette explained his plan. “thanks to childe none of you were eaten?” you asked, tilting your head in worry. “Indeed, but it still traverses in the Primordial Sea, it is not from here.”

Neuvilette placed a hand on your shoulder, a foreign glint in his eyes. “I am not a fully fledged dragon, which means i need your help defeating it.” now standing in front of you both of his hands gripped your shoulders. “b-but what about the oratrice..?! and Lady Furina?” you stuttered, eyes frantically searching the room. “We will worry about the trivial matters once we return.” Neuvilette assured, yet something felt off.

As you battled, many gashes were torn in your skin, making you wince. “Are you alright?!” Neuvilette yelled through the loud crashing waves, trying to reach you, only for the unknown entity to crash into the waters, its mouth wide open.

it was going to swallow you, and it was already too late. snapping its jaws shut, the sickening clench of the whales bones grinding together. the very last thing you saw before your vision turned black was the dragon sovereign running towards your limp body.

tumblr deleted the draft to this two fuckifn times but i honestly like mashing up different worlds like this c:

tags : @maskedpacific @kbirdieee2540

art credit to nachikusan, decay_int, woshihedawei all on X

[i-hate-accidents]

Would you ever consider writing the conversation Anthony had with Benedict in his bedchamber? When he scolded Ben for being alone with Y/N?

the author would like to share that upon reading your message, they immediately said, out loud, to no one but for herself to hear, "that is a BRILLIANT idea." she offers many thanks for your idea and your generosity in sharing it. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

i hate accidents: a drabble

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  brief description of grief from losing a parent

word count:  623

author’s note:  the character of y/n, whilst heavily talked about, does not appear in this drabble. the author hopes you enjoy these bickering brothers~

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

anthony turns towards him, quiet fury simmering in his eyes.

"brother," begins benedict, "i—"

"have you lost your fucking mind!" booms anthony.

"if you just let me explain—"

"have you compromised y/n?"

"what!"

"i said!  have you compromised y/n!"

"how can you even insinuate that!  of course i have not!"

"and why should i trust what you say?"

"because i am your brother!"

"precisely!  you are my brother!  you lie to me as naturally as you breathe!"

that is something, benedict admits to himself, i cannot deny.

"well!  i have no reason to lie now!" he declares aloud.

"and you expect me to believe that?  when i saw your mouth and her mouth mere breaths away from one another?"

lightning shoots throughout benedict’s body and butterflies erupt in his stomach at the memory.  the two of you were, indeed, mere breaths away from—— from—

"see," anthony interrupts, "you have nothing to say.  are you finally admitting to your guilt?"

"we were discussing my art!  that is all!"

"i am not a fool, benedict!"

"you look like one!"

"and you act like one! alone! in your bedchamber! with a lady!  our friend!  how do you think our family will react when they hear of your impropriety?"

"you make it sound as if this were some, some— devious scheme!"

anthony shakes his head.

"brother, i know you are in love with y/n—"

it would have been kinder if anthony shot him point blank in his chest.

benedict gapes at him, but his brother merely responds with an expression that makes him feel like a naive child.

"benedict, please.  your affection for y/n is deeply apparent to everyone in this house. mother, kate, our siblings, the servants, penelope.  good god, francesca, daph, and hastings even know, and they are not even here. you," anthony states simply, "are in love."

"i have not said anything of the sort!"

"so what do you mean to say? that you do not love y/n?"

benedict freezes. he feels the swell of his heart and its collapsing all in a mere breath.

of course i do.  of course i love y/n.

he swallows.

"it matters not what i feel.  it matters what she deserves."

y/n deserves someone good.  someone who will not hurt her.  someone who is not me.

anthony’s face softens, and it would be an expression that would be kind if benedict didn’t feel as though he was on the receiving end of its pity.  still, it reassures him.  anthony’s gentleness seemed to have passed when their father had.  it seemed to no longer have existed as a possibility within him; and then kate entered their lives.  whenever he sees evidence of its restoration, benedict cannot help but feel gratitude—even, as in this moment, at the cost of his own pain.

anthony sighs.

"did you two have to be in your bedchamber?"

benedict rolls his eyes.

"this is where all my art is!  but it shan't happen again."

"oh, that i will make certain."

he furrows his eyebrows.

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"did you truly think i would let you get away with this indiscretion?  you have completely disgraced y/n!"

"nothing!  happened!"

"bedchamber!  together!  ALONE!" anthony checks his pocket watch and, with its closing, resumes a dignified composure.  "i am done with this conversation.  we have kept y/n waiting long enough.  we must go to her promptly, offer our deepest apologies, and ensure that she is safe and well after this event.  we will be most fortunate, indeed, if she chooses to absolve us from your transgression."

benedict puts his hands over his face.  of all the people in the world, why did his elder brother have to be anthony bridgerton?

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[earthry]

hello love i hope you have an amazing weekend Can i ask about hc with insecure papas who thinks reader is with them just, because they're heads of the church and suddenly they're retired and have to tell about it reader?

Aw thank you, I hope you do too!

I was very excited to do this prompt <3

sfw, hurt/comfort, angst, tw self deprecation, low self-esteem, fluff

Primo

Considers himself good at handling stress but all he does is avoid the problem, distracting himself from what he’s feeling. So instead of going to you directly, he picks up gardening.

Has no clue what he’s doing, this is his first introduction into the hobby. He finds a little patch and asks if he can have it and when the Ministry doesn’t protest, he just starts digging up grass.

The problem becomes unavoidable when you seek him out after his continued absence. He’s always gone from the bed when you wake and doesn’t return until very late. Part of you was prepared to find the worst; that he’d been seeing someone else or something but when you find him, he’s up to knees in dirt tearing up the Ministry’s lawn.

The encounter ends with you holding his hand as he confesses the news and his fears of you leaving. You can tell he’s anxious from the stiffness of his posture and the tension in his expression. Leaning so that your forehead rests against his, you tell him he has no need to be afraid of you leaving because you don’t plan to anytime soon. His place as Papa isn’t why you’re with him, and you’ll do your best to show him that in the future to come.

You also joke that you’d better get your own pair of gardening gloves if this is gonna be a permanent new hobby.

Secondo

He believes in tearing off the bandaid quickly, and he doesn't allow himself the time to truly process things or grieve for himself. He just goes on as if everything's okay still and when he tells you the news, he might as well be telling you the weather forecast with how nonchalant he is when he brings it up.

You can see through him though, like stained glass. Can see just how tightly he's wound up, how stiff his muscles are as he braces himself for you to leave. He's playing it casual, like he doesn't care. Like he’s telling himself that when you leave, he'll just keep this facade and eventually he'll be okay again (though he can't even begin to think about a life without you, can't bear to think of you leav-- he stops himself from finishing that thought for fear it may shatter him).

And because you know him and because you can see past that stoney mask of his, the first thing you do is take his calloused hands in yours and press a gentle kiss to it— a reassuring gesture you often do when he’s feeling uneasy or nervous about something and it speaks for itself. You can practically see the tension seeping out of Secondo with how much he deflates and practically collapses against you. You don’t mind however and welcome him with open arms, embracing him as he falls back against you.

You tell him that he’s silly for thinking you’d ever leave just because he’s not Papa anymore. You list all the reasons off the top of your head on why you love him, Secondo, and not Papa Emeritus II.

He hates it when he cries, despises it with a passion because he was raised with toxic masculinity, but he allows himself to let it out in the safety of your arms with his head buried into the crook of your neck. He asks you to continue talking, asks you to tell him about your day, so you do. You tell him what you did that morning, what you ate, who you saw and what they said.

His kisses are the softest after, thankful and relieved and so in love with you. His energy has all been spent through the emotional whirlwind that is his coping methods and so you take him to bed early, tucking yourself into his arms and wrapping around him like a koala. He whispers that he loves you about a billion times, just in case you forget.

Terzo

He figures after he was dragged off stage, he would be retiring. Has a full blown panic attack, and you hold him tightly in his bedroom. Little whines and stuttered breathes as he tries to stop hyperventilating. It takes a little time but you eventually help him settle by putting his hand against your chest and telling him to follow your breathing.

You tell him so many things— that it’s okay and it will be okay. That you’re not going anywhere and that regardless of what happens, he won’t be alone.

You gently brush his tears away and help him clean off his papa makeup, kissing each patch of bare skin you reveal. You run a bath for the two of you with his favorite essential oils and let him curl up in your lap, clinging to you like a stubborn panda. You even tease him about being like one, and his cheeks heat up pink, flustered.

When you finally get to bed, you let him be the little spoon, enveloping him in your arms and holding him tight with the promise that you won’t let go.

Copia

To him, there is no question to whether you would stay or not. He just knows you won’t because he can’t possibly think of a single reason why you would stay if he were no longer Papa. To him, he had been worth nothing until he was Papa. Just the weird quirky cardinal that everyone tolerates because at least he gets his work done on time. He doesn’t know you’ve had a crush on him for years before he ever even stepped foot into the spotlight to lead the Ministry.

He lets himself have one more day. Just one more day where you’re all his and he’s all yours and everything is okay with the world. One more day he gets to hold you in his arms and make you laugh and kiss your lips that he swears taste of honey. To have your hand in his, fingers intertwined as if they were meant to fit together perfectly like soulmates. To hear you say “I love you” and mean it with everything in your heart.

He cries that night as the two of you lay down to sleep, but won’t tell you what’s wrong. Instead, he begs you to hold him the entire night, to stay with him until he wakes. And you do. You kiss his forehead softly and promise you’ll be there in the morning. You wrap him in safety and love until he finally drifts off into a fitful sleep.

In the morning, it’s the first thing he tells you and he fully expects you to get dressed and collect your things to leave. What he doesn’t expect is for you to drag him back to bed.

You snuggle him within an inch of his life and tell him you’re not leaving, not when he’s the perfect cuddle buddy. You’ll reassure him as many times as he needs to hear it and he cries again, soft relieved tears that you kiss away.

[l0velylecter]

hiii just came across your site and your hcs of the cod men are so fucking amazing!!! i was wondering if you could do a part 2 of the size difference imagine w/ the other cod men characters? but only if you're not busy!! thnxx

— the men of cod : mw ii with a tiny s/o [vol.ii ] characters : captain john price, phillip graves, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, rodolfo parra fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii tags : gn!reader, headcanons additional warnings : size kink, manhandling, explicit descriptions of sex ( not me writing this on christmas eve LOL it feels illegal )  rating : e for explicit, nsfw!

01| His breath ghosted against your nape, the invisible hair standing up, begging to be pet. Price's chuckle reverberated down your spine, pricking the skin with goosebumps as his beard scratched the surface. With his size, he could easily have you bent over his knee, four fingers sinking into your body to spread you wide. He never gets tired of seeing you like this, disheveled and writhing just from his hands, struggling to adjust to the size. And when you'd try to grind yourself down the hilt, he'll firmly still your hips ( even if his own self-control is on the brink of collapsing.) — Patience, love. I need to be thorough with you.

02| As much as you enjoy standing up to Graves, sometimes, there's something in submitting yourself to him that feels downright euphoric. And Graves is more than happy to manhandle and fuck you into a mating pres. With your size, he's obsessed with how easy it was to get you into this position: ankles on either side of his shoulders as he drives his cock into your quivering hole. Your body was coiled tight, the pleasure so intense it was painful, tears pricking your eyes and running down your neck, which only turned him on even more. His body curved and bowed, hips pressed hard against you, arms below your body, and hands gripping your shoulders. And when he comes, hot spurts of cum spilling, dripping down your stomach, he kissed your leg. Teeth latching on to skin as he groans desperately — Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby you're so tight, so good, so wet for me. Do you like that baby? I know you do. I know you can take it. You're a good girl. 03| The heat was blooming against your abdomen, seizing your body into a spasm as Gaz pushed your legs apart to push himself deeper — hands, firm and steady against your hips to maneuver you however he wanted. He had you against the couch, the wall, the kitchen counter, and now atop the bed. And you enjoy being overpowered and pinned against any surface for him to take, to please. Even after preparing you, he still needed to be careful, arms on either side of your face to not crush you. You shuddered, feeling your stomach bulge, his cock pulsing inside. He pats your thighs in encouragement, thumb stroking you down your high as you come undone — That's it, babe. I got you. I got you. 04| You never expected this from your sweet Rodolfo. And how can you deny him when he had asked you so kindly? Even on his knees, with you sitting across him, he still reached your eye level, your hand absentmindedly smoothing down his arms to feel the muscle. He was so careful with you that you sometimes forgot how big he was. As you tried to sink onto his cock, his hands eased you down the hilt, head lightly hitting the headboard when you started rocking back and forth: fingers digging into his broad shoulders. Even when he was setting the pace, handling you like a doll, a toy, he was still gentle, only roughly pulling you down to push you to finish — Gracias, mi corazón. Thank you.

a/n : anon thank you so much for requesting ( and your sweet compliment ) ! i had so much fun writing this hahaha it’s been a while since i wrote something so steamy 🙈 i hope this lives up to your expectations + happy holidays <3

imagine the men of cod : mw ii & size difference [ vol i ]

[toshisdecadence]

Another Notch on Her Belt

PAIRING(S): sub!yuta okkotsu x dom!reader (descriptions of: reader x suguru geto & reader x satoru gojo)

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon, watersports, humiliation, yuta is a virgin, reader gets massive play, rich girl!reader, cherry popping, forced orgasms, overstimulation, slut shaming, spitting, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dacryphilia, riding, 69ing, public car sex, spitting, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, stepping, trampling, cum eating, footjob, oral sex (m and f receiving), breathplay, yuta is satoru gojo’s cousin, smoking, alcohol consumption

WORD COUNT: 16.8k

SUMMARY: The resident maneater of the university sets her hungry eyes on none other than the shy and bumbling Yuta Okkotsu.

© toshisdecadence

“Pleasure to meet you.”

There’s many things that Yuta was afraid of. Of all the things, they consisted of heights, public speaking, the ocean, his Algebra II teacher, Kanji lessons—you name it. If there were phrases a person should rightfully be frightful of, it should be along the lines of “you’re no longer eligible for your scholarship.” Perhaps “you have diabetes and we have to cut your leg off.” Or, his personal greatest fear—as he presumes to be what other people also fear: “We're so sorry, Mr. Okkotsu, but both of your parents have died in the car accident.” 

But “pleasure to meet you”? It was just four simple words and yet Yuta felt the sensation of unmistakable dread and anxiety travel through his limbs.

It had been quite some time since Yuta had felt this nervous. The last time he felt this unsettled was right before his university entrance exam. He was banking on achieving a specific score in order to qualify for the full-ride scholarship for the psychology department. At that time, it was a matter of life and death to Yuta. He supposed others within the same testing room as him felt the same. Or at least, the ones who needed to worry about money. Despite his more comfortable upbringing, he did not come from money. Nowhere near it. His parents had to ask their absurdly wealthy relatives, the Gojos, to borrow extra money in order to cover Yuta’s prep school costs during high school.

Yuta did not pass the qualifying score for the full-ride, but he did achieve a score that qualified him for a partial scholarship, and his parents were happy for him. They worked hard to support and cover the tuition for their son, insisting that all Yuta had to worry about was his studies and his well being.

His university days had gone by rather peacefully. He had a small and closely-knit group of friends. He did well enough in classes to keep his scholarship, and he got to learn more about the mind as a student of the school’s psychology department.

Yuta was a very warm and friendly person. He was shy, yes, but he always meant well, and that caused him to be surrounded by people who enjoyed his company. Many people had often called him an angel. He was not only adorable, but he was also a good friend. He never had anyone he hated, nor anyone he wasn’t on good terms with. Yuta was the type of person who got along with anyone because of his gentle personality, and nobody could ever get mad at—

“Yuta?”

Your voice incites that panic and fear within him once again, and Yuta is reminded of the reason why he feels such a visceral reaction towards you. The reason why he feels so scared of you.

Right now, Yuta’s stomach felt like it could collapse in on itself. The large space of his cousin Satoru’s mansion suddenly feels infinitely smaller, like it would cave in and push him closer towards your body. The thought of this constricts his throat to the size of a straw. Yuta’s skin was warm from the beer running through his system, but somehow, he felt a cold draft come over him before you. Was he about to break out into a cold sweat? He didn’t even feel this tense even as he prepared to go up for public speaking. Or for when he debated on going up to the waiter at a restaurant and telling them they forgot his side of fries. 

And yet you were looking at him with a blasé stare, as if nothing of importance had transpired between the both of you. You might as well have asked him to grab you some booze from the kitchen when he was on his way there. Yuta finds himself avoiding your gaze, finding interest in the stray spills of alcohol on Satoru’s marbled floors. You don’t budge. You continue to gaze into Yuta’s face, folding your arms over your chest.

Yuta felt like an ant beneath your lofty gaze. Like you were scrutinizing him, picking apart at his expressions and seeing through his feelings. Like you were waiting for the perfect moment to raise your pretty heeled designer boots to stomp on him.

“Sorry,” Yuta finally musters out, still avoiding your gaze. His slender fingers fiddle with his short nails, his head lowered.

“You’re pretty shy,” you hum. It wasn’t meant to be an observation, it was more of a statement, as if you had decided how you viewed his personality. Uncrossing your arms, you reach for the pockets of your brown vintage leather jacket, fishing out an opened pack of black cigarettes. Taking one and placing it between your glossy lips, you outstretch your hand with the pack of cigarettes to Yuta.

His trembling hands gesture to decline, his dark eyes widening. “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but you tuck back the cigarettes in your pocket. You take out a silver lighter afterwards, bringing the flame to the butt of your cigarette and putting it away. You inhale, your cigarette’s embers burning bright red before you pluck it from your lips. A billow of smoke spills from your mouth, and Yuta looks into your eyes. He’s drawn into that indifferent gaze of yours that he’d caught in an accident once before, and the memory forced him still once again.

“Don’t apologize for things like that,” you say in that pleasant and even tone, in that same calm hum as if you have him all figured out. “You should stop doing that.” A puff of smoke billows in the air, and your eyes flicker over to him, pinning him with your dismissive gaze. “It makes your apologies seem less genuine.”

He looks into your pretty eyes, those irises glinting with mirth that makes him feel as if you view him as someone that brings amusement to you. He thinks his knees might buckle under your direct attention. 

Nonetheless, Yuta finds himself at a loss for words. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about you yet. But he was certain that it wasn’t a positive emotion. He looks into your eyes—those same blank eyes that makes him feel as if you view him as someone beneath you, and for the first time, he speaks with a less than civil tone.

“You talk like you’ve known me all my life.”

The small smile deepens on your lips, and somehow it changes the fear that bubbles within his stomach to one of slight indignation.

“I don’t need to know you all your life to understand you as a person,” you state, bringing the cigarette to your lips once again. The embers burn bright as you inhale, never once breaking eye contact with Yuta. “It’s as clear as day. You’re one of those good boys. You never color outside the lines.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, but his eyebrows pinch together.

You don’t add any further commentary.

Not long after, a friend of yours swings by and drags you along to meet some friends, leaving Yuta to gaze at your retreating figure, disappearing within the crowds of people, the trail of your smoke leaving a sour crinkle in Yuta’s nose.

The first time Yuta saw you was a moment he’d never forget.

He recalls it vividly. God, how could he ever forget that? It took place an hour after his lecture had ended and Yuta was passing by the empty hall. It was a Friday, late in the afternoon, and by this time, this area of the building was usually empty as no professors liked to occupy this spot. The halls were quiet, the only sounds coming from Yuta’s faint footsteps as he walked. His face was weary from a long day, bags decorating the skin beneath his face, his lips almost chappy.

The moment Yuta peeked through the doors of the lecture room at the end of the hall, his steps halted to a stop when he heard a faint sound. He turns to the direction of the sounds, his brows pinched together. It was coming from the lecture room. He thought it was weird, who else would be here at this time of the day? There were no more classes left on this floor.

He steps forward with trepidation. His hands grip the cool metal handle of the door, and he twists it, cracking the door open slightly to allow one eye of his to peek in. 

The visage he was greeted with was one of utter debauchery, his breath stilling in his throat.

You were straddling a large man’s thighs with your black skirt hiked up your thighs. He catches the shimmer of black tights pulled taut over your shapely legs. You were fully clothed, almost pristine, save for the half-naked man beneath you. The man looked like a positive mess, his pants pulled down to his knees, his button up shirt wrinkly with a few buttons popped open. Your attention was focused on the man before you, dipping your manicured nails into his mouth. 

“Suck,” you order, and the man follows. His tongue laps up at your fingers, moaning around your fingers with teary eyes, gazing up at you in need. A scoff leaves your plush lips as you let your free stray hand trace the well-sculpted planes of his broad chest, your fingers lingering on his puffy nipples.

“Look at these,” you coo, harshly grabbing the man’s perky nipple and twisting it. This earned a sharp intake of breath from the man around your fingers. “Don’t you think you need a bra, hmm?” A muffled moan comes from the man’s mouth. “You’re sucking my fingers even harder now.” A humorless laugh leaves your lips, your head cocked to the side. “You like to be treated like a bitch? You like being my slut?”

The man gives frenzied nods.

His response seems to disappoint you, and you pluck your fingers from his mouth, a wet squelch echoing throughout the lecture room. Lifting yourself from him, you fix your skirt and stand tall, looming over the seated man. His dick stands erect, flushed and red, twitching pitifully, and you gaze at it with indifference.

“Men like you don’t deserve to get anywhere inside of me,” you say with disinterest. “Men like you just take what I give you, and count yourself blessed because I even looked at you. Do you understand?”

The man nods, panting heavier. “Yes, ma’am.”

You seem satisfied, so you lift your leg, pressing your heeled feet against his erect dick.

“I should reward you for being so good,” you hum, rubbing his dick with the fine leather of your heels. “Cumming just from my feet, hmm? God, look at you, all worked up for me like a needy bitch in the fucking classroom.” The man’s cock twitches as your foot continues its work, stroking him with your heels, watching in sick satisfaction as the sharp heel digs into the flesh of his heavy balls. This earned a pathetic whine from the man’s lips, his hips twitching. “Careful not to cum on my shoes,” you warn in a stern voice, stilling the movement of your foot, “or I’ll make you regret it.”

The man cries out, his hips stuttering. You take a step to the side, watching as the man cums on himself and on the floor. A sneer stretches on your lips, gazing down at the man.

“Did you just cum from being stepped on?” Ridicule laces your voice. You glance down at the cum stains on the floor, and you return your attention to the flushed face of the man, who was gazing at you like you were some sort of goddess.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he exhales, coming down from his high.

You nod your indifferent head toward the floor. “Get on your knees and lick up the mess you made. Don’t miss a spot.”

The man smiles dreamily, nodding his head. He kneels on the floor, on all fours like a dog as he lowers his face to the floor. Yuta’s eyes widen as he sees the man’s tongue stick out, licking up his cum from the dirtied floors. There’s a sick expression spread on your pretty face. You take a step forward, and you press down a heeled foot on the man’s upper back, forcing him to go lower.

“Do it properly,” you order. This earns a muffled groan from the man, and he continues, lapping up lazily at his own liquids, a man lost in the hazy pleasure.

By this time, Yuta’s breaths stutter, and he realizes he has unconsciously held his breath in fear of being discovered. Unfortunately for him, as if you read his mind and readily wish to go against his desires, you look towards the crack in the door.

Yuta feels all the air leave his lungs when your gaze bore directly into his.

For the first time, since he’s encountered you having your way with the man in the studio, he is finally allowed a good look at your face. You were ridiculously pretty, Yuta immediately thinks. You had one of those memorable faces. Pretty features, pert lips, with those void eyes that feel as if they were sucking him in the longer he gazed into them. The pretty features were fixed in an icy manner given your less than friendly disposition, and Yuta felt immense fear with the utter lack of warmth in your eyes.

You break eye contact with him first, not seeming to care if you had an audience as you bent the man before you to your will. Yuta takes this as his chance to retreat, his hands shakily closing the door shut before running toward the elevators to leave.

Yuta never tells any of his friends what he’d seen. Fazed, he returns to his shared dorm with his best friend, Toge Inumaki. The male looks up at Yuta’s approaching figure, noting the odd expression on his roommate’s face.

“Hey,” Toge says from his bed with pinched brows, his laptop sitting on his lap as he did some assignments. Toge became acquainted with Yuta because of Yuta’s cousin once again, Satoru Gojo. It was through Satoru’s vast friendship circle that Yuta had the fortune of meeting the man. Yuta and Toge hit it off as good friends since the beginning of high school, remaining as friends and attending the same university. When deciding on a dorm, both of them needed a roommate, and the rest was history.

“Hey,” is all Yuta says before he crashes into his bed. He relishes in the cold sheets, his body having been warm in the hot and humid weather outside. He feels grateful to have a roommate that knows him so well. Toge always kept the air conditioning system turned on so their dorms were cold and chilly.

“I ordered some chicken, it’s in the fridge so just heat it up if you’re hungry,” his friend supplies.

“I’ll eat some in a bit, thank you,” Yuta mutters out. “I’m just a little out of it.”

“Did something happen?” Toge asks, glancing over at him with a blank face. The staccato of his fingers tapping down on his laptop’s keyboard fill the relative silence of the dorm. “You don’t lie down immediately in bed after coming from outside because you hate the outside germs.”

“No,” Yuta murmurs, burying his face in his pillow, his soft voice almost muffled, “nothing happened.”

An unimpressed scoff comes from the man. “If you’re going to lie, at least do it better.”

Yuta groans, grabbing his sheets and hiding his face. If there was one thing he lamented, it’s his inability to hide his emotions. His friends pointed out how easy it was to see his emotions. He didn’t have a filter. He said what he felt, and if he didn’t, his face would show it. Or his ears. He had the unfortunate tendency for his ears to redden whenever he felt embarrassed.

“So?” Toge probes, his attention still focused on his laptop as he types away. “What’s got you like this?”

“Have you ever met a woman who scared you?” Yuta finally blurts it out. He does so after carefully considering how he felt about you based on his first impression. As far as first impressions go, he could argue that he had the worst one anyone could possibly experience with you. He can still feel it. The chilly gaze of yours that bore into his eyes through the crack of the door. That emotionless stare. It unsettled him. He hadn’t seen anyone so . . . uninterested. In anything, or anyone. Yuta tightens his grip on his comforters at the sudden shiver that travels through his body at the recollection of you.

Toge pauses to consider this. “Hmm. No one except my mom when she found out I stayed up playing games instead of sleeping.”

“Not like that,” Yuta sighs. “I mean, like, someone you don’t know. A woman your age that just scares you from the first impression.”

“. . . I don’t get it. Every woman is scary.”

“Then I don’t know any other way to explain it,” Yuta murmurs.

“Wait, so you met a girl?” Toge sounds surprised, shutting his laptop to properly turn to the direction of his friend. Yuta internally chastises himself for being so open to his friend about his romantic experiences. His friends—Satoru and Toge, basically—had wasted no expense in trying to set him up with girls, but he was never really interested. Some of them also did not like how shy he was. How he stumbled over his words and couldn’t meet them in the eye properly. Yuta was also not keen on the college hook-up world. He didn’t understand how someone could just have sex with someone they just met, and then act as if they don’t know each other afterwards. “Are you finally joining the hook-up world?” Toge probes, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Downloading Tinder?”

“No!” Yuta huffs out with a scandalized expression on his soft features. “Never that!”

Toge’s face falls, turning back to face his laptop, opening it again. He’s typing his password once again. “I should’ve known you’re a forever virgin,” he grumbles. “We’re the same age but how do I get more pussy than you?”

“Because I don’t feel comfortable h-having sex with women I’m not dating!” Yuta protests in a whisper, his ears dusted red.

“Whatever you say, Mother Theresa.”

Yuta falls momentarily silent. His roommate for the past year has been witness to his love life—or lack thereof. College was the time people hooked up, drank, smoked, and had fun. One could argue Yuta was the weird one for not participating, but he was firm in his beliefs. He wasn’t really a ‘wait-until-marriage’ type of guy, but he did believe in reserving those things for someone he’s in a relationship with, hence his inexperience with girls. He’s only ever had one serious relationship during high school, but even then, they never did anything further than kiss. Toge almost dropped his bowl of cereal the morning when Yuta disclosed he was a virgin. With renewed vigor, his roommate sought to help “rid him of his problem,” in Toge’s words, and had also employed the help of his other friends to introduce girls to him. Despite how many girls have been interested in him and attempted their shot, Yuta still finds himself yet to reciprocate any of their advances.

Yuta has a rather innocent belief about love. He wanted to have a girlfriend he truly adored. He wanted to cherish her and kiss her, and make love to her. He wanted her to shower him with kisses. He wanted to whisper words of love into her ear, hold her hand, and feel the warmth of her embrace. He wanted to love only her and to dedicate himself to her. He wanted to marry her in the future, to wake up to the sight of her next to him in bed every day for the rest of his life. He wanted a pure and timeless love.

But his traitorous mind flickers over to thoughts of you back in that lecture room. He ponders silently. You seemed to be completely the complete opposite of his ideal. You treated the man like you hated him. Like he was beneath you. Insulting him by calling him a bitch and a slut, stepping on him without remorse, ordering him to lick the dirty floor, and you seemed to find a sick joy in it. Dominating the helpless man beneath you as if it came as easy as breathing. Like it was second-nature. He didn’t understand it. There was no love in that type of lovemaking. It was just . . . humiliation. Yuta didn’t know how anyone could be into that.

The image of you shoving your fingers into the mouth of the naked man, shutting him up as you straddled him without a care in the world through the crack of the door that Yuta peeked at flashes once again in his mind. The twisted glimmer in your eyes and your plush lips curled in a cruel sneer.

I should reward you for being so good, your low drawl resounds in his head.

Yuta was unfamiliar with this feeling. That feeling that swirled within his stomach seemed to be an odd amalgamation of curiosity, fear… and excitement.

He wonders if you would recognize him just from that brief glimpse through the door.

It becomes apparent to him on the third time you meet, once again at another party, that you do remember him.

Yuta is finding his way to the bathroom, skirting around people. He’d drunk too much iced tea, after Toge had made some when his mother sent over some tea leaves and a family recipe with it. It tasted perfect. Yuta was happy to have it as an alternative to alcohol at this party. He was now lamenting that decision as he was ready to piss any moment.

He does find a bathroom, and he opens it and slips inside immediately, only to find you inside, sitting on the countertops with your skirt hiked up and a man between your thighs.

The man between your thighs immediately protests at the intruder. “What do you think you’re—” he begins.

“Get the fuck out,” you interrupt.

Yuta’s ears turn red, and he stumbles back slightly. What the fuck was going on? He feels his breathing speed up. His surroundings all of a sudden feel small and cramped. He’s glancing at the man who’s glaring at him, then to you who has that same signature blank stare. There it was again. That look. Like you could care less if he stayed to watch you. His hands shakily feel for the doorknob, turning it and getting ready to leave before you—

“Not you,” your voice speaks out, and Yuta freezes. He turns back to see you looking down towards the man between your legs, who you push away with your heels, your shoes pressing painfully against the man’s chest. The man’s back reaches the bathroom’s walls with a grunt at the impact.

“You,” you assert, staring dead into the eyes of the other guy. “You get out. Not him.”

The guy looks alarmed. “What?” he huffs out. “But we were just—”

“And I just changed my mind,” you state, voice so chilly that Yuta shivers in his spot.

The man questions you no longer and scrambles to get out of the bathroom, muttering curses under his breath before he slams the door behind him.

Silence and the muted boom of the loud R&B music blasting outside fill the space of the bathroom. You finally turn to look at Yuta, hiking your skirt down, but remaining on the counter. You didn’t seem to have any plans of leaving. A moment of awkwardness settles in the bathroom, and he couldn’t handle it any longer.

Yuta bows his head apologetically, unable to lift his head to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry for intruding,” he murmured out softly. “I’ll find a differe—”

“What for?” you deadpan, pushing your skirt back down to maintain some decency. “If you need to piss just do it in this bathroom. That’s what you came here for, right?”

Yuta is at a loss for words. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably. Were you that open-minded? Did you not have a concept of personal space? Was it normal for you to just watch strangers piss? Was that also a kink? What the hell was going on?

“If you’re worried about your dick, don’t be,” you state, fishing for something in your jacket’s pockets once again. “This is your second time seeing me like this after all.” Yuta gulps at your words, his eyes widening. So you do remember him. 

A small satisfied smile tugs at the corners of your plush lips upon seeing his expression. “I doubt that seeing your dick would make a difference in our relationship,” you drawl. You produce that same cigarette pack, grabbing one and placing it between your lips. “Or lack thereof,” you add with a light cock of your brow. You light it in that same way, and Yuta briefly thinks to himself about your particular scent. It was a signature one that he was beginning to familiarize himself with. A chilly mint with a hint of smoke. Hot and cold. Distant yet . . .

You suddenly lean in closer, face mere inches away from Yuta’s, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your glossy lips.

. . . close.

“You apologized again, though,” you say, now looking particularly unimpressed. “I thought I told you not to do that?”

Yuta frowns at this. He was beginning to grow irate. His bladder was screaming. His panic was setting in by being in such close proximity with you. He needed to be alone.

“Uh, I need to use the bathroom, so…” he mutters out. “If you could . . . um.”

You lean back at his words. There was no particular change in your expression, but you pluck the cigarette between your lips and exhale a puff of smoke towards Yuta’s face, causing his face to scrunch. He attempts to fan away the fumes from his face. It only makes his need to piss even more urgent, and by now Yuta was biting down on his lip trying to hold it in. He couldn’t piss in front of some random girl. Especially you. He wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll consider it if you ask nicely,” is all that you say, an amused curl on your lips, crossing your legs on the counter. Yuta’s eyes betray him as they follow the motion. You smile at him, and the little twinkle in your otherwise void eyes tells him you noticed. “I told you I don’t mind if you pissed while I’m in the bathroom.”

“But I mind,” he lets out between gritted teeth, his voice still soft. “. . . Please? I need to use it.”

Your eyes gaze at him with mirth. You cock your head to the side, inspecting him. “You’re cute,” you coo. 

You uncross your legs, getting off the counter. Plucking the cigarette from between your lips, you reach for his mouth, parting his lips to slot in the lipstick stained cigarette between his lips. Your hands ghost over his face for a bit, and he notes the color of your nails. Bubblegum pink. He almost thinks it’s cute, but your unreadable expression renders him quiet. Your face is so close. Yuta swears he can count your individual lashes, see the expanse of your eyes, feel your warm breath against his skin. He can smell the mint much more intensely at this proximity. He detects the barest traces of vanilla mingled in. His senses are filled with you; your skin, your face, the heat of your body, your lips, your eyes, the lingering taste of your cherry lipstick on the butt of your cigarette between his lips. Your stray hand reaches towards his furrowed brows, as if to attempt to smooth them; your other hand reaches for the corner of his lips to tug it up slightly.

“Though you’re cuter when you’re smiling,” you finish, eyes faintly crinkled in a fond manner. You open the door behind him and slip out, shutting it gently behind you.

His cheeks heat up, frozen still in the bathroom. Yuta is left by himself, your cigarette stuck between his lips, and the phantom grazes of your fingers on his skin. 

Yuta knows nothing about you but your name.

He’s on a quest to find out more, walking down the stairs, trying to locate his friends to find answers. He easily spots Satoru’s snowy hair among the sea of drunk bodies and makes his way to his group of friends. He shimmies in, waving his hands as they recognize him and call out his name.

Noritoshi, Satoru, Aoi, Toge, and Suguru are all gathered together. Aoi immediately heads over next to Yuta to put his beefy arms over the younger man’s shoulders as a greeting.

“Yuta,” Aoi greets him with a smile, a red solo cup in hand. His dark hair was pulled up in a neat bun at the back of his head, the scar on his face peppered with a few lipstick marks. “What’s up, man? We were looking for you everywhere earlier.”

“I was in the bathroom,” Yuta replies. “I drank too much iced tea.”

The tall and burly man leans in to sniff him. “Oh?” Yuta tenses at the playful lilt of Aoi’s deep voice. “Did you smoke there too?”

Noritoshi’s brow rises. His dark hair framed the look of confusion that crossed his calm features. “Yuta, you smoke?”

The other guys look equally as puzzled.

Satoru gasps in offense at the thought of his little cousin hitting a blunt without him present. “Since when?” His widened blue eyes fix themselves on Yuta, his jaw dropping. He places his hand on his hip in offense. “And why haven’t you told me? We could’ve dragged you out for Weed Wednesdays!”

“No, it wasn’t me who smoked,” Yuta supplies, smiling awkwardly, raising his hands to wave them dismissively. “It was some other person in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Satoru frowns, his parted mouth turning to a lopsided frown, then he shrugs. “Well, you’re still invited to Weed Wednesdays.”

“Thank you, Satoru,” Yuta chuckles, his focus a bit scattered as he thinks back to you. His lips pressed into a straight line, debating whether he should ask the question to his friends. He clears his throat, his expression pensive. The other men had fallen quiet, waiting for Yuta to speak. “I . . . actually had a question for you guys,” he murmurs.

With a soft exhale, Yuta finally utters your name and asks about you.

A small silence settles between the men, before Satoru speaks.

“I know her,” the snowy-haired man affirms, now fixing Yuta with that suspicious glint in his large crystalline blue eyes. “She’s a family friend.”

“All I know about her is that she’s loaded,” Toge supplies, shrugging. “She’s pretty. Don’t know too much about her though.”

“Yup,” Satoru affirms next to Noritoshi with a nod. “She’s a looker. Probably one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever met.” He kisses his teeth as he cocks his head to the side. “Love her and all. Known her since we were kids. Problem is she’s kind of a slut like I am.”

“And that’s saying a lot,” Noritoshi adds with a sigh, his dark eyes flickering over to the white-haired man next to him. “Satoru’s Instagram account pops up if you Google the word ‘slut.’”

Satoru hums along, taking a sip from the beer in his hand. “I like to call it being charming,” he clarifies with a grin.

“I don’t talk to her much, so I don’t really know,” Noritoshi adds on, ignoring Satoru. “I do see her occasionally at parties. She’s closer to Satoru and Suguru, so she’s more of a friend of a friend for me.” He hums for a bit, pensive. “She knows Aoi too.”

“Not intimately,” Aoi clarifies. “Our only close encounter was when she fingered my ass in the backseat of my car.”

Yuta is scandalized, and so are the other guys. So far, he had seen and heard about your involvement with three guys. Who knows how many there are? Yuta couldn’t believe that someone would be capable of being so . . . open.

Satoru frowns at his friend’s words, taking a respectable step away. “Wouldn’t you argue that being fingered in the ass is rather intimate?”

“No,” Aoi shook his head, looking completely sincere. “She never spoke to me after.”

“Ass game must’ve been weak,” Toge clicked his tongue.

“You try being fingered by her!” Aoi protests with a frown. He reaches over to steal Toge’s solo cup for himself, slotting it over his own cup that was empty by now, earning a complaint from the short man. “I don’t know what type of witchcraft she did but that was the first time I came just from having my ass played with. Say what you want about her but she knows what she’s doing.”

“Oh, right,” Satoru suddenly frowns, turning towards Suguru who had been suspiciously silent this entire time. He points an accusatory finger at the man. “Aren’t the two of you fucking, too?”

‘Too’? Yuta’s gaze shifts between Satoru and Suguru. What the hell?

“Not exclusively,” Suguru clarifies in that playful lilt of his smooth voice. He’s smiling in a charming way. “We fuck here and there.”

“Does she finger you, too?” Satoru asks curiously.

“Does she use toys?” Aoi pipes in.

“Alright!” Noritoshi interrupts, growing tired of his infantile friends. He exhales, pinching the bride of his nose, fixing the other men a flat stare. “Enough of Suguru’s sex life.” The other men glance away, seeming to be chastised. He turns towards Yuta. “The question is: why are you asking this?”

Yuta hesitates in answering long enough for Satoru to fill in the blanks himself.

“Don’t tell me that you’re interested in her,” he gasps. Before Yuta can open his mouth and explain that is not the case, Satoru is already talking in that dramatic voice of his. “Yuta, as your older cousin, I am warning you that she’s the witch they warn us about in the fairytales we read when we were kids! I advise you to stay far, far away from her.”

Aoi whistles in amusement, a teasing smirk on his lips. He leans in to give Yuta a nudge with his elbow. “Maybe Yuta's interested in breaking his virginity spell at last.”

“You’re not helping my case here,” Satoru deadpans, staring in disapproval. 

“The heart wants what it wants,” Aoi sing-songs. “And perhaps Yuta”—he pats the younger male’s shoulder—“like all men with fine taste do, like his women grown.”

Yuta is left speechless. Sure, he did, to some extent, find you attractive. He had working eyes. He can see all the appeal about you. You were pretty and rich. And a good lay in bed, apparently. But he wasn’t looking for that. He was sure as hell that he wasn’t the type of guy you messed around with. And he was certain that you weren’t the type of girl he was interested in.

“You have the wrong idea,” Yuta sighs, gently peeling Aoi’s large hand away from his shoulder. “Besides, you guys already know what I’m looking for in a relationship. I want something that’s—”

“We know, we know—you want pure love, marriage, a blue collar job, 5 kids, yeah, we get the picture,” Satoru finishes the sentence for him with a sigh, reciting it as if it came from his memory. “But seriously. I mean it. Don’t fall for it. For her. She’s bad news.”

Yuta nods absentmindedly, smiling awkwardly. Sure, Satoru had exaggerated some of the details, but he wasn’t entirely wrong. Yuta gathers his thoughts, trying to place what exactly it was that he felt about you. Fear? Fascination? Attraction? Were you a novelty that Yuta was simply trying to wrap his head around?

Spring break came, and he hasn't seen you since that encounter in the bathroom. 

Yuta forgets you for a while. He went on about his life. Classes. Studying. The same old. But he unexpectedly meets you once again this time through Satoru’s spring break party at one of the Gojos’ beachside villas. Only a select group of people were invited. Close acquaintances of Satoru, including his friends and best friends, but even with the party being more selective, there were still easily 30 people at the party. Satoru Gojo was practically friends with everyone. Yuta often marveled at how the guy could keep up with all his friends.

Within the tall, three-story, Mediterranean-inspired architecture of the beachside villa. Yuta made his way to the kitchen. And there he finds you.

You were leaning against the marble kitchen island, a mimosa nestled between your manicured fingers. They were dyed a dark cherry red this time. You wore a white backless silk halter top, tied at the back of your neck with a silk bow that drooped, with a tiny white skirt. Your hair was tied up, and your lips shimmered with a cherry red that complimented the color of your nails. You wore complementary white kitten heels, and you were surrounded by a small group of people. 

One of the faces Yuta could make out was Suguru, who was leaning on the kitchen island next to you, his hand resting intimately at the small of your back. You were deep in conversation, occasionally sipping from your drink, leaning in closer to Suguru whenever he whispered something to you.

“Who are you looking at?”

Yuta jolts from his standing position, yelping in surprise before he turns to see Aoi standing beside him. The older male was dressed in some casual distressed jeans, black platforms, and a cream button up shirt that exposed a generous amount of his collarbones.

“What are you . . . ?” Yuta’s tiny voice trails off in surprise. 

Aoi’s expression has settled into one of those expressions. He’s wiggling his eyebrows playfully before glancing over in your direction and back at Yuta.

“It’s not like that!” Yuta leans in to whisper.

“Really?” Aoi raises a brow, suspicion dripping in his voice. “You mean it?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” he shrugs, leaning forward to wrap his arm around Yuta’s back. “Let’s go over there and say hello, then.”

Yuta begins to panic. He protests quietly, but to no avail.

Aoi raises his spare hand, grinning brightly. “Suguru!” he calls out.

You and Suguru look back towards their direction, and Yuta swears he can feel himself momentarily stop breathing. Your gaze was fairly unreadable, but yet you were so pretty tonight that he couldn’t bring himself to care. Yuta wasn’t sure whether he wanted to drag Aoi to the beachside and toss his LV shoes in the chilling and dark waters out of anger, or to take the man out for a meal for being given the opportunity to look into your face.

“Aoi,” Suguru’s face lights up. His charming smile stretches further when he catches sight of Yuta. “And Yuta! Come on over.”

You simply sip at your mimosa, not saying a word, and Yuta lets himself get dragged by Aoi towards the group surrounding you. You continue to look impassively at Yuta, before your attention is swept away by Suguru who once again leans in to whisper something into your ear.

You chuckle at whatever it is he said. Your hands reach over behind Suguru’s head. Gazing into the male’s eyes, your fingers massage the back of his head, running your fingers through his chestnut hair. Everyone else seems to acknowledge that you and Suguru are set to disappear somewhere soon, but they pay no mind and continue to talk.

Yuta finds himself drawn to you. The visage of you, clad in all white. The kitchen’s lights and the way they dance against your features makes you seem angelic. He’s still not sure what this feeling is exactly. He’s never felt anything like this before. Did he want to be in Suguru’s place? Did he want your pretty fingers playing with his hair? Did he want your pretty eyelashes fluttering up at him?

You place your unfinished mimosa down on the kitchen island. Your hand reaches to grab Suguru’s wrist before you start to walk away, and he follows you in that practiced manner. As if this was something that always happened.

As you walk, you spare Yuta a small sideways glance, the barest of smiles graces your lips. You look away just as fast, and you disappear in the crowd.

“Look at them slipping away,” Aoi mutters next to Yuta’s ears. “They look like they’re leaving. Probably going to one of their cars and start fucking.”

“Does this always happen?” Yuta asks, furrowing his brows.

“Hmm,” Aoi pauses to think. “Not often? Well, at least, I don’t know everything that goes on. I see her in parties with Suguru and all and since they’re fucking it’s not weird that they slip away once in a while.”

Yuta can’t help but imagine what Suguru’s perspective would be in a few minutes’ time. Would you be straddling Suguru’s thighs in the backseat of your car? Would Suguru get to see your hooded eyes, looking down as you grind those hips on him? Would you let Suguru undo the ribbon of your halter top and play with your breasts? What sounds would you make if he did that? How would you look with your skirt hiked up, panties rubbing against his—

But Yuta quickly stops that thought, exhaling shakily.

Yuta must be afflicted with some odd illness, he decides. Because otherwise, he would not have followed you. 

The hood of your deep red convertible was pulled up, and from the distance that Yuta was at, he could see you sitting on Suguru’s lap through the car windows. Your halter top is undone, breasts freed as Suguru suckles on your breasts desperately. Your head is thrown back, little sighs escaping your lips.

Yuta doesn’t risk going any closer so he doesn’t get caught. So he remains at a distance, peeking just above the gate of the beachside villa to peer at the activity going on inside your parked convertible. He doesn’t hear any sounds due to the closed windows, but he does witness your body moving atop Suguru. You were smiling down at the dark-haired man, and Suguru’s head was thrown back against the seat.

You grab a pair of what seemed to be a tiny piece of black fabric, before you stuff it into Suguru’s mouth. Yuta watches with bated breath as he sees Suguru’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Not long after, you seem to be doing something with your hands that Yuta can’t quite see, causing the man beneath you to thrash around.

Was it from sensitivity? Yuta wondered. He’d never had sex so he never knew how it would feel. He’s jerked off, the usual, and he thought he was satisfied with that until he met his first girlfriend during high school. The furthest they’d ever gone was a kiss. Yuta was satisfied with that back then. He was content to wait until he found someone he truly loved. He wanted to have sex for the first time with his beloved girlfriend. He aspired for something pure. But since he’s met you, he finds his image of the future blurring. Now, looking at you, and how the men with you react in such a crazed way whenever you handle them—when you degrade and humiliate them—it stirs up an odd feeling within Yuta’s stomach. A feeling that’s familiar but he can’t quite place.

Now, he was certain that he was sexually attracted to you. That was the only possible way to explain why Yuta’s hands were trailing towards the tent in his pants, attempting to soothe it, find some sort of friction, to seek release.

Yuta wonders how good you’d make him feel if you ever allowed it. How good you’d feel straddling him. How good you’d smell. How good you’d look. How you’d speak to him. How you’d bend him to your will. He’s chasing that faint mint and cigarette smell. He wonders what it’s like when it’s mixed with sweat and the heat of your bodies. He wonders what it’s like for you to shove those pretty nails into his mouth to shut him up. He wonders what it’s like to let go and let you handle everything. He wonders what it’s like to peer up at your downturned face while trapped between the deathly grip of your plush thighs.

Yuta’s thoughts cease immediately when he glances at your direction. Your eyes bore into his once again through the window of your car. Those same hypnotizing eyes. Hazy, with the mimosa, maybe smoking, maybe with the high of sex, maybe with the high of being watched—or a mixture of everything. Yuta is too stunned to process the situation or move. Once again, you don’t seem to care if he moves or continues watching. 

A small lingering smile that doesn’t reach your eyes tugs at the corners of your glossy lips.

“You seem to have a habit of watching me.”

Yuta freezes in his position on the sidewalk by Satoru’s beachside villa. You’re driving your convertible, cigarette hanging at the corner of your lips, the embers burning bright as you inhale. You seem to be waiting for an explanation, and when Yuta doesn’t immediately provide one, you exhale the smoke right at his face.

He begins coughing, his hands rising to swat away the smoke from his face. You watch him passively as he does so. Yuta doesn’t know how to begin. How does he even explain the fact that he followed you and Suguru to a spot where he could see the both of you fuck? You must have thought he was a weirdo. But wait, aren’t you the weirdo too for not seeming to mind the presence of an audience? What the fuck was going on?

“So,” you probe, breaking his train of thought, “you like watching people have sex?”

Yuta lets out some sort of strangled noise. The notion you just suggested causes him to start coughing, and he’s bringing his fists to his mouth to muffle the sound of his coughs. You look unimpressed.

“You’re not even responding back,” you say, sounding somewhat bored, dangling your left arm on the sides of your convertible.

“. . . I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, his head lowered. He couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. He was certain his cheeks were flushed red. “I’m really sorry,” his voice was so faint and shaky, “I didn’t . . . mean to. I don’t know what went over me.”

You pause to consider this, inhaling your cigarette. Yuta knows this is just an excuse. A desperate one, but you don’t address it. Thankfully. After you exhale, you tap your cigarette against the side of your car to get rid of the excess.

“You don’t sound awfully sorry to me though?” you muse, a faint smile dancing on your glossy lips.

Yuta’s lowered head shoots up at your words. His cheeks flush red, and he’s sputtering over his words. His mind is blanking. His trembling lips part, opening and closing as if to say something, but nothing ever came out.

Your eyes narrow in mirth, your smile turning into a conniving one. “I like you,” you hum in amusement. “You’re cute.”

And that just about sent Yuta over. His ears were reddening now too, just a bumbling mess of a guy on the sidewalk. You? Liking him? A girl as pretty as you? There was no way.

Yuta’s mind is a mess. Confusion soon settles on his face, and he’s at a loss for words. “What?” he manages to stutter out.

“You heard me,” you hum cooly. Then you nod your head toward the direction of your passenger’s seat. “Hop in.”

“But—”

“But what?” you ask, glancing up at him. “You don’t have any plans tomorrow, do you?” You drop the cigarette in your free hand onto the pavement. Yuta stares at it as the embers die out, blending into the dull gray of the pavement.

Yuta finds his body moving immediately. He’s heading towards the passenger seat next to you, opening the door and settling himself inside. He’s conscious of the groups of people outside, who probably noticed the whole exchange between you and him. He wonders what they think, but that thought is immediately shut down as you’re stepping on the accelerator without a word.

Yuta is surprised by the sudden speed. Panicked, he’s clutching tight to the car door’s handle and carefully reaching for the seatbelts despite the gust of wind pushing his body back. A quick glance to your side shows that you’re not wearing a seatbelt, and before thinking, Yuta leans in and grabs the seatbelt from your side to fasten it.

“Seatbelt!” Yuta attempts to yell as much as he can despite the strength of the wind whipping past the both of you, rendering hearing more difficult than usual. To his chagrin, his voice came out more as a broken squeak.

You’re staring at him now, with that slight curl at the ends of your lips. Yuta reaches for your face and directs your head to face forward in panic, before he returns clutching onto the sides of the car for extra support.

A mere chuckle is all that leaves your lips. Nonetheless, you tap the button for the convertible hood to rise up once again. The car slows down significantly from its former speed, the chill breeze slowly fading away, the loudness of the cold night wind all disappearing as the convertible’s hood shuts. Silence fills the car, and you quietly raise both the windows before turning on the air conditioning.

You drive in silence for a bit, not going near the radio to turn on any sort of music. This vacancy of noise leaves Yuta with own thoughts to brew.

What was this situation? He finds himself pondering. Frantically searching for an answer. And where were they going? Were they just going to leave without letting Satoru and the others know? What was your intention?

“I can almost hear your thoughts, you know,” you say suddenly, reaching for another cigarette and slotting it between your lips. With your free hand, you grab a black lighter and quickly light the butt of your new cigarette, inhaling and exhaling the puffs of white. “Why? Do you not trust me?”

Panicked, Yuta stares at you as if you were some sort of weird creature. “Can you read minds?”

You crack a smile. “What do you think?” you probe, glancing over towards him, faintly fixing the cigarette in your lips with your fingers. “Of course, I can’t. But you might as well say your thoughts because your face is damn awful at hiding it.”

Yuta hesitates. “Where are we going?” he finally asks.

“Back to my place.”

Yuta is at a loss for words, stuttering. “W-Why are we—?”

“I’m going to fuck you, aren’t I?” you interrupt casually, glancing towards him. Yuta’s lips part in disbelief at your nonchalant words. Almost as if you were asking him a simple question instead of telling him you planned to fuck him. “Unless you wanted me to do that in Satoru’s villa?”

His ears begin to heat up at your blunt words. Yuta still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Were you always this blunt? Was this okay? Was he really going through with this? With someone he barely knew? Someone who he wasn't in a relationship with? Someone he didn’t love? Were you really going to . . . ?

You take his silence as an answer in itself.

“Thought so,” you seem pleased. “I much prefer the comfort of my own place. The car could’ve been an option.” You glance at him before returning your gaze towards the road. “But I decided against it.”

Yuta doesn’t say anything, but he quietly ponders. Were you being considerate of him since he saw you riding Suguru just a few hours ago in the very backseat of your car? Or did you just want to go back home? Was he ready for whatever it was you were about to drag him into?

You arrive at your apartment complex some twenty minutes later. It was in a high-scale urban area, the most expensive in the city, with you driving up towards a guardhouse beneath a very tall swanky apartment complex. You pull your window down, showing your face, and the guards immediately open the gates for you, allowing you to drive into the parking lot.

Yuta was in awe as you drove towards a parking spot next to numerous nice cars. Was this normal for swanky apartments? Yuta had never lived in the city so he had never experienced apartments located in the heart of the city, surrounded by all the buzz of nearby people in hot malls, expensive restaurants, flagship stores of designer brands, parks, museums, you name it.

You park safely, and step out of the car. Yuta hesitantly follows, closing the car door behind him. He glances up at you, a black bag of sorts slung on your shoulder. No doubt designer. Yuta just wasn’t fashion-savvy enough to pick up what brand because it didn’t have any logos, or if it did, he didn’t recognize it.

“Come,” is all you say, nodding your head towards the direction of the lobby.

Yuta follows you into the well-lit lobby. Marble floors, tall ceilings, gold fixtures on the walls, carefully curated plants. The lobby smelled nice as well. Like crisp sandalwood and fresh mint. It smelled somewhat like you. 

The silence between you makes Yuta feel the need to break it.

“Your place is . . . nice,” he lets out in a soft mutter.

You glance over towards him, raising a brow, before you let out a small laugh. “Yeah?” you probe, though you sound disinterested, almost as if you’ve heard this numerous times. “You like it?”

He nods, just as the elevator opens.

“Good,” you hum, seemingly satisfied. You start to walk into the elevator, with Yuta in tow.

The elevator was similar to the lobby. Tall and gold fixtures. A glance up revealed a vaulted ceiling with ambient lighting and a modern lighting fixture similar to a chandelier hanging in the center of the elevator. The elevator had a mirror wall with deep cerulean velvet designs, and Yuta could see his reflection in the mirror, standing next to you. He was aware that he was fairly tall, and he felt a small sense of confidence with how you were at the perfect height to nuzzle your head into his neck.

You scan some sort of card in the elevator. It must be a resident access card. Yuta’s stare lingers, widened. Yuta wasn’t rich by any means, but he knew enough to discern what was rich. Growing up with Satoru as his cousin, Yuta knew a lot about prominent wealth signifiers. His eyes follow your manicured fingers, reaching up to press the highest floor, of the 50 floors, called P.

It was a quiet elevator ride, and Yuta allows himself a close look at you. You look even prettier up close. His eyes settle and focus on your eyes, the curve of your nose, and the glossy surface of your lips.

The elevator opens before his thoughts stray any further, and Yuta is floored when he sees an apartment sprawled out before him instead of a hallway leading to the apartment. You step out, stretching a bit as you leave your purse on one of the couches laid around the spacious space.

Yuta follows slowly, and the elevator closes behind him. A quick look around the place shows Yuta a very large and spacious apartment. Bi-loft too, he guessed by the glass stairs on the other side, as well as the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the apartment panoramic views of the night skyline.

“You have a floor to yourself?” he mutters to himself in astonishment, and you don’t say anything. You probably didn’t hear, you were making your way to the kitchen.

The kitchen looked like it came straight out of those luxury interior design magazines. A big island with five stools stood in the center of the kitchen. Dark marble countertops, top-of-the-line silver appliances, and a cabinet fridge? Yuta gawks as you open your very large fridge whose exterior blends in with the rest of the dark wood cabinets. You grab two bottles of water, placing them on the island.

“Want some water?” you suggest to Yuta, and the male walks over to you. 

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

“Sparkling or still?”

Yuta pauses momentarily, stares up at you and blinks. “Uh, just regular water?”

A smile tugs at your lips. “Still it is.”

You grab the bottles of water, putting them back inside the fridge. You take out two Evian bottles, handing him one.

“If you need to use the bathroom, it’s over there.” You point towards a direction near the stairs. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Yuta nods hesitantly. Somehow he feels even more nervous. He empties the bottle you had handed to him, trying to rid himself of the dryness in his throat. 

He follows your directions afterwards, starting to amble over to the bathroom. He thought he needed to collect himself before anything eventful happened. He still couldn’t believe it. How was he in this situation with a woman like you? You were so pretty. One of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen. And now he was alone with you. In your apartment. He doesn’t know how anything is supposed to progress. You did briefly mention earlier that you had plans to fuck him. What exactly did that entail? Was it going to be like the time he saw you handling that man in the lecture hall by accident? The idea constricts his throat. He’s not certain whether he’s fearful or anticipating it. This wasn’t what he had envisioned. 

By the time Yuta makes it into your very spacious and large bathroom, he’s looking into the mirror, attempting to fix his appearance as best as he can. He’s grabbing his shirt, smelling it. He hopes he doesn’t smell bad. He reaches for the faucet, trying to shake off his anxiety.

“Her bathroom is the size of my dorm with Toge,” he mutters to himself, pumping foam into his hands. He finds himself looking around the bathroom. How much does this place even cost?

He wipes his hand off on one of the towels. He attempts to fix his appearance one last time before stepping out of the bathroom. When he steps out he hears the sound of the television running, and he walks over to the living room.

You’re sitting on a leather couch, still in the same clothes as before. There was a glass of what seemed to be red wine nestled between your slender fingers. The white halter top exposing your delicate back, that white miniskirt that shows a generous amount of your thighs.

You don’t say anything, eyes fixed on the television before you as you pick out a song to play. Yuta doesn’t know what it was, but he finds his eyes lingering at the hem of your skirt. He’s afforded a very generous view of your thighs, and he finds himself gulping away a lump in his throat that he hasn’t been aware was there.

“You’re back.”

Yuta jolts in surprise at your voice. You glance back at him, and he shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “Um, yeah,” Yuta murmurs. 

You cock your head to the side, raising your glass. You eye him as he stands across from you, his body stiff. “Want some wine?”

He makes a gesture to decline. “No, thank you.”

You shrug, not pushing the issue further. You sip on your wine, your fingers tapping your phone screen to change the music. The sound of your nails tapping against your screen and the faint thrum of the jazz music you were playing resounds in your large apartment for several moments, until you completely shut it off.

You close and then toss your phone to the other side of the couch you were on, exhaling. Then, your eyes regarded him as you crossed your legs.

“You’re a virgin, I take it?”

Yuta’s body froze at your sudden question. His eyes are large as they gaze back at you, his fingers tensing. His head lowers, his ears dusted red.

". . . Yes,” he admits softly.

A smile blooms on your face. “What’s the furthest you’ve gone, then?”

“A kiss with my first girlfriend,” Yuta murmurs.

“Cute,” you hum, setting your glass of wine down on the small table beside the couch. “Did you like it?”

He raises his head and blinks at you.

“The kiss,” you clarify.

". . . I did,” he murmurs. “I really liked her. I was happy that we kissed.”

“Yeah?” you hum, cocking your head to the side. You gesture for him to approach. “Come here. Why are you standing so far away?”

Yuta follows with a hesitance in his steps, stopping just a foot away from you. You gaze up at him expectantly, a pleased curl on your lips.

“On your knees,” you hum.

Yuta glances at you, and he doesn’t utter a word. Quietly, one knee of his sinks, before the other follows, until he’s kneeling before you. He gazes up at you with those big hazy eyes, as if you hung the stars. You reach out a hand, cupping the side of his face. His face leans into your palm, his eyes closing in contentment. Your thumb caresses the smooth skin of his face, and his sleepy eyes open, gazing up at you reverently.

Your thumb presses harder, caressing the plushness of his lips. You part his lips with your thumb, sticking it in. He gazed up at you, his tongue lapping up at your finger. You hum in satisfaction, digging your thumb in deeper and pressing your sharp nail down on his tongue. You relish in the prick of pain that pinches at his brow, and he gazes up at you, almost pleading, but he doesn’t pull away.

You lean down until your face is merely inches away from his own, relishing in his sad pretty eyes. “Is this what you’ve been dreaming about?” you whisper. “Being treated like this?”

Unable to speak a word with your thumb in his mouth, Yuta settles for a nod of his head. The sight has you exhaling in satisfaction. You pluck your thumb away from his mouth, strings of drool connecting from your thumb to his soft lips. 

He’s dazed, still not believing that this is happening. That he’s here, kneeling before you, your hands on him, his face mere inches away from your own. Was he actually liking this? Being with a woman he didn’t love and didn't love him back. Being with someone he wasn’t dating. Being subjected to degrading treatment. You lean in towards his neck, inhaling his scent as your hands travel from his chest to his arms.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” you coo, your heeled feet rubbing through the fabric of his jeans.

Yuta’s breath hitches, your words dawning on him. Was this seriously about to happen? You’re right before him, waiting for him.

Hesitantly, his hands reach for the waist of his jeans, unbuttoning them before he’s pushing them down to his knees. You don’t assist him, opting to remain to gaze at him, silently studying his expression. He’s left in his shirt and his dark gray boxers, kneeling before you.

“Go on,” you hum.

Yuta begins to reach for his crotch, hands pushing down his boxers so his erect cock slaps against his stomach. His shirt covers part of his cock, and you reach for the shirt, tugging it up.

“Remove your shirt,” you order. “Show me how pretty you are.”

The shirt’s tossed to your floor not long after, and Yuta kneels before you, his toned body on display before you. He finds himself wanting to shrink, unsure what to make of that perpetual smile of amusement on your lips. Do you like what you see? Are you making fun of him? Yuta wants to crawl into a hole and disappear.

Your hands reach for his face, commanding his attention back to you. Your fingers trace the strands of his hair, playing with them in a way Yuta enjoys, despite how he doesn’t want to admit it.

“Touch yourself,” you order, gaze drifting down to his hardened cock.

Yuta doesn’t know why his dick isn’t deflating from this situation. Does he just enjoy having you watch him? Is it because you’re so close to him? Was he secretly an exhibitionist?

His hands begin to trace his cock, grabbing the base before he begins pumping his fingers. It was a bit difficult with not much lubrication to help him out, so Yuta reached for his mouth, spitting into his mouth before redirecting the spit onto his cock. It makes pumping his cock a bit easier, and Yuta lets himself relax more.

“Who do you think of when you touch yourself?”

The question from you is unexpected, slowing down the strokes of his fingers. Yuta is quiet, at a loss for what to say. You’re looking at him expectantly, awaiting an answer. Like you’re certain he has one.

“Do you think of me?” you probe, grinning. “Do you imagine your hand as my hand, jerking you off? Maybe it’s my mouth?”

Yuta lowers his head, avoiding your gaze. He considers his current position. He was in your apartment. Almost butt-naked. Kneeling down before you in your living room with his hand wrapped around his dick. He didn’t see how he could lie to you given how his cock was quite obviously rising just at the sight of you.

“. . . I do,” he quietly admits, turning his head to the side to avoid your heated gaze.

“Did you ever think this would happen?” you ask him, letting your manicured nails run through the tufts of his dark hair. “Being in my apartment, touching yourself off in front of me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

A meek response. “I just don’t think I’m your type,” he admits. “I heard that you’re . . . with Suguru.”

There’s a grin on your lips. “You’ve asked about me.” 

His cheeks burn. “I don’t mean to be creepy about it! I was just curious about—”

“No need to stress about it,” you interrupt him, fingers caressing his thigh. His hands tighten around his cock. “Suguru and I just fuck occasionally. Do I look like the type to date?”

Yuta shakes his head. “I heard from Satoru that you’re not the type,” he admits breathily, gazing up at you. “He told me I should stay away from you.”

You throw your head back in laughter, a pretty little laugh leaving your lips. “That bastard’s always cockblocking me.”

Yuta finds himself admiring your face. The way the smile reaches your eyes this time. He’s momentarily dazed.

“So?” your voice pulls him back to the present. “Are you planning on staying away?”

He’s staring at you, the swell of your lips, and the amused twinkle in your eye. His hand slows to a stop around his cock.

“I don’t know,” is all Yuta was able to say.

“Yuta,” you murmur softly, in that low tone that has him hypnotized. “If you really wanted to stay away, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Yuta doesn’t respond for a few moments. His throat feels dry, and he’s unable to rebut your statement. Your fingers reach for his lips, your thumb ghosting over his bottom lip as you gaze at his lips. Yuta attempts to read your face. He finds it unsettling how you don’t allow any readable emotion to settle on your face. That is until he sees a satisfied smile stretch across your lips.

Satisfied with his silent acquiescence, you dip your heeled feet down, caressing his cock. With a grin on your lips, you watch as Yuta twitches in his kneeling position as you begin to stroke him with your foot, teasing his sensitive tip. Yuta pulls his own hand away from his base, gazing up at you with a hitch in his breath.

“So cute,” you coo appreciatively, gazing down at his pretty cock. The tip was slender and flushed an adorable pink, with some veins decorating the shaft. The thatch of dark hair at the base of his cock is trimmed neatly. He was cute. A decent size and girth.

Yuta clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle the gasps leaving his lips. You begin to apply more pressure to his cock, and he peeks down to see that the sole of your heels fully presses down on the base. The pressure earns another round of moans from him, which are muffled by his hand.

“Continue covering your mouth and I’ll gag you myself,” you threaten.

Yuta reluctantly lets his hands fall to his thighs, gripping them hard as he moans from the mixed pain and pleasure of your feet on his cock. You resign yourself to stroking his cock with your feet, smiling in amusement as you continue your strokes.

Yuta can’t believe how he’s actually enjoying this. Such a degrading act. Your heels practically step on his hardened cock, as if you couldn’t bother touching it yourself. As if he didn’t deserve even being touched by you.

“So sensitive,” you muse as you play with his reddened tip, caressing it languidly as you stare at his flushed face. “Your girlfriend never touched you like this?”

Yuta nods, his chest heaving up and down.

You scowl. “Answer me with your voice.”

Yuta answers in between stuttered gasps. “N-no, you’re the first one.”

“Good,” you hum pleasantly. “Does it feel good? Being stepped on like this?”

Another meek nod, and a shaky whisper. “Yes.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, leaving Yuta to wonder if that turned you off. Then, he glances up, noticing you gazing down at him with something he can’t read simmering in your eyes. Then, your hand reaches for the back of his head and you pull him in for a kiss.

The kiss is completely unlike what he had experienced before. If the kiss he shared with his first girlfriend was brief and chaste—almost innocent—then the only way he could describe kissing you was intoxicating. 

Yuta can taste a mixture of cigarettes, red wine, and cherry from your chapstick. He feels your warm tongue moving, swiping against his bottom lip. His mind blanks, his lips moving against yours automatically. You kiss like you want to deprive him of air. Like you want to swallow him whole until he’s nothing but a putty mess. Your hands travel down to grip the sides of his face, and Yuta finally allows his hands to travel. With your guidance, his hands settle on your plush thighs, gently squeezing it. He groans into your lips as he touches you. He still can’t believe it. That this is happening. That he’s actually touching you. You’re impossibly soft. He swears he’s in heaven.

Yuta chases after your lips when you briefly pull away. He wasn’t aware that a kiss could be like this. Why was he suddenly aware of what to do? You taste so good. You smell divine. He feels like he’s drowning in you. He wants to drown in you. He wants to receive all of your affection. He wants to be the object of your attention.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he finds himself muttering against your lips.

You chuckle into his lips, pulling away with a pop as you pause to undo the ribbon holding your halter top up. Yuta gawks as the fabric falls and reveals your bare breasts to him. You reach for his hands and direct them to grab your breasts. Yuta’s hands were rather large, and they effectively cupped most of your breasts. He gently squeezes them, earning a small sigh of pleasure from you.

He’s tentative in his movements, gazing up at you to check whether you’d stop him. He fondles them gently, before his movements before firmer, his hazy eyes focused on the way your supple skin moved under his fingers.

“How eager,” you comment, your hands stroking his hair, your fingers tangling through the dark tufts of his hair. You pull his hair back, forcing him to gaze up at you while he knelt before you. A glimmer of satisfaction flickers in your irises, before you push his head down to your thighs.

Yuta is puzzled, but his eyes follow the very short hem of your skirt. The sight of your bare thighs makes his cock ache, and with a little grin, you spread your thighs, revealing your bare cunt. He freezes as a realization dawns on him. You didn’t have panties on since this entire time. Yuta is too stunned to say anything. He thinks back to the time in the car. Through the entire exchange.

“Let’s see exactly how eager you are, hmm?” you propose with an amused glint in your eyes. “You’ve been hungry all this time, I’d be a bad host if I didn’t let you eat.”

Yuta hesitantly grabs the smooth surface of your thighs. His chest is heaving up and down. He still can’t believe this is happening. You’re so warm. You smell divine. Your cunt looks so pretty. He wants nothing more than to dive in. 

“Never eaten pussy before, right?” you query, gazing down at him.

Yuta doesn’t respond, his mind almost blanking.

“That’s okay,” you hum. “I’ll lead you through it. You begin by teasing the clit.” Your fingers go down to demonstrate, pressing down and massaging it in circles. A small sigh leaves your lips, before you continue. “Use your saliva. The wetter the better. It’ll make it easier for later.”

Your fingers reach towards Yuta’s mouth, doused with your slick.

“Suck,” you order him.

He obeys, wrapping his lips around your fingers. 

“Spit.”

Yuta follows suit, and your eyes narrow fondly. 

“Good boy.”

Your fingers, now slicked with Yuta’s spit, move towards your clit, and you massage it in, your head thrown back as your fingers dip inside your sopping cunt. “You do it just like this,” you say between heavy breaths. Your fingertips rub over the delicate nub of your clit, flicking over the hood of the bud. “Slowly. Take your time.”

Yuta is mesmerized. His saliva was on your cunt. You were touching yourself in front of him, mewling softly, exposed all for him. He watches your red nails dipping inside of you, and he finds his fingers reaching further up your thighs.

“Can I?” he asks, his weeping cock pulsating.

Pausing, you regard him with a look, before pulling your fingers away from your clit. You gaze down at him expectantly.

“Go on then.”

Yuta leans in closer after you give him permission, his fingers ghosting your cunt, before he starts to massage the bud, his finger occasionally dipping inside. You’re evidently wet by now. Yuta still can’t wrap his head around what was happening. You were gasping before him, with his fingers inside of you.

The slow, squelching sound of his fingers going inside of you is obscene. Your sounds are sweet and angelic, and they only serve to further encourage Yuta in maintaining his pace as his finger pumps into you. He’s leaning down now, burying his head between your cunt and licking at it. He’s sucking and nibbling as his fingers bring you to your high. He is clearly inexperienced, but the desperation in his tongue’s movements more than made up for it. You gaze down in arousal, seeing his pretty puppy eyes gazing up at you in adoration as his needy mouth laps up at you. He was a starving man partaking in your essence. Your thighs quiver at the sight, and you wanted nothing more than to ruin Yuta Okkotsu.

Your fingers tangle in Yuta’s dark hair. “Keep going.”

That encourages Yuta further. By now his nose is digging into your cunt, continuing his relentless sucking and fingering. He swears you’re intoxicating. He wasn’t aware that pussy tasted like this. Or was it just you? He was finally getting a taste of what he’s thought of before. The sight of you gazing down at him with his head buried between your heavenly thighs. Yuta doesn’t even know what’s happening to him. He was desperate for you. Desperate for your approval. He believes he can have this one experience and jerk off to it for the rest of his years.

One particular suck causes your thighs to clench around Yuta’s head, a melodic moan leaving your lips. You grip his head, pulling him to your cunt. You moan softly as you grind your hips onto his starved mouth. His spare hand travels down your thigh, massaging them before they settle on the swell of your hips. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I’m close,” you let out in stuttered gasps. “Keep going. Don’t speed up or slow down.”

Yuta obeys. His tongue continues at that same pace, sucking on your clit as his fingers stuff themselves in your cunt. His tongue flicks at the pearl of your clit, leaving at it like a starving puppy. True to your word, your grip tightens on his hair, and you cum on his tongue. Yuta stops and gladly drinks up your cum, earning moans from you as you squirm in his hold.

Yuta licks you clean, and he looks up, panting heavily. He looks like a delicious mess. Puppy eyes widened, hazy with arousal, eager for your approval and praise. Face smeared with your slick, his sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

You offer him a tired smile, leaning down so you can kiss him properly. Yuta obliges, closing his eyes as you suck on his tongue, your heeled feet gliding down to his hard cock. His hands settle at your waist, before they move down to your ass, squeezing them as you smile against his lips.

Pulling away from him, your fingers run down the fabric of his shirt.

“Take this off,” you order.

He obliges with a nod, shedding the fabric on your living room floor, leaning his body under your watch. Your eyes admire his build appreciatively, not having expected him to be this well-built. Your hands reach for his shoulders, fingers slowly trailing down the expanse of his toned chest and arms. Your hands settle at his nipples, smiling up at him before you press a kiss to them.

“So cute,” you murmur. “You’re only good for me, aren’t you?”

God, Yuta will only be good for you if you let him. He nods obediently, opting to keep his mouth shut so moans don’t leave his lips.

“I asked you a question.” The smile drops on your pretty face. Your voice is more clipped this time. Your hands grip his chin firmly, harsh enough that the crescents of your nails etch themselves onto his supple skin. “When asked a question, you give an answer.”

“Y-yes,” Yuta manages to utter out in a voice barely above a whisper. His pretty eyes gaze up at you reverently. “I’m only good for you. Wanna be your good boy.”

You hum, seemingly satisfied. “I know,” you coo softly, your soft hands running through his hair. “Tell me, what do you want me to do?”

His pleading pretty eyes, widened and glassy from arousal. His face rests on your plush thighs, gazing up at you like a needy puppy. His hips buck desperately into the air, his weeping cock twitching.

His lips part, his words almost a whine.

“P-please,” he pleads. “Let me feel you.”

Mirth dances in your eyes. “Feel me how?” you whisper. “Use your words.”

“Please let me make love to you,” he whispers, his ears flushing red.

“Make love?” There’s an amused lilt to your voice. “You’re going to make love to me, pretty boy?”

“If you’d let me,” he exhales breathily, gazing up at you. His body trembles, thrumming from anticipation and arousal all at once.

“Up on the couch,” you hum, patting the seat next to you.

Yuta nods his head, immediately rising and sitting down on the couch. He gazes at you with dilated pupils, breaths heavy as you push his pants down, letting it pool at his feet.

You rise before him, pushing your skirt up. Your head cocks to the side, gazing down at him in amusement as you straddle him. Your sopping wet cunt brushes against his flushed cock, and Yuta’s body is trembling at the brief contact.

“Is this what you wanted?” you coo softly, rubbing the lips of your cunt against his cock.

Yuta’s body trembles beneath you on the couch. His chest heaves up and down, his eyes glistening as he gazes up with you.

“Y-yes,” he babbles out breathily. “P-please. Please. Want you. Want to feel you. Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” you whisper into his ear, leaning down to pepper feathery kisses on his neck. Your soft hand reaches down, gripping his base, aligning him properly.

Yuta’s stomach dips in anticipation, his thighs quivering as he feels his tip pressing against the slick lips of your pussy. You smile wryly into his neck as you slide down onto him.

All the air is knocked out of Yuta’s chest. His dreamy eyes roll into the back of his head. Warmth. Overwhelming warmth. It wraps around everywhere. And so tight. It grips him so tight he swears he's ascending. It was nothing compared to his hand. The weight of your body on top of him. The tickle of your hair. The sensation of your soft lips pressing to his neck. You smelled divine. You felt divine. It was too much. Your walls are pulsing around him. It was warm. Yuta swears he’s on fire.

Yuta whines.

You hum softly at the stretch, pulling back to look at his face. Yuta’s face is flushed red, his eyes glassy and lost, utterly debauched.

“Feels good?” you coo softly.

He nods his head weakly. “Y-yes,” he mumbles faintly, almost incoherent. He sounds like he’s on the verge of sobbing. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” you whisper softly, resting your hands around his neck, tangling in the locks of his hair.

Without giving him a chance to respond, you’re moving your hips. You watch in delight as Yuta’s mewling and gasping beneath you. His hands shakily hold onto your gyrating hips. White hot pleasure fills his vision. He’s sputtering, mewling, whining like a needy puppy. It’s too much. Way too much. Hot tears prick his blown out eyes. That heat simmers in his stomach, a familiar coil snapping.

He cries out pathetically as he cums immediately. Your sneer deepens as you feel the thick strings filling you.

Yuta’s head slumps back on the leather couch, exhaling heavily.

Your hand rests at the juncture of his throat, pressing down. Your voice is a low snarl. “Did I give you permission to cum?” 

Yuta’s glassy eyes flicker up to you in panic. His soft lips part, his body flushed prettily.

“‘m s-sorry,” he whispers out, his voice cracking faintly. “I couldn’t—it was too g-good—I’m sorry I couldn't hold back.” He’s crying now, tearing up as he gazes up at you. “P-please forgive me.”

You roll your hips. Yuta’s eyes widen, a sharp gasp leaving his lips. Extreme sensitivity runs through his limbs, sending him into overdrive. He whines, his hips stuttering as you ride his poor cock.

“I-it’s too m-much,” he whines out, crying so pathetically, so prettily. “P-please, I can’t–hah!”

“You’ll shut up and take it,” you scowl, riding him. You bounce on his cock, moaning softly. “You wanted to cum without telling me? This is your punishment.”

“F-forgive me,” Yuta mewls softly, his hands trembling in a weak attempt to slow down the movement of your hips. But he’s lost at this point. “Please. I-I just wanted to be—ngh—good for you.”

“Yeah?” you whisper breathily. “Wanna be good for me? Then stay fucking still. You wanted to cum, didn’t you? Go on.” Your hands pull at his hair. “Cum again.”

Yuta’s sobbing by now, his hands gripping onto the flesh of your hips as you rode him. Used him like a fucking dildo. It was too much. Way too much. Yuta’s mind was blank. It was overwhelming. The clamping of your walls. The slick pooling down his shaft. The creamy mess of his cum swirling inside of you.

“I-I can’t!” he cries out.

Your hands tighten around his neck, applying pressure to the juncture of his windpipe. Yuta’s eyes roll back into his head. His stomach was tensing. His chest heaving. His cock being hugged by the tight and plush embrace of your cunt���s walls. It was so good it was bordering on painful. This isn't making love. This was far from it. 

“You’re going to fucking cum,” you snarl.

Yuta’s hot tears stains his flushed cheeks, his lips trembling as soft gasps left his lips. Your hand continues to press down at his throat, before you lean in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Yuta feels faint. He’s lightheaded. He’s whining, gasping, mewling. He can’t breathe. It’s like you’re intent on draining everything out of him. All he can feel is the warm embrace of your cunt. The softness of your body. Your fingertips pressing down on his throat. Your lips, your tongue swirling against his own. The taste of wine on his lips. The sweet powdery scent tinted with cigarettes. The beads of sweat forming between your warm bodies.

With a cry, Yuta cums again. He’s sobbing, and you pull away from the kiss. He breathes in oxygen, whining pathetically as his cock twitches inside of you, filling you. You moan softly, clamping down on his walls. 

Yuta’s head slumps back against the couch. The fringes of his dark hair stick to his forehead, beads of sweat running down his face. His eyes are blurry, both from his tears and sweat. 

You admire the sight of him. So weak. So pathetic. So pliant.

He looks so pretty like this. Crying. Those pretty puppy eyes, lined by bags, irises blown wide, gazing at you as if you were a walking goddess.

You lean in, licking up the tears on his cheek. You relish in the salty taste, the faraway haze in Yuta’s eyes. How his thick lashes flutter slowly.

Slowly, you lift yourself off of him. Yuta hisses in sensitivity as his cock drags out of your walls, gazing down at his spent cock. It’s covered in a thin sheen. The patch of trimmed hair at the base of his cock is smeared in cum.

“Lay back,” you hum.

Sluggishly, Yuta nods. He shifts on the couch, laying down on his back. His pretty eyes gaze up at you. You smile at him, moving to hover your cunt over his face.

Yuta’s breath hitches at the sight of your cunt under your skirt, smeared with his cum. You kneel on the sides of his shoulders, facing his stomach. You gaze over your shoulder, lowering your cunt to his lips.

“Clean up your mess,” you order.

His mouth moves automatically, his tongue lapping up at the frothy mess of your cunt. His lips are shiny, kissing and flicking his tongue. You moan softly, grinding your cunt onto him.

Your soft hand reaches down, reaching for his soft cock. You wrap your hand around it, your fingertips brushing against the tender skin. You can feel Yuta’s body jolt briefly upon your touch, his tongue halting momentarily as he whines into your pussy. You sneer in satisfaction, leaning in to kiss the tip of his soft cock. It twitches in your hand, the tip a pretty shade of pinkish red. You lick your lips, leaning in and dragging your tongue up the shaft.

Yuta gasps into your cunt, his soft hands gripping onto the flesh of your thighs. His thighs quiver as your tongue laps at him. Your hands pump him, relishing in how he whines into your pussy.

You tighten your grip around his cock when he stops moving his mouth. Yuta gasps, and despite the tears pricking his eyes, he laps up at your pussy in a daze. He’s certain he must be drunk. Drunk on you. On the feel of you. 

You smile as your hands pump his cock, watching as it twitches, soft and spent. It looks so pretty. One of the prettiest cocks you’ve seen.

You lift yourself off of Yuta’s mouth. He gazes up, dazed, confused at the sudden loss of contact with you. 

“Sit up,” you order.

His trembling body obeys, sitting up on the couch. You settle behind him, pressing your breasts against his back. Your hand wraps around his cock from behind, pumping him as your lips graze his ear. You can feel Yuta shiver from your touch, melting into you. 

“I-I’m still sensitive,” he whines out in between stuttered breaths. “I can’t—”

“You can’t?” you mock him. “Should I stop touching you then?”

“No!” His protest is quick, a sob that bleeds into a whine. Despite the burning sensitivity. The flicker of pain, he finds that the thought of you pulling away is more painful. “P-please, don’t stop.”

“No?” you sneer. 

His breath is shaky, his hips quivering. It was too much. The sensitivity was bordering on pain. His muscles are taut. His chest heaving up and down.

Your free hand reaches up to cup his chest, your fingertips brushing against his nipple. You pinch it, twisting. Your hand continues pumping his cock, your thumb playing with the slit of his tip.

This earns a shudder from Yuta, who mewls at the sensation. “N-no more, please,” he mumbles out, exhaling, his entire body trembling. “‘s t’much—mph!”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you whisper, your warm breath brushing over his glistening neck.

Yuta’s mind is foggy. There was too much going on. Your fingers pinching and twisting at his nipple, your soft hand pumping his cock and thumbing at his leaky tip, your soft lips on the curve of his neck, the low whispers into his ear.

His lips are parted, soft whines constantly slipping out. His eyes are scrunched shut, his lips trembling. He was moaning, his head tipping forward. He was drooling at this point, his lips and chin smeared with the sticky trail of saliva.

“So fucking pathetic,” you coo, your tone almost a sneer. “I haven’t even finished and you’re already fucked out?”

His glassy eyes gaze back at you, tearing up from the overstimulation. He tries to say something, but it slips out as a weak murmur, an unintelligible whimper.

Then he feels it. The tense coil in his lower stomach. That familiar pressure. His face heats up. He’s shaking his head weakly, the stuttering of his hips increasing. His muscles are contracting, his cock feeling almost painful.

“N-no—ah!—stop,” his airy voice protests, “p-please—’m gonna p-pee!” He sobs out.

Something close to surprise crosses over your features for a split second, before it’s replaced by a malicious curl of your lips and the pleasant narrowing of your eyes.

Yuta expects you to let go of him. He surmises that he’ll be embarrassed, running over almost butt-naked to your bathroom so he can pee and awkwardly interrupt the both of you. He wants to disappear, to crawl into a whole. He’s certain he’s absolutely blown it with you. Made a fool of himself all because he can’t control his fucking bladder. He’s crying freely, warm tears decorating his flushed cheeks, sniffling. 

But your hold tightens even more around his cock. Your breasts press against his back, feeling the trickle of his sweat.

“Do it,” you purr into his ear. “Make a mess.”

Yuta’s stomach dips.

“Nonono, p-please no, I can’t!” he cries, coming close to the precipice. He can feel the pressure on his bladder. He’s doing his damnedest best to hold back. “‘s too m-much! I’m not—”

“You will,” you never ask, you demand.

Yuta sobs out, his tears trickling down his cheeks onto his chest as he finally breaks. The stream of liquid shoots out, and you grin in mischief as you watch him make a mess on the leather couch. The warm liquid trickles down to your fingers that were wrapped around his cock. His body is trembling, his cheeks and ears red, wailing softly. 

You grin in sick satisfaction, a shiver running through your body at the sight of Yuta putty in your arms, crying. Wrecked. Absolutely humiliated.

“So fucking dirty,” you chuckle, pressing your lips against his ear from behind him.

Yuta’s eyes are closed shut, his face burning furiously. His body is trembling, his soft cock drooling. Your damp fingers grip his chin, almost bruising.

“Open your eyes and look at the mess you made,” you scowl.

Yuta’s eyes peel open. His rich dark lashes are bunched together with his tears, his eyes swollen and reddened, gazing down at the mess he made of the couch. His piss, soaking the throw pillows, collecting on the leather of the couch. His eyes are blurring with a new onslaught of warm, salty tears.

“How’s it feel, hm? Pissing all over my couch like a damned dog?” you hum, letting go of his chin and playing with the slit of his tip with your fingertips.

Yuta shivers under your touch, with the sensation of your body pressed against his back. “‘m s-sorry,” he whispers out, so faint you could barely hear it. His traitorous body was acting on its own. “I-I’m so sorry. I—“

“You don’t sound all that sorry to me,” you muse, feeling his cock harden under your strokes. Your thumb runs down a vein on his shaft. “You’re getting hard after that?” A sneer. “You like pissing on yourself?”

He shakes his head limply, sniffling softly as he cries. “N-no,” he protests weakly. “I didn’t m-mean to. I—“

“For a virgin, you’re such a slut,” you murmur into his neck. 

Yuta shivers at your voice. 

You shift positions, pulling away and shoving him down to lay on his back on the couch. He falls back with a soft thud, his wide teary eyes gazing up at you. His cock stands tall, and you regard him with a sneer as you hover above him, gripping his cock and aligning it with your cunt. You rub his flushed tip against the lips of your pussy, relishing in how his expression falters, how soft sighs leave his lips.

“You’re so pretty like this,” you coo, watching how his pretty eyes gaze up at you, misty with tears. “So pathetic.” You sink down on him, gasping softly at the intrusion, but your eyes remain trained in how Yuta’s eyes blow wide, how his lips part, how his brow furrows, how his hand balls into fists. 

“‘m n-not—“

“You like this, don’t you?” you purr, his words dying in his throat as you roll your hips, watching how he thrashes in sensitivity, his thighs stuttering under you. “Being used like a dildo.”

You throw your head back, moaning softly as you rock your hips. You drag his cock through your spongy walls, relishing in how it curves and bends, sticking and rubbing against you. Yuta whimpers beneath you, gasping out as you use him without a care. He’s throbbing with sensitivity, but he can’t bring himself to stop. His eyes drink up the sight of your pleased expression, your soft lips parted as you moan softly, dragging his weeping cock in and out of your walls with slow strokes.

This isn’t making love, Yuta thinks through teary eyes, but it felt heavenly. His hips buck up into you as you ride him, addicted to the feeling of your warm and tight cunt.

There’s no love in this, but he thinks he just might grow to love you. The sight of you riding him, how your pretty breasts bounce, how your pretty face twists as you use him for your own pleasure—it was too much. His spent, misty eyes gaze up at you, white prickling his vision from the extreme sensations.

There’s no love in the way you ride him, the way your fingers come down to grip his beaded face. His dark fringes stick to his forehead, his body glistening. You lean down, continuing to fuck yourself using his cock, parting his mouth with your thumb. A cruel smile stretches on your lips, and even through the hazy pleasure, Yuta thinks you look beautiful. You spit in his mouth, watching as the glob of spit gathers on his tongue. Yuta cries out softly, still tearing up, but you see the way his throat swallows. How he takes it all. All that you give him.

This isn’t making love, but Yuta’s cumming again, sobbing out your name as he comes deep inside of you.

“—to Yuta? Earth to Yuta? Hello?” A voice slowly fades in from a dull ringing in his hazy head, snapping Yuta out of his reverie.

He blinks rapidly, rousing himself from his disoriented state, suddenly remembering that he was at a cafe near the university with his roommate, Toge. Yuta glances down at his opened laptop, the cursor of an opened Word document blinking back at him. He was doing an assignment for one of his elective classes, though he didn’t have much progress done. 

“Dude, your coffee’s been ready at the counter for like ten minutes,” Toge says, his brows pinched together. His face is illuminated by the screen of his own laptop before him. He tilts his head, appraising his friend who sat across from him. “You okay?”

Yuta slowly nods his head. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” He rises from his seat, trying to offer his friend a reassuring smile. “I just haven’t slept well because of the exams coming up.”

A half-truth, really. He was both occupied with both the exams looming over him, and the haunting visage of your pretty face gazing—no, sneering—down at him as you sank down on his cock. 

Toge gives his friend an odd look, but to Yuta’s relief, doesn’t press further. Yuta exhales, making his way over to the coffee counter, apologizing softly to the worker who he presume has been calling his name periodically for the past several minutes as he retrieves his warm cup of coffee.

It’s been a week since he last saw you. Since that fateful evening occurred. Yuta hasn’t stopped thinking about it since then. He also hasn’t heard of you since. Your social media accounts were all private. You hadn’t offered him your number, either. He had no way of contacting you. 

He sighs softly to himself, ambling back to sit across his friend with his hot caramel macchiato. He blinks at his dark laptop screen, and he logs in again. He brings his lips to his coffee cup, his tired eyes gazing out at the window of the booth they sat next to.

His lips still, his breath catching in his throat as he catches the familiar white snowy tufts of hair belonging to none other than his cousin, walking on the street.

Satoru Gojo was dressed in a black turtleneck, stretched around his broad shoulders and toned frame, dark gray slacks adorning his long legs, to black leather loafers. He had one strong arm wrapped around the waist of a woman walking next to him. They slow to a stop, and the woman takes her ringing phone out of her purse. When the woman turns to the side, pulling away briefly from Satoru’s clingy touches, Yuta’s throat dries up.

It was you.

Your lips were moving, speaking to the person on the phone. Satoru’s large hands trail down from behind you, resting at the swell of your hips. He’s almost clingy, a small pout on his face as you continue your phone call. Yuta can almost hear the complaint tumbling from the snowy-haired man’s lips. Your face is passive as he does so, gazing out to the side. Your lips part, conversing absentmindedly, before your eyes bore past the window of the cafe.

Yuta stills on his seat in the cafe’s booth as you make direct eye contact. Your pretty eyes widen slightly for the briefest moment at the sight of him, before they narrow fondly. A small, languid smile stretches on your plush lips. Yuta’s chest pumps erratically, his stomach sinking. 

Satoru stands behind you, none the wiser to the clandestine look you were exchanging with Yuta, his head lowering into your neck. His long fingers toy with the belt loops of your mini skirt.

[wileys-russo]

any chance you could write a blurb about lessi and her new short hair? like she comes home from the hairdresser and is a bit unhappy bc her hair was so damaged so she didn’t get to have it bleached and had to cute quite a bit off? but reader literally goes feral at the sight

new style II a.russo

“is that you less?” you called out from the living room, eyes glued to the tv as you heard the front door open and close with a gentle thud. “no it’s an intruder with keys.” your girlfriend chuckled, dumping her bag on the counter and making her way over.

you mocked her and pulled a face before the taller girl collapsed beside you on the lounge, kissing your cheek hello and sighing heavily.

“that was a big one baby, what’s the matter with you then?” you turned your body to face her, the girl kitted out in a matching grey nike tracksuit, hood pulled firmly over her head casting shadows across her defined features.

“long day, im over it.” alessia groaned, laying down more and draping her arms over her face. you moved to climb on top of her and grabbed her hands, wrenching them away from her face as the striker looked up at you with a pout.

“whats happened love?” you smiled softly, her arms moving to wrap around your back as you lent down and pecked her lips a few times. “kiss me properly and maybe i’ll tell you.” the girl perked up, puckering her lips expectantly.

you playfully rolled your eyes but none the less gave into her wishes, dipping down and pressing your mouth back to hers. you couldn’t help but to smile into the kiss, forever relishing in the ever comforting feeling of such close intimacy with your blonde lover.

though as your hands flew to her cheeks, intending to tangle them in her hair as you always did, things became a little out of sorts.

your girlfriend grabbed at your wrists, gently tugging your hands away and placing them on her hips instead, her own then wrapping around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, her tongue teasingly tracing your bottom lip.

things heating up you withheld a moan and out of instinct your hands flew back up to tangle in her hair but once again alessia grabbed them before they could, placing them once more on her hips.

“okay. what’s up with you?” you pulled away with a slight pop and sat back up, legs straddling either side of the taller girls torso as you frowned down at her with concern.

“nothing, c’mere.” the blonde ordered needily, fists balling at your hoodie and trying to pull your mouth to meet hers again as you shook your head.

“you’re being weird.” you accused, eyes narrowed at her out of character behavior until the penny dropped. “you had your hair appointment today.” you remembered and all it took was the split second of panic that flashed across your girlfriends face for you to know you’d guessed correctly.

“what happened? show me.” you tried to reach down and tug off her hood but she swatted away your hands. “alessia! show me your hair.” you ordered again with an amused smile as the older girl shook her head, grabbing your hands and firmly holding them by your sides.

"what did you do shave it all off? babe i won't care what it looks like. show me!" you laughed, wriggling on top of her as the blonde groaned. "fine!" she huffed and you squealed as she pushed you off of her, sinking back into the lounge as she sat up.

"they couldn't bleach it because it's apparently too damaged. so then they said they'd give it a trim and maybe they could do just some foils for my roots so i agreed." alessia started to explain as you nodded along, resting your head against the back of the lounge.

"but then i didn't realise how much they would trim off, and then they still said it was too damaged so i should just let the roots keep coming out so it strengthens my natural hair." you hummed to show you were listening, eyes attentively following along as her hand grabbed at her hood.

"so then once i saw how short it was i sort of freaked out, paid and bolted." alessia admitted, biting down on her bottom lip and slipping her hood down, your eyes widening as she did.

"so much for a trim! she cut like five inches off i'm definitely not going back there." the blonde huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as you took her in.

her now much shorter hair was still damp and hung to her shoulders, her brunette roots prominent against the fading bleached tips and as she ran her hand through it, pushing it to one side of her hair you felt your chest heave.

"is it bad? you're literally never this quiet so it must be bad." alessia moaned, moving to try and yank her hood back up as you scrambled to stop her, practically tackling her back down onto the sofa. "not bad, definitely not bad." you promised, gently carting your hands through her shorter locks with wide eyes.

"you like it." alessia realized, lips curling into a smile at the look in your eyes which she recognized instantly. "i really do." you exhaled, alessias smile turning into a smirk as she pushed herself up to rest on her elbows.

"oh don't get cocky about it babe that's a turn off." you shook your head with a grimace, lying through your teeth. "please, you love it." your girlfriend scoffed knowingly and you faked a sigh, rolling your eyes. quickly flipping your positions alessia now hovered over you, her mouth teasingly brushing against your own.

"baby if i knew you'd like it this much i'd have cut it myself."

[graysonnightwing]

Please be honest in all of your answers.

1. Will you ever be free from your guilt? Circle your answer. a) Yes b) No c) I have traveled to other dimensions trying to rid myself of this weight upon my chest. Nothing has ever worked.

2. How else could this have ended? a) I only wanted to spend a night with a boy. b) I never expected to be left behind. c) No one does.

3. Barbara is 15 years, 10 months, and 4 days old. You are 15 years, 7 months, and 3 days old. If she dies on a Tuesday, and you stop looking for her on a Saturday, how old will you be when you let her go? Please answer clearly, in full sentences.

(Not a correct answer: There will never come a time when I don't pick up the phone hoping to hear her voice on the other end.)

4. Define two (2): BFFs | The feeling of a revolver heavy in your hand and the ringing in your ears from firing it | Demogorgon | The way the world collapsed when Hopper and Joyce did not bring her back

5. True or False: i. You heard something that night. ___ ii. The monster's claws and teeth were the last thing she ever felt, while you were upstairs being held with gentle hands. ___ iii. You wish it had been you. ___ iv. You lie to her grieving parents every week. ___ v. They believe you. ___ i. You hunt the one that killed her, but you'll never bring her back from the dead. ___ vii. You told her to go home. ___

-nancy this isn't you (format inspired by x)

[guccifrog]

MEDDLE ABOUT

band!chris sturniolo X reader

chapter 1

warnings: swearing/smoking/ band chris

ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵐʸ ᵒʳⁱᵍⁱⁿᵃˡ ʷᵒʳᵏ// ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵗᵉᵃˡ ᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵖʸ

˚ ༘ ·˚꒰Meddle about-chase atlantic꒱ ₊˚ˑ 1:35 ━━━●───── 3:47 ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

ʷᵉ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵐᵉᵈᵈˡᵉ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ

°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

As the clock's second hand seemed to drag along at a snail's pace, I found myself staring at the same display of overpriced guitars and outdated drum kits that had become the background of my existence. The music playing softly over the store's speakers I couldn't even muster the strength to drown out the ticking of the clock above me. Just a few more minutes and I'd be out of here, free to go home and collapse into bed.

It was the same routine, day in and day out: show up, restock shelves, wait for customers who never came, and then clock out at six, wishing for a life that didn't involve wearing a name tag and listening to the same Top 40 hits on repeat.

Just as I was about to turn off the lights and lock up for the night, a figure dashed through the door, their face flushed and their eyes wide. They skidded to a halt in front of the counter, breathless and desperate.

"Please," they gasped. "You have to help me."

I glanced at the clock again, already late for my shift-ending ritual. The words "Sorry, we're closed" were on the tip of my tongue, but something in the way he looked at me, the raw panic in his eyes… it stopped me cold.

"I need guitar strings," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm in a band, and we have a show tonight, and we forgot them…"

I sighed, annoyance momentarily giving way to a strange sense of pity. Rolling my eyes, I reached beneath the counter and grabbed a box of strings we had. "Fine," I muttered, handing them over. "this will cost 50$."

The boy's face lit up, and for a moment, I almost forgot how much I hated my job. "Really?" he asked, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank you so much!"

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out enough money to cover the strings. As he counted it out, I couldn't help but notice the worn condition of his clothes, and the scuffs on his shoes. He didn't look like a typical musician, but then again, I'd never been in a band.

"You know," I said, my tone more gentle than I intended, "you should've called ahead. We're closing early today."

He looked up at me, his expression sheepish. "I know, I'm sorry. I guess we were just really focused on practice."

There was a moment of silence as he finished counting the money and placed it on the counter. Then, unexpectedly, he reached over and handed me a scrap of paper. Confused, I took it, glancing at the hastily scribbled address.

"Oh, that's where we're playing tonight," he explained. "We're starting at nine. You should come by, you know if you want to hear us play."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I found myself speechless. It was the first time anyone had ever invited me to one of these things, and I had to admit, there was a small part of me that was intrigued. But then, reality set in. I was exhausted, and I had better things to do with my time than spend it at some dive bar listening to a band I didn't even know.

"Thanks," I said finally, "but I've got plans tonight."

He nodded understandingly, but there was a hint of disappointment in his expression. "Okay, well, thanks again for the strings. I really appreciate it."

As I watched him leave through the door, sprinting down the street, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. Here he was, rushing off to play music for a crowd of strangers, while I was headed home to another lonely night in front of the TV. A part of me wished I could be more like him, more carefree and passionate about something.

But then again, I reminded myself, I had a steady job, even if it wasn't my dream. And who knew? Maybe the band would suck, and I'd be glad I didn't waste my time going to see them. It was hard to imagine anything worse than spending an evening listening to yet another mediocre cover band, but I guess anything was possible.

I finished flipping the 'open' sign before closing the door and stepped out into the cool night air. The streets were bustling with people, couples holding hands and laughing as they walked arm in arm. It was a scene that once would've filled me with longing, but now it only served as a reminder of what I was.

As I made my way home, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The text from my roommate hit me like a ton of bricks. Of course, she would choose tonight to finally have some alone time with her boyfriend. It seemed like the universe was conspiring against me. With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and sent her a quick reply, telling her I'd be at a friend's house for the night. I didn't want to give her any ideas about crashing there.

I shoved my phone back in my pocket and continued down the sidewalk, lost in thought. The sounds of the city swirled around me: cars honking, people laughing, music blaring from open windows. It was a cacophony of noise that usually I would've found comforting, but tonight it all seemed to grate on my nerves.

As I walked, I found myself drawn to a nearby alleyway. The dimly lit space was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the main street, and I ducked inside, seeking a moment of solitude. The alley was lined with garbage cans and graffiti-covered walls, and the air smelled of stale urine and old pizza. It was the perfect place to lose myself in my thoughts.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out some change, then made my way to the vending machine at the end of the alley. It was one of those old-fashioned machines, the kind that required actual physical effort to operate. I fumbled around in my pocket for a quarter, then inserted it into the slot and twisted the dial to select my drink.

As I waited for the machine to dispense my beverage, I glanced around the alley. The shadows danced and shifted in the flickering light, casting strange shapes across the walls. I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settling over me. Maybe it was the late hour, or the quiet solitude of the alley, but something didn't feel right.

I fidgeted with the rings on my fingers, drumming my thumbs against my thigh as I listened to the distant sounds of laughter and music. It was almost as if they were taunting me, reminding me of the life I wasn't living.

A soft click sounded from the vending machine, and I glanced down to see my can of soda slowly begin to emerge from its metal prison. I snatched it from the machine's clutches and twisted off the cap, taking a long, satisfying drink. The cold, sweet liquid soothed my parched throat and chased away the lingering unease that had been nagging at me.

As I stood there, enjoying my soda and trying to shake off the strange feeling that had come over me, I noticed something shimmering on the ground at my feet. Bending down, I picked up the glittering object, a crumpled piece of paper. Frowning, I smoothed it out against my palm and immediately recognized the boy's handwriting. It was the piece of paper he had given me earlier with the address on it.

The paper must have slipped out of my pocket when I was looking for change. I must have dropped it without even noticing. The universe was indeed conspiring against me tonight.

I examined the address on the piece of paper and realized that it was quite close by. In fact, it was only a few blocks away. For some reason, this made me feel both curious and uneasy. Maybe it was just the late hour and the solitude of the alley, but something was telling me that I should go there.

With a deep breath, I stuffed the rest of my soda can into a nearby garbage can and made my way back out onto the street. The cool night air caressed my skin as I walked, and the lights from the nearby buildings cast a warm glow on the sidewalk. I could hear the distant sounds of traffic, but they seemed to fade into the background as I focused on the task at hand.

The bar came into view, its neon sign flickering invitingly above the door. As I approached, I could feel a mixture of anticipation and trepidation coursing through my veins. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, stepping into a world of dim light and loud music. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke filled my nostrils.

The boy was nowhere to be seen. The entire bar seemed to be empty, I couldn't help but notice the way people kept glancing in my direction, their eyes lingering on me for just a moment too long. It was unnerving, to say the least. I made my way through the empty bar, feeling more and more self-conscious with each step. The silence was deafening, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. I started to wonder if I had made a mistake coming here and if I should just turn around and leave.

But then, just as I was about to lose my nerve, something strange happened. The lights flickered, and for a split second, the room was plunged into darkness. There was a collective gasp from the patrons, followed by the soft click of lighters and cell phones as they tried to illuminate the darkness. But, almost as quickly as it had come, the power returned, and the bar was bathed in its usual dim glow.

It was in that brief moment of darkness that I saw it: a flash of movement on the stage. I squinted, trying to make out what it was, and then I realized, the boy from earlier, the one who had given me the piece of paper. His guitar was slung over his shoulder, and there were two other guys behind him.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see that they were setting up their equipment, readying themselves to play. The other members of the band exchanged knowing glances and quiet words, their movements fluid and practiced. It was clear that they had been through this before, they had performed together countless times.

The boy who had given me the piece of paper turned to face the crowd, his features shadowed by his long, brown hair. There was an air of confidence about him, a charisma that filled the room and made everyone in attendance sit up and take notice. "Hello, everyone," he said, his voice smooth and resonant, "thank you for coming out tonight." There was a murmur of appreciation from the crowd, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe wash over me.

He gestured to the other members of the band. "On guitar, you have my good friend and collaborator, Nate." The tall, lanky figure beside him nodded in acknowledgment, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "And on drums," the boy continued, "you have my brother Matt." The figure behind him raised his hand in a wave, his brown hair falling across his face. "Together, we are…Trapnest."

There was a moment of silence as the crowd absorbed the introduction, and then the room erupted into applause. The sound was deafening, echoing off the walls and filling my ears. I felt a thrill run down my spine as I watched the band members exchange smiles, obviously pleased with the response. The boy turned back to face the crowd, adjusting the strap of his guitar before settling into a comfortable position.

With a nod from the him, they launched into their first song. The music was haunting and beautiful, a perfect blend of melancholy and hope. Nate's fingers danced across the fretboard of his guitar, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of sound, while Matt's steady drumbeat provided the foundation for their sonic exploration. The boy's voice was like liquid honey, smooth and warm, as he sang.

The crowd swayed along with the music, their bodies moving in time to the rhythm. I found myself forgetting about everything else and getting lost in the moment, the music seemed to wash over me like a wave.

The set progressed, each song more beautiful than the last. There was a mix of both fast-paced, energetic numbers and slow, introspective ballads, showcasing the range and depth of their talent.

As the final notes of their encore faded away, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar of applause and cheers. The boy with the bass, who I now knew as the lead singer of Trapnest, smiled shyly and waved at the crowd before stepping back from the microphone. Nate and Matt joined him at the front of the stage, grinning and taking bows as the adulation of the crowd washed over them.

The atmosphere in the room was electric, everyone was on their feet, clapping and shouting, their faces lit up with excitement and awe. Even from where I was standing near the back, I could feel the energy emanating from the band like a tangible force. It was clear that they had made a lasting impression on everyone there, myself included.

I didn't realize I had started moving until I found myself at the very front of the crowd, only a few feet away from the lead singer. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. It felt as if we were the only two people in the world, and everything else had faded away. The rest of the band disappeared, the music became a distant hum.

He smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It lit up his entire face, making his eyes close and his dimples appear.

As if from a dream, he stepped off the stage, moving through the crowd with an effortless grace. People parted for him, their faces filled with awe and admiration. He didn't seem to notice, his focus solely on me. He stopped just inches from where I stood, towering over me despite his slight build.

"I thought you had plans tonight," he said, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His voice was like honey, smooth and warm, sending a shiver down my spine.

"oh shut up" I rolled my eyes, trying to play it cool, but I could feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. His smile only grew wider, like he knew he'd gotten to me. "I just thought it'd be nice to, you know, do something other than stand there and gawk at you," he said as he shoved his hands inside his pockets, looking around at the people who were still surrounding us.

I couldn't deny that it was kind of flattering to have the attention of the lead singer of some band, but I wanted to make sure he knew I wasn't just some groupie. "So what's your name, anyway?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He blinked, looking slightly surprised by my directness. "Oh, uh, name's Chris," he said, offering me his hand. I hesitated for a moment before taking it, feeling the warmth of his skin and the strength in his grip. His hand lingered in mine for a beat too long, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. "And you are?" he asked, his voice low and inviting.

"I'm y/n." I glanced around, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "So, uh, you guys were good. Really good. I wasn't expecting that."

He grinned, his dimples deepening. "Thank you. We try our best." He paused, looking at me intently.

I found myself drawn to his eyes, which were a beautiful shade of blue."I could tell," I replied.

He chuckled, seeming genuinely amused. suddenly, a commotion at the back of the room caught our attention. I turned to see one of his bandmates, who I recognized as Matt, waving frantically in Chris's direction. "Hey, man! Over here!" he shouted above the music.

Chris glanced over his shoulder, then back at me with an apologetic smile. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, taking my hand and leading me through the crowd. As we made our way through the throng of people, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and excitement coursing through me. This was definitely an experience I wouldn't forget anytime soon.

We reached Matt, who was grinning ear to ear. "we're about to smoke a cigarette out back," he explained. "You're more than welcome to join us." I hesitated for a moment, I don't know these people, but it did seem like they were all pretty cool. "Sure," I said, feeling a rush of adrenaline. "Lead the way."

We weaved our way through the crowd and out the back door of the club. The alley was dimly lit, and a cool breeze blew through my hair. nate, who I recognized from earlier was standing next to a girl with long dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes and another guy who looked exactly like Matt and Chris. They were deep in conversation, oblivious to our presence. Chris lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke into the night sky.

"So," he said, finally meeting my gaze, "what made you suddenly change your mind" His voice was still laced with that playfulness from earlier.

I shrugged, trying to act cool. "Oh, you know, just got bored I guess." I glanced over at the others, hoping they wouldn't think I was too forward. "It's not every day you get invited to something like this, right?"

He chuckled, the sound coming out as a soft rumble. "No, it's not." He took another drag of his cigarette and then offered it to me. "Here, want one?" I reached out and took it, as he lit it up for me. "Thanks," I said, coughing a little from the smoke.

the rest of the night was a blur. We stayed out in the alley, talking and laughing and getting to know each other.

The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of music from inside the club. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and it was intoxicating. chris was easy to talk to, and his friends were just as engaging.

As the night wore on, the conversation shifted to our respective lives. Chris told me about his band, and how they'd been playing together since high school. "We're not signed or anything yet," he admitted, "but we're hoping to get there soon." I nodded, impressed by their dedication.

I told them about my studies, and how I was working on my portfolio to apply to art schools. They seemed genuinely interested in my work."You know," Chris said, tapping his ash into an empty beer can, "we're actually looking for someone to design our album cover. If you're ever interested, you could always give us a shout." I felt a thrill of excitement run through me at the thought of working with them.

Madi, the girl with the long brown hair, perked up at this suggestion. "Oh, yeah? That'd be awesome, You should totally do it," I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. "I'll think about it, but Thanks for the offer."

The rest of the night passed in a haze of laughter and conversation. As the sky began to lighten in the east, we made our way back into the club to say our goodbyes. The music was still thumping, but the energy in the room had shifted. People were starting to head home or make their way to the after-parties.

Chris, Madi, and I exchanged phone numbers as we said our goodbyes, promising to stay in touch.

as I walked in the empty streets, the smell of cigarettes and perfume still clinging to my clothes, I couldn't help but feel a sense of elation. I had never experienced anything like this before, and it was like a breath of fresh air.

the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm glow over the city. I decided to take a detour through the park on my way home. the dew-covered grass felt cool beneath my feet as I made my way toward a quiet bench. I sat down, leaning back, and took in the peaceful morning scene, as I thought about the events of the previous night.

°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖°

this was heavily inspired by the song meddle about and the show NANA 😝 (I cried for a whole week after watching it)

anyways hope u guys like this 🤞😕

[1d1195]

Neighbors IV

What's this?! A timely update?!

Read the other parts here: Part I Part II and Part III

I could be persuaded into one more part if needed. I'll make a series post for this tomorrow probably as well so it's easier to find.

🐱 I hope you enjoy once more.

Disclaimer: EVERYTHING I know about being a doctor comes from WebMD and TV. I'm fully aware this is outlandish. But it's for the plot ya know?

She looked like she was going to collapse. Harry took that moment to stand closer to her. The back of his hand touched hers. She leaned towards him almost instinctively. He took this as his signal to press her against his body. He wasn’t going to let her down. He would never let her collapse.

There was no other way to explain it and Harry had searched his brain over and over to get to the bottom of his emotions. He wanted it to be anything but what he was feeling. But there was no other word. Harry was mad. He wanted to see her. He missed her dearly. Missed Rory just as much, too. But he knew it wasn’t his business or duty to be part of the decision. He had no say in the matter. He could only love her as much as she’d let him.

And he did love her. He never thought he didn’t or couldn’t. She was an incredible mother and her gentleness, kindness, and sweetness on top of her beauty was so much for Harry. He was lucky to get to know her over these two years. While he was mournfully upset over not being around her, he did understand why she pushed away like this.

Of course, he understood.

He still hated it.

So Harry went about his day as if she and Rory weren’t part of his life any longer and it killed him but he would do anything to make her happy. Even if it meant he couldn’t see her anymore.

*

She was about to lose her mind.

Rory hadn’t seemed like himself in days. Based on the spots on the back of his throat she assumed it was strep. But she took him to the doctor, got the antibiotic and moved on. When he didn’t get better after the five-day course of antibiotics, they sent him home again with another five days’ worth of treatment.

But it was now day seven pushing on day eight. Rory wasn’t getting any better. Rory was tired all the time. He was quiet. So quiet it scared her enough that she was watching him sleep rather than sleeping herself. He was clearly in pain, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

Topped with not being around her best friend that was literally and figuratively a stone’s throw away. Her brain was all but fried.

After the first bout of non-working medication, she began researching. It was a horrible idea, but it was the only thing she could do. She wasn’t a medical professional. All she knew was from TV shows and she knew that they only did rare diseases to make the show fun and exciting.

This was not fun nor exciting.

Her heart was aching for Rory. It was one of the only times she ever wished she had someone to lean on when she felt so broken. She knew if she called Harry he would come running over and he would help with whatever she asked. It seemed so unfair to ask him for help. She had done it all on her own until Harry arrived in the neighborhood.

But would it be so bad to ask Harry for help? He was perfect in every way and obviously adored Rory. She had no doubt Rory would be a priority in Harry’s life too. If he wanted it, who was she to deny him of it?

“Mumma, I don’t feel good,” Rory mumbled. It broke her thoughts of Harry. She wished they didn’t because she was about to plan an apology that Harry deserved and she prayed he would accept. If he didn’t, she would understand. Only an idiot would let someone like Harry slip out of their life and she was the front runner for the village idiot.

But when she looked at Rory her heart broke again. He coughed once more shaking his little body, and she had enough. “Okay, baby we’re going to go to the doctor’s again,” she murmured scooping him into her arms. He was getting bigger and that also broke her heart. It wasn’t the time, but it was all she could think about. But he was sick and still so little. Stuffing her feet into the sneakers that were at the door not letting Rory out of her arms for a moment, she then wrapped his coat and a blanket around him because it was naturally raining and raining hard. Scurrying to her car she settled him into the back on his car seat. He coughed again, right in her neck, and groaned. “I know, baby, I know,” she sighed.

Getting into the front seat she turned the key.

Click.

Surely this was a dream. “No, no, no,” she said smacking the steering wheel. “Please, please, please,” she begged.

Click.

“Goddammit!” She hissed under her breath smacking the wheel.

“Mumma?” Rory whined.

“Yes, baby?”

“My tummy hurts,” he said.

“I know, Rory, I’m sorry. I’m...” she felt tears of frustration start behind her eyes and she thought about just running with Rory in her arms all the way to the hospital. But she did have one other option. Before she could process her own idea, her phone was pressed to her ear, she called Harry. Her heart was racing. He didn’t answer.

“Fuck,” she croaked again. It was late of course he wouldn’t hear it. Normally, Rory would giggle out that was a bad word, but he just stayed silent, turning red, hot, and more sick by the second. “C’mon,” she said quickly and retrieved him from the backseat. She hurried across the street and started banging on the door.

Harry startled awake to the sound of his phone vibrating incessantly; nearly falling off on his nightstand paired with an incessant banging that he couldn’t fully understand where it was coming from because his brain was still sleeping. He couldn’t even make out the name on his screen because his brain was still fuzzy, and his heart was slowly working up to regular speed. He felt shocked as he answered tiredly. His brain only worked at the quarter of his normal speed. He cleared his throat, eyes still closed. “’Lo?”

“Harry, please come open the door. Please, please, please,” he had never heard anyone sound so desperate and terrified in his whole life. His eyes opened as if they were spring loaded. He was sure he looked like a horror film. But now his heart was racing further.

“Yeah, yeah, love. Hold on,” trying to shake the sleep from his brain. The distress in her voice made him want to fly down the stairs and he nearly yanked the door off the hinges. He only had seconds to make sense of what was happening but all he could think about was someone hurting her or Rory and how he would do anything to make sure they were both safe. The last few weeks meant nothing. There wasn’t time to qualm about it.

She was clutching Rory to her body; her face was in absolute anguish and Harry was in awe that she could even stand with the weight of whatever she was carrying mentally in addition to Rory. Harry was flicking his eyes back from her to Rory. His chest ached almost as much as hers at the sight of Rory: pale, cheeks pink, and covered in spots. “Something’s wrong with Rory, my car won’t start. Can you drive us to the hospital?” She rushed out her eyes so pleading Harry could have cried.

“Shit. Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Harry grabbed a pair of shoes and coat by the door. Didn’t even put them on and ushered the pair of them to his car in the soaking rain. She slid into the back with Rory cradled in her arms. Harry was terrified. “Mumma, it hurts,” Rory mumbled. His quiet voice, nearly devoid of emotion, made Harry weak, and he pressed his foot further onto the gas pedal wishing it wasn’t raining so he could speed the way he wanted to all the way to the hospital.

“I know baby, I know,” she whispered soothingly.

Harry struggled to put his shoes and coat on as they ran inside to the emergency room. He knew they must have looked insane. She felt insane as she told them he was sick and all the things she had done since the onset of him feeling unwell. They eyed her suspiciously and then her son but of course took the boy and ushered her and Harry to the waiting room.

They ran more tests and while they did, she began pacing, staring at her phone, tapping on the screen as she searched and scoured the internet for something that could help. “Love, I know you want to help, but googling won’t do anything but make you worry.”

“Harry, something is wrong with him,” she said as if he didn’t know why they were there. She could feel the anger projecting onto Harry and she hated it—it wasn’t Harry’s fault she was mad and scared.

But of course, Harry was perfect and didn’t mind her anger was geared toward him in the moment. “I know, love, I know,” he said almost defensively. Harry was also scraping his mind for ideas of what could have happened to the poor boy. His leg bouncing rapidly in anxiousness. “I jus’ don’t want you t’worry unless there is something t’worry about,” he promised.

She sighed out an apologetic breath in his direction and kept her nose glued to her phone continuing her search.

Fortunately, the medical professionals returned shortly thereafter; her phone slid into her pocket and she stood up anxiously but hopeful. She looked at them expectantly awaiting a cure-all for her poor little boy. Somehow she missed it; probably the lack of sleep making her less aware than normal...but Harry could see it in their eyes. They were going to break her heart. “It’s just strep, ma’am.”

She shook her head, her face crumpling in pain that existed in someone else’s body. “No,” Harry could see the torment coursing in her own body. She looked like she was going to collapse. Harry took that moment to stand closer to her. The back of his hand touched hers. She leaned towards him almost instinctively. He took this as his signal to press her against his body. He wasn’t going to let her down. He would never let her collapse. His own heart was racing in fear that the poor little kid was sick as hell. Harry had never seen a child so run down. He felt bad for his mum in that moment—all those times he didn’t feel well, and she had to go through feeling like this. Rory was obviously not his own, but he was prepared to donate every last drop of his blood to the sweet kid if it meant he would feel better and be cured.

“I know when your baby is sick—” The doctor began.

She pressed her fingers to her temples shaking her head, rapidly.

“No, no, no... you don’t know. You don’t understand. This is not me being a crazy mom. I know I sound like a crazy mom. This isn’t that. I know my baby. Something is wrong with him. There is something wrong with him and I’m not leaving until something is done!” She was all but shouting and Harry put a hand on her back.  She started to march over to the waiting area again, she began pacing once more. Harry felt helpless looking at her from where the healthcare stood back to her. They discreetly called for a psychologist while continued Googling her little heart out. Harry felt his head snap defensively at their words as a woman picked up a phone at the desk. Harry would not let them talk about her when she was merely feet away.

“Excuse me,” he murmured at the counter blocking their view of her, but more importantly, her view of them.

“Sir,” the nurse behind the desk started; phone to hear ear.

Harry shook his head, not moving his gaze from her eyes. “I know you’re calling for a psychologist,” he said quietly avoiding raising the tone of his voice at all so she couldn’t hear. They faltered for a moment. He could see their surprised look; how could Harry possibly know that? He narrowed his eyes at the woman on the phone as the voice at the other end began to speak. He pulled his ID that resided in his coat pocket for home visits; he was lucky he didn’t take it out. They looked over his credentials and then back to Harry. “She doesn’t need that,” he shook his head stating it firmly.

She glanced over at Harry at the counter curious what they could be talking about. “Harry?”

“Just a moment, love,” he said to her not moving his gaze from the woman waiting to speak into the receiver.

“Mr. Styles, surely you understand that from lack of sleep and—” The doctor began.

Harry shook his head. “She is fine,” he repeated. “You need to fix her son.”

Harry knew they still didn’t believe him. She was soaking wet and wearing two different sneakers from leaving in such a hurry. They looked at Harry pleadingly, as if he would suddenly change his mind because they were both medical professionals. He denied their silent pleas. He refused to aid them in ignoring her maternal instinct. He knew she wasn’t crazy. Crazy people didn’t wake up their neighbors they were no longer speaking to in the middle of the night. Harry knew she wished it was strep. Strep would be getting better and she would be calmer.

“Harry?” She asked again coming over to the counter. The doctor took his chance once more as the nurse hung up the phone.

“Ma’am...it’s—”

“I swear to God, if you say it’s strep, one more time, I will respectfully throw your tablet,” that wasn’t helping Harry’s sanity case, but it wasn’t uncalled for in his eyes. “If it was strep, I would have it by now! That kid threw up, coughed on, and drooled all over me. It’s not strep! He’s not responding to the antibiotic.”

There was a second doctor that overheard her rising tone and joined in the little circle of trying to maintain calmness. “Ma’am, we’ve run every test.”

“Run them again. It’s not strep!”

“Ma’am, we can’t just—"

“Love,” Harry whispered under his breath trying to keep her level. He believed her of course, but he didn’t want her to get tossed aside because she was scared. The arguing was reaching near hysterics. It was getting past midnight and she was not crazy, but she was close to losing her mind. Harry couldn’t keep her calmer much longer even if he wanted to—he wanted Rory to be tested again just as much as she did. She started pacing again as she scans her phone.

They list through the symptoms and options of what is wrong with him. She kept repeating ‘no’ like a mantra as she read on her phone. Yes, all of the symptoms sounded like strep. Maybe it was tonsilitis, they could send her home with yet another antibiotic. They looked at Harry again pleadingly, but his eyes didn’t stray from her. He was getting increasingly worried about her; he wanted her to be okay just as much as he wanted Rory to be alright.

“Kawasaki disease,” she said suddenly. Holding her phone out to them as proof.

“He doesn’t have the strawberry tongue or any other earmarks—”

Phone back to her face and she slid the screen further. Her eyes were desperate, tears forming in the corners. The doctors clearly wanted to throw away her phone as much as she wanted to throw away their tablet.

“Rocky mountain spotted fever. We went for a beach walk in the dunes over a week ago,” she said and looked at them pleadingly. It was one of the illnesses listed it was nearly impossible. But this was impossible, and she was exhausted. And she had to try.

The doctor shook his head moving her phone screen up a bit as he read. “They’re not in these parts and he would have blackened crusted skin around a bite.”

Desperate once more, she marched into his little cubicle around the corner. The nurse standing by moved out of the way quickly as she yanked the sticker monitors off his skin, pulled the finger monitor off, untied the little gown off his body. Alarms beeped behind her as her eyes started scanning his body. How could she have missed a bite? How could she not have checked for tick bites? This was all her fault. Every second of it.

“Fuck,” she whimpered as she continued scanning, she didn’t see anything on him, and with each scan of his skin she felt more and more hopeless. Surely, she would be sedated in a matter of moments if she didn’t find something—she was certain that was the protocol, and she couldn’t help but start to think they were right through all her exhaustion. Tears were clouding her eyes and she could hardly see his skin through her blurred vision. “Harry, help me,” she begged, her voice cracking violently.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed Rory beneath his arms, holding his sick little body up while she examined more of his skin. Harry let her. He would do anything to help her. He saw the panic on her face. He knew she didn’t want to be right, but she knew it was the only thing that was going to keep Rory from being sent home without treatment and without her being admitted to a psych ward.

“Ma’am,” they started. “We already looked over his whole body and we didn’t find anything...we can prescribe a different antibiotic if the treatment continues to be ineff—”

She was still scanning, ignoring the words that were coming from the medical professionals. Harry felt helpless. Totally helpless as he held his limp, tired little body. She maneuvered his limbs every which way. Please find something. He silently begged.

Finally, she lifted his hair up and started searching along his scalp. She gasped, covered her mouth, as tears dropped down her cheeks. “Like this?” She croaked. The doctor stepped over, and examined the black, scaly spot silently.

There was a moment of nothing but hospital beeps and quiet breathing. She waited expectantly, her eyes moving from Rory’s scalp, then to the doctor, to Harry holding Rory’s tired little body.

“We need more scans,” and then suddenly, finally, there was a call of a series of actions, and once more they whisked the little boy away on a gurney and moved swiftly down the hall.

“We’ll be right back,” the older female nurse promised. She was the one standing by when they entered Rory’s cubicle. Harry noted, now that the excitement is over, that she was the only person who wasn’t staring at the sweet girl as if she was insane. “You did great, Mom,” she praised, squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Good catch. He’ll be fine,” her smile was so kind it melted the anxious girl.

She paced the floor a few times as she started to cry harder again, hand over her heart and her breathing was so uneven, Harry actually worried she was having a cardiac episode. “Harry,” she croaked eventually. Harry pulled her to his body. His chin on top of her head. She shook with cries and Harry gently rocked her. Kissed the top of her head.

“S’okay. S’okay,” he promised rubbing her back. “You did it, love. You figured it out.”

“M’sorry. M’so sorry I cut you out and that was so stupid and you didn’t have to be so nice and take us here and watch me be insane—"

“No, beautiful. S’okay. Don’t worry about that, you’re forgiven, of course. Completely. S’okay,” he promised squeezing her as close as he could trying to keep her together when she was falling apart.

They were silent. Harry held her close to his chest, combed her hair down not moving except for a gentle sway of their bodies in the middle of the hospital hallway. Harry let her cry and he held her as tightly as he could. He hated why he was holding her, the idea of something happening to Rory made him want to kill someone, himself. But he was so grateful to hold her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Styles?”

“Oh, um...no—” Harry started feeling his face warm as he turned to the doctors to correct them. His hand stayed protectively on her lower back, and she leaned against him once more as if she would fall without Harry behind her. With one hand she wiped her eyes and then with the other grabbed Harry’s free hand as tightly as possible. Anchoring herself.

“How is Rory?” she asked, didn’t even bother to correct them at all. The moment wasn’t lost on Harry, but it did move to the back of his mind because Rory was of course more pressing.

“He’s going to be fine. He’s already responding to treatment.”

Harry felt the air fall from her body as if she released the weight of the world off her back. “Can we see him?”

We. Harry melted more.

“Of course,” he gestured to the room.

She hurried from Harry’s side, pulling his hand with her. “Hey Rory, love bug,” she cooed, cupping his face, and rubbing her thumb over his round little cheek.

“Mommy?” He asked wearily.

“Hi baby, how are you feeling now?”

“Hungry,” he sounded sleepy.

She giggled with a teary smile. “Yeah? Let’s get you some food...did you see Harry is here?”

“Hi, Rory,” Harry waved with a grin. “Feeling better?” Rory blearily looked at Harry for a few moments. He didn’t say anything to Harry and for a second, Harry selfishly worried it was too late. That time apart from him, despite all his best efforts to assure Rory he would always be there, was too much for his little heart. Harry betrayed his trust, and it wouldn’t be the same.

“Mommy?” He finally turned his gaze from Harry. It made his stomach churn fearing the rejection of a five- year-old—the only one that mattered. If there was no Rory, there would be no her.

“Yes, my love?” Her eyebrows pinched together because she had never seen Rory act so weird toward Harry. Even when she was doing everything in her power to keep him away. It made her stomach flutter with nervousness as well...unaware that Harry felt the same way.

“Can we be friends with Harry again?” He asked looking back at Harry nervously.

The smile nearly broke Harry’s face in half. He chuckled quietly while she also sighed with relieved giggles. Nodding, she squeezed Rory’s hand. “Yes, baby. We’re going to be best friends. Would you like that?”

He nodded then looked at Harry and smiled his sweet little grin. “Can we have s’mores when we get home?”

“S’more what, lad?”

Rory giggled the sweetest little giggle. “Don’t be silly, Harry.”

*

She held him in the back seat because they still didn’t have a car seat and it was still dark as ever outside as it neared four-thirty in the morning. Harry parked in her driveway, hurried to the door to open it, and pulled Rory into his arms. “I got him, love. You’ve carried him enough tonight,” he murmured. The tiredness was finally catching up to her and she let Harry pull him from her arms. Unlocking the door, she let the three of them in the house and Harry carried the sleeping boy to his room. She pulled his covers down so Harry could settle him in. Once all snuggled up, she kissed his forehead and sighed with relief as he slept soundly. Harry ruffled his hair gently. They left his room, and she closed the door quietly.

They walked wordlessly to the living room, and she sat on the couch leaning back against the cushions and staring at the ceiling blinking rapidly against more tears that were threatening to form. Harry sat beside her, so close he could feel the heat of her leg next to his. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, wipe that tear away that slid down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For driving...for staying...for...” she shook her head. “Everything, Harry. Thank you,” it was so much undeserved gratitude. As if Harry wouldn’t reach into his chest at any moment and yank his heart out for her if she asked for it.

“Kitten...’course. Y’did all the heavy lifting,” he said and reached out to squeeze her knee. Her lower lip trembled violently, a sob threatening to bubble out of her chest which seemed so ridiculous now that all the danger was gone. The night must have been catching up to her all at once because at that moment she was crying soundlessly. Her chest aching and she started sniffling, she pressed a finger to her lips. “That was really scary,” she heaved.

“It was,” he nodded in agreement, his heart aching for her sadness, and nervousness. He watched her swallow around the pain that she was finally feeling of not knowing what would happen.

“I wouldn’t...if you weren’t...if you...if Rory—”

“Hey,” he said grabbing her hand from her mouth and bringing it to his own. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles so gently, it hurt her nearly broken heart all over again. He enjoyed the feel of her skin touching his lips and he pulled her up to a sitting position. He cupped her face with his other hand and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “M’here,” he promised. “Always. For both of you.” She looked so nervous; her lip still wobbled. “What, beautiful? What’s wrong, love?” His eyebrows pinched together worried that she was going to have a breakdown that she couldn’t have before in the hospital.

She was still wearing two different sneakers and Harry was still in his coat. If she had time to worry about her appearance, she would have thought about how stringy her hair looked from the soaking rain and how her eyes had to be red from a lack of sleep and all the crying.

“M’so in love with you,” she croaked. Harry felt his heart warm every crevice of his body. He imagined hearing those words from the moment he met her and missed the idea of them when she wasn’t speaking to him. He thought he would melt into a puddle. “I can’t be,” she admitted and Harry felt ice brick over his veins. “I have a son and he is going to be first for the rest of my life and I want to put you first and you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who will love you and put you—”

The relief Harry felt in her explanation melted the ice threatening his veins all over again. An exhausted smile played at the corner of his lips. He shook his head as she spoke, not even listening to the rest of her sentence. “Kitten,” he said taking both sides of her face and bringing it closer to his. The tip of his nose bumped hers. “I love Rory. And I love you. ‘Course, we’re going t’put Rory first. S’why you’re the best mum in the world. But jus’ because he’s first doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a love of your own,” he told her.

Harry was worried she was so tired she didn’t actually hear him. “...We?” She whispered eventually. The tears were still falling. She felt broken. Felt entirely too vulnerable with someone she’s known for too long. With someone she shouldn’t feel vulnerable around. But the last time she was this vulnerable with someone she loved so much, it was thrown in her face, and she was left alone on a couch just like this.

Harry tilted his head at her looking at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. “Always, beautiful.”

“You love me?” She whispered. Harry nodded silently.

“So much,” he said.

“Really?”

“Truly.”

She wasn’t proud of the way she contorted herself in that moment, throwing herself at him like a teenager and not a twenty-seven-year-old mother of a kindergartner and kissing him like she had been dreaming about kissing him.

But Harry was too long gone to care and enjoyed the moment of utter bliss in kissing the sweet woman he adored for the last few years while her son slept healthily and happily in his bed upstairs.

--

@claimingharrystigertattoo @mopeymousey @vmpellie @reveriehs

[inmyfxith]

➺ SFW Alphabet - Aonung

➺ SFW Alphabet - Jake Sully

➺ SFW Alphabet - Kiri

➺ SFW Alphabet - Lo'ak

➺ SFW Alphabet - Miles Quaritch

➺ SFW Alphabet - Neteyam

➺ SFW Alphabet - Neytiri

➺ SFW Alphabet - Spider Socorro

➺ SFW Alphabet - Tsireya

➺ Lo'ak dating a female human

➺ Neteyam dating a female human

➺ Being a member of the Sully Family - Part. II (youngest child version)

➺ Being a member of the Sully Family (oldest child version)

➺ Catch up with... Tonowari

➺ Catch up with... Tsu'tey

➺ How they would react if... they realize you're blushing while talking to them

➺ How they would react if... you fall asleep on their shoulder

➺ How they would react if... someone makes you uncomfortable

➺ How they would react if... they see you crying

➺ How they would react if... you have an obvious crush on them

➺ How they would react if... they realize they are in love with you

➺ How they would react if... you have a nightmare

➺ How they would react if... you accidentally pull on their queue

➺ How they would react if... you wake up from a coma after being severely injured

➺ How they would react if... you were a warrior but also the calmest person they'd ever seen

➺ Finding Our Way Home (Neteyam x reader)

Summary -> Neteyam and you, a skilled warrior and hunter, have been together for years and are deeply in love. However, your happiness is threatened when you are chosen to participate in a rite of passage that will take you far away from Neteyam for an extended period of time.

➺ Blessed Union (Neteyam x human!reader)

Summary -> Neteyam and you are in a serious relationship, but Neytiri and Jake believe your inability to procreate makes it impossible. Eywa sees your love and blesses you with a spiritual pregnancy.

➺ A Tale of Two Worlds - Part. II (Jake Sully x Stephen Strange's apprentice!reader)

Summary -> When Jake finds you, a magical human, collapsed on the ground, he takes you back to the human base. As you work together to figure out how you ended up on Pandora and how to get you back home, you develop a strong connection and discover a bravery and strength you never knew you had. Despite facing danger and challenges, your bond only grows stronger.

➺ A Passionate Resolution (Lo'ak x GN!reader)

Summary -> You and Lo'ak had a heated argument.

➺ Defending his Own (Neteyam x F!Omaticaya!reader)

Summary -> Neteyam protects you and your unborn child from Aonung's advances, ensuring their safety and security. Despite being older, you must still deal with the unwanted attention from Aonung. However, Neteyam remains fiercely protective of his mate and their family, standing up to Aonung and ensuring that he will not bother you any longer.

➺ Entwined Fates [Aonung] - [Tsireya]

➺ Gentle wisdom (Neteyam x f!Omaticaya!reader)

➺ Heart of the Sea, Heart of the Land - Part. II (Kiri x F!Metkayina!reader)

Summary -> You're arranged to be mated to Ao’nung, but you both don't want to be together. You fall in love with Kiri and start a secret relationship. Ronal gets suspicious and catches you kissing, leading to a meeting with your parents, Ronal and Tonowari to decide the next steps.

➺ The Sound of the Horn - The Price of Safety (The Sully Family x daughter!reader)

➺ Breaking Barriers (Lo'ak x f!human!reader)

Summary -> Lo'ak and you, his girlfriend, visit the human lab, where you realize you can kiss. You find a private spot and share a tender, joyful kiss.

➺ The Orange Ropes (Young!Sully!reader (female reader))

Summary -> As a member of the Sully family, you embark on a heroic quest to save your sister, Kiri. Even as you face the fear of not being able to break away from the colonel's grip, you find comfort in the knowledge that your father and mother will come to your rescue, as they always do.

➺ Together We Can (Neteyam x gn!reader)

Summary -> You face your fear with Neteyam.

[novaursa]

Part 9

- Title: zōbrie ānogar

- Rating: Explicit (18+)

- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)

- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.

- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.

- Word count: 9 000+

- Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final

Vaella sat alone in her chambers, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. Her heart was heavy, weighed down by the grief and confusion that had enveloped her since Aeron's death. The silence of the night pressed in around her, amplifying her thoughts and memories.

As she gazed out the window, her mind drifted back to a simpler time, a time when her family was whole, and the bonds between them were unbroken. She closed her eyes, allowing the memory to wash over her.

---

Vaella was five years old, a small child with a head full of nearly white hair and bright indigo eyes that sparkled with curiosity. The Red Keep had always been her home, its grand halls and towering walls a familiar playground for her and her siblings. On this particular day, she found herself in the company of her older sister, Rhaenyra.

“Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra!” Vaella called out, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could. She found her sister in one of the courtyards, sitting beneath a tree with a book in her lap.

Rhaenyra looked up, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she saw her little sister running towards her. “Vaella, what is it?”

Vaella plopped down beside her, her breath coming in quick gasps from the exertion. “Alicent is with Aegon,” she said, her voice a mix of relief and excitement. “Can we play?”

Rhaenyra chuckled, closing her book and setting it aside. “Of course we can, little sister. What do you want to play?”

Vaella’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Let’s pretend to be dragons! You can be Syrax, and I’ll be Cannibal!”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, amused. “Cannibal? The wild dragon?”

Vaella nodded vigorously. “Yes! He’s the biggest and strongest!”

Rhaenyra laughed, her laughter like a melody that filled the courtyard. “Alright, if you want to be Cannibal, then I’ll be Syrax. But you have to promise to be gentle, okay?”

Vaella giggled. “I promise!”

The two sisters spent the afternoon pretending to be dragons, chasing each other around the courtyard and roaring with all the fierceness their little bodies could muster. Rhaenyra’s graceful movements contrasted with Vaella’s wild enthusiasm, but together they created a scene of pure joy and innocence.

At one point, they collapsed onto the grass, breathless and laughing. Rhaenyra turned to Vaella, her eyes shining with affection. “You know, Vaella, you’re going to be a great dragonrider one day.”

Vaella’s eyes widened with wonder. “Really?”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Yes, really. You have the spirit and the courage.”

Vaella beamed, her heart swelling with pride. “Thank you, Rhaenyra. I want to be just like you.”

Rhaenyra reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Vaella’s face. “And you will be. You’ll be even better.”

They lay there in the grass, the sun casting a warm glow over them, and for a moment, everything was perfect. The future was bright, and the bond between them was unbreakable.

---

Vaella opened her eyes, the memory fading but the emotions it stirred remaining strong. Tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks as she clutched the edges of her gown. The pain of the present crashed over her, the realization that those days were gone, replaced by a harsh and unforgiving reality.

She sobbed quietly, her body trembling with the force of her grief. The betrayal, the loss, the unbearable weight of the choices she had to make—all of it felt like too much to bear. The sister who had once been her closest friend, her confidant, was now a figure shrouded in suspicion and enmity.

The tears came harder, her cries muffled by the silence of the night. Vaella hugged herself, rocking slightly as she sought some semblance of comfort in her own embrace. The memories of happier times only made the present more painful, a stark contrast to the darkness that now surrounded her.

For a long time, she sat there, lost in her sorrow. The world outside continued to turn, indifferent to her pain, but inside her chambers, Vaella allowed herself to feel every ounce of her heartache. It was a necessary release, a catharsis that left her feeling both emptied and strangely resolute.

When the tears finally subsided, Vaella wiped her face, taking a deep, shuddering breath. She knew the road ahead would be difficult, fraught with impossible choices and painful sacrifices. But she also knew she had to keep moving forward, for the sake of her children, her family, and the memory of the sister she once knew and loved.

With a heavy heart but a determined spirit, Vaella rose from her seat, ready to face whatever the next day would bring.

…

Aegon sat in the dimly lit room, his hands clasped tightly around a goblet of wine. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, giving the room an eerie, almost haunted atmosphere. His mind was a storm of thoughts and emotions, all revolving around his wife, Vaella, and the unbearable grief that had settled over their lives since Aeron's death. 

Ser Criston Cole stood nearby, his presence a silent testament to his unwavering loyalty. Aegon glanced up at him, his eyes filled with a mix of helplessness and frustration. 

"Cole," Aegon began, his voice tinged with despair, "I feel like I can't do anything to comfort her. I can't even comfort myself."

Criston nodded, his expression sympathetic. "Your Grace, grief is a heavy burden. It's understandable that you feel this way. But Vaella needs you now more than ever. Your strength will give her strength."

Aegon sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I try, but it's never enough. I see the pain in her eyes, and it tears me apart. And all this plotting, this endless scheming by Otto and the council... I'm tired of it, Criston. I'm tired of doing nothing while my half-sister sits on Dragonstone, plotting against us."

Criston stepped closer, his eyes narrowing with a steely determination. "Then perhaps it's time to take action, Your Grace. If you want vengeance, we must be bold. We could send someone to Dragonstone, someone Rhaenyra trusts. It could turn the tide in our favor."

Aegon's eyes widened slightly at the suggestion. "An assassin? Who could we possibly send that she would trust?"

Criston leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "There are always ways, Your Grace. Rhaenyra may trust fewer people now, but we could find someone close to her who is susceptible to persuasion or coercion. It's a matter of finding the right person and making them an offer they can't refuse."

Aegon took a deep drink from his goblet, his mind racing with the possibilities. "And what would we do once this person is on Dragonstone?"

Criston's gaze was unwavering. "The goal would be to eliminate Rhaenyra. Without her, the support for her claim would crumble. But we must be careful, Your Grace. This must be executed flawlessly to avoid any suspicion falling back on us."

Aegon nodded slowly, the idea taking root in his mind. "I see. It could work, but it has to be someone close enough to gain access to her without raising alarms."

Criston placed a reassuring hand on Aegon's shoulder. "Leave it to me, Your Grace. I will find someone suitable. In the meantime, you must continue to show strength, both to Vaella and to the realm. Your people need to see their king taking charge."

Aegon took another sip of wine, the warmth spreading through him, dulling the edge of his despair. "Thank you, Criston. Your counsel is invaluable. But tell me, how do I keep this from Otto and the rest of the council? They have eyes and ears everywhere."

Criston straightened, his expression serious. "We will proceed with the utmost discretion. Only those who need to know will be informed. Trust in me, Your Grace. We will make this happen."

Aegon nodded, a flicker of hope igniting within him. "Very well. Do what you must, but ensure Vaella is never implicated in this. I won't have her dragged down by my actions."

Criston bowed his head slightly. "Understood, Your Grace. Vaella will remain untouched by this. You have my word."

Just as Aegon was about to speak again, the door to the chamber opened, and Otto Hightower entered, his face a mask of calm authority. He glanced between Aegon and Criston, sensing the weight of their conversation.

"Your Grace," Otto began, his tone respectful yet firm, "we need to discuss our next steps. The realm looks to you for leadership in these turbulent times."

Aegon straightened, his earlier conversation with Criston giving him a newfound resolve. "Yes, Otto. Let's discuss how we can bring this conflict to an end once and for all."

Otto began to outline the council's latest plans, speaking with the measured, authoritative tone that had always commanded attention. Aegon listened, his mind still half-occupied with the thoughts of vengeance that he and Criston had discussed.

"We need to consolidate our power by securing the support of the remaining neutral houses," Otto said. "Gaining favor from the Reach and the Riverlands is crucial. Without them, Rhaenyra's claim weakens significantly."

Aegon nodded, agreeing with the strategy, but his thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Otto shifted the conversation to Vaella.

"Furthermore," Otto continued, "we must consider Queen Vaella's position carefully. Her confinement has caused unrest, but releasing her prematurely would send the wrong message. Perhaps it is best to—"

Aegon's eyes narrowed as Otto spoke, his words striking a nerve. "What are you suggesting, Otto?" Aegon interrupted, his voice low and dangerous.

Otto met his grandson's gaze, his expression unyielding. "I'm suggesting that Vaella's movements should remain restricted until we are certain of her allegiance. She must be seen as entirely supportive of your rule, Aegon. Any indication of wavering could—"

Aegon shot up from his seat, his goblet clattering to the floor. "How dare you speak of my wife like that! Vaella is not a pawn to be manipulated! She is the Queen, and she deserves respect!"

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Criston watched silently, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for anything.

Otto's face reddened with anger, but he did not back down. "You are too dependent on her, Aegon! You act like a child, not a man grown. You need to think strategically, not emotionally. Your father was too lenient, too indulgent. Look where that has led us!"

Aegon's eyes blazed with fury. "My father may have been lenient, but he was not a fool. And I am not my father. I will not let you, or anyone else, dictate how I treat my wife. Vaella is my strength, and I will not have her demeaned!"

The words of Larys echoed in Aegon's mind, solidifying his resolve. "Otto, take off your brooch and give it to Ser Criston," Aegon ordered, his voice cold and final.

Otto's eyes widened in shock. "You cannot be serious," he spat.

"I am dead serious," Aegon replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You have overstepped your bounds for the last time. Take off your brooch."

Otto stood there for a moment, stunned into silence. Then, with a glare of pure contempt, he reached up and ripped the Hand's brooch from his cloak, throwing it at Criston's feet. "You are making a grave mistake, Aegon," he warned. "You will regret this."

Aegon did not waver. "Leave," he commanded.

Otto hesitated for a moment, his anger palpable, but he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving a tense silence in his wake.

Criston bent down to pick up the brooch, his expression unreadable. "Your orders, Your Grace?"

Aegon took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. "Prepare the council for the changes. I will announce you as my new Hand in the morning."

Criston nodded, slipping the brooch into his pocket. "As you wish, Your Grace."

As the door closed behind him, Aegon sank back into his chair, his head in his hands. He had taken a bold step, one that could have significant consequences. But he felt a newfound determination, a resolve to rule in his own way, without being overshadowed by the manipulations of his grandsire.

He thought of Vaella, her strength and resilience, and he knew he had made the right choice. She was his anchor, and he would do everything in his power to protect her and their family.

Aegon felt a sense of clarity he had not known before. He was the king, and he would rule as he saw fit, with Vaella by his side.

…

Aegon made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, his heart heavy with the weight of recent events. The Iron Throne had become a symbol of power and authority, but tonight, it felt more like a prison. His steps were slow, his mind burdened by the responsibilities that came with his newfound role. He was the king, but at what cost?

He finally reached the nursery, where his two remaining children, Baelor and little Daena, were staying. He paused at the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself before entering. The room was softly illuminated by a few candles, casting a gentle glow over the small beds. The sight of his children brought a bittersweet smile to his face. They were his hope, his reason for enduring the torment of his position.

Baelor lay in his bed, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. His cheek bore a fresh scar, a reminder of the recent horrors they had faced. Little Daena was curled up in her bed, her thumb in her mouth, her innocent face etched with a frown even in sleep.

Aegon quietly moved to Baelor's bed and sat down on the edge. The boy turned his head to look at his father, his eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and fear.

"Baelor," Aegon whispered, reaching out to gently touch the boy's scarred cheek. "How are you feeling, my brave boy?"

Baelor didn't answer immediately. His eyes searched Aegon's face, as if looking for answers to questions he couldn't yet articulate. Finally, he whispered, "Father, why did this happen? Why did they hurt us?"

Aegon's heart ached at the question. He struggled to find the right words, knowing that the truth was too harsh for a child to understand. "There are bad people in the world, Baelor. People who want to hurt us because of who we are. But you were very brave. You fought back, and you protected your sister."

Baelor's eyes filled with tears. "I was scared, Father. I didn't want to be brave. I just wanted to be with you and Mother."

Aegon pulled Baelor into his arms, holding him tightly. "I know, my son. I know. And you did everything right. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You are my brave boy, and I am so proud of you."

Baelor clung to his father, his small body trembling with suppressed sobs. Aegon held him, whispering soothing words, trying to comfort him as best he could. He wished he could take away all the pain and fear, but he knew that was impossible.

After a while, Baelor's sobs subsided, and he pulled back, wiping his eyes. "Will they come back, Father? Will they try to hurt us again?"

Aegon's jaw tightened. "No, Baelor. I won't let anyone hurt you or your sister ever again. I promise you that."

Baelor nodded, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of hope. "I believe you, Father."

Aegon smiled and ruffled Baelor's hair. "Good. Now, try to get some sleep. We have to be strong, for each other."

He tucked Baelor back into bed and then moved over to Daena. The little girl stirred as he approached, her eyes fluttering open. She looked up at him with a sleepy smile. "Father?"

Aegon leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Yes, my sweet Daena. It's me."

Daena reached up and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck. "I had a bad dream, Father. But you're here now, so it's okay."

Aegon's heart melted at her words. "Yes, I'm here. And I will always be here to protect you, my precious girl."

He held her for a few moments, cherishing the warmth of her embrace. Eventually, he laid her back down and pulled the blanket up to her chin. "Sleep now, Daena. Dream of happy things."

Daena nodded, her eyes closing as she drifted back to sleep. Aegon watched her for a moment, his heart heavy with both love and sorrow. He knew he had to be strong for his children, for Vaella, and for the realm. But the weight of the crown felt unbearable.

As he stood and looked at his sleeping children, he silently vowed to protect them at all costs. He would not let the darkness of the world touch them again. They were his light, his reason for fighting, and he would do whatever it took to keep them safe.

With one last look at Baelor and Daena, Aegon quietly left the nursery, his heart filled with a renewed sense of purpose. 

…

Aegon made his way to Vaella’s and his shared chambers, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. He felt a deep exhaustion that went beyond physical fatigue—a weariness of the soul that only the comfort of his wife's presence could alleviate. As he reached the door, he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before quietly entering.

Vaella was awake, sitting up in bed with a book in her lap. Her long, nearly white hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the soft glow of the bedside candle. She looked up as he entered, her indigo eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and sadness.

"Aegon," she whispered, closing the book and setting it aside. "You're finally here."

He gave her a tired smile and quickly crossed the room, shedding his outer garments before slipping into bed beside her. The moment he was under the covers, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might slip away. Vaella responded by wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers gently stroking his hair.

"I missed you," he murmured into her ear, his voice heavy with emotion. "I needed to be with you.

"Vaella leaned back slightly to look into his eyes, her fingers tracing the lines of his face. "I missed you too, Aegon. It's been so hard...everything that's happened..."

Aegon nodded, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "I know, my love. I know. I feel so helpless. I don't know how to make things right."

Vaella cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. "We'll find a way, Aegon. We'll get through this together. We have to be strong for our children, for each other."

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes as he savored the warmth and tenderness of her hands. "I don't know what I would do without you, Vaella. You are my strength, my everything."

They held each other in silence for a while, finding comfort in their shared warmth. Aegon's hands gently roamed over her back, feeling the familiar contours of her body. Vaella rested her head on his shoulder, her breath soft and steady against his neck.

"I just remembered all those times we used to sneak around the Red Keep." Aegon said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Vaella chuckled softly, lifting her head to look at him. "We were always so reckless, finding the most risky places to be together."

Aegon laughed, the sound a rare but welcome relief from the sorrow that had been weighing him down. "We were daring, weren’t we? Always hoping Mother would remain blissfully unaware."

Vaella's eyes sparkled with the memory. "There was that time in the godswood. We barely managed to get our clothes back on before Ser Criston walked by."

Aegon grinned, his eyes lighting up with the shared memory. "I remember your face, trying so hard not to laugh while we hid behind that ancient tree. And then there was the time in the library."

Vaella's cheeks flushed slightly at the memory. "Yes, you insisted on reading those old Valyrian texts out loud. I thought for sure we’d be caught when you knocked over that stack of scrolls."

He leaned in closer, their faces inches apart. "It was worth the risk. Every moment with you was worth it."

Vaella's heart swelled with love as she looked into his eyes. "We were so bold, so full of life. I miss those times."

Aegon's expression softened. "We can still have those moments, Vaella. We can still find ways to be happy, even with everything that's happened."

Vaella pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a promise of love and support. "We will, Aegon. We'll find our way back to happiness. We have to."

They kissed again, the tenderness of the moment deepening into a passionate embrace. Aegon's hands moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer as their lips and tongues danced together. Vaella responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him.

Their kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, as they sought to lose themselves in each other. Aegon's hands roamed over her body, feeling the softness of her skin, the warmth of her flesh. Vaella moaned softly, the sound vibrating against his lips, fueling his desire.

They broke the kiss just long enough to discard the remaining barriers of clothing between them, their movements hurried but coordinated. When they were finally skin to skin, Aegon took a moment to just look at her, his eyes filled with love and need.

"You are so beautiful, Vaella," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you so much."

Vaella's eyes shone with tears as she cupped his face in her hands. "I love you too, Aegon. More than anything."

They came together slowly, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of the moment. Aegon moved gently within her, their bodies finding a rhythm that was both familiar and comforting. Vaella's hands roamed over his back, her nails lightly grazing his skin as she arched against him.

Their lovemaking was slow and tender, a reaffirmation of their bond, their love for each other. It was a solace, a brief respite from the chaos and grief that surrounded them. They whispered words of love and comfort, their voices mingling with the soft sounds of their union.

When they finally reached their peak, it was with a sense of completeness, of unity that went beyond the physical. They held each other tightly, their breaths mingling as they came down from the heights of their passion.

Aegon rolled onto his back, pulling Vaella with him so that she lay atop him, her head resting on his chest. He stroked her hair, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on her scalp.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet room. "Thank you for being my strength, my light."

Vaella lifted her head to look at him, her eyes filled with love. "And thank you for being my everything, Aegon. We'll get through this."

They lay there in the quiet comfort of their shared love, finding solace in each other's presence. For a while, the world outside their chamber ceased to exist, and it was just the two of them, bound by love and an unbreakable bond.

As they drifted off to sleep, their hearts were a little lighter, their spirits a little stronger.

…

The next day, the small council convened in the throne room. Aegon entered, exuding a sense of authority that had been instilled in him since he had ascended the throne. His presence commanded attention, and the members of the council, including the newly appointed Ser Criston Cole, turned their gazes towards him.

Aegon took his seat at the head of the table, his eyes scanning the faces of his council members. Queen Dowager Alicent sat to his right, her expression betraying her obvious displeasure at the recent changes. Otto Hightower had departed for Oldtown that morning, leaving behind a gap that Aegon was determined to fill with his own trusted men.

"Today, I name Ser Criston Cole as the new Hand of the King," Aegon announced, his voice steady and resolute.

Criston stepped forward, bowing slightly as he accepted the brooch that signified his new position. Alicent's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent, her displeasure evident in the tightness of her lips.

Aegon continued, "We have pressing matters to discuss. Rhaenyra's supporters grow bolder by the day. We need to cut off Dragonstone from the mainland before she can amass more troops. Duskendale should be our first target."

Lord Tyland Lannister leaned forward, nodding in agreement. "Duskendale is strategically significant. Taking it will disrupt her supply lines and weaken her position."

Criston declared, "I will deal with this personally. More troops have arrived from Oldtown, and we can use them to fortify our position and launch an assault."

Aemond, who had been silently observing the discussion, interjected, "I should be the one to lead the attack. My experience in battle and Vhagar's might will ensure our victory."

The room fell silent as the council members exchanged wary glances. Alicent cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the tension. "Aemond, your presence is needed here. Vhagar must remain in the capital to deter any attempts Rhaenyra might make to seize the city."

Aemond's jaw tightened, but he remained composed. "Cannibal is equally capable of that."

Lord Jasper Wylde shook his head. "It's not just about deterrence. It's about showing strength and unity. We need our most formidable dragons here to project power and stability."

Aegon, sensing the growing tension, raised his hand to calm the room. "I understand the need for a strong defense, but we cannot ignore the necessity of offensive actions. I will lead the charge on Sunfyre."

Alicent's face paled, and she leaned forward, her voice urgent. "Aegon, you are the king. Your place is here, in the capital. If something were to happen to you, it would plunge the realm into chaos."

Aegon met his mother's gaze, his expression unwavering. "My place is wherever I am needed, Mother. And right now, I am needed on the front lines."

Ser Criston Cole stepped in, his voice steady and authoritative. "Your Grace, I suggest a compromise. Allow me to lead the initial assault with our newly arrived troops. Once we have secured Duskendale, you can join us on Sunfyre to solidify our position."

Aegon considered Criston's words, nodding slowly. "Very well. Ser Criston, you will lead the initial attack. Once Duskendale is secured, I will join you."

Aemond, though visibly frustrated, accepted the decision with a curt nod. "Then I will ensure the capital's defenses are impenetrable. Vhagar and I will remain here."

Alicent's expression softened slightly, though her worry was still evident. "Thank you, Aemond. And thank you, Aegon, for considering the council's advice."

The meeting continued, with the council members discussing the logistics of the upcoming assault and the necessary preparations. Aegon remained focused, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and strategies. He knew that the coming days would be crucial in determining the fate of his reign and the realm itself.

The council members rose from their seats, bowing to Aegon before filing out of the room. Aegon remained seated for a moment, his gaze fixed on the map before him.

…

A few days had passed since the harrowing events in the nursery, and Vaella found herself in the company of Helaena and their children. They were gathered in a sunlit chamber, the soft light filtering through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The children played nearby, their laughter a comforting backdrop to the sisters' conversation.

Helaena was seated at a table, her delicate fingers carefully handling her collection of insects. She was intensely focused, her eyes tracing the patterns on the wings of a butterfly pinned under glass. Vaella watched her half-sister with a mixture of admiration and concern. Helaena had always found solace in her bug collection, a quiet refuge from the chaos that often surrounded them.

Vaella sat nearby, holding little Daena in her lap while Baelor played with Helaena's twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. The children’s innocent chatter filled the room, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere that had lingered since the night of the attack.

Helaena's voice broke the silence, startling Vaella. "That night... in the nursery," she began softly, her eyes never leaving the butterfly. "I can still hear the screams, Vaella. The blood... it was everywhere."

Vaella’s heart tightened at Helaena's words. She had not spoken about that night, not once since it had happened. Vaella had tried to broach the subject, but Helaena had always changed the topic or retreated into her world of insects. Now, hearing her sister speak of it so directly was both a relief and a new source of pain.

"Helaena," Vaella said gently, shifting Daena slightly in her lap. "You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful."

Helaena finally looked up from her collection, her eyes meeting Vaella's. "I need to, Vaella. It haunts me. The sight of those men, the way they looked at the children. And you... you were so brave. I felt so helpless."

Vaella’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out, taking Helaena's hand in hers. "We did what we had to do, Helaena. We protected our children. You got them to safety. That was brave too."

Helaena’s grip tightened on Vaella’s hand. "I see it every time I close my eyes. Aeron... I still hear his cries. How do we move on from this, Vaella? How do we keep our children safe in a world that can be so cruel?"

Vaella looked at her sister, feeling the weight of her words. "We stay strong, Helaena. For them. We love them fiercely and protect them with everything we have. We can't let fear control us. We must be the strength they need."

Helaena nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I wish things were different. I wish we didn't have to live in fear."

Vaella wiped her own tears away, her voice firm. "So do I, Helaena. But we have each other. And we have to believe that one day, things will be better."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their grief and fear pressing down on them. Vaella watched as the children played, their innocence a reminder of what they were fighting for. She looked back at Helaena, her resolve hardening.

"We will make it through this, Helaena. We will protect our children and our family. And we will make sure they grow up in a world that is safer and kinder."

Helaena gave a small, brave smile. "Thank you, Vaella. For being here. For understanding."

Vaella returned the smile, squeezing her sister’s hand. "Always, Helaena. We’re in this together."

As they sat there, surrounded by the sounds of their children's laughter and the warmth of the afternoon sun, Vaella felt a glimmer of hope. 

…

The warm light of the sun continued to bathe the chamber as Vaella and Helaena sat together, the comforting sounds of their children playing around them. The heavy air of their earlier conversation began to lift, replaced by a tentative sense of peace. 

The door to the chamber opened, and Alicent entered, her presence bringing with it a renewed tension. Beside her was her brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower, his imposing figure clad in armor, ready for departure. Vaella’s eyes immediately fell upon him. It had been years since he was her suitor, a memory that seemed from another lifetime. He had been busy with preparations for the departure of the Hightower troops, and they hadn't had the chance to speak until now.

Alicent smiled, though it did little to mask the weariness in her eyes. "Vaella, Helaena," she greeted, her voice soft but carrying the weight of recent events. "I thought I’d come and spend some time with you before the men depart."

Gwayne stepped forward, his expression solemn. "Your Grace," he began, his voice respectful but tinged with sorrow. "I wanted to offer my deepest condolences for the loss of Prince Aeron. It was a senseless and cruel act, one that should never have happened."

Vaella met his gaze, feeling the sincerity in his words. "Thank you, Ser Gwayne," she replied, her voice steady despite the pain that still lingered. "Your words are kind."

Gwayne nodded, his eyes reflecting the shared grief. "Rhaenyra’s actions were abhorrent. To take the life of a child in vengeance... it is beyond forgiveness. I swear to you, we will see justice done."

Vaella's gaze hardened slightly, the mention of her sister's name stirring a mix of emotions. "Justice," she echoed, her voice carrying a cold edge. "It is what we must seek, but it will not bring my son back."

Helaena, who had been quietly observing, reached out and touched Vaella’s arm, offering silent support. Alicent watched the exchange, her own heart aching for her family.

Alicent took a seat beside them, her brother standing respectfully nearby. "Vaella, I know you have been through so much, but I want you to know that we are all here for you. Whatever you need, you only have to ask."

Vaella nodded, appreciating the sentiment even if it did little to ease her sorrow. "I know, Alicent. And I am grateful for the support of our family."

Gwayne, sensing the need for a change in the somber atmosphere, shifted slightly. "It has been a long time since we’ve had the chance to speak, Your Grace. I remember the days when we used to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, discussing everything from the latest court gossip to the history of our families."

Vaella managed a small smile, recalling those simpler times. "Yes, those were peaceful days, weren’t they? Much has changed since then."

Gwayne’s eyes softened. "Indeed, much has changed. But some things remain constant. The strength and resilience of the Targaryen bloodline, for one."

Helaena, who had been quiet, looked up from her collection of insects. "Strength is what we need now, more than ever."

Alicent nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with a fierce determination. "We will face whatever comes together. As a family, we will stand strong."

The conversation shifted to lighter topics for a while, the need for a brief respite from the constant tension evident. They spoke of the children, their growth, and their future, finding solace in the small moments of normalcy.

As the time for the troops' departure approached, Gwayne stood, bowing slightly. "I must take my leave now, Your Grace. Duty calls."

Vaella rose to her feet, offering him a respectful nod. "Thank you, Ser Gwayne. May the Seven guide you and keep you safe."

He smiled, a hint of warmth returning to his eyes. "And you, Your Grace. Farewell."

As Gwayne departed, Alicent remained, her presence a reminder of the complex web of alliances and family ties that bound them all together. She looked at Vaella, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and determination. "We will get through this, Vaella."

Vaella nodded, her resolve strengthened by the support of her family. "Yes, we will."

…

The autumn air had grown crisp, the cool breeze a constant reminder of the changing seasons. Within the Red Keep, the tensions were ever-present, but there were moments of stillness, pockets of time where the weight of their burdens felt just a bit lighter. In one such moment, Aemond found himself in the company of his brother, Aegon.

Aegon was lounging in one of the smaller, more private chambers, a goblet of wine in his hand. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows on the walls. Aemond watched his brother carefully, noting the weariness in his eyes and the way his once excessive drinking had noticeably reduced since the tragic death of Aeron.

"Aegon," Aemond began, his voice breaking the silence. "I've noticed you've been drinking less."

Aegon looked up from his goblet, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Observant as always, brother. I suppose I have been. After everything... I need to keep my wits about me."

Aemond nodded approvingly. "It's good to see. You've been more focused, more... present. It's a welcome change."

Aegon swirled the wine in his goblet, staring into its depths. "Loss has a way of sharpening the mind, Aemond. Aeron's death... it changed everything. I can't afford to be the man I was before. Not now."

Aemond walked over and sat opposite his brother, his demeanor as serious as ever. "I have news. Borros Baratheon's forces will be joining us. It's a significant boost to our strength."

Aegon nodded, acknowledging the importance of the alliance. "Good. We need every man we can get. But what of Daemon? What is he up to?"

Aemond's expression darkened slightly. "Daemon has captured Harrenhal. It's a strategic move on his part. We need to be cautious."

Aegon’s grip tightened on his goblet, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Why wasn't I informed of this during the council meeting?"

Aemond met his brother’s gaze, his voice calm but firm. "I am informing you now, Aegon. Daemon's capture of Harrenhal is a recent development. We need to act swiftly and strategically."

Aegon sighed, setting his goblet aside. "Daemon is a formidable opponent. He always has been. But we can’t allow him to gain any more ground. Harrenhal is a vital stronghold."

Aemond nodded. "I agree. We need to devise a plan to counter his move. Our next steps must be calculated and decisive."

Aegon leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in thought. "We need to rally our forces, ensure our defenses are strong. But we can't just react to Daemon's moves. We need to be proactive."

Aemond’s gaze was steady, unwavering. "I will lead the charge if necessary. Vhagar and I can be at Harrenhal swiftly if needed be. We can cut off his supply lines, weaken his position."

Aegon considered his brother's words, weighing the options. "It's risky, Aemond. But it might be our best chance to turn the tide. We can't afford to lose any more ground."

Aemond’s expression softened slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability. "Aegon, I know the burden you carry is immense. But you have to trust me."

Aegon looked at his brother, seeing the determination in his eyes. "I do trust you, Aemond. You and Vaella. More than anyone."

The brothers shared a moment of silent understanding, the weight of their responsibilities pressing down on them, but their bond providing a measure of strength.

Aegon stood, walking over to the window and looking out at the city below. "We need to prepare. Gather our forces, strengthen our alliances. And we need to keep a close eye on Daemon."

Aemond rose as well, standing beside his brother. "We will."

The flickering candlelight danced against the walls of the chamber as Aegon and Aemond stood in quiet contemplation. The heavy silence was broken by the sound of a cane tapping rhythmically against the stone floor. The brothers turned to see Larys Strong, the enigmatic Master of Whisperers, making his way towards them, his clubfoot dragging slightly with each step.

"Larys," Aegon acknowledged, his tone guarded. "What news do you bring?"

Larys offered a slight bow, his expression as inscrutable as ever. "Your Grace, Prince Aemond," he greeted them, his voice a low murmur. "I bring news of a most unfortunate nature."

Aemond's one-eyed gaze flickered with suspicion as he regarded Larys. "What is it, Strong? Speak plainly."

Larys shifted his weight slightly, leaning on his cane. "It concerns your recent... endeavor. The assassin you sent to deal with false Queen Rhaenyra. It appears he was unsuccessful."

Aegon's expression darkened, a frown etching itself across his features. "Unsuccessful? What do you mean?"

Larys's eyes gleamed with a hint of satisfaction, though he kept his tone neutral. "The assassin was killed, Your Grace. It seems Blacks were more prepared than anticipated."

Aemond's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to Aegon. "I told you this would be a risky move. They are not easily caught off guard."

Aegon clenched his fists, frustration boiling just beneath the surface. "I had hoped to weaken their position, to strike a blow that would send a message and be done with this war and avenge my son. But it seems we've only stirred the hornet's nest."

Larys inclined his head slightly. "Indeed, Your Grace. However, this development is not entirely without merit. It reveals much about Rhaenyra’s current state of affairs. She is cautious, perhaps even paranoid. This could be used to our advantage."

Aegon let out a long breath, trying to quell the rising tide of anger and frustration. "What do you suggest, Larys?"

Larys took a measured step closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We must be more strategic in our approach. Rhaenyra's paranoia can be exploited. We should spread misinformation, create a sense of discord and distrust among her allies. If she is constantly looking over her shoulder, she will be less effective in her actions."

Aemond crossed his arms, his gaze still sharp. "And how do you propose we do that?"

Larys smiled, a slow and calculating expression. "Leave that to me, Prince Aemond. I have my ways of spreading rumors and sowing seeds of doubt. In the meantime, we must bolster our own defenses and prepare for any retaliation."

Aegon nodded slowly, his mind racing with the possibilities. "Very well, Larys. Do what you must. But make sure this time, there are no mistakes."

Larys bowed once more. "Of course, Your Grace. I will ensure everything is handled with the utmost care."

As Larys turned to leave, his cane tapping against the floor once more, Aegon and Aemond exchanged a look. The weight of their responsibilities pressed heavily upon them, but there was a shared understanding between the brothers.

Aemond broke the silence, his voice low and resolute. "We must remain vigilant, Aegon. We cannot afford to show weakness."

Aegon nodded, his expression determined. "Agreed."

With that, the two brothers turned back to the window, gazing out at the sprawling city below. 

…

The autumn sun cast a golden hue over the Red Keep as Vaella Targaryen made her way to a private chamber. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, the recent tragedies and betrayals weighing heavily upon her. But today, she had resolved to take a stand, to make a public statement of support for her husband Aegon and the Greens. It was a move that could potentially sway the loyalties of many Houses, and she knew its significance.

As she entered the chamber, she found Lord Tyland Lannister waiting for her. His demeanor was as calm and composed as ever, his sharp eyes betraying a keen intellect. He rose to greet her with a respectful bow.

“Your Grace,” Tyland said, his voice smooth and polite. “It is an honor to meet with you today.”

Vaella offered a small, strained smile. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. We have much to discuss.”

Tyland gestured to the seats by the window, where a soft autumn breeze wafted through. “Please, Your Grace. Let us sit and talk.”

They took their seats, the weight of the conversation ahead pressing down on them both. Vaella took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “I’ve decided it is time for me to make a public statement of support for Aegon and the Greens. The realm must know where I stand, and it may help to solidify our position.”

Tyland nodded, his expression serious. “It is a wise decision, Your Grace. Your support will indeed carry significant weight, especially among those Houses still wavering in their allegiance.”

Vaella’s gaze drifted out the window, her thoughts momentarily elsewhere. “I wish it did not have to come to this. The bloodshed, the betrayal... it is all so senseless.”

Tyland leaned forward slightly, his tone gentle but firm. “War is never without cost, Your Grace. But your actions today could help bring it to a swifter end. The more Houses we have on our side, the stronger our position will be.”

Vaella turned her attention back to Tyland, determination hardening her features. “What do you suggest for the public statement? How should it be delivered?”

Tyland considered her question for a moment. “A formal declaration, addressed to the realm, should be crafted. It should emphasize your unwavering support for King Aegon and the legitimacy of his claim. We must also highlight the injustices perpetrated by Rhaenyra and her faction. If possible, it should be delivered in a public setting, with as many noble witnesses as we can gather.”

Vaella nodded slowly. “A grand announcement, then. It will show strength and unity.”

Tyland’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Precisely, Your Grace. We should also ensure that messages are sent to key Houses, inviting them to witness the declaration firsthand. Their presence will lend further credibility to your words.”

Vaella’s mind raced with the details that needed to be arranged. “Very well. We will hold the declaration in the Great Hall. I will personally write the message, and I expect you to oversee its delivery to the Houses.”

Tyland bowed his head. “As you command, Your Grace. I will ensure everything is in place.”

Vaella stood, her resolve solidifying with each passing moment. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. I trust in your abilities to see this through.”

Tyland rose as well, offering another respectful bow. “It is my honor to serve you, Your Grace.”

As Vaella left the chamber, her mind was already working through the details of her speech. The gravity of her decision weighed heavily upon her, but she knew it was the right course of action. The realm needed to see her support for Aegon, and she would not waver in her duty.

In the following days, preparations were made with meticulous care. Invitations were sent to the noble Houses, and word of the impending declaration spread throughout the capital. The Great Hall was adorned with the colors of green and gold with a Targaryen sigil, a symbol of the unity and strength they wished to project.

On the day of the declaration, Vaella stood before the assembled nobility, her heart pounding in her chest. She wore a gown of emerald green and silver, her hair intricately braided in the traditional Targaryen style. Aegon stood beside her, his presence a comforting anchor.

As the hall fell silent, Vaella stepped forward, her voice steady and clear. “Lords and Ladies of the realm, I stand before you today to declare my unwavering support for my husband, King Aegon II, and for the rightful claim of the Greens. The recent actions of Rhaenyra Targaryen and her followers have shown their disregard for the peace and stability of our realm. It is time we stand united against this threat.”

She paused, letting her words sink in. “I have seen the pain and suffering caused by this conflict, and I will not allow it to continue unchecked. We must bring an end to this war, for the sake of our people and our future. I call upon you, noble Lords and Ladies, to join us in this cause. Together, we can restore peace and order to the realm.”

The hall erupted in applause, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Vaella felt a surge of relief and determination. She had taken the first step in solidifying their position, and now, it was time to see it through to the end.

…

The Great Hall of the Red Keep buzzed with anticipation and whispered conversations as the nobility of the realm gathered to witness Queen Vaella’s formal declaration of support for King Aegon II and the Greens. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and sweet wines, as servants moved gracefully among the guests, ensuring no cup remained empty.

Vaella stood beside Aegon, her presence commanding and serene. Her emerald green gown shimmered under the candlelight, the silver embroidery catching the eyes of many. Her indigo eyes, framed by her intricate braids, held a steely resolve. Aegon, ever the affectionate husband, kept a protective hand on her waist, his fingers lightly tracing circles on her hip. This public display of affection was not lost on the gathered lords and ladies, many of whom exchanged curious glances.

“Your Grace,” Lord Tyland Lannister approached, bowing deeply. “A magnificent declaration. The realm will surely take note.”

“Thank you, Lord Tyland,” Vaella replied, her voice warm but formal. “We must show a united front in these trying times.”

Aegon, with a mischievous glint in his eye, leaned closer to Vaella, his lips brushing her ear. “You were splendid, my love. The realm should know how lucky I am.”

Vaella smiled, a flush of warmth spreading through her. “And I am equally fortunate, my king.”

Their exchange did not go unnoticed by Queen Dowager Alicent, who approached them with a mixture of annoyance and concern etched on her face. “Aegon, Vaella,” she began, her tone firm. “While it is heartening to see your affection for one another, remember the dignity of our House. These lords and ladies came with their own agendas. We must not give them reason to question our decorum.”

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly, his hand still resting on Vaella’s waist. “Mother, these nobles have seen far worse at their own courts. A bit of affection between a king and queen will not harm our cause. If anything, it shows them we are united, not just in politics, but in heart as well.”

Alicent sighed, clearly frustrated but knowing better than to press the issue further. “Just be mindful, Aegon. We must maintain a certain decorum.” With that, she turned to mingle with the courtiers, her posture radiating an air of regal composure.

As the evening progressed, Aegon and Vaella moved through the hall, engaging with the gathered lords and ladies. Aegon’s charm and Vaella’s grace worked in tandem, creating an image of a strong and unified royal couple.

“Lord Redwyne, your presence here honors us,” Aegon greeted the older lord, raising his goblet in a toast.

Lord Redwyne bowed slightly, a calculating look in his eyes. “Your Grace, it is my honor to serve the crown. Queen Vaella’s words were truly inspiring.”

Vaella inclined her head gracefully. “Thank you, Lord Redwyne. We must all stand together in these times of strife.”

As they continued to mingle, Vaella noticed the subtle shifts in the room. Lords who had been on the fence now approached with tentative pledges of support. The impact of her public declaration was already evident.

“Your Grace,” a young lady curtsied before Vaella, her eyes wide with admiration. “Your speech was most inspiring. My family stands ready to serve the crown.”

“Thank you, Lady Maris,” Vaella replied, her smile genuine. “Your support is deeply appreciated.”

Nearby, Aegon clinked goblets with several lords, his demeanor more relaxed yet ever observant. He cast frequent glances toward Vaella, his love for her evident in his eyes. The evening was a delicate dance of politics and genuine affection, each gesture carefully weighed and measured.

As the night wore on, Aegon and Vaella found a moment of respite near the grand windows overlooking the darkened city. The cool autumn breeze was a welcome relief from the warmth of the crowded hall.

“Look at them,” Aegon murmured, his arm slipping around Vaella’s waist. “They see us together and they can’t help but be swayed.”

Vaella leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. “We must keep this unity, Aegon.”

Aegon kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering in her silver-blonde hair. “We will, Vaella. Together, we will weather any storm.”

Their quiet moment was interrupted by Lord Tyland, who approached with a respectful bow. “Your Graces, the Lords Tyrell and Florent have just arrived. They wish to pay their respects.”

Aegon straightened, his demeanor shifting back to that of the king. “Very well, Tyland. Let us not keep them waiting.”

As they turned to greet the new arrivals, Vaella squeezed Aegon’s hand, a silent promise of their shared strength and determination. 

The Great Hall, filled with the hum of conversation and the flicker of candlelight, bore witness to a pivotal moment. As Aegon and Vaella moved among their subjects, their unity and love shone through, a powerful testament to their reign.

…

The Great Hall continued to buzz with the clinking of goblets and the murmur of conversations, a tapestry of laughter and solemn discussions woven together under the watchful eyes of the nobility. Vaella stood beside Aegon, her face a mask of regal composure. The recent events had cast a dark shadow over her heart, but she knew she had to maintain her strength and dignity.

As she mingled with the guests, a man approached her, his appearance unremarkable but his demeanor confident. He introduced himself as Eric Storm, a bastard son of a minor lord from Stormlands. Aegon watched with a narrowed gaze as the man bowed and took Vaella’s hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Your Grace,” Eric said, his voice smooth. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Eric Storm,” Vaella replied, her tone polite. As he released her hand, she felt the subtle brush of parchment against her palm. Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral, smiling graciously.

The knights of the Kingsguard, stationed strategically around the hall, watched Eric with wary eyes. Aegon’s irritation was palpable, his gaze fixed on the man as he left.

“What was that about?” Aegon asked, his voice low and tinged with annoyance.

Vaella glanced at the message, quickly recognizing Rhaenyra’s handwriting before slipping it into her sleeve. “I’ll explain once we are in our chambers,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

As the festivities continued, Vaella struggled to maintain her composure. The memory of her sister’s involvement in Aeron’s death was a wound that refused to heal. The message in her sleeve felt like a burning brand, a reminder of the betrayal and grief that had engulfed her.

She moved through the hall, engaging in polite conversation, but her mind was elsewhere. The words on the parchment echoed in her thoughts, and she wondered what Rhaenyra could possibly have to say to her now. Did she expect forgiveness? Did she think a mere letter could mend the rift caused by the blood of her child?

Vaella’s internal struggle was a storm of anger and sorrow. She remembered the days when she and Rhaenyra had been inseparable, sisters bound by love and loyalty. They had shared secrets and dreams, laughed and cried together. But those days felt like a distant memory now, overshadowed by the darkness of their current reality.

Aegon’s presence beside her was both a comfort and a reminder of the responsibilities they bore. She could feel his concern, his protectiveness. He had always been her rock, her anchor in the tempest of their lives. But even he could not shield her from the pain that gnawed at her heart.

Aegon leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “Vaella, you seem distant. Are you alright?”

She forced a smile, her hand finding his. “I’m fine, Aegon. Just tired, I suppose.”

He squeezed her hand gently, his eyes searching hers. “We’ll leave soon. I promise.”

As the night wore on, Vaella’s thoughts kept returning to the letter. She knew she had to read it, to face whatever words Rhaenyra had written. But the thought filled her with dread. What if it was an apology? What if it was another plea for support? Could she trust anything her sister said now?

The weight of her grief pressed down on her, a suffocating presence that made it hard to breathe. She glanced around the hall, seeing the faces of the lords and ladies who had come to witness her declaration. They saw her as a symbol of strength and unity, but inside she felt like she was falling apart.

As the evening drew to a close, Aegon kept his promise. He excused them both, and they made their way to their chambers. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken words, but Vaella appreciated his understanding, his willingness to wait.

Once inside their chambers, Aegon turned to her, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “Vaella, what was in that message?”

Vaella took a deep breath, pulling the parchment from her sleeve. “It’s from Rhaenyra,” she said, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

Aegon’s eyes widened. “What does she want?”

“I don’t know yet,” Vaella admitted, her hands shaking as she unfolded the letter. “But I intend to find out.”

As she began to read, the words blurred before her eyes, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She felt Aegon’s hand on her shoulder, a steadying presence in the midst of her turmoil.

They stood together, reading the letter, their shared grief and determination binding them closer.