#because he's terrified of losing him again

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 16

Jake Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: a little smut

Words: 1500

The One I Want Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

“I can’t tell you much,” Jake had told you, but you knew that. “We’re not a hundred percent in the clear, but it’s looking like four weeks, maybe five.”

“Beats fifteen,” you’d said, hearing a rewarding chuckle in return. 

You were thankful no one could witness the mess you were at that moment, your face-splitting grin heavily contrasting the puffiness of your eyes from tears. But that was just the beginning of weeks of inner turmoil. 

For forty-eight days, your stomach has swirled a storm that’s consistently had you on the edge of nausea, whether from anxiety regarding his safety or butterflies at the thought of Jake returning. You miss him, more than you thought yourself willing to, and regardless of what he told you, nothing guarantees he will walk through the door of your apartment. And if he doesn’t, you know exactly what will happen to you. You’ll crumble into unsalvageable pieces, and no one—not Millie, not Rooster, not anyone who has been kind to you over the last months—will be able to put you back together. 

And then what? Your only choice will be to leave. Start anew. Twelfth new place. Except this time, you’ll be more numb, less human, less operable on a daily basis. It’ll be like waking from a dream to a gray environment. You fear nature will lose its color, and you will lose your light once again.

—

It’s another week before your phone rings with a name other than Millie’s plastered across the screen. Unknown Number, but the first three digits are recognizable, matching those of the number Jake has been using to call you with. What you hear on the other end of the line, however, is not Jake, but instead, a gruff voice asking you to confirm your identity. 

“Yes,” you answer. “That’s me.”

The man clears his throat. “You are the emergency contact for Lieutenant Jake Seresin. We’d like you to come down to our medical facility as soon as possible,” he says before providing you directions.

You drop your phone, and then you’re running. Running to his truck, running from his truck to base, running through halls until you find someone willing to lead you to him. You’re so terrified, your arms jittery, legs barely functioning from the panic of Jake’s pending fate, so overwhelmed by nerves that when you finally do see him, it pisses you off. 

That man with the voice that imbued you with dread is on your shit list for life. Maybe next time, he could lead an emergency contact call with He’s fine or Don’t worry, because his implication was severe enough that you feared lost limbs or damaged brain functioning. But there Jake is, not in a coma or with some life-threatening injury, but sitting on the edge of a bed in a room with his back to you as a nurse seals a strip of medical tape across a small patch of shaved hair on the side of his head.  

When she’s done with her work, she smiles at Jake and nods at something he says before walking out of the room. She jumps at the unexpected figure lingering just outside the door, and then realization dawns. 

“Oh, you must be the girlfriend,” she says. “You’re welcome to go on in.”

So you do, cautiously easing into the room, hoping that when he turns, his face won’t be covered in slashes and bruises—a sight you’re not sure you can handle with strength and maturity. You’d love him all the same, but to see him in such pain would take you to your knees. But again, he’s fine. Beautiful as ever. Not a mark on him that you can see save for the one on the mend. 

Jake’s face brightens at the sight of you; he practically glows, and you’re shocked to discover yourself not running into his arms. You’re frozen for a moment as you take him in. It’s a quick moment—a brief second to recover—but then you’re stepping to him, your eyes watering, your bottom lip quivering, your fingers reaching up to brush over the stark white tape. You’re careful with your feathery touch, relieved to see that his injury is not so sensitive as to make him wince.

Jake’s arms wrap around your waist. His eyes do not break from your face. He’s patient as you scan him once more for visible injuries, verifying for your own sake.

“It’s just the one,” he tells you, his voice soft and only a few notes above a whisper. Your eyes snap to his. He lifts his hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Come here, beautiful.”

You melt when his lips gently touch yours, but the kiss doesn’t last long as innocent. There’s bites and sucking and giving and taking, and it’s perfect in its semi-sloppy neediness. Voices passing by the door is what breaks the two of you apart. Jake lightly groans before he chuckles and rests his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you,” he says. He places another quick peck on your lips. “I want to take you home.”

“Then take me home.”

—

“J-Jake!”

You feel his mouth curve against your core before he licks another stripe right through you, tongue like a heated blade slicing you in two halves, spreading you open and baring you inside and out. You’re completely gone—lost in the sole way you’re willing to be lost—as Jake tethers you to this earth. He’s the only one you trust to ground you while simultaneously letting your head float amongst the clouds. 

His arms curl around the thickness of your thighs, locking onto you and keeping your hips steady atop the mattress as he devours and tastes and sucks and licks some more.  

“Come on, beautiful,” he mumbles into your folds, just loud enough for you to hear through the rush of blood in your ears. “Let me have it.”

As if you could hold it back. 

Your whole body jerks and writhes as you sink into pleasure, back arching, head digging into the pillow. Jake reaches a hand up to intertwine your fingers and you squeeze them tightly while he continues to kiss folds and brush his nose against the overstimulated bud.

“There we go,” he coos until your body calms.

Jake crawls onto the bed, lips and tongue traveling up the soft flesh of your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, into the dip in your throat before he kisses you, demanding you taste everything you just gave him. 

Jake introduced you to your taste during those weeks before his deployment. His head lived between your legs. He showed you how to perch perfectly on his face, encouraging you through your concerns of suffocating him. He begged you to relax when he backed you up against the wall, slipped your pants off, knelt, and tossed your leg over his shoulder as he dove in. And after each success of making you crumble to pieces, he sealed his lips to yours and pushed his tongue into your mouth. 

You know your taste as well as you know his, and on the occasions he spills down your throat before he returns the favor, you get the satisfaction of the combination on your tongue—a mixture more intoxicating than an alcoholic binge. 

“I’m never going to want anything like I want you,” he says after he slips inside of you, the intensity of the love in his eyes penetrating your soul.

“Then it's good that I’m yours,” you whisper back.

Thrusts that were paced and steady and gentle falter. With your words comes a sharp rut of his hips—unexpected to you both—that hits hard, deep. Jake chokes on the air in his lungs, his eyes snapping shut as you cry out. 

“Fuck” hisses through the grit of his teeth. Then he finds his pace again. 

His head falls to your neck. Nibbles make you gasp, and the image of examining claiming bruises in the mirror first thing come morning causes your walls to clench around the veiny column moving in and out of you. Your fingers fist into his hair. Nails dig into the toned muscle of his ass. 

“I do love you, Jake,” you say. 

He stops completely, but you don’t question it. The fingers in his hair loosen and you lightly scrape your nails along his scalp, down to the base of his neck, then back up into blond locks. Turning your head, you stamp a tender kiss onto his temple. 

Jake doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t look at you. His thick breaths burn the delicate skin just under your ear. When he begins to move, he’s slow, taking his time before he picks up, working to nudge that special spot inside of you that tightens a white-hot coil in your belly. 

“I love you so much, beautiful,” he whispers.

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 10 - A Little Lost | ‘Act II’

word count - 10k

Since the day you left Madrid, Jude had been carrying a small notebook with him everywhere he went. At first, it was just a place to spill his thoughts, a space to process the whirlwind of emotions he didn’t know how to navigate. But as soon as he wrote the first sentence, he realized that every thought, every feeling, was meant for you. The notebook became his way of speaking to you when he couldn’t, of telling you everything he had kept inside for far too long. It started with small things—mundane moments that he would’ve shared with you if you were still in his life. He wrote about away games, detailing flights that were rough with turbulence, knowing you would’ve hated them. You’d always been nervous during flights, especially when the plane shook, and he could so vividly imagine holding your hand, comforting you in that quiet, intimate way only he knew how. He wrote about a brand event he had to attend, the kind you would’ve loved. He pictured you in a stunning dress, his hand instinctively resting on the small of your back as all the people in the room transfixed on your smile and envied him. He missed the way your presence made even the dullest of events shine. But as time passed, the pages of the notebook filled with more than just small anecdotes. They became love letters—confessions he hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud. He wrote about his dreams, both the silly ones and the ones that left him aching. He told you about the night he dreamed of you in his arms, just like before, and how waking up without you felt like losing you all over again. He confessed to arguments with his teammates, like the one he had with Toby, and how in the heat of it all, he had just wanted to call you and vent, knowing you’d calm him down. He wrote about his mum, how she missed you. How she’d bring you up every now and then, asking if you were doing okay, her voice full of concern. His heart would clench every time because he didn’t know. He didn’t know if you were okay, and that uncertainty gnawed at him more than he cared to admit. But most of all, the notebook became a testament to how much he loved you. Page after page, he poured his heart out in ways he never had the courage to do while you were still together. He wrote about how he should have told you how much you meant to him when he had the chance. How he regretted every fight, every misstep, every moment he let you slip away. He described the exact moment he realized he was in love with you—how it hit him like a freight train, and how terrified he was of it. And yet, despite his fear, the feeling never left. If anything, it grew stronger with every passing day, every page he filled. There were entries where he simply wrote your name over and over, as if seeing it on the page made you feel closer to him. Others were longer, detailing his apologies—how sorry he was for everything. For not being brave enough, for letting his insecurities come between you, for pushing you away when all he wanted was to pull you closer. And then, there were the moments when his love for you spilled out uncontrollably, when he wrote about how much he still needed you. How he missed your laughter, your voice, the way your presence made everything feel right. He missed the feeling of your hand in his, the sound of your breathing when you slept next to him, the way you’d nudge him playfully when he teased you. Every small detail that made up your relationship was etched into those pages—his heart laid bare, vulnerable, and raw. Jude carried the notebook like a lifeline, as if each word he wrote to you was a tether, keeping him connected to you in some way. Even though he wasn’t sure if you’d ever read them, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop writing to you, telling you all the things he should have said while you were still his. There was one night, after a particularly bad game, where he sat alone in his hotel room, staring at the notebook. His hands trembled as he picked up the pen, the words spilling out faster than he could think. ‘I love you,’ he wrote, the words stark on the page. 

'I love you more than I know how to explain. And I’m terrified I’ll never get the chance to tell you that now. In my dreams you’re touching my face and asking me if I want to try again.'

It was the truest thing he’d ever written in that book. As the days passed, the notebook filled with his deepest fears, his sincerest apologies, and his undying love. And every time he flipped through the pages, he could feel you there, even though you were so far away. Even though you hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever. It was the only way he knew how to keep you close, even as the distance between you grew wider with every passing day. He just hoped, somehow, some way, that you’d feel it too. That maybe, one day, he could find the courage to give you the notebook, to let you see how much you had always meant to him. But for now, it was his silent confession, his love letter to the one person he couldn’t forget. There were nights when Jude found himself staring at the ceiling, the quiet of his room almost suffocating. He had the notebook nearby, as always, full of the thoughts he wished he could share with you, the words he never got to say. But tonight, it wasn't enough to just write. He missed you physically, emotionally, in every way imaginable. And though he had been longing for the closeness that came with sex, it wasn't just about that. It was the intimacy, the connection, the way your body pressed against his felt like home. The way, in those quiet moments, it was more than just physical-it was how you anchored him, how you made him feel understood and whole. Tonight, though, one memory in particular replayed over and over in his mind.

It was just after your holiday in Greece, the first time you came with him to Madrid. Everything had been easy then, carefree. Nothing had happened yet-none of the arguments, none of the jealousy, none of the heartbreak. In retrospect, Jude realized he should've known even then how special you were to him, but at the time, it had all seemed so light, so effortless. He remembered the day like it was yesterday. The sun had been scorching, golden light spilling over the back garden as you lounged by the pool, the scent of suncream and chlorine in the air. You were glowing in that tiny bikini, the one that had him doing double takes every time you moved. But it wasn't just the way you looked-though you were undeniably stunning-it was the way your laughter filled the space between you. The way it made his heart skip a beat every time you smiled, the kind of smile that reached your eyes and lit up your entire face. You'd been teasing him, like you always did, a playful gleam in your eyes as you suddenly jumped up and ran, your laughter trailing behind you. Jude remembered watching you, a mixture of joy and something deeper-something he couldn't quite put into words yet-bubbling up inside him as he chased after you. The way your skin shimmered in the sunlight, turning a different kind of gold, made his breath catch. He remembered how his hands finally caught your waist, pulling you close, your laughter turning into something softer as you pressed your lips to his neck. It was in that moment, as he held you close by the pool, your bodies slick with water and heat, that Jude had felt something shift inside him. He hadn't known what it was then-maybe he had been too afraid to name it—but he could feel it now. The way your lips on his skin felt like a fire he would gladly burn for. A fire he would willingly let consume him, over and over again. He hadn't realized it then, but it was already happening.

As he lay in bed, Jude dropped his head back into the pillow, the weight of that memory making his chest ache. He wished he could go back to that very moment-to feel the simplicity of it again, to hear your giggle echoing in his back garden as you tried to escape him, only for him to catch you and pull you back into his arms. He wanted to be back there, in the sunshine with you, before everything became so complicated. Before he messed it all up. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, frustrated at the fact that you were so far away. He missed you more than he knew how to express, and on nights like these, he felt that loss in the deepest parts of himself. It wasn't just the physical distance-it was the emotional chasm that had grown between you, a gap he didn't know how to bridge. As the memory faded, Jude reached for the notebook again, flipping to a blank page. He began to write, the pen moving across the paper as he tried to capture that feeling, that moment with you, in words. Maybe one day he'd find a way to share it with you. Maybe one day, you'd know how much that memory meant to him, how much you meant to him. But for now, it was just another secret confession, scrawled in ink, tucked away in the pages of a notebook that was quickly becoming a record of everything he was too late to say. He closed his eyes, the image of you in that bikini, laughing as you ran from him, still fresh in his mind. The ache in his chest lingered, wishing for just one more chance to hold you, to feel your warmth, to make you laugh again. He laid there for a moment and as much his heart was aching… something else began to ache. Jude couldn’t get the image of you in that bikini out of his mind. He couldn’t get the images of him taking it off you out of his mind. 

As the scorching Spanish sun beat down on the pool in the back garden, laughter and desire intertwined.  You found yourself in a playful mood, donning a skimpy bikini that showcased your gorgeous figure—a sight that immediately captured Jude's attention. He stood tall by the pool, his athletic build glistening with a light sheen of sweat. His tanned skin, a golden hue, contrasted beautifully with his deep brown eyes, which at the moment were fixed on you with unapologetic desire. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you teased him, running around the pool deck, your laughter echoing across the garden. The game of cat and mouse began, and Jude, eager to catch his prey, gives chase. You giggled as you darted between the sun loungers, feeling the warmth of the stone beneath your bare feet. His footsteps closed in on you, and just as he reached out to grab you, you let out a playful squeal. Jude's strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you found yourself enveloped in his embrace. He pulled you close, your bodies pressing together, the heat between you intensifying. You wiggled playfully, feeling the hardness of his muscular body against your soft curves. His hands roamed freely, exploring your back, sending shivers down your spine.

"Gotcha, angel!" Jude whispered into your ear, his hot breath sending a delightful tingle down your neck. You squirmed in his grasp, a perfect mix of anticipation and excitement coursing through your veins. He tightened his hold, lifting you effortlessly off the ground and carrying you towards one of the plush pool loungers nearby. Gently, he laid you down, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze sent a jolt of arousal through your body. You reached up, running your hands over his hair, gripping it, pulling him closer for a kiss. His lips claimed yours passionately, and you responded eagerly, your tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm. As the kiss deepened, Jude's hands wandered, He untangled the ties of your bikini top with skilled fingers. He pulled away slightly, his eyes sparkling with lust, and then slowly he moved his lips down your body, using his teeth to untie the knot, sending a thrill through you. Your tits spilled into his waiting hands. He worshiped them with his touch, squeezing and caressing your sensitive nipples. Moans of pleasure escaped your lips as his skilled fingers worked magic, driving you to the brink of ecstasy. He lent down, replacing his fingers with his warm mouth, suckling your nipples and leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach. Your hands grasped his shoulders, urging him closer, craving the feeling of his skin against yours. Jude's hands traveled lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your bikini bottoms. He hooked his fingers and slid them down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze and the Madrid air. The cool breeze brushing against your heated skin, causing goosebumps to rise. His name fell from your lips in a hoarse moan the moment you felt his fingers running through your wet folds. With his fingers between your legs now, you were practically dripping for him. You looked at him with your jaw slacked and lidded eyes. He unraveled you with each movement.  His fingers making quick work sinking knuckles deep inside you. His fingers hit the perfect spot inside you with every thrust and curl of their tips. Your back arching uncontrollably. A puddle on the surface of the chair you were laying on formed, your juices running down his hand. The way his breath felt against your sin as he kissed it and the force of his fingers, it all had you rushing towards your orgasm. You whimpered with gasps of air. Your pussy was absolutely soaked but you couldn’t think, your mind had gone blank.  

“Let go, baby. Be a good girl f’me. Cum f’me.” Jude said sternly instructing you and you wasted no time at all. Your orgasm was never ending. He persistently kept his fingers at work inside of you, slowing slightly but drawing your high out.  “Good girl. So fucking good f’me.” Jude cooed as you attempted to hold onto his muscular arm to prevent him from moving any more. He gave way and removed his fingers as he kissed your lips with his before he drew away and forcefully pushed his thumb in between your lips. You willingly opened them for him and looked at him doe eyed and desperate for more. He kept your lips agape as he slowly spit into your mouth before hungrily kissing you again. Jude wrapped your legs around his waist. He positioned himself between your thighs, his hard length pressing against your soft core. You arched your back again desperate, inviting him to take what felt rightfully his. With one swift motion, he entered you, filling you with a delicious fullness. The sensations were overwhelming as Jude began to move, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. His eyes never leaving yours, and you could see the raw desire reflected in their depths. He sets a relentless pace, his body pounding into yours, each stroke eliciting moans of pleasure from both of you.

"Oh fuck, Jude," you cried out, your voice hoarse with passion. "Yes, right there!" The pupils in his dark eyes dilated when he felt his cock pulse inside you. Every movement was slow, deep, and intentional. His lips curled into a smug smile hearing that he was doing a good job. You dragged your ankle down his back muscles. He was finding out quickly exactly how to touch you, how to drive you wild. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, ensuring every thrust hits your sweet spot. The sounds of your pleasure fill the outdoor air—moans, gasps, and the wet, rhythmic slapping of skin on skin. As the tension builds, you can feel another orgasm approaching, a tidal wave of sensation ready to crash over you. Jude could sense your impending release and quickened his pace, his own breath becoming ragged.

"Cum for me, baby," he urged, his voice thick with lust. You moaned pulling him down to you more by the back of his neck dragging your nails harshly down his muscular back. He rested his forehead against yours sweetly as he continued to rail into you.  “Cum one more time f’me baby. Feels so good. Doing so well f’me.” He whispered between the lewd sounds of your squelching pussy. His thrusts sped up, rolling his hips into you as he chased his own orgasm. Your body tightened around him, and you cried out his name as the waves of pleasure washed over you once more. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you rode out the pulsating orgasm, your body trembling with its intensity. He thrusted harder, faster, his eyes rolling back as he surrendered to the bliss. He sunk his teeth into his perfect lower lip. You silently begged him to cum. His head tilted back. With a final powerful stroke, he emptied himself deep within you. Ropes of his cum filled the velvety inside of your pussy. He pumped you full gradually and slowly stilling. Your pussy continued to flutter as you panted beneath him. Your chest rising and falling. He softly stroked your hair and gently kissed you. “Did so good f’me.” He breathed, his voice filled with admiration. You smiled breathlessly as he kissed you again in a way that Jude prayed you could feel just how much he adored you with each one. In the aftermath of your passion by the pool, Jude collapsed onto the small space on the lounger, moving you to be on top of him now, both of you sweaty and satiated, keeping your bodies intertwined. You smiled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

As you stood, fingers grazing over the delicate fabric on the rack inside the department store, you let out a heavy sigh. The weight in your chest felt unbearable, and the artificial high of retail therapy wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. You thought the expensive price tags and shiny new outfits would mask the ache, but instead, it all felt hollow.Winnie came up behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist in a gentle hug. She giggled softly, trying to lift your spirits. 

"At least you'll have an amazing top to wear when you're ready to get back out there," she teased lightly. But the words, meant to comfort, only made you feel worse. Your eyes welled with tears, and you sniffled, turning away from the clothes.

"I don’t want to get back out there, Win," you whispered, voice trembling. "I don’t want to show off for anyone else. I don’t want any other eyes on me… it’s not the same." You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly brushing it away before it could fall. Winnie turned you gently, her face softening in concern.

“Hey, it’s okay to feel that. You’re hurting, and no amount of shopping is gonna fix that.” You sighed, blinking back more tears, your throat tight. 

"I just… I only want to look good for him. Jude. He’s the only one who made me feel alive, you know? I used to get dressed up and know he’d look at me like I was the only person in the room. Now… I don’t feel like that anymore. I feel dull, like nothing will ever be the same without him."  Your hand fell from the hanger, the top you were about to buy suddenly meaningless. Shopping couldn’t fill the void Jude left behind, no matter how many racks you combed through. Winnie squeezed you tighter, trying to ground you as your words hung heavy between you. She rested her chin on your shoulder, feeling your pain as if it were her own.

 “I know, babe,” she whispered, trying to soothe you. “It’s okay to feel this way, you know. You don’t have to be ready to move on. It’s okay if all you want is him.” You shook your head, blinking back more tears as you stared blankly at the clothes in front of you, the vibrant fabrics and trendy designs suddenly feeling meaningless.

 “I feel so stupid,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should be mad, right? I should be out there, showing him what he’s missing, living my best life. But I can’t. I just… I can’t.” Winnie turned you around in her arms, forcing you to look at her.

“You’re definitely not stupid. You’re in love. That’s not something you just get over in a snap. And you’re allowed to feel how you feel, even if it’s messy or complicated.” You sniffled, biting your lip as your eyes darted to the ground.

“But it’s more than that, Win. I wish I wanted to go out, find someone else, let some random guy sweep me off my feet, make Jude jealous. Hell, I wish I wanted to go fuck someone else but I don’t. I really don’t. The thought of someone else… It makes me sick. The idea of anyone touching me the way Jude did… it’s not even a comparison.”  Your voice cracked as the weight of your feelings pressed harder on your chest. “I tried that. I just want him,” you admitted, your heart breaking with every word. “I want to be in his bed, wearing his t-shirts, listening to him laugh at something stupid I said. I don’t want to go out and meet anyone new. I don’t want to pretend like I’m okay. I just want… him.”  Winnie sighed, her face soft with sympathy as she watched the tears finally fall. 

“I get it. I do. And I wish I could say something to make it all better, but I can’t. Only time will help… or maybe Jude will come to his senses and fix this… would you want him to?” She paused, her eyes searching yours, as if she was trying to find some glimmer of hope within you. You pouted at her, giving her the obvious answer that of course you did.  “Well, until then, you’ve got me. And we’ll get through this together, okay?” You nodded weakly, but the ache in your chest didn’t lessen. You pulled away from Winnie slightly, looking around the store, your heart heavy. 

“I just don’t get it, you know? I used to love coming to Bergdorfs. I used to get so excited to find something new, to go out and show it off. But now… now it feels like none of it matters.” You ran your fingers over a top you had been eyeing earlier, the fabric soft beneath your fingertips, but it didn’t bring you the same joy it once would have. “I don’t even want this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Winnie. “I know I sound dramatic but none of it means anything without him. What’s the point of getting dressed up or going out if he’s not there to see it? If he’s not the one taking it off at the end of the night?” Winnie’s arms wrapped around you again, tighter this time, as if she could shield you from the pain with her embrace. 

“You don’t have to do it for anyone else,” she murmured. “If you don’t want to go out, don’t. If you don’t want to move on right now, don’t force it. It’s okay to miss him, and it’s okay to still want him. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Even if it’s hard.” You sighed heavily, the exhaustion of everything catching up with you.

“I’m trying,” you said softly. “But it’s like… suddenly, New York isn’t home anymore. Nothing feels like home without him. The city feels empty, cold. And I’ve never felt so far away from him… from myself.”  Your voice cracked again, and Winnie’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re not far from yourself,” she said gently. “You’re just hurting. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to grieve this, to feel lost. But you’ll find your way back. Whether that’s with Jude or without him, I know you will.” Her words brought a small comfort, but the ache in your chest remained.

“It just doesn’t feel like home without him,” you repeated, more to yourself. “He is my home, and now I don’t even know where I am anymore.” Winnie pulled you in tighter, her heart breaking for you.

 “I know, babe. But we’ll figure it out. Whether that means getting back to him or finding your own way again. I’m here, and we’ll figure it out.” For a moment, you just stood there, holding onto her, the weight of your heartbreak pressing down on you. You wanted to believe her, that you’d find your way back to yourself, but right now, all you could think about was how much you missed Jude. How much you still loved him, even after everything. You sighed again, pulling away from Winnie and running a hand through your hair.

 “I don’t want to meet anyone else, Win. I don’t want to move on. I just want him.” Winnie nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. 

“I know. And that’s okay. You don’t have to move on. But maybe… maybe you should tell him that.” She sympathetically smiled at you. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the black sheer lace dress you had bought on a whim clinging to your body like a whisper. You could see your underwear beneath the fabric, and you almost laughed at how absurd this all felt. Yet, you couldn’t help but indulge in the fantasy for a moment, wondering what it would be like if you did go to Aurelian’s party. The new clothes from your shopping spree with Winnie sat scattered around you in your wardrobe, a reminder of how hard you were trying to distract yourself. An hour and half a bottle of Dom Pérignon later, you were sitting on the floor of your wardrobe, staring at your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen. The bubbly had loosened something in you, making you braver—or more reckless, depending on how you looked at it. Without thinking too much about it, you picked up your phone and shot off a flirty text to Aurelian, switching to French. 

‘Qu'est-ce que je suis censée porter à ta fête si je viens? Quoi qu'il en soit, je me sens déjà un peu sous-dressée…’ [What am I supposed to wear to your party if I come? Though, I already feel a little underdressed]

You pressed send before you could stop yourself. Your heart raced as you waited for a reply, feeling a strange mix of excitement and guilt swirl in your chest. When Aurelian’s response finally came through, you bit your lip as you read it, his words making your cheeks warm. 

‘Je ne t'ai jamais vue sans être magnifique. Je suis presque sûr que ce n'est pas les vêtements qui comptent…’ [I’ve never seen you look anything but magnificent. I’m pretty sure it’s not the clothes that matter.]

His implication was clear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You found yourself smiling at his smooth compliment, your heart beating a little faster. You could feel the tension in the air between you, even through a phone screen, and for a moment, you wondered if you should let yourself lean into it.  Aurelian's next message popped up with an innocently enough question. 

 ‘Alors, à quoi pensais-tu?’ [So, what were you thinking?]

You stared at the text, the decision looming large before you. You could send him a photo right now—show him the drunken, seductive mess you were in this dress, the dress you probably wouldn’t have worn for anyone but Jude in the past. A part of you wanted to flirt, to let Aurelian see you this way, to forget for just a moment how much you missed Jude. 

But as you sat there, the phone still in your hand, you sighed. You couldn't shake the ache inside you, the ache that had nothing to do with Aurelian. It was Jude who filled your thoughts, Jude who made your heart race when you sent those types of flirty, suggestive photos. Jude who you were still in love with, even if it hurt like hell.You let your phone drop beside you, not replying to Aurelian’s message. The thought of sending that picture, or even entertaining the idea of someone else, just didn’t feel right. It didn’t fill the void you were hoping it would. It only reminded you of what you were missing—what you still wanted, even though you had tried to convince yourself otherwise. With a heavy sigh, you rested your head against the a cabinet drawer, the sheer dress now feeling more like a reminder of the distance between where you were and where you wanted to be. You weren’t ready to move on. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You were sitting on your couch, half-watching the cityscape outside your window mindlessly when your phone rang. It was your mum. You answered with a smile, but the moment she mentioned your dad had watched the Madrid match, your stomach twisted in knots. 

"He was so excited, you know? Your dad, watching the game. And then... well, I’ve been feeling like I’m keeping something from him," she said softly but you could almost hear her smile through the phone. "I mean, about you and Jude." You froze, your throat tightening. 

"Mum, we’re not... we’re not seeing each other anymore." You sheepishly admitted hating each word as it came out of your mouth.  

"What do you mean? I thought—" There was a pause on the other end of the line, the confusion hanging in the air like a weight. 

"It’s over," you said quickly, the words feeling foreign, like they didn’t belong to you. "I ended it." With every follow-up question she asked, you felt your resolve crumbling, the walls you had built up to protect yourself beginning to crack. And then, as you tried to explain, your voice broke, a sob you hadn’t expected rising in your chest. Tears slipped from your eyes, and it was like you couldn’t stop them once they started. You never cried, not like this, not with your mum. The moment she heard the hitch in your voice, her tone shifted. She dropped into the familiar comfort of French, her voice soft and maternal. 

"Ma chérie, oh non, mon bébé, ne pleure pas. C’est bon, je suis là. Papa et moi, nous sommes là pour toi. Viens nous voir, viens à Paris.” [My darling, oh no, my baby, don’t cry. It’s okay, I’m here. Dad and I, we're here for you. Come see us, come to Paris.] Her words wrapped around you like a blanket, but instead of comforting you, they made the ache worse. You cried harder, the sobs tearing out of you, unexpected and overwhelming. There was something about her offer, the thought of going back to Paris with a broken heart, that made the hurt feel even sharper. Paris had always been your sanctuary, your favorite place on earth. You didn’t want to taint it with the sadness that now clung to you like a second skin. The idea of walking those familiar streets, eating at your favorite cafés, all while carrying the weight of your broken heart—it was unbearable.

"I... I don’t think I can, Mum," you choked out between sobs. "I don’t want to go to Paris like this. I really don’t want to ruin it." You muttered.

"Rien ne peut ruiner Paris pour toi, ma chérie.” [Nothing can ruin Paris for you, my darling.] She soothed, her voice soft and steady. "Paris misses you almost as much as we do." But you shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it.

"I feel so lost. I know I haven’t known him for that long but I don’t even know who I am without him anymore. And if I go to Paris like this, I’m scared it’ll never be the same again.” 

“Tu es forte, mon amour. Plus forte que tu ne le penses. Et peu importe ce que tu ressens maintenant, tu retrouveras ton chemin. Come to Paris. We’ll help you heal.” [You are strong, my love. Stronger than you think. And no matter how you feel now, you will find your way back. Come to Paris. We’ll help you heal.] Her words were like balm on a wound, but it didn’t stop the fear from gnawing at you. You hadn’t realized how deep this heartbreak had cut, how much it had seeped into every part of your life. Even the thought of Paris, a place you’d always associated with joy and love, felt tainted now. 

"I just... I don’t know how to do this, Mum. I don’t know how to move on." You wrapped your arms around yourself, the tears slowing but your chest still heavy. Telling your mum you were hurting made you feel like a little girl. 

"Tu n’as pas à savoir maintenant. C’est pour ça qu’on est là. Come to Paris, ma chérie. Papa et moi, on s’occupera de toi." [You don’t have to know right now. That’s why we’re here. Come to Paris, my darling. Dad and I will take care of you.] You cried quietly as she continued to console you, her words soft and loving, trying to bring you comfort in a moment where comfort felt impossible. You knew she was right, that eventually, you’d have to find your way back to yourself. But right now, in the middle of the heartache, it felt like you were drifting, lost and untethered.

After what felt like your and Jude’s denouement you were struggling with the overwhelming weight of your emotions crush your resolve. You couldn’t do this alone—not anymore. The only person you could think or want to call was Whitney. Whitney, who had always been there for you, who understood the unique challenges of loving an English footballer, a man with a similar life as Jude. With trembling hands, you dialed her number.

“Helllooo” Whitney sang. “What’s up?” When Whitney picked up, her voice was warm and familiar, instantly calming some of your anxiety. But you couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped you. 

“Whit… can I come stay with you? Please? Whit…” You whimpered as you began to bawl.

“Of course, you can. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The concern in Whitney’s voice was immediate. You tried to gather herself, but the tears kept coming. 

“I just… I can’t be here. I need to get away. I need to be somewhere safe. I can’t be alone like this.” You wept as your whole body shook of fear and heartbreak.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Whitney assured you. “Just get on the next flight over here. Come be with me. Trent and I are here for you always.” Whitney sympathetically told you. 

By the time you arrived at Trent and Whitney’s house, you were exhausted—emotionally, physically, completely drained. You stood at the doorstep, your heart heavy as you padded in the lock code Whitney gave you. As you opened the door, the alarm bell rang through their massive home that was filled to the brim with love and warmth that made you want to cry upon entry. The other thing that made you want to cry was their sweet little two year old girl, Teddy running towards you. Her bare feet pitter pattering on the flooring.

“Y/N!” Teddy exclaimed, her tiny face lighting up with pure joy. “Miss! Missed!” She giggled as the dimples in her cheeks sank.  You felt your heart swell at the sight of this little girl you loved so much. You dropped to your knees and scooped Teddy up into a tight hug, letting the warmth of the embrace soothe you for a moment. But then, the tears came again, unbidden and unstoppable. Trent appeared at the door next, concern etched on his face. He watched as you clung to his daughter, tears streaming down your cheeks. Without a word, he walked over and gently lifted Teddy from your arms. He kissed your temple softly, offering silent comfort.

“It’s okay,” Trent murmured, holding Teddy close as she babbled nonsense about missing you happily in his arms. “Whatever’s going on. You’re gonna be alright.” He cooed. 

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” Whitney said softly, leading you into the cozy living room after she appeared at your side, her arm wrapping around your shoulders. You settled on the couch, and Whitney handed you a glass of wine. “Talk to me,” Whitney urged gently. “Tell me what’s going on.” You took a shaky breath, staring into the wine glass as if it held all the answers. You knew you needed to talk, to let it all out—but the words felt stuck in your throat. Whitney waited patiently, her presence a steady, calming force. 

“I messed everything up, Whit. I tried to protect myself, and I ended up pushing him away. I don’t know what to do.” You whimpered. Finally, you looked up, your voice trembling. Whitney reached out, placing a comforting hand on your knee. 

“I hardly think you messed everything up. He cares so much about you. I’m here to listen so let’s start from the beginning,” she said softly. “I’m here for you, Y/N. Whatever it is, whatever is best for you, we’ll figure it out together.” As the night went on, you poured out your heart, the tears falling freely as you recounted everything that had happened with Jude. All the things Whitney already knew, all the things Whitney didn’t. All of it, dirty and otherwise. She listened, offering support and understanding in a way only she could. The wine helped to dull the edges of your pain, but it was the kindness and warmth of Whitney and her little family that truly began to soothe the deep ache inside you. After a long, emotional conversation, Whitney noticed your exhaustion weighing heavily on you. But she also knew that you needed more than just one person to lean on right now. With a reassuring smile, Whitney pulled out her phone.

“I think it’s time to bring in another opinion. It’s only right,” Whitney said, giving you a wink as she tapped on her screen. Moments later, the familiar face of Winnie appeared on the screen. Winnie’s bright smile greeting you with her usual energy. 

“Wow, thanks for the invite! I didn’t know you were going over Y/N.” Winnie teased seeing you and Lauren on the same couch but then she paused, taken aback by the expressions on your faces. “What’s going on? Look like you’ve had a good cry.” She asked a bit cautiously.  You managed a small smile as Whitney explained the progression of your situation. Winnie listened intently, her face softening with empathy as the story unfolded. She was rambunctious and fun, but she also had a deep well of understanding that made her the perfect person to talk to when things got heavy. After that night at the club, Winnie had been there for you. Both of these girls always were.

“So let me just recap here.,” Winnie said, leaning closer to the camera as if she could step through the screen to be with you. “You and Jude are head over heels for each other, but you’re both too scared to admit it, so you’re pushing each other away, sleeping with other people and then just not talking about it?” Winnie summarized the situation a bit too bluntly. 

“Win… they’re in love with each other.”  Whitney rebuffed. “Sure, Jude’s been fucking stupid but Y/N now has created distance… rightfully so by the way.” Whitney turned to you, squeezing your leg. “Problem is, now, there’s a chasm they don’t know what to do with. Y/N is trying to weigh what to do.” Whitney sadly smiled. 

“What’s gonna hurt less.” Winnie responded. “But…” Winnie piped up again. “I mean… a little pain isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s horrible but on the other side of it... I think maybe an in person conversation, if you can manage it might be good.”

“I agree. And then if the direction turns you get to decide. You get to call it. You clearly love each other and saying it over the phone just isn’t right. Not when it’s real love.” Whitney ever the romantic cooed. You blushed at the ideas, nodding hesitantly, trying to keep your composure. 

“I really love him… I think.” You pouted at them. Feeling not much better about Jude specifically but much better talking with them. “I’m such a fucking sap now. Whitney, you did this to me.” You whined falling into her lap dramatically. Both girls giggled as you dragged yourself to sit back up.  

“Love is amazing!” Whitney sang kissing your forehead. She had no quam introducing you and Jude. She thought love was great. You usually watched Whitney’s relationship from a distance, thinking it was crazy she was down so bad for a man but now you understood her more than ever. And at the moment you envied her happy relationship more than ever. 

“The make up sex will be amazing!!” Winnie added, mocking Whitney’s tone. Whitney chuckled, shaking her head. Before you could respond, Teddy came bounding into the room, her little feet pattering against the floor.

 “Mama!” she called out, her eyes lighting up as she spotted Whitney. She climbed up onto the couch clumsily, nestling herself into Whitney’s lap, and wrapped her tiny arms around her mother’s neck. Whitney kissed Teddy’s cheek, holding her close as she continued the conversation.

“It’s not easy, Y/N. But pushing him away because you’re scared will only hurt you both more.” You and her both exchanged sad smiles. Teddy let go on Whitney and clumsily flopped onto your lap giving your thigh a hug smushing her face against your leg. She could sense your sadness and even though she probably couldn’t understand why, her silly hug did more than she knew. Just after, Trent appeared in the doorway, looking slightly sheepish. “Sorry, ladies,” he said, running a hand over his hair. “She slipped away from me. She’s quick y’know.” He laughed. You smiled at the sight of Trent, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the normalcy of the scene. 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now. “I could use all the cuddles I can get.” You cooed. Trent chuckled, giving a quick hello to Winnie and then Teddy a playful nudge before scooping her up. Whitney gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Trent plopped onto another seat in the room with Teddy, the two of them falling into their own little conversation. 

“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” she said softly. “But you should be honest with yourself about how you feel, you should ask him point blank how he feels, you deserve someone who will love you fearlessly. Not all this bullshit he’s been doing. At the end of it all, do what is right for your heart, your peace. Just please take care of this girl because she means a lot to me.” Whitney smiled as she pinched at your waist.  Winnie nodded on the screen in agreement, her expression serious and stoic. 

“Exactly. We’re here for you, Y/N. Whatever you decide, you’re not alone in this but also don’t pretend cheap navy polyester blend sheets are ever going to make you feel the way white Italian made Frette sateen do.” She meant it metaphorically but maybe seriously as well about bedroom antics. Whitney shrugged partly agreeing about the bed linen comment. You were a group of three, well four including Teddy, very spoiled girls. You looked at the two sisters and then at Teddy, who was now contentedly playing with the hem of Trent’s top. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so lost. After the conversation with Winnie wrapped up, Whitney decided it was time to shift the mood to something lighter. 

“You know what we need? A Chinese,” she declared, already pulling up the menu on her phone. 

“Whit, baby, you know I can’t have that—I’m in season.” Trent, now lounging comfortably in the corner of the couch with Teddy perched on his lap, raised an eyebrow in protest.

“You’ll survive. Y/N likes the place we order from here so that’s what we’re getting.” Whitney shot him a playful but firm look. Trent sighed, defeated, while Teddy giggled at her father’s expense. 

“Dada no hungry?” Teddy chirped asking Trent, grabbing at his shirt. “Like ‘neese.” She giggled, unable to properly pronounce ‘chinese’ just yet.

“Nah, baby bear. I’m very hungry!” Trent corrected her as he dramatically squeezed Teddy tight to him, locking her in place as he began to nom on her chubby cheek teasingly as she squealed and giggled. You sighed hearing Trent call Teddy his little nickname, a two year olds giggle booming in the room, your best friend watching her family. You felt so lonely in a moment when you couldn’t have been less alone. Soon enough, the smell of takeout filled the house. You gathered around their dining table. Trent’s eyes lingered longingly on the orange chicken, but he dutifully stuck to his more athlete-friendly meal, occasionally sneaking glances at everyone else’s plates.

“Mama, no tanks.” Teddy, still on Trent’s lap, scrunched her nose at the sight of broccoli on her plate. It was simply genetics but there was something funny about watching both Trent, over orange chicken, and Teddy, over broccoli, give Whitney their best identical puppy dog eyes pleading for her approval. 

“Ted, baby,  gotta eat those please. Just a few bites for me, cute girl.” Whitney replied, not missing a beat. “You… “ her eyes flashed to Trent. “Learn some self control. Eat your grilled chicken and set an example for your daughter.”  She giggled. “Eat your broccoli.” She smirked, moving a container more towards them. With a dramatic sigh, both Teddy and Trent picked up a piece of broccoli and nibbled at it. As you ate, the conversation flowed naturally, drifting back to the earlier topic. Trent, who had been mostly quiet regarding the Jude situation, finally chimed in.

“Look, Y/N, I get it. Jude’s been a…” He paused momentarily to cover Teddy’s ears. “He’s been a fucking idiot because he’s scared, just like you are. But being scared doesn’t mean you should just give up on the whole relationship.” He cooed. Your fork paused halfway to your mouth, and you looked at Trent, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. 

“T, Jude and I aren’t even in a relationship. We’re just… I don’t even know what we are. And at the moment really nothing at all.”  You sighed, upset that it wasn’t like you were repairing something with a boyfriend. Jude was nothing to you because you never got to labels and that was the problem. Trent leaned forward slightly, his expression serious but kind. 

“You say that and I know that Jude should’ve fixed exactly that but you’re more than just nothing, that’s for sure. But if you just push it all away and ignore what you want, you’re never going to know what it could be.” He softly smiled at you. Whitney nodded in agreement, giving you a similar gentle smile. 

“I don’t want to pile on because I know it’s hard but T’s right, you know. You can’t let fear control this. Jude should be the one to fix it but if it’s something you want it’s worth maybe at least asking one more time.” Whitney pouted a bit being a hopeless romantic. You took a deep breath, letting their words sink in. You knew they were right, but that didn’t make it any easier. Still, there was something comforting about the way you all sat around the table, talking through the mess of emotions that had been haunting you for weeks. When you finished your meal, you felt a little lighter, as if the weight of your fears had been shared among you all. Teddy, after finally eating her vegetables, grinned triumphantly as Whitney handed her a small bowl of ice cream.

“See? Not so bad. You and Daddy are so picky sometimes ” Whitney teased, running her hand over Trent’s head whilst pressing a kiss to Teddy’s hair. You smiled, feeling a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this confusing thing with Jude. And if you stumbled along the way, at least you knew you had people who would catch you.  As the evening wound down, Whitney guided you to the guest room, a comforting hand on your back. You carried Teddy, who insisted on following you two, her tiny arms wrapped around your neck. When you reached the room, you gently placed Teddy down before flopping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. The weight of the day, the emotions, and the uncertainty all seemed to catch up with you at once. But the despair was short-lived as Teddy, ever the little bundle of joy, clambered up onto the bed beside you, mimicking your flop with a giggle. The sound was infectious, and despite yourself, you found a smile breaking through. You leaned over and planted a few playful kisses on Teddy’s cheeks, each one drawing more giggles from the little girl. It was moments like these that made everything feel a bit more manageable. Whitney sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a sympathetic smile. She knew you were still hurting, still conflicted, but she also knew that you needed to confront those feelings head-on. 

“You should talk to Jude, Y/N,” Whitney said softly, her tone gentle but insistent. Hearing Jude’s name, Teddy’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Mama, miss Judey!” she exclaimed, her voice bright and innocent, free of the complications that you were grappling with. Your heart clenched a little at Teddy’s words. You hugged Teddy close, pressing another kiss to her cheek. 

“Me too, Ted. Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Whitney watched you, her heart aching for her friend but also hopeful that this might be the push you needed.

“He misses you too, Y/N. Don’t let this slip away without at least trying to fight for it.” You nodded slowly, your mind racing with all the things you wanted to say to Jude, all the things you were too afraid to admit even to yourself. But as you lay there with Teddy cuddled up beside you, you knew that Whitney was right. It was time to stop running, time to face whatever this thing with Jude was—no matter how terrifying it might be. You laid in bed, the darkness of the room doing little to quiet your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, thoughts of Jude filled your head—his smile, his laugh, the way he made you feel both terrified and alive all at once. You watched the hours tick by, each passing minute only intensifying the ache in your chest. You missed him, more than you wanted to admit. 

You accompanied Whitney to one of Trent’s Liverpool matches. After the game, you two along with Trent and his brother, Marcel went out for dinner. You didn’t feel happy per se but you felt relaxed and just comforted by their normalcy and the layer of wine rushing through your system definitely helped lighten your mood. As Whitney excused herself to the bathroom and a fan engaged Trent in conversation, you felt a sudden charge of freedom wash over you. It was like a door had opened, offering a brief moment to do something reckless. Marcel's arm had found its way around your shoulders, and what started as an innocent gesture quickly shifted into something more intense, at least in your mind. In Marcel’s mind it was more in a platonic friend way steadying your drunk movements. You leaned in closer, feeling the alcohol take hold of your thoughts, pushing boundaries you might not have dared cross otherwise. Your thumb brushed over Marcel's lips, slow and deliberate, tracing the shape of them with a glint in your eye. You were testing the waters, watching for his reaction, letting the thrill of mischief spark through you. Marcel smirked despite himself, recognizing the shift in energy, the subtle tension that had bloomed between you two. His heart raced momentarily, tempted by the familiarity of this dynamic. You had hooked up before, and that memory lingered, pulling at the edges of his resolve.

"You have really nice lips," you murmured, eyes flicking down to them and then back up to his face, the challenge implicit in your voice. Marcel chuckled, his hand gently closing around yours as he pulled it away from his lips.

"Thank you sweetheart," he said, with a soft laugh.His tone light but cautious. "They get the job done." He cooed. You giggled, flashing your eyes down to his lips again, emboldened by his response. The banter felt dangerous, electric. There was a fire in your belly that only seemed to grow as you watched his smirk soften into something more serious. The thrill of pushing the line, seeing how far you could take it, was exhilarating. You felt like you were barreling toward something you couldn't quite control, but instead of stopping, you let yourself teeter closer to the edge. The energy between you two was shifting fast, spiraling into something much more charged. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall would hurt but craving the rush of it anyway. You felt alive in a way you hadn't since things with Jude fell apart, and it felt dangerous, intoxicating.

“I know.” You cooed with a a smug smile. For a split second, you let yourself imagine it—the temptation, the thrill of crossing that line again with Marcel. You were flirting with danger, and a part of you loved the recklessness of it. But Marcel wasn't moving. He hadn't leaned in. He hadn't taken the bait. You could see it in his eyes, the internal battle he was fighting, the temptation wrestling with his conscience. The way his gaze flicked away from yours, the way he gently squeezed your hand as if to ground himself, it all told you he wasn't going to let this go any further. Not tonight. For a moment, you felt the excitement drain, leaving behind a hollow ache. You weren't really after Marcel. You were after the thrill, the distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had been eating away at you since Jude. But as you sat there, staring at Marcel's careful, measured response, you realized this wasn't what you wanted. Not really.

“Lucky you,” he teased, playing along with the joke you started, but there was an undertone of seriousness as his gaze lingered on you a little too long. Marcel’s soft laugh echoed in your ears, his casual response almost distracting you from the sting of rejection you felt coming. You giggled, but the sound was empty, your heart heavy with the weight of what you knew was coming. You sighed, the giggle fading, and pouted without meaning to, feeling childish but unable to stop yourself. The alcohol had lowered your guard, and now, there was nowhere to hide from the vulnerability that was surfacing. Marcel noticed the shift in you, and instead of pulling away, he turned to face you fully. Gently, he lifted your face from where it had been resting against his shoulder, cupping your cheeks with his hands. His touch was soft, tender even, as he looked directly into your eyes. “Listen, it’s not that I wouldn’t,” he began, his voice low but steady. “Or that I’m not interested. You’re gorgeous, and trust me… I hate that I’m saying no. That the right thing is no.” He paused, watching the way your eyes searched his, needing more from him, something to fill the emptiness you’d been carrying. “But you don’t actually want this.” You felt the weight of his words settle over you, sinking in as tears began to form on your lash line. You blinked, trying to hold them back, but it was no use. He was right, of course. Deep down, you knew you didn’t want this. Not really. Marcel wasn’t the person who filled the aching void in your chest. You were after the thrill, the distraction from the gnawing emptiness that had been eating away at you since Jude. But as you sat there, staring at Marcel's careful, measured response, you realized this wasn't what you wanted. Not really. Still, the rejection hurt. Your cheek leaned further into his hand, seeking comfort in his touch. You nodded, unable to form the words to admit the truth aloud, and Marcel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss into your hair, and you took a deep, shaky breath, inhaling the warmth of his embrace. You pulled away from the hug, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. You managed a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes as you glanced up at him. You blinked, the haze clearing just enough for reality to settle back in. You felt a pang of regret. Not for what almost happened, but for the emptiness that made you chase after it in the first place.

“Would you, though? If things were different?” The question slipped out, your drunken state loosening your tongue. It wasn’t a fair question to ask, but you needed to know, needed some kind of validation that you still had ‘it.’ Marcel chuckled softly at first, but then his face grew serious. His eyes darkened, his gaze holding yours as he leaned in closer, his hand sliding down to your waist, his thumb brushing over the bare skin of your stomach where your shirt had ridden up. He whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. 

“Y/N… You know the answer.” He smirked. “We’ve lived that answer so trust me…you have no idea,” he said, his voice low, sending a shiver down your spine. “If things were different, you wouldn’t still be sitting at this table.” The confession sent a rush through you, a sense of relief flooding your system, like a validation you hadn’t realized you needed. It was a reminder that you still had ‘it,’ that you were still desirable. But as the relief settled in, so did something else—a deeper realization. You didn’t want ‘it’ with Marcel. You didn’t want to be here, chasing after validation from someone who wasn’t the person you truly wanted. You wanted Jude. You wanted the warmth of his arms around you, the sound of his voice telling you that you were the only one for him. No matter how good it felt to hear Marcel’s words, they weren’t enough to fill the void. With a sigh, you pulled away from Marcel, giving him a small, grateful smile. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, unsure if you were thanking him for the compliment or for stopping you from making a mistake. Marcel just nodded, his expression soft, understanding. 

“You’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “You’re just... a little lost right now.” And he was right. You were lost, but maybe, just maybe, you were starting to find your way back. As Whitney returned and Trent's conversation ended, the moment dissolved into the background, just another part of the night. But the lingering feeling stayed with you, a reminder of how far away you still felt from the person you used to be-and the person you wanted to be again.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 11 xx

[sweetestlamb]

I Wanna do Bad Things to You

Authors note: honestly I was losing interest a bit and the second couple still has me in a chokehold but today's episode ate devoured and licked the plate clean. I have a million things I need to do right now but I wrote this instead🤷🏾‍♀️💃🏾

None of his fantasies could have ever prepared him for the vision Seok-ryu makes breathing hard beneath him, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen from their kissing.

Thoughts about her aren't new to him. Dirty thoughts about her are not new either. He's been locking his door since he first realized that his feelings for her were different from his feelings for Mo-eum.

He never dreamed about holding her hand, or kissing her or undressing her.

No. Those bad thoughts were reserved for one person and now she's under him staring up at him like she's having very similar thoughts and his thoughts are multiplying by the minute.

"What are you thinking about?"

'Giving you a hickie.'

But he only says that to himself in the safety of his mind because saying that out loud terrifies him and makes his palms too moist.

"Choiseung." She demands his attention again, as if he's not already too fixated on her.

"I'd.... rather not say." He whispers instead, leaning down to hide his face in the curve of her neck before he even realizes his mistake.

She grumbles underneath him but he melts at her hand settling in his hair, her fingers running through the thick strands. Nobody's ever caressed him like this before. He has the fight the moan that wants to escape.

"You're already breaking your promise."

That gets his attention and he shifts away, pining her with her eyes.

"What? What do you mean? What did I do?" He wants to fix whatever it is immediately, he can't handle another argument with her his heart felt like it would burst.

She seems stunned by his seriousness before she collects herself, "You said you wouldn't hide anything from me again. I want to know what you're thinking, whatever is making you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're starving."

Her and these food analogies. But she's not wrong, he feels like he has been starving for years waiting, longing and wishing. Starved for her attention, her favour and her love.

"I'm hungry."

His eyes widen at the sudden announcement especially considering that they just ate, but maybe he can go outside and see if the store is still open and get her something to--

"Where are you going?" She huffs at him as he tries to detangle their limbs.

"You said that you're hun-

"Are you a virgin?"

He freezes and his brain short circuits before he can remind his lungs how to work and breathe again.

"Are you insane why would you ask me that?!"

"Woah. Look how red you got! Am I right? You're a virgin? Am I going to be your first?"

He stares at her slack mouthed before his competitiveness kicks in, she's always been the one to bring this petty immature side out of him.

Far too easily he grips both of her wrists in his hand and pins her hands to the bed over her head. She flails in his tight grip but he watches with fascination as her cheeks pinken and her eyes dilute.

Interesting.

"My first what? Are you offering Seok-ryu? Do you want it that badly?"

His nerves are still there but the desire to put her in her place overrides it momentarily.

But instead of arguing like she's supposed, like they've both been doing for years she zigs when he expects her to zag.

"What if I do? You're my boyfriend. Aren't I suppose to want you?" She stares back with open defiance, only she could make such a confession sound so aggressive.

"Seok-ryu..."

"I don't want to talk. Do I have to spell it out? I want you to -"

His lips slam into hers with a wet smack and he almost groans at how easily she opens up for him, kissing him back as if she's the one that's been pining for years. As if she wants him half as much as he wants her.

He jolts when her legs wrap around his waist, his hold on her wrists loosening for a moment.

When he can't resist the urge to grind into her heat he forces himself to pull away. They need to slow down this is...too much. Too fast.

"We should stop."

But that seems to be the last thing on her mind.

Instead she frees her hands and shoves them up his shirt, his stomach tightens at her touch and this time he isn't quick enough to swallow his reaction.

"Hey Seung-hyo when did you get abs? Is that why you think you can boss me around because you got some muscles?"

"You can't just touch me like that." She raises an eyebrow at his exclamation, challenge clear in her eyes.

"Oh. Why not? Aren't you my man? Can't I touch you just like this and even worst? If I can't touch you like this then who can?"

His jaw drops at her assertion and at the possessiveness in her tone.

He refuses to leave any room for a misunderstanding this time.

"Nobody. Only you."

She avoids eye contact but he doesn't miss the smirk on her lips and that twinkle in her eyes.

"But if you touch me like that then I'm going to get thoughts....I don't want to take advantage of you."

Her laughter is instant and he's tired of feeling like a fish out of water, she's his woman. He is allowed to act like it. He's done holding himself back.

So he retightens his grip on her hands and leans down to press a firm kiss to her neck. Then he waits and her reaction is immediate, her body bends to meet him giving him free range to explore.

Without hesitation he preseses another kiss opening his mouth to taste her and she moans in response.

"More."

That sends blood rushing through his entire body.

He kisses her again and again until she's twisting beneath him but he's too strong for her to break his hold, he shouldn't like that so much.

"I want to give you a hickie."

There. He's said it and if she says no that's fine this is still more than he ever hoped for, more than he deserves honestly. It's greedy of him to even want for more.

"Then do it."

And this time he hold on her completely loosens and she wraps her hands around his neck and yanks him down again, pressing his face further into her neck with a quiet, "Mark me I want it."

He opens his mouth and sucks gently, teething at the thin skin there with the barest amount of pressure. He does it for a minute, lost in her scent and in her soft skin.

"Harder."

He hums into her neck in response, too enthralled to move away for even a second.

"You need to do it harder to leave a mark."

He ignores the tinge of jealousy that flares up at her obvious expertise, she's here with him now that's all that matters.

And he obeys her, open his mouth wider and sucking harder even biting at the last minute and he almost pulls away at her soft shout but she tightens her arms around him refusing to left him go.

"I'm fine you just surprised me. But I like it. I like everything you do to me. Don't stop."

He feels like he's drowning in his own pent up desires.

But he continues to suck and bite and lick at her skin before he realizes that his hips have been moving of their own accord, each gasp from her lips feels him leaving lightheaded and wound up too tight.

He needs to stop before it's too late.

The hickie is huge and red, he realizes that he might have overdone it especially with them trying to hide their relationship.

She's going to kill him.

"How is it? Are you proud of yourself?" She teases him and he can't deny that he loves seeing his mark on her, loves that she trusted him enough to let him do that.

"Who knew you were so possessive?"

He bristles at her taunting tone, "Like you're any better? What did you call me your ma-"

"Hey! Shut up, don't repeat the things I say in the heat of the moment that's embarrassing!"

And this time she pushes him away, and he lets her flopping onto her bed.

"I'm going to check out my hickie, see how much concealer I need to cover it."

And that has him bolting up in the bed, "Wait a second Seok-ryu!"

But he's too late and he watches her eyes flare with anger as she touches the large red mark on her neck in awed silence.

"It looks worst than it really is, it should fade by tomorrow I'm sure!" So similar to the words that she said to his crying six year old self and they both know how that turned out.

"I'm going to kill you!! What did you do to my beautiful neck? What are you a freaking vampire? I said mark me, not destroy my neck!"

And he jumps over the bed trying to get away from her and he can't help but laugh as she trips over her own feet trying to catch him.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Devil's Snare Part. 8

Aemond Targayen x Reader

Description: A raven arrives to King's Landing carrying news of Prince Lucerys' death. Aemond returns to find his wife has reverted back to the timid and fearful girl he'd first met, horrified by his actions and terrified of the darkness that festers within him.

Previous part

Writer's note: Here it is, the part I've been scared to write as this story has been mostly fluffy up to this point. This is angst city I'm not going to lie. I took inspiration from Stephanie Garber's Once upon a broken heart series. Even more angst to follow in the next part. Thank you as always to all you lovely readers!

Warnings: Aemond being possessive and a little toxic. Angst, angst, angst. Seriously, Aemond is in the trenches because his wife is mad at him. Female reader.

Years of training with Ser Cole to gain mastery over the sword, years spent studying to embody all that a Targaryen Prince should be, years bonded to the largest and most ancient Dragon in existence...all had taught Aemond control. But at the very real threat to those he loved at Aegon's coronation, the realisation that he did not have the power to guarantee the safety of his family, Aemond felt his tenous control over himself, over everything around him slipping.

Seeing Lucerys Velaryon again at Storm's End had been incendiary to Aemond, who already burned with rage and a desire for vengeance. The fear of losing those he loved, his fury at the Strong pup parading about the kingdom trying to steal his brother's inheritance, a loathsome feeling of vulnerability in the face of the boy who'd taken his eye from him and paid no recompense. All had lead him on a path of violence that there could be no turning back from. In killing Lucerys Velaryon, Aemond had begun a war that could lead to nowhere but death and destruction. He felt nauseous as he watched with horror the mangled pieces of Arrax fall from the sky. His mind swam with conflicting fears as he felt the true weight of what he'd done hit him, tightening his grip on Vhagar's reigns, the feel of the leather beneath his hands the only thing vesting him with a sense of reality. It did not matter that he had not meant to kill Luke, all that mattered was that he had lost control of himself and his dragon in turn. The Blacks would seek to retaliate tenfold, and if anything happened to his family now it would be his fault. The thought sent a jolt of fear tearing up Aemond's spine and he struggled to breathe, gasping for air. Then he thought of Y/N's reaction. He pictured her face contorted with disgust at his actions or worse still fear of him. The image sobered him somewhat as if a pitcher of ice cold water had been thrown over him and cleared his muddled senses. He gripped Vhagar's reigns and angled her in the direction of King's Landing. He expected it would not be long before Storm's End became aware of what had transpired and they would inevitably send ravens. He could not bear the thought of his wife hearing of what he'd done from any other lips but his own and that conviction had him pitching forward to urge Vhagar to fly faster.

The Prince's worst fears were realised the moment he stepped foot in the Red Keep as he was immediately rushed by his mother and The Hand, demanding explanations from him he could scarcely give and he knew then that he was too late. Whilst he had been panicking atop the clouds of Storm's End, Lord Baratheon had sent his ravens.

Aemond inhaled deeply, tentatively opening the door to the chambers he shared with his wife. Y/N's hair was mussed as if she'd been yanking at it and her breath was ragged as she paced about the room in agitation. Her head snapped up as he entered and he felt the look of fear in her eyes, of what he had done or of him, pierce his very soul.

He took small experimental steps towards her, unable to stop himself from reaching towards her. Though he immediately halted when she held a hand out to stop him.

Aemond was surprised to hear Y/N's voice break the silence first as whatever explanations, or apology he had prepared died on his lips.

"Is it true. Did you kill a child?" Both her gaze and her question were direct, but the waver in her voice sent a pang of pain through Aemond's heart.

He dropped his head, regret crashing over him all over again and contending painfully with the desperation he now felt to make Y/N understand that killing Luke had been a terrible mistake.

His voice got stuck in his throat as he took note of his wife's trembling form, the tears in her eyes threatening to spill over at any moment. He nodded almost imperceptibly and watched in horror as Y/N brought a hand to her mouth to ineffectively smother a sob, a look of utter devastation and betrayal on her beautiful face before she turned away from him entirely.

Her breathing turned more erratic and she clutched her abdomen as if physically pained by his confirmation of the terrible truth that her husband was a kinslayer.

"It was a mistake." Even to Aemond, this sounded laughable, a pathetic excuse and when Y/N spoke again, her voice was icy.

"You told me once that I was your light, an escape from the darkness that has ever haunted you since you were a child. But Aemond, what you have done..."

Y/N shook her head and rubbed the tears from her eyes, turning back towards him with a fiery resolve that Aemond had never seen lighting his wife's eyes.  "Was it all a lie? Was I simply ensnared by pretty words that dull the senses. Is this who you have always been?"

Aemond stepped towards her again, his words frantic. "No, you know I would never harm you."

Y/N looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. "I don't know anything anymore."

Aemond reached for her again but felt his own face crumple as Y/N flinched away from him, his arms falling back to his sides rigidly. 

He took a step back, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

"I will not touch you if you do not wish me to."

Y/N said nothing, only continued to stare at Aemond with wide and fearful eyes.  Aemond watched her carefully, wishing to beg for her forgiveness but realising she was in too much shock and much too upset with him to take in his accuses.

Clasping his hands behind his back, he bowed his head to her, trying to keep his voice even though he felt his throat constrict painfully at Y/N's rejection. "I will leave you for now. You need have no fear of me." Aemond turned on his heel, quickly exiting the room, not imagining there could be anything more painful to him than the way Y/N was looking at him, with such unbidden terror, as others had his whole life, as if he would hurt her.

Y/N felt as if a mist had been removed from her vision. For all that she had shared with Aemond and for all she'd thought she knew him, she could never have imagined him capable of murdering a child.

She didn't believe it at first when the raven arrived, couldn't believe it. Had her husband not already told her that he'd long ago forgiven Lucerys for the loss of his eye? Had he not allowed his nephew Jacaerys to strike him, laughing it off? But in the space of a few short hours, Aemond had slain his nephew, become a kinslayer and started a war. Y/N was not prepared for this life and her mind was consumed by fears of what was to come. For surely Rhaneyra would seek vengeance. Worse still was the fear that she'd never known Aemond at all. Had she been in love with a mirage this whole time? Y/N recalled reading of a plant in a book of botany helaena had insisted she borrow, that while attractive to look upon was deadly to the touch. Devil's Snare it had been called. Even its flowers were toxic, able to cause delirium or hallucinations. Is that what had happened to her when she fell in love with Prince Aemond Targaryen, not fully understanding how dangerous he truly was? She'd paced their shared chambers, hoping beyond all hope that Lord Baratheon was mistaken. That Aemond would return, sweep her up into his arms and reassure her that it was all a big mistake, that all would be as it was. But she knew by the look on Aemond's face as he entered the room, by the slow and careful way he approached her, that nothing would ever be the same between them again. It did not stop her from asking the truth of it and with his nod of confirmation she felt the breath knocked from her, clutching at her stomach to hold herself together.

She'd finched involuntarily as he made to touch her, his eyes widening in alarm as a sob tore through her. Y/N was reeling from the unsettling feeling that had wound its way deep in the pit of her stomach that she no longer knew her husband. And what she did not know about him, what she could not understand in the conflicting images of him as a loving and gentle husband and a man who could murder his nephew, caused a wave of genuine fear to rise up within her. Perhaps he would lash out if she spoke to her horror at what he'd done.

Though Aemond quickly dropped his hands, wincing as if in pain at her rejection of his touch. Part of her wanted to reach for him, beg him for an explanation, tell him that everything would be OK though she knew it wouldn't. But she was rooted to the spot, lost in staring at her husband who until that moment she'd thought she knew better than any living soul. As Aemond exited their chambers she felt little relief. He had said "for now" and Y/N was certain he would try to speak with her again on the morrow. She doubted she'd be any more prepared than she was now to hear his excuses, to force herself to come to terms with the fact that he had killed a child in cold blood.

When Aemond entered their chambers the next day, Y/N noted the determined set to his shoulders and the seriousness of his expression and knew that this time he would not leave until she'd heard his explanations. Y/N had tossed and turned the entire night before she'd come to her own decision, and nothing Aemond said could sway her from it. She needed space to think, to begin to fully come to terms with all that had transpired in the last few days since Aegon had been crowned...to consider how they would move forward knowing now what Aemond had done.

Aemond spoke quickly, allowing no room for interruption.

"I know you are upset with me, that you are afraid. But I ask you to hear what I have to say, my love." He paused briefly, observing her before continuing as he seemed to find what he was looking for in her expression.

"I did not wish to distress you any more than I could see you were. But I must tell you now that whilst my actions were brash, I had no intention of harming my nephew, only of intimidating him. I acted out of anger and I lost control. I am sorry for it."

Y/N was gladdened at least to know Aemond had not intended to kill his nephew, but it did not change the bitter fact that he had. And she could not as easily accept this as she knew he wished her too.

She wrung her hands nervously, frightened to ask for what she wanted. Aemond appeared calm in the moment, but she had seen first hand how quickly his temper could turn.

Her voice came out meeker than she would have hoped. "I wish to be installed in separate chambers for the time being." It hardly mattered. Aemond stumbled a few steps backwards as if she'd shouted at him.

His voice was ragged.

"Why?

Y/N lowered her gaze to the ground, unable to look up at Aemond.

"I cannot pretend that I am not horrified by what you have done. And I need space to even begin to comprehend it...let alone try to forgive you, Aemond."

Aemond's response was breathless, as if he were trying to speak though a pressing weight pushed down on his chest.

"You cannot stand to be in my presence then? Do you no longer love me?"

Y/N gawked at him.

"I'm not sure I even know you any more Aemond. If you could just allow me some time to think..."

Aemond practically snarled in response, his anger taking Y/N by surprise.

"So easily you cast our love aside. You were meant to stand by me always as my wife. Am I not your husband?"

Y/N felt her own anger rise up and she pushed through her timidity to voice it.

"So I must forgive you any transgression, silently stand by as you commit atrocities? Simply because I am your wife? My thoughts and feelings are my own."  Within seconds Aemond had crossed the room and possessively gripped her waist. "You are mine." 

Incensed, Y/N tried to push against the cage of his arms, huffing in frustration when she failed to move him even an inch. "You cannot possess a person, Aemond...If all you want from me is placid acceptance then perhaps it would be better to dissolve our union." She had not truly meant it, regretted it as soon as the words had left her mouth. But her words had the desired effect as Aemond's eye widened and his arms slackened around her. In the next second he had dropped to his knees in front of her, gripping her skirts. He placed his forehead against her stomach, his anger seemingly entirely dissipated, his touch and voice all gentleness. "No, my love. I will give you anything. But not that. Never that. I did not mean it. Of course your mind is your own and I always want you to speak it. Shout at me, tear this place asunder, strike me if you must. I can live without your forgiveness if you feel you cannot give it, I can live with you hating me.  But I cannot live without you."

Y/N felt her own heart soften at his gentleness, but she was still too upset with him to just fall straight back into his arms.

"Then will you agree to my request?"

Aemond tensed, his grip tightening slightly on her hips before he nodded against the fabric of her dress.

"If it is what you need, then I will see to it."

Y/N prised Aemond's hands from her then, equal parts relieved by his assent and pained at seeing him this way.  She whispered a hurried "Thank you" before moving around him and hastening from his chambers. She expected to meet resistance with every step but as she passed over the threshold she briefly looked back to see thst Aemond had not moved even an inch.

In the days that followed, Aemond scarcely saw Y/N at all. If he did it was  a mere glimpse as she hurried down a hallway, headed for the chambers his mother had settled her in at his request. He had made to speak to her on one occasion as he's come across his lady wife emerging from her chambers. But as soon as she saw him she quickly retreated back into her room. Aemond had rested his forehead upon the door that separated him from his love briefly, feeling the distance between them like a dagger to the heart. He had not meant any of the harsh words he had spoken when they'd last met. Her rejection had stung him and he had lashed out like a petulant child, spoken to her and acted as if she were a possession of his rather than the woman he loved. In his own disgust at himself he'd tried to bear their separation as best he could, but he hoped that with time Y/N's heart would soften to him again. He did not think he could bear what was to come without her at his side.

Two more days passed before he heard the sound of Y/N's voice again. Aemond came across his wife again in halls adjacent to his sister's chambers. She'd stopped, seemingly choosing between turning back the way she'd come or crossing paths and a clumsy servant boy bumped right into her, prompting her to pitch forward. Aemond swiftly darted forward to catch his wife by her waist, pulling her upright and holding her against him as he roughly shoving the boy away away from her. He glared at the boy, speaking through gritted teeth. "Watch yourself."

The boy looked shaken as he stuttered frantically. "My sincerest apologies my Prince, Princess." He nodded at them both before practically sprinting down the hall away from them, leaving Aemond and Y/N alone.

Still holding Y/N in his arms, Aemond took the opportunity to look upon his lady, though he was concerned to observe the dark shadows under her eyes and a certain hollowness in her cheeks. He lowered his head to gaze into her eyes, tentatively raising a hand to brush a lock of hair from her face.

He spoke softly, eager not to scare her away.

" Are you well?"

Y/N nodded, though Aemond noted that she looked anywhere but at him.

"Yes." Her timid reply sent a pang through his heart. He had fallen in love with Y/N's shy and gently nature quickly when they'd first met. It had inspired a protectiveness in him he could never have anticipated, endeared him from the first. From the moment he'd rescued her from Helaena's pet spider she had always just been his shy girl in is mind. But her return to the timid creature who could barely stand to look at him pained him beyond measure.

Lost in his own thoughts, he almost didn't catch Y/N's next words.

"I must go."

"Must you?"

Y/n did not reply, but  she began to push against him to extricate herself from his hold.

Aemond felt himself becoming desperate. "Please, my love."

"Release me, my Prince." Aemond let Y/N go as if she'd scorched him. In a way she had with her use of his formal title, as if she didn't know every part of him, couldn't see into his very soul, as if he were nought but a stranger.

Aemond found himself grateful to Aegon for offering him a place on his small council. Discussions on tactics and strategy gave him ample distraction during the day. At night he could not stand the conflicting feelings of guilt and loneliness that threatened to consume him, heightened by the emptiness of his chambers without the presence of his beloved wife. Each time a maid would enter his chambers he'd startle, feeling strangely as if he were seeing a ghost of the girl he loved. He could not stand it for long and spent his nights wandering about the Keep or the filthy streets of King's Landing, only returning to his chambers in the early hours of the morning when he was wearied to the bone.

His mother regarded him with an air of suspicion and wariness now, blaming him for starting the war with The Blacks. But seeing him look so piteous, she'd softened somewhat and Aemond was glad of the news she would bring him of his wife, of her daily customs and health.

He was unsurprised to learn that she had taken to spending the better part of her own evenings in his sister's chambers, often sleeping there. He'd observed with affection the tender bond his wife had developed with both his sister Helaena and her children.

The hour was late when Aemond came across Y/N again, making his way through an ante chamber that led from the household chambers to the lower levels of the keep just as she had surely been heading to his sister's chambers. She stopped in the middle of the room at the sight of him and Aemond halted, mimicking her movements. A fire crackled in the hearth on his left, casting a warm glow that illuminated Y/N's features. For a brief moment Aemond willed the flames to burst free from the hearth and set the room ablaze, just so he would have an excuse to carry her from it though he knew his touch was no longer welcome. Realising the mad turn his thoughts had taken he decided then and there that he had to fix this. He could not stand Y/N's silence any longer, this distance she had imposed between them. He had to make her understand.

"I will not deny the bitterness I have long felt towards Lucerys for taking my eye and receiving no punishment for it. But I never meant to kill him. It is true, I pursued him but it was his fear I wanted, not his blood. I wanted him to feel as I did when he took my eye. I did not anticipate Arrax retaliating in defense of his rider and...in truth I lost control of mine own dragon."

Y/N's expression turned pensive and conflicted as she mulled over his words 

"You killed a child, Aemond. Lucerys was no match for you or your dragon and yet you pursued him."

Aemond shut his eye briefly, inhaling slowly as he tried to calm himself enough to answer Y/N without frightening her further. He would not shout at her again. But he needed her to understand that the moment the crown was placed on Aegon's head, war was inevitable. He regretted Luke's death, but he could not undo it.

"There must always be casualties in a war. If it had not been my hand that struck the first blow then it would have been Rhaenyra's."

Aemond's voice sounded colder and more unfeeling than he'd hoped, but to him it was a plain and simple fact he'd long grown accustomed to. His siblings had been raised to fear their sister Rhaenyra, by virtue of their posing a threat to her claim to the Iron Throne.

Y/N's voice shook slightly as she spoke, though Aemond was glad at least that she met his gaze now and had not run from him.

"Aemond it was monstrous."

It was like a dagger had been thrust through his chest. Aemond had always been aware of whispers at court of the one-eyed Prince, of his disfigurement and intimidating presence. They had only grown louder since the news of Prince Lucery's death became common knowledge. But while Y/N had undeniably been wary of him when they'd first met, she'd never treated him as others had. She'd been able to see the good in him, the light in the darkness and pulled him towards it...towards her. But he loved her, and he knew that she still loved him too or she would not have listened to his explanations at all and would not still be standing before him. He recognised the warring emotions in her eyes, the agonising mixture of sadness, fear, and longing, because he knew she could see the same conflict in his one good eye.

Aemond suddenly felt that it did not matter if Y/N did think of him as a monster, as long as she thought of him, as long as long as she thought of him as hers.

"If that be so then I am your monster."

Y/N's eyes widened in shock, though he noted how they quickly softened as she shook her head sadly at him. She turned her face to gaze at the flickering flames and Aemond had to lean towards her to hear her.

"You are not a monster, Aemond. That is not what I meant. You would not regret your nephew's death if that were the case."

Aemond quickly closed the distance between them, emboldened by her words, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to draw her to his chest.

"I am glad to hear you say so for I cannot stand this silence any longer. I love you and whatever horrors I have wrought you must believe that I would never do anything to harm you. The thought is inconceivable to me. Can you find it within your heart to forgive me, to love me again my darling girl?"

Y/N sighed but Aemond felt his heart stutter as she leant against him rather than pushing him away as he'd expected.

"What would that make me Aemond? I was never prepared for this life of political intrigue and machinations, for violence and warfare."

Aemond tentatively raised his hand to cup the back of her head tenderly but the loud clacking of footsteps had Y/N jumping away from him, his hand falling to his side again.

A moment later his grandsire entered the room, shooting Y/N a withering look as she hurried past him. Aemond kept hoping she'd glance back at him, but she did not.

Angrily he turned on Otto.

"You frightened my wife, grandsire."

Infuriatingly, Otto bore an expression of amusement as he quirked an eyebrow up at Aemond.

"A wife would not scorn her husband as she does you, Aemond. The whole court has observed her unseemly behaviour towards you, her lord husband who she should obey. She makes a mockery of you. Aemond, you and your dragon are the single greatest power in this war and if she does not realise the importance of this fundamental fact then perhaps it is time for you you consider the disolussion of your marriage."

Aemond felt his blood heat and his temper rise dangerously. He did not wish to harm his grandsire, it would only upset his mother. But neither would he allow Otto to speak of his wife in such a way. He'd become far too comfortable doing so.

"I do not care for whispers. Y/N is my wife and she can do as she pleases. I will not impress myself upon her if she does not wish it but I will not listen to you continously besmirching her either. If you suggest that I annul my marriage again, I will kill you grandsire. I have already been branded as a kinslayer and it would serve you well to remember it."

For once, Aemond could see a flash of genuine fear in Otto's eyes as he was seemingly stunned into silence. Aemond brushed past him, not caring to wait for a response. He bristled with irritation as he passed the throne room, hearing his brother and his friends drunkenly inventing denominations for him as king upon the iron throne. He hoped that the cold night air would help to clear his mind though tonight he felt that the stars looked less desolate, the dark streets of King's Landing less eery and sinister. For a weight had been lifted from him when Y/N leant into his touch, when she'd told him that he was not a monster.

Aemond felt a sense of foreboding when upon returning to the Red Keep around the Hour of Ghosts, the whole keep seemed to be wide awake and and in a state of dissaray. Pulling his cloak from his shoulders, Aemond questioned the first guard he saw.

"What is the meaning of this raucous?"

At the sight of him the guard visibly paled but stayed infuriatingly silent.

"Speak quickly you fool."

At the Prince's stern command the guard stood to attention.

"The Queen was attacked in her bedchamber, my Prince and the young Prince Jahaerys slain. We have yet to find the perpetrator."

Aemond felt as if the ground were collapsing between him. His sweet sister, his little nephew...how could this have happened? Dread seeped into the pit of his stomach at the sick realisation that his wife tended to spend her evenings with his sister and her children. He'd seen her making her way in that direction before he'd left...left both his wife and sister unprotected.

"Where is my wife?"

The guard swallowed loudly, stepping back a pace. "Princess Y/N was with the Queen in her chambers during the attack. I believe they are both with the Queen Dowager now."

Without another word Aemond took off at a run, his heart pounding in his chest and his blood thrumming in his ears.

@jjkysnk

@ieieibhibu8

@skymoonandstardust

@truly-abysmal

@idonotknowenglish

@leonesimp

@hyacinthesiss

@nanawafflesstuff

@callsigncrushx

@bitchyfestivalbouquet

@void21

@sapphiresandferrari

@pinkykats-place

@superintenseart

@youknownothingjohnwatson

@iportes-22

@misspinkonmars

@zoetje2004

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

@sakurachan-9

[derww]

ok ive decided that i also want to have it here. written right after s5 zam ban

Name: Everything that will remain after me

TLDR: Mapicc and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

CW: Violence, murder, suicidal ideations, self-harm, canonical character death

Zam betrays Mapicc; it's a second time.

He freezes at the place, hearing the blood-curdling rumble of the ban. He knows who it is with his guts. For the first time in his life, he is fucking terrified.

How dare he, It's tearing him inside out. How dare he leave him alone. Leave his back exposed and one comm – empty. How dare he.

BETRAYAL BETRAYAL BETRAYAL

He wants to revive Zam just to crush his skull and then kill himself, twist the knife in his own stomach, and on and on until there is no blood left in him to flow out. Every cell in his body is irritated. He turns inside out and tears apart; his skin melts alive; his world exists at one tiny point, around which there is an all-consuming void.

He hardly remembers what he does next, but his blood is boiling and his hand is clutching a sword. It seems that he kills someone, with the full realization that this is forever; he skins someone's alive and does not even remember who. He wakes up in the middle of nowhere, bloodied from head to toe. Some of the blood is his own: torn, extended wounds from a fight that he does not remember, as if the only thing that prevented him from being split apart were reflexes.

How dare he leave me, he thinks. How dare he give up. How dare he die. How dare he, how dare he, how dare he.

He is so hot that he is suffocating. He's so cold that he can't stop shivering. He wants little more now than to light two beacons of rebirth – to pull ten hearts out of his chest and dissolve them in the wind. He knows it's useless. He knows it won't work. Helplessness eats him alive. He wants to kill someone else. He wants to stick a knife in his leg and lead it forward until it stops hurting.

When Mapicc was betrayed last time, he felt sad. He didn't want to fight, and he didn't want to lose his friend and partner. Most of all, he was sorry – it was a pity that they did not talk more, it was a pity that they did not establish real trust, it was a pity that Zam did not talk to him first, and that he did not think that something was wrong. He fought not because he wanted to, but because he had to, because he had no choice, and then mourned their dead friendship, knowing that he would never be able to return it to its former state. Anger and rage came after.

"If we're going to continue working together," he told Zam when the Pirates started working with Guccigang, "you have to swear that you will never betray me again. I'm serious." Because his "I" did not rest on just hating, and he never liked to be reduced to that.

"Don't worry," Zam replied with a smile, "I won't betray you anymore. I've learned my lesson." For a single, unified moment, they were back in the snow-covered castle. Mapicc nodded. He knew he would never be able to trust him the way he trusted him then – unconditionally, absolutely – but that didn't mean he couldn't trust him with his back and his life.

In reality, his hands are shaking so much that, for a moment, he doubts whether he will ever be able to hold a weapon again, and it terrifies him. He is complex and simple, he reads people through and through, but misses the betrayal of the nearest one, he is smart and strategic, but at really important moments only a berserker who wants more deaths. He wants to cry, but he can't. He wants to give up, but that word is not in his vocabulary.

You whisper to MinuteTech: where is his body.

MinuteTech whispers to you: the podium

He is preparing a battle kit. He is preparing to die. He's going anyway.

There are people on spawn, and he appears to them, smeared in blood, carrying a trail of corpses in the shadow, with crazy eyes and still fingers. Guilty and innocent, dangerous and harmless, they don't bother him – in tunnel vision, he goes to the podium, and then just stares.

Zam looks peaceful. He is bloody from head to toe, and holes in his clothes mark the places of severe wounds, but he is smiling, and his whole body is covered with sakura flowers. It's a disgusting sight. He seems happy.

It seems that someone is trying to talk to Mapicc, but he does not hear a word. He carefully takes the body off the podium into his arms and just looks at it for a long moment, completely not understanding how they got to this point. Just a couple of hours ago, Zam had thirty hearts, and Mapicc was sure that he didn't have to worry about him. Now, he was dead. Mapicc opens his wings and takes off. No one follows him.

Ultimatum: You don't trust a Lifesteal member who is not your ally with absolutely anything. Immediately after the disaster, Mapicc and Zam took Bacon's body and buried it in the middle of nowhere, because the idea of using it against them was much worse than not being able to let him rest in his home. Mapicc flies there again, remembering the coordinates by heart.

He buries Zam very close to Bacon, almost shoulder to shoulder, and then stares at the graves for a long time. Both of his closest allies were banned on the same day. Those with whom he dreamed of meeting the finale, which he desired more than anything else, are now almost unattainable.

You whisper to Roshambogames: if i die, bury me next to them.

Roshambogames whispers to you: of course.

He tears his hand into a bloody mess with his bare fingers. The hatred in him is a beast, eager to tear apart everything in its path.

"Wemmbu better resurrect you both next Saturday," he hisses, "or I'll crush the skies to kill him."

He leaves without looking back, walking along a path that uncomfortably reminds him of something from the past. An hour later, he obtains immortality.

[luna-loveboop]

Wanted to share some thoughts, cause I NEED TO SHARE IT. (Though it might be quite obvious, yeah...)

So, the whole thing with Warriors acting more stern with Wild lately. One could think: "Why just Wild? Hyrule can be quite reckless sometimes, and Wind is THE BABY, so why not them too?"

Well, there's one thing that they don't have, but Wild sure does...luck of self-preservation.

Wars can trust that others, even IF they let emotions take over, would still try to avoid DYING.

WILD WILL NOT. This fella uses his FACE as a SHIELD for ANOTHER PERSON, when there's NO NEED FOR THIS, while being in his "right mind".

SO WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT OF HIM, WHEN HE LOOSES HIS MIND IN A STRESSFUL SITUATION?

Wars still gave him the benefit of the doubt for a while, but after this whole fiasco with Twi's injury - Wars just can not help it, he FEARS for Wild's well-being, because "Champ" himself DOES NOT (with his whole "failure of a hero" thing, I presume).

And how does one even adress it? I doubt Wars saw many people who didn't care about their life before, he was at war, usually people want TO SURVIVE there. He's on edge cause he sees a problem and has no idea how to aproach it.

I want to preface this by saying I have a severe inability to stay on topic but yeah let's talk about it.

So you touched on something me and Jesse have both touched on- that Wars' actions towards Wild come from a place of concern and fear. I think that this is true. Wild DOES lack self-preservation instincts, and Wars has to be afraid of losing him- of the young knight earning more scars. Wild can be an idiot sometimes, but Wars saw him lose his head and attack the shadow when it was just proved to be lethal more than they knew.

There's a difference of perspective between ours and the boys tho that is important and I think contributes to people judging wars for this. See, to Wars perspective, and all of the boys, they could die at any time. An injury could be fatal and they can't see the future. We however KNOW that Wild survives, because we know he goes on to tears of the kingdom. We know Jojo has said that he is reckless and will get himself hurt but always comes out of it. But Wars has watched a billion (<exaggeration) soldiers die and is terrified of it happening again. Whereas we watch the comic from the outside, knowing for certain Wild will make it, Wars is living out that reality harshly.

ANoThER thing I think people forget to account for is Wars is not just a captain, he's a soldier but also leader in an army. I'm not the best with phrasing sometimes so I'll try to say this well- people in the army don't always get to be nice. Oftentimes armies have very harsh environments in treatment towards soldiers because when it comes down to training and life and death there is no time for niceties or feelings. Wars was pushed into the most major promotion ever pretty much to be an army leader. If he's now in the mindset of viewing Wild as a fellow knight/soldier who is not a leader... angry words and facial expressions is pretty mild to be honest.

Wars is a really nice person for all he's gone through, but fighting in a war is a very different experience than a solo journey like the others had. I think it's time to acknowledge that he was forced into far more of a role than the pretty hero, but also an armies leader, and it takes a lot of work to be a nice person through all that. Wars is a nice person who has a ton of strength to be so kind after all he's been through and his actions towards Wild make sense considering his past with what journey he came from. Thank you for coming to my ted talk- no I'm not done.

If anything I said was in any way offensive let me know. I hope my words didn't somehow come across as harsh.

Although him (in a way) treating Wild as someone who is out of line is understandable given his past, it's still not excusable. Wild isn't a soldier and he's not the leader.

Now for Wild time I'm going totally of the rails let's go

Wild doesn't. Yeah ok Wild doesn't like Wars. I've made like. Fifteen thousand nine hundred and fifty two posts on this (<big exaggeration). Wild has not really... spoken to Wars throughout the Lu storyline, tho he did in some of Jojo's starting doodles. Wild has really only spoken to Wars since it all went down when mr. stubborn got injured. I think Wild has a lot of resentment towards Wars for being the knight he was supposed to- who succeeded. Wild has flat out ignored Wars a lot of the time and honestly I'd get pretty frustrated with that too.

Also I along with the other nine hundred people want Wars to trigger an army memory in Wild. For the angst.

Wars is wrong in how he's acting towards Wild and Wild is wrong in how he's treated Wars not as someone worthy of respect. It's hard to pinpoint what's going on in Wild's head but I DO know Wars thoughts- he's terrified for Wild's life and angry that he ignored him and fought the shadow.

But yeah you're right. Wild has no self preservation instincts and Wars can't rely on him to freaking stay alive. Thank you for sending me an ask and sharing your thoughts with me!!! You matter and I love hearing from you /gen <3

Also. Let's make this clear. I love Wars so much. So very much. He's literally a fairy godmother. No hating on him or Wild on my posts. Thank :D

[retro-system]

it is luigi's godgiven right to disguise as peach in the film's sequel btw.

[turtleblogatlast]

I love Raph and haven’t said that enough so to be more specific I love that Raph is a soft boy who loves bear plushies, a gross boy who eats an assortment of things that are definitely better left alone, a smart boy who is more than capable of taking down villains through planning and fortitude alike, a strong boy who is dedicated to training his muscles and fighting prowess, a teenage boy who loves his brothers but is more than happy to tease and roughhouse with them, an angry boy who sometimes lets his anger take a hold of him to cover the fear, a gentle boy who is generous with hugs and affirmations to those he loves, a capable boy who takes on more than should ever be expected of a teenager, a good boy who just wants to be a hero and slowly comes to realize the cost of that duty, a good boy who has no reservations about putting himself in the way of harm coming to his family, a good boy who’s a great brother and son and person and deserves only the best the world has to offer.

[hephaestuscrew]

One of the many Wolf 359 script directions that is Important To Me is this bit from Ep15 What's Up, Doc?, which comes after Hilbert has been threatening to tell Minkowski how Eiffel ended up on the Hephaestus:

[martyrbat]

grimm – batman: legends of the dark knight #149

[ID: a panel sequence of young Dick Grayson just two months after his parents' murders. He's sulking at the dining table in the grandiose Wayne Manor. The dinner is taking place in front of a lit fireplace that causes the entire room to have a soft, bronze glow to it. The table itself is long and decorated and Bruce Wayne is sitting on the opposite end of it. Alfred Pennyworth prompts, “More mashed potatoes, Master Dick—?” But Dick is too busy thinking about a young criminal he ran into when he snuck out earlier. He quietly mutters the taunt she told him, “‘Spoiled brat in a circus suit’—?” Alfred asks, “Was that a yes or a no?” The pouting child brusquely tells him, ”no,” which causes the butler to clear his throat. Dick begrudgingly corrects himself, “No thank you, Alfred.” Alfred responds, “As you wish, Master Dick.”

But Dick is already uttering another taunt under his breath, “‘Lap of luxury’!” Bruce leans forward slightly and asks if everything is okay but Dick dismisses his concern. He excuses, “I'm... I'm not very hungry, Bruce. Is it okay if I go to my room?” Despite his obvious qualms, Bruce awkwardly smiles and replies, “Uh... Of course. Certainly.” Dick gets up as Alfred tells him the food will be in the refrigerator if he gets hungry later but Dick just ‘uh-huh’s him as he walks away. With the child upstairs, Bruce immediately stands up and paces. He stops in front of the fireplace and stares into the blaze as he monologues his worries, “Maybe this was a mistake. What in the world made me think I could raise a boy? I don't know the first thing about it! I've always been a loner! I don't have the knowledge... or the disposition... to make this work.” Alfred wryly asks, “Are you addressing the fireplace, Sir—or me?” But Bruce stresses his demur without looking at him, “His parents are dead, Alfred! What gives me the temerity to believe I can replace them in his life?”

Alfred solemnly reassures, “I asked myself the same questions once. What in the world did a butler know about raising a young man who'd just lost the two people he loved most in the world? But strangely enough, Sir—I adapted. I learned. I learned because I wanted to... Because I cared. And... despite some difficulties along the way—I think the young man in question turned out splendidly. And I think Master Dick will too.” Bruce doesn't say anything but he his eyes closed in thought as Alfred talks before looking at him with a soft smile. He straightens his posture when Alfred finishes and puts his hand on his shoulder, silently grateful for the man's fatherly reassurance and support once again. END ID]

[sleepy-crypt1d]

love people making jack this suave sexy put together badass like babe we are talking about a man who canonically wont say fuck and says "yahtzee" when hes excited

[quietwingsinthesky]

i don’t know man, if i remade my entire self in a shape that my god could love and then i lost her, i’d be a lot worse. ten could have been far more batshit and i would have forgiven him completely.

[fourswords]

zelda and shadow in the fsa manga drive me ridiculously insane actually. the panel where shadow is kneeling on the floor and zelda is standing there looking down at him and they're SEEING each other is enough to give me fucking RABIES. LOOK AT THIS

[handfulofmuses]

i hate how well that goodbye was animated.

[kelpiemomma]

Thinking about Khan and how he doesn't wake up from nightmares the way people might expect. He doesn't explode from them, swinging and breathing flame in defense. He doesn't wake up screaming.

He wakes up silent. And it's only if you're paying attention that you'll know he's awake. His eyes might open - but with his poor vision, it's not like he can truly see where he's at - and he might draw in a sudden breath. But it's the fact that he stops breathing that's the Sign. It's the way he suddenly goes quiet. Not that he snores or sleeps loudly anyway, but there is one less person making noise in the night.

Ingo isn't often awake when this happens. Very rarely, in fact, because Khan has nightmares almost every night. It's nothing new. Most of the time he will breathe, eventually, and take in the scents of his surroundings. He will realize where he is and use it to ground himself. And if he can't, then he will get up and find something to do until he can pass out from exhaustion and wake up better.

But it happens a handful of times. Ingo is awake when Khan comes to. And sometimes he doesn't realize it, doesn't realize Khan is awake until Ingo himself is returning to bed and looks down as he passes Khan's cot to see his green eyes open and staring at nothing.

But this time he realizes. He's awake, for no real reason, just sitting and listening to the world around him. Akari is snoring after a long day of survey work, Khan is sprawled out on his cot, the nocturnal pokemon are calling to each other in the distance… It's peaceful. Ingo rests with his head on one hand, eyes shut and enjoying it while he can.

And then one sound disappears.

He doesn't realize it's Khan at first, spends a moment trying to figure out what's missing. Akari is still snoring. The pokemon are still calling. Khan sleeps quietly enough that Ingo has, on occasion, put his hand under his nose or over his mouth to ensure he's still breathing. And it's that, knowing how quietly Khan sleeps, that makes ingo realize that Khan's breathing is what missing. That Khan is making no noise at all.

Ingo gets up and goes over to check, because Khan may be a prickly bastard but by now he's Ingo's prickly bastard like Akari is Ingo's daughter, he's part of the family. And sure enough Khan is awake. Eyes open wide. Staring at nothing. Ingo is ready to return to his seat when he realizes Khan is- not breathing. There's a tension to him that is abnormal, despite his nightmares.

So Ingo stays, sits down by Khan's side, and gently touches his hand. Too much touch too fast will wind up with fists flying towards him, so he takes it slow. Khan's hand is a fist. Ingo asks if he's alright, but there's no response. Khan's chest hitches, his breath sporadic for a moment, before a sound like a whine makes its way out of his throat.

And that- is so out of the norm that Ingo is now concerned. He puts a hand on Khan's arm, on his neck, as he leans over to look in the other man's face. Maybe it's the light of the night, but Khan's eyes seem… Shiny.

And this is a bad one. It doesn't take a genius to know that this is far from average. That whatever Khan has just dreamt of has truly, deeply affected him. Ingo pulls him up, pulls him into a seated position, and directs Khan's face to his own neck. Scent is Khan's strong suit, after all, and the best way to help him realize where he's at. Ingo ignores how his shirt gets a little damp- tells himself, for Khan's sake, that Khan is just drooling.

And Khan does what he never does and wraps his arms around Ingo. There's a desperation there, something terrified, and Ingo knows that this isn't something he can do on his own.

"Do you want me to wake Akari up?" He asks, because it never hurts to offer a choice.

"She's asleep." Khan says, which isn't an answer. His voice is hoarse and shakey. Ingo makes the decision for him, then, and extracates himself from Khan. Khan's hands follow him, reaching out, and Ingo is grateful for the first time his home is so small because he can hold onto Khan's one hand while he uses the other to shake his daughter awake.

Akari's snores vanish and she opens one eye halfway, confused. "Dad?" She asks. Her voice is low and thick with sleep. "Whassups?"

"Khan needs our presence. Would you mind joining us?" He says. And it's not the whole truth, but Akari wakes up more. Khan does not, ever, need anything from them. He's like a stray animal, coming to them when he chooses, but fully able and willing to survive on his own. And maybe now he still doesn't need them. If Ingo hadn't been awake, Khan would have laid there until he decided what to do. But Khan isn't making choices for himself, and Ingo knows he needs grounding.

Akari stands and Ingo helps guide her over to where Khan is still sitting. He's turned now, his legs thrown over the side of the cot as he hunches over and stares at the ground. One hand is still in Ingo's.

Akari reaches out, touches his shoulder, and that whine breaks from Khan's throat again. He leans towards Akari, rests his head against her, and then drags her onto his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck because he is gripping her so, so tightly, holding her like she's his saving grace, like if he lets her go the world will end. His shoulders shudder.

Ingo sits next to them, sliding Akari's legs over his own, and leans into Khan's side. He wraps one arm around Khan and is surprised when Khan returns the gesture, releasing Akari with one arm to pull Ingo into his reach. He is not just holding them but clinging. Ingo wonders, but doesn't ask, what he had dreamed about to make him so desperate. Ingo turns into Khan, places his legs over the man's but under his daughter's, and leans into the hold. After a moment, Khan turns his head to shove his nose into Ingo's neck once more. Akari is pressed between them, still holding onto Khan as if her hug will fix him, and Ingo knows they will both stay here as long as Khan needs them, wants them, to.

[neobisexual]

had a very intense semi lucid dream last night where i was the daughter/acolyte of an insane cult leader/my dad who performed non consenual surgery on me and molested and raped me. it inspired me to start writing a lil sci fi novella but also to clean out my closet and find my vibrator cuz i was desperate for it after waking up lmfao