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flowerandblood · 1 year

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Brother, Lover, Son (Oneshot)

The Impossible Choice Series Special Chapter

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[description: Aemond is sent to Storm's End by his father to be trained in the nature of battle and warfare under Borros Baratheon eye, in preparation for his future role as commander of his brother's army. He is to choose one of his daughters as his future wife, but Borros only allows him to choose between four of them when his true desire is awakened by his fifth and youngest child.]

[warnings: sex content, virginity loss, fingering, masturbation, kissing, smut, angst, sexual tension, domination, violence, kind of incest but not actually]

This oneshot is an alternate reality from The Impossible Choice Series where, according to Aemond's words in Chapter 49, he is sent to Storm's End by his father when he is still just a child. It shows what would happen and how it would affect Aemond and Lady Baratheon, what his relationship with Borros, Royce and her other sisters would be like. This chapter stands apart from the main story and is a big, long "what if". This is very long oneshot (over 15.000 words).

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

Brother, Lover, Son Inside Alphabet

Moodboards before you start reading and want feel the mood:

Aemond and Lady Baratheon • Storm's End Stronghold • Baratheon Family • Lady Baratheon Gowns • Aemond • Lady Baratheon Mother

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Main story and my other fics: Masterlist

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He was unable to understand his father's decision. The night after their conversation, after the King had conveyed his will to him he had cried with rage, lying with his face pressed against his pillow, his barely healed scar from Luke's cut burning and itching more than usual.

"I've decided that you will spend a few years in Storm's End, preparing for your role as commander under the tutelage of Lord Borros. After what has happened you need a change of environment, son. It'll do you good."

He wept quietly, remembering those words for the hundredth time. He thought with grief that what he needed was not a change of environment, but a father who would come in time, save him from his nephew's cut, support him later in front of everyone, hug him and comfort him.

Meanwhile, despite the fact that he had managed to tame the largest dragon that now walked the earth, his father was getting rid of him.

He thought that the lack of an eye made him now forever defiant in his eyes and he wanted to hide him somewhere far away from the world, condemning him to oblivion.

His mother begged his father to change his mind, but he said that his son was already eleven years old and would soon be a grown man, and she could visit him whenever she wanted.

Whether he wanted it or not, a week later he was standing in the courtyard wrapped in his crying mother's arms – Aegon yawned, uninteresed, looking around, Helaena was staring at her hands, thoughtful, and small Daeron sobbed loudly, not understanding why he had to leave.

He only grunted, looking at them, not knowing what to say – he simply nodded, turned and walked away, not wanting to cry in front of everyone like a little child.

When he reached Storm's End on Vhagar a heavy rain was pouring down all around him, through which he could see very little. He struggled to land near the fortress, and travelled a long distance on foot before encountering guards who came out to meet him and led him straight into the great stone stronghold.

Frozen and with a pounding heart he stepped inside – the keep seemed huge and cold to him, his wet footsteps echoing loudly and disturbingly all around him.

He was led into a large circular hall and saw a tall, massive, bearded man before him. He was strongly built, his shoulder-length hair was as dark as his beard, his thick eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, which he recognised that he was the reason for.

"What is the meaning of this? Why haven't you given him dry clothes yet?" He almost roared at his guards, who only nodded, moving immediately back towards the corridor.

"Royce!" The man called out in a voice so tubular that it echoed loudly throughout the hall, making him swallow heavily. He tried to keep an indifferent face, but he could feel his legs trembling.

Suddenly, a boy, taller than him and reminding him a bit of Jace, ran into the hall through a side entrance. He had short, curly hair and big brown eyes.

"Lead Prince Aemond to his chamber. Let him rest, and then both of you come to the feast." He said in a firm, unobjectionable voice from which his heart trembled.

His father-king had never spoken like this and he did not know how to act.

Royce, however, did not seem at all bothered by his father's harsh tone. He approached him with a light step and bowed, looking at him curiously.

"Follow me, my Prince." He said, and he simply moved behind him, snorting quietly with his nose.

They moved up the grand, richly carved stone staircase. He was walking so fast that it was hard to keep up with him – they turned into one of the main corridors, then Royce opened a wooden door and invited him inside.

He stepped into his chamber and realised to his surprise that this room was even bigger than the one he had lived in the Red Keep – there was already a fire in the fireplace, the warmth of the flames making him tremble a little less. Royce looked at him and opened the dresser, pulling out a linen shirt and breeches, glancing at him.

"Get changed. Unfortunately such fine weather here is normal. You'll have to get used to it. The supper will begin in an hour, father doesn't like anyone to be late. Make yourself comfortable." He said and patted him on the shoulder, stepping around him and walking out, leaving him with an embarrassed expression on his face.

No lord had ever touched him so brazenly or spoken to him so directly, but yet he felt some kind of relief after he had done so.

He thought that perhaps such gestures were made between friends, brothers, and swallowed quietly.

This was not his family.

He had been sent here as if to some great stone prison.

After a few minutes or so, the servants brought trunks with his belongings, which had been brought in several carriages, and he changed into an attire he thought appropriate for supper. A plump, smiling woman then walked into his chamber and informed him that she would be his servant and that he could ask her for anything he needed.

He felt strange.

He knew they were kind to him because he was a prince, because his father and Lord Baratheon had decided that he would one day marry one of his daughters.

They could not offend or discourage him.

He pressed his lips together at the thought and decided that he would not fall for this cheap pity.

He wondered for a moment how he was supposedly going to get to the chamber where the supper would take place, but a few minutes before the appointed time Royce knocked on his door asking if he was ready.

They went there together.

They entered a great hall from the ceiling of which hung a huge candlestick, behind a long table stretched a fireplace from which a fire gushed, on an oak table spread a whole lot of dishes he had not seen before.

He noticed, surprised, that Lord Borros had already eaten, ignoring the fact that not everyone was yet at the table, nor that he, the Prince, had yet to sit down. He swallowed quietly, sitting down in the seat Royce had indicated to him, the curious glances of his sisters made him lower his head, embarrassed.

They were looking at his eyepatch, at his scar.

He wanted to hide, to disappear.

Suddenly he heard a squeal from under the table that Royce had just ducked under. He pulled out a little girl laughing so loudly he felt uncomfortable – he tried to pull away from her brother, but he held her tight and pinched her flushed cheek.

"This is where you hid, little rascal. I'm sorry, this is no longer your place, from now on Prince Aemond sits here." He explained to her, and she stopped squirming, looking at him with furrowed brows and tightened lips.

He glanced at her, thinking she was about to start crying as loudly as she laughed, but she glanced back at Royce.

"Fine. He can sit there, but you can't." She burbled, jabbing her brother in his arm with her finger, stepping under the table again and appearing on the other side, taking the empty seat next to her other sister, the only fair-haired girl, who sighed heavily as she looked at her.

"Sit down. Don't act like an animal." She said, correcting her on the seat, her younger sister looked at her resentfully but said nothing.

"What do you want to eat?" She asked her as if she were her mother, and the girl pointed her finger at the roast. Lord Borros' low, firm voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Eat. Don't be shy. This is your home now." He said, glancing at him with his piercing brown eyes, putting some more meat from the platter beside him and handed it to him.

He swallowed hard, nodded and took a bit for his plate.

Throughout the supper he had been frustrated by the attentiveness of Lord Borros' daughters, except perhaps the youngest, who was too savage to concentrate on anything.

He had hardly slept through the night, curling up in his bed, trying not to cry from sadness and longing – he wanted to return to King's Landing, to a place where the sun greeted him every day, not rain and clouds, where was his library to hide in, his garden, his mother and his heritage.

He felt lost, lonely, forsaken.

His maid brought him his meal in the morning, warm milk with a platter of rolls and vegetables he liked.

He wondered how she knew this and whether Lord Borros had asked his mother about it before.

Then Royce came into his chamber and said that in an hour he would be training with his father in the courtyard and he could join them if he wished.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

He was afraid of humiliation.

However, he recognised that Lord Borros could not see him as a weak coward, so he went downstairs, having previously dressed in the garments designed for sparrings, stepping into the courtyard from the side, through the cloisters, and stopped, looking at the view in front of him in disbelief.

Indeed Lord Borros and Royce were practising, both of them with wooden swords in their hands, all sorts of targets and shields around them, on tables surrounding them weapons he had not even seen in King's Landing.

What he did not understand, however, was what his youngest daughter was doing there with them.

"Stand firmer on your feet. Improve your posture." Borros shouted loudly at her as she pushed against Royce with vigour, her wooden sword even smaller than his, her dark hair tied up in a braid, determination and focus in her big, bright eyes.

Royce deflected her attack and with a single, powerful blow knocked her wooden sword out of her hand far away. She immediately ran after it, picking it up off the ground.

"Are you holding that sword or not?" Asked frustrated Royce, throwing his sword over his shoulder. "You need to have a stronger grip, focus."

"I'm trying!" She called out, running back to him and stopped, spotting him standing in front of the fortress entrance.

"Prince Aemond is here!" She exclaimed joyfully, and he blushed and lowered his head, embarrassed, feeling as if he had been caught in the act, even though he had done nothing wrong.

Borros and Royce immediately turned their gazes towards him, Lord Baratheon running the hilt of his sword over the sand.

"Come here." He said in a commanding voice, without any further pleasantries.

He pressed his lips together at the thought that Criston had always addressed him with respect, not forgetting his titles.

He swallowed loudly, walking towards them with his head lowered, pale, prepared for humiliation. Royce threw a wooden sword in his direction, which he caught in flight.

"Ready?" The boy asked him, and he nodded. Royce thrust at him suddenly, his blow swishing through the air, but he jumped back, spinning, trying to hit him from the side.

Royce blocked his blow and pushed him away, but he swished his sword once more, hitting him with all his strength on the shoulder. Royce hissed and recoiled, furrowing his brow, and he froze and stopped, swallowing loudly, looking at Lord Baratheon in horror. His daughter who stood beside him clapped her hands, a wide smile on her face. Borros nodded.

"Good. Royce, what did you do wrong?" His father asked, and Royce sighed heavily.

"I didn't dodge on my knees." He said resignedly. His father hummed under his breath.

"Exactly. How many times do I have to tell you. Footwork is key! Again." He ordered, Royce sighed, the expression of displeasure gone from his face.

They had had several duels with each other, already more evenly matched, Lord Baratheon after each one giving them remarks or showing them what they were doing wrong. He swallowed loudly as he turned to him.

"You have very good technique, but you are too tense in your shoulders. Relax them and your swing will be wider, you will be able to reach your enemy from a greater distance. Do you understand?" He asked and he nodded, unable to get the words out, his heart was beating like crazy.

His advice worked – he could feel in his hand that his sword was reaching farther, he hit Royce in the chest and he caught himself and hissed. Lord Borros came up and patted him firmly on the shoulder.

"Good. Just like that. Royce, legs." Borros said to him, and he felt his cheeks turn red, his belly filled with some kind of pride he didn't want to feel.

When they had finished and Borros said they could go and rest, he thought Royce would lurk somewhere in the middle of the fortress and beat him up for the warm words from his father.

Aegon always took it out on him later when he won some sparring organised by Criston Cole, saying that he had humiliated him in front of everyone.

Royce, however, seemed to have forgotten all about the training, hot and sweaty, saying he was thirsty and hungry. He told him they could go to the pantry together, and he nodded, although he'd never been in such a place before.

They went down into the underground – there were many servants walking around them, but they didn't seem to pay any attention to them, as if Royce's presence was normal for everyone. Royce went into one of the rooms and took two apples for them, on the way one of the servants asked him if they preferred to eat something warm.

"No." Said Royce, throwing him the other apple, turning back. They ate as they walked down the long, stone-cold corridors.

He wondered if he could ask him about it, but he couldn't hold his curiosity any longer.

"Do you have a library here?" He asked feigning indifference, biting into the sweet flesh of the fruit.

Only now did he feel the stress leave him, his stomach growling with hunger.

Royce looked at him puzzled.

"Yes, but it's rarely used. I can show you where it is if you want."

As promised, Royce took him to a gigantic room made up of huge stone bookcases filled to the brim with dusty tomes. Indeed, the place looked as if no one had looked there for a long time.

He knew that Lord Borros could not read, however, he wondered if his children couldn't do it either. He glanced at Royce and wondered if it was appropriate for him to ask such things.

So far Royce had been nice to him and was the only boy his age he could speak with about anything.

He figured he'd phrase the question so as not to give himself away.

"Don't you like books?" He asked casually, eating further, strolling across the room with him. Royce shrugged his shoulders.

"I like books about the war, but they have a lot of difficult words that I don't understand. My mother explained to me that they were difficult books for adults and that I could try to go back to them when I was older." He said calmly, and he swallowed loudly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Their mother was dead, but he wouldn't dare ask what had happened to her.

He hummed under his breath at his words and nodded.

"Sometimes I take books from here to read to my sister before bed. The youngest one you saw in the courtyard today." He said, taking one of the books from the shelf, looking through it without much concentration. He looked at him thoughtfully.

"Why is your little sister practising with you?" He asked, completely not understanding what she was doing there, having never seen any girl their age in King's Landing take an interest in such things before.

"And why not?" Royce replied with a question to question, shrugging his shoulders. He was surprised by this answer and did not know what to reply.

"She cried terribly when I didn't want to take her with me. She insisted on sword fighting and that's it. Didn't one of Aegon the Conqueror's sister-wives fight with a sword?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pressed his lips together, refraining from saying that the Targaryens were not like other people and not to compare them, but he decided it was rude and left the subject.

From then on, he found his asylum in the forgotten library of Storm's End, where he spent his afternoons after training with Royce and writing off his mother's letters.

Although he still felt lonely, Royce was good company, not imposing on him, having his barriers, respecting his space – he wasn't spiteful and didn't look down on girls the way Aegon did, didn't beat him surreptitiously when his father wasn't watching, didn't play silly jokes or mischief on him.

He was a good friend.

He liked to climb up to the small half-floor of the library from which he had a view of the whole place, settling in there with a few books and something to eat, spending long hours there.

One day, however, he heard, startled, as the door to the room opened, and Borros's youngest daughter ran inside like a storm, approaching one of the bookcases. She struggled to pull some book off a shelf she couldn't reach, and he watched her efforts without a word.

He wondered if he should help her, and then decided he didn't need to do anything for her.

The girl finally took the chair and stood on it, this time grabbing what she wanted. He blinked as she got off the chair and sat down on it, looking through some sort of large, colourful book, he could see from a distance how many illustrations it had.

He thought curiously that he would take it as soon as she had gone, however, she sat down comfortably and browsed further, wiggling her legs that did not reach the ground.

He sighed quietly and flipped the page of his book, discouraged, and she then lifted her head high and spotted him. He squeezed his eye shut when he heard her get up suddenly and run upstairs to him.

He thought he could bid farewell to silence and peace.

"What are you reading about?!" She asked, sitting down next to him at the table above which her head barely protruded.

She opened a large but rather thin book in front of him, with an ornate red cover on which a dragon-like shape flashed before his eye.

He didn't answer her question, pushing the book closer to himself, beginning to look through it quickly.

"I'm reading this!" She squealed in pain, wanting to take it from him, but he pushed her hand away.

"Be quiet." He growled, flicking through page after page, feeling his heart begin to pound.

Tales of the ancient Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.

Beautifully illustrated scenes of nuptials, dragons, battles, his ancestors on gilded, coloured illuminations.

In the Red Keep he had never seen such a book before.

He flipped its pages back to the beginning, wanting to start reading, but felt her hand tighten on his arm, her breathing uneven, as if she were about to cry.

"…I read it…." She mumbled, looking at him with big eyes full of tears, her face expressing as if she had never suffered so much in her life as she did in that moment.

"I'm reading it now. When I'm done I'll give it back to you." He said dryly, looking away.

He thought she was going to run off crying to complain to Royce or her father, pressing his lips together at the thought, but she drew in a loud breath, trying to hold back the loud sobs that were pushing at her throat.

"− and can I − uh - can I sit next to − and you'd read to me, and I − I − I'd like to −" She spoke incoherently and with difficulty, and he clenched his eye knowing that she wouldn't leave him alone. He sighed heavily, pushed her chair closer to him and moved the book to the side.

"Do you see anything?" He asked impatiently, looking at her, and she sat up on her knees to raise herself higher, looking at the open book curiously, her face completely changed its expression back to contented and gentle, although she was still red from tears.

"Yes."

He sighed heavily and began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a mysterious land called Valyria. It was known for its great sorcery and magic, and the most enchanted creatures of all had to be the almighty dragons, great flying reptiles breathing fire that resembled lizards in appearance. They had been invincible for thousands of years, sowing fear and confusion among humans who tried to tame them with prayers and gifts." He read in a calm voice and realised after a moment that she was listening to him as if enchanted, looking along with him at the text.

She glanced at him when he stopped reading, her gaze expressing joyful anticipation.

She really thought he was going to read the whole book to her now.

He didn't know how he felt about that thought.

It frustrated him that he had to exert himself for her just on her whim.

"Read on." She said softly, squirming on her lap in anticipation. "I really want to learn more about dragons."

He swallowed quietly at her words, lowering his head, looking blankly at the text in front of him.

Even though her sisters were trying with all their might to make contact and conversation with him, he could see them trying to avoid looking at his eyepatch, afraid they would say the wrong thing or offend him.

He was tired of it.

They pretended all the time.

But she wanted nothing more than for him to continue reading a story that interested her.

So he read on.

✦ - ✦ - ✦ A few years later ✦ - ✦ - ✦

When his mother sent him a letter that Helaena had finally given birth, he flew to King's Landing for a few days to see his nephews. He was pleased, although he did not particularly show it, that his sister had endured the hardships of labour well, being able to get out of bed almost immediately despite giving birth to two children rather than one.

He stood over the two beautiful, ornate wooden cradles in which the two white-haired infants lay and pressed his lips together, knowing that these innocent creatures had just pushed him in line to the throne.

He had inherited nothing.

All he had was Vhagar.

He knew everyone thought so − as he walked the corridors of the Red Keep he felt the stares of the lords and ladies of the court, he knew they were whispering about him. He appeared in King's Landing infrequently and always aroused a general curiosity that made him want to return to Storm's End at once.

There he didn't feel like an intruder, he thought with pain.

Despite his mother's pleas for him to stay for a few weeks, he decided that he would return to Storm's End as planned, remembering his promise to Lord Baratheon to return to the fortress before his Name Day.

The last supper he spent in the Red Keep was quiet and peaceful, the only people at the table who had the strength to speak were his grandfather and his mother.

Although the evening went on as usual, he could not get rid of the feeling that everyone around him was grey and dead, without energy or joy.

He recoiled from it.

Although he had always sought silence and solitude in Storm's End, suppers there were full of loud conversations and laughter, usually through the banter between Borros, his son and his youngest child, sometimes joined by Ellyn.

Cassandra usually pressed her lips together, looking at him with shame, perpetually worried that he was unhappy or embarrassed, trying to mother everyone, much to his frustration.

Ellyn was sweet and kind, but everything frightened her − she was close to tears when he and Royce had fierce duels during which she almost begged them not to hurt each other.

Maris was withdrawn and immersed in her thoughts, paying no attention to him after he had growled at her several times not to enter his chamber in his absence.

Neither of them frustrated him as much as Floris did.

As he walked down the corridor she tried to catch him under his arm, turning his journey from point to point into a romantic stroll. She constantly asked his opinion when it came to choosing a gown for the feast, to which he didn't feel like answering, uninterested.

Her approach tired him.

However, on the whole, he felt surprised and sad when he caught himself thinking that he was returning to Storm's End with relief.

He felt like a stranger, like an intruder in his own home and felt rage mixed with disappointment.

He returned on Vhagar to Storm's End late at night, flying in the middle of a terrible storm, entering the fortress all soaked.

He rolled his eye when he saw that Floris was waiting for him, dressed only in a slightly transparent night robe, holding some cloth in her hands.

"You're soaking wet, my Prince, let me help you." She said, looking at him with big eyes.

"No need. Don't follow me." He said dryly, heading to his chamber and locking himself in to make sure she would definitely not come after him.

He changed into dry clothes and collapsed on his bed, falling asleep almost immediately, hearing the loud thunder outside his window.

He woke up as always before dawn, looking tiredly at the grey, overcast sky – he murmured under his breath seeing that it wasn't raining and rose, putting on his breeches, dressing his boots lazily.

He liked to practice in the morning, in solitude, before everyone else was up – dueling with Royce was interesting and over the years they had formed a wordless, close bond, however he liked to train alone sometimes, wanting to surprise him later with an unexpected blow.

He stepped out into the courtyard and was immediately struck by the crisp, pleasant, refreshing air. He picked up one of the long swords and turned it around a few times in his hand, wanting to check that it lay well in his hand.

He shuddered and almost fell over when he felt someone suddenly jump onto his back.

"– brother! –" He heard a happy girlish squeal, someone's arms were embracing his neck from behind, her legs clenched around his waist.

"− fuck! − gods −" He hissed, feeling his heart pounding like a mad, looking back over his shoulder, although he knew perfectly well who he was going to see.

He felt her warm breath on his cheek, her pleasant floral scent filled his nose, her cheeks warm and flushed from the cold, her bright eyes shining with genuine joy at the sight of him.

She giggled seeing the look on his face.

"Where is your vigilance?" She asked amused and he snorted.

"Get off." He growled in frustration and pushed her away so that she had to slide back off the ground.

He looked at her frustrated, his lips pressed together into a thin line in shame.

"Can you finally stop doing that?" He said coolly, looking down at her, but she only smiled wider, putting her hands at her sides, not making anything of his words.

Only now did he realise that she too was wearing her training attire, tight black breeches, a buff white shirt, and over that an embroidered corset pleasantly hugging her waist, her long dark hair tied in a braid.

He swallowed loudly as he looked at her, wondering helplessly why he always lost his confidence in her presence.

She was driving him off balance.

"Forgive me. I couldn't help myself when I saw you." She said meekly, walking up to him with a light step, standing in front of him, her face gentle and happy.

She was glad to see him.

She was glad he was back.

He felt embarrassed at her words and looked away, pressing his lips together. She saw how tense he was and obviously felt remorse, because she lowered her gaze.

"I thought you'd come back last evening." She said softly, looking up at him again, her eyes big, sincere, warm.

She was always direct, always spoke straight from her heart, but there was no pressure or expectation of reciprocation, of an answer.

Her sincerity straddled him and he usually didn't know what to make of it, embarrassed and confused by her words.

"Something kept me in King's Landing." He replied briefly and dryly, looking at the hilt of his sword, turning it steadily in his hand, pressing its tip to the ground.

"I hope the Princess' delivery was quick and easy and that her children are healthy." She said softly, with genuine interest and concern.

"Mmm." That was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He felt an uncomfortable silence ensue between them, as it always did, but she seemed to make nothing of it.

"Will it bother you if I practise archery next to you?" She finally asked politely, looking at him expectantly, shifting from foot to foot.

"Do what you want." He said dryly, rolling the hilt of his sword in his hand and turned his back to her, striking one of the targets with its blade.

She answered him nothing to this, standing in silence for a moment, and then he heard her move as she approached one of the tables, taking from it the bow she always chose, given to her by her father. She positioned herself sideways to him, aiming at the shield from a long distance and hit the target immediately.

They practised like this in silence until Royce finally joined them.

She and Royce formed a very strong bond between them, which manifested itself in their constant conversations and closeness. He watched from the side as Royce embraced her, picked her up, leaned against her while standing next to her and felt embarrassed, never having been this close to Helaena himself, and even if he had been, he would not have had the courage to show it to her in this way.

She knew she couldn't afford the same type of closeness to him and didn't even try. She circled around him with an amused, joyful expression though, her eyes shining brightly at the sight of him, making him feel a squeeze in his throat.

He could not stop the rapid beating of his heart and the heat that spread through his body as her hand lightly touched his arm when she asked him something or wanted to comfort him.

She loved to surprise him, appearing in front of him out of nowhere, almost giving him a heart attack, and walking away laughing out loud at his expression, leaving him overwhelmed with embarrassment.

She repeated that his face was always stony and indifferent and that she was only checking how much she could get out of him.

The exchanges between them were usually unpredictable and chaotic – she never said what he expected of her and it made him perpetually tense in her presence.

He didn't even know when she stopped being a child, changing just like him, the height difference between them even greater than before.

It seemed to him as if she were a small wildflower that bloomed day by day, her shapes becoming more and more girlish, embarrassingly pleasing to his eye. Unlike her sisters, she didn't try to look older than she was – she allowed herself to mature slowly, without unnecessary haste, without killing her innocence, joy and lightness.

Pretty soon he began to see with horror that looking at her from the side was working on his mind, drawing reactions from his body that he was ashamed of.

He never lay with any woman, being like his mother a faithful follower of the Seven, believing that as a man he should be able to control himself and his desires completely.

He tried to avoid her, but at the same time he couldn't stop the squeeze of excitement in his stomach when she came to him in the library or during their joint training sessions – he never knew what she would do, what she would say, so he pretended to be indifferent, trying not to think about how hard his heart was pounding.

Nevertheless, he did not know what drove him to follow her one evening when, returning from the library, he saw that she was running down to underground crypts in nothing but her nightgown and robe tied loosely around her waist with a candle in her hand.

He thought he'd go and scare her like she had done to him, to make her feel what it was like.

That he'll teach her a lesson.

He followed her quietly, watching his every step, feeling like a predator trying to stalk its prey – he saw the faint light of her candle right in front of him, saw her silhouette standing in front of one of the crypts, her head bowed in thought.

He didn't know what possessed him to grab her by her neck with his hand, embracing her waist with his arm and pull her to him so violently that her body slammed into his, a sudden, high-pitched squeal escaped her mouth.

"Fucking unpleasant, isn't it?" He hissed into her ear, feeling her whole body tremble, her breathing accelerated and terrified – his hand tightened on her neck, the closeness of her body made his manhood pulse hard in his breeches against her buttocks.

"I wanted to see if you are able to make other than a happy, laughing face." He whispered mischievously into her ear and felt a shiver run through her body, her hand clamped on his arm.

She turned her head towards him, her eyes big, terrified, red, full of something he couldn't describe, her lips parted wide.

They were both breathing unevenly – they had never stood so close to each other before, a silence fell between them that terrified him.

A silence full of tension.

Say something, he thought, say I'm a nasty bastard, hit me, push me away.

He swallowed loudly when he felt her put her hand on his, her skin soft and warm.

"Today it is ten years since my mother passed away." She whispered in a trembling, soft voice, looking down, and he felt his heart stop.

He lifted his gaze to the sarcophagus with the large stone statue standing on top of it and recognised in it the face of a woman holding a book in her hands.

He felt an instant of shame, of guilt, of embarrassment wash over him.

He let go of her, pulling away from her, feeling his heart pounding like mad, terrified that he had gotten completely hard from their momentary closeness.

What was he doing?

He swallowed loudly, feeling like running away, sinking into the ground, disappearing, but he was unable to move.

"I come here often to pray to her to watch over us. Over our whole family. Over you too." She said in the end, and he swallowed silently, staring at the stone floor, unable to look at her, overpowered by shame.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'll never do it again." She whispered and turned away, moving towards the stairs, leaving him with the burning candle.

Since then, she has never startled him again.

Lord Borros celebrated his Name Day sumptuously, inviting first his subordinate lords and vassals to a great feast in Storm's End, and then setting out with his entire retinue for several days hunting in the forest.

He and Royce walked into the great hall together through a side entrance closest their table, set perpendicular to the tables where the other lords and guests were seated.

"I'm sure old Lord Errol and Lord Seaworth will get into a fight again. The wine is bad for their minds and they get mad. I don't understand why Father always seats them so close together." Royce said amused, sitting down in his seat.

His face involuntarily stretched into a smirk at the memory of how Borros had to separate them when Lord Errol started slamming Lord Seaworth's head against the oak table, demanding an apology.

"Were they by any chance companions on one of Father's expeditions?" He asked indifferently as he sat down next to him and swallowed hard noting how the word father had involuntarily slipped from his lips.

Not 'our' father.

Not 'your' father.

Just father, he reassured himself in his head.

It didn't mean anything.

"Yes, they were best companions, but you know how it is. When there's no war they get bored, so they create reasons for themselves to fight." He said with amusement, reaching for his wine-filled cup, taking a sip from it. He nodded his head.

He was unable to describe what kind of relationship he had with Royce – he never acted as if he was lower or higher than him, never let him feel his jealousy of his father, never took it out on him for his failures.

Royce simply accepted his presence on the very first day he appeared in Storm's End, and this state of acceptance continued through the years.

He couldn't imagine spending time with Aegon in the way he did with Royce. Royce, unlike him, knew exactly how much he could drink and when he should tell himself enough.

He did not read as much as he did, however, he was a man of intelligence, like his father often throwing in apt remarks – Royce was a good observer, better than him, so in a way they complemented each other on a daily basis.

He looked around the room – Lord Borros was discussing something with concern with his servant, apparently about the order in which the dishes were served or a problem with the wine, which, after all, could not be lacking in his house.

His gaze traveled further and he swallowed loudly, feeling his heart hit harder when he spotted his youngest daugther conversing with Ellyn, a wide smile and joy on her face, her eyes glowing.

He noticed that she didn't wear gowns like her older sisters who followed fashion of King's Landing – the neckline of her gown did not begin until below her breasts, which were covered only by her undershirt, the sleeves of her gown buff and partly slit, tied with bows from under which the white material of her nightgown shone through, her hair tied in an elaborate braid.

Her attire was so impressive to him because she usually dressed similarly to them whether she was training with them or attended her father's hunts.

Lord Baratheon's other lords and vassals gave her paternal affection, often laughing that Borros had not one son, but three.

Comparisons to men, however, did not take away her confidence, for she seemed to subconsciously understand that all her femininity and girlhood was released when she laughed and smiled, her face always gentle and warm.

He began to notice with frustration that men liked to make speak with her, finding her an interesting and entertaining companion, unafraid of uncomfortable topics. She would occasionally meet his impatient, tense gaze and he would then turn away, tightening his lips, feeling like a fool.

He pretended not to feel relieved and satisfied when, usually after a while, she sat down next to him, turning to him with some question, her knee pressed against his.

He took a deep sip from his cup, looking away.

Lord Borros finally arose and began his speech, thanking those gathered for coming, mentioning some important battles and people, before formally inviting everyone to eat and dance. With music blaring around them, Royce handed him a plate of roast meat that had literally just appeared on the table in front of them.

He tried to pretend he didn't see young Lord Wylde approach Lord Baratheon's youngest daughter asking her to dance, to which she agreed with a soft, wide smile. He tried not to glance surreptitiously as they circled around each other in the dance, her movements nimble, gentle, innocent, her hand barely touching his.

He took another sip of wine, feeling the artery in his throat pulsate, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

He felt relieved when the dance was over and they bowed to each other, but he tensed, however, clenching his hand into a fist as he noticed the young boy leaning over her, whispering something to her ear.

He felt anger.

He felt frustration.

He felt tension.

He tried to reassure himself with the thought that she was innocent and naïve, and he was making sure nothing happened to her, like the good big brother he actually wasn't.

"What happened?" Royce asked, clearly seeing the tension painted on his face, and he grunted low.

"Young lord Wylde seems to have taken a liking to your sister." He said offhandedly, feigning indifference, hoping Royce would take an interest in the matter for him. He, however, blinked, glancing at them, then shrugged his shoulders.

"My sister is wise, she can handle him if he's too insistent. Let her have her fun." He said lightly, taking a sip of wine, finishing off the leftover meat on his plate. He averted his gaze, feeling a squeeze in his stomach at his words.

When he saw out of the corner of his eye Floris standing up from her chair he also immediately stood up, knowing that she was going to torment him by speaking about topics that he was completely uninterested in.

Royce only laughed out loud when he told him he was going to go out into the fresh air for a while, knowing exactly who he was running from.

He went out a side entrance and heard Floris come up behind him, so he changed his plan and instead of the cloisters he headed for the library, knowing that she hadn't peeked in there and certainly wouldn't even stop to look.

He walked into the dark room and climbed the stairs to the half-floor where he always sat when he was a child, sitting down on the ground against the wall, running his hand over his face.

He wondered what was actually happening to him, feeling tired and discouraged.

He knew that eventually he would have to choose one of Borros' daughters to be his wife, but the Lord of Storm's End had let him know that he was to choose from four, not five.

"As I understand it, you will not consider her. She is still so young and childish, she would not do well in the Red Keep or as your wife. You know her nature: it's like locking a wild bird in a cage. For the rest, I am sure you are certainly interested in more mature women." He said and patted him on the shoulder with some expression of masculine tenderness from which he felt a tightening in his throat. He nodded only, unable to look him in the face.

He couldn't admit to him that thoughts of her invaded him at night, when he touched himself, when he fucked himself with his hand.

That he imagined she came to his chamber in the middle of the night, scared, innocent, warm, and he took her, slowly and tenderly, placing wet kisses full of desire and devotion on her soft face, listening to her sweet moans, assuring her that she was safe in his arms.

He squeezed his eye shut at the thought, swallowing loudly, feeling his cock pulsate hard at the thought.

He jumped up terrified when he heard the quiet creak of the door and cursed in his mind thinking that it was Floris who had finally found his hiding place.

However, he saw in the faint light of the torch from the corridor that the figure who was looking up at him from below was wearing a completely different dress.

He felt his heart begin to beat like mad, a cold sweat on the back of his neck.

"Brother?" He heard her quiet, worried voice, she spoke almost in a whisper, as if she was afraid someone would hear her. His voice caught in his throat.

He couldn't get anything out.

Go away, he thought pleadingly, but she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She walked slowly upstairs, lifting her gown with her hands to avoid trampling on it, and knelt down next to him on the floor with a loud rustle, her scent immediately hitting his nostrils. He turned his head away, terrified, feeling that he was already completely hard, his chest rising and falling anxiously.

"Are you unwell?" She asked uncertainly, glancing at him, but he didn't dare look at her. He shook his head slowly and heard her swallow quietly.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" She asked again after a moment, and he pressed his lips together, feeling that his whole body was fighting not to throw himself at her, his breath heavy and anxious.

He answered nothing.

"I missed you." She whispered at last, and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain as if someone had stuck a needle in his chest. "When you're gone something is missing. Royce too…"

"Stop it." He growled colder than he would have liked, frustrated and terrified.

"Why are you telling me this?" He asked impatiently, looking at her suddenly, breathing hard, his hand clenched into a fist as if he was about to hit her.

He saw her frightened, warm gaze, saw that she couldn't understand him, what frustrated him and what pleased him.

She swallowed loudly, surprised by his sudden outburst.

"You think I want to listen to this? I'm not your brother. Have you forgotten who I am already? Do you feel better when you forget that you should bow before me?" He exhaled in one breath, feeling the poison gathering in his heart fly out of him like a bloodthirsty wave, drowning everything around them, including her and him.

He felt a pang of remorse as he saw her face contort in pain, as if he had slapped her across the face. She blinked rapidly, tightening her lips, pulling away from him slightly, raising her arms as if in a gesture of defence, her body breathless all over. She swallowed quietly, her mouth quivering as she spoke her next words.

"To me, you will always be my brother." She said in a trembling voice, and he felt anger and hopelessness at her words.

He did not want to be her brother.

Not when she wasn't a Targaryen.

Not when he wanted to fuck her.

She squealed loudly as his hand brutally clamped down on her hair and pulled her close with a sudden movement so that she just slammed into his body, falling over, catching his arms to keep her balance. They both breathed loudly as they stared at each other for a long moment, he felt his head spin from the smell of her.

He felt a shudder pass through him as her hand touched his scarred cheek, his erection swelled painfully hard, leaving him breathless. Shivers ran down the back of his neck as her fingers slid slowly down his skin to his lips, pulsating and swollen. He pulled her face closer, making their foreheads touch.

He glanced at her lips, soft, pink, full, and then again at her eyes, warm, misty, surrounded by her beautiful dark lashes like a veil. His hand inch by inch drew her closer and closer, he could feel her accelerated, hot breath enveloping his face – the tip of his nose ran over her soft cheek and they both trembled, a quiet, sweet sigh escaped her lips, her fingers ran down his cheek.

When his lips brushed hers they both froze, looking at each other with misty eyes, breathing loudly. He waited for her reaction, for her to pull away, to shake her head and tell him no, but she didn't move an inch, her whole body quivered, her mouth parted as if invitingly, encouragingly. He leaned towards her, his thirsty, puffy lips pressed against hers, soft, fleshy, wonderfully moist.

She whispered his name quietly, and he kissed her again, each time more surely, more deeply, drawing her closer, her hand tightening on his cheek. Their hot, swollen lips danced with each other with a sticky, wet clicks that sent shivers through him, his free arm hugging her waist and pulling her closer, forcing her to sit on his lap.

They both panted into each other's mouths feeling their hands travel uncertainly over their bodies, his fingertips touching hair, the nape of her neck, her cheeks, her waist, repeating it all over again.

His manhood twitched in his breeches so hard that once in a while a low, helpless groan of pleasure ripped from his throat straight into her mouth, her lips responding timidly to his caresses, her hand trailing through his hair and down his neck.

Aroused to the limit, with a pounding heart, he tentatively slipped the tip of his tongue into her parted lips as if to see how she would react, whether it would be too much. He felt her tremble all over and draw in a loud breath, her fingers clenching tighter on his hair.

He repeated the flicks of his moist tongue and got the same wonderful reaction out of her – he moaned loudly when he felt tips of their tongues come into contact and lick, a strong shudder ran through his body, his hands tightening on the material of her gown.

They both flinched and pulled away immediately, looking at each other in horror when they heard someone grab the doorknob and then the door swung open with a loud creak. They both stood up, swallowing loudly, noticing Royce who was frowning through the lack of light and only saw them on the balcony a moment later.

"I've been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing here?" He asked surprised and amused, seeing their faces.

"I felt unwell. The wine made me sick." He choked out wearily, avoiding her, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his chest, running down the stairs.

"I'm better now, let's go." He said, stepping out into the corridor, trying to stop his body from shaking and the sights he saw before his eyes.

He was glad his tunic was long enough to cover what was going on inside his breeches.

Her soft lips pressed against his, her hand in his hair, her flowery, fresh scent, her warm breath, her tongue licking his.

He swallowed loudly, stepping back into the great hall, immediately bombarded with questions from Floris as to where he had gone for so long. He didn't answer her, sidestepping her, sitting down in his seat, taking a few deep sips of wine to calm himself.

What had he done?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What if she tells Royce? Or Father?

He ran his hand over his chin at that thought, feeling a tightening in his stomach, glancing nervously at the entrance.

He thought Borros would kill him if he found out.

A moment later, she and Royce also walked into the room, her face pale, though she tried to smile.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief.

Their gazes met and he immediately looked away, feeling her soft, wet tongue between his lips again, his cock throbbed painfully in his breeches, demanding to be relieved at last.

Never before had he come so quickly fucking himself with his own hand as he had that evening – the loud, low groan of relief and delight that broke from his throat was silenced by the pillow into which he pressed his face, his body trembling in spasms. He involuntarily whispered her name as he slowly came down from his peak, his eye tightened, a quiet panting came from his mouth.

He was disgusted with himself and what he had done.

He was disgusted at how pleasant it felt.

She was so innocent.

In the morning he felt crushed by remorse, by the fact that he had frightened her, that she herself did not know what had happened between them.

That she thought for certain he wanted to take advantage of her, to profit from the pleasure of her body and nothing more.

He knew she would go hunting with them, she always went, helping Borros instead of his servants.

He did not know how he would look her in the face.

He decided he would try to go to Lord Borros and convince him somehow to let him stay in the fortress.

"This is time for you and your children." He said to him, Lord Borros' servant was just helping him put on a tunic of thicker, warmer material designed for being outside in cold temperatures. Borros snorted at his words.

"My four daughters are staying and that I can understand, but you? Both my sons are to participate in the hunt." He said more commanding than stating. He looked at him, pretending to feel nothing at his words.

"I am not your son."

Borros pressed his lips together at his words – he waved his hand impatiently and ordered the servant to leave them alone. After a moment, the door closed behind him and a tense silence fell between them. Borros looked at him, wrinkling his wide, dark brows.

"You are not my son by blood, but I raised you. I made you a man. You and Royce are to come with me. Do you understand?" He asked low and clear, with the impatience characteristic of him when he was frustrated. He swallowed loudly and nodded his head.

You are not my son by blood, but I raised you.

I made you a man.

He did not want to admit to himself how much relief he felt at his words.

He no longer knew who he was and who he wasn't.

A dragon prince would never be an mere stag.

However, why was it that whenever Borros spoke in his presence he felt a respect and awe for him that made him unable to stand up to him?

That he didn't remind him of who he was, how he should address him?

Part of him wanted to be Royce's brother, wanted to be Borros Baratheon's son.

But he also wanted something else.

Someone else.

He wondered, riding his mount beside Royce through the dense forest whether she would agree if he asked for her hand.

Would she give up everything she loved for him and leave with him to the Red Keep, to the inheritance that was his by blood and law.

He swallowed quietly, ashamed of the direction his thoughts were taking.

He was desperate.

When they arrived in the field where the large tents slowly floated, he spotted her from afar, speaking quickly with his father about something. He lowered his head, terrified, dismounting from his horse, thinking only of what he had done the night before.

However, as Borros approached them in her company, he began to speak about where they would be going and what they were hunting, his voice focused and pleased with the weather and the fact that it was not raining.

He swallowed loudly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. She turned her head away as soon as she noticed he was looking at her.

She didn't tell him, he thought with relief and regret at the same time.

Perhaps if he found out the truth and required an explanation, he would have the courage to take her for himself and demand her hand.

He was not surprised when Borros ordered that all three of them and a few companions from his old days would accompany him on a deer hunt.

His youngest daughter was, as usual, armed with a bow, much to her father's delight hitting a partridge from long distances. Borros patted her firmly on the back so that she bent under the powerful strokes of his broad palm.

"Very good." He said lightly, walking on, ordering them to move north. He saw her give him a quick glance and then immediately turn her head away, tightening her lips, all red, and run after her father.

The hunt was a success and they returned to camp with enough meat to feed all comers. Large bonfires were lit in front of the tents, the cooks skinning and quartering the animals before his eyes. Royce and he sat down under one of the trees, exhausted.

Royce called out to his sister when he spotted her from afar to rest with them, and he felt a twist in his stomach, looking away, feigning indifference.

His younger sister approached them uncertainly, trying to converse lightly with her brother about something, her hands clenched on her lap. After a moment, Borros called out to his son from a distance, saying that he needed his help, so he got up at once and ran towards him, leaving them alone.

They both turned their heads away, unable to look at each other, a protracted, uncomfortable silence all around them.

He looked at the sun setting in the distance which he could see between the trees, feeling his heart pounding hard.

It seemed to him that what had happened between them earlier in the night was just a figment of his imagination.

"I will not disturb you, my Prince." She said in pain, lifting herself from the grass, and he looked at her surprised, his jaw clenched in a held breath at her words as he watched her walk away.

My Prince.

When Royce returned he told him he needed to drink some wine.

He drank more than usual, watching her from afar like a predator, seeing her cast him an uncertain, frightened glance once in a while.

He was frustrated and full of anger that he didn't know what to do with.

He decided to go to bed early, drunk, tired and discouraged. Royce urged him to stay up, that the campfires would burn late into the night, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to feast.

He moved towards his tent and went inside, slowly undoing the buckles of his tunic, pulling it off and throwing it indifferently on the grass beside his bed.

He heard someone come inside and thought it was his servant, so he loudly dismissed him, but the person who had walked inside did not move from his place.

"− brother −" He heard her quiet, uncertain voice and froze, his body went through a shiver.

He turned slowly to her over his shoulder, his gaze expressing shock – his mind was foggy, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly. She swallowed loudly, her large, warm eyes full of terror and uncertainty.

She opened and closed her mouth several times but nothing came out of her throat, she rubbed her fingers against each otehr in a nervous gesture.

"− I − what happened yesterday −" She mumbled out, but he interrupted her in mid-sentence afraid of what she wanted to say.

"− forget about it −" He replied, turning away from her, untying the his breeches, wanting to get rid of them before lying down on the sheets. "− something else? −"

She turned her head away, embarrassed and hurt by his words and what he was doing, swallowing loudly, her brow furrowed as if in pain.

"− I want you to know that I won't tell anyone about this − that's all −" She whispered turning away and walked out, leaving him with a pounding heart and a feeling of overwhelming shame.

He ran his hand over his face and, in a gesture of anger, threw all his dishes off the table, which fell to the ground with a loud clang of steel.

Why did it have to be her?

He put his palms on the table, leaning his head forward, unable to calm himself, breathing loudly through his mouth.

Why couldn't it be Ellyn?

She was sweet, pretty, modest, well-read, quiet.

So why?

He came out of his tent like a living fury and stormed aggressively into her tent, heard her squeal of surprise as she jumped up on her bed, covering herself with a furs, sitting up in only her nightgown.

She looked up at him with her mouth open and her eyes wide as he ripped the furs from her hands, revealing her body peeking out from under the thin white material in front of him, her breath caught in her throat as he lay down on top of her, pressing her body against the bedding, his cock twitching hard between her thighs.

"− brother − what are you −" She whispered terrified, shivering all over, clasping her hands on his shirt.

"− tell me to stop −" He breathed out grabbing her trembling thighs in his hands, lifting them slightly and spreading them out in front of him, panting along with her, looking at her face full of disbelief. "− tell me to stop or I'll take what I want −"

He said in a raspy voice, his tongue invading between her swollen lips bringing out a helpless, drawn-out, surprised moan, her hands still clenched on the material of his shirt. He ran his hard, throbbing manhood hidden under the material between her thighs and she trembled all over, whimpering into his mouth.

He pulled away from her with a loud, wet click, looking at her like a madman, panting loudly along with her, parting her lower lip with his thumb, his hips rolling against her body in a slow back and forth motion.

"− say it −" He whispered weakly, looking down at her, her face flushed and red, her lips parted in a ragged breath, a quiet moan came from her mouth each time he rubbed against her womanhood again.

"− please, make me stop − please −" He growled out helplessly, but her lips only parted more at his words, her thighs spread wider in front of him, her soft hand running over his hot cheek.

He squeezed his eye shut, feeling her lower lip brush his, her hips tentatively began to respond to his movements, rubbing against him, driving him wild. He felt like he was about to explode.

"− please −" He panted into her mouth, the tips of their tongues licking each other, a sweet, lingering mewl came from her lips. His trembling hands slid from her thigh to her buttocks, squeezing them uncertainly, he sighed in delight feeling how indecently soft her skin was.

"− please − please −" He gasped in a trembling voice, but her hands weaved into his hair and drew him closer, her fingers trailing down his neck, slipping under his shirt, running over his bare back, leaving goosebumps in the areas of her touch. They both began to moan quietly and pant into each other's mouths, their kisses messy and loud, wet, sticky from their saliva.

"− marry me −" He exclaimed helplessly, lifting her nightgown higher, revealing to him the bare skin of her thigh and what lay between them. Slowly he slid his hand there, trembling along with her, her body quivering at his words, a loud sigh escaping her lips.

"− say you'll marry me −" He whispered, running his nose over her cheek, sliding down to her ear and then to her neck, placing slow, wet kisses on her skin. They both moaned helplessly as his fingers ran over her fleshy, slick folds, so intimately hidden, so now exposed, her expression of complete trust in him.

He sighed wearily when he felt her moisture on his fingers, warm and sticky, again and again running his hand over her puffy slit, her skin there hot, pulsing with heat. He felt her fingers tighten on his back, writhing beneath him each time his palm ran over the little bud hidden between her folds, a helpless sob escaping from her throat, her lips parted wide, droplets of sweat running down her skin.

"− Aemond −" She whimpered pleadingly, as if she were crying out to him for help, as if she were asking him to save her. He trembled all over at the sound of his name spoken so directly, so unashamedly, intimately, he felt as if his cock would explode with arousal.

He began to deliberately stroke her where his touch was driving her mad, his fingertips spreading her moisture all over her plushy womanhood, his swollen lips clinging to hers again, trying to silence her increasingly loud moans.

"− hush, my little one − someone will hear us − shhh −" He silenced her by sliding his tongue deep between her lips, almost to her throat, her hips began to rock faster and faster towards his hand, searching for any source of friction.

"− Aemond − what are we doing −" She mumbled quietly between sticky kisses and the licking of their tongues, his fingers massaging area around her pearl in a circular, sure motions, running over her hot entrance once in a while. He tentatively slid the tip of his finger into her throbbing, moist insides, and she trembled all over, drawing in air loudly.

"− what husband and wife do − what we're going to do every night −" He breathed out into her mouth and a quiet, sweet, surprised moan escaped her throat, he felt her wetness flowing from her slit into his palm, he felt her body on edge, her thighs were quivering all under his hand, her hips pushing greedily against his hand. He slid his finger into her with a wet click of her juices as his thumb continued to tease her puffy bud.

"− I − gods, it feels so warm − it tickles me so much inside −" She mewled, panting loudly, clearly feeling the tension gathering in her lower abdomen, and he thought with delight that she was about to come on his hand.

"− say you'll marry me −" He said in a raspy voice, watching as her body wriggled in front of him him in pleasure, her mouth wide open, her eyes looking at him in a way from which he felt like just throwing himself on top of her and sliding inside her.

"− I will − I will, please −" She cried out and suddenly froze, leaning back, pressing her cheek against the pillow.

An exasperated, pleading, startled moan erupted from her throat, she clenched her eyes shut as if what was just going through her body was too much − waves of pleasure shook her body, and he watched the sight in disbelief, seeing female fulfilment for the first time in his life.

His hand involuntarily slipped out from between her thighs and slid into his breeches, gripping his painfully hard erection. He forced her to look up at him by clamping his hand over her cheeks and he pressed himself into her lips, panting along with her, squeezing his fat cock intensely and quickly. He felt his fulfilment approaching embarrassingly fast, her scent, the touch of her lips and what he saw was enough to keep him on edge.

"− my sweetest − gods − oh, fuck −" He growled out into her mouth panting hard as he felt his hot spend spill over his hand, a wonderful relief and pleasure filled his whole body and lower abdomen − he could hear her loud breathing, her hand gently stroking his hair and cheek, calming him, soothing him.

He collapsed on top of her at last, panting hard, not believing it had really happened.

They lay like that, both of them breathing loudly, not saying a word, all around them the voices of drunken men arguing with each other and discussing loudly. He could feel their bodies trembling, hot with fulfilment − he pressed his face to her cheek, his lips against her ear.

"− do you want me to leave? −" He asked in a trembling voice, terrified of what he had done, what she would think of him now, what their father would think if he found out. He felt her small hands tightening on his shirt, her hand running through his hair.

"Stay with me."

So he stayed.

When he woke up, her warm body was snuggled against his chest, her fingers tightened on the material of his shirt as if she was afraid he would change his mind and leave her in the middle of the night.

He embraced her with his hands, his face snuggled into her hair, his nose filled with her wonderful scent.

He had never felt so fulfilled before.

So peaceful.

So safe.

He only gently disentangled himself from her sleeping embrace before dawn, not wanting anyone to see him leaving her tent and jump to hasty conclusions.

He also needed to speak to their father.

He had never before seen Lord Borros so furious as when he told him he had made his choice.

His foster father prowled around the tent like an enraged animal as he sat in a chair, tense, playing with his fingers.

"She's just a child. I thought you had more sense." Borros hissed at him, and he threw him a cold, displeased look.

"She is no longer a child. Would you rather she married a stranger instead of giving her to me? To your son?" He asked, his voice trembling uncertainly at his last words. Borros looked at him furrowing his eyebrows.

"I will not hurt her. She will be safe with me." He said calmly what he really thought. Borros snorted at his words.

"In King's Landing, between one fire-breathing dragon and another fighting for crown and power? I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed!" He exclaimed in a low breaking voice, and he felt a pain in his chest, swallowing loudly, taken completely by surprise by his words.

I don't want to see my youngest child perish in the flames of Targaryen greed.

"It's her or none, Father." He said coldly, clenching his hands into fists, not looking away even though he wanted to.

He heard Borros growl with rage, furiously turning to his servant to summon his youngest daughter at once.

He felt discomfort at the thought that perhaps she had changed her mind.

That she had only agreed under emotions, and now regretted it.

He was unable to look at her when he heard her walk into the tent, Borros immediately turned to her, his voice raised and impatient.

"Prince Aemond asks for your hand, daughter. Did you know about this?" He asked menacingly, referring to all the confusion he had caused with his decision. He felt his heart pounding as he waited for her words, his hands clenched into fists.

"Yes. I...I have already agreed." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard it. He swallowed loudly glancing at her finally, she was pale and frightened, looking at her father pleadingly, terrified of his anger.

"You have no idea what you agreed to, child." He said, half furious, half terrified, running his hand over his face, shaking his head, still pacing around the tent, unable to control himself.

"I do not want anyone else." She mumbled with difficulty, looking pleadingly at her father on the verge of tears. He felt heat in his chest at her words and pressed his lips together.

I do not want anyone else.

Without opposition from his daughter, Borros really had no choice. When they confirmed several times that they knew what they were doing and that it was what they wanted, he gave up, heartbroken, and ordered to summon a scribe, wanting to send a letter to King's Landing.

Neither he nor she had the courage to tell anyone what had happened.

Word of his decision spread like wildfire, however, and he had to deal with a barrage of questions from Royce, shocked and unsure if he was doing the right thing.

"But why her, brother? She is so young. I mean…I was sure you'd choose Ellyn." He said, scratching his chin, just as embarrassed as he was by this conversation. He didn't know what to say to him.

"I think I knew it from the beginning." He muttered, running his hand over his face in shame, all tense, glancing at Royce, who stared at him in disbelief.

His reaction was nothing compared to the despair and bitterness that gripped his sisters.

Cassandra took it best, with dignity, though her face twisted in pain as their father informed them of his decision at the evening feast. Maris turned pale and pursed her lips, but said nothing. Ellyn let out a loud, breaking sob, got up and left, unable to look at him.

Floris asked if he was mocking them.

He looked at his betrothed, pale and on the verge of tears, weighed down by what was happening around her, by what he had condemned her to.

"The King and Queen have decided that the nuptials will take place in two months." Their father continued, ignoring his daughter's brazen questions. Floris interrupted him again.

"My Prince, is it true? Did our father force you to make this decision?" She asked in disbelief, it was clearly beyond her mind that he could make such a decision of his own free will. He took a sip of wine from his goblet and set it down with a loud clang of steel.

"Quite the opposite. Your father tried to dissuade me from this decision, to no avail." He said coldly, his eye fixed on the one he desired, the one he chose – she looked at him, her eyes sad and terrified.

He pressed his lips greedily to hers, pinning her against the cool stone wall of the corridor as soon as they were alone, wiping tears from her face as they ran down her cheeks, absorbing her every silent sob.

"Tell me you haven't changed your mind." He gasped into her mouth, brushing them and caressing them with a loud, sticky clicks. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with such ferocity that he moaned low into her throat.

It was her answer.

To his relief, his betrothed wished their lives to go on as before – she didn't make him take romantic walks together on the cliff's edge, didn't expect flowers, letters, or other evidence of constant interest and love from him. Everything she wanted she could see in his gaze, which did not leave her for a moment.

Affection.

Thirst.

Desire.

He didn't have the courage to tell her how much he already wanted her all to himself, how much he wanted her to be the mother of his children.

He couldn't find the words to describe the heat and pride that overwhelmed him at the thought that she would be his wife, that he would be able to touch her shamelessly in front of everyone.

That he would be able to pick her up, embrace her, lean over her, touch her warm cheeks and hands the way Royce did.

No one but them knew that they both sneaked out of their chambers late at night and went to the library, shutting themselves up there, slowly discovering the pleasures and secrets of their bodies. He let her small hands slide his eyepatch off his head, let her place warm, tender kisses on his scar, holding her close.

They lay down on sheets and fabrics that they had scrupulously hidden under one of the shelves behind the books, finding lying on the stone floor very uncomfortable.

He did not dare to pull off her nightgown, wanting to show her respect and make her feel safe, but the mere sight of her naked body through the translucent material was enough to stimulate his senses completely and drive him mad.

He let himself kiss her soft, plump breasts through the thin fabric and she let out sweet sighs of delight every time, her hand stroking his hair as she pressed his face closer to her chest, signalling him not to stop.

He had no experience with women before her, so he wanted to understand exactly what gave her fulfillment, what touch or movement of his fingers made her spasm, what his words whispered in her ear made her suddenly come on his hand with a sweet sobs of pleasure.

He felt embarrassed and aroused when she whispered to him one night if she could touch him there.

Their lips connected and parted in sticky, lustful kisses as her trembling fingers untied his breeches, timidly slipping her hand underneath them. They both froze and inhaled loudly as her fingers traced againt his long, throbbing length, a low, helpless, guttural moan escaping his lips.

"− fuck −" He gasped into her mouth, surprised at how intense the sensation was, how pleasantly soft and gentle her hand felt.

He saw her timid gaze fixed on his face, her cheeks red with shame at what she was doing, at the feeling of his hard, twitching cock under her fingers.

"− do you want me to stop? −" She asked softly between their tender, sweet kisses.

He responded by taking her hand gently in his, squeezing her fingers around his manhood, guiding her up and down, his erection throbbing painfully hard in her embrace.

"− no −" He whispered in response, panting with her, his hips involuntarily rolling to the rhythm of her hand, searching for any source of rubbing.

"− how will it look like − on our wedding night? −" She asked softly, her voice slightly trembling, looking at him with dreamy eyes, what she was doing apparently aroused her as much as him.

His cock pulsed harder in her hand at her question, leaking from his precum − he licked his lips involuntarily, imagining what he would be able to do with her.

He didn't know how to describe it without scaring her.

"− I − ah − I'm going to touch you between your thighs − and then −" He gasped, pressing his lips together, feeling shivers all over his body, his hips rocking faster and faster in her hand, which squeezed his thick cock with a steady, firm strokes.

"− fuck − and then I'll put this inside you −" He whispered in a shaky voice into her mouth as he pressed his forehead against hers, gripping his hand tighter over hers on his erection.

He heard her draw in a sharp breath, she stared at him wide-eyed, unsure of what she thought of what she had just heard.

"− will it be painful? −" She asked with fear, and he kissed her again, slipping his slick tongue between her fleshy lips, drawing a soft moan from her. He broke away with a wet click, looking at her with his mouth slightly parted, feeling the heat and tension growing in his lower abdomen.

"− no − I − I'll do anything to not cause you pain −" He mumbled helplessly, their lips pressed together again in a lewd, sticky kiss, her breath heavy and uneven.

"− can you − can you do it now? − just for a try −" She whispered softly and he froze, staring at her in disbelief, his heart pounding like crazy.

"− I − we shouldn't before our nuptials −" He muttered hesitantly, though his whole body was screaming for him to throw himself at her and just slide it inside her. She swallowed loudly at his words.

"− I know − I just − I wish I knew what it felt like − so I wouldn't be afraid −" She mumbled helplessly and his heart clenched, a million of his thoughts fighting together at the same time in his head. He propped himself up on one elbow, laying between her thighs, gripping the fabric of his breeches.

"− just for a moment − agreed? −" He said in a trembling voice, his whole body quivering. She nodded quickly, breathing heavily, trustingly allowing him to lift the fabric of her nightgown higher.

They both gasped loudly as he slid his breeches down enough to release his hard, throbbing manhood. He leaned over her soft, warm face, placing a gentle, tender kiss on her lips, directing the fat, pink head of his cock to her wet, throbbing slit.

"− spread your thighs wider − yes, just like that −" He praised her, brushing her lips again, terrified of what he was about to do, yet feeling like he was about to explode with lust and desire.

They both moaned in surprise as he pressed his length against her entrance and slid a little inside her − she was so tight and hot that he was out of breath, her lips tightened, as he forced his way deeper into her harder, her eyebrows arching in discomfort.

"− fuck − breathe deeply − relax − does it hurt a lot? −" He whispered in a trembling voice looking at her, with remnants of his free will refraining from any movements. She shook her head.

"− n-no − I mean − a little − just − it's so big −" She mumbled out, a blush of embarrassment on her cheeks, her gaze warm, her lips puffy and pink with emotion. He licked his lips involuntarily at her words, feeling pride and shame at the same time.

"− you did this to me − always make me so fucking hard −" He exhaled in a trembling voice, his hands sliding down between her thighs, gently parting the folds of her entrance with his thumbs, trying to help himself and her. He felt her draw in a loud breath and clench her eyes shut.

He heard her swallow hard and begin to breathe loudly through her mouth, inhaling and exhaling, her body shivering all over under him. He felt her walls stop pressing down on him so panicky, and he pushed deeper into her, sighing loudly, her mouth parting wide at the feeling of so intense filling. Hearing no objection from her, he thrust his hips again, entering her all the way in with a loud groan.

He stared down at her, breathing hard, letting her get used to this strange, intense feeling, and then he pulled out slowly only to thrust into her again. They both gasped loudly as he began to move inside her, slowly, hesitantly, telling himself he would stop soon.

"− you're so warm −" He panted in a trembling voice, delighted at how amazing it felt to be squeezed from all sides by her hot, tight, fleshy wet walls, all sticky with her moisture, feeling a woman's insides for the first time in his life.

Her mouth parted wide and she mewled loudly as slowly his hips began to accelerate, thrusting his thick cock into her with a loud, sticky slaps, a quivering, low gasp of pleasure emanating from his throat.

"− Aemond −" She mumbled helplessly, her body trembling with each of his thrusts, panting louder and louder with him, her hands clenching on his sides. He threw her legs over his back, wanting to feel her deeper, streching her throbbing insides to the limit with his length. She sobbed loudly at the feeling, throwing her head back.

"− just a little longer −" He panted with difficulty, feeling only pleasure, only wonderful tension and her pulsing walls that brought him closer and closer to fulfillment.

He knew he should stop, but instead he fucked her harder and harder, feeling her walls clenching on his cock, sucking it inside, sticky, wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the stone room.

He knew he was on the verge of fullfilment.

"− don't stop − please, don't pull it out −" He heard her whimper underneath him from which his lips parted wide in shock, her body going into spasms each time he slid into her again, pressing her walls, clearly giving her immense pleasure with these movements.

A helpless groan ripped from his throat at her words, as he slammed into her with a sharp, quick thrusts, clamping his hands tightly on the soft, sweaty skin of her hips. He felt a shudder run through him as her hips began to respond to his thrusts, coming up to meet him.

"− I have to, little one − shhh −" He whispered into her mouth sliding his tongue between her lips, licking their swollen, fleshy texture, the taste of her saliva spreading across his palate like the sweetest juice.

"− I − I'm about to −" She mumbled with difficulty, her thighs responding greedily to his every thrust, rolling and rocking, as he panted loudly along with her, feeling her core begin to tighten and pulsate against him.

"− go on − come on my cock, sweet girl −" He cooed encouragingly, wanting nothing more than that, to see her fulfil, himself being on the edge, his thrusts messy and sloppy.

His words were enough to make her insides clench around his length tightly, then again and again, letting out of him an almost animalistic groan, her body leaning back as if trying to escape from him. He had to cover her mouth with his hand to silence her loud, high-pitched sobs.

"− you did so well − oh fuck, little one −" He growled out, with the remnants of his strong will sliding out of her, coming hard on her nightgown, his warm seed spilling over her nightgown while he was still squeezing himself with his hand.

She stared at him with wide eyes, breathing heavily, her whole body trembled from the fulfilment and waves of pleasure that continued to flow through her. He swallowed loudly, looking down at her with misty eye, licking his lips.

"− did it hurt? −" He asked in a shaky, low voice, and she blinked and pursed her lips in embarrassment.

"− only − only at the beginning −" She mumbled softly and he hummed under his breath, proud to see that he had given her pleasure, that she enjoyed what they had done as much as he did, and tied his breeches back up.

He leaned over her and brushed her lips gently, tenderly, her mouth swollen and wet with arousal − he ran his thumb over her hot, rosy cheek, looking at her with a pounding heart filled only with his affection for her.

Only with love.

"On our wedding night, not a drop will be wasted."

_____

Note from the author:

Lady Baratheon and Royce call Aemond brother, but this stems from their desire to shorten the distance between them. Calling him 'a prince' already seemed too staid at one point for them, and addressing him by his first name was unthinkable. However, it is only she and Royce who do this, their sisters still addressing him as 'my prince', not wanting to call "brother" their possibly future husband - which is why Aemond is so frustrated when Lady Baratheon calls him this, as if she is willfully rejecting him as a candidate for the role.

Aemond calls Borros "father" but does not see him as a replacement for Viserys. Viserys is his blood father, who has given him a legacy of which he is proud and with which he completely identifies. Borros, however, is a father figure to him, someone whose opinion Aemond counts with, whom he respects and values for what he has done for him over the years. Aemond has an affection for Borros that he was never able to develop towards Criston.

Despite Lady Baratheon and Royce's very close relationship, they did not relegate Aemond to the background or distance themselves from him. According to Lord Borros and his friends, they formed a trio. Royce was always where Aemond was, loving to watch his mischievous reactions to various events, and Lady Baratheon was always where Royce was, so they usually ended up together.

Aemond usually pretended he didn't care about their company, but the truth was that he got impatient when they disappeared from his sight for too long, simply getting bored without them.

Part two of this oneshot: To desire, to love, to care

Other oneshot form the same AU: Daugther, Lover, Sister

_____

I can't express my love for this reality, I could keep writing this oneshot but I would make a book! This is probably my most beloved fanfic baby. Leave it some love if you enjoyed it! I'm so curious what do you think. 💐

_____

Taglist

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @ahristata @menaosama @queenofshinigamis @dark-night-sky-99

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 1 year

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A Weight Off Your Shoulders ║ ⒸⓄⓁⓁⒺⒸⓉⒾⓄⓃⓈ

| A WEIGHT OFF YOUR SHOULDERS | part of the A Weight Off Your Shoulders collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x plus sized!fem!neighbor

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 7.0k | CONTENT: age gap (Joel mid 40s, neighbor late 20s), cheating, negative body image, negative self-talk, discussions of body image struggles, the savagery of puberty, but mostly just indulgent pussy worship lmao, etc.

| SYNOPSIS: [AU no outbreak] After finding out your fiance was cheating on you with the younger, skinnier intern at his work, you pack up and head home to Texas where you meet your friendly DILF neighbor Joel. He doesn’t seem to mind your fuller physique, but you’re still plagued with insecurities that have followed you for most of your life. Can he make you forget about all that for just a moment or will you stay wracked with self-conscious, negative thoughts? Spoiler: We all know Joel is a smooth talker and is down to do whatever it takes to convince you that you’re perfect just the way you are.

✧this is the first installment of a oneshot collection✧ ✧◦◦║ Part 2 ║ Part 3 ║ Part 4 ║ Part 5 ║ Part 6 ║◦◦✧

The moving van’s AC went out about 75 miles ago, and you can’t bother getting too upset about it. It goes right along with the absolute dogshit spectacle your life has become. The sweat trickles down your back as you keep your eyes focused on the road. The GPS says it’s not too much longer. Your ass is sore from sitting and driving all day, for the past three days.

It should’ve been two at most - more like one and a half at even a leisurely pace - but the engine had started smoking and making an awful clicking sound somewhere in between Colorado and Oklahoma. You waited 6 hours for the moving truck company to meet you and switch out vehicles. At least the van hadn’t gone up in flames and destroyed all your messily packed cardboard boxes.

The string of down-on-your-luck events provided you with some sort of distraction from the reason you were cooped up in this incinerator of a vehicle and heading home to Texas where your parents still lived, a far cry from the life you had carved out with your fiance - ex-fiance, you correct yourself – in Colorado.

Ah, yes. Mike. Michael, you think to yourself bitterly. He always hated whenever anyone used his full name instead of his nickname. You were at that level of petty, insulting him in any way that you could. You knew you’d never get close to matching his efforts at hurting you, though.

It had been a great relationship for the first few years. You had met him at his job where you were logging unpaid internship hours so you’d have something to put on your resume when you graduated with your finance degree. Math and economics had always been easy and interesting to you, although it didn’t make you very popular at parties.

Mike– No, MICHAEL, had been sweet and teased you about how you were “too cute” to be an accountant. You had thought to yourself on numerous occasions that accountants could really use a PR overhaul. Most of your coworkers were nerdy introverts with a dark sense of humor and a penchant for getting ripshit wasted after The Hellfire Summit was over. (That’s what you all called Tax Day.)

But you weren’t “too cute” to be an accountant. Too cute for Michael, maybe, but definitely not some knockout. You had always been on the heavier side starting in middle school. You were vertically challenged, which meant there was a lot less real estate for any additional poundage you racked up through puberty. Your mom had done her best to not give you a complex, but you weren’t stupid and it wasn’t hard to figure out why she was so insistent on you being in sports throughout most of the year. You had taken to soccer pretty quickly, and the endless running kept your weight from climbing into absolute fat pig territory. Not that you didn’t think of yourself that way regardless.

While all your other teammates cried about their boobs not growing - something you had absolutely no way of relating to - you cursed the puberty gods for not giving you a growth spurt of 6” so you could be tall and lean like your friends. By the time college rolled around, you just stuck to running as a stress reliever, but it wasn’t the same level of activity that had kept you smaller throughout high school. The bathtub jungle juice frat parties and 2 am pizza slices didn’t really help matters, either. You put on a respectable “freshman 8,” but your hips and ass delivered it as more of a “freshman 23.”

Michael always talked about how he liked “somebody that didn’t just order a salad,” whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. You didn’t pay it much mind, though, when your sex life was pretty good together. He made you come more than other guys you’d been with, but it wasn’t hard to exceed expectations when the bar was so low it was in hell. And yet, Michael had found a way to sink it down ever farther.

You should’ve seen it coming. In hindsight it was so painfully obvious that something had changed for the worse. You had chalked it up to him getting nerves after FINALLY proposing to you. You were so happy when he finally asked you to marry him. Even his 15 year old son from a previous relationship had made a remark about his dad “finally growing some balls” and proposing.

A wash of sadness rolled over you at the thought of Ethan. He was such a good kid, and you had become attached to him after being with Michael for so many years. You’d moved in together, and Ethan thoughtfully cleared off a shelf of his video game things so that you’d have a nice spot in the living room for some of your DVDs and books. How on earth that was the child of the piece of shit cheating scumbag Michael was beyond you. Ethan must have taken after his mother more than you previously knew.

Michael had been married before and had Ethan with his ex-wife Patty. They had just “grown apart” as he’d put it. They got together when they were young, and it wasn’t until his 38th birthday party that he realized they just weren’t meant for each other anymore.

You’d been upset at first to learn that Michael had started seeing you before he had “made it official” with Patty that things were over. You weren’t into the idea of being the other woman, and you didn’t blame Patty for hating your guts. Of course she would assume that you knew they were still married and that they had a young son together. You were the homewrecker whore, and it was humiliating to tag along to family events where Patty and some of their mutual friends gave you a not-so-subtle stink eye.

The friends that did readily accept you weren’t exactly top of the line human beings. Luke had clapped you on the back once after having three too many beers and cackled about how he knew Michael wasn’t crazy for switching things up and breaking things off with Patty “for you.” When you shrugged his sloppy hand off your shoulder and asked what the fuck he was on about, his shit eating grin was the icing on the cake when he slurred, “Well’ya knowwwwww what’hey say, dontcha?” You shook your head, nonplussed and not really interested in learning “what they say.” He giggled and leaned in close when he revealed that “gotta be takin’ care’uhhh him ‘cause they say thah big girls give’thuh bes head ‘cuz they’re al-huways hungry.”

Trevor had intervened before you slammed your mojito into Luke’s Neanderthal brain. “Hey man, fuck off. Don’t be saying shit like that. Fuckin’ rude, dude.” Luke had made a fuss about how he was “jusss jok-eeen,” but Trevor wasn’t having it. “Whatever, man. Everybody knows you don’t go around talking about girl’s bodies, you fucking idiot. And you’re watching too much porn if you think she’s fat. She’s normal, man. Real women aren’t walking around like stick figures with tits and ass glued on.”

You groaned while Luke howled with laughter at Trevor’s defense of you. Calling you fat was somehow worse than big girl. Luke hadn’t said fat. Trevor hadn’t either, but his off the cuff remark that clarified what “type of big” you obviously were only drove home the idea that you took up too much space, one way or another.

Michael had taken a while to propose, and he always claimed that, while he loved you with his whole entire heart, he was nervous about getting married a second time. He started getting snippier with you and not wanting to have sex as often. His job was stressful, and he had been working tons of overtime to help pay for his part of the wedding. Thank god you kept your finances separate and never actually did walk down that aisle.

His late nights at the office were verified by his bigger paychecks, and you didn’t have a reason to be suspicious. You did think it was a little strange when he started getting up early to go to the gym so he’d “look nice for the wedding.” But hey, what a breath of fresh air, right? A man being the one concerned about how he was going to look in his wedding photos? Hitting the gym at an ungodly hour just to shed a few pounds? It was kinda like some weird form of feminist allyship, subverting societal body expectations. Right?

When you popped in to surprise him with a late dinner at work one night - you still had your keycard from your unpaid internship that nobody had remembered to disable – you found him balls deep in the tiny little blonde you later learned was the daughter of some higher up in the company that was “following in his footsteps at the company with an internship.”

Michael was such an uncreative asshole that he couldn’t even come up with a different meetcute for the leggy, fit blowup doll he’d replaced you with. At first you were enraged, but that quickly dissolved into despair. You were supposed to be getting married in 8 months. He was supposed to be the love of your life. You had wasted your 20s on this piece of shit, waiting around like a moron for him to decide he wanted to spend his life with you.

So here you were, sweating your ass off, moving your shit several states away, and starting at square one. The dark, moody sky made you roll your eyes. You figuratively and literally had a little black cloud over your head that followed you everywhere. If the impending bad turn of weather could just hold off for a little bit, you could get your “FIRST NIGHT IN NEW PLACE” box unpacked and inside unscathed.

Of course it started pouring buckets about 5 minutes after you’d parked the van in the driveway of your rental. Your new home. Where you lived by yourself. Alone. That’s all you were now. Alone. You dragged in your soggy cardboard box of necessities, only unpacking your phone charger before plopping down on the bare mattress your parents had been nice enough to drop off before your arrival.

You spend the first night at your place crying yourself to sleep.

Texas had gotten hotter since you’d left. No way was it always this hot. You used to play outdoor sports here, for chrissakes. There was no way on earth it had always been the same temperature as Satan’s ballsack in a pair of wool underwear. Maybe it’s hotter because you’re fatter than before your inner voice suggested. You were drenched in sweat by the time 11am rolled around and you’d finished unpacking your small collection of belongings. You never realized how much of your Colorado apartment was mainly Michael’s stuff until you had to clear all your shit out for the move. Humble beginnings, I guess you think to yourself.

Your tank top stuck to your drenched back, and your thighs were slightly chaffed from the hard rub of denim over and over while you moved in. Your stupid, fat thighs and the stupid, fat chubrub they gave you. That unfortunately was something that hadn’t changed about Texas. You always carried your weight in your hips and butt, and your thighs came to join the party shortly thereafter. You had gained a few pounds after dating Michael for a year or so, settling into that comfortable couple space where you sometimes go for donuts when you know you shouldn’t or indulge in breweries too many weekends in a row.

You were fat and happy together, though. Now you were just fat and sad all by yourself.

You stared at the lawnmower and imagined it bursting into a ball of flames. Your landlord had agreed to knock $100 off your rent if you mowed the lawn once a month. It was a no brainer, even if you had never mowed a lawn before. How hard could it be? Turns out, very.

You gave yourself a pep talk through figuring out how to put the gas into the stupid thing, but it had petered out into an irritated chant of “you piece of shit” and “fucking work, goddamit” when you couldn’t get it to start. You’d pulled and pulled and PULLED the stupid chord, but it wouldn’t start up. You wanted nothing more than to finish your chore and head inside before it got way too hot. You’d planned on already being finished by now. Michael had always made quick work of it, and if that room temperature IQ fuckwit could figure this out then so could you. Maybe.

When you pulled back again and nothing happened, something sort of cave woman happened in your brain, and you started kicking the mower in a fit of frustration. “FUCKING-PIECE-OF-SHIT!” you yell, accentuating each kick to the machine with a malice-laden word. When you propped your hands on your hips and took a step back to really give it a good, solid glare, you saw a man the next house over watching you with an amused look at the edge of his property.

“Need some help?” he called out, his smile growing.

“EVERYTHING’S GOING REAL FUCKING GOOD OVER HERE, BUT THANKS FOR THE OFFER,” you quip with way more acidity than this man deserved.

He took your stinging remark in stride and just smirked more. If he wasn’t so good looking you probably would’ve yelled at him for real. You needed a break and didn’t really care for your handsome neighbor to watch you fail at life, so you wordlessly stomped inside and plopped down with a bottle of water in hand. Was it too early for this water to turn into a beer? 11 am. Damn. You were pretty low these days, but you weren’t sure you wanted to take a trip down “drinking by yourself before noon” lane.

You sigh and play with the bottle cap as you try to ignore your growing embarrassment of being so rude to your hot neighbor. The sound of a lawn mower finally registers in your brain, and you scramble to the window to confirm your suspicions. Yep, there was your fine as fuck neighbor pushing your broken lawnmower around your backyard. It was definitely broken. He must have fixed it. It definitely wasn’t that you were entirely clueless about all this.

You groan and muster up some resolve before heading back outside. You wave at the absolute DILF-iest of DILFs you’ve ever seen in your life to get his attention. As though he was expecting you, he calmly turns off the engine and jerks his head up once in your direction.

“What are you doing?” you blurt out.

There’s that smile again. Damn, he must practice that in the mirror because holy shit it is very hard to think right now with him looking at you with it.

“Bein’ friendly to my new sailor-mouthed neighbor,” he drawled casually.

Goddamit. His voice was smooth and deep up close. And his hair, oh my god his hair. Peppery brown and slightly disheveled and wavy in all the right spots. And his eyes? Those puppy dog brown eyes that you thought just gave you a quick once over? You were kicking yourself for not being nicer earlier.

“Look, you don’t have to–”

“Name’s Joel Miller. What’s yours, sweetheart? And tell me quick, ‘cause I really think it might turn into Popeye if you don’t give me an alternative,” he teased.

Popeye? What on earth– Oh. Christ almighty. Right. Popeye. The “sailor man.” Because you have a “sailor mouth.” Okay, now the DILF was knocking out some dad jokes? You needed to find the box you’d packed your vibrator in that plugs into the wall after this little interaction.

“Kinda wanna tell you that you can call me whatever you want if you’ll just teach me how to turn that stupid thing on,” you say, motioning toward the traitor of a lawn mower.

“Hm, anything I want, huh? Temptin’. Maybe next time I’ll give ya a 101, but lemme just finish this up right quick.” Without giving you the chance to argue, he ripped the chord with a salivating flex of his bicep and resumed his task.

You awkwardly walked back up to your porch and tried to busy yourself with something. You didn’t want to go back inside and wait for him to finish. That’d be rude, him out in the sun doing your chores while you cooled off in the AC inside. You gave enough “lazy slob” vibes as it was. Luckily it didn’t take him much time at all to finish, and his sweaty brow was very distracting as he clambered up your steps. You had to keep your jaw shut when he pulled up the hem of his shirt to wipe it across his forehead, revealing a respectably toned middle. He was fitter than you by far. Not that that was a hard feat.

This DILF to end all DILFs had a toned body that shouldn’t have been such a surprise to you after seeing his muscular arms as they maneuvered the lawn mower. You suddenly felt self-conscious in your tank top and denim shorts. You were sure you were bulging out all over the place and looked like a sweaty pig. You hated how easy it was these days to get down on yourself, but seeing the blonde bombshell Michael had traded you for was all you could compare yourself to. The phrase “you can’t compete where you don’t compare” turned over and over in your head.

“See? Easy. Now about that name…” he trailed off, smiling now with a mischievous, friendly look.

“Oh. Yeah, um. Roxanne. But Roxy is fine,” you say.

Joel tilted his head as though he was considering how your name stacked up to how you looked, to see if it fit you or not. Heat crept up your cheeks under his gaze, and a fresh wave of insecurity engulfed you.

“Pretty,” he remarked.

“Huh?” you ask, sounding dumber by the minute.

Joel just keeps smiling at you, no matter how braindead you sound. “I said pretty. Your name’s pretty. Fits you,” he said.

You really wanted to believe this man was flirting with you, but it was wishful thinking.

“Hmm. Th-thanks. Um. Do you want money or?” you clumsily offer. You didn’t want to send him off empty handed after he just did you such a big favor.

“Two beers,” he posed.

You went inside and grabbed two cold beers from the fridge and loped back outside, extending them to Joel. He opened them both and made himself comfortable in one of your patio chairs. He set the second bottle on the arm of the chair next to him and pulled a long swig from his bottle. You watched the bob of his adams apple as he swallowed, and you knew your panties were gonna be absolutely wrecked by the time you finished your beer.

“Thanks.”

“Cheers.” He tipped his bottle towards you and leaned back, comfortable as ever as if this was his porch and not yours. “Didn’t see ya movin’ in. Musta been in the middle of the night to unpack a whole house without anybody knowin’.”

“Eh, not hard to move when you’ve got less than 20 boxes of shit,” you shrug.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion. He clearly hadn’t been thinking you’d come into your new place with bare bones belongings. Someone your age would have at least a few pieces of bigger furniture and a couple of boxes of niche hobbies.

“Rest of it comin’ later, or…?”

“Nope. That’s it. Just me and my less than 20 boxes and a piece of shit lawnmower.”

Joel chuckled, and you found yourself giving him a small, shy smile.

“So you the neighborhood watch captain? Keep tabs on all the fresh meat?”

He laughed like heading up a community group was as likely for him as you figuring out that lawn mower by yourself.

“No quite. Just didn’t realize I had a new neighbor, is all. No car in the driveway. House has been up for rent for a few months,” he explained.

“Oh, yeah. I had a moving van, but I had to turn it back in to them a few days ago unless I wanted to pay for more days. They gave me a ride back. My parents are supposed to let me use one of their cars.”

You and Joel chatted back and forth about the neighborhood, how you’d grown up here and were now back - although you dutifully omitted the reason why - and what you did for work. When he told you he worked in construction with his brother in their small family business, it made a lot of sense. No wonder he was so toned.

Joel actually laughed when you told him you were an accountant. He didn’t believe you at first. When you started citing federal tax law addendums, he held his hands up in mock surrender. You laughed at his teasing. It felt nice to just interact with somebody without having to talk about your recent breakup and all the hard changes you’d been navigating.

“Should make you the poster girl for accountants because damn if I don’t imagine a blue haired lady sportin’ a big pink cardigan and goofy lookin’ glasses whenever I hear the word ‘accountant.’ You’d be the perfect brand image overhaul, sweetheart.” He chuckled, and you did your best to not think about how Michael had once told you that you were “too cute to be an accountant.”

“So, you got an accountant helping with your family business? Or are you just cookin’ the books?” you joke.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “Nah, we got some somebody at H&R whatever, but the bigger we get the more it seems they wanna charge. Lots of confusin’ shit with all kinds of tax laws. Wouldn’t know if we were gettin’ ripped off by ‘em, if I’m bein’ honest.”

You weren’t sure why you offered. Maybe because he had been kind enough to offer you help and then mow your lawn for you even though you had been an ass. Regardless, you offered to look over some documents and paperwork if he really wanted another set of eyes on it. You dismissed him with the wave of a hand when he started talking about paying you for it.

“Two beers is my rate, Joel,” you say with feigned solemnity.

“Two beers? You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart. I know you’re worth it, though. You free this weekend? Saturday mornin’?”

And that’s how you ended up with plans to help Joel go over his company’s financial information in two days time when Saturday rolled around.

Joel was singing your praises when you’d already found two instances where they could save some money by changing a few boxes on their taxes and getting things more streamlined with a different organization method for W2’s. You had applied for a few jobs in the area, but most of your pending applications were for virtual jobs that you could work from home. It was good to keep up practice in the meantime.

Joel made you lunch - a nice turkey sandwich with cheddar cheese. He’d mistakenly offered provolone, which you’d chosen, only to find that he had run out and could only offer cheddar instead. You teased him about being an awful host, but really you were glad to not have your favorite cheese on the sandwich because it would help you not eat as fast in front of him.

You hated feeling like this. You’d spent so many years of puberty pacing your bites with those around you, afraid to eat faster than everyone else. Nobody even gave a shit. You were just so terrified of being humiliated for being the plus sized girl who got that way in the first place because she inhales her food.

“You always eat like a baby bird?” Joel questioned through a large bite of his own sandwich.

“Only when I’m trying to concentrate on taxes and finances,” you lied with a fake giggle. You felt like Joel clocked your put-on nonchalance, but he thankfully didn’t say anything even if he had.

You tugged at the bottom of your shirt, pulling it away from your stomach. You caught Joel watching you do this, but again, he didn’t comment.

He did, however, raise a brow when you insisted you were “too full” to finish the entire sandwich. He played it off with a “damn, you really wanted provolone, huh?” You stuck your tongue out at him but dropped the playful demeanor the second he took the plates to the kitchen. Of course you were still hungry, but you weren’t going to gorge yourself in front of your super attractive neighbor. It wouldn’t kill you to cut a few calories here and there anyway, that familiar voice in your head points out.

Stupid, fat thighs the voice adds quickly, helpful as always.

You’re quick to adopt a smile when Joel comes back, but you aren’t sure you were quick enough for him to have missed the sad, fat, and alone girl’s real expression before flipping the switch.

It’s Saturday number two of your pro bono accounting skills. Well, it was actually a Thursday since Joel had some construction something or other this Saturday, but every day was a weekend when you were unemployed.

You had already hung out with Joel three times this past week and shared a few celebratory beers over your work from home job offer that you’d accepted and would be starting next week. Conversation came easy with Joel. He talked about his daughter, who was away at school for the semester, and you realized he must feel very lonely without her home. At least you could relate to him on that level.

You tell him the reason for your move back to your home town. He actually seemed genuinely pissed off when you told him Michael was cheating on you with a pretty little blonde thing and had been for months. You scoffed when Joel said it was Michael’s loss to have fumbled a girl like you.

“Hey,” he asserted, making you pause from the sip of beer you were about to have. “I’m serious. He’s a dumbass for havin’ let you slip through his fingers. You’re funny and smart and got a good head on your shoulders. Sure, you can’t figure out a lawn mower, but we can’t all be perfect.” His goofy grin was a sweet little addition to his playful teasing.

Maybe it was the beer talking, but you couldn’t hold back. “Yeah, well. There’s something you left out of that list there, and it’s probably the reason he did cheat on me.”

Joel shook his head in confusion. He wasn’t sure what he had left out.

You laughed hollowly to yourself, swirling your beer mindlessly as you spoke. “Funny. Smart. Good head on my shoulders. But not pretty, right? Not attractive. Not skinny enough.”

Joel’s expression shifted into something sympathetic and warm, and you hated yourself for having just let that word vomit happen.

“To be honest, sweetheart, I didn’t wanna say anythin’ that might make you uncomfortable. But I can give you a list a mile long with all the things that are beautiful about you. Inside and out.”

You flush at his appeal to your assets, but you know he’s just being nice. You were pathetic. You were going through a breakup from a relationship that had ended because your fiance was shoving his dick into his coworker. Of course Joel was going to try to boost your self-esteem and give you compliments.

When you didn’t respond, Joel placed his large, warm hand over yours. You looked at it and up to him. He grazed his other hand, a ghost of a curve against your cheek, like he wanted nothing more than to stroke your face and cradle your neck while he drew you into a long kiss and grabbed at your—

No. No he wasn’t. He was just being nice.

“I mean it. That prick is gonna look back and regret losin’ you.”

You wished you could believe him.

When Joel brought you a turkey sandwich for lunch on your second day of helping him, he made sure to point out the provolone. “Got it special for my girl, huh?”

Your tummy flipped at the way he called you his girl, but it was just another one of his terms of endearment that he probably used with everyone. He’d called you angel, sugar, honey, sweetheart, and even Popeye a couple of times. It didn’t mean anything. You weren’t special.

When you pushed your half eaten sandwich away, Joel set his down and waited for you to look at him.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“No, it’s great. Thanks for the provolone, by the way. You didn’t have to do that. Really. I’ll um, I’ll just save the rest for later. I’m good for right now.”

Joel’s jaw clenched from side to side before he leaned over in the chair next to you.

“Darlin’, you should eat somethin’. Half a sandwich ain’t shit.”

You shrugged and insisted you weren’t hungry. Joel chewed his cheeks against his molars for a moment before adjusting in his chair and leaning in even closer than before.

“This about that asshole? Messin’ with that blonde?”

You froze at his words. You heart was about to leap out of your chest.

“N-No,” you lie. “I, um, I’m not sure what you mean, Joel.”

“What I mean is you got the idea that you’re not beautiful. That you can’t compare.”

You took a deep swallow to clear the lump in your throat. Your eyes were getting a little blurry. Dammit, you really didn’t want to cry in front of Joel. Not over this stupid bullshit.

“Just leave it, Joel,” you mumble, turning your attention back to the papers on the table.

“Not gonna do that, sweetheart,” he said firmly.

When you looked back at him, there was a dark hunger in his eyes. His usually lax, friendly features were drawn into a stony scowl.

“I meant what I said the other day. You’re beautiful. Everythin’. Everythin’ about you is beautiful.”

“Look, I appreciate you being nice and trying to make me feel better, but you don’t have to–”

“You think I’m lyin’?” he challenged. You swallow hard at his commanding tone, and his words went straight to your pussy. You shook your head, feeling a little more convinced Joel might not be embellishing his opinion of you.

“Jus’ … Hard to think of myself that way, after…” You want to tell Joel every last detail of your life. Every time someone made you feel like you were eating too fast. Every time your friends got flirted with in the mall while you quietly hung at the back of the group. Every time you put something back on the rack after seeing how it accentuated the shape of your body too much to be a cute garment anymore.

Joel turned and was now angled directly at you with a knee tucking itself between your legs. His sinewy, large arm crossed your chest, his hand firmly planting onto the arm of your chair. He dipped his mouth right next to your ear. “You give me the word, sweetheart. Gimme the green light, and I’ll show you just how gorgeous I think you are.”

You’d been here before. The guy begging to show you a good time but only ever ending as a hookup. You were never girlfriend material, but you were a warm, round body for them to get their rocks off for the night. You knew Joel was different. He wasn’t like that. But you still can’t bring yourself to say yes.

“Tell me,” you whisper. Joel pulled back to look at your face. “Just your words.”

“After you let me kiss those sweet lips of yours?” he countered. You nod yes. It was only a kiss.

Joel stood and grabbed your hand, leading you to the couch. He tried to pull you onto his lap, but you knew he’d change his mind about all of this the second your too heavy body crushed his.

He tilts your chin for you to look at him after you sit. His eyes searched for any hesitation or unease. You can’t handle another rejection, so you lean forward. Joel meets you halfway and presses the gentlest of kisses against your mouth. It was feather light in a way that conveyed an intent to go slow rather than a hesitant partner.

His tongue gently flicks against your bottom lip, and you swallow a moan as you let him in. The kiss is agonizing in its slow, mindful pace as Joel makes no rush of exploring every part of your mouth. You suddenly feel very needy. You haven’t been kissed like this in a very long time. You pull at Joel’s shirt, dragging him on top of you as you lay back on the couch. His broad chest easily envelops you, and his large hands twitch with restraint to not smooth over every inch of you.

His grip tightens around your waist as he delves into a hungrier kiss. When he pulls back to adjust his body parallel to yours, the sight of your reddened mouth and blown out pupils almost have him crumbling into you.

“Tell me,” you breathe. “I just-I just want to feel pretty.” You curse the goblin part of your brain that tacked that pathetic sounding plea onto the end of your comment.

“Want me to start slow or you want me to tell you exactly what comes to mind?” he questioned with a flick of his tongue against your earlobe before drawing it into his mouth and sucking.

“Ohhh–ssh-shit– the s-second one,” you manage.

Joel’s deep chuckle sends goosebumps all over your body.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout the first time we met. Wanted you even then. Kept thinkin’ about us sittin’ on your porch. The way you were holdin’ onto that beer bottle? All I could do was imagine how your pretty fingers would look wrapped around my cock,” he murmured into the shell of your ear. “Bringin’ it to those pouty little lips of yours. Goddamn I thought about your tongue on me, baby. Takin’ me in real good in your mouth. Lickin’ this cock that gets hard just for you. That wet, warm mouth just for me.”

Your breath hitches in between Joel’s incredibly specific and detailed account.

“And when you were havin’ that little spitfire spell’uh yours, kickin’ the lawn mower?” he continued, earning a moan from you in half arousal and half embarrassment remembering your temper tantrum that day. “When you kicked it, your tits jiggled all in that little tank top you had on. Had to stop myself from marchin’ over right then and there and shovin’ my dick right in between ‘em and fuckin’ ‘em.”

You would’ve rubbed your thighs together just for the friction right now, but Joel had slotted himself in between your legs and was pushing his hard-on against your clothed pussy in a teasing grind that was driving you insane. Your hips canted at the hint of contact.

“Sittin’ in those cute little cutoffs,” he groaned low. “Your thighs spreadin’ on the seat. Wanted to grab you up and make my face your new seat, baby. Wanted those thighs on either side of my face while you rubbed your pretty little cunt all over my mouth.”

“J-Jesus christ,” you whimper. This man was giving you the dirtiest play by play of all the ways he’d envisioned himself exploring your body. Your pussy had already bottomed out by the time he got to the part about the lawn mower.

“‘N I jus’ know, baby, I just know it. Know your pussy is made to take this cock, baby. I know it’s perfect. Know it tastes so fuckin’ sweet. Know I’d fuck you ‘til you couldn’t think straight. Make you come on my cock over and over.”

Okay, maybe you could let him do more than just describe how much he wants you.

“‘N then after I work my tongue over you, ‘n after you take this cock so good, I’d grab you up, all to myself. Soft skin against mine. So soft, baby. Pull you in close and never let go. Press you right against me, hold you all night, cuddle up real close. Then wake you up with my dick hard against your perfect ass and fuck into that sweet little hole all over again.”

“Joel,” you whine.

“Hhmmm?” he drawled innocently, but you could feel his smile against your skin.

“I-I think I changed my mind. About telling me and not showing me. I think that, um, I think I’d really like for you to show me h-how much you want me,” you mumble against his cheek.

“S’that right, honey? You want a little show n tell now?” he teased. For good measure he rocked himself against the apex of your thighs, causing your hips to jerk up involuntarily to meet the movement. He chuckled at your eager change of heart.

Joel wasted no time nibbling and sucking your neck and his hands snaked up your shirt and under your bralette. The pads of his thumbs circle your pebbled nubs, and you let out a choked sigh. He shoved your clothing off with a few tugs and stopped to marvel at your bare top half. “God, even better than I imagined.”

His greedy eyes raked over every inch of you, a reverential gaze at your curvy figure. Heat spread between your legs when he dipped his mouth to your chest, leaving a wet trail with his tongue and lips in a freeform pattern before drawing your erect nipples between his teeth. Your back curved off the couch in a jerk at the delightful tease.

His hands covered large swaths of your abdomen where he enthusiastically massaged and kneaded into your flesh like he couldn’t grab enough of it at once. You lifted your hips when he pulled your shorts and panties off, and you would’ve been self-conscious about being completely nude while Joel was still fully dressed if you hadn’t seen the way his eyes glazed over with want as he absorbed the sight of you.

“Goddamn,” he breathed. “So pretty. Been wantin’ to drink this pussy from the first time I saw you.” His eyes flitted up to your face with a degree of effort as though he had to tear his gaze away from your heavenly body. He searched your features, checking in and making sure you still wanted this. You nod in consent, and no sooner is his tongue lapping between your folds.

You fist a handful of his hair at the overwhelming feeling of wet heat against you, and Joel groans in a deliciously lewd way that takes you even closer to the limit. He lathes against your heat with the fervor of a devout addict, and you come with a slamming jolt when he simultaneously slips two large fingers into you and sucks your clit.

“There’s my girl,” he coos, working you with a steady drag and push of his fingers as you come down from your high. “Knew you’d look so fuckin’ pretty comin’ undone, baby.” Your first orgasm quickly rolled into a second when Joel drove a third finger into you with a steady thrust. You cry out, clenching around the painfully sweet stinging stretch of his fingers.

You grab desperately at the tent in his pants. “S’about you today, baby,” he murmured into your thigh where he’s planting slow, sweet kisses.

“Please, Joel. Want to see you. Taste you,” you rasp out, still pulsing weakly around his digits. You groan when he pulls his fingers from you and laps all the glistening slick from them before standing in front of you. You sit up in a rush, eager to see more of him. He obliges and unfastens his jeans. His impressively thick

length made you gasp when he sprang it free from his underwear. You don’t hesitate to fit as much of him into your mouth as you can, and he lets out a satisfied hum when his tip nudges the back of your throat.

“Shit, I’m gonna come, baby,” he croaked. Apparently working you over had done a number on him already, and it made you want him even more. You wordlessly released him in a sloppy, wet pop from your mouth and tilt your head back, stroking his length with one hand and fondling his balls with the other. When his breathing picks up and he’s on the edge, you stick your tongue out expectantly and continue to fist him until his hips stutter and jerk, his spend cascading onto your cheeks, lips, and tongue.

You both just sprawled out on the couch like two chalk outlines haphazardly jutting into odd angles on pavement. You giggled when Joel asked you if you believed him now, and you said he had indeed made a believer out of you.

That was the first night you stayed over his place, and just like he had told you earlier that day, he scooped you in close to him, cuddling and shamelessly grabbing at your belly, thighs, and anywhere else he could reach while he peppered the back of your neck with kisses. It was the first time in a very long time that you didn’t once think about how much space you took up.

This one’s for all my baddie thickies out there!

I have hope that one day Miss Thickums® will come to love on herself a bit more because she deserves it, dammit. Also that and the fact that I get down bad for a lil Rubenesque cutie ha ha.

I hope y’all liked this little pairing! I have been working on Endless Night and Feral Woman but couldn’t get this idea out of my head so I just churned it out. I’m a sucker for fluff and praise, so this was a nice detour from my heavier series (but you should def go check those out too lmao).

I have so many more ideas for this pairing. I just know that AU friendly DILF neighbor Joel Miller has always been a “more cushion for the pushin” kinda guy and would love to nibble every pudgy roll on your body. His favorite spot is your lil muffin top. That’s my headcannon, and I won’t hear any differing opinions.

Let me know if y’all want more from these two. :)

Catch ya later,

♥Puddles♥

#fic: a weight off your shoulders #joel miller #joel miller x plus size reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #joel miller hbo #the last of us fanfiction #oneshots

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sunlightwoo · 9 months

Text

when you used to stay (philophobia) teaser

pairing: demigod!jake x demigod!g.n reader

genre: enemies/exes to ??, slight angst, demigod/percy jackson au | rated: pg-13 warnings of death and monsters

wc: <500 | rated: pg-13

a/n: based off of tate mcrae's want that too, but maybe i'll make this into a full oneshot if there's enough interest? i was talking about this idea to @sungbeam and now im like hehehehe, but anyways my permanent taglist will be linked here cause i think i might start to write for enhypen hyung line (pending) but send me an ask or comment below if you'd like to be on the taglist for this fic if it becomes a full oneshot!!

In the past three years or so, you'd like to think that you adjusted well to Camp Half-Blood. Despite being a child of Aphrodite, you had been able to prove yourself worthy of handling quests that were supposedly too tough, too dirty.

Too much.

You had missed your aunt and uncle terribly, of course, but of course there were visitation days and letters. They believed that you were off abroad, like you had originally planned all these years ago, at a beautiful arts school somewhere off in the states.

Little did they know that your journey to traveling to New York for your orientation would've led you to where you were today, fighting monsters and battling between life and meeting the doors of Death.

You had only been curious as to how someone knew about your deceased father, only to realize that that very being was the reason for his passing. If it weren't for your mother stepping in, then you would've never stumbled onto the camp in the first place.

Today was just another day where there were new demigods that had found their way into the campgrounds and you were curious as to who they were, wondering if you'd get new siblings today.

The moment that you walk outside your cabin, however, is when you feel a chilling sensation of water being splashed from above you, making you drenched from head to toe. There was no sound of a bucket being dropped and you knew that it was done by a child of Poseidon.

You could hear howls of laughter and chatter from all around you, but what you couldn't believe from the moment that you were able to wipe the water from your eyes was the culprit at hand.

Standing in all his might with a mischievous expression that suddenly turned into shock towards you was someone you had least expected to arrive.

"Jake Sim."

Those two words immediately made your blood boil once they left your quivering lips, and what made it even worse was the trident that glowed above his head. You couldn't believe that he was associated with one of the greatest demigods known to the camp, along with the fact that he had found his way here.

He was the last person you wanted to see, and if it meant that you had to get rid of him...

Then so be it.

#k-labels #kvanity #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enha imagines #enha x reader #enha scenarios #enhypen drabbles #jake x reader #jake sim #sim jaeyun #jake imagines #jake scenarios #jaeyun x reader #jake drabbles #jake angst #is this actually gonna be my comeback LOLOL

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blizzardfluffykpop · 3 months

Text

Start Anew

Summary: Your best friend, Eric, wants you to meet his brother from another mother, Juyeon.

Oneshot

Exes to lovers, Non-idol au

Word Count: 1,039

Juyeon X Reader

[Features: Best friend! Eric]

[A/n: I got this thought while watching Moonrock yesterday… And I wrote it up in like two hours, so enjoy.]

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You’ve been walking through Gwangju for a while with Eric. To say you weren’t familiar with these roads would be silly. You know these roads like the back of your hand. Your last meaningful boyfriend lived here. You were lost in thought until Eric turned to you excitedly, “I think you would love to meet him!” You blink, trying to remember him saying a name, and he continues, “He's my brother when I'm away from home. His family always welcomes me.” When he turns around, you gulp, hoping you’re wrong because this path is the same path you used to walk hand in hand with Juyeon to his home. It’s not that you didn’t want to meet him. You just knew you’d fall for him again if you saw him again.

You settle your nerves until he stops at the one house you dread he would. Eric enters the code as if he was entering his own home. He excitedly walks in, and you follow behind him. “Ju! I'm here!” And after a moment or two, you hear someone coming down the stairs. You turn your head to see this fabled brother from another mother, hoping it’s anyone else, to see Lee Juyeon, your old boyfriend. Your heart skips a beat, but you hold yourself together. It wasn't that it ended on bad terms. It ended because you both were going your separate ways. And although it broke you, you both knew long distance. No matter how hard you tried, it wouldn't work out. From behind Eric, you look at Juyeon and see how he's changed, yet all the ways he's stayed the same. Juyeon catches sight of you, and stops at the bottom of the stairs, and puts his hand behind his neck, rubbing it reflexively. Eric grins as he goes up to him and gives him a giant hug, “I've missed you, man!” He cheers, and Juyeon wraps his arms around him. And for a moment, you imagine what it'd be like meeting him with no prior knowledge. From how you'd tell Eric that you think his friend is handsome. And how Eric would let it slip to him by accident. Yet, that's not how you're meeting Juyeon. You already know him inside and out, but that was then. Do you even know anything about him anymore? Does he still like basketball? Is he still slow to react to things? Does he have that same cute giggle? You gulp as you hold back any feelings that threaten to bubble up.

Eric pulls away with a joyful smile with his arm wrapped around Juyeon's shoulder. He says, “(Y/n), I want you to meet my dearest friend and practically my brother, Juyeon.” Juyeon gives a small smile, and you reciprocate as Eric introduces you, “Juyeon, this is my best friend I met abroad, (Y/n). They saved my ass so many times.” The three of you let out a laugh. But you can't help but stare at Juyeon as you whisper, “Eric...” And Eric cocks his head to the side, “Yeah?” You look at the ground, “Juyeon and I already know each other.” Eric pulls his arm from Juyeon and gasps, looking between you both, “What?!” Juyeon nods, and Eric asks, “How?!” You look at the ground and say, “We used to date.” Eric blinks and looks at Juyeon, confused, “So why was it whenever I mentioned (Y/n) you never said anything?” Juyeon looks at the ground, “Um, I always… I always hoped it was my (Y/n). But I assumed it wasn't.” And Eric turns to you, “And whenever I mentioned Juyeon to you?!” You sigh, “I uh was hoping it wasn't him because knowing he could be in your life, but we couldn't be in each other's… hurt. I loved him a lot, Eric…” Eric gulps and looks between you two again, “Well… um, this is awkward... I'm gonna go and let you two solve this tension…” He heads away somewhere in the house.

You can't pay attention even if you wanted to. You both start, “So um…” He gestures for you to go first, “I've heard from Eric what you've been up to over the years, but… are you seeing anyone?” He shakes his head ‘no’ as he rubs the back of his neck, “I dated before, but uh… I've always kind of hoped to see you again.” You look down, “I always hoped we'd run into each other again… and that we could start anew.” You fiddle with your fingers, and he asks bluntly, “Well, what if we do?” You look up at him, stunned. And ask, “Really?” “Yeah.” He smiles as you stare at each other and says, “We both miss each other and have wanted each other… so?” You smile, “I'd love to.” And that's when you hear a cheer from the top of the stairs. You both roll your eyes as if catching a child sneaking around noisily to find out what his presents are before Christmas. You both say in unison, “Eric, you can come down now.” You hear him drag his feet, “I just wanted my friends to be happy together…” You laugh before you ask, “Did you figure it out before?”

Eric rolls his eyes and nods, “There’s only so many Juyeons and (Y/n)s in the world, and even fewer that know each other.” You gasp, “You little brat…” And Juyeon blinks at him before finally saying, “Eric…” Eric laughs before shrugging, “Hey, if it wasn't for me putting two and two together, you two wouldn’t have reunited…” You shake your head, “You’re right, but… You would have introduced us even if you didn't figure it out.” Eric laughs, “You have me there.” He walks between you two before clapping you both on the back, “So, where's our first date, love birds? I'm quite hungry.” You both roll your eyes, and Eric continues, “I'm thinking ramen. What about you two?” Juyeon grabs your hand, “What do you say we eat with kiddo here and ignore him as we catch up?” You laugh, interlocking your fingers, “I'd love to.” Eric pouts, “But I helped get you guys together... You're going to ignore me?!” You both laugh at his expense, and say, “Exactly.”

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annonniiiiieeeee · 1 year

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Okay someone has said baby was Usagi and Leo meeting and does all I can picture was.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMY3Vcj3T/

And I just thought ,like imaginative the turtle tots somehow ended up in usagi's world. And something minor happens and Usagi spots them and helps them then runs off. Usagi he doesn't think about it, to him Leo was just a boy that he helped on a regular Tuesday afternoon , but to Leo this was monumental, because not only this bunny boy similar to him, so he didn't view him as anything out of the world out of this world (hehe), but it was probably the first someone outside of his family helped him not to even when they return home Leo always thinks back to this moment.

Okay, that is such a cute au idea

I’ve talked about a “de-aging episode” or oneshot before but I think this is a totally different au.

The idea that Leo and his brothers end up in Usagi’s world when their all so young is fantastic.

Maybe the boys were playing with stuff on Splinter’s memorabilia shelf and one accidentally made a portal to Usagi’s world. They end up in the middle of a city or village and panic. They can’t be seen!! Raph grabs a hold of the closest brother, Donnie and just books it to the shadows. He yells out to his brother to run and thinks they are following him.

They aren’t Leo grabs Mikey and they run the opposite direction. Somewhere in the confusion they drop whatever brought them to this world.

The only realize after they get away from the crowd and into the shadows of very different buildings that they are separated.

Raph is panicking. He had Donnie, which is good. Donnie’s soft shell makes him way more vulnerable then their other brothers. But Leo and Mikey are his baby brothers and are all alone out there. Donnie’s trying to keep him calm but he’s freaking out to. They are in a strange environment, his twin and little brother are missing, and he does feel exposed as he hasn’t built a battle shell yet.

On the other side of town Leo and Mikey realize they are separated. Mikey, being the youngest, starts to cry. This is stressful. Leo is trying his best to stay calm and calm down Mikey. He’s freaking out to but he trust Raph to keep Donnie safe and he can totally keep Mikey safe.

That’s when a voice startled them. Mikey drops into his shell and Leo jumps in front of him scared out of his mind but ready to protect his little brother.

But it’s just a little bunny that looks to be around their age. Wait a bunny? Is he a mutant to? Why is he out in the daylight?

Because there stands a baby Miyamoto Usagi. There he stands in the shining daylight while Leo and Mikey hide in the shadows. He asks what their doing? Why they’re dressed funny? (Baby Leo’s shirt literally says ‘rad’ on it) Leo shyly explains that they got separated from their brothers. He’s not sure why but he wants to trust this bunny. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time Leo has seen someone who looks like them. Usagi offers to help them find their brothers. He offers Leo his hand, and after some hesitation Leo takes it. Usagi uses it to pull Leo into the sunlight and start to lead the two brothers through the town.

So here comes Usagi, Leo, and Mikey all holding hands (Leo’s in the middle) as Usagi helps them search for their missing family members.

Maybe while Leo and Mikey are searching the city, Raph and Donnie are sticking to the shadows and have found the artifact they dropped. They are having their own secret mission to get it back, as stealthily as toddlers can.

So your cutting between Usagi showing Leo and Mikey the town. Yes they are searching for Raph and Donnie, but Usagi found out it’s the boys first time in a billiard and is showing it off to them. So their getting sweet bread from the bakery walking around town in the sunlight. All around a great and peaceful day.

Then you hard cut to Raph and Donnie feeling like they are risking their lives trying to get the artifact back and find their brothers.

Your just cutting back and forth between the two groups and it’s very funny to me.

Eventually Raph gets the artifact but in doing so he rolls out into the street. Right at Usagi’s feet. Leo and Mikey cheer going to hug him and Donnie scrambles out of his hiding spot to join his family.

Raph’s wondering how Leo could be so stupid to walk around in the open with Mikey (Leo definitely doesn’t internalize that at all) when Usagi makes his presence know. Raph is supper confused why there is a bunny mutant here. Until Mikey tells him to look at the town and for the first time Raph and Donnie actually look at the people around them and notice their all animals.

Even so Raph and Donnie have had enough and are ready to go home. They open the portal back home and drag a pouting Mikey (he wanted to try more food) and Leo through the portal. Leo yells a goodbye to Usagi as they leave.

Usagi is shocked by the portal and thinks about the strangers often. Where they Kami? Witches? Monks or priest in training? What sort of power did they wield and why was that their first time in town? And maybe he wants to see the turtle with red marking again.

Leo thinks about it constantly. The cute bunny boy and his warm peaceful village. He desperately want la to go back but Splinter took the artifact as soon as the boys got home and destroyed it. (Or at least that’s what he told the boys) Leo thinks he’ll never see the bunny again.

#asks #leosagi #rise leo #awosan miyamoto usagi #leosagi tots au

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punkpoemprose · 10 months

Text

Anna Arendelle and the Extraordinary Coat Room Meet Cute- A Kristanna Oneshot

Universe: Modern AU/ Socialite AU Rating: T Length: 2418 Words A/N: A classic meet cute because I haven't written one in a HOT second. Loosely based on the song Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious by the Amazing Devil.

“You’re… uh, on my coat.”

The final indignity. This will be the end of me, dead of embarrassment in the coatroom at a party I’ve tried to escape twice.

“Oh,” Anna replied with a shrug, trying to shake off both the thought and the awkwardness of the entire situation, “You know, sometimes it’s just nice being in someone else’s coat.”

The tall, unreasonably attractive blonde man before her quirked an eyebrow and she realized that if she wasn’t yet in cardiac arrest or in a state of spontaneous human combustion, it was, in fact, impossible to die of embarrassment.

If it were, I’d have been dead on arrival.

She didn’t know why she’d agreed to come to the party in the first place. It was a great opportunity for networking for her family’s charity and she normally loved socializing, but she had fully known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Hans would be there. Of course, he would be, he was a fixture at major social events, high end restaurants, and sundry “hoity toity” settings in Arendelle city. No one knew, of course, that he wasn’t the wealthy eligible bachelor he passed himself off as, no, that was something that Anna alone seemed to have intimate knowledge of alone.

“Which is, of course, a very normal and reasonable thing to say and do,” she added after a moment of silence.

To her immense relief, the man before her didn’t seem to be backing away slowly or pulling a cell phone out of his pocket to call 9-1-1 on the clearly disturbed young woman withholding his coat from him. Rather, he actually appeared to be calm, maybe even entertained.

“Of course,” he nodded, his voice carrying with it a note of amusement, “I can’t say I’ve tried it myself, but anything has to be better than being out there.”

At just that moment, Anna noticed a well-tailored suit, purchased on her dime, and a smarmy smile approaching the side of the room where the coatroom door was. She could only see him through a small gap between the entryway and the large stranger’s side, but she would know that jerk anywhere.

“Close the door.”

The man gave her a curious glance, still not offended, but clearly taking his time in deciding whether it were in his best interest to be in an enclosed space with her.

“Quickly!”

She swore she could smell Hans’s overbearing, stupid floral cologne from where she sat on the small settee, but she knew that it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Please.”

That did the trick, and the man, with a glance over his shoulder, closed the door behind him and leaned back into it, providing extra security that it would not be pushed open again until he moved.

Anna breathed out a sigh of relief and felt, for a moment, that she was going to maybe make it through the night after all, even if she was going to spend it in the coat closet avoiding detection by her terrible ex-boyfriend.

“So,” the man said, making Anna realize that he, at her behest, had trapped them in a small space together, “I don’t know whether to ask about the coat thing or the hiding thing or if they’re both none of my business.”

If she would normally be afraid of being trapped with such an immense man, she wasn’t now. The blonde before her seemed to be doing everything he could to make himself seem less intimidating while still leaning his body weight into the door. She noticed his body language, leaning back to make himself appear shorter, his pose otherwise open, casual. He was speaking slowly, calmly, and it was very clear to Anna that the man before her had some practice in trying to minimize his physical presence in a space. She was getting better and better by the day at reading people, both for her own safety, and to better glean which people in a room would be most receptive to hearing about the Arendelle Angels, a no kill shelter she was currently on the board of trustees for.

“I suppose the coat, at least, is your business given it is evidently yours.”

With that admission, she did shift down the settee, removing her bottom from his jacket. He made no immediate move to retrieve it and she wondered if he was just that intent on guarding the door for her, or if he was worried that she’d bite.

“It’s sort of boring though, I just sat on it by mistake when I came in and I am really bad at answering questions on the fly so sometimes I say things that are strange or too much.”

That, in and of itself, was probably “too much” of an admission to a total stranger.

Every nonprofit should want you to oversee their fundraising, you’re crushing this normal and charming thing.

He nodded, like she’d said something sage, and then continued to stand in front of the door, not saying anything at all and continuing to stand in the least intimidating way a man of his stature could muster. He was acting as if he had every intention to stand there for the rest of the evening, party and world beyond the door be damned.

“The hiding thing is a little more fraught,” she added, just to fill the quiet. She’d never been great at quiet.

He nodded again, and she assumed that it was not a surprise to him.

Hiding in closets at parties is not normal behavior, something more complex going on only makes sense.

She sometimes wished that her thoughts would be a little less pragmatic.

“The long and short of it is that my ex is out there, and he’s an asshat, and I was trying to make it to the front door, coat be damned, but if I’d headed for the exit, he would have seen me.”

Kristoff nodded, as if her behavior made perfect sense.

“And you didn’t want him to see you looking so nice at a party after dumping him because you’re just kind like that.”

For the first time since she walked into the party, for the first time in a month maybe, her laughter was genuine.

“I mean,” she said through chuckles that dislodged the anxious tears she’d been so carefully holding in place, “you had the me dumping him part down, but I am not that charitable, at least not to him of all people. No, I just didn’t want to see him and hear whatever asinine comment he’d have already locked and loaded for me.”

She wasn’t certain whether he’d meant to actually compliment her, or whether he was just trying to make light of the situation, but she thought that his respectful twice over of her body from across the small room might tell her more than she was letting herself hear. If nothing else he had made her laugh and she could appreciate that.

“Good thing you dumped him then,” he replied, “and that does explain the coat closet. Have you been in here long?”

Anna shrugged, “Twenty minutes, maybe? I feel a little bad about it. I was in the middle of talking about a rescue lab-pit with a hedge fund manager that is our host’s cousin and I think he was interested in adopting and maybe also sponsoring some of the other animals.”

“You work for a rescue? Which one?”

She was grateful for the changing direction of the conversation. Something in his eye seemed to light up when she mentioned the rescue. Clearly he was an animal lover, those with an ambivalence or dislike for pets always seemed to regard her conversations about the rescue like those Sarah McLachlan ASPCA advertisements that gave everyone a close approximation to Catholic guilt regardless of religious background or lack thereof.

“Well work for is a little bit of a misnomer, I don’t get paid, but I’m in charge of fundraising for Arendelle Angels.”

“That’s amazing, do you have a dog?”

Dog guy, not surprising.

“No, I love them, but I’m only equipped for a cat at the moment.”

He smiled at that, “I work training service dogs, but cats can be really great emotional support animals. My dog thinks he’s a lap cat sometimes, I swear he even tries to purr.”

She laughed again and thought about filling this guy in on besting his record setting win at “most genuine laughter out of Anna Arendelle in a month”, but instead she made herself more comfortable in her sitting position and jumped into continuing the conversation.

“Lapdog?”

The man groaned in mock wistfulness, “120lb Irish Wolfhound.”

Anna snorted with laughter. Another new record.

***

Kristoff.

Her coat room companion was named Kristoff, and he had, rather than leaving as he’d originally intended, decided to spend the evening with her in a coat closet.

He'd even been brave enough to sneak out, not once, but twice, to sneak them both glasses of wine and snacks from the outside world. She'd spilled her guts about Hans after the first glass and he'd been respectful and kind in his responses, including in his offer to leave the room and knock him onto his ass.

She'd said no, mostly because it would mean that their time together would come to an end.

“What are you planning on doing after this,” he asked.

“Well I was going to go home and show my cat some memes. I think he likes the colors on the screen, but I like to think that he actually gets the humor because he's awesome like me.”

He laughed at that and her heart raced. Every time she'd managed to get a laugh out of him she'd felt like she won the lottery. She was frankly a little upset that his asking combined with the sheer amount of people who have come and gone from the cost room, giving them strange looks, meant that the night was almost over.

“I was hoping you'd want to maybe stay a while, meet Sven, finish your conversation with Stone, but I understand, Olaf sounds like an extremely entertaining cat.”

“Stay? Do you mean… head to your place?”

She did want that frankly but she wasn't sure whether it would be a great idea given she had to be up so early the next morning and she had no idea of where he lived. Hell, she knew that he was an introvert leaning ambivert with an emotional support dog weighing just a little less than she did, but she didn't even know his last name. It was funny what had and hadn't been addressed.

“Well I mean technically it's right here. Not this room, this is just my mom's overflow closet, but I do have a room here still, so while it’s not my house, it’s certainly a place I can invite you to stay at.”

Anna was confused.

“I thought this was Cliff and Bulda’s house?”

Cliff and Bulda were a somewhat well off couple whose families had been big in mining some generations back, but who were, themselves, important donors to a variety of animal rights and green charities in the community. They and their extended families seemed to be involved in just about every nonprofit and realm of business that one could think of. Kristoff, frankly, had their spirit but looked nothing like the dark haired older couple.

“It is, he’s my dad. I was adopted, if that explains anything. If you’re worried about it, I can go get my mom to confirm. Or we can both walk out of here now if you want. I had a cousin escort your ex off property the first time I ducked out for wine. I didn’t tell anyone anything you told me, but no one really was asking why I wanted him to go, apparently half the assemblage thinks that he’s an asshole who is no longer tolerable since his girlfriend left him.”

He looked a bit contrite after the admission, and took her shocked silence for judgment.

“Sorry I didn’t say something sooner, I knew that I should have told you as soon as I got back, but I was feeling a little selfish and I wanted to keep talking with you.”

“You’re forgiven.”

She hadn’t needed to think about it. She knew that Cliff had a son, he often talked about his boy and how proud he was of him while they talked shop about donations and animal sponsoring for the rescue, that he was Kristoff made her already feel that her comfort and trust with the man was well placed. Frankly he hadn’t lied to her, he’d omitted, but given that he’d had Hans escorted out of the party and had continued to help her through her nervousness for the rest of the night had earned him her pardon for not mentioning that the object of her ire had been gone for an hour at most.

Kristoff’s expression went quickly from remorse, to surprise, to gratitude, and Anna liked watching the way the journey played out over his handsome features. She watched the crinkle in his brow give way to softness and his lips go from tight to smiling.

“Just let me know straight away next time,” she added, “I’ll probably stay in the coat room with you anyway.”

He chuckled, and offered her his hand, which she took with a smile.

“I can and will promise you that.”

“Can you promise me a meeting with Sven, you speak very highly of him and I’m excited to meet such an excellent boy?”

Kristoff’s expression softened further at her request and she already knew that Kristoff was her new favorite person to see at any party.

“I can, his schedule is usually pretty packed but he happens to owe me a favor so I will make sure he can pencil you in tonight. Maybe after you finish talking with Stone? He’s going to be heading for home in a bit and he’s already got some dogs on your website he’d like to sponsor after he adopts Axel.”

Anna grinned in response, appreciative that her night was not just a success for the rescue, but also for her meager social life.

“That,” she said, letting Kristoff pull her off the couch and to his side with a freshly earned familiarity, “Sounds like an excellent deal.”

Kristoff’s smile said everything she needed to know. He felt exactly the same.

#kristanna #frozen fanfiction #frozen #modern AU #meet cute

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loneamaryllis · 8 months

Note

for WIP game!

Lucius/Harrie

auction war for Reader

The many deaths of Severus Snape (is this perhaps a multiverse!au?👀)

The Muggle variable

Rose and the Alchemist

Harrie going dark, Snape following

God help me, i’m this close🤏 asking for all titles😔 all of em sounds amazing aaah

Hehe I can talk about all of them!

The Lucius/Harrie fic is a oneshot taking place after the war. Harrie comes to Malfoy Manor to check on behalf of the Ministry that Lucius is complying with the terms of his release. They have tea, and he flirts with her, while he's under Veritaserum influence because that's part of the agreement. To the standard question of "Have you had any thoughts that would cause you to break the law?", he talks about dreams he keeps having, spicy ones, featuring a dark-haired woman.

She leaves, flustered, trying not to think about it. She comes back the next day, and she's like "I don't know why I'm here." Lucius replies that yes, she does. Harrie asks him what happens in his dreams. And Lucius goes "Would you like me to tell you, or would you prefer a practical demonstration?"

Then they bang of course.

(Snape is off on a vacation or something, not dead, but not interested in Harrie either. Maybe he's with Narcissa, who is in a open marriage with Lucius.)

The Auction war for Reader is a Snape/Reader oneshot where a Muggle-born reader who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts is being auctioned off to a panel of Death Eaters after Voldemort won. Snape buys her, and then there's smut. It's a dark Snape fic...

The many deaths of Severus Snape is a complete crack fic.

Harrie keeps looping back in time, from the day she received her first Hogwarts letter to the final battle. She wants to save everyone. The problem is that Snape keeps dying. Whatever she does, and she tried a lot of things, he always dies.

The fic starts somewhere around her 100th loop or something, and its goes back and forth between her current loop and previous failed attempts, including one where she showed up on Snape's doorstep at 11, one where she kidnapped him, one where she pretended she was Voldemort reborn in her body, etc. Many fun scenarios!

The Muggle variable is a fic where Harrie never got her Hogwarts letter. She was hidden under a Fidelius set by Dumbledore, and she grew up in the Muggle world, never knowing she was a witch.

Then one day the Fidelius expires and both sides are suddenly aware Harrie Potter is alive. Snape finds her in a coffee shop, where she works. That first meeting doesn't go very well (she flees from him because he's Snape and did the "you're a witch, come with me if you want to live" with zero tact).

Eventually the Order convinces her to come with them, and then they have to figure out how to beat Voldemort.

Rose and the Alchemist is a Medieval AU where Rose Potter is the princess of a kingdom, and Snape is the royal alchemist.

She likes spending time with him in his weird laboratory up in his tower, and he keeps telling her it's not proper for her to be alone with him, but she doesn't stop. He teaches her things, too, things a princess shouldn't know, like which plant are deadly and how to make poison.

Then one day Prince Riddle comes to court, and asks for Rose's hand in marriage...

The Harrie going dark, Snape following fic is little more than mere vibes at his point, haha.

I imagine it happens after the fight at the Ministry in fifth year. Harrie loses Sirius and suddenly she decides she'll fight fire with fire. She starts looking for dark books in which she'd find dark spells, blood magic, things like that.

Snape notices, and Harrie is afraid he'll scold her and rat her out to Dumbledore. Instead, he helps. (And he gets turned on by Harrie getting darker and darker, and more powerful, though he keeps his hands off her probably until after she kills Voldemort, at which point they fuck next to his corpse while they're both covered in blood.)

Thanks for asking <3

#wip

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vinetae · 2 years

Text

Try (M) Chapter 7:

"Let's go somewhere a little more quiet.."

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Poly!AU, Boyfriend!Jimin

Pairings: Taehyung x Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung, Jimin x Reader, Jimin x Jungkook

Warnings: ...

Summary: Finally, things had been official.

You're officially fucked..

<-Previous Chapter

A/n: I kind of got writer's block for this one, because there were so many good ways to start this new chapter of their lives! Also, someone had pointed out to me that it didn't have much dialogue (for that I'm really sorry because I'm a big introvert and I have really REALLY awkward conversations most of the time.) So I've always just stuck to describing the scenery and hoping that the readers can fill in the dialogue but sadly not lmao. As always, Enjoy!

ALSO- OKAY THIS FUCKING TAEHYUNG WITH THIS HALSEY SONG IS- HOLY SHIT IMMA WRITE AN ONESHOT FOR THIS IT'S WAY TOO GOOD HOLY FUCKING FUCKING HELL- it makes ME WANNA FUCK AND BEAT THE SHIT OUTTA SOMEONE ARBAJFHJHWEW

Without Me - Halsey

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Ticks of the clock echo through the silent room. Abandoned topics that were going to be brought up, long have fizzled out from this crazy fire between the four of you. A long pause, followed by a sigh breaking the silence.

“So.” Jimin stands, handing out pamphlets to everyone, including you.

“What’s this?” Taehyung questions, flipping through the booklets pages.

Co-Relationship consent Form:

Agreements: Said partner(s) agrees to the following

No sexual interactions between any parties sha’ll happen with allowment of consent from Party A.

Party B, C, and D should follow all set rules Party A has placed.

No alcohol, drugs, or any types of substances are permitted when in contact -whether physical or electronically- near or around Party B without given consent to do so.

All sex is to be safe, sane and consensual.

Condoms and lubrication are to be used impeccably for all penetrative sex.

Get tested every 3-6 months for HIV, Gonorrhea, Syphilis, and Chlamydia, Trich and ask

for throat and anal swabs. Get visual tests for MCV and HPV. Share your results.

Party B must get Paps once a year to test for HPV and to detect pre-cancerous cell growth which can be better treated if caught early.

There is discussion with full disclosure about safe sex practices before engaging in sex with any first time partners or if it has been a while since you have slept with that partner.

No sexual activities are to occur when one or more parties have consumed more than 0.10 ounces of alcohols of any kinds.

Do not have sex during an active STD.

Taehyung lets out a chuckle, not believing what he’s been handed. “Did you really print out a contract for each of us to fuck?”

Jimin nods, face lacking any hints of a measly joke. “If we’re gonna do this, we’d better do it as safely as possible.” His eyes fixate on yours, who’d been meticulously reading and reviewing the papers. “Y/n, Are you okay with all of this?” Your eyes glance up to finally meet him. A quick nod is all the confirmation Taehyung needs to sign his name on the dotted lines.

“So what if Taehyung and I wanna fuck?” A smirk curls Jimin's lips.

“You’d have to ask me.”

Jungkook chuckles, not fully reading the atmosphere of the room. No way. “I have to ask my friend if I can fuck my boyfriend?” Jimin nods, an evil disposition never leaves his expressions. “‘I'm the head of this operation. You try any of that shit you pulled earlier,” He takes a glance to you, sending chills down your spine.

“You’d get punished.”

“Well what if Jungkook wanted to fuck you, hyung” Taehyung nonchalantly asks, as if he’s suggesting for a little more bulgogi sauce for the marinating meats. Jimin lets out a dark chuckle. “You guys still don’t get it, do you? I’m in charge here. Nothing gets past, put in, or taken out without my consent.” You all silently nod. Your eyes never leave Jungkook’s nervous frame. He licks the pads of his lips, a shimmering glisten to them sits atop.

“Wait..What’s this in section 5?” You all -except Jimin- go to the suggested page.

“We all have to go out on a date each week?”

~~ ~ ~ ~

“Red … or white?” Your eyes swish back and forth between the two set outfits your boyfriend had suggested. You quietly mumble, contemplating which one to choose. “Red ..” You hold the two piece glittering dress across your frame. The cinched sides would fit perfectly around your own. Spaghetti straps sitting atop your narrow shoulders would just be heavenly. The deep blood-stained satin, made for purposefully easy access. The white garment however, had a slight modest tone to it. Cream colored one piece wrap dress that would accentuate your doll-like looks and innocent features. Black stilettos to adorn such scandalous ways. Still, nonetheless raunchy as could be. Why would he choose such a revealing outfit?

“You almost ready, babe?” he calls from inside the small shared closet. He stepped out to reveal a black satin and suede suit, draping perfectly over a cream colored button up that had matched the color of your own dress. His newly dyed locks still had the red tint to it, making his look all the more expensive. Champagne toussels fall effortlessly in front of his eyes, not a natural root in sight. He’d always loved dying his hair all kinds of crazy colors. Ever since he'd met Taehyung and Jungkook around 4 years ago, they’d always been doing some sort of crazy new hair combos with each other.

You’re quickly pulled from memory lane, and reminded that you were supposed to leave 15 minutes ago.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Wow..” had been the first thing either one of the boys had said. Taehyung’s jaw had dropped around 3 levels, while Jungkook’s eyes went as large as they do in cartoons. Both men stood undoubtedly shocked by how well you’d clean up.

“Come on you two, don’t wanna droll on the ship’s deck” Jimin teases, while wrapping his arm in yours, before pulling all four of you to the entrance.

“Jimin.. Isn’t this a little much for a first date..?” He chuckles, rubbing your arm cutely. “Relax hun, this is for work. They’re supposed to be announcing all of the promotions and salary raises tonight.” Jimin had been working in corporate work for around 3 years or so. They’re all about skincare and cosmetics. He said the first few months were hell. Running around like chicken little, getting everyone everything they needed. Now, being the COO of nyuskeen cosmetics, he’d never have to go back to fetching someone’s coffee again.

The music suddenly starts an uproar of claps and cheers, as you all fixate on a man in his early 60s coming forth to the microphone. Once the cheers settle, he begins his speech.

“First of all, I want to thank each and every one of our very dedicated and hard-working crew members for making this dream of mine come true. Why, it feels like just the other day I had been in my grandmother’s bathroom, as she showed me the facial cleanser her and pap had been working on for so many years. Thanks to all of you wonderful individuals, Nyuskeen has been up and running for over 35 years!”

His statement makes the claps and cheers once more resume. You glance around, seeing Jungkook leaning up against the ship’s column, holding a gold-decorated wine glass in hand. His maroon black and white suit had been the apple of your eyes tonight. The toffee hair tint accentuates his brown orbs perfectly. His natural black roots had already been peeking through, which had only intensified his looks tonight.

Pinch yourself, Y/n. You must be fucking dreaming. No way these god-like men are seriously yours!

A soft whisper pulls you from your thoughts. “This is getting boring” Taehyung softly hints to you. You chuckle, placing your palm gently on his bicep. No way no way I’m being allowed to do this!!

You catch a small boxy grin creeping up his features, as his opposite wide hand comes to rest on top of your own. His true eyes had been covered up by some gray contact lenses which had matched his deep moss green blazer perfectly. The golden emblemed gucci belt and white button down shirt - which had already been undone about two notches down- left almost nothing up to the imagination. His lips, suddenly dangerously close to your own. The music was barely audible now, as both eyes had been screening a movie only you two could understand. His hot breaths roll down the sides of your cheeks, a large forearm coming to snake its way around your frame. Faces just inches away from what would be such a magical time.

“Y/n..” Your lips barely brush against each other, before the sound of fireworks boom from behind you both. Startled, you quickly pull away to find the other two men that had accompanied you tonight, watching from the shadows whilst sipping on a deep blood-hued concoction. Taehyung glances over to Jimin, a silent nod is given to the younger for permission. His eyes lock abc with yours.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more quiet.”

_________________________________________________________

Next Chapter ->

Comment or message me if you'd like to be added/removed from my taglist ♥

©sweethearthigh 2022. Do not copy, translate, or modify my works with given consent from me. Thank You <333

#bts #bts kim taehyung #jeon jungkook smut #park jimin smut #bts poly!au #bts maknae line x reader #bts maknae line poly!AU #jjk #pjm #bts masterlist #jeon jungkook #park jimin #kim taehyung

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antariies · 2 months

Text

20 19 questions for writers

tagged by @i-mybrunettelady!! ty nero :3c

tagging dama my friend dama @sylvaridreams

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

th. three.

2. what fandoms do you write for?

exclusively gw2 these days!

3. what are your top 5 by kudos?

i've only got the three published on ao3, so in order of most to least kudos is: forgive us, visions of the past: the departing, and HOW TO BUILD A CHAIR (THIS COULD BE GLORY) !

4. do you respond to comments?

yeas :•]

5. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

hmm! how to come back from the dead

6. what is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i would say all the gift fics i've written have pretty happy endings!

7. do you get hate on fics?

no. also how is that even a thing still

8. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

no, but i love to talk about ocs fucking creepy and wetstyle on discord with friends. if i were to write dedicated smut i think it would be a series of oneshots from my commander's pov. it's not harley's fault he has so much weird and freaknasty yet incredibly story-relevant sex. pussy that launched a thousand plots.

9. do you write crossovers?

once ☝️ when i was younger and on ff.net i wrote a SYOC pokemon/pjo crossover. it's been abandoned for years. poor thing.

10. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

11. have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes! we haven't worked on it in a hot minute, but @hawkepockets and i have a fic about harley and prem's historic falling out pre-personal story, featuring our many headcanons about divinity's reach and the events surrounding the great collapse :]

12. what's your all-time favorite ship?

HARLEY/TRAHEARNE/GIL THE OT3 OF ALL TIME !

13. what's one WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

ummm i have a wip called "lessons learned" and it was supposed to be a series of 2nd-person vignettes from the pov of the sylvari commander. expanding more on early personal story and how being raised/mentored by caithe and trahearne kind of fucked them up. whose bright idea was it to let miss "i will walk on my knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting" and mister "i want to martyr myself so bad it makes me look stupid" take a crack at the young and impressionable sapling anyway. now look at them. they're pushing aurene to meet the same unreasonable standards because it's the only way they know how to live. generational trauma fic. you know how it is.

14. what are your writing strengths?

give me a STRUCTURE! give me a set of RULES! if you say "here is a strict format you MUST follow" i will say "YESSIRRRR" and i will think inside of that box so hard and i will do it so good. i don't break rules but by god i'll bend them within an inch of their life. also i'm funny

15. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

more of it now and forever

16. first fandom you wrote for?

pjo high school au

17. favorite fic you've written?

due to recency bias, my fave fic is always the one i worked on last. rn it's my wip "how to make coffee"!

18. what are your writing weaknesses?

the fact that i don't do it. my turnaround time is abysmal there's like a minimum two years waiting period in between everything i publish :[ also according to my boyfriend just now he says sometimes i don't explain things enough. sometimes i expect the audience to know what kind of broth i'm making but i haven't thrown them enough bones. and i don't realize this bc the broth is already cooked in my head. it's obvious to me but not to them.

19. have you ever had a fic translated?

i've had someone ask once if they could translate my fic, but they also wanted to repost it to a different website. so i turned them down. sharing is fine, but i'm just not comfortable with my writing being reposted somewhere else even with credit.

#tag games #WHEWWWW #too lazy to put this under a readmore so ill just post this at 1am #ty again nero!#long post

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kmackatie · 5 months

Note

8 + 27 for the ask meme? I'm curious! ❤️

thanks, friend! these were good to think of

(ask me a fanfic writer ask)

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

I have many intentions of sequels to fics that have not eventuated for a few reasons! I don't think any of my fics would have a full-blown sequel, but there are a couple where I have half-drafted oneshots (or small fics) in them. The musicians au (the breath before the phrase) has two fics set in the same world currently half-drafted. One, being a very self-indulgent Caleb/Essek/Lythir smut fic that I really do need to get back and finish and the second being a short (probably four chapters?) fic of Caleb and Essek's trip back to the Empire. The first chapter exists in a series of fragmented scenes covering travel to Zadash, meeting Mollymauk, then starting the road trip to Blumenthal. It has a series of moments in it that I find really special, and still lingers in the back of my head. Both scratch different needs for me, but I think continue to answer questions that were set up in the original fic.

27. your favorite part of the writing process

My favourite part is somewhere between the intial idea and thick drafting, where it goes from a spitball of 'oh this could be fun to write about' and morphs into hitting that emotional question that I like to explore and answer. Most of my fics, especially my longer ones, tend to explore something and I don't often know what that is before starting, but there's a point where it all clicks in and I get the 'oh that's what this is about' feeling from it. Sometimes, that feeling necessitates rewriting, but a lot of the time it doesn't, and it's more being able to name the exact drive that started something. It can be complex (what makes a house a home and feelings of instability which was the hallmark of pieces of (you) me) or it can be something lighter (this is about the inevitability of love and being afraid to accept it as in sleep, with benefits (not really that much lighter, when you think of it)). Also when you manage to turn that single idea "what if they were musicans" into something that has substance and heart to it, and managed to move people. I always love hearing from readers about how something I wrote touched them and they had a reaction to it.

#fanfic writer ask game #stygiusfic #ask katie #katie replies #my writing #fic: the breath before the phrase #fic: sleep with benefits #fic: pieces of (you) me

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sunlitlemonade · 2 years

Text

one line, any fic!

tagged by the absolutely lovely @shhhenanigans

pick any 10 of your fics, scroll somewhere to the mid point, pick a line, and share it! Then tag 10 people.

between silence and memories [Dick & Jason oneshot]

So he yearns and tells himself he is just fine being alone. And maybe he is.

But he belongs with the people who love him and the people he loves back.

—

Here’s something even I don’t know - I don't know if he will let himself belong.

(okay sorry but I had to share more than one line from this one because fuck I'm so proud this fic. It was my first time experimenting in a writing style like this and I hold it very near to heart.)

while you wandered between worlds [Batfam Oneshot with the focus around Dick & Jason]

Even his father didn’t brood as much as Richard did these days. It was starting to worry Damian.

He has to know what this is about.

like dewdrops on a windowpane [Dick & Jason oneshot]

Jason loves to be a contrary little shit so he says, “No but the tightness is gonna cut my damn circulation off.” If he is saying this to keep the warmth close then it’s no one’s business.

Dick huffs but lets his hands rest around him, settling like a comfortable weight rather than a vice trying to keep him from running.

running to you (feels right) [Dick & Jason oneshot]

There are too many faces, too many voices, too much warmth and yet none of them are the face he wants to see, the voice he wants to hear, the warmth he wants to feel.

please just kiss already (preferably somewhere where i can't see) [JayRoy onsehot]

Dick wanted to scream and say, “There is a time and place, Roy, and this is neither,” and no he wasn’t talking about the mission. The time wasn’t right because it was physically distressing for Dick to listen to them flirt so relentlessly (cluelessly, might he add) and not have a break from it. The place was wrong because they weren’t doing this at least fifty miles away from him.

revivescere solis [I'm predictable, my loves. yes, this is a Dick & Jason oneshot]

Years of thinking he would never see his little wing grow and he came back taller than Dick.

(I wrote this while I was grieving. So it might not be the best fic I have written but man, it's important to me.)

what can i do to miss you a little less? [Dick & Jason oneshot lol. I made them so soft in this one, probably to the point of oocness but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I can be shamelessly self indulgent. As a treat.]

Eventually, Dick took a few shuddering breaths and straightened to look at Jason, “I’m sorry, you probably want an explanation-”

“First, you do not need to fucking apologize. Second, you don’t owe me any explanations."

tires and soulmarks [Dick & Jason platonic soulmate AU, the first chapter is out and the second (final!) chapter will be out once it's beta'd :)]

The kid's whole body locks up at that, and before Dick knows it, he's getting a tire iron straight to his stomach. Doubling over, winded and betrayed, he looks up and sees short legs trying to run as fast as possible. But, it only takes a couple of long strides, and Dick catches the boy's collar.

getting to know each other is a start [Jason & Duke oneshot, the first part of an ongoing series]

“I… It’s not a list of questions that I have. It’s like - we are supposed to be brothers, right? And yet, we barely ever meet or talk to each other. And I get it! You are busy and I don’t want you thinking I’m not happy with the occasional chat we have over the comms but you are my older brother and it would be really really cool to get to know you. Dick and Dami talk about you all the freaking time but it’s not the same as talking to you, you know? And-”

Jason kept a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Buddy, breath. You are rambling.”

getting waffles is the next step [Jason & Duke oneshot, sequel to 'getting to know each other is a start']

Because this seemed like the place that would disappear by daylight. Everything seemed distant. Faraway glow of lambent signs, half-constructed buildings, murmurs that faded with each step and picked up as soon as they went near a shop. Everything felt hushed.

thanks for the tag, dude!!! this was fun :D

and uhhhh I am bad with tagging but no pressure tags for @ace-kdj @jasontoddisrightfuckyou @greeneyesandfingerstripes and literally anyone and everyone who would like to play!!! tag me, I wanna see :]

#jason todd #dick grayson #roy harper #duke thomas #batfam #damian wayne #tim drake #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #bruce wayne #tag game

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kjmsupremacist · 2 years

Text

for love; for power. (johnny/reader)

REQUEST (closed, sorry!) for anon: “may I request a johnny x y/n fic please? I'll leave the specifics up to you. I really enjoyed don't stop for nothing and I'd love another version of johnny to fall in love with (and make me blush lol)” | Johnny is your childhood best friend, and over the years, you’ve grown to realize you want more. Johnny is also a prince, while you are only nobility. You could never be considered worthy enough to marry him—and that’s if he even loved you back. Which he definitely doesn’t.

Characters: Johnny, female reader

Genre: oneshot, smut, royals/medieval au, getting together, childhood best friends to lovers, first times (kinda we just brush over that lol)

Warnings: ummmm none? there’s smut but it’s rather vanilla

Rating: Explicit

Length: 6.8k

“[Y/N]!”

You take a few more swings at the straw dummy before stepping back and pulling off your helmet, letting your sword fall to your side, hilt loose in your hands. “Your Highness,” you greet calmly when you see who was calling you, dipping into a quick curtsey. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, knock it off,” Johnny snorts, slowing as he approaches. He nods at the dummy. “He really took a beating,” he notes. “Whose face did you picture when you swung?”

“Nobody’s,” you say, which is not a complete lie, sheathing your sword and tucking your helmet under your arm. “I feel I haven’t trained in a while.”

“You train every day,” Johnny says, nonplussed.

“I mean really train, vigorously. Not just for upkeep, but for improvement.” You cast him a sly sort of look. “My sparring partner has grown busy of late.”

“Your sparring partner has not been busy on purpose,” Johnny replies pointedly, somewhere between miffed and apologetic. “Besides, I’m not sure I would stand a much better chance than Sir Scarecrow the Thoroughly Beaten here.”

You laugh, shaking your head. He’s right on only one count—you would still much prefer him to the dummy in training, even if you always win. But he is busy. Johnny is a prince; he is his parents’ only heir. He shoulders a lot of responsibility, and since his twentieth birthday, his parents have shifted even more duties onto him. He spends hours sitting in on council meetings, shadowing his father as he goes about his day, taking meals with members of the nobility to familiarize himself with their dispositions so he will find it easier to take over when his father abdicates the throne to him.

And he’s doing very well. Johnny is smart, charismatic, and good-natured. He finds diplomacy easy, and because he’s hardworking, he doesn’t mind the long hours spent poring over records and learning the inner workings of castle politics. He’s almost ready to take on his father’s role as it is. The only thing he needs now is a queen.

That’s what’s been taking up the rest of his time—galas and balls for potential royal suitors to meet many eligible young ladies in the hopes that one will be his future wife. This, he has no taste for. While he rarely complains of the rest of the work, he cannot find a singular kind word for this piece of his life. He describes the events as dull and painful and embarrassing.

“Why do I need a wife to be a king?” he’ll often lament.

“You know you need to produce heirs somehow,” you’ll always remind him. “And they always prefer it when the heirs are of pure royal blood.”

And for you, that’s exactly the problem. But you’d never tell him.

The thing is, you’re not nobody. You’re actually nobility yourself. Your father commands the royal guard, and he is Johnny’s father’s most trusted advisor and closest friend. You and Johnny were raised together, grew up side by side, attended the same classes, trained shoulder to shoulder. You spent your childhood in friendly competition, pushing each other to achieve and grow. Johnny always outperformed you when it came to political and scientific academic pursuits, but he could rarely beat you in a fight, and he never had the mind for literature the same way you did. And you both knew that was how it was supposed to be. You would be assuming a leadership role in the royal guard soon, and when the time came, you would likely be to Johnny what your father has been to the king.

That would suit you just fine if you weren’t in love with him.

You can never marry him. Though your status is high, and you have close ties to the royal family, you are not royalty yourself, and so could never be seen as a suitable match. If Johnny had an older brother, perhaps, the king would be more than satisfied to see the two of you wed—the daughter of his best friend and closest ally, married to one of his sons.

But the king has no other sons. He only has Johnny, and so Johnny must be perfect. And since Johnny must be perfect, his wife must be too, and you know that because of your birth, that could never be you.

You resigned yourself to it years ago. You never once, not even when you were younger, not even when you were starry-eyed with the first rush of infatuation, thought there would be the slightest hope for you. That hasn’t made it much easier. You try to bury yourself in your work, tagging along with your father as much as possible when he meets with his generals to discuss kingdom business; you train more now, slashing up straw dummies with the thought of princesses you have never met in mind, filling your hours with grueling, mind-numbing work so you don’t have to think about how Johnny is off somewhere dancing with pretty girls. You love your life and you love your role and you always say you wouldn’t trade any of it for the world—but sometimes you think you might trade it for Johnny.

“I know you’re busy,” you say to him now. “How are things?”

“About the castle?” Johnny begins to walk back towards the entrance to the armory, and you fall into step beside him. “All is well. We’ve sorted the grain shortage; I doubt it will continue to be a problem, with this year’s harvest fast approaching. I must thank your father when I get the chance, for dispatching soldiers so quickly to distribute the excess from our stores among the towns.”

“It’s not him you should thank,” you say primly. “I organized the dispatch. My father was busy with the defense of the southern tip.”

“Ah, yes, the raids,” Johnny says, nodding as he pushes open the doors to one of the hallways. “He is confident?”

“Yes,” you say. “I doubt you’ll hear of it again.”

“Thank you,” Johnny says, “then, for your efficiency.”

You smile at him. “It was nothing,” you say. It was a bit of an ordeal, if you’re honest, to do it so quickly and carefully, but it’s nothing if Johnny is satisfied.

Johnny pauses by the kitchens. “Have you eaten?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I should get changed before I do. Cook will yell if I clank through his kitchen in my armor again.”

“He yelled last time because you were covered in blood,” Johnny says.

You laugh. “I will meet you in the mess hall, Your Highness,” you say, giving him another small curtsey, and hurry towards your quarters before he can hit you in retaliation for your mocking politeness.

You return in much more appropriate attire, and find Johnny seated at the end of one of the tables with two plates in front of him. He pushes the untouched one towards you when you sit, nodding at you to dig in.

“So,” you say, “how are other things? Not about the castle?”

Johnny groans, slightly muffled by the mouthful of chicken he’s working on. He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “It’s awful,” he says. “I’m going to another ball tonight, did I tell you? It’s not even guaranteed that I might meet new people, even though I’ve told my mother again and again that I have not liked any of the girls I’ve met.”

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “Perhaps you’ll discover something new in someone old, though.”

“That’s what my mother said,” Johnny replies, stabbing a carrot. “And of course I have to go, there’s no getting out of it.”

“Will it be so bad?” you ask. “You get free drinks, and you get to dance. You like to dance.”

“Only with the right company,” Johnny says. “And the drinks are watered down and taste of piss. Besides, as disenchanted as I am with the whole ordeal, I wouldn’t want to drink heavily at such a public event.”

“That’s true,” you agree. “I’m sorry, I know you hate it. I’m just trying to help you find ways to bear it.”

“I know,” he says, flashing you a grateful look, genuine and warm. “And I don’t mean to be so contradictory. I’m just frustrated.”

“You’ll find someone eventually, and then you can stop with all this nonsense and begin the rest of your life.” You keep your tone light and cheerful. You’re good at hiding it by now; years of practice (and years of lessons in court manners) have made it tragically easy.

“I still don’t see why I must,” Johnny grumbles into his potatoes.

“You know why,” you say, and then change the subject. “Oh, have you been by the stables recently? One of the dams had her foal.”

“Which one?” Johnny’s eyes clear, sparkling now with bright interest.

“Honey,” you say, glad to be on to happier, less painful topics. “It’s a colt, and he seems healthy and strong. The stablehands say he will grow into a fine stallion.”

“If I had the time, I’d train him myself,” Johnny muses. You and Johnny grew up training the geldings; when you were older, you were each given a stallion to train as a test. Both of your stallions have turned out beautifully. “Who is he going to?”

“We don’t know yet,” you say. “I’m hoping it’s me.”

“Because Cherry was the sire,” Johnny says, nodding. “If I’m asked, I’ll push for it.”

Cherry was your stallion, named for the reddish hue to his dark coat. Johnny said it was a silly name for such a strong horse, but you insisted. You have a feeling Cherry knew how Johnny made fun, because he never warmed to Johnny the way he seemed to like you. “I appreciate it,” you reply. “It’ll give me something to do when you’re away. Things get boring around here once I’ve finished all my duties.”

Johnny arches an eyebrow. “Don’t let your father hear you say that, he’ll only give you more errands to run,” he warns.

“You’ve always been good at keeping my secrets,” you reply, shrugging, and Johnny laughs.

After you finish your meal, Johnny offers to walk you back to your room. “It’s for me,” he says when you tell him he doesn’t have to. “I don’t want to go prepare for this event just yet.”

“Alright,” you acquiesce. “When do you have to leave?”

“Soon,” Johnny says, glancing at the setting sun when you pass a window. “I know I’m going to be miserable. I almost wish I didn’t know how it would feel, because then the time leading up to it wouldn’t be so fraught with worry.”

“It’s just one night,” you say. “It’ll be over quickly.”

“One night of many,” Johnny says as you round the corner and step into your hallway. “It will be dull, just as the others have been, and annoying, just as the others have been. And the entire time, all I will think is that I’d rather be spending the evening here. With you.” Johnny gives you a sort of forlorn look. “Remember? When we were younger, and had free days. We’d spend whole days running around the grounds, just the two of us. I miss it.”

You blink back at him. “So do I,” you reply. “I suppose it’s only natural. Everyone wants for their childhood once it’s too late.” You give him a wry smile. “But we’re grown now. We must accept what that means.”

Johnny looks like he wants to say something, and then seems to think better of it. “I suppose,” he says quietly.

“Come find me tomorrow and tell me about the entire horrible night. We can walk down to the stables so you can meet the new colt,” you offer, smiling. “Now go, before you’re late and you get me in trouble.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “My parents have never once blamed you for my shortcomings, they won’t start now.” But he moves to go, anyway. “Goodnight, [Y/N]. I trust yours will be better than mine.”

“I hope yours is bearable,” you reply, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

You linger in the doorway of your room, watching him retreat down the hall.

* * *

The weeks continue like this, like they always have. Johnny goes to balls and meets no one of consequence and comes home and complains of it to you. And you listen, because you’re a good friend, but it is a bit painful. Even if you were a potential match, it wouldn’t matter. Johnny is simply uninterested in marriage as a whole. You’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse. You’re pretty sure it’s worse—just another reason why you are trapped in your fate.

Unfortunately for both of you, Johnny’s parents are set on finding him a wife. His parents do not push him on much, so Johnny can’t help but go along with it when his mother insists he have different princesses over for teas and dinners. You sulk in your room, watching the entourage parade in through the front gates, and then out again later in the day. Then you wait, and within minutes Johnny is knocking on your door so he can fling himself down on one of your chairs and explain how everything was wrong.

At first, his complaints were valid—many of the princesses didn’t seem interested in academic pursuits, or seemed too simple and too easily led, or else came from families who were clearly only hungry for the wealth of the kingdom. But Johnny is vocal about his dissatisfaction, and his mother is good at adjusting, and soon Johnny is complaining of small, petty things—how she sat, how she took her tea, the sound of her cough. Even to your ears, the reasons are weak and baseless.

“She’s insisting on a princess from a kingdom across the sea,” Johnny says one night. “She will be in the country to visit her maternal grandparents, and my mother invited her family to dinner.”

“Have you met her before?” you ask, letting a mask of calm settle over your features.

“Yes,” Johnny says, his tone acerbic, his pretty features twisted into an ugly grimace. “She was perfect.”

It becomes evident after their first meeting that she is perfect. Her name is Yerim, though when she and Johnny were children, he knew her as Yeri, a nickname that has stuck. She’s smart and funny and kind, and beautiful beyond measure. Her family has ties to Johnny’s kingdom, and they’re set up well to provide a dowry and future financial support, should Johnny propose and Yeri accept.

“I feel like I cannot protest,” Johnny tells you, pacing in front of your window. “I feel bad protesting. There is nothing wrong with her. She’s wonderful. My mother likes her mother. My father went hunting with hers just this morning and they came back with cheeks red from laughter, [Y/N], it’s like everybody wants it but me! And it’s because there is no reason for me to say no—except that I cannot imagine a future with her. I cannot imagine her bearing my children or sleeping in my bed or—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “But I can’t say no.”

You aren’t sure if it would be suspicious of you to agree with him, even though you do. It has been painful to watch him go through the process of searching for his queen, but to watch him marry would be torture. You’re not ready. You’re not ready to give him up.

But you know you can’t keep him to yourself forever. You want what’s best for him, and right now that’s for him to accept a marriage so he can move on with the rest of his life. Even if it hurts you, you must encourage him to do so with a smile because that’s what a friend, a friend who isn’t in love with him, would do.

“I know it’s hard, Johnny,” you say. “But this moment would have to come sooner or later. What if you refuse Yeri, and the next match your parents set their minds to is worse?”

“You’re agreeing with them?” Johnny asks.

“No!” you say quickly. “No, but I understand them. And I worry for you. Yeri seems like a good match. She will be a good companion, a good mother, a good queen, a good wife. You deserve nothing less.”

Johnny’s eyes burn with an anger you do not understand. “Is that all you care about? Don’t you think I deserve more?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Don’t you want me to be happy?” Johnny asks. “She can be all of those things, and I would still not be happy. Don’t you care if I love her?”

“You could grow to love her,” you reply, “and besides, you’re a prince. You will soon be a king. You do not need to marry for love. You marry for power and then once the marriage is complete, you are free to take mistresses as you choose. If you cannot find love with Yeri, then you will have the chance to find it there.” It’s not as hard to say as you might have thought. What’s the difference to you? Either way, it won’t be with you.

“Is that how you think of me?” Johnny’s voice is low and quiet and hurt. “You think me so lowly, you think I would abandon my wife, who I would pledge my life to, to chase the skirts of other women? That I would want to abandon the woman who is meant to be by my side for the rest of my life, who is meant to carry my children? I do not want that. I want to marry for power and for love. I do not want to compromise either.”

His anger makes you bitter. He is spoiled with choice, and still he finds a reason to complain. “No one can have everything they want,” you say, perhaps a bit too sharply. “Not even a crown prince.”

The hurt comes to the fore now, covering the frustration and the anger. “Why are you acting like this?” he asks. “Why are you speaking to me this way? What has happened to you?”

You think you might cry. You don’t know how to explain—how can you, how can you explain the years of pining after him in secret, the years of watching him and falling in love with every detail of his existence? How can you explain that this is one of the most difficult things you have ever had to do—to convince the man you love to marry another because you know it is right? How can you say that, now?

And how can the two of you fight like this? The last time you fought, you were children. You have always been each other’s comfort. And now an edge has been driven between you, and you’re not sure how, or how to fix it. “What has happened to you?” you shoot back. “I am only trying to help you, Johnny!”

“You are hurting me!” he exclaims. “It hurts that you, too, are pushing me into this marriage. Why? Is it because you tire of my company, and you wish for something else to take up my time so that I don’t come to see you anymore?”

“No,” you insist. “I simply don’t want you to lose an opportunity. You’re so close to doing everything you’ve been working towards your whole life. I don’t want something like this to stop you now.”

“Something like this?” Johnny repeats. “As if it’s something so small, so trivial. I do not want to marry this girl, [Y/N]. I don’t. I won’t. And no one will be able to force my hand.”

“Why not?” you ask. “You said it yourself, there is nothing wrong with her. She’s perfect. Why won’t you marry her?”

“Because—!” Johnny turns away from you, shoulders tense. It’s a moment before he speaks again. “Because,” he says, voice much smaller now, and unsteady, “I want to marry you.”

You fall silent, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Well?” he demands when your silence stretches on a beat too long. “Say something.”

“You can’t marry me, Johnny,” you whisper.

The anger in his eyes flares again. “Why not? You are nobility, your father is my father’s best friend. I trust you with my life. You are smart and capable, and you would die to defend this country. Surely your lack of royal blood could be overlooked.” He deflates. “Unless, of course, you don’t want me.” Without waiting for you to respond, he continues. “You don’t want me. Of course you don’t, you’re my friend, not another princess I’m supposed to be wooing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You can hardly hear yourself when you finally speak. Your head is full of noise, a rushing from the blood thrumming through your body. “No, Johnny,” you stammer. “It’s not that. Of course—of course I want you.”

He stares. “You do?”

“Yes, I do,” you say, and now it all comes tumbling out. You couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. “I care for you more than anyone else, Johnny. I want you, how could I not want you? I—I love you, I’ve loved you for years.”

He comes up to you now, hands outstretched. “[Y/N],” he says, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? I’ve loved you for just as long, I’m certain.”

“Why didn’t you?” you counter, letting him take your hands in his. “How could I have said anything? How presumptuous would that have been? I felt pathetic. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared,” Johnny says. “I didn’t want to drive you away.” He’s close now, clutching your hands tightly, like he thinks if he lets go, you’ll disappear. “I’ll ask my parents. We’ve only entertained Yeri’s family for a day or two. They will understand. And my parents would have to say yes. Who better to entrust their son to than a woman who helped shape him? Than a woman he already loves, a woman who already loves him? A woman they already know? A woman whose family is already so close to my own? They will have to say yes.”

You search his face, the hope there bringing you both joy and sorrow. “And if they say no?” you ask.

Johnny pauses for a moment. And then—“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

The question startles you. “What—that’s not an answer to my question,” you say, stumbling over the words.

“If they say no,” Johnny says softly, “they will probably try to keep us apart. I want—” His grip on your hands tightens. “I want you, [Y/N], and if this is the last time we’re allowed to be alone together then—then I want to use it. If you want. I’ve waited for you for so long.”

“Oh,” you say softly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “Oh, I see. Yes,” you add breathlessly, “yes, you can kiss me. You can—you can do more than kiss me.”

Johnny smiles, leaning in, and you close your eyes. He presses his lips to yours and kisses you gently, one hand shifting to your back so he can hold you close. You lean into his touch, into him, kissing back, timid at first, and then more insistent when it’s clear he doesn’t want to let go.

You’ve kissed people before, many times, but not like this. There’s a heat behind this kiss that you haven’t felt before, even though it’s gentle, even though there’s not teeth or tongue. Johnny holds you and kisses you like he wants you, like it’s all he wants, like you’re the only thing that matters. And you kiss him back, hoping he understands that for you, it’s the same.

“Curtains are open,” Johnny says softly when he pulls away. “Go lock your door.”

You fumble with the lock, and as soon as your door is bolted shut, Johnny is pulling your towards your bed. He’s blown out some of the candles so the room is dim and comfortable. You can only see him—his hair, falling out of its careful styling, a remnant of his extravagant dinner; his eyes, dark and beautiful; the peek of his chest you can see now that he’s hovering over you, sturdy and enticing.

“Why did you push me to marry Yeri?” Johnny asks softly. “If you love me?”

You shake your head. “I thought—I think I wanted it to be over. I wanted you to marry so that I could start getting used to it. And—I did mean what I said. You know you need a queen. I want to see you succeed, Johnny. I want to watch you do what you were born to do.”

“I want you by my side when I do it,” Johnny insists. “Not as my childhood friend. As my—”

“Don’t say it yet,” you say quickly. “We still don’t know if it will work. And we don’t know how love will change us. If you are to propose to me, I want you to do it properly, and when we can both keep the promise of marriage.”

Johnny nods. “You’re right,” he says. He kisses your cheek, your jaw. “If I am to marry for love, I should do it right.” He undoes the buttons of your shirt with deft fingers. “Tell me—if anything isn’t alright, if anything hurts. I’ve wanted this for so long, but I don’t know what you like.”

“Did you imagine it?” you ask. He hesitates, then nods, fingers slipping against the last of the buttons.

“I felt so guilty,” he confesses. “I thought you could never be interested, so I shouldn’t think of it. I felt ashamed, almost, imagining this, imagining you. I tried not to but I couldn’t help it.” He undoes the clasp of your skirts and the fabric loosens around your waist. You lift your hips so he can pull your skirt and undergarments off. It leaves you bare except for your corset.

“I imagined it, too,” you say. “So we are both guilty. What did you imagine?”

“This,” Johnny says, shifting downwards and bending over your body. He closes his mouth around your clit and you gasp, struggling not to arch up into his mouth for the fear of hurting him. He swirls his tongue in circles, moaning low in the back of his throat when you bite out stifled noises of want.

He must have imagined it—he doesn’t tire, hardly slowing his movements even when he reaches down to slip a finger into your pussy. It’s reassuring in a way to know you imagined the same things. You’ve wanted his mouth on you for so long, and to finally have it is a revelation. To finally have him—after years of imagining it in half-baked fantasies you always felt too guilty to touch in the light—makes hope sing through your body, and for one instant you allow yourself to imagine that this is what it will be like for the rest of your life. That you and Johnny will come home to one another, will lie beside one another. That this isn’t just for tonight.

But if it is just for tonight, you will get what you can out of it. You know both of you are far too eager for it to last long, but that doesn’t matter. Knowing Johnny wants you—knowing Johnny loves you will be enough, even if you must live on the memory. You think that might be alright.

Johnny’s added another finger now, but it hardly hurts. You’re already wet from arousal and from his tongue, so the glide is easy. Johnny curls his fingers inside you and has to pull off your clit to laugh when you whine, bucking your hips up and dislodging him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly, eyes glimmering. “Better than I imagined. How could I have known?”

“Come here,” you demand, stretching out a hand. Johnny shifts himself up, tilting to the side so he doesn’t crush you, and presses his nose to your cheek. He keeps pumping his fingers, curling them like before and making you shudder.

“Sound so good,” he murmurs into your skin. “One more finger and then do you think you’ll be ready?”

“I’m ready now,” you reply, even though you know you are decidedly not. Luckily, Johnny seems to know as well; he just laughs again.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says firmly. “Not like that.”

You want to ask how he would hurt you, but he’s added another finger and you lose the question to the pleasure, turning your head so you can kiss him as he speeds up his hand until you’re whimpering. “Okay,” you hiss into his mouth. “I’m ready, I don’t want to wait anymore. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

Johnny pulls his fingers out and brings them up to his mouth to clean them. “Will you help me with my clothes?” he asks.

You don’t reply, just reach out and begin to unbutton his vest, pushing it aside so you can untie the strings of his tunic before moving on to his pants. He takes over once he deems his fingers clean enough, shucking off his shirt and vest all at once and then standing so he can free himself of his pants and undergarments as well.

When he returns to you, he is naked. His skin is soft on yours as he takes his place beside you, pretty fingers making quick work of the clasps of your corset. The stiff fabric finally falls away, and Johnny leans down to press a kiss to one of your nipples, humming when you give him a soft moan.

“Beautiful,” he repeats.

You open your mouth to hurry him along, but he’s already pushing himself up and settling between your legs, spreading them and bending your knees so he has more room. He presses a couple fingers back inside you, gathering some of the wetness there, and spreads it along the length of his cock so it won’t hurt.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks up at you and raises his eyebrows as he lines himself up. You nod, knowing your gaze is intense and burning enough for him to understand. And he does. He pushes in, slow and gentle, tipping forward as he does so he can kiss you to distract you, to help you relax.

It works. Soon, he’s bottomed out and you swear you can feel him in your stomach, but it doesn’t hurt like you thought it would. There’s a dull ache, but you know that will not persist. Instead, you feel full and warm and right.

“Are you alright?” Johnny whispers.

“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, it feels good. Please.”

Johnny knows what you mean, and rolls his hips back. He thrusts shallowly at first, keeping his pace slow so he doesn’t overwhelm you, when when it becomes clear that your body has already adjusted, he speeds up, strokes growing longer. Soon, moans spill across your lips as he brushes past the spot inside you that makes your whole body feel like it’s made of starlight—bright and otherworldly from the pleasure rushing through it.

Your eyes find Johnny’s, and oh, he’s so handsome. Some of his hair has fallen into his eyes, and he’s panting from the exertions, brows just barely creased in concentration. You watch the attractive flex of the muscles in his arms as he moves, the smooth ripple of strength there that you have already come to know so well, that you’ve watched covertly, through your eyelashes and when you were sure he wouldn’t catch you.

But now you don’t have to hide it. It’s yours. Johnny wouldn’t want anybody else looking. So you look, drinking in the sight of him, the expanse of bare skin, glowing honey-gold in the candlelight. You reach up and run your fingers through his hair. Something close to peace settles over his features, so you do it again, letting your nails scratch just slightly against his scalp, untangling strands as you go. With your other hand, you reach down to touch yourself, fingers quickly growing slick with Johnny’s spit, still not dry on your clit.

You’re gasping out soft moans, rolling your hips up to meet Johnny with every thrust. He dips his head, mouthing along your jaw. “Are you close?” he asks. His voice is rough; it sends a shiver down your spine. You know he can feel the tremor of it; his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Good,” he says. “I am, too.” He scrapes his teeth against your jawbone, then kisses over the spot. “I hope we have a next time,” he adds. “Even if we have to hide it, I don’t mind. I don’t want this to be the only time I can have you. It’s too short.”

“We will,” you say quickly. “Even if it is a secret.” Your head is swimming with lust now, a hazy cloud over your mind. Johnny keeps his rhythm, and it’s all you need, just the steady sparks of pleasure, and then you’re convulsing around him as you come, fingers shaking as they circle your clit in quick, erratic strokes.

You clench around Johnny without meaning to, and he groans low and pulls out quickly. Telling his parents that he wishes to marry you may be a bit of a controversy; a child would be a terrible scandal. He balances himself on one shaking arm so he can reach down on stroke himself, coming ribbons of hot white across your stomach only moments later.

You’re both silent for a moment, catching your breath. Johnny collapses at your side. You stare up at the shadows on your ceiling, thinking.

“What do we do now?” you ask.

“Sleep,” Johnny says through a yawn. You can’t stop yourself from laughing. “In the morning, I will find my parents. I will explain to them that I love you, that this is the reason why I have been so opposed to marriage. I will ask them to grant me permission to ask your hand in marriage. I assume my father will meet with your father before giving me an answer. I may even meet with him.”

“And if they say no?” you ask again.

“I will not stop asking until they say yes,” Johnny replies, kissing your cheek. “I have spent so long wishing for you. I won’t give you up now.” He kisses you again, then moves to get up.

“Where are you going?” You give him a look of confusion, propping yourself up on one elbow.

“To get something to clean up with,” he says, gesturing to his release drying on your stomach. “Unless you want to sleep like this? I’ve known you to be odd, but never illogical.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you say, grinning.

* * *

The next morning, Johnny leaves you with a kiss and a promise to bring news as quickly as possible. You lie in bed for a while, listless, as the sun climbs in the sky, then finally force yourself out of bed and down to the training grounds. Perhaps it will keep your mind off of it.

It does not, but at least it gives you something to do, and a place to vent your anxieties so that they don’t consume you. You practice until you’re sore, then retreat back to your rooms for a bath.

You’re just clasping the last button when a knock comes on your door.

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting Johnny.

“Your father.”

Oh. “Come in,” you say, turning from the glass to greet him.

Your father pushes the door open, surveying you for a moment as he steps across the threshold. “You’re nervous,” he notes as he closes the door behind him.

“I take it you know why,” you reply, not bothering to deny it.

“Yes.” Your father gestures to your chairs. “Shall we sit?”

You sit.

“Well?” you ask after the silence stretches on.

“The king—and Prince John—have asked for my blessing,” he says. “They wish for His Highness to marry you.”

“Really?” You start, staring at him in surprise. “Truly?”

Your father arches an eyebrow at you. “Are you implying my daughter isn’t good enough for them?”

You give him an exasperated look. “All my qualities do not give me royal blood,” you say. “That’s all. I thought—won’t it cause a scandal? And what of Princess Yerim—and her family?”

“They won’t announce it quite yet. They will take care of the princess’s family first, then work on warming the court to you. Of course, it’s an easier match than it could be. I think, honestly, Their Majesties are simply overcome with relief that the prince is open to any marriage at all.” Your father is wearing a dry smile, somewhere between disapproving and incredibly amused. “If you are not of royal blood, so be it. At least you are nobility, and are of good standing. Further, you are known to the family, and trusted. Some may say it is favoritism due to my friendship with the king, but it will hardly be a scandal. And once you prove yourself to be a wise and effective queen—as I’m sure you will—any talk will dissipate to nothing.”

You nod slowly. “I hope you’re right,” you say softly.”

“[Y/N].” Tenderness has found its way into his tone now. When you look up, his eyes are gentle, almost worried. “Is this what you want? You will be happy?”

“Yes,” you say quietly. “I will be happy. I love him, Father.”

This makes him smile. “I could have guessed it,” he says. “Will you still serve with me?”

“Of course,” you reply. “I think I should make a fearsome queen, commanding our armies.”

“I would have to agree,” your father says with a proud smile. He moves to stand. “Well, if you are happy with it, then I see no reason not to give my blessing. I will let them know.”

“Should I come?” you ask, pushing yourself out of your chair.

Your father nods. “If you wish. I think the prince would be happy to see you at once.”

You follow your father down familiar hallways. Everything feels different. The sun is brighter, warmer; your run your hands along the stone of the walls. It will be yours someday, someday soon. Yours and Johnny’s, and the children you will have together. You will not need to watch him have the life you wished to share with him from afar. You will not have to lose him. The knowledge settles in your stomach like a good meal—fulfilling and comforting.

Your father takes you past the usual entrance to the royal wing, where you would normally go to find Johnny on slow days, and instead uses an entrance further down. He leads you up a tower to one of the more secluded meeting rooms, and pushes the door open.

There, the royal family is waiting. Johnny’s head snaps up, eyes widening when he sees you. Your father bows to the king and queen, then to Johnny, and you hasten to curtsey behind him.

“I am here to inform you that I will happily give my blessing for our children to be wed,” your father says.

The king smiles, standing. “This is excellent news. It will have to be handled with care, as I’m sure you are aware, but please know that this does not mean we are any less happy to have found John a wife in such a wonderful woman.”

You curtsey again, a little flustered. “Thank you,” you say.

“Oh, let’s drop the formality, dear,” Johnny’s mother says, standing and coming to you. “After all, we’re to be family.” She is smiling as she takes your hands. “You will be a beautiful bride.”

“Thank you,” you stammer, eyes flickering from her face to Johnny’s, whose eyes have not left you since you entered the room.

When you look at him, he is smiling, the mirror image of his mother—bright and warm and happy. Your father says something to the king that you do not hear; the only thing you can focus on is Johnny, in his simple tunic and wrinkled pants. He’s so handsome. Here, in this stifled little room, your future together finally begins. You’re certain you’ve never been happier.

Johnny’s mother releases you and Johnny crosses to you immediately. “I love you,” he says breathlessly.

You want to kiss him, but your parents are here, so you think better of it. Instead you take his hand and squeeze it tight. “I love you, too,” you reply. “I can’t believe—this will be our life now.” You nod at your parents, who are laughing together. Johnny turns and smiles, watching them a moment before looking back at you.

“So,” he says. “Does this mean you’ll let me win when we spar? Sometimes? Is that a privilege I will get as your husband?

You laugh loudly. “In your dreams, Your Highness,” you say, making a taunting sort of face at him, and Johnny laughs, too.

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inadaydream99 · 3 years

Text

Between Our Souls

NCT Mark x female reader, university au, soulmate au, angst and fluff, slow burn, oneshot, featuring Jeno, Jaemin and Jisung

A/N - I got carried away again and this took so long to write! I’m also not over (and probably never will be) SpiderMark and NCIT

Disclaimer: this does not represent any of the members in real life, it is purely for entertainment purposes. Explicit language used at times!

Soulmates. The word makes your shoulders tense and your lips falter into an uneasy grimace. Not because you don’t like the idea of soulmates or anything, but because you dread the day you meet yours.

Your parents have always told you that from birth your soul is intertwined with another’s, your hearts beating in sync and your minds alike; it’s a connection like no other. And you believed them wholeheartedly, spending most of your childhood dreaming of spending your life with someone who truly understands you.

Your parents were soulmates, so you’d only ever heard good things about the divine union between them, hoping that yours would one day be the same. That is until you turned 18.

On your 18th birthday you get your first mark from your soulmate. It’s usually in the form of a birthmark, scar or pre-existing bruise they have somewhere on their body. It’s a symbol of hope, a mark that your soulmate is somewhere out there in the world. And, most importantly, the initial blemish is painless regardless of how your soulmate acquired it.

From then onwards though, it’s not such a serene or exciting ordeal. No, every bruise or scrape is just as painful for you as it is for the one receiving it. You wince and whine in pain, shuddering as you feel a kick to the gut or a bash to the head. And that’s the very reason you’ve come to dread finding out who your soulmate is.

By the age of 21, you’ve spent the past three years studying at university and you’re now in your final year. During your time studying for your degree, you’ve become incredibly gifted at covering up the bruises your soulmate has so lovingly gifted you. Occasionally returning the favour by walking into a corner of a table or stubbing your toe, as a thank you of course.

But right now you’re livid. With your head in your hands, elbows leaning on the table to keep you steady, you let out little whimpers. A shooting pain spikes through your leg from the base of your foot and your only thought is a beg for it to stop. All you’d wanted to do was spend some time studying in the library with your friends, but no, you’re soulmate can’t give you that can he?

“Maybe you’re soulmate stepped on a Lego?” Jaemin snickers, a pout replacing his amused grin with seconds as Renjun whacks his arm.

“Shut up. Can’t you see she’s in pain?” Renjun sarcastically retorts.

“No, it’s ok.” You manage out through a clenched jaw, raising your head enough for them to see your face.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to hunt down whoever this dickhead is?” Renjun leans towards you, watching you in concern as you begin to try and shake away the pain.

“He’s just clumsy.” You excuse, the same answer you give every time. But reality is you’re just trying to convince yourself of that fact. Rather him be clumsy than anything else, because it’s endearing, right?

“If you say so.” Renjun gives in to your reasoning for what feels like the millionth time. Although, his sigh reveals how he truly feels. You send him a thankful smile in hopes that it’s enough to settle his worry.

“Oh my god! Come see this!” Jaemin bursts, turning his phone screen so you and Renjun are able to see the video that his soulmate Jeno had sent to him.

You’ve always admired Jaemin and Jeno’s connection, they just compliment eachother so well; Jaemin being the loveable fluff ball, a caring soul right to the core and his perfect other half Jeno, the athletic jock type, but with a heart of gold.

Then there’s Renjun who, like you, hasn’t met his soulmate yet. You met Renjun on your first week of university, at some welcome week event you’d stumbled upon. He’d approached you to ask if you knew where the restrooms were, which you didn’t, but the second you laid eyes on him and had taken notice of the strawberry smoothie that had been spilt down his front, you offered to help him. Renjun still won’t admit it to this day, but he’s one of the clumsiest people you’ve come across - which surprises most people because he just has such a put together look about him, like he is too focused and sensible.

Renjun nudges your elbow, giving you a side glance as you cringe, watching the events unfold. It shows a fellow student from your university, you presume on his way to class. His head is bowed low, watching the path beneath him as he steadily walks and his hands clutch onto the straps of his backpack. He’s wearing a navy blue cap, obscuring his identity from being revealed in the video so far and you wait in suspense with the knowledge that something is going to be happening to this unsuspecting guy.

Out of no where a ball flies into frame, hitting him on the head with a harsh bounce. Startled, he looses his balance, tripping up over his unsteady feet and catching on his shoelace which sends him flying down to the ground with a thud. It’s a mean video, the camera panning to capture the culprit, wearing a red cap, laughing away with his group of friends.

Although, your distaste for the video and sympathy for the victim vanishes when he reappears. Everyone’s laughing falters as the guy approaches the one that threw the ball at him, shoving him forcefully back by the shoulders. Red cap, stumbles back a little but retaliates just as hard once he’s regained his footing.

Next thing you know, blue cap has been backed into the wooden picnic tables in the centre of the grass verge. You can’t properly see what happens, but your eyes widen as you see blue cap fall to the floor. He wails in pain, silent onlookers frozen as they watch him clutch his foot. Red cap and his friends begin tormenting him by kicking his wound before walking away in laughter.

Then the video cuts off.

“Oof I wouldn’t want to be his soulmate.” Renjun shakes his head, tight-lipped smile on his face.

“Same, luckily Jeno doesn’t get into fights like that.” Jaemin jokes back, and the two of them share a laugh as they reminisce on the many times Jeno has bashed or hurt himself while playing football with your Universities team.

Both turn to you when you fail to add anything, their brows furrowing when they see your wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape expression etched onto your face.

“(Y/N), you ok?” Jaemin lightly shakes your shoulder, making you blink out of your daze.

“Huh- oh yeah. I’m fine.” You mumble, instantly turning to pull some books out of your bag while Renjun and Jaemin continue to watch you silently.

“How long ago did that happen?” You blurt out after a few minutes of silence. You’d tried to distract yourself from replaying the video in your head by reading but it was no use.

“About 10 minutes ago, Jeno recorded it and sent it through right away.” Jaemin informs, unknowingly confirming a thought that had settled into your mind.

“That’s outside the East building right?” You scramble your books away, standing up from the table in a rush. Jaemin nods, sending a quick, unsure gaze over to Renjun, who seems to be just as confused as him by your hurry to leave. “Great, see you later!” You quickly smile before rushing out of the library.

You arrive in front of the East building’s entrance a few minutes later, completely out of breath from running across campus as fast as you could. Scanning the area of picnic tables, you let out a defeated sigh when you find them completely empty.

“Damn it.” You mutter under your breath before turning back on yourself and beginning to walk the way you’d just come from.

You were stupid to have thought that blue cap would still be here, and even more so for running when you’d had terrible shooting pains in your foot not long before.

A bash to your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts, your hand flying up to hold onto the spot that’s just been hit into.

“Watch where you’re going.” The agitated voice spits towards you. And you’re about to fire a comment back at your rude encounter when you look up and see the aggressive eyes glaring at you and the dishevelled, messy hair of the guy; he’s clearly not having a good day. “Well? Aren’t you going to apologise?” He stares you down expectantly.

You narrow your eyes at him in distain. Normally, yes, you would apologise, even if it wasn’t your fault; which in this instance it isn’t. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something in his demanding stature; an arrogance that infuriates you.

“No.” You simply reply before turning and walking away from him. You don’t dare to look back to see his reaction because if you did you’d seen the scour that you can feel burning into your back.

The guy watches as you walk away from him, enraged further by how stuck up you seem to be, but he smirks to himself when he notices you limping, snickering under his breath at the spiteful remarks that float around his head as he reaches into his bag to pull out his blue cap.

Karma is a bitch after all.

It’s Monday, the worst day of the week. Well, for you it is. But as Renjun likes to remind you every time, it’s your fault for choosing a 9am class, so don’t complain about it.

You arrive just in time for your regular seat to still be free and smile to yourself as you approach the back of the lecture room. Maybe today won’t be as bad as you thought.

When your lecturer arrives everyone settles down, ready to take notes and you begin typing away on your laptop, feeling organised and ready to get the class over and done with.

10 minutes in the doors obnoxiously swing open and everyone’s focus is drawn onto the latecomer. You pause your typing to watch as he swiftly enters and, with his head bowed low, begins walking towards the back of the class. The closer he gets to where you are sat, the more nervousness bubbles in your stomach and you don’t know why. It feels instinctive, like your gut is trying to tell you something. And you realise exactly what that is when its already too late.

It had taken you a little longer to notice the way he walks, his arm casually gripping onto his backpack which is slung over his shoulder. It’s the guy you’d bumped into when you’d gone looking for blue cap.

He slides into the empty seat beside you without acknowledging your presence. Normally you’d think it was rude, but basing off how bitter he was towards you, you assume it’s probably normal for him. In fact, you’re relieved he hasn’t acknowledged you. And you resume your typing away in order to shift your focus back onto your lecturer instead of thinking about how good he looks with his messy hair.

“Hey, have you got a pen I can borrow?” You feel his elbow lightly nudge your arm before you hear him whisper. It irritates you slightly that he’s disturbing you when it’s clear that you want to work.

You don’t respond to him verbally, instead choosing to simply scoot your pen towards him without even glancing in his direction. You’re typing anyway, the pink glittery pen and matching notebook you’d gotten out wasn’t really necessary. You hear him whisper a “thanks.” through a snicker, but you purposefully make a point of typing faster to show that you’re not interested.

“I’m Mark, by the way.” You huff when you hear him whisper to you again, finally tearing your eyes away from your laptop screen to look at him. Maybe an unimpressed stare will send him the message. But when your eyes meet his gaze, it makes all of the annoyance drain from you.

“(Y/N).” You mumble, your expression more less blank of any expression.

It’s hard to explain what comes over you, the rude guy that bumped into you seemingly a different person from the one that is sat next to you now. It’s undeniably him though, you’d recognise his voice anywhere. Although, you definitely like it a lot more when he’s not being arrogant. You wonder if he recognises you too?

“Thanks for the pen (Y/N).” You return Mark’s soft smile with one of your own before once again resuming your work.

Maybe he’s not so bad…

“Ah shit!” You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to control the pain in your shoulder. What has your soulmate done now, deliberately run into a brick wall or something?

“It’s ok. Take a seat.” Renjun coerces you, his hand on your back as he guides you into the safety of the worn leather of the café’s chair. He only relaxes once he can see that you’re safe, but he still watches in worry as you wince.

“I’m ok, I’m ok.” You chant to yourself, relaxing your shoulders as you recline back into your chair.

“This has seriously got to stop, your soulmate is gonna kill you before you meet at this rate.” You lightly snicker at Renjun’s statement.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” You flippantly roll your eyes. It’s just typical overdramatic Renjun. Sometimes you’re sure he worries just for the sake of worrying.

“Hey!” He scolds, his tone conveying his lightheartedness.

“Besides, you’re one to talk when you get a migraine every other day thanks to your soulmate.” You teasingly raise an accusatory brow towards him.

“Yeah well, that’s different.” Renjun defensively crosses his arms.

“How so?”

“Because migraines can’t be helped so easily, getting into fights, however, can.” Renjun sasses. Although, he does make a good point. One of which you hadn’t properly thought through before.

Yes, you’re fully aware that your soulmate is selfish in how they treat their body, and subsequently, you. But it hadn’t really crossed your mind that they most likely make the active choice to put themselves through that sort of pain, in comparison to Renjun and his soulmates issues with terrible headaches…

“Sorry.” Renjun sends you a tight lipped smile, feeling guilt shoot through him the second he sees the frown grow more prominent on your face.

“No. You’re right.” Your sorrow filled eyes lock with his.

“Hey guys!” Jeno, too in a hurry to notice what he’s just interrupted, rushes over to your table. “(Y/N), you got a pen I can borrow real quick?” He turns to you. You lean down to your bag by your feet, rummaging through.

“Damn it.” You mutter when you are unable to find one. “I gave my last one to Mark this morning.” You apologetically glance up at Jeno.

“Here, take mine.” Renjun hands over a pen to Jeno who quickly thanks Renjun before rushing back out of the café.

You laugh to yourself in amusement at that completely random encounter. Jeno never ceases to amaze you.

“Who’s Mark?” Renjun’s question brings you back into the present, his furrowed brows and slight tilt to his head giving him a very soft, endearing look.

“Just some friend from my class this morning.” You shrug.

You’re not sure why you called Mark your friend. Acquaintance or annoying pen stealing guy would have been more appropriate, but friend seemed like the least complicated term out of them all somehow.

“And why have you never mentioned Mark before?” A teasing smirk spreads across Renjun’s face and you just know what he’s thinking, he’s likes to tease you over every guy you’re friends with (outside of Jeno, Jaemin and himself of course).

“He turned up late to class this morning and ended up sitting next to me. That’s about it.” You shrug your shoulders, hoping to come across as nonchalant. You don’t want to tell Renjun about your rude encounter with Mark on the same day of the video for the very reason that you’ve resolved in your mind that you’d caught Mark in a bad moment, on a bad day, when you’d first bumped into each other. It seems irrelevant for now.

Mark holds his shoulder as a dull pain shoots through him, gritting his teeth as he moves to find a comfortable way to lay back and rest against the headboard of his bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want any ice?” Jisung offers for the third time, to which Mark shakes his head.

Why’d he have to get caught up in another fight? It’s not like he had any intentions to, he just always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sometimes, when things like this happen, he finds himself thinking about his soulmate, wondering if they can feel his pain too. He knows for sure they must do to some extent because he’s been subjected to the occasional bruise on the knee or elbow from them bashing into something. He assumes they probably think he doesn’t care about them, or, in a best case scenario, that he’s just incredibly clumsy. And most of the time he assumes that his soulmate must hate him by now. Even he hates himself sometimes…

Mark allows his eyes to flutter shut as he rests on his bed, the pain in his shoulder very slowly becoming less and less. He tries to think about anything to take his mind off of it and finds himself thinking about you. He’s not sure why you pop into his mind, but he can’t stop picturing your subtle smile and the way your eyes seemed to have a little sparkle to them. It made him feel a little breathless the first time you’d locked gazes with him. It was familiar and yet completely unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

“Crap.” Mark whispers the second realisation strikes him; he’d forgotten to return your pen to you earlier. Jisung lifts his gaze from his phone when he hears his friend randomly curse. He thought Mark was asleep already. “I forgot to give (Y/N)’s pen back.” Mark informs when he notices Jisung’s confusion.

“So? It’s just a pen.” Jisung shrugs, completely oblivious to the reasons Mark has for finding it such a big deal in his head.

It’s bigger than just a pen to him, it’s about having a reason to speak to you again.

It’s a few days later when you next see Mark. It was a funny coincidence bumping into him again as you’re walking past the East building; although thankfully this time you don’t physically bump into each other.

“(Y/N)!” You hear the familiar voice call your name, turning to look in the direction behind you to spot Mark perched at one of the picnic tables, his hand waving in the air to you.

You smile, giggling a little at how he doesn’t seem to have any embarrassment from his actions, nor does he care about the other students passing by that seem to give him a judgemental look.

“Hey Mark, studying outside?” You warmly greet him, noticing the open books laid out on the table in front of him.

“I’m procrastinating actually.” He unashamedly admits. “What about you?”

You’re not sure why it’s so easy to talk to Mark when you barely know him. But there seems to be this comforting feeling that he gives you, one that makes you want to sit with him and get to know him more.

“I’m heading off to class.” You show a reluctant smile. “Not that I want to go really…”

“Skip it then.” Mark suggests like it not a big deal. Maybe it isn’t to him, but to you it definitely is. You’ve never purposefully skipped a class in your life and the thought alone makes you feel anxious. “You can join me…”

The way Mark quirks a brow at you, his lazy smirk making your stomach twist a little at his offer. You know this is what you want to do, you’ve been hoping to spend more time with the scruffy haired guy you’d met only a few days ago.

So you nod your head in acceptance, placing your bag down onto the table as you take a seat. You can see the delight in his eyes as he watches you and that’s enough to know that the decision you’ve made it worth it.

Walking through the campus with Mark beside you is like a daydream. The conversation hasn’t once stopped, it’s easy and light with him. And everything seems to be going so well as you form this new friendship. You’d spent the last few hours hanging out together, but now the sun is beginning to set and the air turns to have a slight evening chill, you decide that it’s time to head home.

But life never likes to make things too easy and you feel stupid for letting yourself indulge in this dream-like afternoon with Mark.

It all happens so fast. From the group of guys walking your way, to one of them making a crude offhand comment about you. You don’t quite catch his words exactly, but Mark does. Next you’re stumbling backwards to get out of the way as the guy takes a lunge towards Mark. And then you can no longer see them, a crowd of students circling around them as they throw punches at each other.

A voice shouts over the noise to alert of campus security and everyone quickly disperses, a breathlessly beaten blue Mark left laying on the hard concrete of the pathway.

“Mark, can you hear me?” You rush over to him, kneeling down beside him as his half lidded eyes tiredly try to focus on you. You sigh in relief when a hazy smile stretches across his lips. He doesn’t seem like he’s in much pain, just dazed more than anything. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Not knowing where Mark lives, and him being too out of it to give coherent directions, you somehow manage to drag him back to your dorm. It takes a couple hours for you to patch him up before he finally drifts to sleep, but you sit at your desk patiently for him to wake.

To say you’re still in shock is an understatement, you can’t get the ordeal out of your head. You wreck your brain to try and make sense of what happened. But, in the end, you realise that there’s too many gaps in the narrative that you’re unaware of. Clearly there’s some history between Mark and the guy. You just hope he’s willing to explain it to you.

“How long have I been asleep?” Marks voice snaps you out of your daze and you spring up from your chair to approach the side of your bed.

“A couple hours. How’re you feeling?” You softly speak. Mark watches you intently, staring at you so deeply it makes you a little nervous.

“I’ve been far worse, don’t worry.” He chuckles.

“So you get into fights a lot then.” You state rather than question, his answer having more so confirmed your suspicions.

Instinctively, you find yourself reaching your hand out to gently rub the pad of your thumb across the darkening bruise that’s on his jaw.

“Not intentionally.” Mark eyes screw shut as your hand brushes near his eye and you instantly retract your hand, mumbling a light apology.

When Mark opens his eyes once again, you notice how they seem to fixate onto your face, morphing through multiple emotions before widening in shock. He sits up abruptly, heavy breaths escaping him as he messily slips on his shoes.

“I-I uh, need to go.”

You’re confused at best, feeling a little hurt at his sudden need to leave. Without a thank you too. Had you done something wrong?

Before you know it, Monday has rolled back around, and you find yourself struggling to get out of bed. You’ve been desperately trying to find Mark, hoping that you’d bump into him, because you really need to talk.

You’d figured out what sent him running away a little too late. But when you did, you understood exactly why he responded the way he did; he’s your soulmate.

You have the exact bruises on your body to the ones Mark acquired from the fight, you know because you had been the one to tend to his wounds. It gave you quite a shock when you first caught a glance of them in the mirror. But once you’d taken a little time to process the realisation, you knew more than ever that you needed to find Mark as soon as possible. You have so many questions.

One thing that confused you the most was why none of the bruises hurt you, they always did before. The more you thought about it, the more you realised that Mark didn’t seem to be in as much pain as what you would have expected him to be in either.

Over the past week, despite not actually having seen him, you feel like he’s been present without physically being there and it’s so irritating, like fate has just been purposefully trying to torment you. For example, on Saturday you had been hanging out with Jeno and you were joined by one of his football teammates, Jisung.

Jisung seemed like a really sweet guy, a little quiet at first but once he’d gotten to know you a little he began to reveal little hints of the crazy and fun person his is underneath.

As it turns out, Jisung is really close friends with Mark, which you’d found out through him asking about how you’d acquired the dark purple bruise along your jaw; even putting on extra makeup couldn’t cover it…

“Hey, (Y/N)?” Jisung was a little timid in his approach. “How did you hurt your jaw like that?”

“Oh don’t even get her started!” Jeno throws his head back in laughter, knowing the impending rant from you that Jisung had just unknowingly started. What he doesn’t know, however, is that you now know who your soulmate is and that you no longer feel so angry about the bruises because you know that this one in particular was because he was standing up for you.

“My soulmate.” Is all you respond with, hoping to get the point across to your new friend without the need to go into details. And it seems that Jisung understands, nodding his head upon your answer.

“It’s funny, my friend Mark has one just like that.”

Your eyes had gone so wide they could have almost popped out of your head, the sheer mention of the name Mark had your heart beating just that little bit faster and a rush of adrenaline pumping through you.

You remember joking with Jisung about it, saying something about how his friend must know how tiring it is to have a clumsy soulmate.

But ever since that moment, you’ve not been able to shake the thought that what if Jisung’s friend Mark is your soulmate Mark. The only way to find out is to see him again.

So you find yourself waiting anxiously in class, sat in the same seat you were in the previous week, hoping that Mark will turn up.

When the lecture begins and there’s no sign of him, you try not to make a big deal out of it in your head. He was late last time, and you know he isn’t bothered about missing class, you just hope he isn’t skipping today. By the half way point, however, your hope is quickly diminishing. Until, finally, class is over and there was never any sign of him.

When Jisung had next seen Mark, he’d relayed all the information about how he thought he had just met Mark’s soulmate. It made him nervous to hear his friend say your name. Had you told him what happened between you? How did you seem about it? Were you doing ok? They are just a few of the questions that fill Mark’s head.

“Jeno joked that it’s not a good idea to bring up her soulmate, but (Y/N) seemed fine with it really.” Jisung reassures.

Mark didn’t know you were friends with Jeno. And he assumes that means you’re also friends with Jaemin. The fact that you both have close mutual friends surprises him.

It’s ironic really, Mark wants nothing more than to see you, but he doesn’t know how after rushing away with no explanation. But it’s his rushing away that made him freak out even more because it confirmed the very thing he’d been panicking about.

You see, never before has he been able to move so painlessly after getting into a fight like that. The fact that he was able to spring up from your bed and rush all the way back to his, with only minor aches from his muscles, was proof that you are his soulmate.

When two souls are separated, the pain they feel is intensified. But when they are together, no matter how horrible the pain, they barely feel a thing. Mark has this echoing around like a mantra in his head all week.

He’s not sure if you know this or not, or even if you’re aware of the fact that you are destined to be with him. But he wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him even if you did know. He feels terrible for leaving you the way he did, especially after all you did to help him.

Maybe Jeno would be able to help him out, because, right now, all Mark wants is to see you.

“Sorry, but no.” Jeno shrugs his shoulders at Mark. He’d heard all about what had happened from you a few days ago and he wasn’t very pleased with Mark when he found out; he still isn’t. Why should he help him when all he did was hurt you, one of his closest friends.

“Come on Jeno. You know what it’s like to find your soulmate and almost lose them.” Jeno pauses upon hearing Mark’s words. He’s right, Jeno knows that feeling all too well, and he wishes he didn’t.

He’d made the football team and met Jaemin at pretty much the same time. Being part of the university football team bought with it a level of fame. Everyone knew who he was, not just from your university, but from rivalling ones too.

Jeno hadn’t known Jaemin for long, but he’d asked him to watch the final game of the semester for support; which Jaemin of course accepted.

The evening started off strong, with the game going in Jeno’s favour. That was until he got targeted by the opposing team and tackled to the ground. While he was knocked out, Jaemin had rushed onto the pitch to make sure he was ok, and the second he saw Jeno’s state, he lost it, picking a fight with the player that had caused his soulmate to fall unconscious.

It pains Jeno to think about even now, so many years later. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get the picture out of his head of waking in the locker room to find Jaemin’s battered body, limp as he was attended to by paramedics. Thinking about Mark getting himself into fights so often worried him. So your situation is sometimes a little too close to his for comfort.

“That’s exactly why I’m not gonna help you.” Jeno is able to control his emotions enough to answer Mark before he has to walk away.

If Mark really cares about you then he’ll keep away from you. He’s already caused enough damage as it is.

“Maybe you should have helped.” Jaemin, ever the sympathetic, hopeless romantic states. “There’s always a risk with true love, but the safety you find in each other will always outweigh that.” He takes Jeno’s hand, sending him the most convincing pleading look he can. Damn Jaemin and his ability to be so persuasive.

“I just don’t want (Y/N) to be hurt anymore. She’s been through enough.” Jeno sulkily mumbles.

“Jaemin’s right though.” Renjun sighs. “And, either way, it’s not our choice to make.”

You feel hopeless, defeated and drained. Yes Mark was a bit of an asshole and, yes, he shouldn’t have hurt you the way he has. But, without him, you feel like there’s a part of you missing.

You woke up this morning with no new bruises. In fact, it’s been so long, you can’t remember the last time you saw a fresh bruise appear. It’s honestly a little worrying because, despite hating the condition of feeling your soulmates pain and attaining their battle scars, it provided an assurance that they are still out there, waiting for you. Of all those times in the past when you’d wished for the pain to stop, why did Mark have to fall silent on you now!

The bruise on your jaw is almost completely faded, your hand reaching up to delicately trail along the faint purple on your skin as you look in the mirror. It’s the last one you received…

Before you have time to finish tracing it, however, a knock on your door sounds.

You open your bedroom door to and empty hallway, confused as you look around for any sign of movement. It’s probably just one of your dorm mates playing a trick. You take a step to lean a little further and freeze as you hear a crunch and look down to see you’d stepped on a pen. Your eyes go wide. That’s not any pen, it’s the pink glittery one you’d given to Mark all that time ago.

You pick up the pen to examine it, before retracting back into your room and shutting your door.

You need to find Mark.

After rushing around campus unable to find Mark, you begin to admit defeat and search for somewhere to take a seat. Central campus feels like it’s busier than normal, students crammed into every free space, rushing to and from classes or gathering in the cafés. It’s manic.

But then you spot a free seat over by the fountain, situated on the green space between the centre and the pathway that leads to the East part of campus.

You shut your eyes and let out a contented sigh in relief, your legs happy to be able to rest for a little. The sounds of the water are soothing as you try to clear your mind and simply allow yourself to be present in this moment.

“(Y/N)?” The voice that sounds from beside you is unmistakably him, your eyes shooting open to find Mark sat beside you.

“Mark?” You gasp. You hadn’t recognised him at first, the navy blue cap he has on shielding his face. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” You playfully scold him, your heart skipping a beat, elated from hearing his laugh again.

“You have?” He smiles brightly. There it is, your hope coming back. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me after everything…”

The seriousness that replaces his smile makes you feel a tightness in your chest. You can tell the distance between you has been just as difficult for him as it has for you.

“Of course. You’re my soulmate.” Your voice comes out as more of a whisper now, leaning closer into him as you speak. “Although, I was mad at first. I realised just how lost I felt without you around.”

“I feel the same.” Mark reciprocates your smile. “The thought of loosing you made me want to be a better person. I haven’t been getting in any fights recently.”

“I thought it was strange when I wasn’t waking up with new bruises every day.” You tease, laughing harder when Mark rolls his eyes. His cheesy grin gives away that he’s not really mad though.

“Well I think the last one we got was enough to last a lifetime.” Mark sends you a guilty smile and you return one of sympathy back, watching as he raises his hand to caress you cheek as his thumb lightly brushes over the almost faded one on your jaw.

His action makes everything more intimate, the way he stares at you with such concentration taking your breath away. He slowly leans in, closing off some more space between you.

“But I promise to never put you through anything like that again.” His breath fans across your face, lips practically brushing against each other’s as he pauses. For what exactly you’re not sure. But it has your patience growing thin alarmingly quick.

Just as you’re about to give in, Mark smirks and presses his lips to yours.

It’s a feeling like no other, his kiss gentle and tender, conveying his every emotion as his lips repeatedly capture yours in a gentle caress. After a few minutes you reluctantly pull away, but if it wasn’t for the need to breathe you would have insisted on kissing him forever.

No more words are needed to be exchanged between you to know how you really feel and it’s liberating to know you’ve finally met the one for you. This is the first time you been with Mark since you realised he was your soulmate, and it feels even better than you’d imagined to finally be able to take it all in properly.

You guess you’re parents were right all along. The waiting and painful bruises were worth every second because it led your soul to Mark’s. And you’d always choose him over everyone.

#nct fluff #nct angst #nct oneshot #nct x reader #nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct mark lee #nct mark #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #kpop fluff #kpop angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop oneshots #kpop drabbles #kpop imagines

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deanseths · 2 years

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Hi, idk if you’re still reading asks but I wanted to say I’ve read your series “the things I never told you” on AO3 and i loved it sm. Do you have any ambrollins fanfic recommendations? 💕

Hi!! Yeah I still reply to asks every now and then haha oh and thank you so so much?? I’m so happy to know someone enjoyed my fics :,) You really made my day!

Anyway, i’ve been asked this question so many times that i finally decided to write my ultimate ambrollins fic rec list. Just so you know, I’m a sucker for dean and seth’s post-breakup dynamic so it’s mostly old works or recent works set during their three feuds between 2014 and 2016. There are many other beautiful fics I keep in my collection esp from their reunion arc in 2017, but the ones i listed below will always have a special place in my heart.

⸻

・Where have I seen your face before by aistic

one of the few multichapter stories in this list, where authority!seth loses his memory and dean is there to pick up the pieces (the author has recently uploaded a refreshed version of this beautiful story)

・Watch the world cave in by Lucha_Pseud

dean (now mox) and seth are quarantined together after meeting again + heartbreaking confessions about unsaid things that never fail to hit right in the feels

・There’s a song yet to be sung by AshSPN

authority!seth is hospitalised and dean is still listed as his emergency contact

・It isn’t what I wanted by blessedbethefallen

(aka the great AshSPN with a new pseud) it’s actually a recent work but it’s about dean’s night after seth’s betrayal

・And I know we won’t make it out alive by candesgirl

dean and seth slowly discover things about each other right up to the shield breakup

・What if they did meet? by Cezet

a very well explored moxler AU, where young mox and tyler black meet for the first time before joining wwe

・Always around by Collidinthegskies

a bittersweet post-brand split oneshot where seth suffers an injury and dean is there to support him despite everything

・Dean was wrong by CrazyCollectionDuck

angsty fluff if you will? set during the night of the infamous slime prank in 2014

・Fade into you and Until the night turns by demonjeans

one of the best ambrollins AU writers. The first one is a oneshot about them camping in the woods, the second one is a prohibition era!AU where dean is a felon and seth an undercover cop

・Judas and Shallow is as shallow does by greymon

the first one is about the shield guys post-breakup but as wrestlers playing their characters, the second one is a traditional ambrollins oneshot featuring tragic!dean and his past ⟶ literally my #1 kink

・Somewhere you can meet me by HarlemMarxx

one of those ‘we’re enemies but still we can’t let go of each other’ oneshots that I won’t ever get tired of re-reading

・It’s in the carrying by hellonik

a beautiful attempt at imagining a reconciliation between dean and seth before 2017

・Hangman by Luces

a short, sweet highschool!AU where dean and seth are classmates (it has nothing to do with hangman page lol)

・“These wounds, they will not heal” by MoxFirefly

post-betrayal dean reflects on his consuming relationship with seth

・All roads by mxjoyride

old married couple!dean and seth are retired wrestlers and share beautiful life moments

・Somebody to love by pann_cake | @pann--cake

the queen of ambrollins fluff <3 It begins with dean and seth spending a fun night together like two perfectly straight buddies (they think lol)

・The love you’re given by Picturemedrowning

a short but intense AU oneshot. Their beautiful tragic!dean made me stomach the top!seth / bottom!dean implied dynamic which is still my biggest pet peeve

・This is the fate you’ve carved on me by simplyprologue | @ofhouseadama

set during dean’s turn in 2018 with tons of tragic!dean doing tragic!dean things and seth coming to the rescue

・Vices and A million little times by softambrollins | @softambrollins

the first one is a very good ‘enemies with benefits’ oneshot set around 2014. The second one is probably my favourite fic ever and it’s still about dean dealing with seth’s betrayal (whatever i might say here would be a spoiler so just read it if you haven’t yet)

・Even if you’re broken by solskatering

aka seth & dean & their repressed sexual tension leading to the shield breakup. It’s basically a kayfabe AU where things take a different turn from what happened between 2016 / 2017

・Fortune and glory by NerdyAdjacent | @xshieldsterx

an amazing ambrollins indiana jones!AU that I still consider a must-read despite it was discontinued (I didn’t get over it yet?? last update is from 2018 but i’m still waiting for the next chapter //sighs// )

#honestly i have a hard time anytime i try to organise my fic collection??#ugh too many good fics tbh #btw i hope this will help new readers!#ambrollins #fic rec*#long post #anon #ask

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

pacify her — myg

Plot: An impulsive and tumultuous marriage of seven years is coming to suffocate Yoongi when his heart falls onto the lap of another.

Pairing(s): Producer!Yoongi x Singer!OC (Name: Kiku)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 4.2k

Genre: Affair AU | Angst

Tags & Warnings: slightly aged up yoongi, mentions and implications of smut, rough divorce, alcohol, infidelity, screaming, fight, possessiveness, manipulation, threats of blackmail

Authors Note: another yoongi fic! this is a older one from before my break that I’d put aside. Let me know what you think and hope you enjoy!

Yes, it was bad. There was no way Yoongi could even attempt to make something righteous or pity inducing out of the situation. Yet at some point, the guilt lost its potency and it became a dulled routine.

Early morning arrives as he gives a quick kiss on the cheek to his wife, the light hint of whiskey in her aura. She had blonde hair, a little frizzy yet straightened.

In a physical sense, she was beautiful. Of course she was. A gorgeous singer in her prime; blue eyes and dyed blonde hair with a smile that could swoon anyone. Even him.

Ruffling through his raven hair, silver earrings glimmered in the morning light as he grabbed the black coffee from the white marble counter. Yoongi remembered having to tell her that he was going to be out late. But that was a known fact at this point between them. He usually just left a moment of silence and then Selene would tell him to have a good day. Like a pair of dolls in a child’s dollhouse simply going with the flow of their unseen master.

Yoongi walked out of their mansion to notice Jungkook already leaning against the black Sedan. The grey light indicated it must’ve been around five in the morning. He would have to get to the studio at around nine. As the years went by and Yoongi became a respected name in the industry, the need to pull all-nighters were minimal. He went to work at a decent time and came back somewhere around midnight. By that time, Selene would’ve passed out drunk on the bed or couch.

Hands dug in his thick black coat, he gave a small nod to the younger male before they climbed into the Sedan and drove off to the planned location.

Jungkook broke the icy wall between them as he usually did. “Is it confirmed now?”

“Not yet.” Yoongi sighed. “She started screaming so we have to postpone the meeting some other time.”

“Third attempt this year.” Jungkook muttered mostly under his breath but Yoongi heard him.

Divorce became a trigger word in their household. The first time Selene broke her mothers’ vase and blamed him then they fucked on the dinner table. Second time it was a yelling match between the two of them and she threatened to have a sex tape of him with Kiku. Truthfully he was more worried about Kiku’s reputation than his own. Third time Selene was just screaming. No words. No tears. Just screaming. Like a spoiled child not wanting their parents to continue their scolding.

Yoongi stopped mentioning it after the third time. Even though eventually Selene would have to sign it on the grounds of abuse and manipulation. He didn’t want it to go that far though. “Is there a way I can find out if she has the tape?”

Jungkooks gaze flickered to the side before focusing on the road again. “I mean—you could go through her stuff but I feel like that could be used against you.”

He hummed in reluctant agreement, ringed fingers playing at his lips as he looked out the window. “Don’t want Kiku getting dragged into the mess she’s making.”

“Not to be crude but she is kind of in the mess already.” Jungkook answered simply.

“I know but at least Selene’s current rep is making Kiku look like the hero of the story. With the sex tape out, you know what the fucking media’s like.” Yoongi seethed. “It’ll ruin Kiku’s image and then everything goes to shit.”

Unlike a lot of people, Yoongi’s liaison with Kiku wasn’t some fun run around. The fact that she was twenty four, six years her junior was just a stupid coincidence everyone latched onto.

Kiku was smart and patient, the most talented singer of her generation in his opinion. Miles more maturity than anything Selene had even when she didn’t fall in love with vodka. Yoongi found peace in the girl when everything else seemed to down to shit.

After that sorry display of a reaction from Selene, Yoongi needed some peace.

So Jungkook quietly drove him over to the townhouse that Kiku lived in. A small, baby blue structure with Chrysanthemums and Jasmines blooming in the front yard. Kiku loved making tea out of them in her spare time.

Even looking at the front view of the townhouse made him visibly loosen. “I’ll probably get to work at ten.” Yoongi muttered, still looking at the arched window next to the black wooden door. Everything so compact and neat like the way she held herself.

“If you want, we could probably get some kind of permission to see if Selene recorded you without consent.” Jungkook explained. “Unless…you’re the one who filmed it.”

“We don’t film ourselves.” Yoongi stated plainly. “So that could work.”

Jungkook hummed. “I’ll get something arranged.”

“Thank you, Kook. Really.” There was sadness laced into his tone that he hated. Yoongi preferred being more casually frustrated or angry in these situations. Even though deep down, he felt like an injured bird in a cage unable to get out. Despite all the things he’d achieved in his life, he still ended up becoming trapped. In the process, he ended up trapping Kiku with him for his own selfish taste of freedom.

Yoongi stepped out of the car and dug his hands back into his coat pockets. The sound of the Sedan faded away into the distance. Jasmine lingered in the air, touching his nostrils to silently welcome him to paradise as he pulled out his spare key and entered the house. “It’s me.” He wanted to say ‘I’m home’ but it would’ve been a lie.

Footsteps echoed against the floor until she walked out from the archway that led into the living room. Her dark hair was down to her waist, naturally waved and eyes a deep grey. She wore a lavender sweater with a black skater skirt and white socks, comfortable and exuding a warm aura. “Did—did you—”

He let out a defeated sigh. “She made a fuss—again.”

“Oh.” Kiku hugged her own body, hands rubbing up and down her arms.

“Are you mad at me?”

Kiku shook her head. “No.”

“Why not?” Yoongis voice only came out in a whisper.

“It’s not exactly your fault.” She smiled nervously. “Selene’s being difficult. I can’t blame you completely.”

Yoongi felt a tugging at his chest, either guilt or just more of that stupid sadness. This was the third time he walked into this house and basically told Kiku he couldn’t be with her completely. That he was still tied down to the woman he married seven years ago, thinking it was the right decision.

Another defeated sigh passed his lips, Yoongi moved closer and locked her into a kiss. Thumb grazing against her cheek, tongue exploring every inch of her mouth while the other hand trailed down the curve of her back. Fingers snuck underneath her sweater. Feeling her skin. Warmth coating his palm and bringing him comfort as a sweet hum vibrated in her throat. He felt her gripping at his coat before trying to push it off, allowing less barriers between their bodies.

Coat dropped to the floor along with his shoes slid away. Kiku broke the kiss much to Yoongi’s discontent, a growl emitting under his breath. She merely smiled, soft hand holding his before leading them up the stairs to her bedroom.

He remembered the first time they did this. Yoongi took work to Kiku’s home because he knew he wouldn’t get anything done back at his house with Selene yelling at him. They did get work done for the most part but eventually the wine began swirling too much in their heads. Yoongi’s hand had planted on her bare thigh and before he could even gather his bearings, he was between her legs, hand gripping the arm of the couch, sweat dripping as he fucked her for god knows how long. His back ached a little for a few days but it was worth it.

Her room had a subtle, sweet smell like her perfume. Something like the jasmine in the front garden mixed with vanilla. The memory of that smell always brought him comfort. Right now, it was also causing a significant stir in his pants as the bedroom door closed with a click. That sound also brought comfort. This was their little world now. No one to disturb them. His phone was forgotten downstairs. He could leave his life behind for a while when he was in this bedroom.

Kiku stood in front of him in all her beautiful glory, grabbing at the hems of her sweater and pulling it over her head. Her full breasts perfectly held by a pink, lace bra. A small chrysanthemum tattoo on her left side etched onto her beautiful skin. She stood close to him now, nose nudging against his own as a silent invitation to take his fill. Trusting him to give her all the fill she needed too.

Yoongis breathing began to shake ever so slightly. He brought his hands and caressed the dip of her hips, moving up to cup her breasts, the slight grazing of lace against his palm. Her nipples poked out in hardened nubs causing her to gasp whenever he brushed against them. Fingers moved up to hold the sides of her face, pulling her in for another kiss.

She unbuttoned his shirt, not waiting to push it off before letting her hands roam around his bare torso. Yoongi quickly shrugged off the useless piece of clothing. He pressed their bodies tight against each other, feeling that lace against his own chest as he kissed down the column of her neck. Kiku ran her fingers through his hair, tingles shivering down her spine at his tongue creating a trail down her throat.

A thought then crept at his mind, making him grunt in frustration. Yoongi wanted to keep going, nails grazing down her back but he had to make sure. Once again, Selene got into his head.

“Wait…” Yoongi cupped her cheek as she paused in her actions. Kikus’ wide-eyed gaze drove him insane. Calm down. You need to check.

“What is it?”

Letting out an angry sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Selene threatened me with a sex tape between us. I started thinking about the maids I hired to come here and I can’t stop thinking about what she said.”

Kikus’ expression softened as she looked around her bedroom. “A camera? Wouldn’t that be against her favor?”

Yoongi hummed. Running his fingers through his hair, he rummaged through each corner of the room. In the closet, corners of the wall and ceiling, in the slits of the curtain holder; anywhere that could have a hidden camera. A wave of relief passed over him when he found nothing. “We’re fine. But I’ve sent Jungkook to figure out whether something is wrong.”

Kiku reached out and cupped his cheeks, warm palm that smelled like lilies. “This has been stressing you out a lot, hasn’t it?”

Yoongi latched his hands back onto her hips, squeezing it like his stress toy. “I’m fine now.” He attempted a smile.

Plump lips curled at the edges, Kiku leaned, coquettish cheek in her eyes as she kissed the cut of his jawline and the pale trail of his neck. “Just fine?” Her smirk was evident in her voice.

“Thrilled then.” Yoongi melted into her mischief.

Kiku giggled under her breath, pulling him onto the bed like a siren, singing a sailor back to her lair. She let him lie down and relieved his clothes.

Her kisses down his stomach were like healing potions through his veins. Dousing away the poison of Selenes’ toxicity and his own rising selfish guilt. And her moans were like protective hands over his ears, hiding him away from the inevitable reality he had to face outside of these doors.

Jungkook arrived to the studio the next day with news that added an extra pinch in between Yoongis’ brows. Kikus’ current maid was apparently paid by Selene to follow and track Kikus’ whereabouts to find something incriminating.

Much to Yoongis’ expectation, the maid didn’t find anything strange other than Kiku visiting her sister in the sanitarium. It wasn’t a pleasant piece of information but not necessarily incrimination. In fact Jungkook said it would’ve made Kiku look more like a hero.

“I’ve scheduled another meeting today.” Yoongi practically threw his glasses on his table. The newest song was still open at his desktop. He could barely focus on the details he used to be able to. “Fourth times a charm.”

Jungkook took a sharp gulp of his black coffee, wisps of his black hair escaping from the bun he wrapped his hair in. “How long do you think she’s going to drag this out?”

Yoongi shook his head. “She’s been persistent about everything else.”

Selene had been the one to hint the marriage many times. Yoongi thought it a good idea at the time, when his mind was swirling with nothing but the smell of her. But he was young. Maddened by love that was just a mix of thrill and pride in being the most popular couple of the industry.

“How long do you think she’s going to be okay with it?” Jungkook asked.

He narrowed his gaze at the younger male. “We’ll have to see.”

They opted their house meeting room for the meeting. Afternoon light shone like dark gold against the mahogany table. Selenes’ blonde hair looked like freshly sparkled champagne and her eyes like aquamarine gems; the ones she used to wear in concerts. She wore her best blue dress today too, putting on her best smile so she looked the perfect wife. The wife Yoongi wronged and nothing more.

Yoongi heard this meeting proceedings over and over again. He would get the house and Selene would take a portion of his assets. He had no trouble with her taking his fortune if it had to come with that. That was not what he was trying to protect from her. However, Yoongi knew his wife. Selene didn’t want money, she wanted what was hers. Her marriage to him was her pride.

This polished celebrity couple status was powerful. It kept her reputation alive and it kept her self-esteem intact.

Slowly, Selene began breathing heavily and holding her hand over her lips. Perfectly painted in pink. It was momentary at first and Yoongi simply thought she had a hangover. Then she kept doing it, touching her chest then her stomach. Gradual and calculated. “Excuse me.” She stood up to her feet. “I’m feeling a bit—”

She collapsed to the floor. Yoongi carried her over to the couch and her divorce lawyer handed her some water.

“Sorry, I wanted to tell you sooner but you’ve been so busy.” Selene gulped, taking careful sips of her water. She smiled up at Yoongi like a wife who’d never done anything to manipulate her husband. “I’m pregnant.”

Yoongi knew all too well how to keep his composure. He was the least expressive person in any group he was in. But this was too far. A grimace twisted on his features. Disappointment. Shock. Whatever anyone could call it, Yoongi had never felt such poison in his heart for his wife today. “We haven’t slept together in months, Selene.”

“You can take a paternity test if you’d like, sweetheart.” Selene grinned.

Yoongi couldn’t hold his anger in this time. “I know about the maid…sweetheart.”

The two lawyers looked confused but Selenes’ perfect smile turned into a realistic frown.

“What maid?” His lawyer asked.

“Selene paid a maid to follow and trace Kiku so they could find something incriminating on her.”

“And can you prove this?” Selenes’ lawyer asked.

“You said her name in this house,” Selene muttered. “I told you not to say her name.”

“Next meeting, I’ll have the proof and you can get your paternity test.” Yoongi turned on his heel.

Eventually, Selenes’ little façade cracked to her usual self as she threw the glass of water against the wall. “You said her name!” She shrieked. “I hope the fucking whore fucks that bodyguard of yours right in front of you! It’s what you fucking deserve, you piece of shit! No don’t touch me!”

Selene’s lawyer tried to calm her down, stopping her from saying anything that could make her look worse. But Selene didn’t stop.

“You married me, you scumbag! You’ll always be married to me! No matter how much you fuck that dirty cunt of hers, you’ll always be my husband!” Selene forced out intoxicated laughter as the lawyer stopped her from grabbing her vodka bottle. “Kiku kiku kiku kiku kiku, fuck your Kiku! I hope she gets admitted in that same fucking hospital as her drug pumped sister!”

Yoongi knew it was best to let Selene make herself look bad. Yet her words continued to haunt him as he exited his house once more, married and trapped.

For the first time in a while, Yoongi spent two days away from Selene. Her lawyer said that they should hold it off until the paternity test is confirmed. Jungkook was also getting phone evidence and the maid herself to confess about Selenes’ antics. Needless to say all this urgent waiting grew an impatience in Yoongi. The stress engulfed him right to his throat.

Today in the studio, he had decided to tell Kiku about what Selene did to her. His patient and sweet Kiku finally showed traces of true anger in her beautiful face. It wasn’t venomous or bitter but a genuine distaste at an act of invasion.

Kiku shook her head, pacing back and forth in the tiny studio. “This isn’t right. She’s just making temper tantrums and breaking laws at this point.” She gestured to the side roughly.

Yoongi shrugged. “Once she starts her whole thing, it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

Tucking a stray behind her ear, Kiku knelt at his chair and touched his hand gently. Her anger didn’t last long and the usual softness of her demeanor slowly returned. “Persist a little more then. She’s getting directly involved with me and now my sister, I can’t tolerate that. I’m basically just your mistress at this point.”

Yoongi had no anger towards Kiku. It was a general frustration with everything around him and the trapped feeling in his gut like he couldn’t breathe. Yet something tugged at his nerves regardless and he pulled his hand away. “Well you’re a mistress right now. What do you think was going to happen if you got involved with a married man? It’s not as easy in my side of the affair while you sit and wait.”

Her eyes glossed. “I sit and wait because I love you. Just because I don’t express my frustrations doesn’t mean you can just tell me how easy I have it in this relationship.” Kiku got back up to her feet. “You don’t just ignore my feelings until it’s convenient for you to consider them.” She sniffled, tears forming pearls in the red waterlines of her eyes.

Yoongis’ heart dropped seeing the pain strewn across Kikus’ face. He was right. In all this mess, he just appreciated Kikus’ patience and kept going on with his own self-pity. If he fixed everything and ended it with Selene, things would be okay. He didn’t quite think about Kikus’ feelings in the midst of all of this. Especially with an adamant woman like Selene.

Worst part was those three words. Kiku spoke them and Yoongi realized that he hadn’t said it to her throughout this whole divorce fiasco. He had a woman here who loved him and he loved her. Yet he was waiting for someone else to get their act together just so they could be together.

Before Yoongi could say anything though, the rest of the crew walked in for recording.

Kiku sniffled again and tied her hair up, immediately walking into the recording booth to start work.

It didn’t hurt less when she was singing ballads. One of the producers complimented how much emotion she had in her voice but Yoongi could only agree quietly.

Once it was done, Yoongi immediately walked into the recording booth as the other producers talked about going to lunch. She wasn’t even looking at him now. “Kiku…” She didn’t answer. “Kiku, I’m sorry.” He tried to reach out and touch her cheek. Maybe even a strand of her hair but she backed away.

“You need to decide whether it’s worth for you to give up your marriage for us. If it’s not then don’t pursue me again.” Kiku walked past him and out of the studio. Yoongi was shot with both melancholy and a burst of determination.

The next day was hell for Yoongi. Lead formed in his heart without being able to speak to Kiku like he always did. He’d work with her in a sterile, professional environment during the day as usual but then see her walk away from him at the end of the session. Yoongi would catch her glances yet somehow they hurt more than her ignoring him. He saw the sadness in her eyes. This wasn’t a breezy experience for her as much as it wasn’t for him.

When he returned home to get news of the paternity test, Yoongi barely had the strength to walk in his normal pace. If it was positive then he’d need to stay with her until the child was well taken care of. He wasn’t going to be chalked as the estranged father after the things Selene put him through.

Both his lawyer and hers were present for the results. Selene had to open the envelope in front of them with a doctor present. Jungkook also stood in the corner for support.

That same pristine smile returned on Selenes’ face as she opened the envelope and placed the report on the table. Her smile disappeared quicker today.

Negative.

The wave of relief that washed over Yoongi was enough to nearly make him fall to the ground. He had to grip onto the edge of the table, catching his breathing and trying not to smile too much.

Selene looked at the doctor in shock. “You said it could be positive.”

“You were showing symptoms, madam but it was a false alarm. I—I tried to tell you.” The doctor looked around confusingly at the room.

“Check again then! Do you have another test?”

“That’s enough, Selene.” The determination stirred and fired in him. This was the last straw. “You’re going to sign those papers now.”

“No! You shouldn’t have married me if you were going to leave me!” Selene cried out.

“You never loved me, Selene.” Yoongi scoffed. “Don’t think I didn’t realize it from the beginning. I might be scum for being unfaithful but how is lying about your feelings for me any better?”

Selene stammered to speak up but she was quickly muffled by Yoongis’ fire.

“You left for three days when I told you that money wasn’t going to be good for a while. The moment I won that award, you came back pretending everything was fine.” Yoongi smiled bitterly. “I had a cracked ankle from some faulty equipment dropping on me. Tell our lawyers how many times you visited the hospital in those ten weeks?” He gestured to them. “You know who did visit? The girl you keep insulting. Kiku.”

Selene gulped, trying her best not to face her lawyers’ shocked expression. “I—you…that doesn’t excuse your infidelity.”

“No it doesn’t. But it sure as hell is good reason to leave you.” Yoongi pressed her lips together.

Selenes’ lawyer cleared his throat, pushing the divorce papers to her. “We’ll accept the terms.”

She tried to speak up but her lawyer touched her shoulder. Roughly, his now ex-wife signed the final papers.

It was done. He was free.

Jungkook drove Yoongi back to the little townhouse that smelled like jasmines and chrysanthemums. “Congratulations,” the young man said.

Yoongi chuckled. “Thanks.” He relished in the waft of that familiar smell when he climbed out of the car. Instead of using the spare key, he knocked on the door three times. Even though his adrenaline was pumping hard through his veins, Kiku deserved to decide whether she wanted to continue being part of this. Part of his newly freed life out of the cage.

The door opened to Kiku. She wore the prettiest purple dress and her black hair in disarray as if from a nap. Her puffed eyes blinked a few times before she folded her arms over her chest. “Yes?”

“I did it.”

Kikus’ expression softened, if that were possible. “You actually did?” she whispered.

Yoongi smiled softly. “I did.”

She gulped. “Was it worth it?”

“Every bit.” Not the slightest hesitation in his tone. “I love you.”

Tears glossed thickly over her beautiful eyes as she leaped into his arms. “I love you too,” Kiku sobbed into his shoulder.

As the door closed, Yoongi could finally take a breath of his newly earned relief. He didn’t have leave this place anymore. Not be dragged back to the abyss. For the first time in a while, he felt at home.

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