#boring answer but I feel it in my bones

[navree]

I've always joked to myself that Luke's biggest offense (aside from the obvious) was that he was boring, but I've never seen anyone else outwardly say it with such conviction. You're a braver person than me! 👍

Oh I've been on the "Luke is boring" train since the show was airing, it's just an objective fact. Luke suffers from something a lot of characters on the show suffer from, which is that the show tried to cram way too much into one ten episode season of television and as such a lot of character writing suffered, especially on the Blacks' side (nearly all Blacks side characters are severely underdeveloped except for Rhaenys and Corlys, who have the distinction of being somewhat schizophrenic). Luke does nothing notable for episode six, nothing notable for episode seven until he maims Luke, nothing notable for episode eight, he's not even in episode nine, and then in episode ten he dies. That's why the scenes he's in during episode ten feel as clunky and bad as they do, they sat down to write the finale, realized that there was no reason for people to care at all when Vhagar munches him, and so we got those random scenes to try and bolster his connection with Rhaenyra and show that he's The Goodest Boy to try and shoehorn in any reason for the audience to care. And be honestly people, did you feel sad when Luke died because Luke as a character is now gone and we'll lose him forever, like we did when Robb and Catelyn died, or are you just sad because he's fourteen and it made Rhaenyra sad and you like Rhaenyra? It's the latter.

(it's also why Lucemond is so popular, because Luke is such a nothing character he's basically a blank slate that a bunch of people can project themselves onto and thus be casted in whatever role they want him to be as a self-insert because Aemond is hot and you can't do that with any other character Aemond interacts with, because they've all got personalities that can't be subsumed the way you can with Luke because he's got no personality)

This is a problem that plagues Jacaerys and Baela and Rhaena as well (seriously, please name me three character traits for Baela and Rhaena separately, I can barely name three for the two of them combined you could literally replace them with lamps and nothing changes it's so bad), but because they're gonna be in the show longer, there's more of a chance to fix it. Luke only being around for four episodes, doing fuck all for most of his appearances, and being defined by "guy who caused grievous bodily harm in a fight he shouldn't have been involved in due to the fact that the opposite side did nothing wrong and then refused to ever even show contrition for it" and then promptly dying means that there's no chance to expand his character the way Jace and Baela and Rhaena can potentially get (and I highly doubt Baela and Rhaena are gonna get much expansion tbf), so we're stuck with the most boring boy. He's a plank of wood, he's nothing, he means nothing to me except that sometimes I think about how difficult the recovery period for literally losing an eye must have been for Aemond on so many levels and I think that Vhagar went too easy on his boring ass.

And it's my blog so I can say what I want and I will bear this cross for you and those like you anon, I will proudly call Lucerys Velaryon a piece of cardboard.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — sometimes your boyfriend’s want for you just seems to be insatiable.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, mating press, breeding, biting, he loses control of his technique a teeny tiny bit at the end, im going absolutely insane. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiii this is a lil mix of my gojo thoughts over the past few months, my sanity is slipping as u can tell <3

the way gojo satoru was in bed was exactly how he was in real life, absolutely merciless when he wanted to be, you realise with the dizzy haze in your mind and the pillow he’s shoved under your hips. there’s a pleasurable burn in your thighs where he’s got them folded into you, your ankles dangling by his ears as his hips press into your ass and the way he looks over you is needy, and a little wild.

but he only really got like this on on a few occasions, like after a gruelling mission, a boring mountain of paperwork or maybe you’d been teasing him. sometimes he’s just consumed by the idea of you carrying his kids— he’s so incredibly insatiable.

“you feel me right here, sweet thing, hm?” the snowy haired man above you hisses with a languid roll of his hips, deliberately pressing into the sweet spots inside of you that he always seems to be able to find so easily. but you can barely breathe, nevermind answer with how full you feel — your warm walls twitching around his heavy shaft before he’s giving you a few more thrusts.

“don’t hold out on me, it feels good, right?” gojo goads, chuckles when the next particularly deep kiss of his cock along your insides has your lips parting to moan, eyes squeezing shut as you wriggle underneath him.

“‘ts too deep, satoru! fuck—“ you manage, voice breaking under the weight of your own arousal but shit— he loves you like this. pliant and pretty and all his. you’re basically begging for him to give you his soul, to pour it into your body and your bones until you’re twitching— his stamina was limitless after all, an endless pool of energy.

“oh? but i’m sure you can take more..” gojo’s words are a low drawl as he curls over your folded figure, making your muscles scream for some sort of relief but he still manages to give you more. he begins a pace that’s so deep, so animalistic that you feel like you could black out with the way the pleasure rips through you, making your body clap against his as his balls smack loudly against your ass and suddenly he’s even deeper.

“see, i knew it.” it’s smug despite the the trembling undercurrent to his tone, breaking under the weight of his own arousal as his voice takes an octave higher. but you’re doing so well for him, your eyes are rolled back— lips parted and you’re basically begging for him to go harder when he leans into press his lips against yours, pushing his name between your lips as your hands grab at him for any sort of relief.

“almost there, right?” gojo groans against you with the next quiver of your walls; the next particularly heavy thrust makes your thighs tremble and he’s so deep it almost hurts, making something spark and burn along your inside as he fucks you into the mattress like a wild animal.

you whimper, barely— it’s a desperately pathetic little sound, wound up tight and it makes him pull away to look at you, crystalline eyes cloudy with lust before his lips are stretching into a smirk.

“oh, more?” gojo’s head cocks to the side and you know you’re done for when his pace picks up, every heavy thrust is driven by the muscles in his body and your pussy squelches loudly with every wet connection of his hips.

“oh, i’ll give you more, baby. so greedy f’ me, hm?” despite his teasing, he’s babbling— sweat beading along his skin as the snowy peaks of his hair frame his flushed features and fuck, the pretty sight above you only makes you feel even better. you’re so high off his desperation, every muscle in your body screams under his but the nerves in your body cry even louder with how good you feel— with how much your body craves him.

“‘ts so tight, you milkin’ me, sweet girl? how many you want, huh? give you as many as you need. wanna see you swollen f’ me, you want that, mhm?” gojo’s barely coherent but his words only make you squeeze around him tighter— a silent little invitation as every thrust has you crying more, more, more! satoru, want your cum—please! punched out little gasps and cries as he digs the orgasm out of you.

“oh, you’ll look so pretty f’ me—f-fuck!” his huge body is looming over yours, pressing you into the mattress and the pillows beneath you. your thighs are flush against his abdomen and chest, and your lungs feel like they quake on every exhale as your lips part to moan. he presses himself into you— face nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he grazes his teeth along the skin there, headboard screeching loudly in time with every smack of his hips.

“‘toru, please please please—‘m g’nna,” you tremble as you shake beneath gojo, thighs tensing tight against his body and he knows he’s got you exactly where he wants you as he smirks against your skin. your orgasm hits you so suddenly, so hard and good that your toes curl where they hang over his shoulders, your body stiffening beneath him and the first milking compression of your pussy makes his pace stutter, hugs him so tight he can’t help but bite so hard into the sensitive skin of your neck he draws blood.

“should see h-how pretty you look like this. tell me ‘ts all mine, y’ gonna make me a daddy, yeah? g’nna fill you up so good. oh, this pussy’s made f’ me, ain’t it?”

his body trembles as he pulls back slightly to watch your cream pool around the base of his cock, your slick smeared along his skin and your walls still throb with every unforgiving push of his hips. your orgasm feels like it stretches on forever as you gasp out broken yeah, yours, love you so much ‘toru, waves rolling through your body with the heat you feel pour and sting along your nerves. it only takes a few more clapping thrusts and your choked confessions before hes kissing you, just as he likes as his lips curl into you.

gojo cums hard, thick and heavy inside of you when he feels your tongue push against his, swallowing both of your groans into the kiss as he pushes his load into your puffy cunt. you’re both so lost in bliss, so unaware of the electricity across your boyfriends skin and the uncomfortable pressure that seems to suddenly weigh down on your intertwined bodies.

the bedroom light flickers but you don’t notice, he’s slurring curses against your lips as he almost pins your thighs to your chest completely, the air between you seems tighter— atoms trembling in the finate space. but he’s continuing to fuck into your sensitive pussy with tiny little thrusts you don’t notice the creek of your furniture as it twitches out of place— like it’s being pulled towards you both. the small flickers of purple fizzle out when you’re both spent and he’s collapsing on top of you with a low, breathy chuckle, making you whine with the cramp you feel in your body.

“‘toru! you’re heavy.” you grumble, voice worn and scratchy but it doesn’t move gojo as he cuddles deeper into you, leaving sweet little kisses along your skin with obnoxious kissy noises— a stark contrast to how filthy he was being a second ago.

you’re both breathing deep as you give up trying to escape from underneath him, opting to press your fingers through his damp hair instead before he finally moves. he pulls back, enough for his cock to push his cum out of your pussy as he does, squelching and dripping into the mattress beneath you both as you jolt slightly. “careful, ‘ts messy, ‘toru.”

gojo whistles lowly before he looks at you again, one of your legs still haphazardly thrown over his shoulder before he’s placing a sweet kiss to your ankle, then following it up with a painfully languid, experimental thrust as his crystalline eyes focus on the mess he’s made of you.

“come on, sweet girl. you’re not nearly full enough f’ me yet.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[miserycanary]

BREAK MY HEART INTO TWO ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost has been feeling pissed off lately, and happens to lash out on you

tags: slight angst, misunderstandings, very slight mention of violence

He knew he was not in the right headspace. With the newly added task of training new recruits, the dead-end mission, and overall exhaustion. Ghost could feel his patience nearing nothing and he could feel it in his bones that he wouldn’t be able to control himself from lashing out soon— even if it was you. 

That’s why he started to distance himself and avoid you like the plague. Only responding with grunts or one-word answers. It’s not the best action but he couldn’t think of anything else. Despite the frustration clouding his mind, he still vows to never hurt you. He promised you that; reassured you that he would never ever raise his voice at you, his hand stroking your back and kissing your temple, after you told him about your past one drunken night. 

The first time Simon came home and didn’t immediately wrap his arm around you, nosing the crook of your neck, you knew something was up. You didn’t push the matter though. Brushing it off as something trivial and proceeding to go your usual routine. You did notice things that you never brought up with him: heavy footsteps, the lack of teasing from him, and uncharacteristically never clinging onto you  

What finally pushed you to visit the base was when Si, your husband who would go through all levels of hell just to be close to you and never lets a night pass without you with him in bed, suddenly tells you he will be sleeping on the couch. It baffled you. This is the same man who wrapped all his limbs around to keep you from leaving after a big fight. The same man that acts like a big baby when you tell him you’re gonna be away on a work event. Suddenly, the idea of him getting bored of you and finding entertainment with another woman intrusively swirled in your mind. 

Were you too loud? Too chatty? Clingy? Maybe you didn’t satisfy him enough. Maybe he wanted a wife available to always cook for him after work. It scared you. You love him; love him enough to change just to keep him.

You needed to talk to him. Whether he likes it or not. 

“Price, please. Just call him for me?” The captain looks at you, hesitating. Even though he was aware of Ghost’s thinning temper and didn’t want to put his comrade’s wife in a position that could result in a fight, he also knew that you needed to solve this. He scratches his beard, nervously looking at you. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t know. The man.. he.. he hasn’t been the best these days? Maybe you should go home and wait for him—“. You cut him off, “he doesn’t want to talk to me! Please, just 5 minutes and I won’t even cause a scene. I promise!” With a sigh, he finally relents and tells you to stay there while he calls for your husband. You crack a smile, nodding and feeling a sense of relief wash over you. 

Moments after being alone, a new recruit (you assume considering you’ve never met this man nor did Simon ever mention him) approaches you with a low wolf whistle. His hands find your waist before you can even comprehend what’s happening, pulling you close to his chest. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here?” You freeze, and disgust starts to bubble up inside of you. You plant your hand on his chest in an attempt to pull away in fear that Simon would witness this and think differently. Before you could say to leave you alone, a voice booms out. A voice you know too well. 

“Y/N!” Simon takes three strides and he was near enough to pull the recruit away from you and land a punch. Scandalous gasps went around while the yells of other members went inaudible to you. You stood there in horror as Price stepped in, pushing Ghost away and yelling to stand down. This was not your Simon. Your Simon would never be this violent in front of you— he was too scared to frighten you and do something to push you away. These weren’t the same hands carried you as if a delicate flower he plucked as well. The hands that routinely offers to brush your hair every night and washes you every sex session while he kisses your shoulders, showering you with endless praise with a voice filled with adoration.

Ghost whips his head. His cold stare made you falter, taking a step back. Something you never thought you’d do when faced with him. You could see his mask move, undoubtedly hiding his disappointment and furrowed eyebrows. 

“What are you doing here?” He seethes, roughly gripping your arm tight enough to leave a bruise.

“I-I... I wanted to see you—“ Before you could even finish, Ghost groans with frustration. “I fucking told you to not come to the base. Were you even thinking? Use that pea-sized brain of yours once in a while! Just.. leave me alone and go home.”

Silence. The whole base quiets down with his words, a tense atmosphere building up. You freeze. From the corner of your eye, you notice Price’s contort with concern and hesitation if he should meddle. 

The pain you felt was indescribable. It was as if Ghost took your heart and crushed it with his bare hands. Your breathing got labored, your eyes flicked down, taking deep breaths to hold back tears. Before the realization has fully settled, you pull away from Ghost, mumbling something incoherent. In that moment, Ghost knew he fucked up. He hurt his darling flower. He hurt the only person he treasured. The person that stayed with him through thick and thin. The person he married, vowed in front of God to love forever and to never hurt. 

“No, baby— I didn’t mean to—“

You cut him off, telling him you were going back just like he wanted. You didn’t even call it your home. You always do. Saying it with pride to have something to call home with him. 

God, what has he done? 

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: dare I say this man needs a break :} Second part is out. Little detail: I use ‘Simon’ during Y/N’s pov and Ghost for the rest, but used Ghost for her after he yelled at her. :3

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[nexusnyx]

my fellow, my guy

Joel Miller x f!Reader [5.3k] Summary: All his attempts at faking nonchalance about anything are gone out of the window just like that. Four words and Joel's changed. In his bones, the very chemistry of his brain. "'Cause he's my guy." How did he ever manage to not claim you in front of the world? He has no clue, but Joel's changing that. Tonight.

— A/n 📝I wanted to try something different. What if possessive!Reader brought out the possessiveness in Joel? Reblogs and comments make all the difference. — Warnings⚠️ mature content—explicit depictions of sex, so minors dni. | 🏷️ age gap, established relationship, rough sex, possessive!Joel, dirty talking, thigh riding, spanking, soft!Dom!Joel, possessive!Reader, oral (f receiving), penetration, creampie.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤmasterlist | read on ao3

In the middle of what seemed like a sea of infinite, boring nothingness, Joel is hooked by the magnitude of your nature's force — the power in the way you stand; your presence.

His favorite thing ever since he met you. Everything about you.

Since he arrived at Jackson's community with Ellie two years ago, he's been blinded by it.

Your light, heat, glow. Joel might as well be a moth, and it amazed him now that he thought of it, how long he managed to pretend he was anything by mesmerized by your flames. In the middle of the meeting, you utter the words that snap something inside him, and Joel feels his inner workings shifting. Four words and Joel's changed:

"'Cause he's my guy."

All his attempts at faking nonchalance about anything are gone out of the window just like that. In his bones, the very chemistry of his brain — Joel feels a snap, and he sort of... embraces it.

There's silence around the table for only a second.

Nathan had asked: "But why does he get to go if it's that dangerous? I get it when you go by yourself 'cause we know you're different, but I've asked you multiple times, and it's always no. I just — I don't get why he's going."

And you had answered.

Loud and clear.

"Not that you have to get anything, Nathan, since you don't have the ground knowledge to be second-guessing my decisions of any plans, but — it's simple. I'll answer you. 'Cause he's my guy. And I'll take him to wherever I please."

You had paused, lifted both eyebrows in question, and Nathan remained silenced.

Joel freezes at first, too. When you say 'he's my guy' the words shoot like a freezing spell that hits his blood, but even with almost all eyes turning shamelessly to him, Joel can feel his shoulders relaxing further back the more you stare at him. In only a second he sees a lot of words running through your eyes, and all he can think back is a litany of — yes exactly yes—

He leans back on the chair's backrest. Both of his feet slide a few inches further, his legs spreading wider.

He is your guy.

Has been for a while now. A year — almost a year a half, if he was being really accurate. While both of you managed to keep that hidden for the better half of that time, lately the nosy (and delusional) jackasses like Nathan were prodding into your business with jabs here and there. Tauntings about the 'nature' of things between you and him. As if they couldn't see it in both of your eyes. Your postures. The way you walked side by side.

No matter how private you two tried being, you two almost had rings gravitating the bubble created around you, like Saturn in the sky.

Joel knew they frowned upon him. Talked about him on his back — about him and his daughter, about his daughter's personality, and the way Joel Miller seems to 'have only smiles for his Ranger neighbor'.

The silence around the table's broken by his own voice, letting the words slip out of his tongue. "Don't worry, Nathan. 'm not decorative. I've got good aim. If you're worried about her safety, don't be."

What a jackass move. That's what the smile on the corner of your mouth said to him. "See? So helpful. We'll all be fine, and once we're through there and come back, everyone else can be fine too knowing there's nothing to worry about."

With a sigh, you get up before Nathan can finish collecting his patience from the floor, or wipe away the humiliation of being rejected for what is far from the first time since he's unable to accept a refusal without embarrassing himself.

"Are we all clear?"

After a round of verbal agreement from the table — one of which comes through gritted teeth — you nod once, put on a smile, and sigh loudly. "Excellent. You're all free to go."

It was so, so — hot. Enticing, and hypnotizing.

The power you had over people that came not because of something futile, but because of how capable your hands were. Joel was an imbecile if he was being honest with himself.

How did he ever manage to not claim you in front of the world? He has no clue, but Joel's changing that.

Tonight.

He sits back and waits while the room empties out, slowly.

Some people linger back to talk to each other, to him, to you. He answers all of them without ever turning his body away from you, and when there are only a handful of people left, Joel remains seated, with no rush to gather his jacket or things since he's leaving with the person who's closing the whole building.

He's leaving with you.

Tommy, Mercedes, and Max are the last ones hanging around, and while the two latter go exchange a word with you — "good gods, can we do a round table vote to kick fucking Nathan out of here? I know he's a master engineer or whatever, but fuck, man, he's annoying", starts Max — his brother knocks his elbow on his side.

Joel looks up to find the smirk on Tommy's face.

"If you had feathers, you'd be peacocking all over the goddamn room," he whispers for Joel's ears only.

Joel laughs under his breath. "Shut up."

Tommy shakes his head, laughing as well. "Nah, I won't, actually. I happen to like seein' that stupid look on your goddamn face."

"Is that so?" Joel wants to sound a little more sarcastic, but with the huge smile he feels imprinted on his face, it's impossible to do so.

"Damn right it is," Tommy chuckles. "And you know why it's the best seein' that smile puttin' even a glint in your eyes, huh?"

Oh, god, here he goes. "Why?"

"Because this is the best damn I told you so on the planet. Well — one of the best. There's space for more," Tommy pouts, looking up with a musing look. "A couple of really big others." He looks down at Joel again, smiling from ear to ear. "I've gotten really smart in your absence, and I wanna hear the day when you'll admit it."

Joel's amused by the confidence — if Tommy's right about many other things Joel will find out eventually, but this, he owns.

Tommy introducing Joel to you with only a nudge in the right direction was all it took.

"We'll see about those," Joel answers and Tommy huffs good-heartedly in response, an image most familiar to Joel.

Now again, after almost decades without it.

Joel's happy for many reasons, it seems.

He sinks his feet in the feeling, not wanting to track back to things he's unable to change.

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but Joel catches a cue from across the room:

Keys. Your set of keys when grabbed from the table make a known sound, and it's like an alarm — a triggering sound that connects to routine. He hears them and Tommy turns around, seeing how Max and Mercedes are leaving.

Joel and Tommy move in sync toward you, and everybody — with the exception of Joel and you — bids their goodbyes at the door outside.

As soon as they're out of sight, Joel turns to find your eyes already waiting for his.

He never had this type of relationship before. Never saw in someone's eyes the thoughts running through their mind at that exact moment, and it was exhilarating.

You knew your words had affected them.

The only thing you were probably unaware of was the epiphany that accompanied them — the moment his mind came to a halt.

The inner fight over faking being empty.

It was so silly. Joel was full.

"If I kiss you here, we're not gonna stop," Joel informs you.

A breathless chuckle leaves you, and you take a step, falling gracefully into his hold. "Really?"

Joel loves sultriness in your voice. "Really." He goes back to the words he's been letting your mind soak up. Closes his eyes, leaning his forehead on yours as his arm locks around you. "How could you do that to me, hm?"

His own voice is wrecked. Sounds like something out of a ridiculous sex tape, or one of those Star Wars movies from back in the way.

Seemingly content with what you've done, Joel feels your giggling more than hears it—the huffs of breath on his chin and cheeks tickle. "I wasn't really thinking when I said it? It's just — it was the third time he questioned me choosing you to team up and I know it's stupid to let it get to me, I know Nathan's just — jealous, which is even more ridiculous than anything, but I hate the way he speaks over me sometimes. I hate it! And when I saw... it'd slipped out."

It's the coyness at the end of your ramble that gets him to open his eyes.

"Slipped out," he echoes.

You nod, smiling up at him. A little shy, a little devious. "Yeah."

The worst part is — he believed you. "I believe you." Truth does that. It slips out. It's uncontainable, like sunshine or water or rain.

Then, you're happier, and whenever your smile widened like that, Joel was always taken over by the desire to kiss you. This time, he embraced the hunger with open arms and leaned to capture what he wanted.

None of you discussed the lack of control of doing this only seconds after he just said there was no controlling him, but this was more than a need — or delicious, wet evidence —, it was breathing.

Joel inhales deeply while his tongue tangles with yours, his hands finding their path easily to your hair through your favorite spots and detours on your neck. He kisses them just to breathe.

He went without addiction for so long in this world.

When your throat vibrations with a low moan, Joel knows why.

He'd been weak before. No room in him for addictions if there were no higher parts of him working. No real thinking, feeling, existing.

People turned to things that gave them a thrill because existing demanded too much. A strenuous task with little to no rewards, which made everyone to need an escape.

Thankfully, you were no escape.

And as far as vices went, the taste of you was an infinite, healthy, and powerful source for one.

He pulls back for oxygen, breathing out slowly the warmness you leave in his chest.

"So I'm your guy." Joel needed to hear it again, maybe. He liked how the words sounded on his lips, too.

"You are."

Sweet Jesus.

He needs to get you home before starting this shit. "Fuck," it slips out. You laugh, resting your forehead on his sternum, and Joel nods to you and to himself. "'kay. We need to go. Let's go?"

"Yeah".

"Alright. No distractin' me while I'm drivin', ya hear me?"

Despite having already done everything tonight, you still have the audacity to whine at his request. Joel ought to slap your ass right there in the middle of the street. On the sidewalk outside where both of you work, often.

He takes advantage of the hand on your hair, making a fist with it — as carefully as he can be — and grips just right.

Putting his mouth to your ear, he whispers. "I'll spank ya 'till your ass is red if you whine again before my tongue's buried in your pussy." Joel lives for the way you gasp for him. He presses his whole body flushed with yours, and hears the repressed groan in your throat when you feel it. "I've been half hard since what you said sank in. Calling me yours like that, claiming me for everybody to hear. Had to fuckin' stop myself from thinkin' about fucking you on that table for everyone to see. Don't make me crazier than I already am, I swear to—" his final words end muffled on your lips.

Instead of finishing, he just gets another little taste of you.

One for the road.

For safe keeping.

Joel had such a distance between his mind now and the memories of his young adult years that every time this happened, he felt a little choked up:

nostalgia.

True, genuine nostalgia.

For him, it came in waves.

It smelled of his first trip to the beach, and the taste of gelato sticking sweet on his tongue. Showing him real sweetness for the first time.

That's what driving home to you feels like.

Joel's still not used to your eyes on him. Being looked at with so much hunger scared him at first. Joel thought these days were past him. He imagined luxury, lust, adventure, and the nice, saccharine-type of adrenaline all belonged in his past.

To a Joel that died when Cordyceps wrecked the world.

It turned out that your fingertips on his thigh touched the parts of him that proved his wonderings wrong.

Sure, he had trouble getting hard all by himself if he wanted to jack off on a random weekday, but — put you biting your bottom lip on the passenger seat, and Joel was bulging inside his jeans, stiff as a rock and with no rush to see the end of it.

The silence that blanketed the car comfortably is thrown out of the window when you two enter his room, fully clothed.

You are so good for him.

When Joel kicks his bedroom door closed behind him, you are still. Waiting for it.

Knowing exactly what he needs.

A shiver runs through his whole body, and Joel sits on his armchair to remove his boots. He turns on the soft light on the interrupter behind him, feeling around the wall for it so his eyes can remain on you. When the room's illuminated by yellow, warm light, Joel kicks off his shoes and spreads his legs, making himself comfortable.

"Take off your shoes." He loves this part. "And your pants." Joel's hand comes up to his beard, rubbing the patchy hair. "Then get here," he pats his lap, and watches as you do as he asked.

Slowly. Exactly how he likes it.

Joel keeps smoothing out the hair on his face as he watches you do it. The right word for what awakens inside him every time his eyes land on more and more skin, and more of your body, is adoration.

He'd been attracted to some people since the outbreak happened, it'd be impossible for him not to — Joel pretended for a long while to be devoid of feelings, not being dead.

Attraction and primal, raw desire might belong in the same family, but they lived on almost opposite ends of the spectrum. The first was the beginning of 'Interest' while the second was the furthest point of it.

Joel desired you for things that went far beyond your looks, but gods—

The looks.

He was painfully attracted to you, and he knew it dripped out of him.

When you strip off from all the item he asks for and walks to him, Joel puts his legs together to give you space in his armchair. His arms open up to welcome your body straddling his, then wrap around you, pulling you as close as possible.

As if he wished to trap you.

You wished he would.

For a while, all he does is feel you up.

His hands run over every exposed inch of your skin while his face rubs on your neck and your face, beard leaving the first tingles of what later will be red burns. Meanwhile, your body ignites as if fuel is being added to fire.

The longer Joel touches you, rubs on you, leaves trails of his mouth and his kisses on the skin it passes through, the hotter you burn. It starts as a fire in your brain — Joel started as a single flame somewhere in your mind, one you were unable to pin a finger on and eventually put out, and it grew, and it took over. His heat spreads from a fog around your thoughts to your neck. It descends to your neck, then it warms your chest.

When his tongue and teeth scrape a spot in your jugular, the storm he caused settles in between your legs, causing them to rut against his lap, rocking against the bulge inside his pants.

Joel hums in your neck, pulling back to look at your face. His smile is smug, and you say it you hate it every time you see it. "Stupid cocky smile." The words are ineffective as always — in face of how breathy you sound, the way your hips are moving in circles on top of him, they're empty.

"You love my cocky everything." Stupid cocky bastard.

Your mouth crashes against him, landing in a bruising kiss.

Joel never minded your roughness.

He embraced it however it came, whenever it came. Joel liked it. In all its forms, it was beautiful to him.

It matches the despair inside him. Joel enjoys how he's able to devour you, sometimes whole, because you feast on him as well. You tongue is hot and heavy on his, and your moans awaken the words from the meeting back to him.

Joel kisses even harder.

His hands — one on the nape of your neck and the other grabbing at your back, your boobs, your stomach — both move to your waist and guide your moves to slow it down.

When you pull back to breathe, Joel wants to feel everything.

He takes off your shirt in one swift motion, throwing them off somewhere without care. He removes your top as well, then takes a moment to appreciate the view.

"Take my clothes off, baby." He hates to have you off his lap for even a moment, but for this, it's worth it.

Since the first time he slept with you, Joel chooses to let you undress him if he can. If he's not in a rush to have you, if it's not one of those incredible moments when he already wakes up with you naked and him still only in boxers — if he can, Joel picks this—

Your fingers sometimes are desperate. Buttons are your worst enemy when all you want is him naked for you, but most of the time, you take your time. Do it slowly, taking off each item with the care he never seems to have for your clothes because all Joel cares for is your skin.

"I like taking them off."

"Why?"

"Remember how I asked you that first time to do it?"

"Yeah."

"So — I wanted to do it for so long. I—don't laugh at me, or — look at me weird, but. I thought about it. A lot. Thought about... all these layers you're often using. And — I'm crazy about your body. You—I know you complain about the aches and joke about being old and frail, which is — bullshit. Ridiculous, and everyone knows it. It's just... I like that you let me do it. I like that I get to undress you. It's hot. You're hot."

The memory strikes him again — as it does when he's in this position — and Joel feels a little raw.

Now that he knows how you feel, it makes it more real.

How you peel off his shirt by running your palms across his chest all the way through his back. Undoing the zipper of his pants, you palm the outline of his cock, then get down on both knees to pull them all the way off. Joel helps by lifting his hips a little, and seeing the way your eyes snap to his groin makes him burn.

Joel knows exactly what you'll go for — he watches you remove and throw his jeans to the side, hands running up his calves while you stand on both knees to nibble little bites on his thighs.

He hisses, feeling his dick twitch the closer you get to it. He lets you have your fun, no matter how much it feels like torture.

Your tongue touches the muscle of his inner thigh, sucking a bruise in there, and Joel gasps. "You ain't gonna do what you think you are."

You muffle what he images would be another whine by sucking a bruise on his other thigh. "Please?" You blink your gorgeous eyes, gazing straight at him.

Joel cups your face in one hand, smiling again. He refrains from answering because he likes what comes next.

The kisses that inch closer to his cock. The innocent, and yet siren eyes that stay steady on his while you whisper. "I've been good. Why not?"

"'Cause I have other plans for you."

You perk up. "What d'you want?"

Joel pats his lap. "Get back here."

You do as he says in a second, but instead of straddling both of his thighs, Joel guides you to one of his thighs. It's a tight squeeze in the armchair, but he makes it work. He pulls your panties to the side and pulls you down, feeling the wetness of your cunt at the first movement of your hips.

"That's it," he coos, tangling one hand in your hand to pull you in for a kiss. "Wanna see you get off on my thigh, baby," he kisses your neck, and smiles when you moan at his words and grind harder on him. "Just like that. Gonna use me? Hm?"

"Yeah."

"Gonna use your guy?"

"Joel." Your movements back and forth create a path of slickness in his thigh, and for someone who occasionally needs a little hand from you to get fully hard, he would believe the horniness in his mind that says he's just as young as ever. He feels he's never this hard — this desperate; the wet patch in his boxers only amplifies the louder you moan for him, and with your mouth back on his, Joel can imagine he's a mess.

Not as much as you. Nonetheless — a mess.

With a red, plump mouth, you pull back from his kisses to hold onto his face. Your other hand is gripping the back of his head, and Joel loves the look of pure lust on your face.

The look of someone who's in another dimension of feeling good.

He did that. Joel groans low in his throat when he thinks of it, and assaults your neck with kisses. One hand comes down to slap your ass, and you yelp — the look of surprise that flashes across your features is replaced by one of absolute pleasure within a split second, and Joel growls at witnessing it.

He slaps the other side with his other hand, and you cry for him.

"You're gonna cum like this." He knows you can. Joel's tested several different ways he can bring you to the edge, and this is one of his favorites. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you with my tongue."

"Oh, god." Your cries are accompanied by whimpers at every push of your hips on his thigh, and the slick sounds covering the air are taking away Joel's ability to think of anything other than you.

"Yeah — 'm gonna fuck you so hard, baby, goddamn it."

"Just like — like you want to? On the table?"

"Yes. Fuck—just like that." Joel sees you're teetering on the edge. He recognizes the trembling of your hand fisted in his hand, and the desperate way your hips start moving, almost losing balance. He leans to capture your bottom lip with his teeth, wanting so badly he could eat you. "Cum for me. If I'm yours, then you're mine, right?" Your hips falter at the words, losing their rhythm due to the shiver that runs through you. "That's it. Show me you're my lady. All fuckin' mine. Always so good for me, so fuckin' perfect—god, yeah. Like that — so damn good. Cum, baby. Don't stop. Keep cummin' for me."

Between your first and second orgasm, Joel gets lost in his mind and the moment.

It's rare for that to happen.

For someone who was used to panic rising so fast in his chest that it led to his heart trying to run out of his chest, or at least beat fast enough for it to feel like that, having no other thoughts but the present one and to submerge in what he's feeling.

He had to stop running from it — he feels.

Life never stopped, even if it felt like it did. No broken watch would stop time, and it was you who brought him the realization.

Joel shows his gratitude in one of the few ways he knows to.

One of the few ways he's at least certain he's good at.

By bringing you white bliss, and making you drown in nothing but good, for as long as he can. He carries you to bed and eats you from behind at first. That way Joel can fuck his tongue deeper inside you — he can bend you as far as you'll go and use his tongue until his jaw aches; until it stings and then burns because the reward tastes sweet on his tongue. It washes away all the hurt and gets his humming against your wet and pulsing core.

When he turns you over to do the same thing again but with you on your back, Joel gets lost in the middle of the way.

Your hands make grabby gestures at him.

Legs shaking, your skin covered in sweat, the way you say, "Please get on top of me." It's all too much.

Joel loses his last piece of clothing in one motion, and does something he should know better than to risk.

Grabbing his cock by the base, he drags the head between the lips of your cunt, pulling a moan from both of you. This is where he usually would grab a condom — after teasing you, giving you just the head, making you spread your legs wider or lock your legs behind his ass just to pull him closer.

Not this time. This time, he leans down until his mouth is on your ear and asks. "Can I? I understand if you don't want to—"

"Please. Yes, yes," you interrupt, hooking your legs around him and already pushing his hips closer.

Joel slides deeper, grunting on your neck. "Always so tight," he sounds drunk. "Lemme in, baby... Like that. Breathe deep." Joel's a big man, and the way you slowly relax to take all of him gets to his head every time. "Atta fuckin' girl, jus' like that."

"Joel this feels even better." The whine around the words makes him cry on your shoulder. He knows this is far from being the last time now.

He pulls out and slams it back in. "Fuckin' hell — it does." He thrusts his hips hard, but not fast. He likes to enjoy your sounds.

The filthy ones that fill the room.

If you sense that something shifted in Joel — something in his core, a foundation that he painted a coat of invisible ink over it as if such a thing existed — nothing about you lets that out.

You always held his face in your hands as he buried himself inside you.

The way you look at him — nothing about it is new, either.

Only this time, Joel lets himself feel it all the way through.

He is your guy, after all. He can feel all the good things you bring out in him because you want him to. It matters to you if he's happy or not. If he's safe, and fed, and not in pain. Joel buries himself in you the same way he buried all his hopes long ago — you found it in him, anyway. Years later, somewhere between all the grief and dust, you picked it up and gave it back to him even if he never asked for it.

Joel's usually harsher with you, not because he's trying to be mean, but because you like it when it hurts a little.

"Wanna feel you tomorrow—" are words he's heard a lot coming from you. Today, you say, "You gonna let your cum drip out of me?"

And it fucks with his head. He nods in answer, snapping his hips harder. Joel glues his forehead on yours and nods, grunting with the effort and the delicious drag of your tight cunt squeezing around him.

"'m close, Joel — feels too good."

That's his favorite song. How out of breath you sound, voice higher than ever. "'m gonna cum when you cum. 'm right behind you, baby. 's ok. Take your time. Feels good? Hm? Taking every fuckin' inch of me?"

"Oh god, Joel." Your hips are pushing back on his, and your arms use his shoulders for leverage as you hold onto him.

He laughs, kissing you through gasps and his own sounds. He shares the same air as you, wanting to fuck you so fast and hard that both of your hips will be hurting tomorrow, but he wants this to go on for a long time more than he wants to lose himself in you.

When your begging for "More, please Joel, more—" starts, Joel sits both of you up, pulling you back to his lap. He puts a pillow behind your back, supporting you against the headboard, and sits on his kneels and heels even if tomorrow they'll be aching.

You give him massages when he's hurting.

Joel needs to be as close to you as possible. Like this, your bodies are one.

Like this, you can plant your feet against the bed and fuck him back, as hard and as fast as you want to.

Joel gets a face full of your boobs bouncing up and down and your screams muffling his moans.

He feels it coming — you cling your arm around his shoulder and pull his face to yours again, your mouth hanging open in a perfect O until your eyes close shut.

Joel seems to lose all notion of time as you fall apart on top of him. He feels it all over your body. The orgasm shakes you whole, the trembling only losing for the way your cunt squeezes so hard around him, making it even harder to pull out. He fucks you deep and hard then, and it takes only a few more thrusts before he's moaning in your ear as he fills you up.

Coming down from a high is always difficult.

With you in his arms, it never happens.

Joel plays with his own cum leaking down your thighs, and smiles to himself when you tremble in sensitivity at his minor touches. He'll take a warm cloth and clean you both later, but first, he'll make a mess.

"All mine," he tells you. His fingers graze your clitoris, drenched in the mix of his own release and yours, and something in your eyes tell him you know what he's talking about.

While he may be unable to say some things — and your existence is challenging even that — he can say this much.

He agrees with you.

"All mine," you echo. Your kiss on his lips taste sweeter than before. They taste like I'm yours and you're mine, and for now, that's all he needs.

Joel has you, and you have him. It's all he needs to start.

🏷️ @sakuralikestars — @mostardentily — @thegreat-annamaria — @leiticia — @polyglot-noodle — @casssiopeia — @earthtocharlene — @levylovegood — @simply-sams-things — @lavenderhhze — @gracie7209 — @waywardwolfbonklight — @shadytalething — @yesimwriting — @celestialstar111 — @averysblog — @pedrostories — @fleursirvart

⚠️ if anyone being tagged would like to not be, just let me know in my inbox (which you can also use to talk to me about all the appeals of Joel Miller with his hair slicked back. Just saying hehe.

[tropes-and-tales]

Dyin' for a Taste

Day 11:  Face Sitting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Idiots in love; pining; smut (oral, f!receiving); 18+ only.

Word Count:  4096

AN:  This was requested by an anonymous person!

AN2: When I say this is not edited, please know it is NOT EDITED. Full of typos and sloppy typing. Tropes is a fat-fingered old crone.

It starts with a joke.

The 141 is on a covert ops in the mountains.  It’s cold—the sort of cold that burns, that makes the bones ache.  You’re posted up in a perch, your sniper’s rifle at the ready if shit goes south.  The rest of the team is in the square below, waiting for the drop.

“My bollacks are gonna freeze off,” Soap complains over the comms, and you snort at the whining tone in his soft Scottish brogue. 

“Shoulda dressed for the weather,” you reply.  “Ghost probably has a spare balaclava.”

“And cover this handsome face?”

“Won’t be so handsome when your nose turns black from frostbite.”

You hear the tsch noise he makes over the comms, the very Soap, very Scottish noise of dismissal. 

“You’ll have to sit on my face then, hen, and warm me back up,” he says.

You’re rarely stunned into silence—you and the guys are always making off-color jokes—but when you open your mouth to reply, you only gape wordlessly.  The silence over the comms grows, expands, until Gaz—fucking Gaz—chimes in.

“I think she’s into the idea, bruv.”

And you can’t respond to that fast enough either, which leaves another long beat of silence over the comms, which likely seems like enough of an answer.

-----

The mission goes smoothly.  The team splits up as planned to avoid drawing attention.  You don’t see Soap again until a few days later when you regroup at HQ.

You think, perhaps, that he’s forgotten.  Maybe that’d be better.  You and Soap get along well, and sometimes he flirts with you, but he flirts with everyone.  It means nothing. 

And yet…

And yet, it’s Soap.  You might be able to lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself:  you’ve spent many a lonely night with your thoughts drifting to him.  Turning him over and over in your mind. 

Soap MacTavish.  Handsome, almost unbearably so.  He could be a cocky asshole, be the sort of man who knows he’s hot and be insufferable about it, but he’s gregarious.  Friendly.  He’s a happy-go-lucky sort of man—or as much as someone in the One-Four-One can be.

-----

“Been avoiding me.”

It’s a statement, not a question.  Soap corners you in the mess hall, his blue eyes peering at you without guile.  He looks almost concerned.

“I haven’t,” you reply.  You try to shift past him, but he puts a hand out against the doorway, bars you with his arm.

“You have.”  He peers at you closer, his blue eyes somber.  “What’s wrong?”

“Why would anything be wrong?”

You thought, perhaps, that he’d forgotten…but those somber eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, then smooth out as he schools his expression.

“Maybe you think my offer was wrong,” he says.

“I never said that.”  You duck under his arm, but he lays his hand on your shoulder and stills you again.

“You’ve never said anything about it.”  You don’t look at him, but you hear his gentle snort of laughter.  “Your silence is deafening.”

You feel your face start to heat up because he’s not wrong.  Too much time has passed now to address that moment in the mountains.  You should have said something then, spat out some rejoinder to signal that it meant nothing to you, that it was just another dumb joke between you and Soap.  But something about that dumb joke conjures up the mental image of you and Soap, and your face burns in embarrassment.

So you duck from his light grip on your shoulder and it makes him laugh again, then call out to your retreating form, “the offer still stands, hen.”

-----

A month passes, then another.  You get leave for a few weeks and go someplace warm, a beach with golden sand and soft breezes where you can relax and forget the horrors of what you see every day.

Then you’re back on base, then another mission.  Over and over, the same routine.

Through it all:  Soap MacTavish, the team’s Golden Retriever.  Always with an easy grin on his handsome face, a laugh, a joke.  He teases Ghost, he does a passable impression of Captain Price.  He gives Gaz a hard time about their rival rugby teams, but it’s always good-natured. 

He jokes with you, but that joke—the one about sitting on his face—becomes just a joke between the two of you.  You don’t know if the other men have forgotten it, but Soap only brings it up when you’re alone now.

At the barracks, in the rec room, he’s sprawled out on the couch and half-dozing, half-watching a rugby match.  When you walk past, he notices, sits up.  Beckons you over, tells you to have a seat…then thoughtfully strokes his face with that damned smirk and comically waggling eyebrows.

“You’re a jackass,” you call out as you leave the room, but by now, it makes you laugh…and it lightly stokes that ever-burning flame low in your belly.

-----

Another time, he sidles up to you at the range as you study your targets with their tight formation of bullet holes.  He points out one shot, high in the corner of the paper, off of the concentric circles of the bullseye.

“Missed one,” he says.

You scoff.  “One out of….many.”

He matches your scoff with one of his own.  “Might be losing your edge.”

“I’m not.”  You know he’s winding you up, but that missed shot galls you. 

“Maybe you’re stressed out.”

You set the target down on the wooden railing.  “Maybe you’re stressing me out, MacTavish.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.  His blue eyes light up in glee, and he only gets out the first part of his retort—You know what’s good for de-stressing—before you drop to one knee and start disassembling your sniper rifle, ducking your head and hiding your burning cheeks from him.

“…nothing wrong with it,” he finishes as you shut the rifle’s case, and you realize you’ve missed part of what he’s said.

“There isn’t,” you agree.  You stand up and lean a bit on the courage that sees you through each mission.  You look him square in the eye and add, “but you’re just flirting.”

He gazes back at you, a soft smile on his face, only a little teasing.  “Not just flirting.”

“Sure.”  You roll your eyes.

He makes his Soap-branded tsch sound, then he loops his arm around your shoulders to pull you in close.  He smells like…well, he smells like soap, clean with a hint of something herbal.  It’s nothing he hasn’t done a hundred times—in safe houses after a mission, walking out of a bar on a night out with the team—that companionable way he pulls you against him.

“It makes me sad when you don’t believe me, hen,” he chuckles, and it’s low, right by your ear, his warm breath fanning over you. 

You’re not sure what spurs your next move.  You’re a natural-born sniper; you take the measure of everything around you—the curve of the earth, the speed and direction of the wind—before you squeeze your trigger.  You’re the same with people, cautious and feeling out every angle of their intentions before you make a move.  But you know Soap, and the question around his joke is the only uncertainty.

Something makes you act without much thought.  Your rifle case in your hand, your other hand tucked in your pocket, and Soap’s arm slung around your shoulders…the moment is crystalized, will be an easy memory to recall in the years to come because this is when everything between the two of you changes.

“You know what?” you ask, and you don’t allow him to hazard a guess.  Instead, you gaze at him levelly, straight into those bright blue eyes of his and add, “alright, let’s do this.”

It’s comical, how the smile drops from his face, how his mouth makes a little “oh” of surprise.  His eyes scan your face, quick, like he’s trying to find the joke, trying to find proof you’re just having a laugh at his expense.

“Bonnie,” he starts to say, and his voice has a rough edge to it.  His voice is missing its usual teasing edge, and he pauses to study you.  You don’t know if he realizes it, but the tip of his tongue darts out, licks against his lower lip, like he’s really thinking of it now that it could be a reality.

“Bonnie, are you just…are ye fer real?”  His voice is lower and his accent gets thicker, and it sets a frisson of heat shimmering through your lower belly.

You refuse to blink.  Refuse to look away.  “I’m for real if you are.”

“I was never joking about that.”

“Then I’m not joking either.”  You swing your rifle case towards the barracks, playing at bravery but willing the fluttery feeling in your stomach to calm.  “So let’s go.”

Soap—gregarious, convivial Soap—says nothing else on the walk back.  He keeps his arm around your shoulders, though, and his hand settles against your bicep, rubs you briskly before gently holding you there, like he’s proving to himself that you’re real, that the moment is really happening.

-----

Your nerve wobbles a little when you get back to quarters.  Soap’s nerves must have a similar wobble, because he turns to you and his usual boyish grin is gone, replaced by a grave expression.

“You dinnae have to do this,” he says, “if you don’t want to.”

Part of you wants to back out, chuck him in the arm and say it was just a joke.  You could still back out.  Soap is flirty and gregarious, but hooking up would irrevocably change your easy relationship with him.  It could change the tenor of the team.  And yet…

…don’t you both face death every day?  Don’t you see the absolute worst of humanity?  Don’t your bodies bear the scars of your hard, unrelenting lives—countless scars, visible and invisible both?  Don’t you all operate in your own bubbles of loneliness, sleeping alone night after night but crowded out by the ghosts you all haul around?

Is it too much to ask for even a moment of connection, of not feeling alone?

You gaze back at him.  Sweet Johnny MacTavish.  Handsome but not vain, smart but not aloof, funny without being cruel about his teasing.  Is there anyone you’d rather be with?

“I want to do this,” you tell him, and there’s no hesitation in your tone.  “If you do.  If you really were just joking around, then no harm, Johnny.”

His somber gaze softens at your use of his real name.  “Wasn’t joking at all.”  Then he opens the door to his quarters and turns to you, invites you in with a sweep of his hand, and when you walk past him, he lays his palm on your lower back to guide you.

-----

In truth, you’ve never actually sat on anyone’s face.  It’s one of those funny sex acts that you joke around about but have never gotten around to, like sixty-nine (always seemed more complicated than necessary) or food-play (always seemed too messy). 

Soap, it turns out, has never actually had his face sat on.

And it’s adorable, how he sheepishly runs his hand through the longer stripe of his short-shorn hair and admits as much.

“Figured it cannae be that complicated though,” he says.  He huffs out a breath, and you realize how nervous he must be, and it gives you courage to take charge.

“Kiss me first.  Then we can figure it out from there.”

The tame command makes his face light up and he murmurs, “yes, ma’am” in his brogue, and then he does as you say.

If Soap MacTavish is generally the team’s Golden Retriever, bouncing around with a wagging tail, he kisses with far more finesse.  He cups your face gently, reverently and leans forward, brushes the lightest of kisses against your lips like he’s testing the waters.  Like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you again.

It’s awkward at first, but only because you’re both so tentative.  It’s uncharted territory.  He must be aware that you’re crossing a line in doing this, you think, and he must not care either.  But the awkwardness melts away quickly because Soap is a damned good kisser, skilled in how he moves his mouth against yours, his tongue against yours.  One of his hands stays on your face, cupping you gently and steering you, but the other hand touches your waist, your hip, slides around to squeeze your ass gently before returning to the dip of your waist.

He tastes like something warm and spicy, like cinnamon or nutmeg.  Everything about him is warm, really:  the way he cups your face but runs his thumb over your cheekbone, the way his other hand holds you steady as he kisses you.  And the way he looks at you when he breaks the kiss, the almost-shy way he tugs at the hem of your shirt and asks if he can take it off.

He’s warm too—his body, his skin as you bare it with each article of clothing shed.  You strip each other in tandem, and the sight of him leaves you breathless.  He’s like something carved by a Renaissance sculptor, but when you smooth your palms over the dips and swells of his muscles, you find that he’s warm to the touch, wonderfully so, and a wave of lust almost takes you out at the knees by how much you want to feel his body against yours, under you or on top of you, every inch of you pressed against him.

Soap must feel the same way about you—he touches you just as gently as before, almost reverent, but his goddamned eyes practically shine when he looks at you, then groans out, “fuck, but you’re stunning, hen.”

He maneuvers you both towards the bed, and then he stretches out across it, and this is precisely why your sexual repertoire has always been lacking:  when a brutally handsome man is stretched out in front of you like a damned buffet, your mind singularly focuses on one thing, and you rarely remember that there’s other, more adventuresome things you could do.

You’re already turned on.  Ever since the two of you walked back from the range, you’ve been on a low simmer of lust, and the desire has ratcheted up with each kiss, with each little grumbling groan of Soap’s, with each sweep of his big warm hands along your body.

So you’re already turned on, so why sit on his face when his beautiful cock—perfectly sized for you, the ruddy tip already leaking precum—is also an option?

And Soap is no dummy.  He must guess at your internal battle because he says your name softly, pulls your gaze back to his face where he smiles that brilliant Soap-smile at you.

“Alright then?” he asks.  He pats his upper chest.  “You can sit right here, to start.”

It hits you all at once how intimate this is.  Fucking, hooking up—that’s one thing.  But sitting on your teammate’s face feels like you’re taking a further step into the unknown.  Oral sex, to you, is already more intimate than regular ol’ intercourse, but sitting on his face feels…even more intimate.  There’s a lot of trust on both ends:  he has to trust you not to hurt him, not to put too much weight or force on his face or neck.  And you have to trust him too, since you’re basically smothering him you with your pussy, and many men are precious little babies about eating pussy.

“I could just…”  You trail off and gesture vaguely at where his erection strains and bobs against his belly, and Soap snorts before he replies, “we could do both, hen.”

When you don’t say anything, when you don’t move, he adds, “c’mon, sweet girl.  I’m dyin’ for a taste of ye.”

The accent is unfair, you decide.  The accent is not fighting fair.  Soap’s Scottish brogue is charming in the best of times, but his bedroom version is thicker, at a slightly lower register, and it’s entirely unfair.  It easily dismantles the rest of your meager defenses, so you nod and then kneel on the bed.  But when you start to awkwardly clamor on top of him, he stills you for a beat and taps his mouth, says, “give me a kiss first.”

And the kiss is unfair too because it reminds you that it’s just Soap, one of your dearest teammates, a man who often holds your life in his hands and whose life you hold in your own.  His now-familiar taste of spicy warmth on your tongue, and his lips curving in a smile against yours when he whispers, “climb on up, hen  Don’t keep me waitin’ anymore.”

There’s no sexy way to climb on top of him.  Do you just kneel by his chest and throw a leg over him?  Do you straddle him lower and scoot up?  You split the difference, try to straddle him on his lower chest and scoot up, but then his one arm gets pinned.  Any other man?  It might be a deal-breaker being so clumsy, but Soap laughs underneath you—a genuine belly-laugh full of warmth that makes you giggle too.  He wrangles his arm free, then lays both hands on your hips and guides you the rest of the way.

This is unbearable intimate too, being so exposed to his bright blue-eyed gaze. You probably have tons of issues around previous men who didn’t eat pussy, who were grossed out by it, but Soap’s eyes practically glitter black with how blown his pupils are.  His face rarely hides its emotions very well (he’s a shitty poker player), and there’s no disgust in his expression at all.  There’s only desire, naked and apparent.

“Tell me,” he says, and his voice is a low growl that sends that frisson of heat straight to your core.  “Tell me what is working for you, yeah?  Don’t go quiet on me.”

You nod, and you wish you could think of something cool or funny to say, but Soap lifts his head a little and presses a plush, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, where both are splayed in front of him, and before you can even beat yourself up for failing to think of something cool or funny, his mouth is on you in earnest.

Soap, a damned good kisser.  It translates to this, his skilled tongue and lips licking at you, suckling at you, swirling against you before he breaks up the pattern with an outright kiss, then resumes his routine.  He traces the tip of his tongue around the firm bud of your clit, the perfect amount of pressure before he snakes it lower, lapping at the arousal leaking from your entrance.  He’s unabashed about it, groans against your feverish skin, and you love him in this moment—love that he wasn’t joking after all, love that he had led you here, where you sit perched on him while he feasts on your cunt and seems to genuinely enjoy it as he does. 

Any other position, you’d lean down and kiss him, or pull him to you and kiss him.  Now, as he groans against you again, you reach down and run your fingers through the longer stripe in his hair.  He must like that, because he groans a third time, and his grip on your hips spasms tighter.

You remember what he asked of you, so when he purses his lips and suckles against your clit, you gasp out a startled “oh!” but then add, “fuck, Johnny.  Just like t-that.”

“Good?”  It comes out muffled against you, and he pauses his mouth long enough to gaze up at you with a smile.

“So good.”  You shift your hand, cup his stubbled chin slick with your arousal—a gentle movement that makes his smile soften too. 

“Like when you call me Johnny, hen.”  Now he sounds a little shy, like he’s edging close to something beyond a random hookup with face-sitting.

“Keep using your mouth like that and I’ll call you Johnny all the time,” you tease.

“Deal.”  And then he’s on you again, laving your sensitive folds with his tongue, his bit of stubble raising a warm burn against your inner thighs.  His hands on your hips pull you closer, and he encourages the slow, careful rhythm when you start to actually ride his face—a languid back-and-forth, mindful of his need for oxygen, while he eats your pussy with the fervor of a starving man.

Your orgasm approaches faster than you thought; you thought you might have to fake it, since you rarely come from oral alone.  But there’s something about this position.  You feel powerful in a benign way, in charge, but mindful of the man underneath you.  You run your fingers through his hair and Soap preens at the touch, just as he preens when you pant out praise for him, tell him how good you feel. How good he is making you feel.

He must sense it because his grip tightens on your hips, but his tongue moves faster and focuses solely on your clit—teasing with the tip of his tongue, then laving it with the flat of his tongue, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

“F-fuck,” you choke out.  “Johnny…fuck…I’m gonna…” but you don’t finish the sentence, you keen out a garble of nonsense as you come.

The heat in your belly pools over, spills over in a brilliant wash that courses through your veins, into your trembling legs and up through your body, makes your vision shimmer and crackle with sparks.  Your heartbeat, your panting breath are loud in your own ears, and you hear Soap groan but he sounds faraway.  He teases your orgasm, prolongs it by licking against you until you grip his hair tighter and hold his head still while you clumsily dismount, then flop gracelessly onto the bed beside him.

You feel boneless.  You feel heavy, sleepy, like you could sink into the mattress and sleep for days.  You close your eyes and feel the bed shift, and Soap disappears for a moment.  You hear running water—he must be cleaning his face, you think—but then the mattress dips again and he’s curling his warm body around yours, wrapping his arms around you as he pulls you to him, then settles the blanket over both of you.

“Good, yeah?”

You laugh.  “Yeah, that was good.  Especially for someone who’s never done it before.”  A beat.  “Give me a moment to catch my breath and then I can help you out.”

Soap chuckles above you, and you feel him press his lips to your forehead before settling again.  “No need.”

“But I—”

“Already came.”

The gears in your head turn slow when you’re sated from sex.  Coming makes you stupid.  “Huh?  When?”

Another chuckle, another kiss to your head.  “When I was eating you, hen.”

You turn your head and try to peer up at him.  He looks comfortable and sleepy too, content and sated.  “Seriously?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Told ye I was dyin’ for a taste.”  He shifts a little, pulls you closer to him.  He tugs the blanket more securely around your shoulders.  “If ye want a second round, I’ll need a few minutes.”

You appraise the situation:  the warm scent of Soap, the feel of his naked body pressed to yours, the warm little cocoon he’s created here in his bed.  Of course you want a second round, but you’re sleepy too, and the thought of sleeping with Soap doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying as it might have seemed before he had his mouth on your pussy.

“Or we could sleep,” you offer.

“Sleep,” he agrees.  “Round two tomorrow.”

The doubts from earlier start to surface in your mind, but they seem tiny and inconsequential when you’re wrapped up in Soap’s arms.  You feel sleep tugging at you—he’s already asleep, you think, breathing deep and even against you—so you chance to brush your lips against the bit of him you can reach and whisper good night to him.

But he’s not quite completely asleep yet because he kisses you back, another press of his lips against your head, and he whispers back, “g’night, hen.”

[i2sunric]

𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (p.js)

pairing: doctor!jay x reader (f)

summary: you’ve always thought dating a doctor was hot until you started realising his job was taking your place— but don’t worry, being a doctor meant jay could always stitch your broken heart up!

warnings: fluff (like, 3am typa fluff), early 2000s au, childhood friends to lovers but they’re already lovers, angst (with comfort) cuddling and kissing, a little suggestive (no smut), they grow up together (narration starts from 18), mentions of stress and fainting, mentions of pregnancy, fighting, if more lmk. NOT PROOFREAD.

published: 29th April 2024

wc: 10.5k (longer than i intended ;-;)

tag list: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted @wtfhyuck @kim2005bomi @luvpjs7 @sundoie @sunghours @anittamaxwynnn @tinie03

It was the last summer of a enior year at high school, the year that everyone would choose what path to undertake, the life they wanted to live, the job they wanted to get.

As scary as it sounded, you didn’t want to think about it yet, just to focus on living your last summer as a teenager before adulthood kicked in with all its difficulties and challenges.

You were laying on the bed at Jay’s holiday cottage at the lake, the temperature of the afternoon was too hot to let you stay outside, so you seeked some escape from the humidity in his bedroom. The grids were only slightly open to let some sun rays enter the room, just enough not to turn on the light.

You were reading a pook, wearing only a dump swimming suit and a pair of jeans shorts, you drenched the sheets but you knew it would be perfectly dry by the evening, so you didn’t really care.

Jay laid on the other side of the bed, your feet beside his head as he studied an anatomy book. You had a clue on how difficult it was to enter the medicine faculty, but seeing your boyfriend giving up his whole summer just to bury his nose in those headache-bringers books made you feel sympathy for all the doctors.

The book in your hand had become boring five minutes before so you just closed it, letting it rest on your chest. You nudged Jay’s arm with your foot “I’m bored.” You let out a small sigh

He looked up from his study material and gave you a soft smile before reaching out to pat your ankle. "I know you're bored, baby. But I'm only an hour away from finishing this.” Jay gave you a reassuring smile

“After I’m done we could go outside and sail the small boat?” A couple of minutes of silence passed and he was ready to you making a fuss about how boring and dull studying was until you said “Or maybe I can help you with your studies?”

"You sure that you wouldn't mind helping me with my studies?" He replied, raising his eyebrows. He let go of your ankle, but he quickly pulled you by your knees while you were curled up on his bed and laid you on top of his lap instead, so now you were using his body as a mattress.

“I’m not as smart as you,” You murmured, snuggling comfortably on his chest as he placed the book in front of both your faces. The amount of latin and difficult words made you close your eyes right away “I’ll just flip the pages when you need.”

Jay let out a low chuckle and pressed a featherlight kiss on your head. It was a small team game, he tried to involve you in his studies, making you ask him some questions to know if he had said it right.

You felt a warm sense of pride in your chest to know that your boyfriend was working so hard for the sake of his dream. You flipped to a page that had a big skeleton drawing on it, beside it there was a man with all the muscles without skin.

You scrunched your nose at the amount of names all the bones and muscled had “You memorised all those names?”

“Not as easily as others do," He confessed, letting out an audible sigh as he caressed your head. "I find it easier when I explain the answers to someone who's willing to listen."

You looked up to his face, your eyes shining with endless love “I’m always willing.”

Jay gave you a sheepish smile, hooking one arm under your knee to intertwine both your legs together. He squeezed your hip in response and you two resumed studying together.

After around fifteen minutes, you started to become bored again. All those letters made your eyes feel heavy, you blinked them a few times “Are you done yet?”

He chuckled softly as he shook his head from side to side. "I still have to memorise more chapters," He sighed, looking up at you with an apologetic grin.

Despite his efforts, it was clear that he was having troubles memorising the contents of the page, and even he knew he was going to be up for quite a while more.

You caressed his chest, feeling the heat radiating from his body even under the white sleeveless shirt he was wearing.

You toyed the necklace you had given him for his fifteenth birthday in your fingers, the same jewel he had sworn to never take off “What are you studying now?”

He raised his eyebrows and looked down at you, smiling as he watched you play with the necklace. "Right now I'm studying about different body systems and conditions, the respiratory system." he said, looking back down at you

You laid your ear on his chest and he fell silent, you tried to hear his breath and commented with a forced funny voice “Your lungs function well.”

“I guess they do.” Jay chuckled, rubbing your back as he continued to study.

The room fell silent once again but your head was full of thoughts.

You started thinking about your future, you pictured yourself in different situations or workplaces but none of them seemed good enough. Or maybe it was you not good enough.

"You know, it's admirable that you already know what you want to be in the future..." You murmured, snuggling closer to him.

The corners of his lips spread into a small smile as he heard your compliment. "Is it admirable for someone my age?" He asked softly, brushing your hair out of your face

“Uh uh,” You hummed, flipping another page for him “I don’t know what I want to be,” You confessed quietly “I don’t see myself anywhere.”

Jay raised his eyebrows as he stopped studying for a long moment to give you his whole attention.

He then looked down at you and lifted your chin to face him. "Are you really unsure about what you want to be in the future?" He asked, his eyes searching for yours.

Your eyes met his deep brown once, and you shook your head, feeling vulnerable. “No, I don’t.” You sighed softly “My mother… My mother wants me to go to some sort of job counsellor.”

Jay let go of your chin to caress your back again “That’s a great idea, actually.” He encouraged, smiling gently. “I mean, it’s better to ask for help now than choosing something you don’t want to do… ain’t it?”

You hummed, dropping your head on his chest “I guess so.” Your tone went quiet and he had been with you enough to know you didn’t want to discuss that topic anymore.

A few minutes passed by and your yawn caught Jay’s attention. He caressed your head, letting his hand run through your hair “You should get some sleep, Y/N.”

“And who’s gonna flip your pages?” You asked, your tone sleepy and your eyes clearly fighting to stay open

He chuckled, placing an incredibly soft feather-like kiss on your nose “I can flip them myself, you look like you’re going to pass out from your tiredness.”

“I guess I could.” You rested your head more comfortably on his chest and closed your eyes. “But when I wake up you better be done studying.”

Jay nodded “Alright baby.” He smiled, watching as you drifted off to sleep right there in his arms. At moments like that, he thought he was the luckiest man alive to have you— and he planned to never love you.

⪩⪨

College years had arrived and to no one’s surprise, you and Jay were still a couple. Seriously, you two loved each other too much to stay away from the other, even with your busy schedules.

You were laying on the lower bunk bed in his dorm. His roommates were out for dinner and left the whole house for you two. And obviously, what was Jay doing instead of spending time with you? Studying.

You acted like you didn’t really mind, flipping through the pages of a magazine. But seeing his back facing you, his hand moving as he was scribbling things on his notebook— you couldn’t help but feel sorrow.

“Are you going to study the whole night?” You asked quietly, not wanting to sound rude as you rolled on your wide to face him.

Jay raised his brows and finally turned around to look at you. His face was tired, pronounced dark circles under his eyes and he had probably skipped his self care routine for a few days. That didn’t make him less attractive, though.

“Pretty much,” He replied “I’m kind of behind on a lot of study materials.”

“Oh.” You nodded, shifting again to face the mattress of the other bed on top of Jay’s. He took in your bored expression and grimaced “You know you don’t have to stay here while I study, right?”

“But we don’t have time to spend together apart for some evenings,” You stated, looking back at him with a pout.

He chuckled softly, letting out a quiet sigh before closing his study materials and walking over to the bed. He climbed in beside you so he was under the covers with you. He then pulled you in and cuddled you tightly. "I know," He murmured, squeezing you a little tighter “I know baby.”

You rested your forehead on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I don't want to disturb you.”

Jay laughed quietly as he kissed the top of your head. "You're not disturbing me in the slightest bit, so don't apologise,"

He said, running his hand through your hair gently. "I honestly don't mind having you beside me while I study." And you knew that, but sometimes you felt as if you were just an element of disturbance in his daily life.

It all started when you saw him fall into a deep slumber anytime he sneaked in your dorm, like he hadn’t closed eye for weeks; then how he’d always find a way to escape your dates to review a few materials and like now, when he’d study with only you in the room.

You knew he didn’t do it on purpose, he was just trying to survive college, and you felt guilty to have such resentment.

You looked up at him from his shoulder “I just… miss you nowadays.”

His eyes instantly softened "I miss you too.” He sighed “I know I’ve been studying a lot more lately, and I understand if you feel like I'm not spending enough time with you," He admitted.

“And I understand that you’re busy,” You acknowledged “You always work so hard for your degree.”

Jay smiled sadly and rubbed your arm up and down "I know I study like crazy, but it's because all of these things matter so much in the future.” He started explaining “It means that I'll be able to have a more secure job and..." he sighed again and paused before continuing “And i wouldn't have done this if I knew I couldn't spend time with you."

Your brows knitted “Don’t say that.” You raised your head so you could look into his eyes.

“You’ve been wanting to be a doctor since we were kids, Jay, And—“ Your voice cracked a little “I can’t guarantee we’ll be forever together, but you’ll always have a stable job with the degree you’re studying for.”

Jay nodded “I know that too…” He rubbed his temples, frustrated “I just wish I could spend more time with you.”

You smiled and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek “It’s okay, when exams season is over we’ll go on a small vacation, sounds good?”

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms tightly around your body while pulling you closer towards him. "Sounds nice." he murmured, planting gentle kisses on your forehead “Although…”

You asked in a quiet voice "Although?" Jay looked away, “I still have a big exam coming up next month," He confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know how well I’m going to do, honestly."

“Oh,” You gulped, blinking “And why do you think so?”

Jay gave you a half-smile "I Just feel like I'm not studying enough. The material i need to memorise.. It’s so much— I'm worried that I won't be able to remember most of it when the time comes."

You stayed silent for a few beats, trying to find any solution to help him “Maybe we should do a no-contract month?”

It took him a moment to process what you said "A no contact… month?" Jay repeated, looking away at the wall "Do you mean.. as in no contact with each other? For the entire month?"

You nodded slowly, not sounding sure of your own choice “So you don’t have any distraction and can concentrate on your classes?”

He raised his eyebrows, letting out a long and steady breath before speaking. "I understand it might help me with my studies, but.." Jay looked away from you again, unsure "Don't you think it's a bit too extreme?"

You fidgeted with the blanket, looking down “I know..”

“I mean... it seems pretty extreme." His fingertips then began to massage his temples. "You're right though, I do get pretty distracted when we're together, and my studies have been lacking because of that."

You tried to mask the pain you felt in your heart with a small smile “It’s just a month.”

Jay couldn't help but frown at the idea of not talking to you or seeing you for an entire month. "Yeah, but—" he started, but then suddenly realised. "Wait, does this no-contact month also mean that we can't meet either?"

“People usually do it after a break up, but we can do it just to focus on college. It’s like we’re off but we aren’t, we just don’t talk to each other for a month.” You exclaimed, nodding

He bit his bottom lip “We really can’t meet for a whole month? At all?”

“Baby, listen,” You caressed his cheek, propping yourself up on your elbows. “I don’t like this either, but it’s for the best?” You asked “I don’t want to get in your way.”

He sighed once again “You’ll never get in my way, never say that.” He then slowly nodded his head.

"I completely understand your point, but...it just feels way too bizarre.” His brows were furrowed. “I mean, we're used to talking every day, for us to stop talking for an entire month, it's just..." His words trailed off as he sighed and looked away.

You moved some hair away from his forehead “Just until your next exam.” You said “I’ll work my part time job, save some money and we’ll rent somewhere for a week, just us.”

Jay looked at you, worry painted all over his face “And you’re sure you’re completely okay with doing this?” You gulped down “No,” You whispered “But I’ll have to.”

He seemed to debate your suggestion, silence filling the room. After a couple of minutes, he caressed your cheek “Fine, I guess it's what's best for the both of us right now." He murmured.

“Just stay with me tonight,” You begged, “We’ll start tomorrow.”

His heart broke a little at your wobbling bottom lip “Let’s make the most of the night, my roommates will be back in early morning anyways.” Jay was still surprised you suggested that weird break, and he was even more stunned he had accepted.

You took his face in your hands, bringing him in for a kiss. “I love you.” You murmured on his lips.

Jay softly smiled against your mouth before he kissed you back, wrapping his arms tightly around your body as he started to pull you into him. His arms squeezed you more as he deepened the kiss a bit more, letting out a soft groan into your mouth. "I love you more.”

“No, I love you more.” You stated. He smirked and shifted position so he was now on top of you, resting his weight on his elbow not to crash you down “Bet?”

His hand cupped your cheek before slowly sliding down on your chest. You gasped since it was cold. “Jay… someone might hear us.”

“I don't care,” Jay shook his head, his tone breathless. His mouth claimed yours once again, full of unspoken but mutual feelings “Be mine for the night.”

“I’m always yours.” You said, letting him do anything he wanted, knowing you had made an oath to never leave his side.

⪩⪨

Finally, college had almost finished and it was the last day before university. Anyone would’ve been on cloud 9 but you felt a pang of sadness. It meant you and Jay had to part ways, the university he had chosen was in the big city, five hours away from your hometown.

You waited for him outside the graduation hall, seeing groups of overjoyed students throwing their hats in the air.

Jay came out of the room, rushing after having read your message. He wore his graduation gown and looked ever so perfect.

He saw you, a bright smile immediately appeared on his face as he started to walk to you.

He was incredibly nervous about leaving for college and it showed on his face as he approached you, but seeing you there made everything else seem a bit less threatening.

He finally reached you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "You came," he said softly, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You hugged his chest and whispered “How could I not?” Jay squeezed you back as he grinned, "I'm glad that you did, but I was already sure you would.”

He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek “You never miss a single big milestone of mine.”

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, doc.” You teased him with the nickname, but your teary eyes gave away your true feelings.

“This year has gone by so fast.” He murmured, caressing the back of your neck "And of course I’m stuck with you. I wouldn't have it any other way." His smile was so gentle it made you fall for him over and over again.

But the grin on his face disappeared as quickly as it appeared, making you frown “What’s wrong?”

Jay shook his head, “I’m just worried about us now since we'll have to do long distance."

Your lips trembled but you still managed to let your words out “We’ll be okay, right?”

His heart sank as he noticed your trembling lips. He gently squeezed you and gave you a small, reassuring smile. "Of course we'll be okay. If anyone's going to make long distance work, it's the both of us.”

Jay caressed your cheek with his thumb “I believe in us, and I’m going to come back as often as I can so we have time together. It'll be okay."

“Right,” You forced out a smile “We’ll make it work.”

“I’ll be back for summer, we can always go to the lake cottage,” Jay reassured, knowing you’ve always loved your summer trips to his holiday house

“And whenever we have a holiday—" He muttered, a small frown appearing on his face when he realised that you wouldn't be able to see each other as often as they used to.

You couldn’t hold it anymore and a few tears fell down your cheeks, you sniffled “Of course.”

His eyes widened when he noticed you were crying "Hey... hey, hey, hey," He murmured softly, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "Don't cry right now, everything's going to be okay, mh?”

“I’m sorry,” You shook your head, smiling with sad eyes “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

Jay’s face contorted into a painful expression, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.

He had always hated seeing you crying, but knowing that he was the reason behind your tears made his stomach close. “You know that I'm going to miss you just as much as you'll miss me once we're long distance, right?" He asked.

You chuckled and nodded, sniffling once again “I’ll be here waiting for you, Jay.”

"I'll be back for you every chance I get," He promised, squeezing you a bit tightly.

"Remember to keep in touch constantly, alright? No matter how busy we are, let's always make time for each other over the phone." Jay took out his phone from the pocket. “I bought this new Nokia only for you.”

You smiled widely and showed him your phone, a Nokia of the same type just in a pinkish colour “I bought this for you too.”

Jay pulled your face close to his chest, caressing your head and hair in a gentle manner, just like he always did.

He never failed to make you fall for him with every small action, treating you as if you were worth it. And to him, you were worth every fight, every difficulty coming with relationships. He’d endure it all just to be with you.

“I’m sorry,” You took a deep breath, trying not to let your voice shake. “I didn’t even congratulate you.” You smiled widely, “I’m so proud of you, baby. I really am.”

Jay hadn’t realised how much he needed to hear that until he did.

“Thank you. Seriously, thank you, for always being by my side.” He placed a featherlight kiss on your forehead "You know, since it was your graduation today as well... Maybe I should give you a graduation present.” He trailed off “I actually have a surprise for you, if you would like it."

Your brows shot up in surprise “You do?” Jay nodded and motioned you to wait.

He battled a little with his gown before retrieving a tiny velvet box from the pocket “Here you go, baby.” Your eyes scanned it, “What is it?”

Jay bit his bottom lip to hide his smile “Open it.” He held it out for you to take. You gave him a small stare before opening the small box, revealing two couple rings.

Inside there was also a note that said ‘One day you'll get the wedding ones.’ Your breath hitched.

He smirked as he watched the expression on your face change, becoming incredibly surprised and even a bit teary-eyed as you opened the box.

His eyes softened as he glanced down at the rings “I know they're not the actual wedding bands and it'll take a while until we get to that point... but I wanted to give you these as a symbolic gesture of me promising that we'll be married someday."

You mumbled nonsense for a few seconds, happy tears rolling down your cheeks as you felt overwhelmed by his sudden actions “I love them, I love them so much— I love you.” You blurted out.

Jay held you against his chest as you both embraced each other. "I love you too," He whispered, burying his head into your hair. "I love you so much."

“Oh lord,” You stumbled a little back to look at the rings once again “How much did you pay— They look so precious.”

“Don’t mind that,” Jay wiped the remaining tear stains “You’re worth it, so very worth it.” He tucked your hair behind your ear “And you’re right, they’re precious. Like you.”

You rolled your eyes and hid your face in the crook of his neck “You’re so romantic.” Jay planted a small kiss on your head “You like it when I’m romantic.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, just melting into each other’s embrace.

You then sniffled and took one ring out of the small box “Doc, would you mind giving me your right hand?” He chuckled and held his hand out for you “Not at all.”

Jay smiled back as he let you place the ring on his finger, his heart instantly warming up when he realised how real this all really is.

He was finally going to be able to say that he was officially engaged, that he was soon going to be married to you. Jay looked down at the ring as you finished and his eyes started to tear up a bit.

"Thanks," his voice barely came out of his throat, but he was still able to softly smile.

You then gave him the small box and held out your hand for him. He gently squeezed your hand “Shall i?" He asked as he motioned towards your finger, wanting to put the other ring on it.

“Please, do.” You whispered, the anticipation killing you.

Jay carefully took out the ring and looked it over for a couple of seconds.

He then slipped the ring on your finger very slowly, making sure that it was fitted well “It fits perfectly.” He commented, kissing your knuckles, barely brushing his lips on them, like a true gentleman.

You sniffled again and let out a euphoric chuckle before wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your lips on his, never wanting to get away from that boy.

The moment you kissed him, his arms tightened around you, not wanting to let go of you ever again.

He had never felt this way before until you came into his life, back in third grade. He had truly felt complete, that he had finally found the person he would spend the rest of his life with. “I want you always," he mumbled softly between the kisses.

“I want you forever,” You murmured back with the same sincerity. He kissed your lips once more, needing to fill his nostrils with your sweet scent, his mouth with the taste of you before he had to move away for five years.

⪩⪨

A couple of years passed and between ups and downs, you and Jay were still strong. Long distance was difficult, you couldn’t lie, but keeping yourself busy with your small café and meeting whenever you two had free time was enough for you. Besides, you could still call with your matching Nokias.

Which was your plan for that afternoon, you sat down on a table at your café and dialled his number, mindlessly playing with the ring on your finger as you waited for him to pick up, hoping it wouldn’t go to voice mails.

One the call reached Jay, he smiled as he recognized your number on screen, picking it up immediately. It had been some time since you both had called each other, so hearing your voice brought a smile to his face before he opened his mouth and greeted you. "Hi, babe.”

“Hey,” You whispered, relief evident in your tone “Am I calling in a bad moment?” You asked, hearing chatterings from the other line.

“No, no, not at all.” He sat down on a bench outside his university building “What are you doing? Just working?”

“Yeah,” You sighed “But business hasn’t been going well nowadays.”

His heart instantly sank as he heard about how business hadn't been well. He wanted to be your support system always, even when he wasn't there physically as much as before. “Oh no… I mean, you're doing your best with it, right?"

“I guess I am.” You replied "No, you are." He quickly corrected you “Do you want me to come over so that we can talk about it? We can work on solutions or at least brainstorm."

You were quick to dismiss “No, don’t do five hours of train just for a small complaint of mine.”

Jay tried to recall in mind his schedules, he had finished lectures for that day, which meant he could come to you and then take the late evening train back to the city “Baby… Don’t tell me not to come over if you need me there.”

"I’m serious, Jay, it's okay," You murmured quietly "I just needed to hear your voice, if you have free time you should use it to rest."

The way that you cared for him made his heart beat fast. "I'll gladly come over," He said softly. "I have time to spare. plus.. if I come over, I can actually hug you and comfort you better than over the phone, can’t I?"

“You already came over three weeks ago.” You stated “I know, but like I said, I’d rather spend time with you than not.”

You dismissed him once again “I’m fine Jay, you don’t have to.”

“Babe, don’t tell me you’re fine if you’re not.” Jay pleaded “I don’t think you are, let me come over.”

You stayed silent a few beats “What about uni?” He knew you’d ask “I finished classes for today, I can come over for a few hours and then come back before classes tomorrow.”

You sighed, your voice cracking a little “I could really use one of your hugs.”

“Okay,” Jay breathed out “I’ll be there, wait for me at your café.”

Hating that he couldn’t teleport right to you, he hurried to the train station and waited, knowing you were going through a rough path.

You hardly ever asked for help, and Jay was sure whatever was going on had been haunting you for a while for you to call him in such a state.

After a few hours, the door of your café opened, making the small bell ring. You turned around and started saying “Welcom—“ When you realised it was your boyfriend.

Jay entered the cafe, his eyes instantly searched for you and his face lit up when he found you. It wasn’t hard, you were the only one there.

You were running towards him and he felt his whole heart melting. His arms were wide open and he smiled warmly, taking you into a warm embrace.

Jay immediately pulled you close to his chest, burying his head in your hair and breathing you in.

It had been three weeks since he last was at your side and the scent you had filled his lungs as he finally was this close to you again took him aback by how familiar and comforting it was.

You sobbed quietly, letting out all the tears you’d been holding as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, smelling the familiar scent of lavender of his clothes softener.

Your whole body quivering almost uncontrollably, and he knew you were hiding so much sadness behind those tears. “Shhh... shhh.. It'll be okay," He hissed softly, his voice calm and soothing as he kept whispering those same words to you over and over again.

You pulled away slightly, your whole face contorted in a frown “They want— They want to shut it down.”

Your sentence lacked context but he realised that your cafe was probably going to be closed down soon.

He didn't want your business to close, especially when he knew that it was your pride and joy. He pulled you back into his chest again, “It'll be okay. We'll figure something out.”

“It won’t!” You snapped, your voice breaking “It never does…”

Jay’s heart hurt even more as you shouted, your voice sounding so defeated and sad.

He didn't like the harsh reality you were facing and the fact that you would be going through this— Jay was supposed to protect you from the world, but he had neglected you for too long.

“Oh God—“ You blinked faintly, realisation hitting you “I didn’t know why I shouted, I’m sorry.”

The corner of his lips turned upwards briefly. "Hey, don't apologise for showing emotions." He gently dried your tears "It’s just... so frustrating to hear how you're losing something that you care about, that you've put so much effort in and that you're so passionate about."

You let out a bitter chuckle “It always goes this way.” Jay wanted to scold you for always thinking so low of yourself and never fighting, but he was in no position for that.

“I don’t know what to do,” You shook your head to emphasise your words “If it shuts down how will I pay the rent? I won’t have any money.”

Jay could feel you panic and didn’t want that stress and worry to get to you. "We'll figure something out," He said as he gently cupped your face and lifted it up so that you were staring at him. "We'll figure something out. You're not going to be in this alone, I promise."

You shook your head once more, sobbing “I’ll have to move back with my parents— we’ll be even further away.”

The possibility of you moving into your parents' home still made him feel sick. He wanted to keep you close to him and wanted to share a home with you.

He wanted to move in with you, not have you move back to your parents' house.

"Y/N, it's not going to come to that," He muttered softly, kissing your forehead. You sighed and let yourself go, your weight pressing on him “I’m just so tired.”

“Let me take some of that weight off you, baby,” Jay whispered “I’m here.”

You stayed silent a few beats, letting the mere presence of Jay put back the shattered pieces of your soul. “You just had five hours of train and all I did was complain.” You dried your tears with your thumb.

You showed him a faint smile “Sit, I’ll make you a cup of coffee.” He nodded and walked to the nearest table, sitting down.

You made him a cup of coffee and sat down on the chair opposite to him, smiling “It's on the house.”

He grinned softly as he took the cup, the smell of the coffee filling him with delight.

It was such a simple thing and yet it meant so much to him, given you made it. "Oh, so even though you're in a rough patch, your hospitality has not gone," he teased playfully before taking a sip.

“Call it boyfriend pass.” You winked at him. You then cleared your throat and fidgeted with the ring “How’s uni?”

Jay took another sip “Just uni, lectures… assignments here and there, many exams.” He trailed off “Just very busy.”

Your brows knitted in guilt “I’m so sorry you had to come here.” Jay took your hand in his, your rings tingling as they touched “You needed me, You needed comfort." He chuckled lightly. "And there's nowhere else I should have been other than here."

You answered with a smile and took your chair, scooting close to him. You put your head on his shoulder “Want me to stroke your hair for a bit?” He asked and you nodded “Please.”

Jay started stroking your hair, sipping the coffee with the other “How do you feel right now? Better?”

You chuckled “Less like a wreck.” A few minutes of silence followed until Jay asked “Are you scared of losing the café?”

"I feel like all the efforts I made weren't enough." You closed your eyes "I should've settled for a more stable job."

"But that would've made you so unhappy, you know?" he spoke softly. "Baby, I feel your enthusiasm every time you talk about your café, don’t regret something that made you happy.”

“What about you?" You raised my head and rested your chin on his shoulder to look at his face "Do you ever get so tired of studying you want to quit?"

"Sometimes," Jay admitted. “There were plenty of all night studying sessions that kept me up and made me question how I got to this point in life." He laughed, nudging your side playfully.

"But I would've never thought of quitting. I know it's going to pay off in the end." You hummed “Of course, You always work so hard.”

"And so do you," He whispered softly, squeezing your hand gently. "Sometimes I don't understand how you work at your cafe for so long and still have energy left to do other things... and sometimes I'm just worried about you overworking."

“You don’t push yourself too much right?” He asked, his voice laced with worry. Your sudden silence made him wonder if you were not telling him something.

“I fainted once.” You confessed. His grip tightened around your hand as he looked down at you, “You fainted? When? Why didn't you tell me about it?"

“Before Christmas break.” You whispered “It was exam season, I didn't want to distract you.”

It was in moments like those that Jay felt like giving everything up. Because why on earth would you think you were being a burden, a distraction to him when you literally fainted?

"No, no... you should have told me, even if I was busy. I would've come to you then." You sat up properly “I didn’t want you to.”

He was speechless for a minute, his mind trying to process what had happened. "Why wouldn't you want me to know? How could you go through it on your own?”

"Jay, Jay," You said, taking his face in my hands. "I'm grand, alright? I'm doing fine."

"I don't like that you hid something so serious from me," Jay muttered softly, his eyes meeting yours. "It's too important to hide from me."

“I know,” You nodded, letting go of his face “And I’m sorry.” Jay nodded at your apology “How did it happen?”

You sighed “I couldn’t afford to keep other workers so I had to run the café alone, I ran around and around and then I had a few other things.” You gulped down, recalling the moment “I went to bed feeling a little dizzy, I paid it no mind but the next morning as I woke up I fell flat on the floor.”

Jay’s whole world shuttered. He looked down to the floor, his jaw tense as he took in your words “You should’ve never ignored those signs, Y/N.” He called you by your name only when he was serious, his low voice sounding a little scary

“How could you—“ Jay took a sigh, trying to calm down “It could’ve been worse, something could have happened while you slept, you could’ve hit your head..” He looked as if he was on the verge of tears.

“Jay..” You murmured “I’m okay now, I know the risks I took, I was incoherent.” You took his hand in yours “It won’t happen again.”

“I should just transfer back here.” He got up from the chair, pacing around the room “I can take the train everyday to the city, I can do that, yeah.”

“No.” You stopped him “Jay, no.”

“Yes,” He turned around, facing you. His breath was heavy “Y/N, you— you could’ve died.”

“I didn’t.” You tried to soothe but even you felt like your efforts were worthless. “That doesn’t change the fact that I almost lost you— and I wasn’t even aware!” Jay looked like a maniac, his hands in his hair and his eyes bloodshot from frustration.

There was a moment where you both just stared into each other’s eyes, no words exchanged. Your eyes were full of regrets for having kept that from him and his were filled with the same emotion for not having taken care of you the way he should’ve.

“Don’t give up now, not for me.” You shook your head, slowly walking closer to him until you touched his forearm with your fingers, letting him know you were there. Breathing.

“You’re worth it.” Jay breathed out the same words he’d been repeating you, looking down at you, studying out features. His glance was so soft it almost hurt “Not this.” You shook your head.

Jay pulled you into a hug, so tight and full of emotions “Just three more years and we’ll be together.” He murmured “Just a little bit longer and we'll be able to share an apartment together. Just you and me."

You smiled on his chest, hugging him back “And we’ll get married.”

His entire face lit up with glee whenever you mentioned the idea of marriage, his finger swirled around the ring on your finger. “And we'll get married," He whispered softly, his eyes still focused on yours. "We'll finally be married and our families will finally stop asking us about our wedding plans," He laughed, the previous tension already forgotten

“Don’t even get started.” You laughed as well

"Yeah, for me it's my mom constantly bothering me with 'so when is it going to happen?'" He paused for a moment and cocked his head to the side playfully. "And for you? Is it your dad that's constantly bringing up the topic?"

You smiled and nodded “He’s afraid he’s going to die before he can walk me on the aisle.”

“That’s just a better incentive to wife you up.” Jay held your arms in his hands, gently rubbing them. You looked up at him and couldn’t help but cup his face, bringing your lips to him once more.

Jay’s eyes lit up the moment you kissed him. He let out a soft murmur, his lips responding to your kiss softly.

“I missed you,” You murmured between kisses “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” Jay responded, his lips travelling to the back of your head, tilting it to deepen the kiss “Only three years and you’ll be mine forever.”

“I think I’ve always been yours.”

⪩⪨

Another year had passed and New Year’s Eve came. A bummer that Jay could not come back to you those holidays because he had found a job to maintain his studies and was simultaneously studying for an extra course. After the small fight you had at the café (that shut down not long after) you two grew closer, if it was even possible.

Despite the long distance, you felt so connected to him. You dialled his number, feeling as you waited for him to answer.

Your phone beeped a bit before hearing his familiar tone on the other end. "Hey babe," His voice was as bright as ever “Did you miss me?"

“Hi,” You breathed out, sniffling due to the cold temperatures “I don’t miss you at all.” You teased

Jay’s brows furrowed slightly as he heard you sniffle. "Hey, are you okay? Are you sick?" He asked instantly with concern, ignoring your playful joke and wanting to make sure you were alright.

"I'm outside!" You explained happily, looking around at all the people inside the main square "Fireworks are nicer if you see them from here."

He let out a sigh of relief when he heard that. “Good. you gave me a bit of a scare there, babe. Are you enjoying yourself?” As expected, the soon-to-be doctor always worried for nothing.

“No, there are so many couples here," You joked "My boyfriend is so evil he didn’t even come to me."

Jay chuckled softly "Oh yeah? Just wait until I'm there. I'll make all those couples in the whole square jealous." He groaned, "Ugh, I can't believe I'm missing being with my girlfriend when we should be spending the new year together."

"I understand," Yoh reassured, looking up at the huge clock ticking close to the new year, a feeling of both nostalgia and excitement washing through you. "What are you doing now? Don’t tell me you’re studying".

“Well... you guessed it," He admitted softly, “...Studying. I have a final exam for my extra course coming up soon."

“No, Jay.” You said sadly “Not now.” His brows furrowed at your sudden change of tone and he asked “What’s wrong?”

You sighed “Can you drop your pen and walk to the window?”

Jay was caught off guard by the unexpected request. Though he had no reason to resist you, he set his pen and his open study books aside and stood up. He walked to his window.

"Three more minutes before the new year," You murmured "Look at the fireworks with me, the sky is only one so it makes me feel closer to you."

His eyes immediately turned to the outside, looking at the fireworks and the sky that was lit up by so many bright colors. It was breathtaking, and his eyes took it all in as he stood in the window, watching the sky as the time slowly ticked towards the new year.

He could almost imagine you right next to him, both of you watching the beautiful display together. "Yes," He whispered, “I can almost feel you right next to me."

“One more minute!” You squealed happily, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend.

Everyone started laughing and screaming, clapping their hands as the clock struck midnight, the sky lit up with more fireworks “Happy New Year, baby.” You told Jay and he said back the same words.

“Just one year and half until our big plan.” You stated, looking down at your ring.

“Just one year and half…” He repeated, a small smile displayed on his face

“We’ll be alright… Won’t we?” You asked, your voice quiet, barely audible with all the external noise. But Jay still heard you, he always did.

The question you asked was so simple, but it carried a lot of weight to it. "Yeah. We'll be okay, babe." His soft voice assured you of that. "Of course we will. We have always managed to find ways to deal with distance... we'll be fine."

You looked around and saw couples kissing and holding hands, spending that special time together. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, you stepped away from the square and back on the way to your apartment "Can you stay on the phone a little longer? Until I get home..."

“Of course baby,” Jay reassured, playing with the necklace he always wore. “I’ll stay on the phone as long as you need me.”

You started walking, your nose red and cheeks hurting from the cold weather “It’s so cold nowadays.” You commented.

"Hey... you're okay, right? Are you sure you'll be alright making your way home alone? Are you wearing enough layers?” Jay asked softly, his tone of concern obvious.

You chuckled at his words “Don’t act like my mother.”

He laughed along with you. "Sorry... I just— worry too much about you sometimes. you know?”

You nodded though he could not see you. “I know, but I'm grand here.” You hummed “I’m an independent woman.”

“That may be true,” Jay stated, his whole face shining from the light of the fireworks “But your boyfriend here is worried about your health, especially in this cold weather.”

"I’m about to reach home and then i'll take a warm shower and go to sleep," You murmured, placing your free hand in your pocket "You don't study until late night, ok?"

"Well..." His voice was playful "No promises, a man's got to get good grades.” But your tone wasn’t “Please Jay… At least not today.”

“Okay, alright.” He knew you were just worried for him the same way he was for you “I’ll stop studying for tonight.”

“Promise?” You asked, “Promise.” He answered.

“Then, after you take a shower, can you stay on the phone for a while?” Jay’s voice was laced with vulnerability, the long distance taking a ton on him as well.

Your voice softened at his words “Of course baby,” You whispered “I’ll stay with you on the phone.”

“Hey, Y/N.” Jay murmured “Yes?” You said, fiddling with the keys.

“I love you.” You stopped moving for a moment, “I love you more.”

⪩⪨

Years passed by and vows were exchanged, Jay and you now happily lived together.

You still remembered that day when you got him at the train station, feeling all giddy to finally have the life you’ve always dreamt of with the only person you’ve ever loved.

You thought all your vicissitudes were over, that your many many years of patience had finally paid off— but no, because Jay’s traineeship was taking your place yet again.

Despite the fact that your apartment that once looked lifeless was now hosting a couple, it seemed as if it had lost its previous colours with your gloomy demeanour.

Jay spent all his day at the hospital, learning new things and trying to build a good relationship with his superiors.

And it’s not like you weren’t happy for him— No, you were overjoyed… but what about you?

Since you two became a couple, it felt as if you had spent all your life waiting for him, waiting for the life you two had promised to build together, but the only effort came from you. And now that you were married, the crack in your heart started to become a chasm.

Everything went downhill when, one day, you woke up yet again to an empty bed, the wrinkled sheets the only proof they Jay had spent the night there. He came back late and got out in the early morning— an endless circle that maybe he was used to when he was still a student.

But now Jay was your husband and you seeked all the things any wife wished for. Just some quality time would have been enough.

You got up from the bed and held your breath when you heard a noise coming from the living room. Quietly, you tiptoed to the bedroom door, peeking from the glimmer of the half-closed door.

A rather messed up Jay stomped around the house, in search of something. You got out of the door and walked inside the living room “Jay?” You asked

Without even greeting you, he just said “Where’s my spare gown?”

You blinked faintly, your mind still a little empty from sleeping “I don’t know.” Jay let out a deep groan “I told you to wash it the other day.”

“I still need to hang it with the laundry.” You replied, now remembering “You know I need it to work, Y/N.” His voice was low

“The other one?” You asked “Dirty,” He just mumbled, fumbling with some shirts “Hey! I had folded them neatly.”

“Fold them again.” Jay just answered “I need my gown, we have an important meeting today with the head doctors.”

“It’s dirty,” You stated “Just ask one of your colleagues to lend you one.”

“There’s my name on the gown.” He stopped and dropped the clothes on the floor. “I can’t talk to them while wearing someone else’s name.”

“Just cover it.” Jay rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, “I’m trying to help you.” You said, noticing his distressed behaviour.

“Well, you’re not.” He tsked, making you open your mouth in disbelief. Jay looked at you, raising a brow “What?”

“What?” You asked back with a frown “You just disrespect me and the work I do in our house and you ask ‘What’?” Your voice was dangerously low.

He gulped, glancing down at the discarded ironed clothes on the floor. He picked them up and placed them on the chair once again “Here.”

You let out a sigh and looked away. “Just take your dirty gown and go to your meeting.” You said harshly.

Jay ran a hand through his hair, frustrated “Listen Y/N— I didn’t mean to be so rude.” You still refused to meet his gaze.

“Please, love. Don’t get mad now.” He walked a step closer to you but you just backed away, making him frown “What’s wrong?”

“Everything.” You muttered, your eyes full of hurt now locking with his dark ones. His breath hitched as he took in your pained expression.

“W-Why?” He asked, genuinely confused, “If it’s because of this— I’m sorry, I’m just so stressed.”

“And I am tired.” You stated “I am tired of waking up to an empty bed and going to bed the same way, I am tired of spending all my holidays alone because of your work.”

You let out all the build frustration you had felt through the years “I am tired of waiting for you, Jay, when will all this end?”

Jay raised his hands to caress your arms but you stepped back again, not needing to break down now, but needing to set this straight.

“I know, I’ve been so busy lately.” You scoffed, “You’ve always been busy.”

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life, Jay.” Your tone was shaky, “I’ve always supported you, since we were kids and even more after we became a couple. But I feel like I missed the most beautiful years of my life because of you.”

His breath sagged “Don’t say that..”

“But it’s the truth.” You stated “I said more ‘I miss you’s than ‘I love you’s in this relationship.”

“I—“ Jay’s bottom lip wobbled. “I’m sorry..”

You sighed, shaking your head. You then glanced up to the clock “It’s already eight, you’ll be late to your meeting.”

You turned around and were about to walk into the bathroom when Jay’s big and strong hands wrapped around your waist “I love you, Y/N.” He said, almost desperately.

You tried your best not to let your tears fall “I know,” You whispered “But maybe you love your job more.” You shrugged away from his embrace and locked yourself in the bathroom.

Jay tried to open the door but you had already turned the key, he helplessly knocked on it “Y/N, please, let’s talk this out.”

As much as you wanted it, your whole body and mind was drained from the constant feeling of sorrow you said in a quiet voice “Just go away, Jay.”

Yeah, he wasn’t going to do that. “Please, come out, let’s talk.” He pleaded

But you just dismissed him once again “I don’t know the things I’d say if we talked now.”

Jay knew he had messed up, really bad this time, and he wanted to make it right. To make it up.

How could he be so obvious to your pain? How could he have not noticed?

You had all the right to be mad at him, in fact, he deserved the slaps you should’ve given him. He deserved your anger, your resentment.

He wasn’t in his right mind that morning— Truth is, he hadn’t been for quite some time.

Traineeship was so exhausting, coming from a whole adulthood of self sacrifice and sabotage, he thought he was the only one suffering. Turned out you were as affected by his actions as him, if not even more.

Jay was so lost in thought he hadn’t even realised he had been typing the same word countless times in the report of the previous meeting. As much as he tried not to think about it, his mind kept drifting back to you.

One of his colleagues noticed his gloomy demeanour and sat on the chair in front of Jay’s desk, tapping his fingers on it “Hey there.” He waved a hand in front of his face.

“Not now, Jake.” Jay groaned, resting his face on his hand, his cheek slightly crushed against his palm “I’m not in the mood.”

“Damn man,” The doctor with the heavy australian accent commented “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

Jay took a deep sigh, shaking his head “No one, I just am an emeritus douchebag.” Jake raised a playful brow, “Tell me something I don’t know?”

But the death glare he received from the other party made him nod in acknowledgment “Troubles in heaven?”

Jay frowned “How’d you know?” And Jake just smirked in response “You’re so obvious.”

He then leaned his elbows on the desk “Tell me everything.”

Jay tsked “Why should I?” And Jake clicked his tongue back “Dude, believe me, you’ll feel better after you confess your sins.”

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” The Australian eyed him up and down “Is it not?”

Jay sighed heavily, running a hand on his face “I messed up really bad.”

He nodded, letting Jay know he was listening “Y/N… She’s the best thing that ever happened in my life,” He started “She is my first friend, my first love, my first kiss and time… It has always been her.” He smiled unconsciously.

“But I failed her, I think, I haven’t realised she’s been suffering in silence all these years.” Jay shook his head at himself.

“Does she regret your marriage?” Jay’s eyes widened at such a statement “God, I hope not.” But then he bit his bottom lip “I wouldn’t blame her if she did, though.”

Jake sighed “Listen man, I met Y/N only once or twice, but I see the way she looks at you.”

“How?” Jay asked “As if you were the only one in the whole world, and I mean it.”

“But maybe she doesn’t anymore,” Jay sighed softly “Maybe I lost her for real this time.”

Jake raised a brow, “You love her?” Jay looked at his colleague as if he had just offended him “I’ve always loved her and I always will.”

“Damn right!” Jake smirked, “Now, go tell her.” He shook his head, “I’m on duty.”

Jake sighed and turned the computer screen toward him, he opened a few types and typed on the keyboard and he turned towards him as well and then smiled victoriously “Not anymore.”

Jay glanced at the screen just to see his name had been replaced with Sim Jaeyun on the file with all the rounds “Why?”

Jake got up from the chair and patted his mate’s shoulder “Go get your wife back before it’s really too late.”

⪩⪨

“I’m coming home right now, I’m coming back to you and I’ll make sure you actually stay, both physically and mentally. I’m so sorry for everything baby, and I know this voice mail will probably find you in a desperate state and it breaks me to know I am the cause.” Sigh “I just hope you can forgive me, because I love you, definitely more than my job.”

You replayed Jay’s voice mail countless times, his voice breaking, clearly on the verge of tears. You sat down on the sofa, waiting anxiously for the front door to open, and when it did, you raised to your feet.

Jay rushed inside, almost stumbling as he took off his shoes and gown, discarding both of them on the floor. You both stared at each other, just taking in your presence “Hi.” You breathed out.

Before you could even comprehend what was happening, Jay’s arms wrapped around your body, your head pressed against his chest “Forgive me, love.” He whispered in your ear.

You pulled away, just enough to look inside his eyes “It’s okay—“ “It’s not.” He cut you out, “Don’t lie baby, not anymore.”

Jay’s deep, brown eyes were so sincere you felt your heart skip a few beats “I’ve been foolish, I didn’t realise your discontent for nine whole years. But I do now, I see all you sacrificed just to be with me. I see you.”

You smiled gently, looking up at him. He didn’t fail to notice the swelling and redness in your eyes “I see you too.” You whispered, placing one hand on his cheek.

“You saw me even before I saw myself.” Jay’s tone was gentle, he leaned on your palm “You never miss a single big milestone of mine.” He repeated the same words he said back during graduation day, the day he promised your hand. “I feel like I crashed your dreams, ruined your life.”

“No,” Your brows knitted “No, Jay, don’t ever say that again.” Sincerity filled your eyes “You are my dream.”

A tear fell down Jay’s eyes, a quiet sniffle escaping him. You brought his head down on your shoulders and gently patted his back “Why are you crying?”

“I thought I lost you again, because of my stupidity.” He shook his head, clinging onto your waist as if you were a lifeline.

You took his hand in yours and brought it on your chest “Do you feel it?” You asked. Jay raised his head and stared at you with teary eyes. He concentrated on the palm on your chest and felt your heart beating fast.

“That’s the effect you have on me.” Jay looked like a lost child at your words “Still?”

“Then, still, always.” You nodded your head, your lips curling into a soft smile “What happened this morning, to both of us, it was the anger speaking.”

Jay gently held your hand and brought it to his lips, his knuckles brushing on your ring finger. “I want to focus on you more, to make up for all those years we’ve lost because of my job.”

“Will you let me?” He asked, his head tilting to the side “Yes.” You breathed out

“I’ll take care of you,” He brought you closer by your hand, your chest flush against each other “I’ll spoil you rotten.” He brushed your hair away, his breath hitting your skin, making you shiver “My dear wife.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, murmuring on his lips “I want to have a baby, Jay.” His brows shot up in surprise “You do?”

“Yes,” You caressed the back of his neck. “I want to be the mother of your children.”

“Damn love,” Jay let out a shaky breath. “You can’t say things like that without bearing the consequences.”

You bit your bottom lip, bringing him down to you “I’m ready to bear them.”

Jay took you in his arms in a swift movement, carrying you over his shoulder and spanking your ass “To the bedroom.”

⪩⪨

“Hey, love.” Jay sat down beside you by the porch of the holiday lake house, placing a mug of iced tea on the table.

“Thank you.” You thanked, taking it in your hand with a groan “I really miss coffee.”

“I know,” He smiled gently, caressing the swelling of your belly “But caffeine isn’t good for the baby, is it?”

“Dad! Can I sail the boat?” Your eldest daughter asked, pointing at the boat near the shore of the lake “Fine, but be careful!” Jay shouted so she could hear and you both watched as she sailed the little box you used to sail as well during high school summer break.

You smiled, recalling the old memory, and Jay did the same, watching your face as if you were the best view of all.

“Do I have something on my face?” You asked, feeling a little self-conscious “Beauty.” He winked at you and you nudged his shoulder playfully.

His eyes fell down on your belly once again, a warm expression displayed on his face “Thank you so much, Y/N.”

You frowned at his sudden thankfulness “For what?”

“For everything,” His voice was full of sincerity “For this baby, for our other daughter, for being by my side.”

“And thank you for loving me.” Jay added, once again kissing your ring finger, this time his lips lingering a little longer on your knuckles.

“Oh, Jay.” You let out a shaky breath “That’s very effortless.”

Your eyes then fell down on the necklace, the same one you gifted him for his fifteenth birthday. Your fingers unconsciously reached for it as you began playing with it “You still wear it?”

“I’ll take it in the grave with me.”

[⪩⪨] END.

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[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken III (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity.

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: Definitely a good thing I split the last chapter into two, this baby is 13.3k lol

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

Aemond was still holding her when she woke, his arms wrapped around her chest and his face pressed into her neck. Though the bed was little more than creaky slats and the blankets rough and worn, it had been months since she had been so comfortable—longer still since she’d slept so well, even if it was for only half the night.

As furious as she was with Aemond, her body still craved him. So much so that she could not gather the strength to pull away from him, much less stand from the bed. It felt so right, even if they weren’t in their own bed. Even if they hadn’t shared a bed for more than half a year. And even if they were only in thisbed because they were traveling north to reach the very place where her husband had betrayed her.

When one of Aemond’s arms fell to cradle her belly, she tensed. Was this how he slept with Alys beside him? Did he hold her this tenderly? In his dreams, was he holding his wife or his mistress?

Warily, she looked at his hands. Like his face, the features she was once so familiar with had changed. There were new callouses, new scars, and new veins and tendons that had not been visible before. He’d always had the hands of a skilled swordsman, but now he bore the hands of a battle-hardened warrior and commander.

Curious, she tilted her head as she examined one scar, which started on his palm before passing through the space between his forefinger and thumb and cutting across the back of his hand like an angry slash of a whip. She was so focused on examining the wide red line that she did not notice when her movement stirred Aemond awake.

Not until he spoke with a rough, sleep-heavy voice, his breath fanning the side of her neck. “Did you sleep well, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She did not want to admit it, for doing so felt like conceding some kind of battle. But to argue would take more strength than she was willing to give to something so small. “Yes.”

“As did I,” he pulled her tighter against him as he had once done each morning. How well she had once loved waking up in his arms. She could sense his soft smile and braced herself for what she knew was likely coming next.

But Aemond did not press a lazy kiss to her neck as he once did. He lightly trailed his hand over the swell of her belly until he reached her chest. She tensed, thinking his aim was for her breasts, but his hand stilled atop her ribs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked as he traced the length of the protruding bones. “That you were still sick – that you were suffering like this.”

She grabbed his hand, pulling it away from the evidence of her illness. While she waited to answer, she again studied that new scar, so bright against his pale skin. It wasn’t like his other scars, which were faintly pink and smooth. This one was red as blood and rough like worn stone.

Aemond let her study the scar without protest and without pressuring her for an answer. She knew he was nervous with anticipation – she could feel how his body stiffened – but she didn’t care.

“How did you get this?”

He made a soft sound of confusion. “Ābrazȳrītsos, please – ”

“Why do you not want to tell me?

“It is not a pleasant story, I…” An exasperated sigh. “I see.”

Holding his hand steadily in front of her, he began his answer. “It is new. I got it during my battle with Daemon.”

Gods, she had hardly thought about the battle. About what had happened to him and Vhagar. Did he have any other injuries? Did Vhagar?

“Caraxes was dying,” he explained, a hint of remorse in his voice. Not for Daemon’s death, she knew, but for his dragon’s. A mount should not perish for the crimes of its rider, especially when there were so few dragons left. “He was falling toward the lake. He’d tried to bite Vhagar’s throat, but she sensed him coming from behind the clouds and struck him instead.

“Daemon knew he had lost and would likely die. But he wasn’t going to just accept it. As Caraxes fell past us, he leapt from the saddle, Dark Sister drawn and… pointed at me. My eye. My good eye.”

Even with her anger, panic seized her heart as she realized how close Aemond had come to death.

“Vhagar angled herself, so instead of going through me, the sword embedded itself into her side. She’s fine,” he assured her after she tensed with worry for the old beast she loved so well. “Even a great sword like Dark Sister is hardly more than a pinprick to Vhagar.

“Daemon lost his grip on the sword but managed to grab my leg before he fell. His weight began dragging me down,” he said, turning his palm toward her. The rein bit into my hand. The maester said it was like a burn.”

Yes, she could see it clearly now. The size and position of the red mark looked precisely as though the rein was still in his grip. Not a scar, then, but something that would possibly become one. One of many.

Aemond did not continue his tale. But she knew what came next – Daemon realizing he was doomed and telling Aemond with his last words that he’d sent a letter exposing what he’d done.

He had still told the tale, knowing that it would again remind her of that damned letter, renewing her ire. After that, she knew he deserved an answer – for this at least. Her health was bound to that of his children, after all. They had been at risk, too.

“Mother and I wanted to tell you. She was distraught.” Her breath hitched as she remembered how her mother had wept and screamed, swearing that she would not lose another daughter. “But Grandsire forbade it.”

Aemond huffed, his body trembling with rage. But he held her no tighter.

“The Small Council agreed with him—that it would distract you too much, that you would return the moment you read the message no matter the cost to the war.” In truth, she understood the logic behind the decision, but her need to have her husband there to comfort her far outweighed her rational mind. “Mother and I tried to send a raven in secret, but Grandsire had anticipated that and had the Rookery watched. The raven carrying the message was shot down.”

After that, she fell silent. There was nothing more to say than that. Only a fortnight later, Daemon and Rhaenyra seized the city and executed Otto, among many others. Daemon had half-heartedly suggested killing her, too, to “send the kinslayer a message” he couldn’t ignore. But Rhaenyra refused without explanation. Perhaps she still extended the same forgiveness to her as when the conflict first began, or she did not wish for the sin of kinslaying to weigh on her, too.

Whatever the reason, she was grateful. For herself and her children. And for all those who would have suffered and died as a result of Aemond’s rage.

The rage was building in him now. “Were he not already dead, I would kill him myself,” he hissed. “And I would not be so merciful as our sister was to kill him quickly.”

“Does it really matter now?” She sighed, dropping his scarred hand.

He flinched as it hit the bed. The wound still hurt, then. “Of course it matters! If I’d known, I – ”

She was glad she couldn’t see his face as she shut her eyes and buried her face in her pillow, pulling out of his grasp. “No more ‘if,’ Aemond! It does not matter what you would have done, because you didn’t do it. The past is past, and you cannot change it. You cannot change what you’ve done, no matter what you say now.”

Silence fell, interrupted only by muffled noises from the awakening town beyond the window.

“I know I cannot change the past,” Aemond said, his voice cracking as if he were near tears. “But I don’t know… what can I do? What can I do to show you how much I love you? How much I have always and will always love you. How much I regret what I did, and how much I wish I could take it back? I don’t know what to do, ābrazȳrītsos. Please. Tell me what to do.”

She said nothing, and Aemond wrapped his arms around her again. “Please, raqiarzītsos, tell me what you want.”

What did she want?

She wanted to pretend nothing had happened. She wanted to be able to forgive him. She wanted their lives to go back to the way they were.

She wanted to scream at him until her voice failed her, then tear him to pieces with her bare hands. She wanted him to suffer for eternity for what he did to her.

She wanted every trace of his betrayal erased entirely. She wanted to have him burn what remained of Harrenhal to ashes with his mistress inside. Better yet, she wanted him to kill the whore himself and mount her head above their children’s cradles.

No, not that. Never that. Even the thought required a prayer to the Father for forgiveness. She did not want blood on her hands or more death. She just wanted to understand everything that happened so she could decide whether she could forgive Aemond – if she wanted to.

“I just want this journey to be over,” she whispered, “so we can go home.”

Aemond’s arms went slack, but he did not let her go. “I… yes, I want that too. I want to go home – with you. Everything will be better once we’re home.”

It was a lie, she knew. But it was nice to let herself believe the lie, if only for a moment.

It was easier, she decided, not to fight.

Easier to let Aemond help her dress, his fingers skimming lightly on her skin in a cruel imitation of past worshipful caresses. To let him serve her food and to eat it all to please him and avoid his pleading for the sake of her and the babes. To let him arrange the pillows and furs in the wheelhouse until they were just so before he sat beside her, holding her in his arms so she could find comfort and rest.

So much easier to not constantly be on guard, ready to snap at his every word. To not constantly fight over every little thing. To find some measure of peace, despite the circumstances.

It was a peace as fragile as spun sugar, but it was peace nonetheless.

At the very least, she could sleep again—without waking to be sick, without fumbling in the sheets to try to find comfort, without reaching across the bed only to find it cold and empty.

After again fussing over her at supper, Aemond would help her prepare for bed. While a bath was being drawn, he would help her disrobe and remove the braids in her hair, brushing out tangles with the singular focus of a holy man studying his texts. When he led her to whatever bathing room their accommodations provided, he did not touch her more than absolutely necessary – a hand to help her stand, a gentle grasp on her elbow as she walked, and his arms around her when she stepped into the bath. Then, he left her alone.

Before, he would never have done so. He would either join her in the bath, touching and teasing her so much that the water went cold by the time they actually washed themselves, or sit beside it while he read to her.

It was odd to bathe alone, with neither husband nor servants to attend her. The quiet made the room seem infinitely larger. And lonely, even with the babes in her belly. She made a point of bathing as quickly as possible so she did not have to endure it for too long.

When she called for Aemond, she would listen to each of his footsteps before he paused at the door, knocking softly. He would not enter unless she allowed it and affirmed it twice. When he helped her out of the bath and dried her, he hesitated before moving to certain parts of her body – her chest, her face, between her legs – and his touch grew even gentler, like he was afraid she would break if he pressed too hard. She was both grateful for it and incensed that it had become necessary.

He brushed and braided her hair once more and dressed her in her nightgown before tucking her tightly into bed and crawling in beside her. He took her in his arms and pulled her close, softly singing Valyrian lullabies into her ear until she fell asleep.

On the twelfth night after leaving King’s Landing, neither acknowledged aloud that their peace would irreparably shatter the next day – when they arrived at Harrenhal at last.

Night had long since fallen when the towers of Harrenhal appeared over the tops of the trees. Aemond brought his wife closer to his chest, careful not to wake her. He knew that with their arrival, the relative harmony – the precious near-normality – of the last few days would soon end, possibly forever.

He dreaded seeing her at Harrenhal. It was too broken, too dirty, too dark for her. She would stand out like the moon against the night sky. And when she looked at those ruined black walls… he would have to see the pain on her face as she looked at each room and alcove, wondering if it was one of the places he’d been with Alys.

That would be the worst – seeing her face Alys. Each time he tried to convince her not to meet the witch, she refused, saying she wanted ‘answers.’ It wounded him deeply to hear her say that, but he understood. He had betrayed her trust. Destroyed her trust in him as thoroughly as he had all those towns and villages during the war.

Still, he would not give up trying to change her mind. He would not push her, but he would say whatever he must to protect her.

As the walls of the fortress loomed taller and taller, Aemond knew he needed to wake her soon. But he wanted to savor their last moments of peace, for it very well could be the last they would ever share.

He leaned down to kiss her temple, lightly brushing his knuckles over her cheek. She stirred slightly but did not wake. “Avy jorrāelan, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered. “Mīvojughilās jāla dōrī. Ao mirro rȳbilun.” I love you, ābrazȳrītsos. Never forget it. Whatever you hear.

She did not wake until the wheelhouse rumbled over the uneven stones at Harrenhal’s gates. The moment they passed through the thick black walls, she pulled away from him as if his touch would burn her. He felt sick, and forced himself to look away from her.

The fortress appeared just as Aemond remembered, yet it had changed monumentally in the mere days since he had last been within its walls. The towering palisades of melted stone had once seemed strong and imposing but now struck him as decrepit and hubristic. And its inhabitants – now standing in a line to greet the closest thing they had to a lord and master – he had once seen as a mighty and determined army, people he was proud to lead. He saw them for what they truly were now – tired, hungry, and desperate.

As he scanned the crowd, looking for a face he knew would enrage him, he recognized the wide-eyed look he once thought was reverence as something far different. It was fear. These people were afraid of him. He couldn’t allow himself to think too hard on that, not when he still had not seen those sickly green eyes.

Part of him hoped she wasn’t here so his wife could sleep well for one more night. Part of him hoped she was so he could strike her down in front of this crowd of hundreds and prove that she meant nothing to him. Though the babe she carried…

Those eyes weren’t there. Alys wasn’t there. He gave a prayer of thanks for it despite his bloodlust. His ābrazȳrītsos wanted to meet her, yes, but it shouldn’t be here. Not in front of so many people, not when she was exhausted from a long day on the road. And displaying such violence before her, when he knew how she despised it, would break her forever.

He glanced at her and fondly remembered how she had clung to his hand throughout their wedding tourney. What they had done each night after the games to help her forget the violence she’d seen.

It seemed she felt his gaze on her and turned to him. His smile faded. Her eyes, which he had always thought to be full of light and warmth, like a burning hearth, were dull and cold, like the very stones of Harrenhal.

“Is she…” She swallowed thickly. “Is she here?”

She did not face any of those gathered, as if afraid to accidentally look at the witch. He stepped toward her, subtly blocking them all from her view. “No, raqiarzītsos.” He raised a hand to cup her cheek, as he had so many times in the last few days, but now, she moved out of his reach. “She’s not.”

“Can we go inside, then? I’m tired.”

“Of course,” he said as he took her arm – grateful that she still allowed that, at the very least. “But you should eat something before you retire for the night. You have not eaten since midday.”

She blinked, though her face showed no emotion. “I am not hungry.”

Aemond sighed as he guided her to the keep’s entrance. “That may be so, but the babes need you to eat for their sake if not yours.” She gave no reply, but before he could press for an answer, they came upon Ronnel Cratter, the slight, anxious man Aemond appointed to serve as Steward of Harrenhal after Simon Strong had met his fate alongside all others of their line… almost all.

“My prince, how wonderful it is to see you returned!” The poor man was already sweating. “And to at last meet your lovely lady wife. Your husband has always spoken very highly of you, princess.”

She lifted her head to examine Ronnel, her eyes sad yet appraising. Her lips parted slightly but closed again as she inclined her head. He understood the flicker of wariness that passed over her face. She wondered whether the man in front of her knew what her husband had done—if he was complicit in it.

He needed to turn her mind to something else, quickly. “Is everything prepared for the negotiations?”

“Oh, um… yes, they are,” Ronnel stammered.

“When will Stark arrive?” Aemond asked, thankful to have not seen the Northman or any of his forces among those that came to greet them. Their absence would give him time to sort out what to do with Alys before the negotiations demanded his full attention.

Ronnel winced, his rough cheeks turning bright red. The man had never been able to conceal a lie—it was the reason Aemond chose him as steward of Harrenhal. “Lord Stark arrived three days ago, my prince.” He shrunk into himself slightly, rightly anticipating his master’s anger at his words. “He claimed it was too late to greet you and the princess and asked that I tell you he looks forward to meeting you at the negotiations tomorrow morning.”

The sheer fucking disrespect. To be in what was his keep in all but name and refuse to greet him upon arrival? Somewhere in his mind, Aemond knew why Stark had done it, to establish his dominance like the pissing dog he was. But he could only truly think about the insult of it. His very bones sang with bloodlust, negotiations and peace be damned.

But then, a gentle hand on his arm. Warm, even through his thick leathers. Her hand. Her graceful, soft, beautiful hand. She looked at him, gaze never wavering.

“I’m tired, Aemond.”

Only she could have stayed his hand. He had grown so accustomed to bloodlust in the months he’d been here that any other solution seemed folly. But to kill or even maim Cregan Stark would likely reignite war and, worse, deprive him forever of his wife’s love. If he hadn’t lost that already.

So, Aemond turned to Ronnel and fought to control his breathing. “Take us directly to our rooms.”

As they followed the steward through the dark stone halls, his wife looked at him from the corner of her eye but swiftly looked away. Her eyes roved every hall, alcove, and doorway, fear and hurt in her eyes. Did she think she could somehow see where he had been with Alys? Could she see the lingering ghosts of his betrayal?

He was certain he could—he would. That is if he were to enter any part of the keep where he had been with Alys, and he certainly had no intention of doing so. He had sent a raven to Ronnel with specific instructions to prevent it, although his ābrazȳrītsos’ request to meet Alys might require it…

“Here we are, my prince,” Ronnel said as he opened the door to a well-appointed, if somewhat small suite in the guest’s wing. “And princess!” he added hastily. “Forgive me, princess. I have become quite used to only addressing your husband…”

She ignored him entirely, walking to the center of the sitting room as she surveyed the space. The rooms were less than half the size of those Aemond had occupied before. But he could not bring his wife to those rooms or that bed. Perhaps he would have them burnt.

He watched as she crossed the room, headed directly for the bed. She brushed a hand against the blankets before recoiling as if the bed would bite her. Slowly, she turned to face him with such a look of desperation that he came to her side immediately.

“What is it, my love?” He crossed the room and took her hands in his own, holding them close to his chest. “What’s wrong?”

Tears formed in her eyes as she looked from him to the bed and back again. “Is this…” She took a shaky breath. “Was she in here? With you?”

Ronnel’s eyes went wide before he made a hasty, silent exit.

“No!” Aemond answered nearly before she finished her question. He leaned forward, pressing their brows together. “Of course not, ābrazȳrītsos. I promise, I – never, in this room. I swear it on my life.”

There was still mistrust in her eyes, but she nodded. “I don’t like it here.”

Once, he did. Once, this was his domain, his kingdom. Now, it was a barren wasteland occupied only by regret and shame. “I do not like it, either.”

She looked at his chest, but he knew she was somewhere far away. “I want to sleep.”

“I know,” he pulled away, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Though it had only been thirteen days, he was sure he could see a new fullness to her cheeks, a new softness around her waist, and a renewed light beneath her skin. He would not allow that progress to falter. “But you must eat, remember?”

She sat at the foot of the bed, wrapping her arms around herself. “I really am not hungry, Aemond.”

“You needn’t eat much,” he countered, sitting next to her and trying not to flinch when she angled herself away from him. “Some broth? Perhaps with a little bread? You must have something.”

He watched as her hand cradled her belly, stroking softly as if to soothe the babes with her touch. Resisting the urge to put his hand over hers was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he understood full well that to do so was a privilege he did not deserve.

“Very well,” she said at last. “But just a little.”

“Of course.” Aemond held his hand out for her to take, but she hardly glanced at it. “Is there anything else I can do, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She thought for a moment. “I would like to bathe before I retire.” Aemond immediately rose and positioned himself to help her stand, as he had for days now. “Can you summon servants to help me?”

A simple request shouldn’t have wounded him so deeply, yet it did. The bond they had begun to reform was gone, perhaps forever. Being denied this – the mere pleasure of helping his wife – felt like a mortal wound.

“Yes, I will fetch them now.” His voice was wavering. He could hear it as he could feel his composure teetering ever closer to breaking. He lingered a moment longer, hoping she would say something more, that she would change her mind and let him help her, or that she would say something to suggest that she still trusted him, still cared for him.

She said nothing.

Aemond almost wished she would scream and rage and roar at him as she did that first night in King’s Landing. It was better than this, the half-life she seemed to be living. The exhaustion and indifference. Let this be because of her pregnancy, he silently begged the gods. Let us finish this, go home, and be well again. Let her be well again.

“I love you,” he whispered before exiting the room.

He did not expect her to say it back, but the silence still stung.

The servants arrived before Aemond did. It caused no small amount of unease in his wife’s chest. As the servants he sent undressed her and prepared her bath, all she could think of was where he could have gone and why he’d left her for so long. Had he gone to fetch food himself?

It didn’t help that the servants were utterly silent. It wasn’t like the light quietness that sometimes settled over her own servants at the Red Keep. This was a heavy, cloying silence. None could hold her gaze for more than a moment before looking sheepishly away.

They know, she realized. They all know what Aemond did.

Her mind started to race. They probably even helped him. Alys is likely their friend. After all, she was a servant before. When they leave here, they’ll probably run straight to the witch to tell her how pathetic she is and how Alys is far more beautiful than her. They’d –

She could stand their presence no longer. As one of them brought a dampened cloth to wash her shoulder, she flinched away, splashing water over the edge of the copper tub. “Get out!” Her voice was foreign to her as she screamed, cruel and hoarse with desperation. “All of you, leave! Now! Get out, get out, get out, get out!”

She continued shouting, covering her ears with her hands and scrunching her eyes shut. The babes protested, kicking frantically against her stomach. But she could not stop screaming.

How could she do anything other than scream? And cry? And rage? She was trapped in the very place where the worst thing to ever happen to her had occurred.

This was hell. It had to be, for being in these walls was torture. What had she done to deserve such a thing? What grave sin had she unknowingly committed? Why was this happening? Why? Why? Why? Wh –

“Ābrazȳrītsos!” Aemond’s voice was accompanied by the feeling of his large hands wrapping around her wrists, gently prying her hands away from her ears. “Ābrazȳrītsos, look at me! Please, my love, you must calm down.”

His words did no such thing; she barely even registered that he was speaking to her or touching her. This was just another torture, to be constantly with the man she both loved and loathed.

“Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos, kostilus.” The words, now spoken in their mother tongue, finally began to slip through the whirling thoughts in her mind. “Āmāzin. Tolvȳn sȳri issa. Ao ȳghāpa iksā, jemot kīvio ñuhe tepan. Yn ao lykemās bēvilās, iā jāla riñari ōdrikōt.” Calm down, ābrazȳrītsos, please. I am back. All is well. You are safe, I promise. But you must calm yourself, or it may harm the babes.

“Kostan daor,” she pled. I cannot.

Aemond tightened his grip on her. “Ao bēvilās, kostilus!” You must, please!

She shook her head as her entire body began to tremble, and a chill numbness crept into her fingertips. “Jeme gīmīt, Aemond. Jeme līr nyke istan gīmīt.” They know, Aemond. They know what you did.

“Gīmin, ābrazȳrītsos, drējī usōven.” He leaned closer to her, his elbows now resting in the bath, water creeping up his sleeves. “Drējī usōven.” I know, ābrazȳrītsos, I am so sorry. I am so sorry.

She curled in on herself as tightly as she could. “Ao ōdrittan yne. Ao qrimpāletan yne.” You hurt me. You betrayed me.

“Gīmin. Jāle hegnīr daor jaelan. Tolikta mirroso.” He was half in the bath with her now. I know. I regret it. More than anything.

“Istan aōha riñari nevīlen,” she cradled her belly protectively, “se vasīr toile ābroma ēdan ojenille hēnkirī.” I was pregnant, with your children, and you still fucked another woman.

“Gōntan.” I did.

“Ao yne pirtra ivestretan, avy hen yne hēdrȳ ruartan.” You lied to me, hid her from me.

“Gōntan.” I did.

“Ao īlē nevīlen aōha ilībōño gōntā. You let her carry your bastard.

He flinched then. Unlike before, seeing him hurt didn’t make her feel any better. “Gōntan.” I did.

“Lo Daemon ivestretaks yne gōntē daor, nyke dobotēdāvī iemnȳ glaesilun. Ao yne ivestrilū gaomilū daor.” If Daemon hadn’t told me, I would have lived forever in ignorance. You were never going to tell me.

“Istan.” I was.

“Skorȳso?” Her voice failed her, morphing into a wordless cry, and it became painful to speak in the language of their ancestors – yet another thing she and Aemond shared. Had it been tainted by Alys, too? “Why? Have I done something to displease you? Am I not enough for you? Do you not love me the way I love you? Do you hate me?”

“No! No, my dear, I – ” He swallowed a choking sob as he stammered. “I love you. I love you more than anyone has ever loved another. You are my very soul, ābrazȳrītsos.”

There was no hint of falsehood in him. But how could that be true? How could he love her so much and hurt her so deeply? She lifted her head to face him. She had never seen him so distraught, even the night his secret had been revealed. “Then why?”

“I…” He dropped his head, his brow coming to rest on the edge of the copper bath. “I don’t know. I cannot explain it. I was foolish. And weak. But know I will do anything to show you how sorry I am. I will be your eternal servant. I will go into exile if you ask it of me.”

He pulled away from her, drawing his dagger and positioning it before his heart, the tip biting ever so slightly into his leather surcoat. “I will end my own life if that is what it takes to make you happy.”

“No!” Her reaction was immediate, a tug on some unseen string that connected them soul to soul. What would she become if that line was cut? “I don’t want that. I just – I want to sleep.”

Aemond’s dagger clattered to the stone floor. She didn’t know if it was relief or regret that painted his face. She didn’t know which she would prefer.

“Let’s get you out of the bath and dry first,” he sighed as he stood to fetch a towel. It was somewhat irritating that he did not ask if she wanted his help. But even if she had, she would have said yes. She would much rather endure his presence than the servants who looked at her as if she were a freak in a mummers show.

With the towel slung over his shoulder, Aemond extended his hand to help her stand. His touch was again hesitant and respectful. His eye turned as far away from her as he could allow it while still being able to help her.

“Where did you go?” Her question caused him to freeze with his hands on her shoulders as he softly dried the lingering water from her back. “After you summoned the servants, where did you go?”

He sighed. “I was waiting in the hall, ābrazȳrītsos. I thought you would not want me to intrude while you were…” another sigh. “I was only in the hall, I promise.”

Begrudgingly, she believed him. He had arrived quickly after she started screaming. But knowing he had not sought out Alys made her feel little better. She did not know why.

A dark seed of mistrust had been planted in her heart, strangling it with thorns of anger and spite as it grew and grew. Would that it were only a plant, she would tear it out of her chest with her own hands with no thought to the blood and thorns that would shred through her. It would still be better than this.

That terrible, unnatural silence again fell upon them as if it were a specter haunting their every thought and movement—a shadow larger and more terrible than Vhagar herself that turned each glance into a piercing shard of ice and each touch into the grating pain of fingernails digging into stone. It vanished only when Aemond slid into the bed beside her and moved to embrace her.

“No!” she hissed as she pulled away. “Not… not tonight. Not while we are here.” She felt Aemond’s hand pulling back as if the limb were her own. Felt the shifting of the bed as if it were the earth quaking and rending beneath her.

“I understand, ābrazȳrītsos. Drējī usōven.”

She could see him in her mind’s eye, lying next to her like a corpse prepared by the Silent Sisters – his legs straight and arms folded over his ribs. She could see the pain on his face, the tears likely spilling over his temples and into his hair. She could see his fingers trembling as he fought his body and soul’s command to touch her, hold her, love her.

Cruel visions sent by the ghost Aemond had created the moment he took Alys to his bed.

They followed her into her dreams.

Aemond did not sleep.

Though he lay in bed, he found no rest. From the moment his wife closed her eyes, he was haunted by demons of his own making – memories and visions of his sins.

He saw the first night he fucked Alys. Saw how weak and small he looked as he sat before the fire in his chambers, staring at the black sky outside the window. Saw the fear and doubt on his face as he thought about leading men into battle when the sun rose. Saw himself as a pathetic little boy, not a prince or the rider of the largest dragon in the world, certainly not like a man who could win a war.

He watched as his attempts at resisting Alys became quickly feeble. That night, he was desperate for anything to tether him to himself, and his Ābrazȳrītsos was so far away… he was little better than an animal. He was an animal. The way he touched her, clawed at her, bit her was no less than beastly.

Everything that made him a man – made him worthy of his wife – vanished the moment he touched her. To gain it back would not be so easy.

It would begin with the peace negotiations. Putting an end to the war that had driven this wedge between them would be the first step, not only in saving his marriage but also in healing what would soon be his realm—their realm.

He turned his head to look at his Ābrazȳrītsos. His queen- his dārītsos. It was a pleasure he had not allowed himself since lying beside her.

She was so beautiful. She would always be beautiful. Even when she was so thin, and her brow was creased with sadness, she was beautiful. How had he ever thought that he deserved such a perfect wife?

Perhaps it would be best if he agreed to what Aegon had threatened. Exiling him and Vhagar would undoubtedly put many who supported Rhaenyra at ease. Then, she would marry Aegon and become the queen she deserved to be, at least for a while. None could protest the legitimacy of their babes’ claims to the throne if she were the crowned queen.

In his exile, Aemond could travel to the ruins of Old Valyria to let whatever horrors his ancestors left behind mete out the judgment for his sins.

But Aegon would die soon, leaving her a widow. A widowed queen could never remarry. She would become little more than a decoration, the poor dowager queen forever standing in the shadows. And she would not be allowed to serve as regent for their heir – nor would their mother, despite having governed the realm for years while their father was infirm.

Who would speak on behalf of their child? The Small Council was filled with vultures seeking their own advantage. Larys Strong and his ilk slithered like snakes into every and any ear they could to try and advance their positions. Traitors who had only sworn loyalty to Aegon when it became clear Rhaenyra’s claim was doomed.

The only people he trusted to guide the children would be Grand Maester Orwyle, newly freed from the Black Cells, or Tyland Lannister. But that wasn’t enough. Who would protect her from those who would seek to take advantage of her?

No, he could not leave her. Despite her feelings toward him, he was the only one capable of keeping her safe. He had to stay, for her sake, he told himself.

Though in his heart, he knew the decision was selfish.

Aemond stared at her until the first rays of sunlight shone through the eastern window, imagining her perfect features on their children. Her dark eyes, the curls in her hair, the soft innocence of her smile. He nearly wished that he would see nothing of himself in the babes.

Then, those dark eyes opened, looking blearily at him. He swore there was a flicker of unabashed joy and love in them before they again went cold. At least the rising sun still gilded them with gold. Yes, the babes should have those eyes.

She turned away from him and tried to stand.

“Don’t wake, my love.” He said gently, a hand hovering just above her shoulder to stop her from rising. “Stay and rest, please.”

“No, Aemond.” She frowned, that sweet mouth set in a hard line. “I do not want to sleep. I wish to go with you today.”

She had been so upset by his leaving the night before. Had she not believed him when he gave his answer? Did she want to monitor him to ensure he did not betray her again? He shook his head. “I promise I am not going to see – ”

“I know you aren’t.” She sat upright, facing away from him. He wanted to embrace her, to hold her against his chest, but she hadn’t wanted that last night. He had resisted touching her since then. He could remain strong. “I wish to accompany you to the negotiations with Lord Stark.”

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. She had never shown an interest in such things before. “Whatever for?”

She pouted in response. “If I am to be your queen, I must be prepared. Mother ruled alongside Viserys. I intend to do the same.”

Their mother had not only advised Viserys but ruled in his stead when he was too ill to sit the throne himself. It made sense that she would want to follow the path Queen Alicent had made. She knew little of what it took to rule a kingdom, but she was smart, she would learn.  

“Very well.” He nodded as he stood from the bed to help her stand. His heart almost burst when her hand touched his. “I must admit that to have you beside me will fortify my resolve.”

He expected that would make her smile – hoped it would.

She dropped his hand. “And after, you will take me to see Alys.”

Damn it. Damn it all, especially that witch.

“Ābrazȳrītsos…” she scoffed and turned away from him, ignoring his outstretched arms. He followed her into the dressing room. “Raqiarzītsos, please. I beg you, do not insist on this.”

“I need answers, Aemond.” She hid her face in the mass of dresses that now hung on racks, but he could still hear the wavering determination in her voice.

He understood well what she was too polite to say plainly. She needed answers from Alys because she did not trust that Aemond told the whole truth. Even the implication stung deep in his chest. On that, he knew he could not change her mind.

“I understand,” he said carefully, remaining in his place by the door. It was the truth. “But Ābrazȳrītsos… can it not wait until you are stronger? Until the babes are born and you have recovered from the hell they’ve put you through? Then I can fly you back here on Vhagar so you don’t have to stay here and wonder…”

Only once had she acknowledged her curiosity about where in the keep Aemond had been with Alys – when they first arrived in their rooms. But he had seen it from the moment they passed through the walls. That uncertainty made her seem even frailer than she already was.

Her hand tightened on the velvet of a green dress. “I don’t want to come back.” He took a step forward, but she faced him. The tears in her eyes halted him immediately. “I don’t ever want to come back to this place again, so it must be now. Today.”

Aemond’s heart had shattered days ago, but the pure agony in his ābrazȳrītsos’s beautiful eyes then trampled the remaining shards to dust.

“Today it will be, then.” He could not banish the worry from his face, but she smiled anyway. “Tomorrow, we will go home. If Stark still has anything to say, he can follow us back to King’s Landing.”

Cregan Stark was already in the great hall when they arrived, along with what seemed like the bulk of his forces. Of course he was. After his absence at their arrival last night, Aemond was a fool to think he’d do anything else.

The Lord of Winterfell was every bit a wolf.

He certainly smiled like one as Aemond walked through the doors, standing to bow only his head. He seemed to think his prideful displays of irreverence would somehow give him an advantage in the negotiations.

But a wolf was nothing to a dragon.

“My prince,” the lord’s voice was anything but respectful. Perhaps he still held a grudge for the death of Jacaerys. Not that anyone was to blame for that but the bastard himself. “You have joined us at last.”

Aemond adopted a similar arrogant countenance. His was far more deserved. “Alas, my wife’s comfort was of greater importance to me than your patience, Lord Stark.”

Stark’s eyes slid behind Aemond to his ābrazȳrītsos, the feral glint within them softening, then sharpening in something like concern. “Princess,” he said with a deep bow—far deeper than what he gave Aemond, his Prince Regent. “I was not expecting to meet you, but I am very glad of it. I hope you are well?”

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, quiet yet confident. “The journey was long, but I fared well.”

“That is good news.” Cregan arched a thick black brow as he thoroughly examined her, his eyes landing on her belly. “I hope your condition is not giving you too much trouble.”

“She is perfectly well,” Aemond snapped before she could even open her mouth. He did not like the way the wolf looked at her like she needed protection. She was his wife, his to protect. He would not endure the suggestion that he had failed in that duty. Despite what he’d done, she had remained safe.

Her eyes found him, then turned to Stark. She nodded primly, the barest remnants of a smile on her lips. Even as he recalled her old smiles, wide, bright, and perfect, seeing her lift her lips made his heart swell with affection. Perhaps one day, he would see her truly smile once more.

“Let us begin, then.” He led her to the table, seating her at his right hand before taking his place at the head of the table. Stark regarded him with barely disguised disdain but was silent as he continued. “You have been chosen to represent those who foolishly supported my half-sister. By my brother, King Aegon’s grace, you have been granted your lives despite your treason. But our concern now is not revenge, but peace.”

He glanced at his wife, his reason for peace. He would do anything he could to ensure she and their children never again faced war—even this. “What is it you and your allies require to ensure peace?

Stark again donned that wolfish smile, though it faltered slightly when he, too, looked to Aemond’s wife. “We thank you for your… generosity, my prince. But, before we begin any negotiations, I would ask for assurance that whatever terms we agree to will be upheld.”

The nerve to ask for such a thing as the defeated traitor was astounding. Aemond had half a mind to simply kill the man. It would send a message to those who had supported Rhaenyra. Scare them away from further rebellion.

Though perhaps it was not the message he wanted to send. Not the way he wanted to begin his reign.

Not something he wanted his wife – his queen – to witness.

So, he took a deep breath and summoned a matching cocky grin. “You have the assurance of the crown and throne, Lord Stark.”

“And how am I to trust that?” Cregan said, tipping his head so far it rested against the back of his chair. “With your brother… as he is, you are the crown and throne, Prince Aemond. I expect you will have them for yourself soon rather than borrowing them from Aegon. How am I to trust you?”

Cold suspicion crept up Aemond’s spine as Stark again looked at his wife, something like an apology on his face.

It disappeared when he again looked at Aemond. “How am I to trust that you will uphold your promises to me, when you cannot even be trusted to honor your vows to your wife?

He fucking knew. Somehow, he fucking knew.

Aemond would kill him.

He would sew that wolf’s smile shut so he could not scream. He would tear out his eyes and rip out his fingernails. He would use every method of torture he had ever learned of – through his books and his own practical experience – to kill Stark slowly. He may even invent some new techniques of his own.

He would find the person who told him – likely one of the servants in the keep he’d bribed while waiting for Aemond’s arrival – and do the same to them, as he would to anyone who ever spoke a word about it in his wife’s presence. He would –  

The burning rage inside him cooled in an instant, as if smothered by a northern wind. But it was not a cold wind that brushed against his hand – it was the warm, smooth skin of his wife.

While he had become blinded by his anger, she had reached across the table to entwine her fingers with his. Her grip was stiff and too tight, and he could feel her shivering, but she had done it.

She had touched him.

Of her own free will.

Even with all he had done, all the ways he had wounded her, she was still there – still with him, offering her support.

He did not delude himself into thinking it was forgiveness or even a gesture of love. There was no hint of affection in her eyes. For all he knew, she may never touch him again.

But she still stood by his side as his wife. His future queen.

And that simple gesture was enough that the corners of Stark’s mouth turned down, and his swaggering lessened. Aemond beamed at his wife, letting her see all his gratitude and love. She nodded, and he decided that was enough, at least for now.

He turned back to the wolf at the end of the table. “State your terms.”

The negotiations were still a battle, though they never again came close to physical blows. An agreement was reached, with the crown conceding more than Aemond wanted but less than Stark wanted. No one was happy—a perfect compromise.

When it was over, and Stark rose to leave, Aemond turned to Ronnel, who sat at his left, to make preparations for their departure tomorrow. He wanted everything ready so they could depart at dawn and leave this wretched place behind. But a low voice began murmuring to his right.

Cregan godsdamned Stark was whispering in his wife’s ear.

She did not smile, but her cheeks were flushed. When Stark finally closed his bastard mouth, she whispered something back. The thirst for murder slowly crept back into Aemond’s heart. But then Cregan was walking away, and his wife held his gaze.

“He was only apologizing,” she whispered cautiously. “For what he said, and how it hurt me.”

Of course, Aemond received no such apology. He didn’t want one anyway. He would much rather have Stark’s head on a spike while his body was fed to Vhagar. Fulfilling that wish could wait, if it would ever be possible. Now, she was his only true concern.

“I’m sorry as well, ābrazȳrītsos. You should not have been put in that position.” He reached for her hand, but she stood—without aid, he noted.

She tried and failed to smile. “It wasn’t me he was insulting. Can we go now?”

Ronnel laughed slightly, a paltry attempt at ridding them of the tension. “I’m afraid the horses and wheelhouse won’t be ready until tomorrow, my princess. I can – ”

“That is not what I mean.” He could see her breath quicken as she looked directly at him. “Aemond, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t help but ask, couldn’t let this one last opportunity pass him by. “You don’t have to, love.”

Her mouth tightened, and her brows set. “I know, but I want to.”

There was an open door at the end of the servants’ hall, a fire flickering within.

Alys was expecting them. Had she seen it in a vision, or had the servants from the night before told her?

It didn’t matter, she knew. This would be unpleasant either way. But the thought of Alys knowing how pathetic she’d been the night before still haunted her.

When they were mere paces away from the open door, Aemond said his first words since leaving the great hall: “You do not have to do this, ābrazȳrītsos. We can still turn around.”

She didn’t reply. She had already locked eyes with her husband’s whore as she stepped into the doorway.

Alys was beautiful. Of course she was beautiful. And so different from her.

There was not a single similarity she could find other than the swell of their breasts and bellies from carrying Aemond’s children. Where her hair was pale as the moon, Alys’ was as dark as the night surrounding it. Where her eyes were a warm, deep brown, Alys’ were the cool green of fresh grass. Where she was but a little girl of 17 pretending at womanhood, Alys’ was a woman, with wisdom in her gaze and elegant, dignified lines framing her face to prove it.

Most men would have slighted her in favor of Alys. She just wished Aemond had been stronger than most men.

“My prince,” Alys curtsied as well as she could with her in her state, then turned her eyes to her. “My princess, what a joy it is to meet you at last.”

“Alys,” Aemond growled, stepping between the two women. He began whispering to his mistress so softly that his wife could not understand. It angered her.

“I said –” her voice came out louder than she intended, and the distant noise of conversation from the other servants quieted. That, she had not intended, but at least Aemond and Alys now faced her. “I said I wanted to talk to her, Aemond. Not you.”

His mouth tightened, but he nodded, retreating to stand behind her, still close enough to defend her. Alys smiled at her—not a viper’s smile, leering and poisonous. It was open and kind, as if she were a dear friend rather than the woman who’d slept with her husband and destroyed their marriage.

“Please, come in, princess. I know you must be more comfortable sitting than standing in a hallway.” Though she hated that the woman would dare to make assumptions, it was accurate. Her legs and back were already aching from the walk from the great hall.

Alys opened the door further, ushering them inside. It was a quaint room. Unusually well-appointed with a hearth and seating area, but still obviously a servant’s quarters. Perhaps it had once housed the steward until Alys had become so important to Aemond.

Aemond led her to one of the two stuffed chairs by the hearth, extending a hand to help her sit. She recoiled, eyes flitting to the bed. Had they…?

“Not here,” he whispered, his mouth curling into a frown. “I never… she was always the one to come to me.”

He called her to him like any other servant. He had not sought Alys out himself. It made little difference—he had still summoned her. But it was enough that she accepted his hand and sat, pulling away from him the moment she no longer required his aid.

Alys sat in the chair opposite her, again with that same kind expression. “You have questions for me, yes?”

She nodded, unsure of how else to answer. Alys was not at all what she expected. This was Aemond’s mistress. She had expected a cruel, vain woman who would laugh at her, mock her, and boast that she’d stolen Aemond from her. That was the image she saw when she imagined asking her questions, not this.

“That is quite understandable, dear.” Alys reached out, placing her hand on the arm of the opposite chair, their fingers nearly touching. “I will answer your questions. And I swear, by my own life and that of my child’s, that I will answer truthfully.”

Aemond scoffed quietly, his hand wrapping protectively around the back of the chair. Rage radiated from him, hotter than the fire they faced. She ignored it, and him, entirely.

She believed, once, that she could always trust Aemond. The woman across from her proved otherwise. If the world made so little sense that she could not trust her brother, her husband, her soulmate, then why couldn’t she trust a whore and a witch when she swore on the life of her bastard?

All her questions, all the loose threads she plucked from the story Aemond had woven for her, raced in her mind. Her head began to pulse under the pressure of the storm of anger, devastation, and sadness that raged within her.

But one question returned, over and over again, until it at last reached her lips.

“Did you know about me?”

“I did, my dear. Everyone in the realm and beyond knows of you. The ‘Little Princess,’ they call you.”

“You knew I was – I am – Aemond’s wife?”

Behind her, Aemond stepped forward to stand at her side, a hand extended in question and offering. Offering his support, the strengthening knowledge that he was there for her. The same thing she had given him only hours ago when the peace of the realm teetered on the edge of war.

This time, she did not take his hand.

Alys’ soft smile fell, and what looked to be genuine regret passed over her perfect face. “I did.”

“Then why did you do it?”

“After Aemond gave the order for every man, woman, and child carrying Strong blood was to be killed, my choices were to die with the family who had only ever done precious little for me,” Alys scoffed, as if the possibility was utterly ridiculous, “or to save myself by being whatever your husband wanted me to be. Can you truly fault me for wishing to save my own life?”

No, she couldn’t. If she had been in Alys’ position, she may well have done the same. Had considered it, even, when Rhaenyra and Daemon had taken King’s Landing. To save her children and mother, and to survive until Aemond could rescue them. Fortunately, her uncle had shown no interest in her. Still, she’d been willing to give up that part of her – if it meant keeping the people she loved safe.

“I understand your motivation to save your life,” she said slowly, wetting her lips with her tongue as she glanced up at Aemond, who looked at Alys like he was only barely holding himself back from strangling her. The hand he had not offered her was fisted at his side, knuckles white as bone.

Did hearing how he had been so easily manipulated humiliate him? Did it sting to know that Alys had only truly desired her freedom, not him? That she had used him as much as he had used her?

“I will assure you that I did resist. At least at first.”

In the story Aemond told, Alys was the one who pursued him. He said he spared her because of her visions, not her beauty or any lust for her. Alys was implying she only lain with him because he wanted it, that he was the one who began the affair.

Which was true? Was Alys lying, or Aemond?

Something in Alys’ keen eyes made her think the witch knew her thoughts. “Was he not satisfied with using your powers to aid him in winning the war?”

“My visions can provide guidance, but they are not infallible. And they are not always pleasant. I needed assurance that I would not be killed if the future was altered or if your husband was displeased with what I told him.”

“Surely you could have simply explained this to him,” she mumbled. Aemond was a reasonable man. He would not blame someone for something out of their control—or at least, he had been once.

Alys laughed, quiet and cackling and full of pity. “Oh, my poor dear, you have no idea what your husband became within these walls, do you?”

Aemond stepped forward, a hand on his sword. “Alys…”

She ignored him pointedly. “I know he didn’t tell you in his letters – I was there when he wrote many of them.” A small smile and a smug hum pointed at Aemond as she revealed a piece of what he’d hidden. “But I assumed since he’s now told you about me, he would have told you everything else.”

“Stop, Alys.” Aemond’s voice had grown lower and angrier than she’d ever heard—the voice of the man who had won the war nearly single-handedly, not of her beloved husband and brother. It frightened her. Even when he put a hand on her shoulder, she could not face him, fearing what she would see in that once familiar face.

There was a sickly glint in Alys’ eyes and a curling grin on her full lips. She looked only at Aemond as she spoke. “Did he tell you that he not only gave the order for the entire Strong bloodline be wiped from existence, but that he killed them all himself? Old men, women, and children all died by his sword. No matter how much they begged to be spared or how much they screamed and wept. He was wholly without mercy.” Her mouth hung open, ready to say more, but she glanced back at the princess and quieted, seeing the pain in her eyes.

No, she wanted to say as her stomach turned to burning cold lead. Aemond isn’t so cruel as that. He told her violence was only ever a necessity, not something to be enjoyed. At their wedding tourney –,

Aemond was silent. No rebuttals or denials. Not even an attempt at explanation. He slowly lowered his hand from his sword, as if ashamed to touch it.

That may have been the worst of it, for it meant what Alys was saying was the truth.

Pulling herself out of his grip, she ignored his small grunt of hurt and disbelief, blinked away tears, and fought to keep her voice steady. “Yet he spared you. Because you offered him your visions?”

“Yes, dear.”

She chafed under the seeming affection in Alys’ gaze. This was the woman who had seduced her husband, shared his bed for months, and carried his bastard. Why was she being so godsdamned kind?

“Was it true, then? Your vision about his first battle? That he would need to be fearless going into the battle.” She could feel her entire being trembling with fearful anticipation and guttural rage. “It was because of that vision that you convinced him to bed you, wasn’t it?”

Alys’ eyes flicked to Aemond for the first time since she’d sat down. He tensed behind her with a soft gasp, then a growl.

“It was,” Alys finally said.

“And all the times after?” She heard leather creaking behind her and knew Aemond had dropped his head. “Were there visions for those?”

“I wish I could say there were, if only to spare you from this pain,” Alys sighed, pity practically dripping from her, “but no. I still had visions and shared them with your husband, but none required continued intimacy.”

The stinging tears in her eyes began to fall, and Alys winced at the sight. “I am truly sorry, princess, for the hurt we have caused you. But I cannot regret what I’ve done, for I do believe it saved my life.”

Saved Aemond’s life, as well, if those visions had indeed kept him safe. She again felt that slight tug of gratitude in her chest, only for it to be swallowed by the raging deluge of anger and grief. It threatened to choke her. “And the babe?”

Alys sat back in her seat, absentmindedly stroking where that babe lay. “An unexpected, but not entirely unwanted consequence.”

“You did not drink moon tea?” It was a stupid question, she knew. The evidence that she didn’t was quite visible.

“Such things are luxuries when living in the heart of a war. Those herbs were better used for those who needed them to survive.” Alys’ gaze dropped to where Aemond’s other babes lay. “It took some time, after your wedding, for his seed to take, yes?

Aemond growled again, little better than a guard dog at this point.

Her cheeks flushed. It had taken nearly two years, so long that the maesters began to worry, and the court started whispering. She knew that their grandsire had brought it to the Small Council more than once, and was thankful she was not present – the gods only knew what solutions those men had devised.

“It takes longer for some women than others,” Alys said through a grimace. “It is no shame, merely the unknowable will of the gods.”

“It happened very quickly for you.” In the end, the bastard only proved that whatever had prevented her and Aemond from conceiving was her fault, not his. Perhaps the gods had seen the man he was to become, and those two years were their attempt to push them apart.

Alys thought for a minute, her gaze drifting to the fire between them, turning her eyes into something that did not seem quite human. She frowned, “A stroke of fortune. Good or ill, I cannot decide.”

The witch – for she was indeed a witch, those eyes proved it so – continued to stare into the flames. Aemond again set a hand on his wife’s shoulder, and she wondered whether he considered the bastard to be good fortune. He had not said anything to suggest he was glad of it, but there were memories that suggested he was.

He had learned things from Alys that he tried to use on her. How to hold her to relieve the weight of the babes, and how to cushion her belly when in the carriage. She was sure there was more, perhaps he had done them, and she just hadn’t noticed. But he had held Alys and taken care to protect her child.

It was intimate in a way that suggested they shared more than just sex.

“Does Aemond love you?” Even the crackling of the fire seemed to quiet as the words left her mouth unbidden. But this was the most important question. How deep did Aemond’s betrayal go?

Alys’ answer was just as sudden. “No. Nor I him.”

Her heart pounded to hear those words. Alys had taken so much. Half a year of their lives. Aemond’s touch. The trust between them. But she hadn’t taken Aemond’s heart. That belonged only to her.

Even if she wasn’t sure she wanted it.

She fell silent, considering all she had learned. Aemond fucked Alys, but he didn’t love her. He called her to his room, but her comfortable quarters suggested she didn’t stay with him. He spilled his seed inside her, but took no precautions against siring a bastard. He knew he was to have a child by Alys, but planned to return to his wife. He…

He kept her and the child secret. He had commanded that all those who knew of the affair remain silent, if Ser Willis’ words could be trusted.

Why would he go to such lengths to uphold the secret if he knew he was coming home rather than staying at Harrenhal?

A chill wind passed through her despite the heat of the fire, numbing her, body and soul.

“Did you know Daemon was going to tell me?”

“Ah,” Alys looked ashamed for the first time she had seen. “No. That escaped my vision. It was likely a decision he made just prior to departing for the God’s Eye after I had my initial vision of Aemond’s triumph. And oh, what changes that decision has made.”

That meant… “You believed I wouldn’t find out?”

“Until Aemond returned from the battle, yes.” A humorless laugh. “I was nearly as shocked as him.”

“Then you saw a future where you and your child remained hidden from me.” A statement, not a question, as the truth began to take shape in her mind.

“Yes.”

“Alys, stop.” Aemond had gone entirely still and silent since she asked if he loved Alys. Now, he was frantic and panicked.

She paid him no mind. The truth was in hand, and she would not let it go. “What would have happened? If Daemon hadn’t written that letter?”

“Many things, little one, be more specific.” Alys seemed amused by the turn the line of questioning had taken, almost like a parent helping their child with a logic puzzle.

“Would Aemond…” The words burned in her throat, not the hot burn of anger, but of deathly cold of impending heartbreak. “With you…” she was going to be sick. She could have asked anything else and been fine, but this? She would rather ask how well Aemond had fucked her. “Would it have continued?”

“Ābrazȳrītsos —” He was begging. The man who had slain dragons and burned entire villages was begging, but he did not beg for long.

“Your husband would have taken me back to King’s Landing and brought me into the Red Keep’s household as a wet nurse. I would have nursed your babes and mine, and Aemond would be able to know all his children.”  There was no trace of pride or gloating in Alys’ voice, just the truth. The horrible, horrible truth.

Her tone turned reassuring. “Though, our physical intimacy would not have continued. "When he was finally by your side again, he’d have no use of me in that.” Alys paused, looking once at Aemond. “He does love you, princess. Very much. I’m sorry that I have made you doubt that.”

The bastard would have lived with them. Drank the same milk as her own children. Perhaps even played with them, learned with them. It might even look like them, if it took after its father.

For the first time, she was truly glad for what Daemon had done with his final breaths.

“It was just for the child,” Aemond whispered, his voice utterly broken. “I swear, I… I just wanted to know my child.”

She faced him, feeling nothing at the horror on his face as he fell to his knees beside her. “What about our children? What about me?”

“I thought…” he shook his head as if he did not believe his own words. “I thought that I – ”

“I don’t care, Aemond.” A lie. She cared so much. For him and the love they shared. For the family they were soon to have. For herself. She cared so deeply it felt like a star in her chest, burning with how much she cared.

That star blinked out.

“I don’t care,” she said once more. Then she stood and left the room.

“You lied.”

“Did I?” Alys’ veneer of benevolent politeness was gone the moment they were alone. She looked at Aemond with cold eyes, not a hint of the affection he once saw, feigned as it was. “Your little wife – ābrazȳrītsos, I believe is the term? – is such a charming little thing. I swore to her that I would tell her the truth. Why would I lie to such a sweet girl?”

This was insufferable. She was insufferable. “When you told her about the vision – your first vision. About Darry. I didn’t notice it when you told me then, but I know you better now.” Fear rose to match the anger in his veins as he stood. “That was a lie.”

Alys looked away. The bitch looked away from him to hide the twist of her lips as she looked into the fire. “You won the battle, didn’t you?”

It was a lie. A lie that had destroyed him. Destroyed his life. Destroyed his ābrazȳrītsos. And it was all a godsdamned lie.

He would never have pursued Alys himself. She pursued him, told him that he needed to be relaxed and without fear to win the battle and spare the bulk of his men. When he had not been able to calm himself, it was she who offered her aid.

He had not known what she meant by that, pushed her away when she first tried to kiss him. He’d wrapped a hand around her throat when she first reached out to touch him. He was going to choke her, kill her.

“It won’t mean anything, my prince,” she said when she snuck her hand between his legs. His body trembled at the touch—it had been so long since he had been touched this way. His ābrazȳrītsos had been too ill from the babe she carried, and he would never force her. He had to admit the pleasure cleared his mind. “I merely wish to help you.”

She only ever meant to help herself, not him or his men. And he had been the fool who fell for her act. Again and again.“How many of your ‘visions’ were lies?”

Alys didn’t even play at coyness. She outright grinned as she poked the fire. “Perhaps half. Perhaps more.”

“You vile whore,” he spat with all the venom he could summon.

“Careful what you say, Aemond,” her tone remained sickeningly sweet, her eyes fixed on the fire. “After all, you are the man who fucked this ‘vile whore.’ Over and over again, while that sweet thing,” she pointed her chin at the door, “was frightened and alone.”

Aemond’s breath left in a rush. “You knew she was sick?”

Alys scoffed. “She’s not sick, you stupid boy, just pregnant. It is more difficult for some women than for others. Although the stress of the war likely did not help.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” If he had only known… if, if, if, his entire life reduced to two letters. Damn the word.

“You would have left if you knew, leaving me to fend for myself.” She shrugged casually, but it did not belie the slight sagging of her shoulders. “Besides, I knew she would be well again.”

“A vision?

She smiled wistfully. Any other man would find it a beautiful sight. It made him want to kill her slowly. “Oh, what a lovely vision it was. You arrived home late in the night while she was brushing her hair. I’ve never seen such happiness as when she saw you in the mirror. Your presence alone restored her vitality. When I saw her again after she’d birthed your sons, she was strong and radiant. From Maiden to Mother.”

A crushing in his chest, pain and joy joined as one terrible whole. “‘Sons?’”

Alys looked at him then, no malice or disdain in her gaze. “Yes, she will deliver you two sons.”

Two babes. Two sons. Two heirs.

Their line would be secure with two trueborn princes. The people would take it as an omen that the gods had blessed them, and few would dispute their rule. There would be no need for further children unless something should happen to the boys. Aemond would never let anything happen to them.

There would be no need for his wife to remain in his bed.

It was his punishment, he supposed. He would have the throne and the family he always coveted at the cost of his wife’s love.

“Will they be healthy?” It was good, he told himself. He deserved this punishment, after all, and she deserved to be free of him, as much as a queen can be free of her king. So long as their sons – their bloodline – were strong.

“They were in my vision, but now that future is changed,” Alys looked back at the fire, poking at it as if searching for something. “I have not seen what will now be.”

“Try.” The babes had to be healthy after all they’d put their mother through. She must not suffer any more than she already had – at their hands or Aemond’s.

She could not bear the loss of a son. Neither could he.

“You know it doesn't work like that, Aemond. I swear, if I could see it, I would tell you.” Again, she scoured the wood and ash and flame. “But when I looked into the fire after you flew south, all I saw was smoke.”

“You lied then. You could be lying now.” He knew she wasn’t. He prayed she was.

“I give my word that this is the truth.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Aemond, this only means I cannot see what will happen. It doesn’t mean that they will not –”

“Do not speak to me!” He roared as he hadn’t since he was told Daemon and Rhaenyra had taken King’s Landing. It felt like fire was trying to burn its way out of his throat. “Do not speak to me ever again or show your face before me. If you do, I…”  

Alys laid a hand on her belly, and he recoiled in shame. To banish her would also be to banish her child—his child.

He shouldn’t care for a bastard, he knew. It was a stain on his honor, a permanent reminder that he was not the man he hoped he would be, the man his ābrazȳrītsos deserved. But it was also his child—his blood.

His eye burned in such pain he could hardly feel his zaldrīzītsos squeezing his hand while she wept. But it was nothing to the gaping hole in his chest where he once hoped his father would lay.

The old man would not even look at him. He appeared as if his greatest concern wasn’t the damage to his son but that he longed for his bed. When Aemond’s mother begged for justice, his father looked on her as if she were mad.

“He is your son, Viserys. Your blood.”

Aemond swore he would not be like his father. He knew what it was to be neglected by those he shared blood with and couldn’t stand the thought of doing it himself.

Yet he had also sworn to do anything for his ābrazȳrītsos’ happiness.

“I will send funds for the child’s care,” his voice was weak now that his inner fire had faded. “But I forbid you from naming me as the father to anyone on pain of death.”

“You would condemn your child to fatherlessness?”

The fire roared back to life, as large as the swaths of destruction he had laid across the Riverlands.

He approached Alys with his dagger in hand, unaware of when he had drawn it. “It is only because of the child that I do not slit your throat here and now. Be grateful for what I am giving you. It is well beyond what most whores receive for their bastards.”

Aemond stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. He shut his eye and breathed heavily. In. Out. In. Out. Only when he had calmed – enough that he was no longer on the precipice of violence – did he look down the hall, only to find it empty.  “Ābrazȳrītsos?”

There was no reply. Until –

“Aemond!” Her voice was strained, desperate, and, worst of all, followed by a long moan of pain.

He screamed her name as he ran toward her voice. Why was she in pain? Was she ill again? It had never happened before night fell, as far as he knew. Had someone hurt her? Alys? Stark? He’d kill them – slowly, painfully, without mercy. He’d –

She was slumped against the wall. Her sweet face was flushed and scrunched with pain, her mouth open as she moaned. But there was no hint of injury. She looked whole.

Then, Aemond saw it.

There was a steadily growing pool of liquid surrounding her. Not blood, thank the gods, but… Alys once said there was a release of fluid when a woman began her labors.

No. No. It was too early. The babes were not ready yet. If they were born now, they would not survive. They would be like Rhaenyra’s daughter Visenya – weak and deformed. They would have scales or horns or tails or talons, perhaps even malformed wings.

They couldn’t come now. They couldn’t. Not only for their sake, but if they had those horns or talons, they could kill their mother as they ripped their way out of her.

Aemond couldn’t let it happen. There had to be something he could do, some way he could –

She screamed.

It was the worst sound he’d ever heard. It tore at his chest like a storm ravaged a ship. He could not move, not until he saw her legs wobble as she braced herself against the wall. She was going to fall. He ran forward to catch her, screaming himself.

“Ābrazȳrītsos!”

[daydreaming-nerd]

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 1

Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: I just got this request and I absolutely LOVE it. I have no idea how many parts it will be because it's really parking my imagination. Please feel free to leave a comment! Hearing your guy's feedback is what motivates me to write!

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring. 

Warnings (so far): SA

Word count: 2765

(all photos are from pinterest)

It was like being born, even though I was the ripe age of 435. Well, ripe in the years of fae. It felt like being born, in the sense that I can’t really remember what came before that passing shade of violet. The way his eyes bore into me, and in that moment I knew he felt the tug too. 

Mates. 

I reeled for days, the peonies of spring my only console, my brother had always been so absent minded and utterly consumed with being High Lord. How could the cauldron be so cruel? To mate me to the High Lord of the Night. I spent the next week thinking it had to be a mistake, that my bored mind was playing tricks on me. Yet when the council met the week following, his eyes found me immediately, and I think in that moment I saw him for the very first time. 

I didn’t dare approach him, far too shy and afraid to approach the Lord of Night. Not just  because of what he was, but because of what my brother would say. By basic necessity Tamilin was a good brother, he doted upon me, kept me safe, gave me free roam of the palace. But there was a darkness about him I couldn’t place. It started when he disappeared with our father one night only to come back with two sets of Illyrian wings. I knew whatever happened was wrong, but as a woman in the spring court, I knew better than to open my mouth. Needless to say, Tamlin became High Lord of Spring shortly after, and from the wings mounted on our family walls I knew we had but one enemy, the night court. 

It wasn’t until the third council meeting (the third I was allowed to attend, after I begged my brother to let me go) that the High Lord of Night finally sought me out. 

My brother was busying himself with the politics of Day and Summer, talking the heads off of Helion and Tarquin. I kept to the shadows naturally, avoiding any untoward advances from other High Lords. I tried to stay hidden in my pocket of introvertedness, but then I felt him, and my skin buzzed, like it needed to be touched, to be held.

“You felt it too right?” he purred into the shell of my ear causing the buzzing of my skin to become electric.  

“I did,” I admit pathetically. 

“And you feel it now too,” he whispers as I finally turn to face him. The violet of his eyes pierce my soul and I’m left speechless and unable to move from their gaze. He’s otherworldly, he’s everything, and he’s also completely forbidden. 

“Do you?” I ask, hoping that whatever answer he gives can validate the fire in my bones. 

“I do,” he muses like he loves the game. “Your brother killed my family. He is my sworn enemy and I should hate you.” he breathes. I can feel his resolve slipping along with mine, for every statement he makes I can make an opposing one, “but all I want to do is kiss you right now.” he finishes. 

Fire runs through my veins as a sharp breath passes my lips. I feel my brother's presence and I evade myself from the High Lord of Night’s cage. My brother whisks me off to the Spring Court once more, but not before I glance back one last time to see that shade of violet I had already learned to look for in a crowd. 

That was a week ago. 

I stand in the foyer of the castle with my brother and Lucien as we prepare to join the council once again this week. 

“You look ravishing as always,” Lucien muses, eyes wandering me like they’re hungry. 

“It’s not often my brother lets me out of the house, I have to make a good impression somehow,” I say backhandedly. All I get in return is a sideways glance from Tamiln as we are taken to court. Today the meeting  resides in Tarquins’s court. It changes once a week to allow all High Lord’s to have the upper hand. The sea salted mist hits my face and the warm rays of the sun tan my skin as we walk into the council. 

When we arrive he’s already there. He stands out amongst the rest, not just because he’s dressed in black, but because he’s the most beautiful male I’ve ever seen. The definition of a forbidden fruit. As if to tempt me, Tamilin unknowingly  sits directly across from the High Lord of Night making it so I can’t lift my head without meeting the violet of his eyes. If you had asked me to recall the events the council discussed, I couldn’t, the only word left on my tongue was Night. Talk of tithes and power checks drifted over my head. The only thing to rouse me from my trance was the scraping of wooden chairs across marble floors, signaling that the council meeting had adjourned and that the more foundational political talks of High Lords would begin. 

I took it as my queue to step out onto one of the many terraces of the Summer Court. The room where the council was held was stifling. I thought that the breeze of the ocean might cool my skin, but no matter where I went that deafening heat followed.  

“I was hoping I would see you again,” purred a voice from behind me. 

I turned to find that piercing violet once more. “Of course why wouldn’t I be at the council meetings?” I ask, trying to act like I won’t be replaying this conversation in my mind when I return to bed tonight. 

“You’ve only been to four council meetings now, and your brother has a habit of keeping you locked up in the Spring Court.” he trails, drawing closer to the railing of which I’m leaning upon. 

“Well I intend to be at all of them from here on out,” I state.

“Any particular reason why?” he asks with a playful tone in his voice and I know what he’s insinuating. 

“Because I wish to be a part of the governing of my court, even though I am just a woman,” I say, evading his innuendo. 

“That’s a shame if you were part of my court you wouldn’t have such phrases like ‘just a woman’” he states almost as if he’s upset with the phrase. 

“I highly doubt that, women aren’t equals in any court,” I scoff. 

“What about Kallias and Viviane?” he asks. 

“What about them?” 

“Kallias sees Viviane as his equal, she is his mate and his High Lady,” he explains, stepping even closer to me, close enough that my skin starts to buzz again. 

“Viviane is special, everyone knows that,” I justify. 

“And you’re not?” he muses and my skin goes from buzzing to electrifying in three words. I feel his fingertips grazing my hand as if asking for permission. 

“My Lord we can’t do this,” I breathe out. 

“Call me Rhysand,” he says, stepping even closer. 

I step to the side, avoiding his advances, “My Lord, I won’t do this, I can’t do this.” I affirm. 

I see him bristle from my reluctance to call him by his name, “You’ll give into the idea of us. When you’re lying in that cold bed high up in the spring court thinking of all the ways I could warm it for you. When you’ve spent the week with nothing but this conversation on your mind,” he leans down to whisper in my ear. “This time next week you will beg for me to touch you, and I’ll happily oblige, mate.”

I’m so taken aback by his words that I can’t even form a quick witted response, I simply slid away and tried my best not to look back at him as I felt his gaze pierce my back. I nearly slam into Viviane and Kallias. 

“Y/n are you alright?” Viviane asks. 

“Yes, just feeling the heat of the summer court,” I lie, fanning my face. 

“Then you should come home with us today, it’s been so long since we had a girls night. I wish for your company." She smiles while taking my hand. 

“Shall we go home sister?” Tamilin appears, Lucien in tow. 

“Actually I think I’ll spend the night in the winter court with Viviane, she’s right,” I look at her and smile. “We haven’t had a girls night in quite a long time.”  

“Very well, I won’t get in the way of your sinful gossiping,” Tamilin smiles and leads Lucien away with him. 

If the summer court is sea salt and sun, then the winter court is pine and fresh fallen snow. Though they are opposites in every way, they are stunning in their own right, like all courts are. I’ve been here many times before to sit and talk with Viviane, she’s one of the only other ladies of nobility my age and a fierce friend. It’s not uncommon for me to spend a couple days here in the winter court, with Viviane and Kallias. 

I sit among a bed of furs near a warm fire adjacent to Viviane as Kallias pours both me and his mate a glass of red wine. 

“Thank you dear,” she smiles, kissing him on the cheek before he leaves us to gossip. 

“You and Kallias really are a perfect match,” I beam and Vivianane knows me well enough to know that there's a sadness there. 

“You’ll find it too someday, your mate. I know you will,” she assures me. “Now tell me, what of Lucien?” 

I roll my eyes taking a sip of my wine, “He’s still insufferable. The other day he backed me into a wall and if one of my ladies maids hadn’t walked in I swore he would’ve had his way with me.” 

She lets out an airy laugh, “I still can’t believe Tamiln allows him to play with you like that. He’s so fiercely protective of you with everyone else.” she says, taking a sip of her own wine. 

“Lucien is his best friend, he wouldn’t deny him anything, even his little sister.” I point out. 

“I suppose you’re right,” she smirks. The night is filled with goblets of wine and laughter as we continue to talk about the high lords of Prythian. We even go as far as to talk about her and Kallais’ sex lives, to which Kallias promptly came in laughing taking his wife to bed. 

I trudge down the hall to the bedroom the High Lord and Lady had set aside just for me a few years ago. I fall into the plush mattress, the world slightly spinning around me. The second I am left alone with my thoughts I recall the feeling of Rhysand’s breath on my neck and I shiver. 

The room spins and I feel my skin grow hot with need, my heart beats faster and my  head is drunk with that shade of violet. My hand subconsciously drifts down my body. 

You’re drunk? A voice cuts through my head. 

I sit up right and look around the room. The only thing I find is the flickering of the fireplace against the walls. 

The same voice chuckles and speaks again, No I am not in the room with you my mate.

“How are you doing this?” I ask in my head.

The daemati gift, and of course, I am your mate. The High Lord croons. 

“Get out of my head” I grumble. 

But you called for me, I can feel your… excitement.

“Then you're mistaken,” I hiss.

We both know that’s not true darling. 

“Goodnight,” I groan, rolling over to go to bed.

Goodnight, darling

The following days are long. Despite my better wishes there is a part of me that yearns to see the High Lord of Night again. I waltz through the spring court, picking flowers for the dinner table and evading Lucien’s advances. At night I find myself obsessively reading the romance novels I keep beside my bed. On one night in particular a certain scene in my book makes my toes curl and my thighs clench. My fingers skim the pages and the roughness of them is almost heightened. 

My my my, what a dirty book. That voice croons into my mind.

“Get out of my head,” I gripe. 

I can’t help myself when I feel your body react as it does. He purrs. 

“How on earth can you ‘feel’ my body?” I roll my eyes.

Like this. 

A tug reverberates through my body. Like there’s a string in the pit of my stomach that he just pulled. The sensation causes me to lose a breath as further arousal goes to my legs. He lets out a dark chuckle. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” I order him

But you loved it so much, He purrs and I can practically feel him smirking in my head. 

“You’re an insufferable bastard High Lord,” I growl at his persistence. 

Call me Rhysand. 

“I see no reason to drop informalities, my lord.” I quip back. 

My name will fall from your lips one day, and when it does I’ll be sure to swallow it with my own. Until then, I’ll leave you with this. Goodnight darling. 

I feel another tug at the bond reverberating through me and I nearly let out a moan at the feeling. I snuggle into my sheets that suddenly feel as if they are constricting around my body. I toss and turn and try to push all thoughts from my mind, but I can’t stop the idea of the High Lord's lips on mine. His night black hair in my hands, the way his moans might fall from those lips.

The next morning I take my breakfast in one of the lounge areas, still reeling from last night. My thoughts still wander to the image of his face, and how his eyes light me on fire. The door opens and a head of auburn hair pokes in. 

“Forgive me, I didn’t know you were in here,” Lucien says like he has regret, yet he sits down across from me. 

“No worries, I'm almost finished eating,” I reply, placing my tea down and getting ready to get up.. 

“And I secretly hoped to spend some time with you,” he sighs, sinking into the couch. 

“Perhaps later, I wanted to read in the garden,” I stand and make my way towards the door. 

“Perhaps now,” he growls. I feel a cold hand grasp my arm hauling me into the wall. 

“Lucien,” I hiss as my back is pressed into the wall, his frame looming over mine. 

“You are such a tease,” he smirks before kissing my neck hungrilly. His hands roam my body pulling me impossibly close. 

“I’ve never once given you any inclination that I wanted you,” I gripe at him. 

“That’s what makes you so desirable my dear,” he practically moans into my neck. 

I gather my strength and push him off of me, “I’ll remind you that I am Tamlin’s little sister and while he favors you his favor only goes so far. One word from me and he’ll send you back to the Autumn Court.” I growl at him, and it seems to be enough as he backs away and leaves me to reel from what just happened in silence. 

I sit down on the couch and take deep breaths to ground myself. 

What’s going on? Are you alright? That voice like glorious night cuts through my mind and I almost feel thankful for how it brings me back to reality. 

“Yes I’m fine,” I say back. 

What happened? I felt your fear through the bond.

“It’s nothing, just Lucien.” I dismiss him. 

Did he touch you? 

I almost swore I heard anger laced in his voice. “Well I am his favorite plaything,” I roll my eyes.

And Tamlin allows him to touch you like this? 

“As long as my virtue isn’t completely compromised so that I am still of value when he inevitably marries me off, yes. He doesn’t care.” I divulge, and quite stupidly I realize. 

As if I needed another reason to hate him.

“He is still my brother, my Lord,” I remind him, though I secretly feel the same. 

Don’t you mean, Rhysand?

“No I don’t, my Lord,” I say, drawing out the last words. 

I’ll see you tomorrow my darling, I relish the idea of seeing you in the golden light of the day court. 

[blueberryarchive]

i want reader to call him again...please

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙧!𝙟𝙠

previously on steph's house // later at the game...

tw: mentions of non-con

You've always heard men talk about having called at least once in their life to have sex on the phone. They usually called in groups, mutual support or stupidity, you didn't know which it was.

You knew you always wanted to know how those women could have such rich, soft and daring voices. Even when they laughed it seemed like a well-rehearsed choreography and at the end they said your name as if they knew you down to your bones. You wanted that gift, you would pay for that gift.

Now much more than ever. Or maybe you would like to know how to make another decision as daring as taking the phone from the living room again and hiding it in the bathroom at Steph's house. The girls sleeping upstairs. You should probably go back to bed.

How dare you? You have a boyfriend, for God's sake. And not only that, but with this idiot? You could feel Steph's gaze on the back of your neck, judging your finger to make the final turn.

555-5662

The buzzing is the same, the heavy lump in your throat is not. You knew what awaited you on the other side of the line, it was cruel and disgusting; but you were lying if you said you didn't need to listen a little more.

In the silent night, in the darkness of the chick-yellow bathroom, shame haunts you, warming your ears, your hands on the phone when the soft click was heard on the other side.

"Mm." Was his response, silence was yours. What the hell had you done, were you crazy?

"Fuck," he laughed lowly, "not you again."

"Do you really play?"

"I'm on the team, if that's what you want to know. But I don't think you're adding numbers to your phone bill to ask so much shit, am I wrong?"

You let your forehead cool on the tiles on the wall, is he wrong?

"God, if I had you in front of me…” Jungkook sighed and your heart skipped a beat.

"What?"

"I would force your mouth open to see if you learn to answer people when they talk to you."

"Do you always have music on when you sleep?"

"Are you always such an annoying cunt?"

Your chest burns, your eyes sting.

"You probably have a boyfriend, you all have a lapdog behind you so you don't get bored."

"Please. My boyfriend can kick your ass." You responded quickly, letting the burning spread like burning garbage.

"Are you, then?"

"What?"

"Are you so bored that you have to call the weirdo from college."

"I don't even know why they consider you weird."

This time the laughter was genuine, stupid popular girl, didn't know what she was getting into.

"You would have noticed a while ago if you were in front of me."

"Are you missing teeth or something?" You laughed, chewing on your nails.

"I'd have you bend over with your head on the ground while I split that pussy in two. You'll probably be crying and your little pussy bleeding from the dryness."

"What if I don't want to?" And you cursed yourself for having hesitated, your callgirl career looked even further away.

"Who said anything about wanting?"

And there it was, the heavy knot tied lower, down your stomach to your legs.

"That's illegal."

"Shut up and put your hand between your legs." He interrupted. The smell of detergent was so strong all of a sudden, you looked at your pathetic reflection in the sink mirror.

"You're sick."

"And you're an insignificant whore who calls me at 4 in the morning to listen to my voice and touch herself. Wanting me to tell her exactly what she wants." The stranger growled under his breath. "You're all so spoiled and pathetic, you disgust me."

"Fuck you." Your wet cheeks started to bother you.

Silence, his laughter was lethal, hoarse from hours of interrupted sleep.

"Don't let me find out who you are, callgirl. You gonna' regret it."

Your eyes opened, the darkness and silence were no longer your allies, they now seemed to engulf you. Click, the unbearable tone torturing your ear.

[hanjisung-enjoyer]

hard thoughts; lmh

tags: dom!minho, afab!reader, fingering, hickies, smacking, ruined orgasms, reader is sort of a brat, use of “slut/whore”, not proofread just bored and horny

imagining lee minho fucking you in some alleyway behind a club after you tested his patience and flirted with the bartender.

“m-min- we’re gonna get caught!” you whispered frantically between minho’s lips. you could hardly call what the two of you were doing kissing; it was more like an attack, his teeth occasionally pulling at your bottom lip and his tongue down your throat.

he pulled away momentarily before harshly groping your ass cheeks that were barely hidden by your short dress and taunting him all night. “i don’t give a fuck,” he growled out. “i hope your little playmate finds us. he’ll see me fucking you better than he could ever try to.” minho used your hips to press you forcefully against his hard-on.

you rolled your eyes. “he’s not my playmate. i was just being nice to him,” you scoffed. minho glared daggers into your challenging gaze before he suddenly bent down to nip at your neck, a yelp escaping your lips. “o-ow!”

“then let me leave something to show off for the next time you wanna be ‘nice’,” he muttered, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. you couldn’t hold back the borderline pained moans caused by his marking, which only encouraged him to continue. his hands hiked up your dress, displaying your thin panties to anyone who might be passing by. without breaking away from your neck, two fingers slid underneath the fabric. minho rubbed your clit painfully slow, a harsh contrast to the way he was attacking your flesh. he only pulled away when the whole crevice between your jaw and your collar bones were painted a deep purple.

you didn’t even get the chance to complain about how much makeup you’d have to use to cover your neck before he turned you around and pressed your front against a wall. he landed a hard smack on your ass that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “i don’t wanna hear another word from you unless you’re begging, got it?” minho grunted into your ear, grinding his hardness against your clothed pussy. you whined in response, which wasn’t good enough for him. he smacked you again. “i asked you a question.”

“y-yes, got it,” you whimpered, yelping when minho swiftly ripped your panties down your thighs. his fingers slid into your hole that was definitely leaking your wetness, fucking your juices back into you. you moaned out as he thrusted two fingers in and out of you, hooking and splitting them in a rhythm he knew you loved.

“that good?” he hummed, his lips suddenly against the back of your neck. “you know, i don’t even think you know this pussy as well as i do. i don’t think you can cum without me, but here you are, flirting with every cock you see. such a slut.” his pace sped up, his other hand trailing down your front to find your clit.

“were you just trying to make me jealous? you knew this was gonna happen, yeah? you knew if you riled me up enough you’d be getting filled in the back of the club. this is dirty. you’re fucking dirty. dirty fucking whore,” minho spat out as your pussy throbbed around his digits, his words pulling you towards your orgasm. you were reduced to a moaning, blabbering mess in front of him: your cheek pressed up against some wall behind a building, practically naked for anyone’s eyes to see as he absolutely ruined you without stripping off even a piece of his clothing yet. he was right, this was dirty. but you loved every second of it.

“are you gonna cum?” he questioned, knowing very well the answer. you nodded meekly, feeling the pressure in your abdomen at its tightest. “you’re gonna cum? that’s funny,” he laughed out loud before immediately retracting his fingers right as you came, your hole clenching around absolutely nothing as you cried out.

“n-no, no no,” you whined, trying to press back against him in search for something to help you ride out your ruined orgasm. minho’s body swerved away from you, and you could feel his dark eyes just watching you cry out in frustration with an evil grin on his lips. you slid down to your knees, legs too shaken to hold yourself up. you turned around to face minho, your face scrunched up in irritation with tears pricking the corners your eyes. “w-why would you do that??”

“you’re lucky you even got to cum at all,” he barked out. he crouched down, grabbing your chin. he rested his forehead on yours, never once breaking eye contact with an unreadable gaze. “listen to me: we’re going home and you’re gonna make me cum until i tell you we’re done. then maybe i’ll think about letting you cum on my cock, but you’re not getting shit when you act like a stupid whore.”

he dropped your face suddenly, giving you whiplash. he waited for you to nod in understanding before he pressed a small kiss to your temple, momentarily breaking his dominant facade. he stood up and turned away from you, leaving you to collect yourself and sloppily chase after him as he walked towards your car.

as much as you needed a shower, sleep, and to get out of that tight dress, you knew you weren’t gonna get much of anything you wanted when you got home. it was okay though; you knew what you were getting into from the second you returned that bartender’s flirty smile.

a/n: beyond grateful for the likes and feedback on my last two drabbles<33 just felt like putting something short out for u guys, thank u for reading!!:)

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 60

part 1 | part 59 | ao3

cw: reference to canonical minor character death

Max slams the phone down, knocking her forehead against the wall. Sixteen calls in a row and still no answer. “I give up,” she sighs. “You should just go.” “Seriously?” Steve protests. “And just leave you here? Alone? After—?” After all that? He throws his hands out like an umpire calling a safe. “No. No way.” “Look, my mom will be home soon, you can’t—” “—I’m not letting you get hurt—!” “—What are you gonna do? Fight my nightmares for me?”

“Maybe I will,” Steve mutters under his breath, pissed off and replaying the conversation on repeat while he gets ready. Feels like a psycho for doing it; feels certifiably unhinged just going about his evening after everything that happened, putting on a clean shirt and choking himself in a cloud of Farrah Fawcett spray so he can go pick up the sweet-but-stupid girl named Brenda he promised to take to the game tonight; so he can go cheer in the bleachers like he didn’t almost die.

(Or like, very vividly hallucinate his own death, which... Yeah. Doesn’t feel any less horrific.)

But whatever. Max is right. Without El, there’s really nothing to do but wait. Hop’s dead, Bob’s dead, Joyce is thirty hours away. Owens is off the table, too. What’s Steve gonna do? Call the government and tell them to come nuke the boogeyman? He doesn’t have any proof. 

He also doesn’t want to freak Dustin or any of the other kids out without knowing for sure what’s going on and what, if anything, can be done about it, so...

Fuck.

Fuck!

He gets dressed; he goes out. Picks up Brenda and does his best to be nice to her even though she gets on his nerves the moment she gets into his car, and he buys them sodas at the gas station and doesn't say a word when she spills Sprite down the side of his passenger seat.

The school is packed when they show up — the crowd in high spirits, the marching band leading chants. Nancy's reporting from the sidelines, Lucas is laughing with his teammates on the bench, and Steve leads Brenda toward the bleachers and does his best not to think. Not about the graveyard, not Max, not the looming threat of cosmic terrors. Not about the fact that Eddie is somewhere in this building, probably looking all hot and menacing while he leads tonight's campaign. Probably perched on a prop throne drinking Mountain Dew from a painted chalice like a fucking dork; probably making it look sexy, anyway. Tight jeans, legs spread, an air of casual command…

Steve could go find him. He could make everyone else leave; he could get on his knees and crawl between Eddie's legs—

"Does it bother you that we might win the championship, like, right after you graduated?"

Reality comes back like a slap in the face. "Yeah, that's an excellent question, Brenda, thank you so much for bringing that up."

They get settled into their seats, and Steve wishes he were more excited when the ref throws the jump ball, but he mostly just wants to go home. ("You always want to go home," the Robin in his head reminds him, and the Robin in real life throws him a weird look when she catches him snorting to himself about it.) He's just tired. Worn down in his bones, hollowed where he thinks his marrow should be, and he's clinging to normalcy with a sort of sweaty desperation that he’s pretty sure Brenda can smell on him because the date just sucks; it’s so bland, so mutually boring and bored. He spends most of the night mouthing stupid shit at Robin or keeping a sharp eye on the court — anything to ignore his proximity to Eddie; anything to drown out his messed-up head and heart. 

When the game finally ends Brenda gets a ride to a party with some friends. Steve goes back to Dustin’s place and paces a hole into the carpet. Stays up until 3 A.M., humming a Fleetwood Mac song.

In the morning, he tells himself as he drifts into fitful sleep. 

In the morning it’ll be fine. 

In the morning Max will come by the store like she promised, and they’ll keep trying until they get ahold of El, or Owens, or someone, and that someone will know what to do and how to help.

—

In the morning the TV tells him there’s a dead girl in his house.

—

part 61

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[fandomxpreferences]

Fighting About A Funnel Cake

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

TW:none

Summary: You're mad at Rafe, and much to your displeasure, he figures out the real reason.

Word Count:1k

Few things have ever scared Rafe Cameron. He's had guns held to his head, fist-fought his own father, and been in business with people who have the power to make him disappear. He never even flinched. 

The few things that have scared him, were nothing to do with him and everything to do with you and your life together. 

He was struck with deep visceral fear when he found out about your son, James, and down petrified when he found out about your daughter, Eleanor. 

He was drowning in fear driving you to the hospital as contractions ripped through you, and he almost threw up the first time your son got an injury. 

However, nothing elicits terror all the way in his bones as much as that look in your eyes or the fire in your voice when you're angry at him. 

Usually, he knows he did something and gets ahead of the storm. He buys you something nice, plans a date, and prepares an elaborate apology. 

You see it from a mile away, but it usually works. Tonight, however, he's blindsided and has no clue what's gotten you so worked up. It's always worse when he's clueless about his fuck up.

He has no doubt he did something; he screws up all the time without realizing it. But knowing allows him to have a game plan and tailored approach. 

Right now he's floundering. 

"Kids, go to your room. I need to talk to your father." 

There's thinly veiled rage in your voice as you try your best not to show it in front of your children. They stand to leave and Rafe's frantic voice rings out. 

"No, kids stay. Please." 

Your eyes narrow as your seven and nine-year-old falter and look between the two of you. 

"Go." 

They start walking again and Rafe stops them. 

"No, stay. I'll pay you each $50 if you sit back down." 

Your son looks at his sister and they seem to have a silent conversation when you speak through gritted teeth. 

"Go, now.' 

Your daughter starts to leave while your son stays in place and Rafe tries to grab her arm as she passes by. 

"Eleanor, stay!" 

His pleading falls on deaf ears as she beelines for the stairs and he turns to your son that's now moving in the same direction. 

"James, don't go!" 

He watches as they both disappear and calls out after them. 

"Kids, don't leave me!"

He turns back to you with a timid smile and shrinks back when he sees the storm brewing in your usually bright eyes. 

"Hone-" He starts but you cut him off. 

"Don't, Rafe."

His mouth snaps shut and he waits for you to continue. The ball is in your court, it always is. You're the only woman that's ever been able to put him in his place, and while it's the reason he fell for you, it's also the reason he fears for his life sometimes. This is one of those moments. 

Your eyes bore into him for a few moments and you take in the genuinely clueless look on his handsome features. 

"You have no idea why I'm mad, do you?"

His silence is all the answer you need, and you huff. 

"Were you going to tell me you took the kids out of school for a joyride in Charleston?"

The words come down on him like a hammer and his eyes flutter closed. Fuck.

"Don't be mad."

You scoff and cross your arms. 

"I think we both know we're well past that." 

He does know that, but he figures it couldn't hurt to try. 

"They've been begging to go to that amusement park, and our weekends have been so booked up we haven't had the chance. I felt bad, and my dad never did stuff like that with us. I just wanted to make a memory with them." 

You feel yourself deflate a bit at his reasoning, but it doesn't make it okay. 

"I understand that, Rafe. But their education is important. When you do stuff like that, especially behind my back, it makes me look like the fun-sucking parent. We promised when we found out about James that we wouldn't do that."

He nods his head and you feel the anger dissipate at the genuine sorrow in his eyes. 

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

You stand still with your lips pursed for a moment before nodding. It's silent for a few seconds when a smile breaks out on your husband's face. 

"Wait, are you really mad about that? Because we've done stuff like that before. Or are you mad that you missed out and didn't get a funnel cake?" 

The way this man sees right through you gets on your nerves sometimes, and you scramble to hide the fact you've been caught. 

"What? No, of course not. That's ridiculous." 

His smile only grows as he stands and wraps his arms around you. You stare up at him with defiance and he tilts his head to the side like a puppy. 

"Is it?"

You roll your eyes and will yourself not to give in. 

"Yes." 

He nods with a shit-eating grin and lowers his face to nip on your ear. 

"Would you still be mad if I told you we can go back this weekend and you can get all the snacks you want?"

He nuzzles into your neck when he feels your smile on the side of his face before pulling back. 

"Really?"

His heart warms at the way you light up like a little kid at the idea and he nods. 

"Really." 

He sees the moment your walls come down and you return his embrace. 

"Can we play the games too?"

He chuckles and kisses your temple softly. 

"Anything you want." 

The last of the fight leaves you and you surrender to him completely.

"Okay, fine. You're forgiven."

You squeal as he spins you around and loud laughter bubbles from your chest. 

"That's my girl. I love you."

You grin as he sets you back down and nudge his shoulder. 

"I love you too. Even if you do piss me off."

[shanastoryteller]

Star Trek please!! Happy Halloween

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Admiral Archer is unwilling to take his rescission at face value and demands a more complete explanation. To Spock's relief, and the gathered students' disappointment, he's willing to hear it in his private office.

Captain Pike slips in behind them, which gets him an irritated scowl but the admiral allows it. Spock is only marginally surprised by this. Admiral Archer and Captain Pike are known to be on good terms and James Kirk had entered the academy on Captain Pike's recommendation.

"Explain," Admiral Archer demands.

Spock hesitates.

Starfleet is of course aware of the events that took place on Tarsus IV and so they must be equally aware of James Kirk's role in it. While Admiral Archer certainly has the clearance to know the particulars, it does not mean that he does, and Spock is loathe to reveal these particulars, even to someone who could find them out himself. Additionally, Captain Pike does not have the necessary clearance, and while he does not think that James Kirk would allow his presence if he did not wish him to know, or had not already told him, Spock cannot be certain and there is no way for him to ask.

"Commander," Admiral Archer snaps. "Is this a joke to you?"

"No, sir," he answers. He doesn't find any of this funny at all.

James Kirk steps up next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. Spock resists the urge to flinch and shoots him a disapproving look. The contact is not skin on skin, but any casual contact is discouraged. James Kirk is very well aware of Vulcan customs.

Then again, his point of contact for Vulcan culture is Sybok. His brother had been significantly more... affectionate after Tarsus IV. Spock wonders if that's something he picked up from his association with James Kirk.

"It's alright," James Kirk says warmly. "Spock, tell Admiral Archer whatever you want him to know."

He doesn't remove his hand. Human's run hot, their physiology not perfectly calibrated to survive in the deep heat of the desert, but even still James Kirk's hand feels unusually warm.

"I was unaware of Cadet Kirk's background with facing impossible odds when I made my accusation," he says. "Having been made aware of it, my perspective has shifted. Cadet Kirk does not allow rules or the constraints of logic prevent him from doing what he believes must be done. This was what he was demonstrating by bypassing and reprogramming my system."

He can feel James Kirk staring at him but he doesn't take his eyes of Admiral Archer.

Admiral Archer frowns. "You didn't know he was on Tarsus IV with your brother?"

That he already knows is a source of relief. The incredulity is less.

"Spock had exams the time I went to Vulcan," James Kirk says. "Sybok loves an excuse to go off-planet, so we usually meet up on Earth. Spock and I have never met before." He turns to him with a grin that Spock is distinctly uncomfortable having aimed in his direction. "I should have known the second I saw you. You look a lot like your mother."

Being compared to one's mother on Vulcan is a high compliment. Or it's supposed to be. Spock's had those same words hurled at him before, but it was with cruelty, as a way to demean him rather than honor the woman who bore him.

James Kirk say the words easily, exactly as they are intended to be spoken.

"You're driving me to drink," Admiral Archer says.

Spock has no idea how to appropriately respond to that.

"What about me? You're driving me to drink," James Kirk says, "which is driving Bones to as of yet unknown heights of nagging. The stress isn't good for him but he keeps threatening me with hypos when I tell him that. Can't I just be concerned for my friend?"

That is not an appropriate response on top of being incomprehensible.

Admiral Archer rubs his forehead. "Chris."

"Sir," Captain Pike returns, grabs the back of James Kirk's jacket, and hauls him out of there like grabbing a wayward kitten by the scruff of its neck.

Spock stands there, unsure, until Admiral Archer glances up and says, "You too, Commander. I'll consider this matter closed."

He nods, "Thank you, Sir," and steps outside to an empty hall. Captain Pike and James Kirk are nowhere to be seen.

Once he returns to his quarters, he video calls his brother.

He doesn't pick up.

Typical.

[nexusnyx]

keep close | joel miller

Summary: It takes you six months to break. You thought you'd last longer. Tried convincing yourself that everything in your head was because he saved you, not because of real attraction. One night, Joel proves that to be wrong. a/n: I'm nothing if a byproduct of my environment. And my environment right now is a mind palace made only of Pedro's role... so here we go. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. [WC: 3.7k] Warnings: Mostly fluff. A hint of indecent thoughts, so maybe reader discretion is advised? Protective!Joel, strangers to friends, unresolved sexual tension.

masterlist

What lived under your skin the most was Joel's duality.

Registering the range of what he was proved to be a difficult task from the very beginning.

Here he was, the man who saved you. The man who somehow, despite the gritty and cruel ways of existence, managed to keep a kind bone in his body. Kind enough to step in when you were in danger, even if he didn't need to. Life-threatening danger—most people would look away these days. But not him. Not Joel.

Here he was, the man who was kind enough to look you in the eye when he saw you crunched down in a corner, sweating profusely due to the wounds and most likely looking like a rabid or wild animal, and still tried putting some calmness to his voice before asking: "Can you walk? I heard you. 'm gonna help, ok?"

That man. The same one who beat the bastards who were keeping you to a pulp. That man, currently, slept only a couple of feet away from you, with his face half-tucked inside his scarf and jacket, and for the first time in your life, you saw Joel... smiling.

It was the first time you witnessed it.

The book on his lap told you he fell asleep mid-chapter. While the sprain and cuts were minor compared to what they could be, Joel fussed as if they were broken bones. The most worrisome part was your ribs, but those, he cut out fabric from an old t-shirt of his ("they're all old now though, aren't they?") and wrapped your body as firmly as he could.

It made you smile, even if only at your own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

How could this be the same man?

Sometimes, you closed your eyes and saw him like that.

Mid-fight, rage and sadness oozing out of him as if they were radiation, his fists flying so fast it seems impossible to catch up to the act.

When violence is needed, Joel breaks the calm surface and introduces outsiders to the storm within.

It goes calm, storm, drizzle.

He'd never change that.

Now that it was too late, Joel would always be this sea of turbulent waters, often hidden by its vastness.

Joel "I will punch you in the throat" Miller asked you very few questions at first.

Dinner on the day he rescued had been awkward, to say the least.

Not that it mattered in the long run.

What was awkwardness in the face of not looking over your shoulder, and what was feeling left out and intrusive in comparison to the jittery stress of always checking if the gun is loaded?

Nothing.

Having two people close by who seemed alright in the head — a rarity, if there ever was one —trumped it all.

Joel and Ellie were headed West. So were you.

It was logical, only. Or it was, at first.

"I could definitely use an extra pair of hands with this one," Joel admitted. It was the first night walking together after one week stationed at the same place to wait for yours and Ellie's healing—a night of dubious whiskey and traded information.

"She doesn't seem that difficult," you answered, eyeing Ellie's sleeping frame on the other side of camp.

He scoffs. "She isn't." His lips pursed in a thin line. "I just—" his shoulders shrugged. "Think she might get bored with just me."

For someone who had barely said a word for a whole week, it was more than you first perceived him to be. "The world's quite a boring place now," you whispered. Then, shrugged your shoulders just the same. I don't care. "I like it."

"Do you?"

"I do." You remembered how noisy things were. So many nowadays lacked the age for that, but not you. "'s nice hearing nature. And that one," you tilted your chin towards Ellie, "should be happy to be alive."

The truth of that hung in the air.

That first conversation sealed it for you—Joel making an effort to ask things and answer your inquiries surprised you.

"Think we can keep her alive 'till we get to the Fireflies base?" Joel asked you.

You thought it over for a second, and came to a conclusion. "We can definitely try." A purpose other than escaping — all you've ever known — and surviving sounded good to you. "And if that's your mission, probabilities of success rise with another member on the team."

That night, all you got out of him was one eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" It sounded teasing, but he looked so serious saying it. "Well. 'm gonna hope you're as good with that rifle as you are with your probabilities."

To his delight, he quickly discovered you were.

Faster, even.

Joel might have risen an eyebrow at first, but your sentence proved to be true in the next couple of months. There's a team there. The two of you do your best at trying, even through hardships.

When there are no Fireflies, you make Ellie look away from the bloodshed. With no clear plan or direction in sight, you're a helpful extra set of eyes when Joel decides it's best to look for Tommy.

In all of the three months where you, Joel, and Ellie head towards Wyoming, a routine is established, and the days looking after each other make it hard to pretend there's any distance between your little group.

Ellie is fond of your Encyclopedia of Unbelievable Facts.

She's a quick learner, an agile fighter with a wicked sense of humor, and enough cursing to rival you in the games of "unladylike shit and sounding like pirates, honestly," as stated by Joel.

He hid a lot of his amusement in scoffs and sighs, you thought.

Joel is fond of doing perimeter checks, sleeping on his side, and 'peace and quiet'.

It takes you a bit to understand that it's easier to pull conversation from him when Ellie is safe and sound. Tucked in her sleeping bag, showering in the river streams (and swearing incessantly under her breath), eating her food.

Without Ellie around, Joel opens up, bit by bit.

He talks about Tess.

About how close he and Tommy always were.

"I bailed him out of jail, y'know? That night of..." he doesn't say it.

Most of us never do. "Did you?"

He chuckles drily. "I did." He shakes his head, sips his water. "Stupid fucker."

"More like lucky fucker." When Joel turns his head to you with furrowed eyebrows, you elaborate. "If you hadn't gone, no more Tommy."

Joel takes a second before nodding. "Yeah."

"Were you always bailing him out of trouble?"

His face softened for a second. Before him, you embraced the darkness as you did the silence, but now, you wished for better lighting. "Often. Once, he and I were at our dad's house on a winter hunting trip. He hated those at first, but before..."

You started living for the stories.

Joel's presence became warm when he shared.

Vivid, and so fucking tempting.

It was all soft whispers back and forth, until the day he dropped her name.

"Sarah."

You knew the second you heard it—an open wound starts smelling the longer it stays open, and this one carried literal weight to it.

A whiff in the wind, and mourning was all over the air.

Joel left, and in the morning, nothing more is said.

Colorado changes everything.

It gives you the smile.

It comes at a cost, like everything else.

Since there's been no Tommy, you advise and convince Joel to check the Fireflies base here, only to find out they're relocated to Salt Lake City. When you three are coming out of the building with the fresh news hot on your laps, a group tries to ambush and kidnap you three.

As it does in this world without order, hell breaks lose.

Other than hell, a lot more breaks—protocol, jaws, ideas, trust.

Theirs thankfully.

You, Joel, and Ellie make it out alive, but not good.

You find a safehouse in a mountain cabin.

"Friend of Tommy's used to live here. Thank fuck it's still here," said Joel.

"Thank fuck indeed 'cause I don't know how much longer I can—oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel."

"Hey, hey, take it easy, slow down." Joel is just if not more fucked up than you from the fight, but he's still the one holding you up. He whistles—a call for Ellie. "Help with her other side, we can finish lighting up the place afterward. She needs to lie down."

Ellie hooks her frame underneath your left side, and you thank her with your weak and sweaty smile. "And your sure just lying down and resting will heal her rib?"

"It just cracked. Bones heal, El."

"I'm just checking." Ellie always checks. "You might need some penicillin, too. That knife looked ugly."

"I'll get it once we're all cleaned up. I'll go on a run," says Joel.

You're hurt too, you bastard.

"I'm the only one not limping here, can't I go?" asks Ellie.

"No," you and Joel say in unison. "I'll go tomorrow. I'm bruised, but nothing's infected. I think I saw a warehouse down there."

Ellie sighs next to your ear. Then, she mumbles to you right before you're lied down on the bed. "Bet this will be Pittsburg two."

Pittsburg.

The fight. Joel deciding to save you despite your brother almost ruining Ellie's life.

Joel's frame sleeping next to your cot.

"You shouldn't have run off like that."

Not a single request for your apologies, or a comment on the shitshow that happened before you just 'ran off'.

Joel, the same man who saved you from a group of lunatics by bashing one of their member's head against the nearest tree, huffed and puffed before saying, "you saved Ellie's life by shooting your brother. and... i'm sorry about what came after that."

An apology from him.

How was that fair?

"You don't need—to thank me."

"I do."

"...You just saved my life, Joel."

"Well, you saved Ellie's, so consider us even."

That was then.

That was before deciding you were a team. Before heading West, before finding out about Salt Lake, before the attack.

Joel probably needed to rest himself.

Except—

There he is.

The first thing you think upon waking up in the candle-lit room.

Joel slept next to you, almost as if keeping guard.

It stirs the strings in your chest.

It's one thing to be observed by him after he saved you from those three men because you're bruised and traumatized by the whole thing.

It's whole other to know Joel is just as bruised.

Six months have passed since then.

A lot has happened. More than you could compute, sometimes, but less than your heart desired.

All the struggles, the Infected, the long days of walking, and the hard nights of worrying have molded this new thing into its own ecosystem.

This Joel sleeping on an old mattress right next to you lets Ellie take watch because he trusts her abilities and her notion of danger. He knows if you two prefer your 'apocalypse grub' — an Ellie trademark term — all mixed together or separated, if you can be trusted with the bourbon bottle (no), and that your taste in music is "atrocious but expected" (his words, clearly).

This Joel knew you kept your distance for a reason.

He'd seen it in you, months ago.

And yet, there he was.

With the book — your book — in his lap, sitting with his back to the wall and his legs already tucked inside the raggedy blankets you found in one of the cabinets.

Joel's extensive list of injuries had you waking up in a cold sweat, but the same as you, he seemed to recover fast.

In two days, he's wincing less to get up, and comments on his wishes to go look for pharmaceuticals.

That's the night you wake up to him sleeping—both of you could do it, but he insisted on taking turns.

When your eyes open, first, you see the book.

Then, you notice he moved the mattress closer to yours.

They're touching.

The raggedy blankets make them look like a single bed, and the thought feels foreign.

Next, you notice...

Joel is right there.

Sure, he's a few inches away, but... you could touch his legs if you extended your arm. All it would take is a little bit of wiggling to make a pillow out of his thighs, and you know how much more comfortable than what you have underneath you.

His smile is the last thing you see.

Not because you skipped his face—on the contrary, Joel's face is the first thing you see in the morning and the last you see at night.

Maybe that's why.

He never had this.

A gentle, real smile.

You hardly blame him. There are no reasons to smile nowadays, not for long. Not without sadness poisoning the eyes, or without the grin turning into a grimace.

Joel is smiling.

His dream must be good, because his features all softened somehow.

Good gods, he's handsome.

That's why you look so little at his face. The real reason.

Staring at Joel too much can cause you to think of nothing else, and in month one you learned the lesson of eyes wide open or head blown open wide.

Mistakes meant death.

Joel's eyes crinkled as he lifted one of his mouth's corners in the closest thing that could come off as a 'smile', and that meant distraction, which meant an eventual mistake, and so on.

When your gaze searches for the lines left by his crinkles, Joel's eyes are on you.

As serene as the quietude outside, Joel stares down, and in a contrast to the weather howling cold winds outsides, your body says it is morning, and it rises.

The longer he stares, the more it rises.

Your blood pumps harder under his gaze.

Joel knows that. He has to.

Silence with fixed gazes turns the air into a thick, palpable fog.

Why is he staring? It's probably the busted eyebrow. Busted lip. Joel never stares at you, never looks too long, too hard, never looks enough—

"I can almost hear you thinkin'," Joel's voice is a whisper, but it startles you nonetheless. Not in fear.

Once, somewhere, you read something you never forgot. The body, it always betrays itself. It blushes. It trembles.

It was true.

The shiver is involuntary.

Your mother used to say the sound of sirens meant trouble and ever since, you always heard sirens in your head as you panicked. "Was observin' your hair," laugh, look away, know your place. "It's gettin' whiter."

It gets a chuckle. A tight-lipped smile. "I'm gettin' older."

"So you say." Constantly.

The first reminder of why he kept his distance, probably. Of why he had no interest in you. Too young.

"Doesn't it look like it?"

You shrug, hugging the makeshift pillow tighter under your head. "'m not so sure how old people are supposed to look." Definitely not this good, right? This broad. Soft. Strong "Haven't been around many."

Joel points at himself. "Right here."

"You're not old."

His lip twitches. "No?"

"No."

"I'm over my forties."

"That's not old." You don't know why you're arguing. You never argue.

Joel closes the book, then hums. "I remember the world before it turned to ruins and vines."

Maybe it's because he's so damn close. Your fingers itched to touch him countless times before, but usually, there are more counterarguments in your head as to why you shouldn't. "So do I."

The smile returns to his face, but it's the awake and lucid kind—a little sadistic. Sad. "Let me rectify it—I lived in it."

"So did I." Albeit, not much. "Less than you, though." A decade or so more. Almost two.

"Right." Joel takes a deep breath, and the movement quiets you down.

Sometimes, you wished you had just a few years more. Five, or six would suffice. Would he look at you, then?

As the silence goes on, your mind starts with at least three different scenarios where Joel met you under different circumstances.

"Can't sleep anymore?"

There's no shiver this time, but you look up at him again, desperate to see some more of his sleepy eyes and that damned smile.

"Don't know," you whisper.

If he smiles again, you'll count the night as a win. Tuck his happiness somewhere out in the front of your mind to see if it occupies space. If it makes you think less of what he used to be like as a lover.

The tainted thoughts always make you avert your eyes, but this time, you have the benefit of only candle lights, so you let the embarrassment burn you as you keep staring.

Joel is looking at your face the same way. Heavy eyelids, gaze searching.

"Does it hurt anywhere?"

The question makes your brain swim in the lingering pain, but for other reasons.

Every scenario still opened in your mind leads to the same corridor—he placed his big hands on your neck right now to feel your temperature and caressed somewhere in your body to put you to sleep.

Somewhere he could touch the skin.

Through foggy vision you see Joel starting to frown, so you're quick to answer before he worries.

"'m just uncomfortable." True enough. "Anxious."

He nods. "Makes sense." He exhales slowly, placing the book on the floor next to the mattresses. "It'll take a while to calm down from it. It... they came out of nowhere." You nod. He clasps his hands together on his lap. "It could've been a lot worse."

Your group had a rule. "No what ifs about the past."

Joel made your heart jumpstart all over again by almost doing it—he almost smiled. "Right. Sorry."

"We're both in one piece."

"We are." He looked down at you and then, in a gesture that your entire body freezing on the spot, one of Joel's hands leaves his lap, and makes its way to you. It places on top of your head. In administrated, slow moves, it starts petting your hair. Then, Joel speaks. As if you can listen. "None of us needs penicillin..."

His words seem to trail off.

You need a second longer to relax under his touch. When you do, the tension melts so visibly you might as well be snow under the sun.

This time, the silence is thick.

Liquid.

When his hand moves lower, it ends up on your back, rubbing between the shoulder blades, and clearing the line of sight for his eyes again.

That's when he must see it.

The second he started to touch you, your blood become fuel. You could feel it burning hot inside your veins, moving faster than it ever did with you two alone in a room. The only times it's beaten like this before you were either in life-threatening danger, or muffling your sounds behind your hand as your other did quick work between your legs.

Joel sees it.

Even if the illumination comes only from the candles, he has to see it.

The way your lips parted for him.

There's no way your eyes aren't saying as much as the temperature your body is exuding.

Joel keeps on rubbing circles for a few more seconds, but eventually, he whispers. "What?"

It makes you want to cry.

If you answer, he'll probably do the thing. He'll turn you down gently, politely.

You shake your head, swallowing a lump in your throat. "Nothing." Your eyes sting. I want you so badly it makes me a bit crazy sometimes. Instead of that, you settle for whispering. "How d'you feel?"

It takes him a minute to answer. His eyes keep shifting between where his hand is rubbing and your face. "Good. Hurts less. Unfortunately, that means thinking more."

"Dangerous."

"You have no idea," he chuckles.

This time, the silence lasts. You keep on staring, while Joel is happy to continue making your back and hair feel a tingling warmth they never saw before.

"Is this ok?" he asks eventually.

Without noticing, your eyes had closed.

Always a man of few words. "Of course."

He nods to you. "'kay."

Stay here. Don't go anywhere.

Watch out for her.

Keep close.

Those and okay. The words you most heard over these past months.

When your eyes open again, Joel's hand is traveling back to your hair and this time, the silence between you two becomes a cord.

Tension.

His fingers do careful work once they find your strands—goosebumps rise all over your skin and for the first time, you're thankful for wearing long sleeves even to bed.

You know there are words hanging in the air, begging to be said, but...

Insecurity pulls you back.

Even if your eyes keep locked on his for a small amount of forever, you swallow down your wants and needs in fear of being blinded by your own attraction and ending up projecting yours on him.

All Joel does is stare back.

Maybe if you weren't inexperienced. Maybe if you had any previous knowledge of what intimacy and relationships had been like, but this world was not the same as before and things were... harder.

So you burned in silence.

Eventually, you burned for him in the dark of your sub-conscience.

With the ghost of Joel's hand still on your nape, caressing on top of your hair, you dive into a deep slumber, and it's in dreams that everything cracks.

You're not even present in mind to witness his world shift.

Joel, in silence, watched you going under. Watched those eyes staring up at him with so much said, so much written in between your lines. He watched with his heart pounding in his chest loud enough for him to hear.

When you sleep, he observes with reverence.

Trying to push down the feelings curling up inside him.

That's when he hears it.

Spoken through your glued lips at first, then louder, more confidently. Joel's heard your sleeping mumbles before, but this one is the one that breaks him.

"Joel..." soft. Breathless. Dangerously low. And then, "Joel."

That's when Joel realizes it—late at night, alone in the silence.

It changes something in him.

📝 PART TWO →

[telvess]

Reader using pick-up lines on them

chaotic writing for the fun

Hades

“You should be arrested for stealing my heart!”

Pick-up lines, hmm? Alright, fine, but did you have to use the most pathetic, the cheesiest one? Hades is way too elegant for such a poor tasted attempt, he actually feels offended by your words.

Your first impression is horrible. Hades silently judges you. Of course, he is too classy to make any snarky comments, but you can tell by his cold, indifferent look that he has lost all interest in your company. At this point, he is more of a Poseidon than his brother himself.

If you aren’t the type of person who gives up easily and still tries to flirt… just stop. The best you can get from him would be „yes”, „no” or a nod of the head.

Buddha

“You see my friend over there? She want to know if you think I'm cute.”

Buddha stares at you for a long moment, then looks over your shoulder to check out your friend (who you obviously made up), then then returns to you. His expression is blunt, maybe slightly bored. Totally makes you lose the confidence you had a moment ago as you watch him lazily suck a lollipop and pierce you through with his unimpressed glare.

The worst he can say is „no”, right? Well, who would have thought that the enlightened mind of Buddha would prove otherwise. A drawn-out silence makes you uncomfortable and you start to squirm under his gaze, not ready for that unfazed attitude of his…

Once the confidence you felt approached him vanished and you are ready to leave as quickly as possible, Buddha begins to laugh historically. You jump up a little and stare at him confused. It takes him a while to calm down, but when he does, he looks at you seriously again and says „tell your friend I find ya cute” with the most annoying smirk in the entire universe.

Susanoo

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?”

Susanoo watches you with harsh expression, his eyebrows raising as your attitude doesn’t change. You just stand in front of him and wait for his answer. Kinda hot, he has to admit.

He is amused by this shitty attempt, but still has to admit that it takes some balls to say something so crappy to his face. You’re bold, stupid and definitely not in your right mind.

He would definitely address all of the above and then… respond to you with an even cheaper pickup line that he thinks sounds good. He is very proud of himself and oblivious to the point that it matches his intimidating aura.

Susanoo likes a person who isn’t concerned with what everyone think of them, but he is also a person who expects others to submit to his will, which makes him rather difficult person to flirt with, demanding from you to adapt to his confusing preferences.

Nikola

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together.”

BUAHAHAHAHA! HE WOULDN’T GET IT 100%!

He looks at you very confused at first, then he puts to work all of his braincells trying to figure out what you meant. Is this some kind of puzzle? Mystery? It’s clearly impressive, because he struggles to solve it!

Please, stop the brainstorming session before he starts writing his thought on the board and calls members of the science crew asking for the consultations.

After yours short explanation (which probably burnt your soul to the bones with embarrassment) Nikola nods, compliments your clever attempt and… continues what he was doing before this whole masquerade started, oblivious to the fact you just hit on him. So you just stand there and wait for something, but you last barely several dozen seconds before you run away to hide somewhere far, far away.

Much to your surprise, Nikola visits you the next day and invites you for coffee, bluntly.

Hermes

“Can I put my hand on your thigh, where it belongs?”

You sit next to him and get straight to the point. No hesitation, no shame in your eyes. Hermes’ eyes widen for a millisecond as the words leave your lips. Oh? Oh? Oh? He couldn’t help but let his lips stretch into a wide smile, trying to cover his mouth with his hand as a single chuckle escapes his lips.

When he pulls himself together, Hermes lets his playful nature take over. So you thought you were flirty? Hermes is too smart and too cunning to allow you triumph for long. Even if he isn’t interested, he will leave you with a dry mouth and wet panties. Hermes uses the tongue as smoothly as he uses the violin.

Apollo

“I'm sorry, were you talking to me?” He denies, “Well, would you like to?”

My, my, look at you! Approaching the Sun God just like this? Apollo is impressed. In fact, because of how intimidating he is, it's not often that others surprise him with such bravado. Usually they just treat him as something as intangible as the rays of the sun, bathing in his glory, praising him as a celestial being, not as a person. You - on the other hand - are a breath of fresh air.

Once the first shock wears off, his entire figure begins to glow and he gives you the most breathtaking smile you will ever see. From that point on, everything he does comes so naturally that it makes you lose yourself. After making great first impression, you end up like everyone else: Apollo wraps you around his little finger and before you know it, you just sit there and listen to his melodious voice as if you are bewitched. The man is too charming.

Poseidon

“Are you a magician? Because when I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

Peasant. Get out.

You aren’t clever. You aren’t brave. You aren’t impressive. The only person that will disappear is gonna be you, if you don’t remove yourself in the next 3 seconds.

Whoever didn’t stop you from approaching Poseidon like this, definitely doesn’t wish you well.

Kojirō

“Aren't you tired? From running through my mind all day?”

The man gives you surprised look, and moment later he presents you his widest smile. Sasaki has no clue what to say, so he just stands before you, rubbing his neck and blushing like teenage girl. He may stammers out a few words of thanks, but you really shouldn’t hope for more. Kojirō is simply not used to compliments, so even the simplest pick-up line can rock his world.

Please, ask him about swordsmanship, because it’s probably the only thing he can talk about while his brain fries in the skull.

Once Kojirō pulls himself together, he turns out to be exactly as carefree and friendly as you expected. The longer you two interact, the more open and less awkward he becomes.

Ares

“Do you have a name, or can I just call you 'mine'?”

Did you just? Huh???

Ares blinks a few times before his brain process information. He can’t believe you said something like that! Do you even know who you are talking to? He is Ares, the God of War! One of the twelve Gods of Olympus and son of Zeus! He deserves more respect, not some pathetic, human-alike attempt at flirting. He shouts all this in your face, making a big scene and ridiculing you in front of the others gods. For a moment he’s proud of himself, but your teary eyes quickly put him in a less mighty state.

To make things worse, you literally run away. At first Ares tries to ignore the feeling of guilt in his chest, pretending that your reaction was childish and exaggerated, but all he needs is Hermes to make a little remark (“Poor thing, it seems she gave her all to speak up.”) to make Ares’ face red.

He mutters some lame excuse to leave and starts looking for you. He still thinks your attempt was awful, but maybe - just maybe - his heart skips a beat knowing that some pretty miss thinks so highly of him.

Jack

“If music be the food of love, let’s have a feast together.”

Okay, this man isn’t used to hearing compliments, let alone hitting on him. Jack is a little shocked, not because he doesn’t understand you, but because you actually chose him. He doesn’t recognize you, but to his great surprise you seem to know a little about him. After all, you referred to Shakespeare. It couldn't have been an accident, right?

“Pardon me, lady?” is probably the first thing out of Jack's mouth as he’s still processing what you’ve said, but he quickly snaps out of his surprise, “Forgive me, where are my manners?”

Jack introduces himself properly, takes off the hat and bows like a gentleman. He then politely asks for your name, still fluttered that you gave him a chance.

Thor

“Did you do something to my eyes? I can't seem to take them off you.”

“…”

Neither Thor nor Mjölnir budge. Well, this is definitely something new; no one has ever approached Thor this way before, so he has to give you some points for creativity. However, don’t expect anything as Thor isn’t interested in continuing the conversation, so it’s up to you if you are interested in one-sided interaction.

Loki

“Well, here I am! What are your other two wishes?”

Loki stares at you without the slightest sign of interest, twirling strand of hair around his finger. He seems distant, almost like he didn’t hear you. Then he flinches, as if snapped out of trance. His face changes in a split second: a wide, forced smile and squinting eyes screaming at you to evacuate, because you’ve hit on the wrong guy. “Do you have a death wish, woman?” Loki asks, his voice has the sweetest tone that tickles your ears, but his words spew poison…

Loki is capricious. I don’t think it’s a matter of wrong pick-up line, it's rather more a matter of right timing. But even if you choose a bad moment to approach him, he probably wouldn’t hurt you (physically) - he prefers to scare others, toy with their fear than kill them.

On the other hand, if your timing is right, then you would still bounce off the wall, because Loki doesn’t intent to give you a straightforward answer; he would like to play with you, confuse you with the mixed signals he sends. He wants a reaction from you, entertain him. If you are cocky - his goal is to crush your self-confidence. Shy? Prepare for blushing, squealing and stuttering. Ah, you think you’re being funny here? Loki will gladly turn your smile into tears.