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mypoisonedvine · 11 months

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"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙄'𝙢 𝙜𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪." | dark!jackson rippner x reader

(I'm sorry but also no I'm not because wes craven knew exactly what he was doing when he put that line in the movie... he fucking knew...)

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 | after following you for weeks as part of his job, jackson got a few ideas in his head about making you his, but finding out you had a boyfriend meant he needed to change his approach.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 | just under 9k (wow what the actual fuck)

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 | DARK NONCON SMUT (18+ only, don't keep reading if you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to manage your own content consumption please and thank you), knife kink, stalking, forced exhibitionism, forced infidelity, humiliation, vaginal and anal sex (whoops), pain kink/painal, ass to pussy (god this fic is disgusting lmao), hair pulling, brief breeding kink/forced breeding, some angst but really it's just filth

once again, this is a dark character being dark and I don't wanna hear y'all acting brand new about it so no hate please. that said, if you do enjoy this (which I very much hope you do) please consider reblogging to support my work :) comments are especially appreciated and literally make me so so happy!!

Following you was just part of the job— and Jackson did not like his job mixing with his personal life.

The problem was, he hadn’t had much of a personal life lately. No time for it; one or two hook-ups, women he met in bars, but that’s it. And believe it or not, he wanted more than that. Nobody would accuse Jackson of being sentimental— not really an attitude you can have when you organize illegal weapons sales and political assassinations— but he wasn’t made of stone. He wanted to be able to share at least part of his life with someone… or, you know, have a nice set of legs waiting for him at home that he could get between every night. Either, or both, would do.

It was an unfortunate coincidence that his realization that he wanted a girlfriend, or at the very least a plaything of his own, came right around the same time that he started to follow you. He was only doing it to pick up on your habits, figure out a way to get to you so he could blackmail you into being his inside man for his next job. It was supposed to be pretty simple: you were a museum events coordinator in charge of an upcoming lecture series which would feature a speech from a Bolivian presidential candidate who was unfortunately unfriendly to cartels. The American government not only endorsed him, but had him under incredibly tight security. This speaking event was going to be a rare chance to get to him in a public space without metal detectors, and Jackson was being compensated generously to ensure your museum would let a few extra attendees in the back.

But see, the Bolivian presidential election was the last thing on Jackson’s mind as he watched you through your window. His eyes drifted all over you, mesmerized by the way you prepared yourself for your day— styling your hair in the mirror, smoothing the wrinkles in your white button-up, pulling those stockings up your thighs…

He caught himself biting his lip and shook it off, straightening up in the driver’s seat of his car; he knew he should probably leave then, beat you to your work and then wander into the museum to feign interest in a few artifacts before striking up a conversation. But he loitered a bit longer, letting himself imagine how quickly he could rip off those clothes you were so thoughtfully dressing yourself with.

Eventually, he managed to pull his attention away from you and start the car, sighing as he tried to remember his plan of attack for ‘accidentally’ meeting you later today.

The museum might’ve been interesting, if he wasn’t so distracted by you. He was loitering, hands in his pockets, pretending to look at the paintings and artifacts as he waited for you to be near enough to strike up an innocuous conversation with. Early in the day, he saw you give a tour to a couple considering the museum for a wedding location, but kept his distance— it could be a while before you were available and he didn't want you to notice him yet, or he'd have to justify having been in the museum all day by himself.

For the first time since he’d started this job, Jackson felt slightly nervous to speak to you. It was always a big step, going from following someone to actually approaching them, but usually it didn’t give him any specific emotional reaction. Sure, he might feel a certain amount of pressure to do this correctly lest he blow the whole thing by tipping off his target, but he never was worried something would go wrong. This time, though, he felt his heart picking up every time he glanced at you from across the museum, closer to you than he’d ever been. His palms were even a bit clammy when he saw you walk by and realized this was the moment he needed to strike. God, did he really have a crush? How pathetic… but he couldn’t worry about that now, he was about to lose his chance as you brushed by him quickly.

"Miss?" he got your attention, gently touching your shoulder through your shirt as you passed by; you seemed a little startled by the physicality, yes, but not exactly offended.

"Oh, um— can I help you?" you said. He’d heard you speak before, on the wiretap and all, but it was a little different in person like this— and directed at him.

"I was gonna ask you about this sculpture, if you didn't mind," he explained with a gentle smile.

"Oh, well, one of our dosants would love to talk to you about our collection—" you began, starting to look for the closest staff member designated to help him, but he interrupted.

"So, you don't know anything about the stuff here?"

Your attention moved back to him and you smiled to hide your obvious defensiveness. "No, I do," you assured, "I actually am uniquely equipped to tell you about this sculpture: I studied Incan art specifically during my master's program."

He gave his best 'quietly impressed' face and nodded; he knew he could get you with that, you had kind of a know-it-all thing going on, which he happened to find annoyingly attractive. "Alright, then tell me about it," he challenged.

"Well," you sighed, crossing your arms as you looked at the piece, "we got this one a few years ago, it's actually a ceremonial vessel— there’s the llama head and the bird on this side here, those were both animals with a lot of cultural significance…”

As you pointed out elements of the vessel, he leaned in ostensibly to look at where you were gesturing— but it was all an excuse to get close to you, warm you up to him.

“They would’ve used this to pour essentially a form of beer on the ground,” you continued, “in hopes of increasing the strength of the crops and fertility."

"Fascinating," he smiled at you, and you didn’t back away when he stood closer. Like fish in a barrel. "How old is it?"

"It's estimated to be about four or five hundred years old,” you explained.

"Wow," he nodded, looking at the stone carving behind the glass again. "It's interesting to me that humans have always made art— and always been superstitious. Though I have to be honest, if I was living before the invention of birth control I don't think I'd be praying for fertility."

You smirked a little, and he hoped he hadn't gone too far— but it was fun to look at you and know what you must be thinking about. He could only hope that you were thinking about it with him in mind.

“Jackson, by the way,” he introduced himself, “my name’s Jackson. It feels unfair that you’ve gotta wear the nametag and I get to be anonymous.”

You laughed a little, glancing down at the silver nametag on your blazer and then back up at him. “Fair enough; welcome to our museum, Jackson.”

“So, wait,” he tilted his head, “forgive the late reaction here, but— if you’ve got a master’s degree of that caliber, how’d you end up as an event planner?”

“Well, believe it or not, the position does require historical knowledge,” you explained. “I started in curation, though— just moved to events because I was too cooped up in the back offices… I like meeting new people.”

Although Jackson would never consider himself particularly empathetic, he did think he had a decent sense of people— specifically, when they were lying. And that felt like a lie— a white lie, maybe, but still. A lie you were telling yourself most of all, that this was what you wanted to do. And it wasn’t that he really thought you disliked your job, moreso that his two weeks of following you did not indicate you harbored a strong desire to meet new people. You were a total homebody: rejecting offers to go out for drinks or dinner from friends and coworkers, staying up late watching TV instead of hitting the town or something, shrinking into your room every night and staying there until it was time to go to work again. He’d only seen you leave your house once that first weekend, and it was to pick up groceries— that’s it. No hot date, no concerts… almost no social life at all. Either you stayed late at the museum, or you went home.

And he also found that annoyingly attractive. Jackson, after all, was a workaholic himself; he imagined he would go out and do fun things, if he had the time, but right now nothing sounded better than going home and cuddling up with a sweet girl like you, being lazy couch potatoes together, resting after a long day of espionage, cyberterrorism, actual terrorism, and whatever else his work day got him up to.

….Jesus, when did he get so goddamn sentimental?!

“It certainly seems like a unique job,” Jackson replied.

“Every day’s a little different,” you agreed.

“Sounds like my job,” he snorted, “but I don’t work with other people much— I think it would be more entertaining with other people around. Especially when they can tell me everything there is to know about Incan art.”

“Okay, I don’t know everything,” you backpedaled, not seeming to really notice the larger sentiment of his statement, “but I can certainly hold my own. I like to think we all have something we know a little too much about, and could ramble for ages about.”

“Yeah, I hope so, or we’re just weirdos,” he chuckled. “For me it’s probably cocktails. I’m not an alcoholic or anything— I actually don’t drink that much, just socially, you know— but I have this thing where I can guess anybody’s favorite drink order.”

“Oh?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but hold on, I can’t guess yours until I really get the vibes.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yeah— vibes, sure.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, narrowing his eyes as he looked you up and down, biting his lip like he was really thinking about it.

Here was the hard part: he really hadn’t seen you go out for drinks this whole time, so he was actually going to have to guess. Of course, the fun part of this game was not actually getting it right— if anything, it worked better when he got corrected. All he really needed was to get you alone long enough to tell you who he really was, what he needed from you, and how he was going to motivate you to do it… but if he could actually seduce you first, that would be a hell of a bonus.

“I’m thinking something a little sweet, not too fruity though,” he thought aloud, “something classic— you have an old soul, I think.”

You seemed to be a little surprised by that analysis, but he figured that meant he was mostly right.

“Your cocktail of choice is, obviously, a sidecar,” he announced.

For a second, he thought he might have got it from the way you smiled, but then you started to laugh. “You were on the right track,” you admitted.

“Damn,” he snapped his fingers in playful frustration. After a pause, he realized, “you’re not gonna tell me?”

“I figured I’d give you another guess,” you explained.

“Or,” Jackson countered, “I could take you out tonight, and you could show me yourself. Your drink order, I mean.”

Alright, that was forward, but he figured he’d been doing well so far. Instead, though, you tensed up a bit, causing Jackson to knit his eyebrows together for a moment. “I would, really, but, I have plans tonight… with my boyfriend,” you said.

He swallowed behind a barely-suppressed frown. Following you for all this time and he hadn’t noticed any boyfriend; were you lying just to get him to back off? You’d seemed so flattered before. “Oh?” Jackson tried to get out in his most neutral voice. “That’s great— is he taking you somewhere nice?

“Even better,” you blinked quickly, a shy smile lifting your face. “He works here at the museum, but he’s been gone almost an entire month to pick up some artifacts from around Eastern Europe… hasn’t even been able to use a phone out there. So he’s promised to come over and give me a first look at everything he got, and apparently he’s brought something just for me, so…”

“That’s sweet,” Jackson replied, willing his nostrils not to twitch. “Nice to know he was thinking of you all the way over there. I travel a lot for my work, actually, and it’s… hard to find somebody loyal these days.”

You nodded in agreement, sighing slightly. “Yeah, it is.”

“I mean, gone for a month, no communication, no reminders of you— just out there surrounded by opportunities and nothing keeping him from them,” Jackson went on. “That’s a lot to get through without at least one drunken encounter.”

You furrowed your brow, looking at him with a sort of grimace. “I… I guess,” you mumbled in reply. “I do have a lot of work to get done so I think I’ll just let you explore,” you decided.

“What if I have more questions about the pieces?” he asked.

“Try reading the little plaque underneath it,” you suggested flatly, already turning and walking away.

Jackson watched to leave for a second before scoffing to himself. Bitch. But it didn’t make a difference anyways: one way or another, he was going to get to you— for the sake of the job, of course. Although this boyfriend character was certainly a spanner in the works of his secondary plan to get you in bed, Jackson had to admit that he was ultimately an advantage for his actual purpose with you: an attachment, something he could exploit to get what he wanted. Do what I say, or he gets hurt.

Of course, he knew he should use that to make you be his inside man for that stupid lecture series— he wasn’t going to get the second half of his payoff until the cartel had their chance to make an example out of the visiting politician. But, as a small smile crept over his face while he walked out of the museum, he realized that he could use his leverage for so much more than that.

The door was unlocked when you got home; beaming, you realized it meant that your boyfriend beat you here, and was likely waiting for you just around the corner.

“Babe?” you called out, shutting the door behind you and shirking your purse and blazer to set down on the wooden credenza.

And yes, he was waiting for you around the corner alright, but you gasped in shock and felt your stomach sink when you saw him. He was bound to a chair with zipties, restrained at his wrists and ankles with tape over his mouth, looking a bit roughed up and absolutely terrified.

“Oh my god!” you gasped, running to him, but he oddly seemed to pull away from you as much as he could when you tried to break one of the ties. “What the fuck, what’s— oh my god, are you—?” you rushed, not even knowing where to start and just focusing on freeing him. But he just kept letting out muffled grunts and shaking his head— like he didn’t want you to keep going. Of course, you’d been so shocked by it that you hadn’t even considered why he looked so scared, why he seemed to want you to get away from him: whoever did this was still in the house.

It seemed obvious in retrospect, but it was too late now; you screamed when someone grabbed you, but the sound was muted by a hand over your mouth. “Shh,” a voice beside your ear soothed as a blade pressed to your neck. “Nobody’s going to get hurt if you behave.”

Your boyfriend hung his head defeatedly, and you thought you heard the sound of him crying though it was hard to tell.

“You missed him quite a lot, didn’t you?” the man asked, and you wrinkled your brows together as you wondered how he could’ve known that he was gone for a while. “Left you all alone here, poor thing— probably got all worked up, lonely, needy… like three nights ago, when I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself."

Your face burned with humiliation— not even that he saw you doing that, really, but just knowing he'd been watching you for god-knows how long. That made you feel more violated than anything.

“Wanted to help you so bad,” he purred, “but I had to wait. I’m not waiting anymore— you’ve got me feeling pretty fucking impatient these days.”

You kept thinking about what you could do to get him away from you— his feet were just behind yours, you could stomp on his shoe and hope it hurt enough to distract him, or maybe you could wrench your elbow back into his side— but with the knife at your throat, you were afraid that he’d be faster than you if you tried anything. “Please just— don’t hurt me, please,” you begged, whimpering a little, not sure what else to say at a time like this.

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, “you sound so sweet when you’re scared.”

It was the way he said that word: sweet. It reminded you of before, something you’d done your best to forget about all day. Something a little sweet, not too fruity— that weird guy at the museum, he’d said it just like that. “Oh my god,” you breathed, “it’s— it’s you.”

“You remember my name, don’t you?” he smiled.

“Jackson,” you recalled, “you— oh my god—”

“I’m sure you’re a little relieved,” he chuckled, addressing your boyfriend with a grin as you turned your head enough to look up at his semi-familiar face. “She was so into me when we met today at the museum,” Jackson informed him proudly. “You wanted me to fuck you then, didn’t you, baby?”

“No I fucking di—” you began to deny with a sneer, but he quieted you with a finger over your mouth— of course, a finger from the hand still holding the knife, to remind you exactly why you should stop talking.

“Now, try anything, I might just have to hurt you— or, better yet, your shitstain boyfriend over there,” Jackson warned. “I’m just waiting for an excuse to break a few of his fingers. Don’t give me one.”

Swallowing, you shut your eyes for a longer moment— you couldn’t believe this was actually happening, like one of those horrific news articles you read before bed just to torture yourself. Like one of those horror movies guys think are campy and fun but give you the most awful sick feeling because that could really happen. And now it was really happening, and your first thought was somehow to wonder what you did wrong to let this happen.

“So, are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked, tilting his head down to look at you questioningly.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly, and he snarled with frustration.

“No, baby, say it like I said it,” he insisted, his tone a warning not to test him again.

“I’m gonna be… I’m gonna be a good girl…” you choked out.

“Whose good girl?” he taunted, and you groaned as you shut your eyes, feeling him pull you closer to him and press his face close to yours.

“Yours! Your good girl,” you spat out, breath picking up as you heard him purr against your cheek. “Jackson— please, you don’t… you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.”

You shivered as the knife pressed against you again and moved from your neck down to your shirt, gently slicing off the top button and exposing a little more of your chest. “Mm, but I want to,” he explained, “wanted you since I first saw you.”

You hated the realization that he likely first saw you quite some time ago, before you ever knew he existed, and that he’d been waiting for this ever since then.

“I think it turns you on, knowing I can do whatever I want to you,” he presumed, cutting off a second button from your shirt.

“Please just go,” you begged, starting to properly cry as his teeth grazed your neck. “You’re right— you can do whatever you want. I can’t stop you. Isn’t that what you wanted to prove? Just… just don’t make me—”

“Make you?” he repeated. “No, no— you wanted me. I could tell. Only thing stopping you was him.”

He pointed towards your boyfriend with the knife in his hand, who looked devastated and horrified to say the least.

“You could do better, by the way,” Jackson informed you. “You should be with somebody who can really treat you right.”

Another button fell to the floor; your bra was visible now, baby pink lace, and your nipples hardened from the cool air on your skin— that, and the way Jackson’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck.

“Are you getting wet for me, baby?” he whispered to you as his knife trailed delicately over your skin, tracing the curve of your breasts. “Think it’s time for me to finally give you what you need?”

You took a deep, but shaky, breath as you tried to put on a brave face and brace for what was to come. “My… my bedroom is upstairs,” you whispered, and Jackson laughed in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Oh, eager already,” he taunted.

“I just wanna get this over with,” you insisted.

“Sure,” he said facetiously with a mischievous smirk and a wink to match; you felt like you were gonna be sick. “But bedrooms are a little, you know… basic? That’s probably what you’re used to, real traditional stuff: missionary, in the bed, in the dark, for a few minutes on weekends only. That’s the vibe I’m getting, at least. You’re not used to being with somebody romantic— you know, spontaneous.”

He turned you around to face him, making you yelp a little as he spoke by your ear.

“Somebody who just has to have you; right here, right now,” he cooed, running his tongue along the outside of your ear before suddenly kissing roughly along your neck.

“N-no, please,” you begged, imagining the humiliation you were in store for if he really did fuck you on your living room floor in front of the man you loved. “Please, I— I said I’ll be good for you, just— take me to my room, please.”

"No, baby,” Jackson purred as he held your chin, “let’s show your little boyfriend here what you look like when a real man fucks you, huh?"

Whining, you jerked your arms forward to try to break away, but it only ensured the bruises his fingers would leave on your skin.

A second later, you were shoved to the ground, and he was on top of you wearing a wide grin. You could hear your boyfriend kicking and screaming in the corner, but your attention was more focused on Jackson starting to open his belt.

"Fuck! Get the fuck off of me!" you yelped, kicking and shoving as hard as you could and finding each one more helpless than the last. "You— you fucking piece of shit!"

He smacked you across the face only to pull it back harshly by the jaw, glaring into your eyes. "Better be careful with that dirty mouth," he warned, shoving two fingers between your lips until you gagged on them. "Don't need to wash that out with soap, do we?"

As you choked, you shook your head, hoping it would be enough of an apology to get you some air.

"How about come?" he joked, making you gag for more than one reason, and he laughed at the tears that rolled down your temples.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and reached down to his fly again, letting out a small satisfied sigh as he freed himself. You sobbed a little when you accidentally caught a glimpse of his erection in his hand; he grunted when you tried to push him off again, and responded by grabbing both your wrists and pinning them down above your head. He hummed as he stroked himself a bit, looking down at you trapped under him.

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me,” he recalled, chuckling when you bit your shaking lip. “You sure you don’t need me to hurt Romeo over there, give you a little motivation?”

You shook your head. “No— I’m sorry, I’ll do what you say. Don’t hurt him.”

“Open your legs,” he ordered.

Hesitantly, you lifted your legs up a bit and spread them, cringing at the happy groan you heard when your skirt started to roll up your thighs.

“Don’t move your hands,” he warned before he let go of them, leaning back and looking down at you: spread out under him, his for the taking.

He snapped off the last few buttons of your shirt, humming when your torso was exposed further. His hand started at your neck and ran down to grope your chest through the lacy bra; he purred, pinching your hardened nipples until you were forced to react.

Pulling it down, he took a quick breath at the sight of your bare tits— his chest rising and falling— and he set his knife aside to knead them both with a hum. "Been thinking about these for a while…" he mumbled. You gasped when he leaned down and captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling with a wide mouth as you scrunched your nose and looked away. Still, it made your insides pulse when he swirled his tongue around, only to pop off a second later and move to the other. "Damn," he breathed, leaning back again to move his attention lower.

Starting at your knees, he rubbed your legs carefully, moving a little higher every time until he was gripping needily at your thighs; his own breathing was a little faster as he did it.

You hadn't exactly imagined how this would be, obviously, but you still were surprised at how long he was taking. Was he just trying to build up the anticipation to scare you? Or was it for his own benefit?

He was gentle for just a few seconds before suddenly flaring his nostrils and ripping your stockings open. Through the new hole in the fabric, he rubbed your panties and you bit down on your tongue to avoid crying any harder.

“Fuck,” he breathed, then laughed, as he pet your cunt through the lace— they matched your bra, of course. Your boyfriend was coming back from a long trip, you’d wanted to do something nice for him… that idea backfired completely. “All dressed up, matching and everything… you’re too good to me, babydoll.”

You were about to correct him, make sure both of them knew that this had nothing to do with Jackson, but your open mouth only let out a gasp when Jackson pulled your panties aside to touch you.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned when he slid two fingers between your lips. “So wet. Fuck. When’d you get like that, huh? Hmm, it was the knife, wasn’t it?”

He looked over at your boyfriend and gave him a terribly smug look while he slipped a finger inside your hole.

“Women like a sense of danger,” he informed the tied man flatly. “But… I think your girl likes it even more than most.”

You flexed on his finger, turning his attention back to you, and he licked his lips as he slipped another finger in until you winced.

“That’s too much for you already, baby?” he noticed. “Fuck, I might break you…”

He curled the fingers inside you, clearly trying to get you warmed up for him, and you shut your eyes tight in hopes your face wouldn’t show any reaction. There was a sense of relief when he stopped and pulled his fingers out, but it didn’t last long since the next thing he did was grab your jaw and press those fingers to your lips.

“Ever tasted yourself before?” he asked, and you tried to turn your face away but it was useless. “Come on, it’s good, I’ll show you.”

He licked his own fingers first, moaning in satisfaction as he did it.

“Fuck, it’s sweet,” he promised. “Now you try it.”

This time, when he put his fingers to your mouth, you opened it and let him push them inside. He slid them over your tongue, watching you with dark eyes.

“Suck them,” he instructed you quietly, almost a whisper, and though your cheeks burned you wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks. “Mm, that’s it— see, you can be a good girl. Knew you could.”

You were panting a little, for some reason, when he took his fingers away, leaving your mouth slack and wet. He brought his hands down to his fly to finish freeing his cock, and you looked up, to the side, basically anywhere but at… that.

“Look at it,” he encouraged you, and you shook your head. “Don’t you wanna see it before I put it inside you?”

You figured you could get him to shut up if you just did it, so you went ahead and took a glance down at his erection in his hand, only for a terrified whimper to catch in your throat.

“I can tell what you’re thinking,” he grinned. “Trying to remember the last time you had a dick this big, right?”

Trying to figure out how that’s supposed to fit.

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he demanded suddenly, sitting back enough to get you room to do it.

You hesitated, and he suddenly looked angry as he grabbed your wrist and yanked you up a bit until you yelped.

“Go on! Hands and fucking knees, did I stutter?” he ordered, louder.

You were a little sore and weak all over, and it became even more apparent when you awkwardly got up off the floor; you avoided your boyfriend’s gaze as you took the position, opting to just stare down at the rug under you instead, suddenly fascinated by every detail in hopes it could somehow distract you from this. From the feeling of him delicately pushing your skirt up over your ass and his hands all over you, from the way he pushed your knees apart with his own and settled between them, from the sick drop in your stomach as his cock’s head rubbed over your clit and lined up to your opening. Yes, it sure was a riveting pattern on this rug alright…

But, of course, Jackson wouldn’t let you get through this that easily. “Beg for it,” you heard his firm voice from behind you.

“Jackson, come on, I—” you choked, “I— just—”

“It’s okay, babydoll, go on…” he egged you on, as if shyness was the reason you were hesitating.

“Please…” you began, shutting your eyes tightly. “Please fuck me.”

You tried not to react too much when he pushed inside, but it was big, and he himself let out a husky groan at the feeling as he filled you. You managed to stay silent at first, but a little squeak came out halfway through, and it turned into a loud sigh when he was all the way inside. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping his head back with a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s tight. Guess that’s what happens when nobody’s here to treat you right— and I don’t just mean because he was out of town. I can tell nobody’s given you what you need in a long time…”

Before you could wonder what could possibly make him capable of telling that, he took a tight hold of your hips and began to fuck you— slower than you expected, but not quite delicate.

Shaking, you tried to keep yourself propped up on your wobbly arms as he set his pace, and tried to keep yourself quiet while he did this. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to think you liked this.

Still, you couldn’t fight the whimper that came when he suddenly slammed himself into you, rougher than before; your thighs even quivered for a moment. “Fuck,” you choked out, under your breath, and he hummed back at you as he sped up a little.

“Not too deep, is it?” he asked, though it didn’t seem like he was actually concerned for your well-being (obviously). “Not used to anything this big, huh?”

You were afraid he was going to force you to answer that, but instead he surprised you by putting a hand between your shoulder blades and shoving you down; you gasped and grunted when your chest pressed to the floor, your face thankfully turned to the side against the rug— but unfortunately, it meant you were looking right at your boyfriend. You had to shut your eyes, too ashamed that he was seeing you like this.

“There, you like that better?” he purred as he held your hips up against his, but the new angle only forced him deeper until you were choking on nothing with every thrust. Your hands searched wildly along the floor for something to hold onto, but eventually just had to settle for gripping the rug for dear life. “Mm, fuck, s’good— you feel so fucking good, baby…”

The compliment sent an unwilling shiver up your spine, and your back arched even deeper than he’d forced it to. It was too much, it was all far too much, but your toes were curling inside your (ruined) pantyhose and you bit down on your lip without thinking about it.

“Oh, see how much she likes it?” Jackson grunted, apparently still addressing the captive boyfriend in the chair— you really wished he would just leave him out of this. “Fuck, what a pretty little whore…”

Not only could he switch from sickly-sweet to rageful in a moment, but you realized that he could somehow seem to be both at once. Still spitting out praises and insults all at one, he fucked you rougher and meaner as your moans— pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell anymore and you didn’t want to— grew louder. He kept getting more aggressive— harder and faster, harder and faster— until you were all but screaming and you couldn’t keep your hips up anymore. Each thrust pushed you down until you were flat against the floor, but he kept fucking you and holding the back of your neck. One thrust seemed to go too deep suddenly, and you yelped as you reached back to try to grab his thigh out of instinct.

“Shh, shh, s’okay, baby,” he assured with a hiss. “Fuck.”

But he kept doing it, kept fucking you deep (if a little slower) as you whined and shook under him. “Jackson,” you heard yourself breathe, “please— I-I can’t—”

“God,” he growled, “say my name again. That’s so hot.”

You hadn’t meant it like that, but now it was too late. “N-no,” you tried to deny, but that didn’t last long as he grabbed you by the hair and forced your head up, laying over you enough to speak right against your ear.

“Say. My fucking. Name,” he spat.

“Jackson,” you choked out against the strain on your throat from having your neck cranked back like this. “Jackson, f-fuck—”

He groaned and dropped your head, propping himself up so he could fuck you faster again; his gaze moved down to where his body filled yours, where each thrust made your ass bounce under torn pantyhose…

As he slowed down for a moment, panting, you wondered if maybe it was almost over— maybe it already was, but that seemed too good to be true. He was still holding you down just as hard, anyway; he put his whole weight on your arms as he turned to look at your boyfriend tied up in the chair.

"Does she do anal?" Jackson asked him point-blank.

Your struggle renewed as you screamed angrily— but you couldn't keep it up, it fell into a helpless sob a moment later. Your boyfriend didn't give much of an answer— couldn't, really, on account of the duct tape— just kicked around against his restraints again.

Jackson shrugged as he looked down at you crying under him. "Well, you do now," he decided, pulling out and spitting into his hand.

You’d never felt so helpless, laying there on the floor while he pushed his fat tip up to your puckered hole. “Please,” you begged for mercy, but you didn’t even have the energy to lift your head from the rug and it was all muffled and pathetic.

“It’s really not that bad,” he insisted as he started to press forward, but your whole body jumped and you let out a loud whine when his head slipped inside with a sort of pop— all that pressure giving way to a sick, stinging stretch.

“Oh my god oh my god,” you whimpered, feeling goosebumps break out all over your body from the sharp pain. “I can’t— please, I really can’t—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna go real slow,” he promised under his breath, moaning loudly as he pushed in a little deeper. Laying on the floor like this, there was really nowhere for you to go, no way to run from the feeling. “Just breathe, long slow breaths— focus on staying relaxed.”

Frustratingly, it was actually pretty good advice; it certainly didn’t make it painless, but when you shut your eyes and thought as much about breathing and as little about anything else as you could, it helped.

“See? Just relax, babydoll,” he whispered, but relaxing could only do so much as he slid the rest of the way in and you felt like your whole body might go numb. Your eyes rolled back, your insides (all of them, it seemed) flexed, your heart was pounding… you felt sick, and disgusting, and used.

He breathed heavy as he laid his weight on top of you, slipping an arm under you to wrap around your shoulders and neck.

"Fuck, that's a tight fuckin' ass," he grunted, laughing a little as he glanced at your boyfriend, slowly beginning to move again. "This one's got you spoiled, huh? How'd a loser like you get your hands on a perfect fucktoy like this?"

He bit down on the shell of your ear as he picked up his pace quickly— way too quickly— and soon he was growling each time he slammed his hips against your ass. You couldn’t even tell what noises you were making anymore…

"But you're gonna be mine now," he whispered to you. "Oh fuck, s'all gonna be mine. Gonna fill these pretty holes of yours every fuckin' day."

You dropped your head down defeatedly onto the floor, though shocks of pain were still making your fingers and toes curl while he roughly fucked your other hole.

“Yeah, fuck, you fuckin’ like it,” he snarled as he fucked you faster. “Needy little slut. You like getting all your holes filled, huh?”

You simply bit down on your lip, not realizing it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Answer me," he insisted.

"I-I don't like it," you said— quietly, because if you spoke any louder it would've been mostly unintelligible with sobs.

"Huh?" he taunted, leaning in closer.

"It hurts, Jackson," you choked, pleading.

“No?” he noticed, feigning shock with heavy sarcasm in his tone. “Are you saying you don’t like it up the ass?”

“Please, please,” you choked out, “fuckin’ hurts— god, please, hurts—”

"You don't like it, sweetheart?" he cooed at you, cloying condescension dripping from every word as he roughly pet the hair out of your face. You whined and shook your head. "Well, I could always put it back in your cunt, would that make you feel better?"

He chuckled at your grimace of disgust.

"Is that too dirty for you?" he wondered, clicking his tongue. "Aw, it's okay, just gonna give you what you wanted— hold still, baby."

You winced when he pulled out of your ass, only to whine as he slid back into your cunt; you hid your face, feeling how absurdly warm it had become from all this, and tried not to think about how dehumanizing what he had just done to you was.

He picked his pace right back up when he entered you, letting out a deep groan of satisfaction. "Oh my god you're fucking dripping, is that from being fucked in your little ass?" he noticed. "Jesus Christ, wettest fucking pussy I ever had... somebody likes it dirty, hm?"

You wanted to deny it, but he wasn’t lying about your physical reaction; you were soaking, and you didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like you found much pleasure in that experience physically, it was rather agonizing— and then there was the thought of it, of knowing you’d been used that way, and it just made you feel dizzy and weird. Regardless, it was true… your body responded even when your mind was running in circles convincing itself there was nothing enjoyable about this.

“Such a pretty thing,” Jackson purred at you as he sped up again, shaking your whole body against the floor— that arm around your shoulders was the only thing keeping you from being pushed away, and he held you tightly like he really was worried you’d get away somehow, even though you’d stopped resisting quite a while ago.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore— except that you were still a little sore, and he was holding you too tight and his weight made it hard to breathe, and you were probably going to get rug burn, and you felt disgusting. But in a literal sense, it hurt less.

“Think I need to turn you over and get a good look at that pretty face,” he decided, pulling out of you and rolling you onto your back. Maybe it was just because you knew it was only for a moment, but being empty wasn’t as much of a relief as you expected. You were pretty much limp by this point, letting him turn you over and simply looking up at him blankly. “Oh,” he said as he smiled proudly, “look how fucked out you look— and I’m not even done with you yet.”

Lifting your legs and pressing them against your chest, he slid back in until he was deeper than you thought possible, and you gasped and shivered helplessly. “F-fuck, wait—“

He started to fuck into you quickly, and you nearly screamed, reaching down to try to hold his thigh or push him back or something to keep him from going so far inside you, but nothing deterred him. For how drained you were a moment ago, the shock of this gave you renewed energy, and you hated feeling your walls bear down on him in sick, overwhelming pleasure. “Oh god,” he moaned, “so fucking good.”

As hard as you were trying not to be loud, your efforts were lost when he reached down and roughly rubbed at your swollen clit; again, you tried to reach to stop him, holding onto his wrist and pushing his hand away with all your strength, but he bested you easily and kept going. “Fuck!” you screamed. “Please, please— it’s too much, I—”

“It’s okay, baby,” he soothed, watching proudly as your back arched and your head tilted back with a gasp.

You hadn’t even realized you were building to an orgasm— you would’ve sworn you weren’t, before, but now you felt all sensitive and sticky, and his thumb on your clit was relentless, and the shivers that had been running all over you all evening were turning into hard, heavy jolts of— of something. Something you’d been holding back longer than you realized. Something you hadn’t felt in much, much longer than three weeks.

“It’s okay,” he kept encouraging you with a proud grin that turned into a growl through his teeth as he fucked you harder. “Show him what it looks like when you’re not faking it, babydoll. Show him who you really belong to now.”

“Please,” you cried, the word barely spoken and more just a shape you made around your cries. If he didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t be able to, either; you were spasming uncontrollably, inside and out, it was just getting worse and worse (or better and better, depending on how you looked at it).

It felt fucking good. You would die before you admitted it, but you didn’t have to— it was obvious. And it was overtaking everything now, even your shame, until for one impossible moment, you were completely shameless. You weren’t sure you had ever felt quite like that before— not just physically, but spiritually. Shameless. Even though all you’d felt until now was ashamed. “Good girl,” Jackson praised you, though it was sort of lost on you as you were coming down from a high that hit you hard enough to not even feel real until it was nearly over.

It was like time had slowed down, and then snapped back to superspeed, to hyperreality, when he finally pulled his hand away and let you have a small reprieve.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, oh my god," he gasped, his voice getting oddly high-pitched as he said it. "Want me to come inside, babydoll, or paint that pretty face?"

“Not… not inside,” you warned, just conscious enough to remember that.

“Mm? Why not?” he smirked.

You were still blinking away the blurriness in your vision, panting, trying to process all that you’d just felt— so you really didn’t have any energy for stupid questions like that. “What?” you just asked groggily. “Why… why do you think?!”

He just laughed briefly— more like a hum— and kept going. Of course, you should’ve known he’d do it once he realized your boyfriend didn’t; but wasn’t it enough that you and your boyfriend used condoms and Jackson had already gone past that?

“Just— just don’t,” you begged again, shut up with a firm hand over your mouth suddenly as he grunted lowly above you with each thrust.

“Fuck,” he said, a sort of warning though it wasn’t specific. “Fuck!”

He bit his lip when it happened; you shut your eyes, not wanting to see his face all slack and flushed like that with his hair falling forward and his neck and jaw flexing. But closing your eyes only made the feeling inside you more undeniable: the rush of warmth, the flexing against your walls as he pushed himself in as deep as he could. You whimpered a little, though you weren’t sure it was audible to anyone but yourself, and Jackson sighed as he emptied himself into you.

He took his hand away with a deep breath, and all you did was let your mouth fall open and your eyes blink numbly— what else was there to do?

As he caught his breath, he laughed a little, very softly; he put his hands on the floor beside your head, propping himself up but letting his head hang down loosely for a second— he was still smiling.

“You’re… you’re really something else, you know that, babydoll?” he informed you.

You didn’t say anything, and he sighed again just before he pulled out— you both winced, for different reasons, and he took a moment to hold your legs open so he could look at what he’d done to you; you felt filthy and exposed like that, but you were too weak to try to stop him or even to close your legs.

“Now that’s just beautiful,” he decided in reaction to whatever he saw; you didn’t want to picture it, how stretched out and used up you must look, but you could feel his come oozing out, running down.

Some of the numbness was already wearing off, at least physically, and you were beginning to realize how purely un-ergonomic it was to get fucked on the floor. Your back and shoulders were sore, your legs were tight when you finally got to lay them down again after being held up for so long… you tried not to imagine how long you’d be feeling the effects of this, wearing bruises and feeling knots and having to know exactly where they came from.

“Come on,” he mumbled as he lifted up your limp upper body, pulling you closer to him. He held your face for a second, petting your cheek which was still a bit clammy with sweat. “Kiss me,” he demanded, though he said it somewhat softly; you didn’t actually sit up and do it for him, but you let him press his lips to yours and you tried your best to half-heartedly mirror his movements as he did it.

He held your head and neck more firmly and slid his tongue into the kiss, making you whimper a little but that was the end of your protest. You thought it was a little strange that he wanted to kiss you now, but maybe it was just a matter of claiming you in the final way since he’d pretty much covered all the others.

When he broke away, he brushed his thumb over your cheek and smiled at you sweetly.

It’s over, you told yourself, hoping to feel more relieved. It’s over, he’s finally done with you. You did it. It’s over. But as those words repeated in your mind, you only felt emptier than ever.

“Look at your boy over there,” Jackson mumbled beside your ear, a smirk on his lips as he shook you a bit with the arm around you. “You see it, don’t you? He looks different now.”

You dared to glance at your captive boyfriend, who you realized you hadn’t heard muffled protests from in quite some time. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, but dark, too; his stare was heavy and piercing. You suddenly felt sick.

“He looks at you different now.”

You bit down on your lip as it started to shake; you felt worse than ever with him looking at you like that. Things hadn’t been perfect before he left— nothing’s ever perfect— but they were good, and easy, and now you felt like he hated you. But what had you done wrong? All you’d done was try to keep him unharmed by appeasing this awful, horrible person…

Jackson had already been speaking quietly, but he dropped his voice down to whisper as he rubbed your shoulder. “I don’t think he’ll look at you the same way ever again,” he posited, and you swallowed as your stomach dropped.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” you whispered under your breath.

“He’s never seen you like that before,” Jackson explained, “and he understands now that he can’t do for you what I can.”

Jackson brought his hand to his own chest as he said that, but then reached up to wipe up another tear that rolled down your cheek. “Please,” you said, looking at your boyfriend though he wouldn’t meet your gaze, “don’t— don’t think that I— it’s not my fault! I didn’t want this to happen!”

“Shh, you don’t have to lie anymore,” Jackson cooed at you, “we’ve all seen the truth now, it’s alright.”

You were exhausted, you were devastated, you were too overwhelmed to even feel terrified anymore; you dropped your head onto Jackson’s shoulder defeatedly. After all you’d been through tonight, you were starting to lose track of what was real anymore.

He let you cry quietly against him for a while, petting your head, until finally breaking the silence. “Now, the thing is, there’s actually just… one more thing I need you to do for me,” he admitted, and you started to cry harder again.

“Please— please, I did everything you asked,” you sputtered out through your tears, “you took. Everything. From me.”

“Hold on, that’s not true,” he frowned, “you’ve still got your cuck boyfriend over there, even if he’s not quite what he used to be— you still love him, don’t you? Can’t help that?”

“O-of course I do,” you insisted, feeling oddly guilty as you said it.

“So, you don’t want me to hurt him?”

Even if this was the end— even if he would hold what was done to you against you, which would break your heart— you couldn’t have that on your conscience. You shook your head.

“I didn’t think so,” Jackson nodded, “you’re too sweet for that. I won’t hurt him, and I’ll let him go, if you promise to do what I ask you to.”

“What more… what more could you possibly want…” you breathed, shaking your head, trying not to imagine what else there was for him to do to you.

“Something a lot less fun than what I wanted before,” he smirked. “What I need from you now is purely work-related.”

You wrinkled your brows together with a sniffle as you began to slowly compose yourself. “Work…?”

“Let me tell you a little bit more about what I do for a living…”

#jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner dark fic #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #red eye fanfic

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chunghasweetie · 18 days

Text

𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄 | J.JK

— pairing | fem!oc x tattoo artist!jjk

— summary | jungkook’s still closing up after a long day of work. she went to his shop right after work and she was drained. luckily jungkook was just the right one to cheer her up

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best)

unprotected sex, cursing, praising, just sex lol

— word count | 1.3k words

— song suggestion | put it on me — austin mahone

Jungkook had been working at the shop all day. All sorts of clients going in and out of his shop.

His employees had already gone home a while ago. He was still closing up for the night.

He was exhausted and drained. He just wanted to see his girl, though she had never left his mind through his shift.

The clock had just struck 12pm and JK’s Ink Lounge had finally closed up for the night. It was late, and she was barely getting off work around the same time as well.

He hadn’t seen her since last night because of their busy schedules.

She was a nurse and would work insane hours at the clinic. The two hadn’t had a work break in quite some time.

A knock was heard on the locked door of the shop. “We’re closed!” Jungkook called out before looking at the door, realizing it was actually his girlfriend, not a customer.

“Oh shit.” He cursed to himself, getting out and unlocking the door for her.

Jungkook's face lights up when he sees her enter his shop.

“Sorry baby. I forgot my key.” She apologized, pecking her boyfriend’s lips.

“It’s okay beautiful. What made you come here? Aren’t you tired? I thought you were at home.” He asked her, a hint of concern in his voice.

“Wanted to see my boo.” She hummed. “Never get to really see you anymore.”

He exhaled, “Yeah I know.”

“I got dropped tonight so I thought my lovely boyfriend would pick us up dinner on the way home.” She fluttered her lashes cutely.

“Anything for my baby.”

“I’ll help you close. Just do your online stuff and I’ll clean.” Y/n walked to the front desk, setting her purse down.

“No no baby.” Jungkook stopped her. “You gotta be tired Y/n. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“It’s not that bad baby.” She chuckled, grabbing some cleaning products to properly prep the studio. “I want to help you.”

Y/n could almost run the studio on her own. She knew everything and was more than willing to help her man out.

“You’re so amazing.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll hurry.”

“No rush.” She shook her head, getting straight to cleaning.

The two worked on the closing duties, making sure every part of the studio was ready for tomorrow.

“How was work today baby?”

“It was okay.” Y/n shrugged. “I’m so drained.” She complained, taking a seat on his lap.

Jungkook immediately notices her drained expression, and his face falls. He pulls her into a tight hug, rubbing her back soothingly. "What happened, mama?"

“Short staffed again so I was kinda irritated.” She sighed.

He sighs softly, understanding her fatigue all too well. "You know I'm here for you, mama. Always."

His thumb gently strokes the side of her face, trying to ease her stress. "Why don't you let me take care of you for once?"

“Mm no. It’s my job to take care of you.” She protested.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head at her stubbornness. "That's my job, mama. You're too tired to argue, and I can tell you need some pampering."

“You’re so hard working baby. You’re better than me because you can take so much.” He hummed. “Sorry about your day baby.”

His thumb gently traces the outline her lips, before gently kissing them. "Let me take care of you tonight.

“Please.” She gave in, “I need it.”

"You're too beautiful to say no to." He carries her to a guest futon and sits down with her, his arm around her waist as he kisses her once again.

He groans softly, kissing her deeper and harder as his hands begin to roam her body.

"You know what I'm thinking about, pretty?" He whispers into her ear, his lips brushing against it. "I can't wait much longer. I was fucking trying to wait until we got home but— shit I can’t.”

“So fucking pretty” He whispered.

He begins to undress her, kissing every exposed inch of skin.

“Been wanting this for so long.” She spoke, “We never have time anymore.”

He groans as he hears that, his hands cupping her ass as he her you closer to him.

"Fuck I know pretty. I've wanted it just as bad you have no idea.” He lifts her up and positions himself before lowering her onto him.

“Haven’t seen you in so long.” She mumbled. “Haven’t touched you in forever.”

He nods in agreement as he thrusts up in her. "I know, baby. I've missed this too." His hands roam her body, touching every inch of it as he whispers sweet things to her.

"I love you, mama. You're so fucking beautiful." He croaked out.

His hands travel down her body and between her legs, rubbing her in just the right spot as he watches her with lust-filled eyes.

“Mm” She hummed.

Jungkook’s eyes darken at her soft moans as he leans in closer. "Do you want me to fuck you now, baby?"

He whispers hotly in your ear before nipping at her earlobe. "Because I want to fuck you so fucking bad right now. Just say the word.”

“Jungkook please. Want this so bad.” She whimpered

He growls at her whines, pulling out of her before flipping her over and pushing back into her. "Like this, baby?"

His hips piston in and out of her as he holds onto her hips, tugging her back into him as he thrusts forward.

“Fuck Jungkook— yes.”

He smirks as he listens to her pleas for more.

"Yes, baby?" He leans over her, his chest pressed against her back. "Do you like it when I fuck you rough?"

He moans at her words, his thrusts getting faster and harder. "Yeah, baby. You like when I fuck you rough like this hm? You're such a good girl for me."

He bites down on her shoulder as he reaches around and starts rubbing her clit. “So good for me.”

He smirks against her skin, feeling her getting closer to her release.

"That's right, baby. Cum for me. I wanna hear you scream my name." He thrusts into her a few more times before reaching down and starting to rub her clit furiously.

Her legs were shaking and her body was reacting all too well to his touch.

Jungkook was reaching his orgasm as well, trying to chase it with hers.

“Fuck I’m cumming.” She whined.

He groans at her words, feeling himself getting closer to his own release. "Yeah, baby. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock."

He thrusts into her as hard as he can, triggering her orgasm. "Fuck” Jungkook cursed.

“Feels so good— shit” she whimpered.

He growls at her words, feeling himself getting even closer to his release. "Yeah? Mm gonna cum all inside this pussy."

He thrusts into her a few more times before he couldn't take it anymore and cums inside her with a loud groan, filling her up.

“Shitttt” She panted, looking at how messy her pussy was because of them.

He pants hard, his forehead resting against hers as he tries to catch his breath. "Damn, baby. You felt so fucking good."

He smirks and kisses her lips gently. "Thank you, you always let me fuck you so good."

“Anything for you my love.” She giggled. “I can’t believe we had sex in here again.”

He lets out a chuckle, kissing her forehead. "Yeah, I know. I can't help it though. Everytime you walk in here I know I’m done for."

He smirks and kisses her again. "You always make me so excited.”

“You’re just lucky I can’t resist.” She laughed. “Let’s clean now so we can go get food. I’m fucking starving.”

He nods. "Yeah, let's clean up. My stomach is killing me." He pulls out of you and helps clean her up.

“I’m not done with you once we’re home.” He mumbled. “Once that food in my system I’m ready to go.”

“You can’t be serious.” She laughed.

664 notes · View notes

imgae-insertshockedgasps-16 · 5 months

Text

humans are space orcs

imagine someone with chronic joint pain, whose dream their whole lives has been to go to space and meet the aliens and be a scientist and learn

so they look up the requirements as a kid and go "fuck."

they wouldn't make the cut.

their dreams are dashed. hopes ruined. lifelong dre destroyed.

except....

they've never really said a whole lot about their pain. they don't particularly like doctors, and they think that they've been managing just fine, so they never saw the point.

so maybe... maybe if they just don't say anything, they can make it to space.

they spend all of their time training. doing physical therapy exercises so that their joints aren't so loose, soaking up as much scientific and mathematical knowledge as they can, teaching themselves to push through the worst of it in pursuit of their dream.

and they make it.

they make it to space! it was gruelling, tortuous work, but they made it!

their first mission is an exploratory one, with a diverse crew which only has one other human.

they're thrilled.

they have dozens of alien friends and acquaintances. they spend hours learning and researching alien planets and cultures. it's everything they've ever wanted!

but

it's exhausting.

they're in more pain than they've ever been, more frequently than they ever have.

they keep up their exercises as best they can, but even those are often too much.

they smile when asked if they're alright, tell everyone that "i'm fine! just tired."

but they need a break. they can't imagine going or being sent back to earth, this is their home now, with these people, on this ship. but they don't know how much longer they can take this.

one day, on their day off, a fellow researcher comes and knocks on their door.

"are you here?"

"not today islith."

"but we've been called! there are some exciting new discoveries that need further cataloging and investigation, and carlmoth thought you would enjoy the task!"

"i can't today, islith."

"are you ill?"

"...kind of? but i'll be right as rain tomorrow. it's my day off anyhow."

"nonsense! you should go down to medbay!"

"i'm alright, i promise."

"you get out here right this minute or i'll report you to medbay myself!"

"no!" there's a series of crashes and thumps, and then they open the door.

"oh, you look awful. come on, you really must need medbay, what if you're contagious." islith tries to grab them but they shy away.

"i'm not contagious, i promise."

"how can you possibly know that? what if you picked it up from a sample, or, or, garfon has been sick recently! humans can't survive cerian sicknesses-"

"i didn't catch something from garfon, islith," they sigh and open the door wider. "come in and let me explain."

"alright, but if i think you should go to medbay afterwards then i'm taking you there."

"sure, islith."

islith enters, notices the piles of clothes, rumpled bedsheets, the lights are off and the port window shut.

"what's wrong?"

they sigh again, "my body doesn't work like it's meant to, islith."

islith is wildly alarmed, "and you said there was no need for medbay?!? come with me right now and-"

"no! i can't, islith, you don't understand."

"then explain it to me."

"i've... always been this way, although it's gotten worse as i've gotten older. my body, it just isn't built quite right, there's something wrong with it that makes it not work properly and hurt often."

"you're right, i don't understand. why can't you go to medbay?"

"i'd... be thrown off the ship."

"what?!?"

and so they tell islith a story about a young child whose dream was to touch the stars.

"and now, it's too late. i'd get in huge trouble for lying to the government, especially for so long."

"well- but- but humans are so resilient! you hear all the stories!"

"not every human is the same, islith. some of us are born disabled, and some of us get hurt in accidents, just like any other species."

"well, then, well there must be something we can do?"

they look up in shock, "we?"

"of course we, you ridiculous creature," islith said with a fond sigh. "you didn't think i'd leave you to suffer, would you?"

"but, you could get in so much trouble!"

"that's alright, i don't mind. what else are friends for? and, anyway, we don't have to tell your government, we can tell mine."

"but i'll-"

"we don't have any rules like that. any of us who are disabled can still manage in space just fine with the right support, and i bet you could too."

"i- islith- i don't-"

"don't worry, we'll all back you when it comes down to it. you're out teammate, our family. no one on this ship wants to watch you leave because of something you can't control. now come on, let's talk to glidlep in medical, she'll understand."

and for years, things continued on that way, until eventually it was an open secret that the human with the exosuit was disabled and not technically allowed onboard.

and down the line, when nasa found out and was furious, the entire ship and more stood by their side.

#anyway i need to go cry now #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #disabled #disability #disability in space #chronic pain #chronic illness #chronically ill #joint pain

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keerysfreckles · 5 months

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reader who has a habit of sneaking out at night to swim in the lake and Luke catches them and joins🤭🤭

YOUR BLOG AESTHETIC IS SOSO CUTE

not-so-secret — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x poseidon gn!reader

warnings: small makeout sesh, petnames used (babe, sweetheart)

a/n: THANK YOU IM IN LOVE WITH MAMMA MIA I HAD TO HAVE MY PFP BE SOPHIE!!!!

masterlist !

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

being a demigod child of poseidon had it's perks at camp half-blood. most campers respected you and percy, considering you two were children of the big three. you had a whole meal table to yourselves. you had the ability to control water (your favorite perk).

ever since you found out who your godly parent was, it's as if you were one with the water. you felt like you needed to be around it all the time. sure it felt silly to admit, but it's the truth.

almost every night when all the campers are asleep, you'd sneak out of your cabin to go to the lake. you were surprised percy never woke up with how creaky the floor boards in your cabin are. you'd alternate between the same three swimsuits and grab your favorite towel.

your routine didn't change tonight as you were on your way to the lake. the moon was full so it made the water sparkle more than it has this summer at camp.

you were quick to take your clothes off, having your swimsuit on underneath, and jumped into the water. you stayed under the water for a moment. you could breathe underwater, you knew you'd be fine.

some poeple meditate or take naps to calm down. this is your version of meditation. it always calms you down from whatever you delt with during the day. the more stressful your day is, the longer you stay underwater.

no one knew about your secret late night swims, and you wanted to keep it that way.

you merge through the surface of the water, and brush any hair that had gotten into your eyes.

a rustle in the woods around you catches your attention. usually there were nymphs jumping from tree to tree at night, but this noise was much louder than the noises the nymphs made.

you're about to speak, but someone stepping out of the woods beats you to it.

"what? you can sneak off without me now? i thought we were a package deal."

you roll your eyes and swim to the edge of the lake, "how did you even know i was out here?"

you stare up at your boyfriend, luke castellan. he was shirtless and in a pair of swim shorts. you giggled, they were bright green with baby rhinos all over the fabric. he held a towel and his orange camp shirt in his right hand.

"well i checked your cabin, and i guessed the only reasonable place you'd be is the lake. you really think i don't know about your little hiding spot?"

you blush, knowing luke knows you better than you know yourself. he sets his things down by yours before canon-balling into the lake. you swim over to him once he merges from the rippling water.

you giggle as he shakes his head side to side, flinging water droplets everywhere.

you two simply smile at each other before he breaks the silence, "like what you see babe?"

you splash him, "you're such and idiot."

you both laugh as he splashes you back. this continues for a moment before he grabs you by the waist. he can stand in the lake, giving him the advantage here. you hold onto his shoulders, before your hands move to the back of his neck.

you play with the dark curls on the back of his neck as he slowly sets you down so your face to face.

"can i kiss you?" your voice is soft, scared that if you talk louder someone might find you two.

"you never have to ask sweetheart."

you pull luke towards you, causing your lips to crash together. the kiss is full of hunger and nothing but love. you knew you kissed him before you left for your cabin earlier that night, but you'd never get used to the feeling of luke's lips on your own.

you turn your head, deepening the kiss. your bottom lip is in between his, and you can't help but smile into the kiss.

"i love you," you mumble against his lips.

he pulls back slightly, and you could've sworn you saw hearts in his eyes, "i love you."

#shelbi writes #keerysfreckles #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x gn!reader #luke castellan x gn reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #pjo #pjo show #pjo series #pjo tv #pjo tv show #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians

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tommy-begins · 2 years

Text

#not to be mentally ill or passively suicidal on main but #im starting to wonder what the point of it all is anymore #like every day you wake up and its the same shit over and over #and i hate asking people for things because i feel like im a problem :/#but i really don't know much longer i can go through the same day every day #and every day its the same war inside my head #i want to break down in tears because i constantly feel like i am a burden to everyone #and online is no better #because i feel like I'm constantly just fucking it up no matter what #i am just exhausted #and I'm tired #i would just rather not be here anymore

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kookslastbutton · 28 days

Text

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter iii

✑ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader (not poly)

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 5.3k+

Warnings: some time skips (none too huge), oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, lots of introspection, tornado of emotions, morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of broken home/families, themes of abandonment, mention of love bombing, reoccurring nightmares, sleep paralysis, mentions of therapy, struggles of self-blame, regret, guilt, etc., mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, death (minor character), life-threatening accident (major character)

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: ANGST ANGST ANGST...don't say I never warned you hahaha. Anyway, once again, I had an amazing time writing this! (although nervous af 👉🏼 👈🏼) Just FYI, there are some time skips as this starts a few weeks after the gala! So to clarify, it’s now 3 months since oc’s divorce was officially finalized, as in done (the process itself took way longer). The chapter continues from there and yeah, the pace is picked up. Okay, let’s go! Enjoy! 🥰

series masterlist | next >>

Fresh linen. Warm breeze. The smell and sound of the ocean.

You know this place too well, like a memory you hoped to have forgotten. Why are you here now? You glance around, taking in the familiar details—the blank ceiling above, the soft comforter that curls around your body like silk against your skin, and delicate rose petals scattered at the foot of the bed. It’s exactly as it was before — it feels exactly the same; too quiet, too peaceful, and too good to be true.

The sunlight streaming through the window is blinding, yet it draws you in with a force you can't resist. Carefully, you stand up, your feet meeting the cool wood floor, and you shiver. Each step you take towards the window feels heavier, like wading through water. When you reach the window, you see the sandy beach below, the waves beating rhythmically against the shore. It’s beautiful, but the painful kind.

To the left, a young couple, not much older than yourself, their hands tightly intertwined, as if afraid to let go. To the right, an older couple sitting further up the beach, comfortably silent as they take in the horizon, reminiscent of their many years together. You always dreamt of achieving the latter, yet here you stand, having neither, and the chances of ever obtaining it growing dimmer with each passing day.

For many, this was supposed to be a place of happiness, a symbol of love, promises, and new beginnings, but not for you. For you, it was a cocoon, trapping you in a deceptive comfort. You close your eyes, trying to steady your rapid breathing, yet it doesn’t prove to be of much help. Images from your past that you’ve tried blocking out of your mind time and time again suddenly resurface — the arguments, the tears, the feeling of everything and nothing at the same time.

“You’re up early,” His voice startles you, causing you to spin around in a panic. At that moment, your heart tightens in your chest, and a cold sweat forms on your brow. You thought you were alone. You’re certain of it. Yet the sight of your ex-husband standing only a few feet away, his hair still damp from his morning shower, is enough to leave you completely speechless.

"Why are you here?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

"Why are you here?" he counters, his dark eyes piercing into yours. "Isn't this what you wanted? To remember us, to remember how it felt to be together?”

What? This isn't making any sense. Why is he talking to you as if he were a ghost? Your eyes search frantically around the room until you spot it—the wedding band on his finger. No, not again. You hear yourself plead, but the words don't leave your lips. All at once, the room begins to feel smaller, the walls closing in on you. You're stuck in another manifestation of your past, this time reliving your honeymoon, three years ago in Greece.

"I didn't want this," you say, your voice barely audible. "I wanted to forget this."

"But you can't forget, can you?" he says, stepping closer. “You remember this view. You remember the floors and the walls. You remember that we had our first time together here and promised our devotion to each other."

“That’s not fair, Jungkook," you reply, taking a step back, "it's not fair at all, you left me. You don't get to patronize me like this."

“We both know our marriage came with stipulations, __. So when did I ever give you a reason to stay? Or to love me?”

You’re back in the bed, the sheets now suffocating rather than comforting. The sound of the ocean is louder, more insistent, drowning out your thoughts. You want to scream, to run, but you’re paralyzed by the fear, the guilt, the regret.

"This isn’t real,” you say to yourself, tears streaming down your face. “I’m dreaming, none of this is happening.”

“You can't escape what we had, or what we lost. We’ll always be here, together __, in this place,” he says softly, reaching out to touch your hand.

"No," you whisper, pulling your hand away. "I need to wake up. I need to let go...of you."

The room fades, his figure dissolving into the shadows. The sound of the ocean becomes a distant murmur as you fight to open your eyes. Wake up, please wake up. It's your own pleads chanting in your head. Finally, with a gasp, you awake, the nightmare diminishing like vapor.

“Fuck,” you curse, fingers gripping your sheets, “just another damn dream.” Rolling onto your back, you take a deep breath before reaching out for the glass of water on your nightstand. Its coolness soothes your dry throat. You reach for your phone next, checking the time—4:47 AM. Too early to start the day, too late to attempt falling back to sleep.

Your thumb hovers over Jimin’s name in your text threads. It would be 10 AM where he is. You consider sending a message, but you find yourself at a loss for words. Forget it, you lock your phone and rise from your bed, you’ll go for a walk instead. Yeah, it’s brisk outside, but the fresh air will help clear your mind.

After tossing on your warmest coat and scarf, you head outside, the sun beginning to break over the horizon. At first, you wander aimlessly, lost in thought as you pass the odd person or two on the sidewalk. One individual accidentally knocks into you, yet he's quick to apologize. You easily understand their rush; perhaps they've just finished the night shift and are eager to reach the comfort of home.

You imagine their loved ones who must be waiting for them. You could be wrong, and maybe you're biased, but the image you depict is a future you once envisioned for yourself—one of laughter, love, and a warm family. It’s a dream you secretly carried as a child, amidst your unstable upbringing. But as the years passed, what was once a lifelong aspiration felt more and more elusive, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. It seems, in the end, it was just a dream…nothing more.

Of course, you've achieved other goals instead, success in your career for one. It's what you wanted most the more you became an adult. Even before Jungkook came in the picture you were thriving. Yes, you needed investors to expand, but you had already made a strong name for yourself, hence the reason his company even reached out to you for a partnership in the first place.

The second, and more formidable goal you’ve achieved was saving your company. You built your business with an earnest heart, good morals, and an ambition to serve a community. You couldn’t let it all be washed out by a larger, greedier industry giant. You had to do something. Too bad your judgment was skewed the day you saw a similar ambition in Jungkook’s eyes; he was just as determined as you to save what was his.

For a while you got what you wanted, stability for your business. But you got too invested, too short-sighted to anticipate that one day, it would all feel hollow without someone proper to share it with. Alas, your prior hopes, the ones you thought were buried long ago, began returning to you as if they were an overwhelming tsunami.

You wanted warmth.

You wanted intimacy.

You wanted a home.

You sought companionship with Jungkook but no, you read the signs all wrong. Once you dropped the L word, his attentiveness towards you skyrocketed. He began calling you while you were apart, surprising you with little gifts, and setting more time aside so you could both take Bam to the dog park on free days. But then it all stopped. After months of showering you with attention, his efforts exhausted him, so he looked for the first exit out.

You remember getting the text one afternoon— When will you be home tonight? We need to talk about something. Selfishly, you hoped he was going to tell you that you could take that trip to Fiji together. You had been hinting at it for the last two weeks. Of course, you were wrong because the last time you checked, trip itineraries didn’t come with divorce papers. At that moment, you realized that Jungkook didn’t try to love you in the slightest, he tried loving at you; love bombing 101. Your ties are now completely severed.

Yesterday marked three months since your divorce was finalized. You didn’t cry like you thought you would, but you did meet with Melody that day. As your therapist, she offered you her empathy, validation, and perspective. You feel you’ve gotten better since you started meeting with her, finally beginning to heal. Yet the unsettling dream that haunted your sleep last night shows you there are many things still left to resolve, feelings you need to confront, but where to start?

You love your ex-husband, but why?

Can it even be called love?

And do you really need him to love you back?

While you can only offer fragments of an answer for the first two, you seem to have a better-formed answer for the last.

No, you don’t need Jungkook to love you. He’s proven to you time and time again that you are not the one he can bear his heart to. He’s always reiterating that he wants you to find someone else, someone more deserving of you, whatever that means. Likely, it’s all projection. Out of the two of you, he’s the one more likely to re-marry.

As for you, you’ll always love him, at least a semblance of it. After all, he was once a part of you. But what was once a part of you, doesn’t need to be anymore. You have to let him go...though you wish you didn't have to.

You continue walking straight until you find yourself drawn to a small park overlooking the city skyline. It's fairly empty, with only a few people nearby. As you settle onto a weathered bench, you take in the view before you. It stretches endlessly. Sunrises have always held a special place in your heart—the amber glow breaking through the abyss of darkness as if a beacon of hope.

"You'll get through this __," you reassure yourself, “one day at a time.”

“Happy six months, boss!”

A goofy, boxy smile graces the man’s lips as he leans against the doorframe of your office. You take in his appearance: crème-colored sweater paired with dark brown slacks, the fabric impeccably tailored to his tall, lean frame. His ebony hair is perfectly parted down the center and feathered out to either side of his face, giving him a soft, approachable look. The glasses are new though, round with a hint of gold. Though a minor accessory, they seem to tie the rest of the look together.

Classy, yet cozy, you hum silently, it suits him.

Everything about the way he’s dressed today complements his features—not that it could be any other way, as Taehyung could never not look good in something. You learned that the hard way when you opted against a gaudy shirt and pant set your stylists suggested he wear for a commercial. Taehyung, being a free spirit, decided to try it on for kicks, and yeah, it strangely worked. He ended up shooting the entire commercial with it on. That video’s gotten your business the highest engagement rate across all your media platforms to this day.

“Mr. Kim, does six months of working together really merit a celebratory drop-in?” You lean back in your desk chair, arms folded as you narrow your eyes at the man. You're taunting him, not that he minds.

“Please,__,” he starts, stepping further into the room, his presence effortlessly filling the space. “The only person that still calls me that is the intern who works on set with us. Makes me feel old, like I’m double my real age.”

“Well, you are older than both of us.”

Taehyung gives you the look, a mix of amusement and mild aggravation.

“Two years is hardly considered older, but if you’re done trying to prod me, I’d like to ask you a series of serious questions.”

“Okay, what?” You straighten your back, curious to know what he’s thinking.

“Red or white wine?” He waits for your response, eyes seemingly hopeful. You're unsure where he's going with this, so you delay your response, suspicious of the spontaneity of the inquiry.

“Red,” you respond, cautiously. Taehyung seems pleased.

“Strawberries or blueberries?”

“Strawberries, though I prefer cherries most."

“Science or literature?"

"Literature." You surprise him with this one. "I like books, vintage ones."

"Do a lot of reading in your spare time?" he asks.

"When I get some, yes."

"Me too. Tolstoy?"

"Occasionally," you answer. "Where are you going with this, Taehyung?"

He shrugs. "Just making conversation." He pauses before continuing, “I also happen to know a place that offers all those things plus private bookings. How about you and I go for dinner tonight, as colleagues? If you hate the wine, I’ll drink it for you.”

The weight of his request hits you like a ton of bricks. Apart from a handful of social events, you and Taehyung haven't exactly mingled outside of the office. His sudden invitation to go out for dinner takes you by surprise, especially considering the nature of your professional relationship. However, you can't deny the subtle shifts in his behavior, the way he's been checking in on you more often, especially since the Winter Gala. Weeks have passed since then, but, no doubt, the memory of that night still lingers in both your minds—the shaming from a bitter business competitor, the unwanted press shining a light on your divorce, and your ex-husband who so easily approached you like it was nothing.

Taehyung suggested for you to slip away through the back door with him, offering to drive you home himself rather than leaving you with your limo driver. But you declined, feeling embarrassed that he wasn't merely a witness to the night's events, but also made to be a spectacle himself. You never wanted him to feel like he had to pity you or coax you through your personal trials. Being a good colleague is one thing, but he didn't need to go above and beyond.

“I don’t know if I can join you tonight, I'm sorry. I have a lot to do,” you say, your voice wavering slightly. It's not far from the truth with the mountain of business reports and budget plans to look over. Though your business remains functioning, it's a lot to maintain, especially with the number of investors having withdrawn their support once news got out about your marital separation. It's unfortunate how much a person's situation and the things they've built can change on someone else's dime.

“You sure?" Taehyung tries again, careful not to sound pushy. "The place isn’t overly posh, but we could go elsewhere if you’d prefer."

“I’m sorry, Taehyung, maybe another time?” you say, fingers fidgeting with a few documents on your desk, a nervous habit you developed ages ago. “I-"

“I understand,” he says, his expression softening, a hint of disappointment flickering in his eyes before he masks it with a gentle smile. "I have a film shoot that might go late anyway. Speaking of which, I'm expected on set in about half an hour so I'm going to head out, but if you change your mind, you know how to reach me."

You nod, recalling having his contact in your phone. The two of you agreed it would be easier to coordinate meetings and schedules this way. "I will, thank you. Good luck with your filming."

As you watch him leave, a twinge of guilt tugs at your conscience. Perhaps you shouldn't have dismissed him so quickly, considering how insistent he seemed. It's as if he was genuinely looking forward to the affair.

No, you can't entertain it any further. You have no way of knowing how far the night might've led—it's best to leave Kim Taehyung alone.

When you declined Taehyung's invitation to get dinner, you didn’t expect it to result in not seeing or hearing from him for the next week and a half. As an endorser, he doesn't work at the office regularly, coming and going as needed and since you hadn’t had any promotional projects for him recently, his absence seemed normal at first.

But this was Kim Taehyung. The same Taehyung who loved making spontaneous visits to the company, especially towards the end of the week. He often came in once, twice, sometimes three times a week to talk with Namjoon, your secretary, in particular. Somehow, the pair had become friends, and since Namjoon’s desk was near yours, Taehyung would drop by whenever he saw your door open. So, not hearing from him for 11 days straight was strange, like he'd vanished.

It was now Friday evening, the clock pushing 5 pm. You consider texting him to make sure he's okay, but wouldn’t that be hypocritical? You had agreed with yourself to leave him alone. Maybe he was on vacation, perhaps at a vineyard, or had taken on another film project. Being a highly talented actor, Taehyung had no shortage of casting directors contacting him for their movies and TV shows.

Embarrassingly, you hadn’t actually seen any of his movies. You enjoyed a good rom-com now and then, like the ones Taehyung starred in, but you usually opted for something more mindless when you had the time to watch anything.

You can imagine the loyal following he has though, as Taehyung was the epitome of a "dream boat" with his natural good looks and expressive eyes. He must be good at kiss scenes, which must be especially difficult for anyone dating him. You know you'd have a hard time accepting it at least, the fact that your flawless actor boyfriend was off making out with equally beautiful co-stars on set, that is. Anyway, as your endorser, maybe you should try supporting his films a bit more. There had to be one that would catch your eye.

Curious, you open a new tab on your phone and search for him.

"Holy fuck," the curse leaves your lips the minute the search returns. Dozens of articles display on your phone screen at once, all covering South Korean actor Kim Taehyung's recent motorcycle accident. You checked the publishing date—six hours ago. “Taehyung’s in the hospital. He’s in the fucking hospital!”

Panicked, you leave your office to speak with your secretary.

“Ms. __,” Namjoon greets you immediately, a trace of hesitation in his tone upon seeing your frazzled state. “Is everything alright?”

“Joon,” you refer to him by his pet name, “Did you know that Taehyung’s in the hospital?”

“What?” He seems as shocked as you, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm.

“It happened this morning around eleven or something. It was a collision, a motorcycle accident. Oh god, he’s—he’s been taken to the ER,” you choke out the words, struggling to maintain your composure as you try recalling one of the articles you skimmed. “We have to go. I have to go right now.”

“I’m coming with you.” Namjoon leaps from his chair, grabbing his keys from his desk drawer. “I’ll drive.”

“No,” you stop him, “I don’t know how long this’ll be and you usually work until 5:30, so I don't want you to have to be stuck at the hospital with me. I want you to be able to call it an early night if you want. We'll take separate cars over.”

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll meet you over there then?”

“Yeah.” You nod back, clutching your keys harder in your palm. “Yeah, sounds good.” You turn around to head for the nearest exit, but your secretary stops you mid-step.

“__,” he calls you by your name, having known you for the past decade permits him to do so. He softens his eyes when he sees the worry in your own clear as day. “He’s gonna be okay. We have to believe that. Please drive safe.”

“You too,” you say, then disappear from his sight.

When you arrive, it’s a madhouse. Sirens blare as ambulances rush into the hospital parking lot, doctors and nurses race from room to room, and fans—so many fans—crowd outside, all waving signs of comfort and support.

“I'm here to see Kim Taehyung,” you say urgently to the charge nurse. She recognizes you immediately and throws you a look of distaste, but you’re too focused on the emergency at hand to care. “I’m sure you know who I am, but I need to see him. We work together, we're colleagues.”

“Ms. __,” she replies, surprisingly calm and collected amidst her obvious dislike of you. “I’m afraid he’s currently receiving serious medical attention and won’t be able to have any visitors at the moment.”

“I’ll wait,” you blurt out the words faster than you anticipate. You feel like you're eating your words from earlier about leaving him alone, but this is different—his life is on the line. "I can wait for him.”

“Visiting hours are only until 8 pm. I really don’t think—”

“Please,” you interrupt, your voice stern and urgent. “He's part of my team. He's my...friend. I have to know if he’s okay.”

The nurse hesitates, her expression softening slightly as she sees the genuine concern in your eyes. “Alright,” she finally says, her tone firm but kinder. “You can wait in the family lounge, but I can’t promise you’ll be able to see him anytime soon."

“Thank you,” you say, relief flooding through you. She directs you to a quiet room down the hall, away from the commotion where you're better able to calm your racing thoughts. You find a seat in the far corner immediately and send a quick text to Namjoon, letting him know where you are.

As you wait, the minutes drag by painfully slow. You can’t stop replaying the articles in your mind from earlier, the words “motorcycle accident” echoing like a mantra. How did this even happen? How bad was his condition? How much strain is this going to put on his acting career? You wish you knew.

A handful of nurses enter the lounge occasionally, calling out names and providing updates, but none of them are Taehyung’s. You find your ears burning every time the door opens, heart racing, only to sink back into your seat when it’s not about him.

Finally, you catch sight of Namjoon, his face mirroring your concern. He spots you immediately and rushes over, taking a seat in the chair beside you. “Any news?” he asks, his voice low and urgent.

“Not yet,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “They said he’s receiving serious medical attention and don't know when we'll be able to see him. We have to leave by 8.”

Namjoon nods, his expression grim but unwavering “We’ll wait together.”

"If you need to leave sooner than—"

"I know," he interrupts. "I appreciate it, but please let me be here too."

You sit in silence from then on, exhaustion beginning to weigh heavy on both your shoulders. It's not until 7:35 when a doctor walks into the lounge, his tired eyes scan the room until they land on you and Namjoon.

“Are you here for Kim Taehyung?” he asks. "I'm Dr. Min."

You nod, your heart in your throat.

“He’s stable for now,” Dr. Min explains, “but he's still in critical condition. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Can we see him?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs. “Only for a few minutes. And you need to be prepared—he’s heavily sedated and has sustained significant injuries.”

“I understand,” you reply, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come.

Dr. Min leads you through a maze of hallways until you reach the ICU. As you enter Taehyung’s room, the sight of him hooked up to machines and covered in bandages nearly breaks you. You take a deep breath and step closer, Namjoon right next to you.

“Taehyung,” you whisper, but he remains motionless, his breathing steady and rhythmic. The severity of his injuries is evident in the way he lies.

“We're here, Taehyung,” Namjoon continues, noticing your slightly frozen state. “We’re both here for you. Please, fight through this. You and I, we're good pals, remember? Like brothers. You have to—"

Although the more collected one before, Namjoon begins to struggle with his words. You place a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Having known him for 10 years, you know that despite his strong exterior, he has one of the softest souls you know.

"I think I have to go, __. It'll be better if I see him when he's awake. I want to stay longer, but I just don't know if I can."

"I understand, we can't stay much longer anyway. Go home and get some rest. Dr. Min will call us when he's awake and able to talk."

After you give him a hug, Namjoon leaves the room, leaving you alone with Taehyung. You end up pulling up a chair beside his bed and slowly reach out to touch his hand. It's instinctive for you, the need to feel his heartbeat overpowering any other thought.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Taehyung," you start, your voice a mere murmur. "You'll push through this, right? Like in the movies you film. I confess I haven't seen any of them yet, but—but I will! That's how I found out about all this actually. We hadn't seen you for nearly two weeks, so I searched you up. Not in a weird way though, okay? Not like...anyway, I'm sorry I said no to you that day. When you asked to go for dinner, it threw me off. This whole thing with my ex-husband just has my mind in fifty million directions, so I promise it wasn't you. I hope you didn't think that."

"You've always seemed to show up for me, whether it's for the good of the company or even a little emotionally in some aspects. With the reputation I have these days, I'll always be grateful that you chose to work with me. You have a good heart, Taehyung, so much that I think if we ever got close, I think it might be unbearable for me," you pause, a couple of tears slipping down your face.

Just then, a creaking of the room's door momentarily pulls your attention away. Dr. Min stands a few feet away, clearing his throat—a gentle but firm signal that it's time for you to leave.

"I have to go soon, but I'll be back tomorrow, okay? Even if you're still asleep or not, I'll stop in and sit with you for a while because...because I need to be sure that you'll be alright. Namjoon will come see you too when he's ready. But I'll see you in the morning, alright Kim?"

You squeeze Taehyung's hand gently before heading out of the room, thanking the medical staff along the way.

When you get home, the first thing you do is head straight for the bathroom. Your whole body feels riddled with stress and exhaustion, and you know that the only thing that can offer even the slightest amount of solace is the warmth of water.

Yet not four minutes after immersing yourself in your tub does your phone ring, demanding your attention. Being this late into the evening, you figure it has to be Jimin.

But you're wrong.

When you reach to answer the call, it's actually an unrecognizable number that's flashing on the screen. You hesitate for a moment, debating whether to answer or let it go to voicemail.

"Hello?" you answer cautiously, curiosity getting the best of you.

There's a brief pause on the other end before his voice comes through, words slightly muddled. "Hey, it's me," he says, his tone soft. "I've been...I've been thinking about my life, you know? About everything.

"J-Jungkook?" Your heart sinks as you quickly decipher the owner of the voice, but then it hardens. It's obvious from the slurring of his words that he's been drinking. "Why on earth are you calling me? And at this godforsaken hour too."

"I told you...I've been thinking about my life."

"I'm hanging up."

"No, please, stay on the line for five minutes. Please, I have to tell you...what I've been thinking."

"You have three minutes," you sigh, ready for anything (except what he was about to spring on you).

"I wanted to save my company," he continues, his voice wavering slightly. "For my mom's sake, you know? My dad owned it and stuff but she was the one who was behind all the technology...and that's why I married you. You...reminded me of her."

Your breath catches in your throat as he reveals the truth behind his actions, the raw honesty of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You knew very little of Jungkook's mother, too, as he didn't speak of her often.

"And then...then there's the real reason I divorced you," he admits, his voice breaking slightly. "My parents had a terrible marriage, you know? My mom...she had to manage my dad's temper for years...he didn't love her at all. He just married her because she was smart and could make him rich. It made her so unhappy, but you know she loved him so much. She...she passed away when I was 16, and...and I didn't want that for you. I didn't want you to be trapped like she was, because I'm like my dad you know? My feelings are...weird... I never know what the hell I'm...feeling. I'm probably not making a lot of sense am I?"

"I'm trying to understand." You want to hang up here and now but every time he speaks, you cant bring yourself to do it. The pain in his voice cuts through you like a knife, and it's a side of him that you've rarely seen before.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice thick with regret. "I'm sorry for being such a dumbass that day I got my stuff. That was like, six months ago and I still hate myself for it. I shouldn't have made an advance on you like that. I was...I was immature, and I wasn't thinking."

"After the gala," he continues, his words becoming more coherent as he speaks. "I...I felt even more guilty, you know? Because, I still have a photo of you and Bam on my dresser. It's small, but I've tried to put it away over and over and over again, but I can't do it. I don't know what's wrong with me...it's almost a year since we lived under the same goddam roof and I can still smell your perfume, I can still remember how you laugh with both your lips and your eyes...the way you scrunch you nose when—"

"What are you trying to say Jungkook?" You interrupt. "That you're sorry and can't get me out of your head, so you need my forgiveness to move on?"

"No! That's...that's not it at all. I mean, I do want your forgiveness but—"

"Well, what the fuck is it?" You hate how aggressive your voice is sounding, but the obscene amount of incoherent information he's revealing to you is overwhelming. "It's 10 freaking pm at night, I had a long day, I'm sleep deprived, and Taehyung's in the fucking hospital which is so distressing, so I'm sorry, but I can't handle any more of your cryptic messages!"

"I think I might love you," he finally says, his voice raising as well. "I know I'm...I'm being a dumbass, but I...I think I love you. I love you __, fuck!"

a/n: So....how are we feeling about Jungkook rn? Also, my darling Taehyung is taking one for the team here 😭 🤍 LMK what you think! Lastly, I understand the timeline of events is a bit tricky to follow, so if it helps I can put something in the series masterlist to help. Vote for jjk or kth!

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side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook imagines #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts au #bts imagines #bts fanfics #bts x reader #fic:guiltypleasures #kookslastbutton

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forteafy · 10 months

Text

You Think, You Know | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Some bridges are due to burn, whilst others are destined to mend. Charles wants to lead you into a traditional happily-ever-after, whilst Carlos is still adamant that he can always treat you better. Part 3 of ‘A House, A Home.’

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: angst, shouting, a lot of swearing, mentions of cheating and divorce. SMUT. Non-protected sex, oral (M&F receiving,) squirting, degradation, aftercare always.

Note: Thank you all so, SO much for being so patient with me. I really wanted this to be something special and I hope you all enjoy it. Please don't get mad at me because this one is emotional. A massive thank you to my biggest cheerleaders, @oconso, @formulaforza, @a-distantdreamer & @silverstonesainz - I love you all so much.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

You loved your sleep.

There was never too much that could wake you from your slumber. Currently, with the combined sensations of crisp sheets tucked across your frame, soft sunlight drawing through the transparent curtains of the bedroom and snug, strapping arms encircling your waist, it would have to be some form of miracle to awaken you.

The form of this came in the body pressed tightly into your back; smoothly, a pair of lips are drawn to your cheekbone, satin kisses being dropped against your skin. Was it possible to awaken to such a soothing interaction? Your face is drawn to the feeling, turning in his interlocked arms, the side of your face nuzzling into the cushion as your eyes meet the deep, dark pools of his.

“Good morning.” Carlos whispers, joyful at your rise from shuteye. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying there himself, simply basking in the pleasure of holding the girl of his dreams against his firm body. The man was constantly on a lifeline; each time you interacted with him, he’s certain it would be his last, that one day, you’ll be violently ripped from his arms and his heart.

Suspended in thought, the Spainard is drawn back to reality with the glowing touch of your palm on his skin. Immediately, one of his arms draws away from your waist, resting his own larger hand atop of yours. You look alluring like this; sleep still decorates your eyes, hair tangled from the deep sleep, yet perfect in every sense of the word.

“Morning.” You respond, allowing yourself to set your gaze upon his face for a little longer. It’s a sin, settling in your stomach at how that same face had lifted from between your leg’s mere hours ago, the remanence of your arousal ever-present atop his stubble. You were certain he had a mouth crafted by the angels, the way his lips had toyed with your most sensitive parts and the way they currently pulled into an enticing smile in the present.

Two bodies, two souls were entwined in that bed; you weren’t too sure how long you lay there alongside him, reveling in one another’s morning appearances. All you know in that moment is Carlos is overtaking your mind, sprinting through every vein in your body. Every unanswered question from the previous night rendered numb as the man leant forward in your touch, his lips gaining space on your own.

There’s a sudden, sharp buzz from the other room, causing you both to retract from one another, bodies deep in the king-size mattress. A chuckle leaves his own mouth, running a heavy hand across his face, heart still pounding from the sudden jump of sound in the silent apartment. Something in your heart told you that buzz was for you. Whining from the sudden loss of warmth, you remove yourself from the bundle of blankets and body heat, bare feet padding into his living room, aware of your mobile phone, resting atop of the counter.

The device gave a heavy buzz once more before you had the realization to pick it up, the battery barely there. You absent-mindedly call out to the man in the bedroom, asking if he had a phone charger you could borrow for a little while. There's clutter from the other room, clearly trying to find a space for your own phone. Whilst that incurred, your eyes flickered across the darkening screen, skin turning cold upon reading the text notifications.

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

02:53: Charles Leclerc

I’m so sorry she was there – I had no idea. She’s gone now, can I come and collect you? Where are you?

03:25: Charles Leclerc

Please let me know you’re safe as soon as you can. Can I come and see you in the morning, please?

08:47: Charles Leclerc

Good morning, my love. How are you feeling today?

Guilt washed through your stomach, not for the interaction you had shared with Carlos; Charles had done substantially worse to you for the past twelve months. No, you knew what it felt like to have no response from somebody you cared for, terrified for their well-being. Even when Charles hadn’t cared for you, you had still nursed him, waiting up for his return in the early hours of the morning.

With the remainder of your phone battery, fingers fly over the keyboard. Did you want your husband to come and collect you, specifically from his teammates home? He was aware of your building friendship with the Spainard, even if it wasn’t entirely platonic. There wasn’t a huge choice; you especially didn’t want to demand or pry a lift off Carlos, especially after he had come to collect you so late the previous night.

08:58: You

Good morning, I’m at Carlos’ place. I’d really appreciate a lift back to the house, if that’s okay.

The message barely had time to send before it’s marked as ‘read’. Immediately, the blue speech bubble pops to the lower corner of your phone, signaling a response was being formed.

09:00: Charles Leclerc

You don’t need to even ask. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes was not enough time to conceal everything which had happened in the previous hours. Feet now cold, legs now littered in goosebumps, you’d scrambled back into his bedroom, the man now on his own feet, those damn gray jogging bottoms hanging on his hips, a visible outline ever-present. It took your entire soul to remain strong, knowing how tempting this man could become in a matter of moments.

“Charles is on the way.” You state, suspecting that it would cease all his movements, and allow yourself to get ready for your husband’s arrival. Instead, he’d stepped closer to your frame, leaning his toned torso towards you, locking you in his muscled arms, hiding his face in the skin he’d licked and bitten across the previous night. His mumbles are incoherent, littering across your neck in broken Spanish. He’s saying something. Something you can’t understand but is undeniably a plea for you to stay in his arms.

Carlos stays pretty much attached to you the entire time you’re preparing for your departure; his body is pressed against yours, littering kisses to the crown of your head whilst you brush your teeth. His scent is so dominating on the hoodie he insists you borrow, slipping that atop of your frame whilst pulling on the bottoms you had wiggled out of the previous evening. The man’s heart explodes upon seeing you bundled into his clothing, a possessive streak striking through his body and soul.

When your bag is packed, face washed and phone charging, now on the counter of his kitchen, you spend the last few minutes waiting for your husband’s adamant arrival by bundling into Carlos’ side on his plush sofa. It feels entirely natural by this point; his arms encircle your waist, letting you lie against his sternum, soothing yourself to his naturally steady heartbeat. A snippet of your heart desires to take this sole moment and capture it for a lifetime. Safe. Warm. Happy.

The moment is wafted away from you both with the sudden rapping of knuckles on the front door. Whining, your eyes trail on the Spaniard, focused as he presses a final, fleeting kiss to your temple, pulls himself up from the couch and paces towards the hallway. Your own ears strain to hear the latch lift of the front door, Charles praises for looking after you the previous evening falling over his lips, two pairs of footsteps drawing into the front room.

Your husband, despite his usual god-like appearance, looked terrible. His hair pushed to the front, clearly in need of a wash and brush. His skin was rubbed raw, face bloodshot; clearly, he hadn’t got a single moment of sleep the previous night, still dressed in the clothes he’d traveled home in the previous night. Despite the heavy lids of his eyes, they still light up when falling onto you.

“Good morning.” He gives you a smile, only you. You can feel Carlos’ disappointment, even if you can’t see his eyesight at that moment. A pocket-sized smile from your own lips is offered in return, pulling yourself up in that moment, reaching for your bag which remained on the floor, slipping into your soft sneakers.

“Are you ready?” You’d asked softly. Charles’ mouth opened, hesitating before he spoke. He was thinking clearly.

“I just need to speak to Carlos quickly. Something…private.” He tries to explain his standings, tries to make you feel less awkward as he reaches for the car keys resting in his hoodie pocket. “Are you okay to wait in the car?” He asks softly. He feels in no power to demand your movements, yet he requires one private word with his teammate.

Your eyes don’t bother to meet Charles, instead immediately flying to meet the dark ones of your unofficial lover. What on god’s earth was your husband about to ask, and why did he want to do it out of your earshot? The look that you give the man says a thousand words, asking if he needs you to stay, hold your ground against Charles. The warm eyes of him give everything you need, silently promising he could handle this man. An entire conversation through looks alone, a skill the two of you had developed so naturally.

Silently, you take the keys from Charles’ outstretched hand, skin flinching when being pressed against the cool metal. You don’t so much as glance in his direction when you’re walking to the counter, picking up your phone and stuffing it into the pouch of your borrowed hoodie. When turning on your heel, you pace back to Carlos, pressing a surprising kiss to his right cheek, murmuring a ‘Thank You,’ just for his hospitality, of course. You had done all the thanking for the number of orgasms you were granted the previous night.

The walk towards your husband’s car, the SUV rather than his identifiable Pista, your mind clouded, clotted with an array of questions. Why did Charles need to speak to Carlos alone? Was he aware of the relationship the two had been sharing for an undefinable amount of time? Who on earth was the blonde woman giving you a death stare as she walked up the pathway to the complex, red lips practically hissing at your appearance, storming past you within half a second?

When you turn back to take in her appearance from behind, a sense of sickness settles into your stomach. You’d seen the back of that blonde head before; not in person, but rather on a phone screen. Your phone screen, held between white knuckles as you’d watched the man you had begun to fall for wrap his arms around another woman's lips meshed in a private nightclub, unaware of the multiple cameras capturing their searing moment.

That was the same woman, identical in her mannerisms. You felt your tummy curdle into pain, into your vague realization that the only reason Carlos had offered you a place in his home, and subsequently his bed that evening, was because he was trying to fill a void until she returned to the scene. Your stomach wanted nothing more than to empty its remaining content in sheer shock. Instead, you breathe deeply, unlocking the door to the car, climbing into the passenger seat and closing your eyes, relaxing into the plush leather of the upholstery.

You’re not sure how long your husband takes, eyes growing heavy as you await his return. It’s only realized when the driver’s door clicks open, rolling in your seat to watch as Charles climbs into his own, a frown resting at the bottom of his face. However, it’s immediately vanquished when his eyes latch onto your own, grinning at your presence, so close to him. A warm hand reaches out, brushing over the back of your head, sheerly enjoying the comfort you radiated. He'd been lost without you for the past twelve hours.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy again, though you’re determined to get through the car ride alert, even if the soft scent of his cologne and the gentle lulling tunes from the morning radio are drawing you back to your previous state. Instead, you think of that woman. No, not the mistress you had grown numb to; the blonde woman, the one pressed against Carlos’ chest and lips mere hours after you had been. The glint in your husband’s eye is telling as you go through your endless thoughts, he knows something.

“The blonde lady going into Carlos’ apartment.” Your voice is completely out of pocket, echoing through the front of the SUV. “Who was she?” There’s no beating around with the question you had asked; there’s no trying to sugar coat what you needed to know. Charles knows it, too. He knows he can’t hide the truth from you, you’re too smart for lies and manipulation, a year married with a mistress had taught him that.

Instead, he emits a deep sigh from his lips, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel as he focuses on the road. “Natasha.” The name falls from his lips, he can’t meet your gaze, not when speaking about another woman to his wife. “She used to work for Ferrari’s PR but left just under a year ago. Carlos and her used to-“

“Date?” You’d cut him off without realizing, eyes widening when he’d shaken his head.

“No, not date.” He responds. “They just had…a thing. Something.” He finished his train of thought, still not mentally ready to turn to you. In a comforting way, you were glad he hadn’t; Charles was unable to see the tears pooling at your lower lash line, the desire to rip off the hoodie now suffocating your body. You learnt in your heart that moment, you were apparently nothing special to Carlos. No, he had a thing. Something, with any woman who passed his way was as a wandering fancy.

The tears decorating your eyes and desire to relax into the leather seat eventually overpowers your emotionally drained body, pulling you back into a slumber.

You loved the sound of music.

A faint tune, one you were certain you’d never heard before lured through your ears, drawing you back to consciousness. You couldn’t remember getting home, let alone getting out of the car and tucking yourself into the comfort of your own bed. Groaning, you’d sat yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and stretching the twinge in your back simultaneously.

The music wasn’t coming from your room; the sound was beautiful, you just needed to locate its source. Your feet twinge when they touch the floor, cool floorboards easing the temperature of your socks. Opening the ajar door to your bedroom, the music grows louder, sound clearly emitting from downstairs, your feet carry you to the staircase with no hesitation. However, when reaching the top of the staircase, eyebrows crease together in confusion, taking in your once-ragged appearance in the crystal mirror.

Your hair had been braided, albeit not elegantly, but at least out of your face, something you did almost religiously before sleeping. Your attire had changed, too, once you were dressed in Carlos’ sage hoodie. Now, your body was engulfed by Charles’ charcoal jumper, sleeves too long but an entire comfort for your drained mind. Is this what it felt like, to be nurtured and cared for by your husband? The pit of your stomach felt airy; this had been everything you desired for so long. And yet, now you had experienced somebody else, despite the heartbreak, your mind was utterly torn.

Music grows louder, your mind is suddenly focused back on its original target. With no hesitation now, you began to walk down the flight of stairs, noting your bag and phone resting by the front door. Even with as many notifications as you’d missed in your time asleep, priorities overtook, making your way towards the lounge, eyes transfixed on the figure by the French windows.

Charles Leclerc sat, comfortably and quietly, gentle fingers dancing over the keys of his piano. The soft lights of the room illuminated the figure, a tune you had never heard was fluttering around the open space.

Of course, you had heard him play the instrument multiple times; during his time spent at the house rather than on the track, he remained transfixed, creating new songs, finding some way to pour every emotion into some kind of melody. You’d lost track of the times you’d come downstairs to get a drink, put the washing into the machine and had instead pushed your body into the doorframe, eyes fixed upon your husband as he created the most beautiful sounds.

The last time you’d done that, his mistress had been present, leaving over the piano as Charles played her an elegant tune. When she had gone to lean over him, her own fingers wanting to press down against the keys, he’d rested a firm hand on her arm, insisting that she sit on the sofa and listen, instead. The sweet moments of silently viewing your husband had turned sour; you’d silently vowed that day you would never enter the room when he was playing again.

You’d broken that promise mere seconds ago, eyes transfixed upon your husband. You can feel the tension beneath his fingers, as if he’s trying to take the sheer thoughts of everything that had been embedded into his mind in the past twenty-four hours and mesh them into some kind of audible release. Underneath the layers of music, your footsteps can’t be heard as you hesitantly walk towards the end of the living space. His tune reaches a climax, but before the piano can take any more notes, you cough lightly, Charles’ hands ceasing in mid-air. Arching his body weight, he sees your frame standing next to his piano, eyes still sleepy from awakening mere moments ago. The breath catches in the back of his throat; did you always look so perfect in his soft jumpers?

“I’m sorry.” He eventually offers, taking in your sweet, soft appearance. “Did I wake you?”

“No, no.” The reply tumbles from your lips before you even realize. “It was…beautiful, actually. Is it a new piece?” You ask, entranced by the music which had been flowing freely.

“I’m not sure yet.” He can’t help but smile at the end of his sentence. “I just sort of started playing and this is what came of it.” The explanation is valid; like many creatives, sometimes a free flow form was the simplest way to go. His next movement is almost a shock to your system. “Why don’t you come and help me?” The offer is completed when he shuffles up on the piano stool, patting on hand on the available gap. There’s hesitation in your movement, before his hand trails upwards, leaning to clasp one of your own, guiding you towards the stool.

There’s an overpowering smell of his cologne, a scent you were slowly drawing yourself towards. The body heat from his frame radiates into your own. Shyly, you reach out, pressing down on one of the piano keys, a tone spouting from the instrument. Charles can’t help but smile upon your interaction, eyes questioning as you analyze the instrument.

“Do you know how to play?” He asks gingerly, watching as you shake your head in response. His actions exchange, resting one of his warm palms over your own. The next moments are filled with your husband guiding your hands over the piano, teaching you the tune to old nursery rhymes. When you reach the end of the piece, he cheers in delight at the achievement.

“Play me something now.” You ask carefully, head becoming heavy, heavy enough to rest on your husband’s shoulder. When you feel his body tense, you immediately sit back up, convinced you’ve overstepped a line. That thought is soon relinquished when Charles’ hand flies out, wrapping around the back of your head and pulling you back down to his shoulder, your breath hot on his neck, it’s enough for him, hesitant to overstep the boundaries you were adamant upon currently.

His fingers move back, continuing the song he had been conducting earlier. The piece had started out slowly, almost sad-like, before building, building towards a romantic counterpart. In his mind, it was the perfect song to punctuate the relationship he maintained with his wife. They both sat there, barely any moment as the music was the only sound present in their house.

When the song finishes, neither of you move, relishing in the soft touch you’re both sharing. Charles’ own head falls atop of your own, letting his cheek rest against your hair. There’s no form of time between you both, simply enjoying being alive, alive with one another. It’s interrupted when you feel Charles’ take an exaggerated breath, removing his keys from the piano. One of his hands rests upon his side, the other slides between the minute gap between you both, wrapping a toned arm around your waist. The movement causes you to lift yourself from his firm shoulder, catching those beautiful eyes from your glance.

“I’m traveling to Monaco tomorrow.” He says it so casually, as if it’s as normal as entering or leaving the building. You can feel his heart race in anticipation of what he was due to say, his body temperature raising dramatically, radiating through his hoodie. You offer him a warming smile. You really didn’t want him to leave, not when you were growing so unnaturally fond of his presence.

“Oh really, what for?” Is the eventual reply. In this moment, you simply can’t hold his eye contact, he’s staring into your soul, it’s as if he can sense every thought which is currently trekking through your mind; does he know how much of a hold he has on you, even if your marriage was entirely staged, at least in his eyes.

“I’m off to see my mother” He clarifies. “It’s been a while and I just want to check in.” It’s a lie. You can tell from the way his body language changes; his hands are suddenly clenching tighter, his grip on your waist firm as if he’s terrified, you’ll run away. He can’t admit it, he’s not strong enough. If you step away, he will fall back to the way he was the previous night; eyes bloodshot, unable to sleep unless he knows you’re safe.

“Give her my best.” The response is blunt, short. You’re on entirely different wavelengths, different planets. He never told you of his reasoning for things; a golden rule you had learnt at the beginning of this era. Just…you’d never question him; you would simply co-exist. What he says next makes your blood run cold.

“Why don’t you come with me? I’d really appreciate it.” Why on earth would your estranged husband want you to come on his travels, presumably when the entire point was to spend the entirety of it wrapped in the arms of another woman. Yet, a feeling in your stomach settled. Did you actually want to spend hours in this empty house alone? Now that Carlos was no longer a welcome distraction, anything would be better than wallowing in your silence.

“I will.” You eventually respond. “On one condition.”

“Anything.” His eyes are wide, so willing. He’d scooted tighter towards you, as if he could hold together this entire conversation, stopping the whole world from crumbling around you. You must be the one to take a deep breath this time. You had to remain firm with your choices, with what you needed to know.

“What was in the white envelope that your mistress gave you yesterday?”

You loved the glow of candlelight.

Having never entered Charles’ study, his fingers interlocked with your own as he guided you through the heavy door, you didn’t realize how many candles he had resting around his office. They laid upon his windowsill, on his desk, he even had a mulberry-scented candle resting next to his racing simulator.

There was only one candle which was lit, he had obviously forgotten to extinguish it whilst you were deep in your slumber. Despite the fact you hadn’t ever been given access to this room, you’d have to make a mental note in order to check for any fire hazards the next time you were in the building alone.

The envelope resting upon the desk stuck out like a sore thumb; his computer, stationary, it was all a cool gray tone whereas the envelope stuck out in a bright white glow.

“I need you to know before you look at this, it’s a lot worse than it comes across.” Even in the candlelight, his face had turned pale, barely able to keep his fear from dancing across his emotions. You need to remain strong. You need to see what was left in the envelope.

Staying firm, your grasp reaches out towards the desk, taking the card into your own hands. “I want to see it.” You clarified, letting your finger trace under the flap of the envelope.

You don’t let your husband’s words overpower you, distract you in any way. Instead, your hand reaches into the envelope and grasps around a stack of…something. It feels like multiple pieces of paper pressed together, though one side remains glossy, as if printed onto a special sheet. Hesitantly, your hand pulls from the envelope, eyes immediately widening upon seeing the content in question.

It's photographs. Multiple photographs of Charles and his mistress. Some of them are casual, taken from her phone, smiling selfies and dinner dates. Others are…compromising, verging on pornographic. You can feel the lump in your throat tightening, tears are forming on your lower lash line, but you must keep strong. You cannot show any weakness when you ask to see this.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” Your voice betrays you, weakening as your words continue. “Your…girlfriend.” You don’t want to use the other word; it’s clear from these photographs it was more than sex, it was more than just an escapade.

“She’s- she’s not anymore.” Charles pauses, his eyes don’t focus on the photographs, only on you. His wife, who he has hurt so badly and now must see the pain littered across her face. “She hasn’t been since your mother passed away.”

Your heart stops at the mention of your mother, a sharp spike of longing for the woman suddenly danced through your chest. Then, you were angry. How dare he pity you, you didn’t want it, not from him. But…you still wanted him. He’d clouded your emotions, nothing was black-and-white with your husband, just a cacophony of colors.

“That was your reason for dumping her. Sympathy?” You don’t care how harsh your voice comes across, instead just aggravated you were growing to care about his reasoning. Life had been simpler weeks ago, when you simply stayed at home, minding your own business whilst he got on with his. By the look on Charles’ face, he wasn’t expecting the hostility, either.

“No! I dumped her because it was wrong, because I have a loving wife who I would give anything for.” The room goes silent, giving you time to process the words that had come from his lips. You had been so certain for so long that he didn’t care about you; that everything he did was for his own gain and pleasure. Yet…he had given up his mistress for you. He’d given up something that made him happy because you were not.

Stressing, you run a hand through your hair, placing the photographs back into the envelope, speaking to your husband as you place the card back onto his desk. You feel sick. These photographs exist and it was a perfect way to destroy the two of you, it was perfect ammunition to a metaphorical pistol. “So, what does she want you to do with these photographs?”

“Nothing.” Charles leans over your own body, reaching for a second stack of papers resting upon the desk, one you had considered would simply be notes from Scuderia Ferrari. Warm seeps through your body at his close contact, one hand almost trailing against your back as he grasps to the stack of crisp sheets, barely touched. “She’s threatened to publish them if I don’t sign…this.”

You took the stack of ivory papers into your palms. It was sprawled with a size twelve font, you were uncertain of where to begin until two words in bold took your attention, printed formally across the top of the page.

“Divorce Papers.” Your voice is barely a whisper, heart dropping to your stomach.

“That’s the other reason I’m going to Monaco.” He’s explaining his own status now, eyes glassy with the fear of you walking straight out of the office. He wouldn’t blame you, of course. He couldn’t blame you for anything anymore. Charles reaches out to your grasp, wiggling the paper from your fingers and placing them back against the desk. “I’m filing for a lawsuit against her, a restraining order for manipulation and stalking.”

A scoff falls from your lips; the mere contrast of the events from a few weeks ago compared to now. He truly intended to file a lawsuit against a woman who he’d happily let warm his bed whilst you went to bed each night with nothing but regret and bloodshot eyes. “Do you…do you want a divorce?” You can feel your voice cracking. “I mean, if she’s sent you these, you must have mentioned wanting one-”

“I did.” Charles doesn’t miss a beat. “I mentioned how I didn’t want a divorce because despite everything…I do care for you.” The room goes silent, not even the flickering of the candle or the soft wind from the French windows can pierce the tone of the room.

A huff escapes your lips, arms resting by your side as you formulate a response; “You had a really weird way of showing it.” Your response is blunt, it clearly warrants the sad look on your husband’s face.

“I know. That’s why I’m going to make it right. Please come to Monaco with me. She won’t be there; you don’t have to come to the lawyer with me. But…I need to be able to come back to my wife.” His hand reaches out, cradling your own in this moment. Gently, he lifts your palm to his cheek, resting it upon his stubble and letting his lips trace a kiss across the soft skin.

He truly does know how to make your heart flutter, despite everything.

“Okay.” You eventually respond, focused on his gaze when his eyes turn wide in anticipation.

“Yeah?” His heart is picking up in happiness, reaching to hold you in his own grasp, but instead falling short when you raise a finger, ceasing his movements towards your body.

“But…you need to give me tonight, alone. To process that.” Gently, you take a step forward, leaning gently towards him. You can’t leave him, not before you gently press a kiss to his cheek, turning on your heel, your figure illuminated in the corridor by the soft candlelight. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Goodnight, beautiful.”

You loved the feeling of warm water.

There is only a slender picking of moments in your life where you have felt truly relaxed; sitting by the lake in the rolling fields your family had owned for generations, lounging in the bed of the Madrid-Based apartment your friends had hired for a holiday in the early spring morning.

You had never thought one of those relaxing moments would be as your mother-in-law massaged her hands through your locks, lathering an expensive shampoo into the roots of your hair. She was gentle; no tangles fell through her fingers as her rhythm stayed perfectly relaxing, hitting all the spots which would send a flood of relief through your scalp.

You’d arrived in Monaco early that morning, immediately being transported to the luxurious hotel your husband had booked you into. Most of the trips he’d book you wouldn’t attend, and when you did would be ignored by him altogether. This time, he’d remained present, willing. Your hands had entwined the moment you had left the privacy of the jet, nestling into the back of the car, eyes heavy from the early rise.

Not much is remembered after you’d arrived outside the opulent building; bags were removed and transported to your room by the bellhop, both you and your husband were given hotel cards, an older lady at the desk explaining the functions dotted around the high-end establishment. All you could remember was the door to the room opening, your tired body making a beeline towards the emperor bed, nuzzling into the soft furnishings with sleep overtaking you in a matter of moments.

Charles hadn’t been able to help the tug on his heartstrings as he’d seen you tumble into the mattress. You’d been so thoughtful; dropping everything back at your house and accompanying him to Monaco, promising to be there for him as he promised to fix the wounds from his previous mistakes. He’d give anything to crawl into the bed alongside you, wrap his frame around your own and fall back into his own slumber, one he had despised the night before simply because he wasn’t able to hold you in his arms. He was learning to respect your wishes; after all, he had a lot of repairing to do-so. Even after recent conversations with his Ferrari counterpart, he could never bring himself to hate you.

His phone buzzes from his back pocket and upon inspection he sees the reminder, he’s due with his lawyer in less than forty-five minutes, but he doesn’t want to leave you, not alone. A thought sparks into his head, fingers flying through his contacts and dropping a message to one, asking if they could take you over to his mother’s salon later in the afternoon. By the time he’s returned from changing in the en-suite and brushing a comb through his hair, the responses from both Joris and his mother had lit up his screen, confirming his plans for later in the afternoon.

Your husband had allowed himself one more look at you, so peaceful wrapped up in the comfort of the bed. Silently, he leans over your frame, running a gentle hand across the back of your head, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring his sweet words to your sleeping form.

When you’d awoken, there was a message clarifying that Joris would be taking you to his mother’s salon a little later and he would come to collect you once he was finished with his lawyer. That’s how you had ended up walking into her salon earlier that afternoon, her delighted smile present after seeing her daughter-in-law.

Pascale wasn’t stupid, that much was clear. She was aware of the strain in her middle son’s marriage, just not to the extent that he had been toying with a mistress for the better part of a year. However, she had grown to adore you; your mannerisms, laughter and the fact that you clearly held a candle for Charles, despite the dwindling flame of the marriage. If she had a daughter, she’d want her to be just like you.

“Are you and Charles up to anything this evening?” Her voice is gentle, motioning for you to stand up from the basin chair and walk towards the mirrors, resting yourself in one of the seats. Your reflection bores back into you, focused as Pascale adjusts your head slightly, brushing the tendrils of hair through her comb.

“I’m not sure.” You respond. “I know he has some business this morning.” It’s an understatement. When Joris had collected you from the hotel, he’d tried to give you what information he could – Charles had arrived at his Lawyer’s office, ready to file the case against his mistress. He wasn’t too sure how long it was going to take, though he had told Joris to be on hand for anything you needed when he couldn’t.

“You make him happy; you know?” Pascale mentions, tilting your head to angle your hair correctly. “I know he hasn’t always been…the greatest.” You’re not sure if she’s aware of everything, but her tone seems to stand where you need it to do so, “but you make…such an impact in his life.”

Not much else is said whilst the woman continues to trim your hair, adjusting your face as she does so. It was nice, not to be cooped up into a hotel room for the entirety of the day, nor to be sitting in Charles’ driver room whilst he walked around, finger entwined with his mistress. You’re so engrossed in Pascale drying your hair, setting the locks into soft rollers that you don’t realize when the door chimes open, another figure entering the quiet salon. The woman’s eyes brighten, and you hear her cooing before your own face turns, taking in the figure of your husband in the doorway.

Charles looks breath-taking. He’d clearly showered and changed since you had last seen him bundled in his travel gear that morning. Your deduction would be correct; the man had hastily returned to the hotel to jump into the shower, changing into a power blue shirt and white trousers. His hair, free of styling products curled in an unruly way, one that made his whole face structure elevate.

In his hands, he held both a soft white dress over his arm, one you had packed in your case fleetingly the evening before; it had been steamed and washed, the fabric clear and petticoats of the skirt floating gently. In his other hand, a vibrant bouquet of roses. His smile never faded, walking over to his mother and pressing a kiss to each of his mother’s cheeks. Once his attention turns towards you, his eyes only brighten.

“Hello, beautiful.” You can’t tell whether he’s playing up the affection in front of his mother, or whether it’s genuine. However, when one hand comes to rest on your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s being respectful; making sure not to cross a boundary.

“Hello, handsome.” The response falls from your lips without realizing, the grin on your husband's face only rising. Fuck. Did you mean to say that? Regardless, you had done, and by the look on his face he not only didn’t expect it but had instantly grown to love it. Charles had completely forgone the flowers in his grasp, only remembering them after your eyes had darted down towards his palms.

“Oh-“ His mind finally catches up with the present situation, raising his hand to present you with the flowers. They’re colors are soft, delicate, as if etched by crayon. You can’t help but smile at the gesture, even if it was entirely a false pretense in front of his mother. You can’t see her face, but you know she’s smiling, seeing her son present to his wife in such a sweet manner. Now, your gaze isn’t fixed against the flowers in your grasp, but the dress from your suitcase.

“Something tells me that won’t fit you, Charles.” You tease the garment laying over his forearm, only to cause a smile to appear on his lips again.

“I want to take you out for the afternoon. If that’s okay with you.” His voice is low now, hoping to avoid any prying of the conversation from his mother, though her attention was now turned to locating the hair dryer, still needing to complete your own treatment. “Would that be…okay?” He’s nervous. Fearful that after everything, you could now reject him and feel no remorse.

You’re not a cruel person, it has never been in your nature. Instead, you match his own smile, nodding as you take the garment from his grasp, Charles’ eyes widening in confirmation.

“Trust you to pick out my favorite dress, too.” You mumbled.

You loved the sound of the ocean.

You loved everything about the sea, truly. The reflections from the moonlight caused shards to reflect over Charles’ boat; the new yacht had barely had time to stretch the waters, though it seemed to float as if it had been nurtured its entire existence.

The afternoon of a late lunch had expanded into expensive, late-night wine on the boat as your husband had guided you into deeper waters. He knew what he was doing, after all; the waters of Monaco were a comfort to him, a lifetime had stretched out from jumping into the ocean as a child to yacht parties during the Grand Prix.

You’d seemed entirely at home, and it made his heart warm. Charles wasn’t a stupid man; he saw how you kept yourself small, your setup at the house barely spanning over two rooms. He’d wanted nothing more than to break the walls you had put up for oh-so-long and entwine your lives together.

Then he would reprimand himself, remind himself he was the sole reason those walls existed.

Conversation had spanned naturally into the events of the day; you thanked him for thinking of you, he’d responded with a mention of you deserving that form of treatment every single day. Your mind can’t take the anticipation; when your lips lift from the glass of wine, you can’t help but ask what his lawyer had recommended about his mistress. Your husband’s grin had fallen a little, running a hand through his dark curls.

“It’s a difficult one.” He explains. “There’s enough there for a case, considering we haven’t had contact in a while. But…” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; you do for him.

“The photographs are counted as evidence.” You finish, and he can only nod. He’s created such a mess, something he could never forgive himself for doing so. A web of lies and mistreatment surrounded you both; he so wanted to break each thread and simply cradle you, be in a bubble for the rest of eternity.

He’s expecting you to stay silent, then. Maybe that’s where the evening should have ended, with silence upon the realization that this case will not be easily solved. Instead, you place the glass of wine down on the ledge of the stairs, easing his own glass from his grasp. Charles is confused, even more so when you walk back towards him, wrapping your arms to close around his neck.

“What are you doing?” He whispers. His hands raise hesitantly, as if touching you would break you into a million pieces. His grasp only falls to your waist when you press closer towards the man, resting your gaze on his own eyes. He’s hurt you, broken you to such an extent, and yet you can’t help but draw closer to his touch, to his eyes.

“Being your wife.” You respond, before pressing your lips to his own. This is the first time, the first time in so long that you had been the one to initiate a kiss. Naturally, Charles’ hands wrap tighter around your waist, pulling you into his chest, deepening your touch, your kiss. This. This is the moment he wishes to bottle forever, to live in the comfort of his wife’s touch, no outside means, no other commitments being hung over his head.

You’re not sure how long you both stand there, wrapped in one another, hands fleeting over each other, desperate to find some touch, some form of skin. It isn’t until your fingers reach to unbutton the top of his powder-blue shirt, that his own come to rest atop of yours. He knows he’s made a mistake when he sees the look you shoot him, immediately assuming the worst.

“No, no.” He promises, both hands flying from where they had grasped yours, cradling each side of your face. It feels…warm. It feels so similar to the way Carlos had cradled your head once, when you were both on a boat, much like this. You think of those dark eyes, the whispers drawn into your ear as he had sharply thrusted into you that evening. Then, you think of the blonde appearing outside his apartment mere hours after you had been tangled in his arms.

“I want to.” Charles’ words draw you from your endless train of thoughts. “Sweetheart, I want to more than anything, but I need you to know how much it means-“

You don’t let him finish; instead, you press your mouths back together, forcefully. There are whispers from your own lips, pleading that he take you, that you want nothing more than to feel your bodies atop of one another.

And who is he to deny his wife?

You’re not sure when he scoops you up into his arms, guides you inside of the boat and to the soft bed that had been freshly made mere hours ago, but he never lets your lips leave one another for less than a moment.

He’s everywhere; he’s pressing into you in the most delicious way, he’s drawing your body of the most intense sounds, and then you’re coming, harder than you ever thought was possible, it hits you in the most delicious way.

Your fingernails pressed crescents into his skin as he continued to push into you with that perfect rhythm. Feeling your hot breath dance against the shell of his neck, the sweet whimpers of your overstimulated orgasm falling from your lips. Charles feels you clench around him, dragging you into him deeper, and it's all over.

His head immediately falls into the joint of your neck and shoulder, his pants getting heavier, thrusts rougher as he chases his own release. Teeth escape from his lips, biting down atop of the red marks he'd left earlier in a passion; the gasp you let-out, the roll of your hips against his own pushes him over the edge, a moan falling out from his own lips, hands flying to grip at your forearms pinned above him. You can feel every inch of him buried inside of you, warmth spilling into you.

Heavy hips press into yours, your thighs still pressed around his waist when he lifts his head from the warmth of your skin, pressing one final deep kiss to your lips, a profanity of words escaping from his mouth.

He kisses you again. And again. He keeps doing it whilst slowly rocking his hips, still jittering from his own orgasm. Senses come through, those eyes you had been entranced in so many times fixing to your own, drinking you in, looking so beautiful underneath his own frame.

"You still want somebody else?" The teasing is natural, almost, inflicting you to roll your eyes and playfully push his arm. God, your laugh is the most adoring sound in the world to him, it had been so long since he'd heard it, even then, it had never been due to his own actions until recently. The adorned look in his eye is soon replace with confusion when he feels you wiggle underneath him, soft blankets rubbing against your back.

"Are you going somewhere?" He questions, one hand coming up to trace against your jawline. You want to lean into his touch, it's something you'd been attracted to recently, though the mess between your legs and sweat trailing down your skin seemed to tell you something different.

"I need to clean up." You whine, pressing your body into the plush mattress. "I'm all gooey, Charles."

"I've got it." He murmurs, pressing one soft kiss to your cheek, another to your neck. You expect the weight from above to release you, but the warmth radiating from his body remains. You feel lips trace against your chest, his untamed curls tickle your stomach as he traces down a direct line.

"What are you doi-" You never get to finish you question, the fourth word cut off with a soft gasp, those lips which had pressed to yours, now pressing down against your clit, a soft praise towards your body whilst his tongue traced around the sensitive bud, drawing a slice through your wet lips, pressing deeper and deeper into your entrance.

The room is illuminated with your whines, hips bucking against his stubble as he fulfills his promise of cleaning you up.

You loved the feeling of being held.

You’d been unfathomably happy to walk into the paddock that evening, fingers interlaced with Charles’ as he guided the two of you through the fans and photographers alike, buzzing to be starting on Pole Position when his wife would be watching in awe of his achievement.

You hadn’t been there on qualifying day; you were still trying to keep your distance where you could, to prove to your husband he couldn’t instantly win you back overnight. It had only been when he’d come into the en-suite of your room the evening before, hands wrapped around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, pleading you came to watch him race the following night.

“I’ll win.” He promises, voice quiet as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll win it for you.”

His sweet words had not only lured you to the race track the following day but had also drawn you to sleep in his bed that evening, curled up into his toned chest as he murmured words of appreciation in French; only a few you were able to pick up and understand the meaning of as you drifted into a comfortable sleep, arms cradling your body underneath the bed sheets.

There was a collective, loving aura that evening when the two of you had stepped into his garage, the team in awe of seeing that their Prince of Monaco and his beloved Princess had been reunited, here to support one another. However, one figure remained quiet, eyes transfixed on your every movement. He felt his knuckles turn white when Charles had changed into his race suit, placing his cap atop of your own head and had lovingly pressed two kisses to either of your cheeks.

Carlos Sainz was a jealous man; he’d been infuriated when his blonde fling had appeared on his doorstep, instantly realizing the kind of man he must have been made out to be when you’d seen her appear on your departure. He’d hoped and prayed you hadn’t seen her, but from the radio silence he received over messages and calls, to the way you had purposely avoided speaking to him when arriving in the paddock, he could tell you were not that naive.

Emotions had played a heavy part on both of the Ferrari Pilots during the start of the race. One, determined to keep his promise and win whilst his wife was present. The other was so clouded with sadness and rage that all he wanted to do was push his counterpart off the track. The lights snapped off, 20 engines revving in unison as the cars blitzed down the first straight.

It doesn’t take long for emotion to overcome; Charles’ P6 soon creeps towards a P3, whilst Carlos begins to drop. A violent turn into Oscar Piastri not only takes the young rookie out of the race, but the Ferrari driver, too. Nobody misses the swears as he switches the engine off, nor the scowl on his face as he removes the steering wheel, ready to be escorted back to the garage.

When the blur of red comes through the paddock, you can’t help but feel guilty, telling yourself that if you had spoken to him, he would have been able to keep a cool head. Silently, you slip the headphones from your temple, murmuring about going to the bathroom before taking a direct beeline towards Carlos’ room, catching the door just before it’s due to slam closed.

He was seething. Pure rage flicked across his eyes; the warm smile reserved for you replaced with a harsh scowl. This may have been a mistake.

“What do you want?” His words are venom, spit towards you. He cannot stand to see you right now.

“I just-“You pause, clearing your throat. “I wanted to check if you were okay.” It’s a pathetic answer, really. One that didn’t sit right in your mouth, even after you had spoken.

“I’m alright?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “You ignore my calls, go away and fuck that pathetic man and then come back to me?” He’s pissed, undoubtedly so. “You whore. I understand it all now.” He shakes his head, missing the fire which had begun to burn in your own stomach.

“You have no right!” You’d shrieked so loudly you’d startled yourself; one finger was still pointed into his infuriated face, your finger mere millimeters from the bridge of his nose. Hot air engulfed both of your bodies, the only sound present was the deep and heavy breathing flaring from your nostrils.

Without a thought, Carlos had slapped your finger away from his face, lunging forward dramatically to seize your face into his rough palms. His lips are on yours, roughly seeking the wet trace of your tongue. You can’t fight him; not when his lips feel so flawless against your own. A rough palm encases the back of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist as he holds your frame tighter against his own.

Your breath barely had a moment to catch when he forcefully pulled his lips from you, emitting a white from your breath. That innocent sound is soon replaced by a sharp gasp, his fingers tightening against your scalp, pulling on your locks.

“Don’t fucking whine.” He spits, ghosting his lips over your own, never letting them touch yours. Warm breath tickles the shell of your ear when his grip pulls tighter onto your hair, tiling your ear to meet his mouth. “I’m sick of your whining, about your horrible excuse for a husband. I will treat you how you should be treated.”

There’s no time to react as his pink tongue pokes from his lips, a stripe tracing from the corner of your ear, across the sweetest spot of your neck. You’re reveling in the wetness, the sinful way his words litter through the air before teeth sink into your skin. He doesn’t bother to cover your mouth, mute the sweet sounds falling from your lips. There’s no decency anymore, Carlos doesn’t care who sees the marks he engraves into your skin. The ring on your left hand means nothing more than a reminder that he could be better.

“Carlos-“ You struggle to connect the two syllables together, hands gripping through his hair, pulling at the brown locks in your fingers. “Fuck-“

“What did I just say?” He grunts from the valley of your neck, one hand sliding from your waist and flying out, smacking on your clothed butt. The shock simply causes you to gasp out loud, pushing your own throbbing crotch into his hard one. A smirk forms against your neck, clear as day when the man pulls himself from your neck. His lips are wet, saliva from his own mouth tracing around your lips.

One hand finds your face again, grasping at your chin tilting your head backwards to hover below his own. A single finger taps at your lips, signaling for you to open wide for him. He’s sinful as he lets his spit fall across your lips, eyebrows raised as he wraps a hand around your throat, clearly overpowering your stance in this moment.

“Swallow.” He commands, hand resting on your cheek firmly. The tone of his voice sends a shock of energy down your chest and between your legs, cunt throbbing at his words. Of course, you comply, swallowing the remanence he had given you. “Good girl.”

The sweet nicknames in this moment have evaporated; Carlos is nothing short of animalistic, his presence all too understanding as one hand takes its place around your neck, the other grabbing firmly onto your wrist as he guides you backwards, softly falling onto the sofa of his driver’s room. The pitying looks the man gives you sends a thousand messages through your brain.

“No, no. Dirty little girls don’t get to sit on my sofa.” He teases, both hands clasping your waist, sliding you off the plush furnishings and resting on the cold floor, kneeling for the Spaniard. “You need to be on your knees, you need to be taught how to behave.”

Eyes widen as his tanned fingers pull at the knotted arms of the fireproofs resting on his waist. Even through his underclothes, the shape of his hard length is clearly visible, even more so as he removes his underlayers and briefs, letting himself spring freely, one hand rubbing his shaft a few times, the other knotting in the back of your hair.

He loves this; cock in his hand as he taps the tip against each of your cheeks, trailing himself against the parting of your lips, having to hide the shiver from his own body when the wetness of your mouth. His eyes are sparkling when he uses his firm cock to press through your mouth, relishing in the warmth of your lips wrapping around his length.

“That’s it, be a good girl. Take it.” He coos as you struggle to take more of his length, attempting to give small, tentative licks to his cock whilst he slides between your lips. It sends him feral, wild. He thinks of nothing else as both hands grip tightly in your hair, shoving your face into his crotch, your gags music to his ears as he continues to take control of the situation.

When your eyes adjust, look up from his groin, he almost feels sorry for you. They’re wide, glassy, snuffles falling from your lips as he continues his forceful attack. One hand slowly removes itself from the strain on your locks, tracing over your cheek, thumb rubbing underneath your eye, removing the salty tears as your breath remains heavy through your nose.

“Oh, poor baby.” He teases, pace never relenting. “This is what you need, someone to put you in your place, remind you what you deserve for teasing me, making me jealous.” He can’t help but chuckle at the pathetic sound coming from your lips. He can feel his stomach tightening, the warmth drawing an imminent release from his cock. This isn’t how he wants to finish, he can’t yet.

Your mouth feels empty when he pulls out, giving you no warning, the gasps falling from your lips at the sudden gain of air. He doesn’t give you time to respond, a heavy hand pushing your front to the floor, lifting your hips, ass straight back in the air. No warning, the skirt of your dress is lifted, the wetness of your cunt seeping through your panties. The anticipation kills you, until a warm finger slides into your folds with no warning. Your body can’t help but react, clenching around the warmness without even realizing. You also don’t realize the sounds you’re making, until the finger removes itself, a palm harshly smacking on your behind.

“What did I say about noises?” He grunts, leaning around to push the wet finger into your own mouth. “Do you like it? Taste what I do to you?” Hurriedly, he presses his finger in and out of your lips a few times before returning it to your wet hole, wiggling in the air. This time there’s two; stretching you out, your palms trying to find anything to grip, to hold on to as he carelessly thrusted, tickling a sweet, sweet spot deep in your stomach.

“I- Carlos I can’t-“ You whine through raspy breaths. He can feel you clenching, swelling around his fingers, and is rewarded when he hastily pulls them out of you, a long moan and a squirt of arousal pushing from your cunt. A sheer shock of arousal floods between his own legs, rubbing his fingers against your wet folds, letting your wetness trail onto the tips of his hand.

“Oh, your husband can’t make you do that, can he?” He’s proud; proud he’s able to draw such a reaction from your body. “Come on, baby, up we get.” His arms are suddenly firm, present around your waist as he pulls you to stand on two shaky legs, still reveling in the feeling he had granted you moments ago.

Hands retract from your waist and come to hold your face, pressing kisses to your scarlet lips as he guides you from a standing position towards his couch, finally allowing himself to sink into the cushions. You want nothing more than to join him, feel his warmth and aura around your own body, but by the finger he’s raised as he situates himself into the sofa, you can tell you’ll have to wait.

The moment he sits down, a tanned hand comes to his crotch to rub his length a few times, your eyes widening as you plead for it; mind clouded by lust, all you want is for something warm to fill you up, make you feel as good as he had done so many times before. Carlos’ finger beckons for you to join him, and you know what he’s insinuating.

Your movements are commanded by the Spaniard; immediately, there are two firm hands on your body, pulling you into his touch and sinking you down onto his cock. You don’t miss the way his lips quirk into a grin, oh-so-happy to see your reaction to the pleasure he had granted you. It’s no match for when he starts moving, bouncing you up and down on his lap, fallen gasps from your lips as your faces draw closer and closer.

You were sinking into one another’s skin; he wanted nothing more than to entwine your bodies for eternity. One hand was firm around your waist, guiding your movement with the strength only he could. The other guided a gentle trace across your face, pulling you closer, closer to his own face as his thrusts got faster, erratic.

“You’re mine.” He grunts, never once breaking eye contact as his hips grew tighter, his cock making your cunt squeeze in a way you didn’t know was physically possible. “You’ve always been mine, tell me you’re mine.”

His eyes go soft, thrusts pausing for a second as he notes the tears pooling in your eyes from the sheer euphoria running through your body. A whine falls from your lips as you feel his strong hand tug at your neck, pressing your foreheads towards one another, hips slowing for just a moment, letting your breath catch up to your aching body.

“I’m yours.” You’d whisper, mind clouded. You were his. There could be a thousand cars, an ocean or a wedding band between the two of you and you would still always find your way back to Carlos. Whatever that relationship would form, you would always be a part of him.

The murmured confirmation was enough to send a shot of energy through his spine, his thrusting becoming deeper, passionate. It barely takes five thrusts before he’s groaning, throwing his head back and letting out a low moan as he spills himself into you. The warmth is enough to send your cunt into flutters, clenching so tightly as your body falls into his chest, whining as you feel a gush of wetness drip onto his crotch.

Undoubtedly, Carlos Sainz is now a part of you. Time seems to flicker between seconds and minutes, at some point you’ve shifted your weight, turning around to fix your eyes onto the television screen of his room, eyes wide as you watch your husband continue to battle out on the track. It felt almost sinful; watching Charles battle for his podium whilst his teammate stayed buried inside of you.

His touch goes soft; one hand remains tight around your waist, though your back is warmed by the way you’re pulled back into his skin. Feather-Light kisses dance across your shoulder, he’s never been this soft, cradling you as if the world would be held together by your content. If the universe was to implode, he would be happy with the fact you were pressed into him in that very moment.

The laps of the race begin to dwindle; a promising second-place is looking pretty much secured for Charles. You’re certain that your silver trophy will be sitting proudly in the hotel room later that evening, until Max Verstappen suddenly begins to slow down, commentators beginning to roar as an unexpected engine issue splutters into the RB19.

“Holy shit.” Carlos murmurs, sitting up from his relaxed position, both arms now tightly around your waist as he shifts the balance of your bodies. “What happened to Max?” His voice becomes a murmur, your attention drifts, focused on the cars beginning to pick up their speed against the current world champion.

Goosebumps litter your skin, you immediately pull away from the warmth of Carlos, eyes wide as you see the scarlet red car glide into view. He’s going to overtake Max. Not only that, but your husband is about to win the entire race.

An audible groan comes from both of you when you slip yourself off his length, searching around for the panties which had been discarded oh-so-long ago; the man rests a hand on your shoulder, one hand tracing across your jawline as the other reaches down, gently smoothing the skirt of your long dress.

“We’ll find them later. We need to go and congratulate your husband, after all.” You can’t miss the cockiness in his voice, still content with the fact his cum is buried deep inside your pussy, panties are left in his driver’s room as a sheer prize for being able to make you feel euphoric. A tinted blush decorates your cheeks as he slips into his old jeans and a Ferrari polo shirt, one hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you out of his driver’s room, never once bothering to fix his hair when you had been the one to grab onto it so tightly.

People wouldn’t think that of him, after all.

You love to be loved.

Your eyes are brimming with tears as you reach Parc Fermé, Carlos finally catching up with you, standing right behind you at the barrier, eyes transfixed onto his teammate, standing atop of his livery, cheering towards the endless roars of the crowd, passing a congratulatory message towards his fellow drivers, Lewis patting his back, Lando cheering on his behalf.

He’s already removed his helmet when he sprints towards his team; the losses don’t matter, not when he can celebrate the win he had been craving for so, so long. There are praises passed, pats on the back as he works his way down the winding line of his team, red in their clothes and their cheeks, it means the world to everybody.

And then, Charles is facing you, his wife. He’s so transfixed upon your gaze, the sheer elation you have for his victory that he doesn’t stop to think when he takes two of his hands on either side of your face, cradling your cheeks as he presses his lips to yours, grinning into such a sweet kiss that you can’t help but kiss him back.

“I told you.” He whispers when he pulls away from you, resting a gentle hand on your cheek for just a moment. His eyes finally turned to where his teammate was standing. Both of them have to forge a smile as they reach out to clasp hands, a firm grip in celebration of scoring points for their team.

You don’t see him again, not until he’s left the cool-down room and is bounding towards the podium. Carlos, having not been called to his post-race interview yet, still stood behind you, though one hand had snaked its way around your waist, as if it had to be there. Nobody notices, of course. The team is too focused upon their driver lifting his golden trophy, in awe of the achievement they had built for seemingly the entire season.

Charles doesn’t miss it, of course. Maybe that’s why his gaze is so fixed on you when he releases a splash of champagne, purposely aiming his bottle towards the man behind you, his heart only crushing further when he sees the Spaniard pull your frame behind his own in protection.

And then, it’s all over. Both Carlos and Charles are rushed away to complete their post-race interviews. You’re left alone, simply taking a slow walk towards the Ferrari Hospitality. Even as you pace through the crowds, you can’t help but feel…sick. Dizzy. Out-of-body.

You cared for your husband greatly, and somewhere during it all, you believed his apology was genuine, that he truly wanted to fix the previous mistakes of the year. But how long would his tether last until his mistress came trailing back, regardless of a court ruling?

And Carlos. The sweet man who had proved to you time and time again, you were worth more than a simple name on a piece of paper. He’d been your soul, you truly were set to drop an entire marriage to live in his arms until his blonde counterpart came along, a knife to the chest after one of the most intimate nights you could fathom.

Your breathing gets faster, the world begins to turn on an axis. From somewhere, you hear a voice asking if you’re okay, if you need help getting back to the hospitality. And then, the world goes black, your body slumps to the floor of the paddock, with only one sentence drifting through your unconscious mind.

Who do you love?

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enhastolemyheart · 1 month

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SATURDAY BLESSING | s.jy

pairing. boyfriend!jake x reader

genre. est. relationship, fluff

synopsis. being in a long distance relationship is hard. But, all works out in the end knowing your boyfriend Jake will come right back to you.

warning(s). kissing, jake and yn being cute, none really lmao, not proofread

word count. 0.8k

networks. @.hyfenet @k-films @kflixnet

note. hey!! it'd been a while lmao i forgot how to do this format thing 😭😭😭 but nonetheless, i had this sweet idea and hope you guys enjoy!!

banner by @cafekitsune

As you take your regular Saturday stroll through your favorite park nearby your complex, enjoying the fresh air and the calming ambiance. Birds are chirping, the are children running around, people's dogs are chasing squirrels and frisbees, there are the daily fitness people chasing their 10k steps and of course, you cannot miss the lovely elderly couples on their romantic walks.

Growing up in this area for the last thirteen years, this park has been a second home to you. You knew almost everyone here. You watched this park at its highest and lowest. You loved coming here, anytime and any day. One thing that has only enhanced your love for this place is the amount of time you spent here with your boyfriend of 2 years, Jake sim.

You both spend everyday together, but that has come to a temporary end when you both had to long distance. Jake to move to another state to take care of his sick grandmother. He stayed there longer then he'd expected but you knew and had faith that the relationship between you both would only get stronger once you reunite.

As you turn around the corner of the trail, you stop dead in your tracks tracks when a handsome man steps in front of you. Your handsome man. It's your boyfriend Jake, who you hadn't seen in eight months. Your eyes widen and your feet are stuck in place, your breath hitches and tightens. You can feel tears welling in your eyes at the sight of him.

He is so handsome, his hair has grown alot, looking like a mini mullet which looks so good on him. His eyes are just as bright as you seen him last and that adoring smile not wavering for a second. He opens his arms to you, lips in a smirk, "did you miss me, baby?"

His voice. I think my heart just skipped a beat.

That angelic voice was the final recall that he was here, he was finally here in your sight. You run up to him and he wraps his strong arms around your frame, melting in his embrace and basking in his scent. he release a sigh, almost as a sign of content and relief.

He pulls away, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, lips in a soft smile, "I miss you so much, honey, you have no idea"

"i missed you too Jake, so much,"

And that was it, until he pulls you in for a much needed kiss, his lips in a smile causes yours to smile as well. He holds you very close to him in a gentle but firm grip, not wanting to let go. And you don't want him to, hands on the back of his neck, playing with the grown hair there.

He pulls away, looking into your eyes with full of love, "I love you yn."

you smile ad you kiss his cheek, "And I love you."

As the afternoon turns into evening and the sun slowly sets, You and Jake sit down at one of your favorite spots in the park. You are against a tree, your back warmed up with his chest, arms enveloped around you like a blanket, watching the leaves rustle in the breeze and listening to the birds chirping.

We spend an hour or two just talking, catching up on everything that's happened in the past few months. He tells me that his grandmother is doing much better now and that they hired a woman to take care when his parents cannot. I tell him about my internship at work, it was for the journaling field of a reputed magazine company. We laugh, we tease, and we just enjoy each other's company.

He kisses your temple every so often, and realization dawns upon you that you missed this. You missed this feeling of doing nothing but everything at the same time. You missed his warm hold and his silly, cute laugh, you missed him.

Jake places a kiss on the top of your head before asking you to turn to him, a smile playing on his lips.

"Remember when we first met?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia.

You nod, a smile forming on your own lips and you lean the side your face on his shoulder.

"Of course I do," You reply, giggling slightly. "Who could forget meeting the boy of their dreams in a park on a Saturday afternoon?"

Jake laughs, and you share a look of shared understanding. Your time apart may have been long, but our bond feels stronger than ever.

"I love you baby, till death do us apart." Jake says with sincerity.

you smile only widens till your cheeks are hurting, you placed a gently, shaking hand on his cheek and your foreheads meet.

"I love you Jake, till death do us apart."

perm taglist: @jak-ey ; @snoowhore ; @hsgwrld ; @seungiesluv ; @1-800shutthefuckup ; @heeseungshim (send an ask to be added)

#enhastolemyheart #abby writes!#k films #kflixnet #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #jake sim #jake sim fanfic #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun #jake sim fluff #jake sim imagines #jake sim scenarios #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun x you #jake sim x you

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hyunluvbug · 11 months

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jealousy, jealousy

pairing: lee know x afab reader

content: 🔞NSFW MDNI!!, ex lovers to lovers?, public sex (bathroom), oral (m receiving), face fucking (f receiving), unprotective sex, possesive!minho

premise: lee know is your ex and he sees you in the club one night. he becomes jealous from all the attention everyone is giving you.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: i have been simping extra hard for this man recently (more than normal ><) and this idea kind of drove me crazy. so i had to write and share this fantasy, enjoy :>

minho. the man who once consumed every ounce of your mind. his name running circles throughout brain like a marathon. he is everywhere until he is nowhere. the cause of your breakup? it was a mutual agreement. something you both discussed. all of it came down to the both of you being too busy to see one another.

"i think we should break up." minho tells you one evening in your apartment.

"okay."

your agreement is one that shocks him. he's shocked that you both thought the exact same thing. being too busy and not seeing each other enough made it feel like there wasn't any point to the relationship. of course, you miss him like hell and he misses you too. but it is what was best in the moment.

your friends thought maybe you are insane. they know how much you both love each other. hearing you decided to break up was a shocker for them. when you two had been dating for over a year. you kept telling them you were fine and that the breakup was simple. no one's heart was truly broken and no one was left with sullen feelings. a small piece of you did wish things could be different. but life just happens.

this is what led to your friends dragging you to the club. it had been a week without him and it felt like any other day. you barely saw him during the relationship to begin with so not much was new. a part of you did begin to feel lonely. knowing that you are no longer his and he’s not yours, did hurt.

your friends wanted to drag you to the club thinking it would cheer you up when you weren't even sad. you accepted anyways since a night out could be fun.

the crowd was lively. music boomed through the room causing vibrations to buzz the floor beneath you. a cup in hand filled with vodka and your hips swaying side to side. your friends are around you dancing with one another, twirling around and giggles leaving their lips. you are tipsy. the liquor making your body feel electric.

there were many other attractive people who caught your eye. some of them even eyeing you from how great you looked tonight. you had put on what you considered to be your best outfit and it was garnering many people's attention. one person's attention was all on you and you hadn't even noticed him.

minho was at that exact same club. for the exact reasons as you. his friends didn't really understand how the two of you broke up. you were practically inseparable when you were together but they guessed his busy schedule plus yours didn't match. minho was practically fuming though as he watched you dance in the crowd. taking notice of all the other people watching you, practically eye fucking you from a distance. he felt jealousy bubble up into his chest and he was waiting for it to explode.

you don't even remember how it all happened. one minute you were dancing and another you were following minho into the men's bathroom. he walked over to you and didn't even say a word, all he did was grab your wrist and drag you along. you let him.

"minho?" you questioned as he leads you into a stall. he locks the stall door and stares at you. taking in just how great you look in your outfit. everything about it makes him lose his mind.

"do you know how difficult it is to see other people who clearly want to fuck you?"

"excuse me." you question, shocked at what he is telling you. he begins to pull down his zipper, you watch him with your eyes wide. you are tipsy but you can still understand what he is about to do.

“knees.”

“if you think i’m going to get on this dirty ass floor-“

he lightly pushes you to the floor, “i said get on your knees.”

his eyes are clouded with darkness, something you hadn’t seen before. you gulp down your words as you look up at him. he pulls his pants and boxers down, his eyes looking into yours.

“you know what to do.”

you hesitate for a moment. remembering the break up and how it all happened. it was all his idea and yet here he is practically commanding you to suck him off. you can't deny that this whole situation turns you on.

"come on baby, i know you've missed me as much as i have missed you." he sighs above you, you look into his eyes. your eyes half lidded and he smiles at the sight. you bring his cock closer to your lips and begin to lick the tip.

"fuck, that's my good girl."

you tease his tip with your tongue, his hand caresses your cheek and pulls you forward. his cock fully enters your mouth and he lets out a loud groan.

"such a perfect mouth." he holds onto your face while he fucks his cock into your mouth. your eyes are on him as you watch him bite down on his lip. many moans and groans leave from his lips as he continues to slide in and out of your mouth.

squelching sounds of your spit on his cock fills the bathroom and echoes off the walls. the idea of someone walking in and hearing it makes you wet.

minho then pulls you away quickly. he stares into your eyes, a smirk is on his face. he grabs your wrists and pulls you up off the floor. his lips come into contact with yours and it feels euphoric. being able to kiss again after so long feels amazing. it is a feeling you didn't think you would be able to experience again.

while you're making out, you feel him pull down your panties. easy access since you're wearing a skirt. he runs his fingers under your skirt to feel your wetness.

"you always get soaking for me." he whispers over your lips. his fingers prod at your folds and run over your clit. making your legs shake and a soft moan to leave your lips.

"minho please."

"don't worry, i'll give you what you want."

he places you against the cold metal stall wall. you jump up to wrap your legs around him. you feel his cock come into contact with your folds. he rubs his cock over them letting the wetness coat him.

"you're mine." he breathes into your ear and pushes inside. the feeling of his cock inside of you at this angle makes your eyes roll. he is able to hit the deepest part of you. exploring the pleasure it brings you both.

he begins to thrust, in doing so, the stall wall begins to creak. the sound of him fucking you makes your brain mushy. the thrusts become more erratic and quick, your moans egging him to go faster.

"you want someone to hear you get slutted out huh? let them hear how dumb i fuck you. come on baby, say it."

you can't even form words. what he says slips in one ear and out the other. you can only imagine how fucked out you must look right now. your eyes are half closed and practically rolling into the back of your head.

"say it." he coos and you pant loudly. his thrusts become more harsh, each one pulling out slowly and thrusting back in even harder.

"y-you fuck, you fuck m-me so stupid."

"good girl." he chuckles, his thrusts go even deeper inside. wet sounds filling the bathroom. each thrust making you even more stupid, not being able to think about anything but him.

and your worst fear happens. someone walks in.

the bathroom door swings open with a creak and you hear them unzip their pants. minho covers your mouth with one hand and continues to fuck up into you. this drives you even more insane. knowing someone can still hear the rhythmic squeaking of the stall door. they can probably guess what is happening. your moans are muffled by his hand, he looks into your eyes. a big smirk is on his face. he is reveling in the fact someone can hear you get fucked. once they finish their business, they flush and walk out. the door creaks closed.

minho removes his hand from your mouth and you let out a loud groan.

"can't let anyone hear how fucked out you sound. only i can. just me. no one else baby. i want you for myself. i own you." he whispers sweetly into your ear. each phrase matched with a hard thrust.

you let out a few more whimpers. starting to feel a little embarrassed at how he makes you feel. everything he says makes you even closer to your high. his words allow you to revisit your feelings for him, everything begins to come back to you. you don't ever want to leave him. you want to be with him no matter what it takes.

"cum for me baby." he pants into your ear, his thrusts beginning to falter as his high also approaches. he thrusts inside a few more times and you're coming undone around him.

"shit." he grunts and you feel his cum coat your walls. he wraps his arms around you, your legs still secure around his waist. he pulls out of you and you let out a low whine. he begins to breathe heavily into your neck, trying to get through his orgasm.

when his breaths slow down, he looks up at you. his eyes glossed over with love. he smiles shyly at you, "okay so maybe i got jealous."

the statement makes you chuckle. you tap his arms and he helps you down to the floor. your knees wobble a little bit but he helps you stay up. he hands you your underwear and you slide them back on.

"that was one hell of a way to show me you want to get back together." you smirk and his face flushes. now he is the one who is embarrassed. he pulls up his own boxers and jeans.

"i just missed you so much baby." your hand reaches up to his cheek, caressing his soft skin.

"well, you have me. i am never leaving your side again." he leans into your hand, his eyes welling up with tears. he sniffles a little and you coo at him.

"wow, you missed me that much? i can finally say i made the lee minho cry."

"ah shut up, you're ruining it."

you both begin to laugh together, hoping that this is what will keep you together. the undeniable love you have for one another should be enough. no one or anything could ever get in the way of that again.

#lee minho smut #lee know smut #lee know imagine #lee minho imagine #stray kids imagine #kpop imagines #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #kpop smut #kpop x reader #skz smut #skz imagine

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singmyaubade · 1 year

Text

No Longer Yours

James Potter x Female!Reader

IB: In The Cold November Rain by @sweetsweetjellybean (Make sure to check it out, it’s incredible and one of the best I’ve ever read !)

A/N: First, I apologize for my time writing this; it just had to be perfect! I am so grateful that you all love my story enough to give it so much love and support and practically beg for a part 3; thank you so much. I had no idea how to start and continue this, so please be kind. I really hope you guys enjoy this part, and I hope it's everything you dreamed of <3

Summary: James had disregarded you for multiple years, but when you have an epiphany in your final year, how does it feel to taste his own medicine?

Warning: It may contain swearing and soon-to-be smut.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

"Shh.. don't wake her up!" You heard Lily whisper in your half-asleep state as the sun peeked at you through the blinds.

"It's Marlene's big oger feet," Mary snorted.

"Hey! My feet are not the size of oger feet," Marlene replied, sticking out her tongue.

"Shh!" Lily warned.

You heard the shuffling of paper and steps as you opened your eyes to see your best friends hanging up decorations, a smile appearing on your face immediately.

"Oh, bollocks," Lily sighed, face-palming, "Happy birthday!" She yelled, half annoyed but half happy there was a smile on your face. She embraced you as you sat upright in bed, glad to see your friend's dedication to your birthday.

The rest of them told you a happy birthday, embracing you in a tight hug.

"Wow, I can't believe you actually got Marlene up this early," You said, opening another card they gave you.

"Well, it took a chicken drumstick," Dorcas replied.

"Otherwise, I would've been grouchy, and Y/n would have had a horrible birthday, so really I did it for her," Marlene said as Mary rolled her eyes.

"I wonder what the Marauders have planned, especially James," Lily muttered.

Every year for your birthday, James would give you a grand birthday party and tons of presents. He usually would sneak into your dorm room and surprise you with cannons and the other Marauders, but of course, this year was different.

And coincidentally, your birthday was the same day as the start of winter break, which always meant you had to pack on your birthday.

And every birthday, you had to go over to James's house for your birthday dinner with your families.

Which you were not looking forward to this year.

"Oh shit, sorry, Y/n, I know you don't want to speak about him," Lily apologized.

"It's alright; I'm sure I'll be reminded of him today many times," You replied, getting out of bed, "I can't believe I don't get to spend my birthday at Hogwarts," You said, grabbing clothes from your closet, setting them next to the trunk.

"It does suck, but you can at least be excited about your birthday dinner," Lily replied, closing her trunk.

"Hopefully, it goes well without James hinting to our parents that I hate him and don't want anything to do with him," You angrily said, shoving your clothes in your trunk.

"Do you really hate him, though?" Mary asked, "I mean, you were best friends with him all these years, and now, you utterly hate him,"

"That was before I realized he was cruel and truly considered me anything but something that he couldn't get rid of," You said, "But enough about James, are we still meeting together after Christmas?"

"Of course, your house, Y/n?" Dorcas asked.

You nodded, "But we can't steal my parent's booze again; I'm pretty sure the elves are scared of Marlene,"

"I didn't mean to scare them with my clown impression; it was just too good," Marlene smirked.

"Yeah yeah, for sure," You said, laughing before packing the rest of your clothes.

Suddenly, your parent's owl flew in from the window, delivering you a letter. You opened the envelope and straightened the folded-up letter, which stated:

Dear beloved Y/n,

Your father and I are experiencing a torturous delay from France; we have fought with the conductor multiple times and even considered apparating or the floo. Unfortunately, because of the horrible mangling rabbit, I TOLD your father not to eat, he has been throwing up all evening, and we can't apparate, and the nearest floo is eight hours away. You will stay with the Potters tonight and tomorrow night because too many wards might injure you in the house that the elves can't disable, but we hope to return before then. We want you to have the most incredible birthday and love you so much; we are incredibly sorry to miss it. Please forgive us.

Sincerely,

Your proud parents.

"What does the letter say?" Lily asked, glancing at you the folding her socks.

"My parents are stuck in a delay and can't make it to my birthday dinner in time, or even tomorrow," You shrugged.

"I am so sorry, Y/n," Lily said, embracing you.

You hugged her back. "It's okay; at least I have the Potters.

"Are you sure you will be okay?" Dorcas asked.

"Yeah, you can stay with me if you want," Mary offered.

"No, it's fine." You sighed, "They will be hurt if I skipped the opportunity to continue the tradition, and my mom would wring my head off if I didn't go," You joked.

"Okay, well, let us know," Lily smiled.

The whole part of you was sincerely upset; you didn't want your parents to not be there for your birthday. Even worse, you weren't on good terms with James, which only made for an awkward dinner with his family.

But you understood and knew your parents would make it up to you, and you know how guilty they felt; you just missed them.

You chose to keep your mind off it and keep packing until it was time to go to the train.

"When does this bloody train come?" Marlene shivered, "I'm fucking freezing,"

"I told you to bring your jumper," Mary sighed.

"I didn't think I really needed it," Marlene replied, gritting her teeth.

"I knew you would be cold," You said, giving her one of your extra jumpers.

"You know, Y/n, I'll kick Potter's bloody ass for you; just remember that," Marlene suggested, causing you to laugh.

"Speaking of the devil," Dorcas muttered under her breath.

You turned around to see James looking straight into your eyes. You had to admit that James had never been so intimidating. His eyes looked as if they had darkened, and he looked as if you were his Slytherin competitor in Quidditch.

"Are you ready?" He asked, his voice sounding deeper.

He didn't even say Happy Birthday.

"I'm gonna sit with them," You blankly stated, not an ounce of kindness in your voice.

"It's better if we sit together," James demanded, "Otherwise, we won't be able to find each other in the crowd when the train stops," He explained to you slowly as if you were a child, which only pissed you off.

"Are you fucking mishearing me, or are you just delusional?" You asked, "I said I'm gonna sit with my friends and not assholes. I don't even consider an acquaintance." You sneered, your voice sounding so harsh that it shocked your friends, "Please do me a favor and leave me the fuck alone."

"Are you really gonna be an uptight bitch?" James asked, a cocky smile on his face, "I mean, Jesus, I like it better when your mouth is shut or perhaps filled." Some of you knew that James was just being an asshole because he was hurt, which is what he always did, even when he was a kid, but the only thing about it was that he only did it to you.

That only angered you more before you slapped him for his rude comment, "Don't you fucking dare speak to me like that."

"Or what?" He stepped closer

"Okay, guys!" Lily stepped in, "We will approach you five minutes before the train stops, and you guys will walk together in peace, hopefully," Lily dragged you away as you glared at James.

"I can't believe you actually slapped him," Marlene said, following after you guys, "I mean, after what he said, I would've punched him so hard in the di-"

Mary cut her off, "Jokes aside, are you okay, Y/n? I mean, I have never seen James so mean and awful towards you or anyone for that matter,"

You sighed, "Yeah, I'm fine, I just don't get why he is so mean to me when he was the one who broke my trust in the first place,"

"What did he do?" Marlene asked.

The rest of the group looked at Marlene as if she had killed a unicorn. Nobody had really asked what James had done but considering your resentment towards him, it must’ve been unforgiving.

You hesitated, “He just didn’t say some nice things about me.” You answered, hoping to move on.

“Like what kind of things?” Marlene pried.

You could tell she was just curious, but you were so humiliated by what James had said that you didn’t even want to tell your closest friends.

Dorcas elbowed Marlene, causing her to hiss in pain before she said, “It isn’t our business if you don’t want to tell us, Y/n.”

“Yeah,” Lily agreed, “Maybe it’s better it is between you and James.”

The rest of the group agreed including Marlene who was hunched over in pain and verbally cursing Dorcas for the hard elbow.

You muttered a “thanks” before heading onto the train. You sat by the window, staring outside to the foggy mountains.

You didn’t want to admit it but you did miss James and how much he cared for your birthday. Sometimes it seemed like it was his birthday with how high he held your birthday.

You didn’t understand why he couldn’t just try to even figure out what he had done or fight for your forgiveness, he just chose to be angry at you.

You didn't even want to think about him. Why does your whole life revolve around him?

"Anything from the trolley dearies?" The Trolley Witch asked.

"Chocolate frogs," Marlene said.

"Jumbling Jellies," Lily answered.

"I'll take Fizzing Wheezies," You said, paying her 10 galleons for you all.

"Y/n, you don't ha-" Lily was about to say before Marlene shushed her.

Lily glared as Marlene spoke, "Bless your heart, Y/n," She smiled as you laughed.

As Marlene started devouring her chocolate frog, you couldn't help but remember how you and James would share Fizzing Wheezies every time on your birthday on the train.

Practically tradition.

You wondered if he thought the same. If he was relishing in the memories.

Your thinking was halted when Dorcas set a hand on your thigh as you smiled, laying your head on her shoulder. You closed your eyes, trying to prepare for the day ahead.

"Y/n," Someone lightly shook you by your shoulder as you looked to see Lily. She was waking all of the girls up as the train stopped.

You yawned, getting up to grab your luggage. James was right that there would be traffic, so you had to rush off, saying your goodbyes to your best friends.

"Promise to write?" Lily asked, looking near tears.

"Lils, it's only a week," You snorted as she gave you a stern look.

"A week I won't get to see you," She hugged you tighter as you smiled and returned it.

"See you before Christmas?" She asked.

You rubbed her shoulder, "See you before Christmas."

"Promise me you won't forgive Potter," Marlene sighed, causing you to laugh.

"Do you have no faith in her at all?" Mary asked next to Marlene.

"Do you have no faith in her at all?" Marlene mocked, causing Mary to glare.

"Okay, okay!" You laughed at the both of them, "Only if you promise you both will stop bickering," You hugged them both.

They glared at each other as Dorcas spoke, "Forgetting someone?"

You grinned, "Never," You hugged her, kissing her on the cheek.

You were waiting for her to say, "Give him hell?" You asked as she laughed.

"I think you know what to do," She encouraged before you exited, waving goodbye to all of them.

Even though it was only a week, you still hated being away from your best friends. They were like your third family besides your actual and the Potters.

You saw the back of Sirius's head as you approached him, considering he lived with the Potters.

He turned around before you could tap him, picking you up, "Happy birthday Y/n!" He said, kissing your cheek as you yelped.

"Okay, thank you, Sirius, put me down!" You giggled.

He put you down as you smoothed your clothing, "So where's Potter?' You asked.

He smirked, "Only last name? Ice cold Y/n." You didn't respond, so he assumed you were waiting for an answer, "He went to the toilets,"

You hummed, silently tapping your foot on the pavement, only hearing the ruckus around you both.

"Excited for your birthday dinner?" He asked, partly ready for the drama.

"Very," You sarcastically said.

"Hey, Mom and Dad aren't too bad," He said.

"We both know Euphemia and Fleamont aren't the Potters I despise," You muttered.

"Well, for your sake, I'll make him behave," He sent a charming smile your way.

"What would I do without you, Black?" You rolled your eyes.

"Probably be miserable," He answered, causing you to laugh.

"What are we laughing about?" James said, not even a smidge of excitement in his tone.

Your usual mad facade slipped back in as you grabbed your luggage and started heading toward the car. You could hear Sirius laughing behind you.

You saw Euphemia and Fleamont waiting by the car like they had usually done since Sixth year since James told them to stop coming inside because of his newfound "popularity."

Your face lit up immediately, excited to see two of your favorite people worldwide.

You embraced Euphemia, giving the tightest hug you could and giving Fleamont a kiss on the cheek while they asked about your studies. You could see James rolling his eyes both audibly and physically.

"Okay, Mother, I don't think Y/n likes all the questions," James said, leaning his head on the window while his father drove.

Sirius was in between the two of you, snoring asleep. Considering the train ride, you didn't even know why he was tired.

"I don't mind at all," You said, smiling as James glared at you.

You knew that Euphemia could feel the tension between you and James, but she ignored it, "So Y/n, I have made you something extraordinary." Euphemia said.

"And that is?" You asked, knowing she wouldn't tell you.

"I guess you will have to find out tonight during dinner." She sweetly said, winking at you.

You smiled to yourself, relieved your birthday wouldn't be that bad.

You entered the house that you had been over to so many times, admiring it fully.

"James will show you your room," Euphemia said, rubbing your back as you smiled, trying not to show your discomfort about James.

James didn't even wait for you before heading up the steps. Thankfully, he carried your luggage because he knew Euphemia would berate him.

"It's in there," He lazily said, not even opening the door before walking downstairs.

Jerk.

You grunted, lifting your heavy suitcase inside the room.

You admired the room, which looked like it was made for you. It was warm and tremendous for a guest room. It had all of your favorite colors and smells.

It was perfect.

You decided to nap before dinner, considering you had no one to talk to, and you were partly tired after the drive anyway. You knew an elf would get you when it was time.

"Ms." A frail voice said as your eyes fluttered open to see Dot, the Potter's elf that had been there since you had first moved in.

"Oh, hello, Dot," You spoke lightly, yawning.

"Ms. Potter tells Dot to inform you it's time for dinner," Her small voice said.

"Thank you, Dot, I appreciate it," You thanked before the elf nodded her head and apparated out.

You stretched, wearing a semi-formal dress, one of your favorites.

You headed down the stairs as you smelt the food radiating from the dining room. It was all of your favorites; it was pretty extraordinary. Ms. Potter was always the type to blow you off of your feet, regardless.

Your face lit up, "This is stunning, Ms. Potter," You looked at the glowing lights.

Euphemia smiled, "I'm glad you love it,"

You sat next to James with Sirius next to him. His face had certainly softened, but he was clenching his jaw when you sat beside him.

"Now," Euphemia started, "I know we usually do gifts after dinner, but we all had such beautiful surprises for you that we couldn't wait."

Euphemia started first, giving you one of your favorite movies since you were a kid, except the movie wasn't available anywhere.

You rose excitedly, embracing her, "How did you get this?" You asked, smiling at the CDs.

"A friend of mine is good friends with the director, and he happened to have one last copy," She answered as you excitingly hugged her before returning to your seat.

"Thank you, Ms. Potter," You looked at Euphemia, "I love it,"

She nodded before Fleamont gave you his gift. It was a beautiful crystal from Bejing.

You thanked him for the beautiful gem before Sirius offered you his gift. He gave you a perfume that smelled of fire whisky but wasn't actually fire whisky.

Part of you wanted to know how he did it, but you decided to save it for later as you thanked him, kissing him on the cheek as he cheered.

Last was James, who picked up the gift from under the table. He had looked you in the eyes, not a set of resentment in them at all.

Your breath hitched as he gave you a stuffed animal your grandfather gave you when you were nine. You had cried for a week because you had lost it and teared up when anyone mentioned it.

He gave it to you as it looked brand new and was cleaner than when you had it when you were nine.

When you pressed on the heart, it always said "I love you" in your grandfather's voice and even had your name on the collar.

You teared up, "How did you find it?"

He stuttered, "I-I found it in the treehouse in the corner,"

"I thought the treehouse was infested with Clockonuts," You said.

He laughed, "Well, I risked my life to get it back,"

Every sense of anger you had felt had disappeared; he had done something that was so out of his actions lately that it made you miss him.

"Thank you," You genuinely said.

He gave you a simple nod before you began eating. Conversations started after, talking about school.

"So, any boys, Y/n?" Euphemia asked as James dropped his fork on his plate, making a huge sound that caused you to look at him.

You cleared your throat, "Well, I am trying not to focus on that right now,"

"Except for Carrows," James muttered.

"Who's Carrows?" Euphemia asked, genuinely curious.

You took a bite of your carrot, "Um, well," You swallowed, "He's just a friend I have."

"I don't sit on my friend's laps," James scoffed, causing you to glare at him.

"Well, I don't call my friends sluts," You spat.

"James Fleamont Potter, what did you call her?" Euphemia added.

James ignored her, "Well, when your best friend is acting like one just because you don't fancy her, I think she deserves it,"

Mate-" Sirius chimed in, but you were faster.

"When have I ever fancied you?" You asked, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of that knowledge.

"Y/n, you were practically obsessed with me," He ridiculed, "I couldn't get away from you, and the only time I could was when I dated Lily; it was the best months of my life," His face looked shocked after he said the last words.

You couldn't tell if he meant it, but it hurt you badly. All those years of friendship were fake; he couldn't tolerate you.

"That's enough!" Euphemia said; even Sirius was silent.

A tear ran down your cheek, "I'm actually not feeling well; I'm gonna go to bed." You said, placing your napkin on the plate in front of you.

You heard Euphemia berating James as you ran up to your room. In some ways, you didn't understand why James did everything he did if he hated you so much.

Why did he give you that gift? Why did he always call you and get mad when you didn't want to be his friend? Did you ever mean anything to James Potter?

And if you did, why did he have to ruin your birthday?

A/N: If you hated this, I apologize.

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neptuneiris · 5 months

Text

Wild Hearts | Part Two

(the end)

pairing: prince!aemond × lowborn!reader

summary: you and he can't be together, yet the two of you have fallen for each other. but the Gods are not merciful and you both have to let go. but by comparison, your charming prince doesn't think the same way you do.

word count: 10.6k

previous part • main masterlist

hello guys, here I bring the end of this story🥺

I honestly didn't think you would like the first part so much, I received so much love and support that you truly don't know how much I appreciate it❤

you made me very happy and i hope you like this second part and final as much as the first one. i have put all my effort here so i really hope to receive your opinions, i will be waiting for them🙏🏻

and now finally read and enjoy!

Memories of the night before flood your mind, awakening sensations and emotions that spread throughout your entire being.

A shy smile appears from your lips under your sheets, blood tingeing your cheeks, unable to believe that it really happened, while a warm sensation envelops you from the inside out, with the moment more vivid and fresh than ever in your mind.

And you regret absolutely nothing.

There's not even a flicker of doubt. Even if Aemond hadn't told you that he would ask your father for your hand this very morning, you wouldn't change anything that happened.

And mostly because there is no other man you would have trusted with this, something so intimate, only him.

After you stayed a few moments longer in his chamber, when the hour grew too late, he himself led you through secret passages you were completely unaware of.

Together you slipped inside the walls of the hallways and rooms of the Red Keep, leading you to your room unnoticed.

In those dark corridors, there was more kissing and caressing, acting like complete lovers having a forbidden love and you loved every moment.

You keep every instant in your memory and in the deepest corner of your heart, as a precious and unforgettable treasure and you only hope that soon he and you can create more moments like those.

But you can no longer remember those moments as your thoughts are interrupted by your maids entering your chamber to start preparing you for the day.

So you have no choice but to get out of bed.

While you take a bath, get dressed and have your hair done, in all that time uncertainty takes hold of you, wondering at every moment how Aemond's audience with your father must go, feeling the nerves of excitement and uneasiness invade you as the waiting becomes almost unbearable.

He told you he would talk to your father this morning so surely that must be taking place right now.

And you feel that at any moment your father and mother will walk through your doors very happy and pleased by the news. And although the fact that you have given yourself to Aemond without being married or even betrothed will not be a pleasing fact nor will it be well received, still an early union will settle everything.

However, your morning passes normally and nothing out of the ordinary happens, with silence maintaining itself.

You even considered that you would not have to attend the daily activities with the ladies of the Court as you would be celebrating with your parents.

But as the minutes tick by and no one walks through your doors, you reluctantly decide to attend your engagements, having no idea what must be going on.

Despite your efforts to concentrate on activities and be present with the ladies, you are distracted by involuntary memories of Aemond and all of last night, lost in your own thoughts.

The laughter and conversations around you become a distant murmur and you are barely aware of what they are talking about.

Each passing moment seems like an eternity until, finally, one of the guards walks towards the entire group of women in which you find yourself, this only getting your attention.

"Sorry to interrupt, ladies," the man says in a respectful tone and gesture.

"It's all right, Sr," Lady Lannister tells him.

"Lady Y/N," he turns to you and your heart stops, "Your father has requested your presence in his marital chamber along with your mother, my Lady."

Your heart begins to pound with a mixture of excitement and anticipation, keeping yourself from smiling big, holding back all your emotions as you rise from your seat.

"Excuse me, ladies," you quickly excuse yourself to them.

And with a smile and a twinkle of happiness in your eyes, you make your way towards your father and mother's room with the growing certainty that this has to do with Aemond's hearing, definitely.

So as you move through the hallways of the castle, a sense of joy and nervousness comes over you. The idea that you and Aemond will soon be married fills your thoughts.

It is also clear that your father approved of the union and your mother must be more than happy.

And as you reach the door to the chamber, you inhale deeply before entering, unable to help but smile at the thought of all that lies ahead for you and Aemond, definitely a bright future.

However, as you walk through the doors and your parents' attention is immediately focused on you, your smile is wiped from your lips the moment your mother's palm slams hard against your cheek, the pain instantly washing over you and the surprise at not expecting or even anticipating this.

The surprise and the stunned shock of the blow leave you paralyzed for a moment, unable to react, barely processing what has happened, while the pain invades you.

You bring your hands to the bruised side of your cheek, confused, shocked and in pain watching your mother back with your eyes wide open and your lips parted, beginning to breathe heavily.

"How could you?"

Your mother says to you, her voice full of reproach, disbelief and pain, watching you in horror as the room begins to fill with palpable tension.

Confusion lingers in your eyes as you try to process your mother's shock, her attitude and what she is saying to you.

"How could you be so foolish as to give yourself away like a common whore to Prince Aemond?"

She angrily inquires you, on the verge of tears, as you feel your breath catch and shock wash over you further.

"You did not think of us, not even of yourself nor did you think of your suitors and the consequences that no one will want to take you as a wife when they find out about this, you fool!"

Your mother's fury is unleashed, her dagger-like words stabbing into your chest, adding to the pain you already feel right there and also to the pain of the blow to your cheek that spreads across the entire right side of your face.

Your confusion also intensifies further at her words. And just as you try to articulate a response, feeling your throat dry and tight, your father intervenes.

"Calm down, my dear," he says to your mother, wanting to reassure her.

But despite this, the tension in the room persists, palpable like a storm threatening to erupt at any moment. And your mother's gaze, still charged with fury, turns from you to him.

"I can't stay calm after what happened! How can you be so calm?" she exclaims, with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

Your father, trying to remain calm, approaches your mother and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I understand your anger but this is not the time for this. It's all over now and we need to approach this calmly and cautiously. We also don't need to make any more scandal than will already be made," he tells her in a calm voice, though the tension lingers in his eyes.

Your mother's gaze returns to you, her eyes still reflecting the mixture of anger and concern.

"You are lucky to have such an understanding father! You don't know how ashamed I am of you Y/N, I do not know you at all. All your Septas told you, I told you, all through your education you were warned what happened to girls who allow themselves to be ruined before they are married! How is it that you could forget it so easily!?"

"That's enough."

Your father says to your mother, who lets out an incredulous snort, on the verge of hysteria, unable to believe what is happening, while you feel your heart rate increase.

And then your father also addresses you, taking the word, leaving you completely breathless.

"Were you truly naive enough to think this would be settled with the Queen and the Hand approving a marriage between you and Prince Aemond?" he questions you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of reproach and disapproval.

Realization begins to work its way through your mind, watching them back in shock and horror, your heart beating too fast and hard.

They refused.

Aemond's plan didn't work.

You and he would not marry.

"You don't know the trouble and shame you put us through, Y/N. Also yourself after the prince announced that he had taken your maidenhead, believing that so the Queen would have no choice but to marry the two of you," he tells you seriously.

The feeling of shame mixes with the pain in your chest, with surprise still in your eyes, you feel the confusion, worry, disappointment and fear all over your body.

And now it is also the sadness that settles deep inside you, wanting to wish that none of this that is happening is real.

You babble, trying to find the right words to explain yourself in the midst of all this and everything you are feeling with that lump in your throat and in your stomach, having the impression that at any moment you are going to throw up.

"B-but he told me... the prince assured me that he would ask for my hand-

"Yes Y/N, the prince did but the Queen and the Hand did not approve of the union."

Your father repeats to you seriously, causing more pain inside you at the news.

"Otto Hightower was furious, he and the Queen could not believe what the prince was saying."

Confusion, despair and pain mingle with the tears that begin to stream down your cheeks, crying silently, pressing your lips together to prevent any sobs from escaping, as you feel a sharp pain in your chest that burns and hurts you inside.

It all falls on you like a painful weight on your heart, barely managing to process the magnitude of the situation.

And your father, seeing your state, with your pain and anguish, even though this was not something he expected from you and he is extremely upset and disappointed like your mother, sighs and approaches you.

"The Queen apologized to us for her son's indiscretion. And to make up for this mistake and the bad time we had to go through, she has promised us to secure a good marriage for you with Lord Ronan or Lord Alan after all," your father reveals to you as well.

The news penetrates your heart, adding additional weight to your already overwhelming emotions.

Tears continue to wet your cheeks, for although you feel a momentary relief at hearing your father's words, it is overshadowed by the heaviness of the pain that still lingers within you.

Knowing this still hurts you, completely. The news of your future marriage seeming more like a burden than a hope.

For it is not Aemond you will marry, when it was meant to be.

"The prince instantly questioned this, he disagreed and tried to convince his mother. However, his grandsire intervened and told him that he too will soon marry Lady Baratheon. Because of his mistake, his wedding will take place in the next few days to dispel the rumors and try to make amends with his betrothed and Lord Borros by the time they find out," he explains, "Still, the boy did not agree, he was furious. They both started yelling, but his grandfather confronted him skillfully and got him to say no more and finally accept it."

And then your heart ends up breaking into a thousand pieces.

The weight of reality looms over you and your broken heart in an overwhelming way, with the weight of disappointment and sadness is unbearable. And in the midst of all that whirlwind of pain, understanding slowly seeps into your consciousness.

Aemond, the prince you naively sacrificed so much on, didn't fight hard enough for you.

Bitterness intertwines with your sadness at the realization. For he was only content to accept the circumstances, throwing you away to marry another man.

He could have refused, he could have even asked for support from his father, the King, who has the final say in everything. And while you understand that his life decisions are not entirely his, at least he could have done a little more.

While you would have risked everything for him, he did nothing. And with that, your mother's words settle inside your mind, accepting and acknowledging them: foolish, naive and a whore.

He said he loved you, but perhaps last night left him completely satisfied enough and that's why he decided to accept your fate and his without fight it.

A bitter resignation settles into your being, as your tears continue their silent march down your cheeks, wondering if this was his plan all along, to simply give you up after anticipating that his mother and grandfather would never have approved of the union.

For he loses nothing and in fact he did not, for he will marry Floris and when all this is known by the Court, he will not be affected by the rumors, for he is a man.

But you... you lose everything, your dignity and reputation, for being the woman.

And although your father understands the sadness that overwhelms you, he prepares to reveal more news.

"The decision about your future husband was also made at that very moment and it was Lord Ronan who accepted our and the Queen's proposal, along with the approval of his father, Lord Redwyne, in spite of everything," he announces in his slightly soft but serious tone.

And his words echo throughout the room like a final verdict.

But his words especially echo in your ears like a distant echo, as you struggle to process this news, trying to keep your posture, but you cannot.

And resignation mixes with sadness inside you.

You can only let more tears fall, unable to formulate any words, besides you have no right to fight against this.

How could you after, thank the Gods, you will still be able to get married when normally the already ruined girls don't make it?

They are doing you a favor. But still your heart continues to ache. How will it be possible to find happiness in this marriage, when your heart still yearns for someone who is no longer willing to fight for you and practically turned his back on you?

And the news doesn't end there, as your father continues to speak.

"Tomorrow at dawn, you are leaving with Lord Ronan and his family to the south, where their settlements are located, The Arbor."

He announces and your heart stop again, watching him in surprise through your tears and all your suffering face.

"There is where the wedding will take place and we will eventually travel there within the next few weeks to be present, until we manage to calm things down here and our reputation is not so affected," he lets you know.

"Father-

You try to speak with your voice completely broken, but barely the word manages to escape your lips when he won't allow you to speak.

"And there is no argument back against this," he sentences.

With your voice muffled, you don't try to say anything more, as you can't and have no right.

And in the middle of the room filled with regret, you cling to the last spark of resistance within you. Tears are still flowing from your eyes and your sadness has given way to a kind of cold resignation.

The thought of leaving for distant lands, far from what you know, adds yet another layer of complexity to the storm that is passing, as the world you know seems to be crumbling around you.

But everything is already decided.

And knowing that very soon the entire Court will learn of these unfortunate events in the name of your family, your parents lock you in your chamber, with guards guarding your doors, where your father gives the order that no one may enter or leave.

And once within the walls of your room, all alone, with your pain and humiliation, you allow yourself to cry freely and let out all your emotions, with each sob sending a pang of pain to your chest to such an extent that you don't even have tears to cry anymore.

So you can only stare at one spot in your room with your gaze lost, tears drying on both of your cheeks and your whole body aching internally.

When your gaze lands on your secret door, between hope, sadness and despair, you honestly hope he will come.

You long for him to come and explain what happened, to let you know that he has not left you alone nor did he give you up as easily as you were told. You simply wish that, that he would come and comfort you, explain, not let you go.

Yet the silence persists and your hope fades until there is no more daylight coming through your windows.

He chooses to avoid your face and a confrontation, leaving you all alone in the coldness of your room, doing nothing for you.

And you allow, completely broken and hopeless, your room to feel like a crippling prison and darkness to envelop you all around, not having the strength and courage for anything, letting the feeling of betrayal take over and accepting the cruel reality.

He has definitely betrayed you.

And at dawn, you watch as your maids pack up all your possessions, while you watch without saying or doing anything, while your father tries to get you to react, telling you that this is the best thing for everyone, but you say nothing back.

Your mother makes no attempt to talk to you, yet her presence is present, but this does not matter too much to you, as you are silently learning to face the consequences of your own actions and your naive decisions.

You don't even say goodbye to your parents. Or at least it is not an emotional farewell, as you feel nothing.

And finally you emerge from the shadows of Red Keep, walking down the halls with a cold and disinterested attitude, with an expression that shows no emotion. You simply allow yourself to feel nothing more, already too hurt and humiliated to suffer any more.

In the hallways you do not cross paths with a person especially characterized by silver hair, nor with anyone else of the royal family, not even with members of the Court, simply because your father chose the right time in the morning so that you would not cross paths with anyone.

And as you reach the gates and the carriage that will take you away, you look for the last time at the high walls of the place that was once your home, with the feeling that not only are you leaving behind many people and memories, but you are also leaving behind the pieces of your broken heart.

And without looking back any further, you climb into the carriage, leaving King's Landing and everything you know behind.

And at no time did anyone try to stop you. Much less look for you.

After arriving at the Arbor Island, your past life is put on pause for the entire journey.

It was weeks of getting to know other places, especially the lands of The Reach, which are known for being supplied with water and many green areas, which was the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in your life, those roads full of green grass, tall trees and beautiful flowers of different kinds.

You witnessed all this at Rosewood and Bitterbrige, but all this was seen most especially at Highgarden, where the whole cavalry made a stop for the supply of more provisions and a short rest, where you could meet the much acclaimed Tyrell settlement.

And eventually the final stop was made at the Three Towers, where a Redwyne ship took you to the island.

And now about a moon has passed since you settled here.

Everything is absolutely green, the castle is huge with trees and rivers all around, the ocean is not far away and Lord Alan, your betrothed, does his best to make you feel at home, showing you the beauty of the landscapes and the kindness of the residents who are at his family's disposal.

He also shows you the process of making the acclaimed wines and even the military force, as the Redwyne fleet is the most powerful after the king's.

And neither of you, much less him, mentions what happened at King's Landing.

However, coming to a new place, being your new home, settling into your new chamber, being among new walls and a new exterior different from the one that surrounded you before, it brings the pain of the past. And although the place here and all that it holds is beautiful, it does not please you.

You can't fully appreciate the efforts of your future husband or even the efforts of his mother, a kind woman who is happy with your presence and gives you everything you need to make you feel comfortable.

But you are simply not happy.

Your stay here is extremely difficult for you. Sadness invades you without being able to control it and every day is a struggle to be grateful for this, to make yourself understand that you have to forget and accept. That you will never see him again.

And with time, you get used to this change. You learn to recognize the differences between your old home and the new one, even though you still can't stop comparing.

You also don't hear any news about King's Landing since you arrived, particularly from him, you don't ask because you have no interest. This more than anything else has become a haven of indifference, a barrier that you yourself have built to protect yourself.

And all it requires of your time is to familiarize yourself with the place, to spend some time with Lord Ronan and his mother, as well as to listen to the preparations for your upcoming wedding.

The whispers of the people of the Arbor, the murmurs about the union that is coming and will take place soon, where everyone will be celebrating, before all this would have filled your heart with joy and anticipation.

But now, they are just silent reminders of a past that was supposed to belong to someone else.

And the one who is most pleased and visibly excited about the wedding is your mother-to-be by law, Lady Bethany, with whom it becomes a ritual every evening to come and have tea with her.

The aroma of tea fills the terrace as you and Lady Bethany share a quiet moment. Lord Redwyne is currently in the island's harbor overseeing his fleet while Ronan is at his daily training.

The view of the green and beautiful gardens with the ocean in the background creates a serene and peaceful atmosphere, with the sound of birds and other insects enveloping you both.

Lady Bethany, elegantly dressed in a dress of warm tones, wears an elegant pearl necklace that sparkles with every movement. Her gaze, piercing and shrewd, contrasts with the serenity and gentleness in her manner, especially when it comes to you.

"I'm sure the wedding preparations have you exhausted to this point, my dear," she tells you as she holds her dainty teacup gracefully.

"No, no, not at all, my Lady," you lie, trying to make your words convincing, just like your face.

"Well, with the wedding approaching so quickly, I'd like to talk to you about a few final details."

You nod politely, holding your own cup of tea with forced elegance.

"I'm sure you'll love our Septon, it sits among many of our beautiful gardens. It's not very large but it has everything in need," she speaks with an enthusiastic tone, "I was also thinking that the feast could be held right here," she points to the beautiful garden in front of you, "It will be lovely and we have everything we need to be able to fit it in."

She continues talking, but despite the exquisite details Lady Bethany describes to you, your mind is far from the wedding preparations.

You hear what she says, but you don't pay attention to it, hearing it as a distant voice to you, echoing in your ears. You know what you are doing is wrong, rude and inappropriate, but you cannot.

You can't rejoice and enjoy this.

When suddenly, a guard approaches, interrupting the conversation with a respectful bow.

"My Lady's," he bows his head, "I apologize for the interruption."

"No problem, Sr. Stefan," Lady Bethany tells him kindly and cordially, "What has happened?"

"The seamstress has arrived, my Lady," he informs her, "She said she had an engagement with you."

"Oh!" she exclaims with a surprised face, "I quite forgot," he says as he begins to set his tea cup back on the table, rising to his feet, "My dear, I am afraid I must retire for a moment."

"It's all right, my Lady, don't worry," you assure her with a soft smile and she nods in your direction, smiling back at you.

"Very well. I'll see you at dinner time then."

You nod, keeping a soft expression as she walks away down the halls gracefully with the guard behind her.

And now being in your own company, you decide to go for a stroll through the outer corridors that offer the most breathtaking views of the gardens and the ocean stretching into the distance.

Lost in your own thoughts, you walk with your gaze lost in the horizon, when suddenly a firm hand with a certain brutality grabs you by your waist, dragging you into a lonely corner to leave you with no escape.

A stifled scream escapes your lips, as another hand is quickly placed over your mouth.

Your whole world stops for an instant, terror in your entire being, as you scream against that hand and desperately search the hallway for one of the guards, but there is not a single one in sight.

So you struggle to free yourself, screaming and shaking your whole body, but this person's hands block your every move with ease.

"Shh..." a familiar voice whispers close to your ear, where again everything inside you freezes and you open your eyes wide, "Easy, love."

A shiver runs through your entire body, your breath catches and disbelief takes over.

No.

This can't be.

This is impossible.

Your heart begins to pound harder, as you breathe hard through your mouth, your mind refusing to accept what is happening.

Yet you feel the familiarity of those hands, the warmth of his body against yours, feeling his breath on top of your neck and that voice... you know.

You know deep down inside that it really is him.

And the fact is further confirmed the moment he brings his lips to your ear to speak softly to you.

"I'm going to remove my hand now but first I want you to promise that you won't shout or make any fuss, understood? Let's not complicate things, love."

The words barely reach your ears as you process the strange reality of the situation, feeling like your heart will burst out of your chest at any moment as tears begin to form in your eyes.

"Now nod if you have understood," he tells you with a tone of authority.

And in the midst of confusion, surprise, disbelief and everything else you're feeling, your head nods involuntarily, unsure.

"Good girl," he coos in your ear.

You feel the tension in your shoulders and can feel the vibration of his words through your body as he slowly removes his hand from your mouth, letting the air fill your lungs again.

And finally, he gently turns you so that you are both facing each other, his gaze eventually meeting yours.

He's wearing a hood with a cloak that wraps around his face, figure, and also perfectly hides his characteristic silver hair. And somehow, the dark of his clothes slightly camouflages the patch covering his left eye.

The shadow of the hood slips subtly over his facial features, adding a mystery to his presence. And to the side of his hip, his long sword hides between his cloak and body, revealing a bit of his hilt.

You can feel the whirlwind of emotions inside you, from surprise to sadness to anger, as his gaze intensifies, staring at you, his expression hard to decipher.

He is truly here, standing in front of you.

And the air seems to stop for a moment, as if the whole world is suspended by this unexpected encounter. The physical proximity between the two of you is obvious and not because you want it that way, but because the surprise leaves you paralyzed and you can't believe it.

Until finally he speaks.

"There you are," he murmurs with a barely visible smile on his lips, "It took me a while to get here."

It took him a while to get here?

You repeat in your mind, flooded with conflicting emotions, surprise, sadness and anger. How can he be here, after everything that happened? And why just now?

"What are you doing here?" you ask almost in a whisper, your voice completely broken, feeling tears stream down your cheeks, a reaction that takes him by surprise.

"I came for you, of course," he says, placing one of his hands on your waist again and the other on your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb, watching you confused and attentive, "Why are you crying?"

I came for you.

The thought leaves you speechless, with his presence and closeness seeming almost intoxicating to you, not bearing it, trying to process the reality of his presence.

And the tears in your eyes reflect the mixture of pain and sadness you feel at that moment.

And finally, not knowing where exactly you take the strength from, as you feel completely weak, you let go of his grip and take a step back with your gaze lowered, an action that Aemond doesn't expect and completely confuses him.

And he receiving no response from you, he acts, ignoring that gesture of yours for the moment, aware that he can't waste any time.

"We should leave before anyone sees us," he mutters, averting his gaze to the hallways to make sure no guards are approaching, attentive and fully alert, "Now."

You, however, stand still, unmoving at his proposal, his words floating in the air and echoing in your ears, creating a palpable tension around you.

"Come."

He says to you, taking your arm, trying to pull you forward along with him. But, again, you don't move and this gets his attention, beginning to get desperate.

"Y/N," he calls to you in a demanding, serious tone.

"No," you finally say, trying to hear yourself firm, breathing hard, "I-I can't," you falter, once again releasing yourself from his grip, not even looking him in the eye, nervousness, confusion and fear taking hold of you, "Leave me alone."

You try to pull away from him, but he stops you, surprised by your words, his gaze reflecting the mixture of disbelief and concern.

"Please, Y/N, there's no time for explanations now," he insists, "We need to leave," he begs, pulling your body closer to his, anxiety rising in you as he looks at you intently, "I promise I'll explain everything and tell you everything, everything you want to know when we leave here."

"I can't leave. I have commitments here," you sentence in the midst of all your pain, trying to look strong.

And once again you loosen your grip on him and try to pull away from him, which ends up wearing his patience thin.

"Oh yes?"

You hear the mockery in his tone behind you and once again, he stops you and grabs you by the waist, gluing your body to his.

"And you think I care about that?" he murmurs dangerously close to your face, watching you defiantly, stealing your breath, "I've already come this far and you're wrong if you think I'll leave empty handed."

Despite the closeness and the threat in his words, you maintain your stance and the next words escape your lips with a firmness that surprises even yourself.

"This is a mistake, Aemond. You shouldn't even be here. You can't take me away."

Aemond watches you in frustration, letting out a sigh, but also having a determination on his face.

"Y/N, you don't understand-

"No, I do understand," you interrupt him with a lump in your throat, "I understood perfectly when you left me alone and did nothing when they decided to send me away after you fuck me."

If there is pain in your words and the cruel reality of them, you don't show it and again free yourself from his grip, which in all your attempts are successful, but he immediately grabs you again with renewed firmness, seeking to make you understand, as if he can fix everything with his presence.

"I told you I'll explain everything when-

"And that makes ten."

He is interrupted now by a third voice also familiar between the two of you, that person appearing doubling down the hallway you are in, just ahead of you.

And before you or Aemond can worry and even act, good and bad, this does not happen, as for like him, Aegon Targaryen has a hood and cloak on, hiding his hair and identity.

And without showing the slightest concern, he drags an unconscious guard away with all his might.

"Hey guys," he says with all the normality in the world when he notices you both, dropping the man's legs with a subtle thump, "I hope he wakes up soon," he comments with a spark of mockery in his tone, observing you and then his brother with a grin, "Good, you finally found her. Now can we go? This playing princes to the rescue is exhausting. I'm not drunk enough for this, I need to drink."

Aemond lets out a sigh and looks at him reproachfully, not letting you go.

"I told you to be discreet when you have to do that."

"That's what I'm doing," he defends himself, "But this man is heavier than the others and I had to drag him," he says and then kicks him gently in the side of his stomach.

Aemond rolls his eye.

"And in fact, I think the other guards already noticed. So we'd better go now," he adds, more serious.

He then picks up a sack hanging over his shoulder, tossing it to Aemond, who nimbly catches it in mid-air and opens it, pulling out another hood just like the one the two of them have and holds it out to you with an expectant, menacing look.

"Now... do I take you with me the good or the bad way?"

Aemond holds the hood in his hand, waiting for your answer and what you are going to do, but you in the midst of confusion and pain, also seeming too much like even Aegon is here, helping him, still try to reason with him.

"Aemond, this is wrong," you plead, "Our families will be furious and this will become a huge problem if you take me with you."

He looks at you, his expression showing no remorse, brushing past your words, not caring.

"Very soon, the guards and surely your dear Ronan will surround us," he begins to tell you in a low tone and in warning, "And you don't want me to hurt him again, do you?" he inquires you coldly, "This time I will not be merciful but if you come with me for good, I will allow him to live."

His words hit you like a bucket of cold water, looking at him completely shocked and horrified, unable to believe it, with the reality of danger taking hold of you.

"I've already made a huge problem out of this by simply coming here, Y/N. Of course my family has figured out because Vhagar and Sunfyre left DragonPit. And believe me I'm not going to mind getting my hands more dirty."

The mention of Ronan is like a dagger stabbing into your chest, reminding you of the implications and the risk Aemond is willing to take.

And it's not fair.

Ronan doesn't deserve it.

He's been nothing but kind and supportive to you, always every moment you were in his company being supportive and wanting to make you feel comfortable, visibly excited and happy every time he showed you his home and what he's so characteristic of.

And while there is also the fear of the consequences of these actions, you feel more of an urgency to protect Ronan, because you will never forgive yourself if something bad happens to him because of you, much less him dying.

"You decide," Aemond says to you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Brother, we have to go now," Aegon announces worriedly, peering intently down one of the corridors, alert.

And there you know.

You press your lips together, don't let any more tears fall and resigned, with your jaw clenched, you practically snatch the black cloaked hood out of his hand and take a couple of steps forward, not wanting to watch him, instantly putting it around your dress and also over your head, hiding your hair.

The tension between him and you is evident and once you finish, he again grabs your arm.

"Let's go," he says to both of you.

Aegon leads the way, and the three of you without wasting any more time enter the huge gardens, instantly with bushes and trees covering you. And as the three of you make your way through the leaves, you hear the sound of them and the rustle of branches with every movement.

And though Aemond guides you, your thoughts are filled with more and more worries and unanswered questions as you go along, anticipating the enormous trouble and scandal this escape is going to bring when your family and Aemond's family finds out.

And behind you, you hear the sound of guards and commotion beginning to be made in the castle, reporting the intruders.

"Now, now, now," Aegon hurries.

Aemond makes you run faster and soon the three of you reach the edge of the island, making your way through the white sand, where you make out a small boat waiting on the seashore, hidden among logs and large palm fronds.

The two brothers quickly push it into the water without much effort, where Aemond hurries you up, instantly wetting the edges of your dress, though it is of no matter.

And once the three of you are up, the two of them take the oars and start pushing the waters.

"This shit is the only thing I didn't like about all this," Aegon says grumpily, making force.

You suppose that having flown the dragons to the island would have been dangerous and the guards would have given the warning before the two of them could have even entered the castle.

So you look back to see if anyone is following them and fortunately they are not, relieving and saddening you at the same time.

The distance from the island to The Reach lands is fortunately short, so you soon approach the shore, to a smaller, unguarded harbor where there are two men watching them as you approach, this alerting you but not alerting the two Targaryen brothers at all.

And once you reach the shore, Aegon is the one who helps you out of the small boat, and then thanks the two men, who take the boat and you see how they have more boats set up in this harbor with oars and fishing nets, so you assume they are fishermen.

And then it is Aemond who approaches them.

"Thank you very much," he tells them and then holds out a small sack to each of them, clearly filled with coins.

"It has been a pleasure, my prince," one of them replies.

And he turns his attention back to you.

"Come," he says, taking your arm again, making you walk.

You don't really know where you are, but you can guess what the city of the Three Towers is, only that the three of you are in a less frequented part of the city.

And with Aegon again leading the way, soon enough you see the dragons hiding behind a small dune, near the harbor, where the great immensity of Vhagar surprises you and makes Sunfyre look extremely small beside him.

You never had the privilege of flying in Vhagar before but today looks like it will be the day.

Aegon turns to Sunfyre and as you and Aemond approach the great dragoness, Aemond says some words to her in High Valyrian that you don't understand, but the imposing figure of her makes you feel intimidated and clearly frightened, especially the moment her huge eyes inspect you after Aemond says those words to her.

"Easy, she's not going to hurt you," Aemond tells you, taking your hand.

Vhagar lets out a short roar in the direction of both of you and that makes you startle.

"Don't be afraid. It's all right," he assures you, leading you with him towards the nets to climb up and mount it.

And you have no choice but to comply.

Aemond and Aegon avoid flying over the lands where the news will come faster where two dragons were seen together in the skies.

Instead, they choose to fly over a part of Dorne and reach the lands of Storm's End, where they are characterized by bad weather, icy winds, heavy rains and thunderstorms, so both brothers decide to stop at Mistwood so that, more than anything else, the dragons can rest.

Throughout the flight with Aemond you made no effort to talk and fortunately neither did he.

At first being in the skies in such a large dragon made you experience a completely unfamiliar sensation that you had never felt before, with mixed emotions, excitement being the strongest of all.

It was simply something unique to you and that you can't quite describe, but it made you forget for a moment about everything that was happend.

Aemond couldn't help the smile on his face when he saw that expression on your face, understanding very well what you were feeling, feeling good after so many weeks, calm and at peace, finally having you in his arms.

He couldn't help but watch you with that adoration, even though he knew there was still something missing in all of this.

Eventually you began to get used to the sensation of flight and you start to feel nervous and uncomfortable as you feel Aemond's body touching yours, as he practically has you locked in his arms.

But finally that ends, for now, as the three of you make a stop due to exhaustion and bad weather.

The three of you seek shelter in a tavern where they also offer temporary lodging. There aren't many people when the three of you enter, just a few men drinking and two women refilling their drinks, while there's an old man behind a piece of wooden furniture.

"How can I help you?"

"Do you have rooms available?" asks Aemond.

"Yeah, six rooms available," he says as he notices the poor keys hanging on the wall behind him.

"I'll stay here for a while," Aegon says suddenly, "I need a drink or I swear I'll go mad."

"You can drink in the room," Aemond tells him reproachfully, "I'm not going to stay up all night making sure you're all right and don't get into any trouble."

"Fine, as you wish," Aegon replies to him raising his hands in surrender.

"So how many rooms, boy?" the man asks.

You swear he is about to say two, but perhaps he could have sensed the discomfort and tension emanating from your body. And then he lets out a long breath.

"Three rooms, please."

You internally thank him, feeling instantly relieved, as he makes the payment.

One of the women leads you to the rooms, and you enter yours without addressing a word to any of the brothers, desperately needing to be alone and give yourself a time, as well as take a bath.

Fortunately no one bothers you and you only require the help of the woman from before to fill the bathtub with warm water. And she also kindly provides you with dry clothes while you let your rain-soaked dress dry by the warmth of the fireplace.

Then you watch the rain fall through the small window as you stand near the fire, when there is a soft knock on your door. And before you can answer, the door opens and Aemond enters the room, watching you intently.

You press your lips together and lower your gaze, pretending to be occupied with something in your hands.

"Are you all right?" he asks you softly and attentively, keeping a respectful distance.

"Yes," you answer briefly and without emotion, only hearing between the two of you the creaking of wood and the rain outside.

"Do you need anything?"

"No."

He lets out a long breath and guessing from this, he must look tired and frustrated, to which you decide not to take any notice and continue without looking at him, wanting to be alone.

"If you need anything or anything happens, I'll be next door."

You don't say anything, just bite the inside of your cheek and wait for him to finally leave.

"Good night," he says in a defeated voice then walks away and closes the door.

At dawn and practically at first light, the three of you resume your flight back to King's Landing.

The three of you approach Vhagar and Sunfyre, who are not far from the tavern, hidden in the forest among huge and frightening trees. Aegon mounts his dragon first, and again Aemond helps you scale Vhagar's massive size, standing behind you at all times and making sure you don't fall.

And with a mighty flapping of wings, the two dragons take to the sky with flight towards the horizon.

And while it was impossible not to think that the flight with Aemond would be uncomfortable again, you still hoped that things between him and you wouldn't feel so tense.

However, that's exactly what happens.

Practically your back is against his chest, his arms on either side of your waist to take the reins and every now and then you feel his warm breath on the back of your neck which, without knowing exactly why, sends shivers all over your body and makes you uncomfortable.

Being with him like this only relives the first and last time you both spent the night together in your mind and you want to take your distance, which is impossible. And it also relives the pain.

What happened the next morning makes the whole memory painful and overshadows all the happiness you felt at the time.

And in the midst of everything you're feeling, wishing this would end soon, Aemond suddenly breaks the silence between the two of you.

"They never told me," he murmurs in your ear, tensing your body the instant you hear him.

His words leave you bewildered. You don't understand what he's referring to, but you don't decide to ask either. And in the silence that follows, Aemond continues.

"They never told me they would send you away the next day."

This makes your heart flip and involuntarily this catches your attention, not daring to say anything, let alone turn your head to watch him, but feeling the intrigue inside you.

"After everything that happened in the Council Chamber, I had a plan."

He confesses to you and your breath catches at that moment.

"I wanted to keep my mother and grandsire off guard by making them think I had agreed to their terms. And I didn't look for you all that day because I was planning, that at the right time, I would come for you with the help of Aegon and Helaena and we would marry in secret at the Septon."

The impact of his words resonates within you, creating surprise and disbelief in your thoughts, as you feel your heart begin to beat too hard and you begin to breathe through your mouth.

"But I didn't know that, besides trying to see you would be too risky and would only delay things more, so I focused on preparing a discreet escape," he continues with his tone relieving his vulnerability, "And when Hel didn't see you with the ladies or anywhere else, she told me and I got worried. I tried to look for you, but before I knew it, you were gone."

You bite the inside of your cheek as tears begin to form in your eyes and you process the revelation of his words that envelopes you in a sense of overwhelming emotions, shock, disbelief and sadness.

"I couldn't do anything against it and my plan fell apart," he admits, in his voice mixing regret and frustration, "I had hoped to be able to explain you, to take you as my wife and protect you from everything that would come after, because being wed no one could separate us anymore. But, as always, nothing went as I expected and I failed."

The surprise fades and leaves room for sadness and regret, as silence stretches between the two and only the sound of the wind and the flapping of Vhagar's huge wings can be heard.

With the unexpected revelations, Aemond's words float in the air and for a moment you find yourself lost in the feeling of your emotions, with tears streaming down your cheeks, with the feeling of regret and frustration, realizing the complexity of the situation now and then.

You still can't watch him, even though you feel Aemond tilt his head over one of your shoulders, wanting to watch you, but you don't let him. And now it is you who dares to break the silence with a shaky question.

"Did you get married?" you ask, tears still sliding down your cheeks.

"No, Y/N. I never did."

You instantly frown, not understanding.

Your father that very day told you that Aemond was to be wed soon, but not to you. Besides, the Queen and the Hand seemed very serious about making amends with Lord Borros and Floris Baratheon, so the wedding must have taken place, definitely.

"But... my father told me that day..." you swallow hard, " That your wedding to Lady Floris would take place in the next few days."

Aemond sighs and you can feel the heaviness in his reply.

"Yes, but I did everything I could to delay that wedding and eventually... it never happened."

You are silent for a moment, breathing through your mouth.

"And what happened?" you ask in a shaky voice.

"Two days ago the wedding finally took place but Aegon helped me escape the Keep to come for you."

Aemond's words clutch at your heart and disbelief along with surprise intertwine within you as you try to process the magnitude of the words he has just revealed, leaving you breathless. Even you can't describe exactly what you feel.

He abandoned his family.

He did not fulfill his duty... for you.

Surprise mixes with relief in your emotions, but uncertainty also arises. And finally, your eyes desperately seek his, needing him to confirm that what he is telling you is no lie.

His gaze seeks yours for understanding and support, being terribly honest with you. And in the midst of all his remorse and determination, a faint sad smile forms on his lips, in your direction.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, insistent and pleading, "I truly didn't know you'd be sent away the next day and had I known..." he sighs, averting his gaze from yours for the burden of the situation and denies with his head, "I thought my plan would work."

You can't say anything, you don't even know what exactly you feel about all this as Aemond stands there, sadness and determination in his gaze, waiting for your reaction.

But you can't think clearly, you can only look away from him and stare straight ahead, your lips parted.

You still feel shocked, but now you understand the depth of the sacrifices he has made, something you had no idea of. How could you have known that he, for you, had abandoned his duty even considering the grave consequences he will soon have with his family?

When you first saw him on the island, you thought he was married to Floris and only wanted to take you for his selfish whim. But now, you understand everything.

And yet the words get stuck in your throat as you struggle to articulate a response, sadness reflecting in your eyes and you don't even know what to do, unable to fully articulate your thoughts and feelings.

When he again speaks, breaking the silence.

"Do you still hate me?" he asks you softly and with some fear.

His tone carries with it uncertainty and he gives you your full attention, as you take a moment before responding, trying to find the right words for everything you're feeling at that moment.

"I don't know," you confess, in a low murmur, not daring to look at him, "It's too much... all of this is too much."

He nods sympathetically, understanding everything you must be feeling. And, a little unsure at first, he lifts one of his hands slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement might break the calmness of the situation and then his fingers gently touch your cheek, caressing you slowly, turning your face very carefully towards his.

And there he is again, seeing his beautiful violet eye and unconsciously, his touch and closeness comfort you.

"I just want you to know that every choice I made was in the hope that we could finally be together, as husband and wife," he tells you sincerely.

And again you close your eyes and let the tears roll down your cheeks and he wipes them away, hating to see you cry, not liking that sight but doing his best to ease your pain, even though he is the cause.

"At least you could have let me know what you were planning... in one way or another," you say sadly, "You truly hurt me that day and I felt so... used and broken."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," he says instantly, sad and remorseful, "I'm very sorry, my sweet girl. I promise you that was never my intention. I never thought badly of you, nor was it my wish for you to marry someone else. When I was told that I was furious, Y/N. Especially because I couldn't say anything about it. And when I found out you were gone... I swear I felt I was going to go mad."

You notice the sincerity of his confession and let out a long breath, as Aemond releases the reins with his free hand and holds it at your waist, hugging you. And then he rests his forehead against the side of your head, then leaves soft, comforting kisses on your left cheek.

And despite the discomfort of the position you find yourself in, you turn your body as best you can and seek refuge in his arms, close your eyes and feel the warmth emanating from his body instantly.

His fingers begin to trace gentle circles on your back above your cloak, seeking to bring you comfort and understanding.

Tears continue to slowly stream down your cheeks as he holds you against his body, the difference being that you no longer feel that weight on your being and feel relief instead.

You sigh deeply as Aemond's fingers now gently caress your head, until you finally feel good and separate yourself enough from him to look into his eye.

But you say nothing, just tilt your head towards him and the two of you bring your foreheads together, as Vhagar continues the course of the flight and Sunfyre keeps flying by a few more clouds above.

"Are you all right?" he asks you softly and you nod.

You close your eyes and look straight ahead again, dropping your head between his chest and shoulder with a relieved gesture, to which he can more easily enclose you in his arms.

"Yes," you murmur, then look around briefly.

It's impossible to tell where you are from this height, mostly because you're unfamiliar with the skies, so you decide to ask.

"How close are we to King's Landing?"

You wait for him to respond by telling you that they are flying over the name of some land and give you an approximate of how long until they both arrive at the place where chaos will once again be unleashed by the actions of both of you.

However, you don't expect that kind of answer at all.

"We are not flying into King's Landing."

Instantly you raise your face to him in complete bewilderment.

"I'm going to take you somewhere else."

"Where to?" you ask completely attentive.

Aemond doesn't say anything right away, just lets the wind wrap around you both for a moment as your unease envelops you and you continue to watch him waiting for an answer.

"To Dragonstone."

He finally says and another pause hangs in the air as you raise your eyebrows, still not fully comprehending, when his gaze meets yours, as if he is searching for some clue in your eyes before he continues.

"That's where we're getting married."

Total surprise takes hold of you, your mouth half opens but no words come out and for an instant, nothing comes to your mind to make you react.

Aemond watches your reaction, fearful of what your expression might reflect. And the uncertainty in his gaze mixes with fear as he watches you completely attentively.

"You still want to marry me?" he asks.

His question hangs in the air, as time seems to fade around you and a wave of thoughts invade your mind, surprise and trepidation, deeply understanding his intentions.

Uncertainty is still present, but a spark of longing begins to glow in your eyes.

Aemond eagerly awaits your response, his watchful gaze searching for any expression in yours. And there you see how his own burden of desire and waiting for your acceptance is there.

Then you feel a surge of warmth in your chest.

And finally a small smile forms on your lips, and then you slowly lean into him, closing the distance between you, and press your lips gently on top of his.

It is your silent response, but full of meaning.

And at this, Aemond relieves, feeling the certainty of your choice, while his arms hold you tenderly, as if he fears this is a cruel dream, responding to your kiss with as much warmth and touch as possible.

The wind fiddles with your hair as the majestic flapping of Vhagar's wings engulfs them, heading towards Dragonstone with a great and promising purpose.

And soon both dragons find themselves landing on the island, where Princess Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone, resides with her family.

At Dragonstone, Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, along with several other guards, immediately emerge from the black castle with confused, distrustful and curious gazes.

Aemond is the one who takes the word, addressing Rhaenyra, but it is Daemon who responds and very soon they find themselves having an intense discussion. It is Daemon who proclaims that neither of them have any place on the island and that they should not be here.

Aegon and Aemond argue with this, trying to talk to Rhaenyra mainly, but Daemon always vouches for her. Until finally Rhaenyra speaks and listens to the request of her two half-brothers.

Despite the clear rivalry between the two families of the very ill King Viserys, for Rhaenyra that they, especially Aemond, have thought of her to ask for her help with matters of the heart and not politics, speaks to her.

Despite the accident at Driftmark, a night Rhaenyra later spent a lot of time thinking about, she understands that from the beginning, since she and Alicent were little girls, the problem was always with Otto Hightower and his persuasive ideas on Crown decisions.

And when Rhaenyra agrees to help them, Aemond thinks that this is not the acceptance of forgiveness, it is just her half-sister doing him a favor she owes him for that terrible night, where Luke received no punishment.

Besides, there is no time to remember past events, the only thing he cares about is marrying you as soon as possible.

Daemon reproaches and questions his wife's decision, but she decides not to listen to him. She simply wants peace to finally exist between her father's two families and in the Realm.

Rhaenyra provides Aemond and you with everything you need. Even the robes, the dragonglass, the chalice and she also offers to officiate the union for lack of a Septon at the time.

And then... finally the Valyrian wedding takes place amidst the ancestral stones of Dragonstone.

The wind caresses your faces, as if the ancient dragons and the ancient Gods were present, blessing this special moment. You and Aemond stare at each other, face to face, with Aegon as your witness, as Rhaenyra recites the words in High Valyrian.

"Hen lantoti ānogar."

Blood of two.

"Va sȳndroti vāedroma."

Joined as one.

The blade cuts the lips of both, then both collect the blood with their thumbs and place it as a circle on each other's foreheads.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti."

Ghostly flame.

"Elēdroma iārza sīr."

And song of shadows.

"Izulī ampā perzī."

Two hearts as embers.

Then the two cut the palm of each other's hand, join them together and let the blood run into the chalice between your bodies.

"Prūmī lanti sēteksi."

Forged in fourteen fires.

"Hen jenȳ māzīlarion."

A future promised in glass.

The two drink from each other's blood.

"Qēnlossa ozūndessi."

The stars stand as witness.

"Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo."

The vow spoken through time.

"Rȳ kīva mazvestraksi."

Of darkness and light.

And finally, the Valyrian wedding is culminated and permanently sealed as the sun sets over Dragonstone and Aemond's lips claim yours in a passionate and needy kiss, with both of you tasting the faint taste of each other's blood on your lips.

And only then and there, the two of you are finally happy, this being what you had so longed for and hoped for, long ago giving it up for lost. But now, he can call you his wife and you call him your husband.

Eventually the news reaches King's Landing, unleashing a new wave of worry and trouble, but now both you and Aemond are at ease, for no one can separate you now, let alone discredit a Valyrian wedding.

And you both consummate the marriage under the moonlight reflecting off Dragonstone, joining as one, as it was meant to be, long ago.

taglist next part:

@a-beaverhausen

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #hotd aemond #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond one eye #aemond one shot #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x y/n

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cupid-styles · 8 months

Text

silk and rope 3

the final part of ddlg harry and little/submissive y/n!!!!

in which harry is a dummy, y/n gets a little too drunk, and thanksgiving is finally good for something.

word count: 8k

content warnings: daddy dom and little/submissive relationship, alcohol, a little bit of angst, SMUT!!! (anal play, squirting, dirty talk, breeding kink, public sub drop, public play if you squint, dumbification, tiny bit of pet play.. if I missed something pls lmk lol). as stated in the first two parts, I tried to make this as accurate as possible but there are likely some things that aren't correct!! im just a girl and im sorry if something isn't portrayed right!!!!!!

thank you for reading and loving these two, while this is the last formal part of their story I will definitely be writing check-ins and blurbs for them in the future!!! enjoy :)

masterlist | talk to me

part one | part two

. . .

It doesn't take Y/N very long to realize Harry's acting weird.

Well, maybe not weird, but different. He's acting differently than he has been for the past two months, and it's giving her a bit of whiplash. She notices that it started the day after she slipped when he dropped her off at home, when he latched a collar around her neck.

Her memory of that day is a little bit hazy; the events are more so glued together in blurry snapshots of pleasure and lust, but she does know that she had fallen into her little space while he was gone. He'd punished her for the whole butt plug incident, fucked her into oblivion, and then soaked in the tub with her before falling asleep next to her.

And really, it wasn't that different from their usual scenes. The dynamic was the same, as far as Y/N can remember, it may have just been a little bit more intense.

So why is Harry acting like this?

Instead of stopping by nearly every day to make sure she's eaten and rested, he'll just text her. If she hasn't eaten lunch or dinner yet, he'll order her food to her house instead of bringing her a homemade meal or stopping somewhere on the way. When he does come over, it seems like he's always in a hurry to leave — yesterday, he picked her up from a closing shift at the bakery and barely spoke to her in the car. He came inside, quickly cooked her a dinner, and left before she'd even finished eating, mumbling out some excuse about having to feed his sister's cat.

Worst of all, they haven't slept together in a week.

It's all overwhelming for Y/N, but this time, it's in the worst way possible. She feels incredibly down as the days go on, and she spirals and wonders what she did wrong to make him act this way. She can feel the breakup coming from a mile away, but she assumes that because it's Harry, he'll bake her a cake and buy her a kitten just because he doesn't want to be too mean about it.

She hates to admit it, but she's grown attached to Harry. And she really, really doesn't want to let him go.

It's what led her to asking Naomi to grab lunch on her day off. Naomi hasn't reached out too much lately so it's been awhile since they'd seen one another, but she's known Harry far longer than she has.

(And yeah, Y/N feels kind of shitty about making plans with Naomi only to ask about Harry, but she has a nagging feeling that she's only kept her around because she feels bad she doesn't have friends outside of them.)

"I'm sorry, you and Harry are what?"

(She supposes she should have expected this type of response.)

"We're sleeping together," Y/N answers in a pathetic attempt to sound casual, keeping her eyes glued to the turkey sandwich on her plate, "But he's been acting kind of off lately, and I wasn't sure if you guys knew something I didn't."

"Well no one knew that," Naomi mutters, stabbing her fork into her salad and stuffing some lettuce into her mouth. "But to address your concerns, no, I don't know anything. Harry's notoriously private about his love life."

She clears her throat and nods. "I think he's gonna end things soon."

"Hmm, yeah," Naomi hums through a mouthful of food, "I don't think he does the whole friends with benefits thing. Lea tried once and he rejected her, it was kind of a mess. She couldn't stand to be in a room with him for like, two months."

"We're not sleeping with other people," Y/N quickly adds. "It's sort of an exclusive arrangement."

Still, Naomi shrugs her shoulders, and it doesn't soothe any of Y/N's worries.

"He may have told you that, but I honestly doubt it, babe. I'm sorry he broke your heart. He can be kind of an asshole in that way."

If anything, Y/N feels even worse now. The gears in her brain are turning too fast and she's starting to feel nauseous, putting the puzzle pieces together and envisioning what her life will be like without Harry after she's gotten so used to him taking care of her.

"Anyway, Bria is having a party this weekend," Naomi says, breaking her out of his spiraling thoughts, "You should come. It'll get your mind off things and you can find someone new to fuck."

She winces at her crude terminology, not because she's offended by it but because she thinks what she and Harry are doing is more than just fucking.

Aren't they?

Forcing down a sip of her Diet Coke, Y/N nods. "Yeah, I'll be there."

. . .

From: H

Can I come over tonight?

Y/N bites her lip as she reads Harry's text for the fourth time. Since getting home from lunch with Naomi, she's been stewing in a series of emotions: First, sadness, followed by frustration and anger, then sadness again, then acceptance. She's managed to occupy herself with some re-runs of Jeopardy, even if it reminds her of him.

She doesn't know what the right thing to do is. What if he wants to come over because he's ready to end things? She supposes she's just putting off the inevitable, but she's been broken up with enough times and she knows how much more painful this one will be. She's not prepared for that, even if she wants to be.

Sighing, she finally makes a decision, tapping her thumbs quickly against the screen.

Y/N: hey sorry i can't do tonight. think im coming down w something, i don't feel that well

H: Do you need anything? I can bring soup and medicine, whatever you need.

Y/N: no im ok, thank you tho

H: Let me know if you think of anything.

H: Maybe later this week if you're feeling better?

Y/N: yea maybe

Tears are already clouding her vision as she locks her phone and tosses it across her couch. Desperately, she wonders why the guy she's fallen for just can't like her back.

. . .

Harry knows he's fucking up.

He wants to smack himself across the face and tell himself to pull it together, but he can't. Every single cell and bone in his body is begging him to go over to Y/N's house and make it all better, and instead, he just sits on the couch, replaying those words over in his brain. Her swollen parted lips and eyes fluttered closed, the way it sounded so effortless falling from her mouth. I love you.

He wanted to say it back. But that wasn't part of the arrangement.

She wanted someone to dominate her, to take care of her. Who would be if he took advantage of something she said after nearly two hours of play, when she'd been in her little space all day? It wasn't something he felt morally right about, but he knows he wasn't being any better. He couldn't hold himself to high standards when he was pushing her away.

It's why he's so down and out on Saturday night. Normally, he'd be snuggled up with Y/N, watching some movie or TV show, usually after or before an intense scene. Sometimes it served as a precursor to foreplay with the way he'd stroke over her thighs and play with her hair, watching as she became increasingly restless. Other times, it's what they did to unwind, a form of aftercare for both parties.

But tonight, he's not doing that. He's at home alone, confused, because Bria just texted him that she's having a party tonight and everyone's there — including Y/N.

He doesn't like that she singles her out like that. He knows that some of the girls in the group don't particularly like her because she's quiet and shy and rather reserved about her personal life. (He understands why she's that way now.) He doesn't even think Naomi is a good friend to her, but he would never go out of his way to tell her that — ultimately, she's capable of making her own decisions. However, she'd sent him some excuse about not being able to hang out a few days ago, claiming that she was sick and yet, tonight she was at a party?

Harry couldn't live with that.

So he fires off a text to Bria, telling her that he'll be there soon, dressing quickly and throwing himself together. When he's driving over to Bria's place, he makes a mental promise to himself, pledging that as long as Y/N doesn't hate him, he won't return home without her.

. . .

Y/N is drunk, and she hates being drunk.

The last time she consumed a fraction of this amount of alcohol was the night she spilled her guts to Harry. Tonight, she's downed every shot that's been passed her way. She's not sure what she's looking to achieve — she doesn't want to go home with anyway and the only person she really wants to be with is Harry — and it makes her sad. So, so helplessly sad.

Despite being deep underwater, Y/N is cognizant enough to know that no one at this party really cares for her wellbeing. They were eager to get her drunk, but once she started swaying on her feet with hazy eyes, they stopped caring. Games of beer pong and flip cup were ongoing as she sat in the kitchen, propped up on the counter with her head against the cabinets.

She feels so stupid, it makes her want to cry.

. . .

Harry attempts to play it cool when he arrives at Bria's house.

Everyone welcomes him, excited that he made it, but they have no idea that his presence has nothing to do with wanting to party. He's here for the girl who begs him to snap a collar around her neck and push a plug into her ass. The girl he happens to be very in love with.

Naomi bats her eyelashes at him and hands him a glass of wine; an attempt to schmooze him when she tells him she picked out this bottle just for him. He smiles politely.

"Have you seen Y/N? Bria mentioned she was here."

Naomi's eyebrows raise, a defensive look crossing onto her face. "Why are you looking for her?"

"We just need to talk about something," he replies dismissively, uninterested in revealing any details to her, "So, is she here? Or did she leave already?"

She crosses her arms over her chest. "She got pretty fucked up when she got here. She's kind of a mess, y'know? I don't even know if she's here or not."

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, concern and worry bubbling in his stomach, "She doesn't like to drink."

"Well, she sure liked all the shots everyone was giving her."

He closes his hands into tight fists, stunned at how careless these people could be. He couldn't believe he considered them friends at a certain point.

"Where did you see her last?" he eventually questions, pushing past the anger growing in his chest.

Naomi thinks for a moment. "I think Ren may have passed her in the kitchen. Not sure, though."

She's apparently finished with this conversation, clearly annoyed that she didn't get what she wants (Harry knows she's been trying to recreate that one night they made out years ago, but he's never been especially interested). He huffs and pushes past everyone else standing around in the living room, ignoring anyone who tries to start a conversation. When he walks into the kitchen, his eyes immediately find her defeated posture, her shoulders slumped over with eyes half-shut.

"Y/N," he says, rushing over to her. He's not sure if she's even conscious, so he gently pats at her cheek. "Baby, are you alright?"

Her eyes flutter open, a look of confusion immediately taking over. "Harry?"

"Are you okay, Y/N? What happened?"

"Nothing," she mumbles through red-stained lips, "Why're you here?"

She's slurring her words and he swallows harshly, taking in her rough composure. She looks so tired and it breaks his heart to think that he could have caused this.

"Heard you were here and I wanted to make sure you were okay." he murmurs out, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, "Are you having a fun time?"

He already knows the answer when she shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowed. "No. Hate being drunk."

"I know, baby," Harry coos, "Would you be okay with me taking you home? Get you all cozy in your bed?"

If she's angry with him, her level of drunkenness has made her forget about those feelings because she nods, making grabby hands at him. He chuckles and helps her down from the countertop, immediately wrapping a supportive arm around her waist.

"My car's just parked outside. Do you think you can make it there?"

"Mhm."

With a gentle smile on his lips, he tugs her out of the kitchen and guides her to the front door. He can feel eyes on them and he assumes Naomi is likely leading the pack, but he doesn't care. Frankly, he's fine if this is the last time he sees most of these people — he doesn't think he wants to continue friendships with anyone who'd want to hurt Y/N.

She's quiet as he helps her into the car, buckling her seatbelt for her and closing the passenger side door once she's safe. He's quick to do the same for himself, churning the ignition and flicking the heat on to shield her from the chilly autumn air.

"Do you feel sick at all?" Harry asks as he pulls out of his parking spot. She shakes her head. "Okay, lemme know if that changes, lovebug."

They don't exchange any more words on the way to Y/N's place. Once he's parked, he turns to look over, only to find her slumped in her seat with closed eyes, steady puffs of air coming from her nose. His heart twitches — he wishes they were coming home from a date or something romantic, but he's reminded quite quickly of her drunken state.

He leaves her in the car for a moment to use his spare key to unlock her front door. When he returns, he gently scoops her body up and out of the car. Her eyes flicker open and he hushes her, kicking the door closed.

"Can walk," she mutters out, and he nods, letting her down once they're safely in her home.

"I didn't wanna wake you up, that's all."

Y/N shrugs and kicks her shoes off, though she loses her balance and sways, Harry quickly coming to her side to steady her by the elbow.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

He looks down at the doe-eyed girl in front of him, sniffling as the words float from her lips. His stomach flutters with anxiety as he watches her eyes get watery, immediately using his thumb to wipe away the moisture from spilling over.

"Why would you ask that?" he murmurs, placing a hand to her hip.

"You don't like me," Y/N answers matter-of-factly. "And you've been avoiding me."

He sighs. He knows this isn't the right time to talk things through, especially because she's only saying these things given her swimming mindset. He hates that her mind even floated to such places, but if he's being honest, he isn't surprised — he thinks he would assume similarly if their roles were swapped.

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" Harry asks softly.

She shrugs her shoulders, letting her gaze fall to her feet. "You can just do it now. I don't wanna remember anything you have to say if that's the case."

"Y/N, stop it," he says with a shake of his head, attempting to guide her up the stairs. He's slightly impressed that despite her wobbly legs, she stays put. "I'm not ending things."

"Why wouldn't you?" she fires back, looking back up at him with a defiant look in her eyes, "You promised me you'd take care of me and— and for the past week or so, you've done anything but. You've just stressed me out and made me feel bad."

Harry swallows as guilt begins to crawl its way back up his spine. He knows she's right. She has every right to be upset.

"I know," he mumbles, nodding his head, "I know. I haven't been a good dominant. I'm sorry."

"That's a shit excuse. I've heard that so many times before from guys who didn't treat me right from the start. You're different, Harry."

"Y/N..." he's getting frustrated now, disgruntled by how stubborn she apparently gets when she's drunk, "You're right about everything, but this isn't the time to talk this through. I want to do it when you're sober."

She rolls her eyes and if things were normal, Harry knows he would've grabbed her by the hips and leaned her over the steps to spank her. Instead, he lets out a breath and nudges her in the direction of her bedroom.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed."

Y/N's protests cease after that and Harry's secretly grateful for it. She's sobered up enough to take her makeup off and change into her pajamas as he fetches her a glass of water and some Advil to take. He places them on her nightstand as she crawls into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

"Your apartment's still freezing," he murmurs, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "I'll call a repair guy tomorrow."

"Are you staying then?" she asks softly, letting her eyes close the second she smushes her cheek into the pillow.

"I will if you'd like me to."

"Okay," she mumbles, "I hope you don't break up with me tomorrow."

He lets out what feels like the thousandth sigh that evening. "Stop saying that. I'm not going to."

Y/N simply shrugs.

. . .

The next morning, Y/N wakes up with a throbbing headache. Before she even opens her eyes, she can feel embarrassment warming every cell of her body, but she can't place a finger on why. She knows something happened last night but things get a little... blurry at a certain point; her last solid memory taking shots with Naomi and Lea. From there, she has a small inkling of what happened, mainly just recalling her sitting in the kitchen by herself when she started feeling woozy and tired.

When she finally blinks her mascara-crusted eyes open (she thought she took her makeup off last night, but maybe she did a shit job of it), she nearly jumps when she realizes there's someone laying next to her.

That someone being Harry.

He has his reading glasses on and he's scrolling on his phone. Through squinted eyes, she reads the words heat repair guy best ratings in his Google search. When he realizes that she's awake, he locks his phone and clears his throat.

"Hey," he says, licking his lips, "How are you feeling?"

"Confused," she croaks out, lifting her head slightly to look up at him, only to be met with a pounding ache in her temples.

"Here, be careful," he mumbles, leaning over to his side to grab something from the nightstand. He hands here two pieces of toast and two Advil. "You should eat this before you take anything. You were pretty wasted last night, I figured your hangover would be rough."

She hums in appreciation and takes a bite of the toast, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "What are you doing here?"

He's not surprised that the details are hazy for her, so he flips onto his side to face her. "Bria told me about the party and mentioned you were there. I wanted to see you so I went, but you were, um, drunk and... by yourself. I took you home, that's all."

"Hm," Y/N nods, "Yeah, I remember getting drunk with everyone. I don't remember you being there except for us arguing here."

"We didn't really argue. You were just being... stubborn."

"About what?"

Harry sighs. "You wanted to talk about the state of our relationship and were convinced I was going to break up with you."

A beat. And then, "Oh."

"That was never my plan, by the way," he replies, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers, "I was never going to end things."

She shrugs her shoulders and places her empty plate on the floor, tossing back the Advil.

"I know I haven't been the best to you lately. I've been having a hard time trying to figure out how to approach things."

"Approach what?" she bites, laying back down. "I— all I know is that one day things were fine, and the next they weren't. You weren't being the same and I didn't know what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong," he shakes his head, "Just... you said something. When you were in your little space."

"I say a lot of things when I'm in my little space."

"Yeah, but this was... like, different."

"How, different?"

"More serious, I guess."

"Harry," she huffs, fisting the comforter in her hands, "I can't guess something I said when I wasn't being myself."

"You told you love me."

Y/N's head whips to the side and she immediately winces, shutting her eyes. He cringes and reaches out to touch her temples, gently applying a bit of pressure and rubbing them. It's silent for a moment as he massages her head.

"I'm sorry," she eventually mumbles, "You were probably freaked out. I'm sure I didn't mean to say it."

"Don't be sorry. I would never hold your emotions against you."

Still, she wants to hide her face in the blankets. She's embarrassed, that much is obvious. She doesn't even know if she actually loves Harry; a lot things come out when she's in her little space, some of which she means and some of which she doesn't. She supposes it's fair that he seems so freaked over it.

"I wish you told me sooner. I could've... explained myself. Maybe."

"Explained yourself?"

Y/N shrugs and lays back against the pillows. Harry follows her lead, tilting his neck so he can look at her.

"I can't say for certain that I love you or not, I've never been in love," she explains quietly, feeling her cheeks warm at the unexpected vulnerability spilling out of her, "Don't you think you could say things when you're dominating me that you don't necessarily mean? You degrade me sometimes and I know those things aren't true."

Harry thinks for a moment, pinching his lip between his fingers. "I guess, yeah."

"I would tell if you if I knew for sure, Harry. But I don't."

He nods and rolls onto his back. He doesn't know why but he feels... sad? Let down, maybe? He'd been under the impression that she loved him and, well... maybe he was okay with that.

"I'm sorry." she repeats softly. He shakes his head and reaches out for her hand, grasping it gently and giving it a small squeeze.

"Don't be. It was stupid. I overreacted."

"Thank you for rescuing me last night," Y/N murmurs, squeezing his hand back.

He pushes down the feelings of disappointment and forces a small smile on his lips.

"Anytime."

. . .

Harry tries to go back to normal after that.

He stops being so avoidant, which makes a big difference. He and Y/N are back to their near-daily hangouts, and it's easy to fall back into the routine they established before any of this happened. They're even having sex again, with Y/N readily falling into her little space every time he ties her to the bed, overstimulates her until she's crying, and fucks her open with his cock until he comes deep inside her. They never use condoms anymore, either, and the added layer of intimacy only contributes to what Harry realize shortly after that morning in Y/N's bed: he's in love with her.

He guesses he's known it for awhile, he just didn't want to admit it to himself. But when she explained why she said it, he felt so bummed that it only made sense. He'd wanted her to love him.

But Y/N is Y/N, shy and oblivious and rarely the first to bring up her feelings, so he leaves it at that. He can't think of a worse fate than them actually ending things for good this time, so he keeps his emotions to himself, locked up tight for no one to ever know.

This is a good method, he decides.

Until they're in Y/N's favorite bookshop, perusing through the section titled "BookTok" (he doesn't know what that means, but she clearly does since she has a stack of four books in her hand) and he sees it.

The familiar moony-eyed gaze, batted eyelashes, spit swollen lips. Tugging at his hand, latching onto his arm every second she can, when the word falls from her lips.

"Daddy."

He looks down with wide eyes. She never calls him that when they're in public, but now she's blinking owlishly, nibbling on the fingernails of the hand that isn't attached to Harry's arm.

"Are you alright, baby?" he asks quietly, brushing a piece of her hair out of her eyes.

"Mhm," she nods, grinning up at him, "Feeling little. 's that okay?"

He smiles gently, loving this side of her, but concerned that it's happening when they're out and about. He's never experienced a sudden sub drop before, but he knows that he doesn't want to make her feel unwanted, as if she's doing anything wrong.

"Of course, bunny," he murmurs. "Can daddy take you home, then?"

"Yes, please. Startin' to ache."

With raised eyebrows, he nods quickly, lightly tugging her head in the direction of the register. He buys her books for her, grateful that she's decided to occupy herself with the sticker display before wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her to his car. He buckles her in to make sure she's safe, her books piled neatly in her lap, and gets in on the other side.

She's quiet as she flips through one of her new novels while Harry periodically glances over at her to make sure she's doing alright. It's only when she starts squirming in her seat that he puts a hand over her thigh, squeezing gently.

"We'll be home soon, baby. Just hang in there for me."

"Hurts," she pouts, and Harry's heart jumps, "Please— can I— will you?"

He swallows, quickly looking over as she wiggles around. In any other situation, he'd say no — they have a pretty firm no-touching-herself rule when he's not there, but he's never seen her drop into her little space so suddenly before. Hesitantly, he nods, stopped at a red light as he reaches up to pluck at the waistband of her leggings.

"Does my baby just need to cum?" he asks as she quickly shimmies the material down.

"Need you to touch me." she whines, hooking her thumbs under her panties and sliding them to the middle of her thighs.

"Okay, okay," he murmurs. The light turns green and he presses on the gas, moving his hand up to hover over her core. Even with the distance between them, he can see how much she's glistening. "Did you make a mess for daddy? Just walking around, having a nice day, and your little pussy got all wet for me?"

"Yes," she gasps, spreading her pussy lips with his fingers.

He begins to thumb at her clit, pressing small circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves. She's already whimpering in her seat, eyes falling closed as she wraps her own hand around his wrist, pulling him closer.

"F-feels so good," Y/N mewls, grinding her hips down in time with his hand.

"Such a good girl for daddy," he tries to ignore the straining in his pants as her arousal readily coats his fingers just from a few swirls around her clit. "Cum for me whenever you're ready, bunny. Show me how good you are."

Thankfully, he's turning onto his street as the knot in her core unravels, breathy whimpers and broken calls of his honorific a clear indicator that she's reached her peak. He groans as he feels her pussy contracting, back arched against the leather of the seat.

"Fuck," he mutters, pulling into the driveway, "You're so fucking beautiful."

She barely has a second to breathe before he throws the car in park and unbuckles her seatbelt. He grabs her face between his hands and smushes their lips together, a surprised squeak sounding from her mouth.

"D-daddy," she gasps, her lips curling into a smile as he squeezes her hip.

"My good girl, yeah?" he grins, breaking apart to press their foreheads to one another. "You make daddy so happy."

Y/N giggles. She's still in her floaty headspace but with one orgasm in, it's less desperate and more bubbly. A reminder of how much she adores Harry, even with the rose-tinted glasses of her little space.

"Need more," Y/N breathes, leaning back in to peck his lips, "Please? Want your cock, want you to— to cum deep inside me."

"I know, bunny." he coos, ignoring the way his length twitches in his pants at her needy tone. He reaches up to press a kiss to her forehead. "C'mon, let's go inside. Wanna take you properly."

As soon as she nods, Harry clamors out of the car and winds around to the other side to open the door for her. With her pile of books in her hand and her flushed cheeks, evident of a recent orgasm, he intertwines their fingers together and helps her to the front door, quickly unlocking it.

Harry's no psychiatrist or expert on the manner, but one of the most interesting parts of Y/N being in her little space is that she doesn't even necessarily realize what she's doing. They've spoken about it before and she's revealed that there have times where she's been so deep under, she doesn't have all of her memories. It's a scary thought, but in a stroke of complete and utter honesty, she's explained to him that she trusts him implicitly — to take care of her when her brain is fuzzy, to never take advantage of her or push her beyond her limits.

Truthfully, Harry should've known then that he was in love with her.

And when she waltzes into his apartment, placing her books on the entryway table like she lives here, he's immediately wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, until her back is pressed up against his chest. She giggles out his honorific and it makes him smile into her hair — god, he loves her so much it might make him sick — before he mumbles out instructions to go upstairs to get undressed for him.

As always, she does as she's asked, ever keen on pleasing him. He gives her a moment as he stands at the bottom of the stairs, taking a deep breath and running his hand over his face. He's never felt so gone over a girl before, and he's managed to keep it together with Y/N this far — but seeing the way she slipped today and knowing it's just another way of showcasing how deeply she trusts their relationship... it's almost too much.

When he does go upstairs, he's instantly reminded of how uncomfortably hard he is. His eyes wander over her naked body, sprawled out across his bed, her feet flat on the bedding with her legs arched at the knee. She's being good — there have been times where he's found her already toying with her clit or sinking the tip of her finger in, but her hands are at her sides today.

"Good girl," Harry murmurs out as he undoes his belt, the leather falling to the floor. "Tell daddy what you want."

She hums, likely unused to getting a say in the foreplay of their scenes. He realizes that she may not know how to answer, so he attempts to help her along.

"Do you wanna be plugged in your bum? Tied up? Edged?" he asks, clad only in his briefs as he places a knee on the bed and wraps a hand around her ankle. "Tell me why daddy's girl needs."

"Want a plug, please," she says softly, allowing him to stretch her legs out, "Just... just wanna be filled."

"Filled, hm?" he teases lightly, reaching under the bed to rifle through the small box of sex toys. She had a bit of a collection of plugs at home, so she'd brought over a few to keep at his place a month or so back (that had been an interesting day, when he thought she had books or extra clothes in her tote bag only to be met with toys). He pulls out the smallest one since, if he's being honest, the need to be inside her is overwhelming, and he doesn't know how long he can play with her ass before he loses his mind.

"Flip onto your tummy, angel girl." he instructs as he pulls his tee and sweatshirt off. She silently does as she's told, pressing her cheek into one of Harry's pillows. She's instantly flooded with scents of his shampoo and cologne, woody and musky and intensely comforting, and it makes her squeeze her thighs together.

Everything about him makes her warm and gooey inside, as if she's coming to the one place — or person — that always feels like home, no matter how awful of a day she's had. Akin to struggling through a snowstorm, the chill pinging through her body and down to her bones; when she's with Harry, it's like being served her favorite bowl of warm soup and being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket fresh out of the dryer.

Harry is her home.

She's floating through this revelation when he pushes her ass cheeks apart, a soft gasp sounding from her mouth when he runs a lubed fingertip around the ring of muscles.

"Such a pretty hole," he murmurs, and she whimpers when she feels him spit, the saliva landing on her asshole, "Love filling you up, you know that? Every last one of these gorgeous holes."

She moans when he fits his finger inside, pushing it all the way to the knuckle. He knows she's experienced with anal so he doesn't feel like he has to be as precious about the process, knowing that she adores the sensation.

"Too bad daddy'll never share you with anyone though. No one will ever get to see how your ass and pussy squeeze around me... that's just for daddy, isn't it?"

Y/N muffles through a moan and he tuts as he pushes a second finger in.

"That's not an answer, bunny. Try again."

She shutters out a sigh and slowly blinks her eyes open, trying her to best not to be overwhelmed by him stretching her out.

"'s just for you, daddy."

"What is, angel?"

"My holes, daddy."

"Good girl," he mumbles, withdrawing his fingers. His cock twitches as he watches her ass gape ever so slightly, the loss of anything inside instantly making her feel empty. It's quickly over, though, because he's rubbing the tip of the lubed plug over her hole. "Deep breath, sweetheart, you know the drill."

Despite doing this numerous times, the stretch never quite gets old for Y/N. (Admittedly, Harry never tires of the view, either.) When her muscles swallow up the thick of the plug, revealing the pink bejeweled end, he groans, tapping it lightly.

"Does that feel better, baby?"

"Uh-huh."

"What do you say?"

"Thank you, daddy."

He smirks and gently pats the backs of her thighs, a wordless gesture to flip back over. She does, her eyelashes fluttering at the feeling of the plug slightly wiggling inside of her, pressing deep against her walls.

She leans up onto her elbows, watching as he palms his length through the material of his underwear. With wide eyes, she looks up at him, trying to ignore the way she can feel her arousal dripping down the inside of her thighs, making a sticky mess.

"What, bunny? Why are you looking at me like you're expecting something?"

Y/N pouts and Harry has to try not to smirk down at her.

"Use your words, angel."

Her pout deepens. They both know what she wants — her pussy is all but screaming for attention — and it's embarrassing to have to admit it. She adores the way he knows her body, but he's clearly feeling just a little meaner tonight by making her verbalize all of the filthy things running through her brain.

"Want you here, daddy." She mumbles cutely, bucking her hips up slightly. He hums and uses a finger to stroke over her mound, down to her crease where her juices are steadily collecting.

"Here?" He asks mockingly, teasing her folds with light movements. It's not enough for her to receive any pleasure, instead just causing her to wiggle around as she attempts to guide him to her pulsating hole.

"Inside," she all but huffs, and he chuckles, removing his touch altogether.

"Ah, where'd my good girl go?" He smirks, "You know that's not how you ask. Plus, if you keep squirming around like this, I'll have to tie you up."

Her stomach clenches at the thought; he's always more keen on edging her until she's crying when he ties her up. She's not in the mood for that tonight — she already feels like he's been edging her by refusing to give into her — so she puffs out a breath, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"Want you in my pussy, please."

"That's all you had to say, baby," Harry murmurs. She wants to roll her eyes but she knows she'll only get spanked for it, so she nods, reveling in the sensation of his hands back on her as he separates her lips, a cooing sound forming from the back of his throat at his eyes gaze over her swollen pussy. "You have a filthy little pussy. Did you know that, bunny?"

She shakes her head.

"Don't lie to daddy," he utters, delivering a swift slap to her clit. It makes her gasp, the quick sting that's gone just as quickly as it came. "You wouldn't be begging for my cock all the time if you didn't."

Some form of an "uh huh" leaves her mouth and he chuckles. Slowly, his fingertip trails down her crease and to the place she needs him most, circling her hole once before pushing in. Her back arches and her eyes squeeze closed, immediately grateful to finally receive something.

"You'll take anything I give you, won't you?" Harry continues as he pumps his finger, "My fingers, my tongue. My cock, of course. Even my cum — made you daddy's little cumslut, didn't I?"

She moans loudly and nods her head, her hair forming messy knots at the friction.

"L-love it," she stutters, the knot in her stomach winding up tightly, "Love feeling your cum inside me, daddy."

"I know you do." He purrs, pushing another finger in. "Bet you'd let me get you all swollen with it if I wanted. Carrying my baby around like the little slut you are."

They're both too wound up to even realize what he's said. They've never breached this territory before, never even considered if a future was in the cards for them. But Y/N's already whining over it before Harry has a chance to second guess himself, her pussy squeezing his fingers rapidly; a telltale sign that her peak is but a few moments away.

"I would, I would," she chants as she pants loudly, "Fuck— fuck, I'm yours, daddy, I—"

Her words are cut off by the throaty moan that parts her lips, the rope in her core finally splitting. It's so much, so good, her muscles contracting around his fingers as he works her through it, never ceasing his praises.

"There's my girl."

"So fucking beautiful for me."

"God, I got so lucky with you. Fuck."

Her pussy is drooling over his hand now, leaking down to the plug still firmly inside of her. He bites his lip at the visual, her hole still throbbing in haphazard pulses as he frees his cock from the confides of his underwear, desperate to feel her.

With fluttering eyes, she blinks her eyelashes open as she watches him, her mind filled with fuzzy static. She doesn't even realize she's leaked spit out of her mouth until he smiles gently, using soft fingertips to wipe it away.

"Already cock dumb, sweetheart?"

She nods.

"Can you take more, or are you done? Squeeze my hand if you want to be done."

She doesn't — although her mind is bleary and struggling to string together coherent thoughts, the idea of not having Harry inside of her seems terrible. She can tell he looks concerned (his eyebrows are knit together ever so slightly as he strokes up and down her arm, waiting for her to say her safe word), but she has no plans of breaking now.

"More," her mouth finally forms around the syllables, pushing it out hoarsely, "Can do it."

"Yeah?" he asks through raised eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

Again, she nods. Hesitantly, he shimmies up the length of her body, knees pressed into the comforter with his length hot and heavy in his palm.

"You know what to do if it's too much. Safe word or squeeze my hand three times."

And then finally — finally — after what seems like hours of teasing and edging (and, quite frankly, it could have been hours; Y/N's too foggy to know), he pushes his cock inside of her and everything feels right. So right, so good, so perfect.

Her jaw drops open and she leans her head against the crook of his neck, his own groans filling the otherwise quiet room. They're not typically this silent, especially when he first enters her — she's usually whimpering and he's teasing her, calling her a dog in heat or something along those lines — but it's just so... fulfilling, and satisfying, that she can't even put it into words.

When he builds up to a steady pace, mewls begin to break free from her throat, her eyes rolling back as she lays down against the pillows again. He leans back onto his heels and pushes her thighs up against her knees, looping his arms around them to keep her there. He's far deeper that way — they can both feel it — and he gets the prettiest views of her fucked out face and plugged up ass.

"Shit — you're so good, my fuckin' girl."

Too hazy to answer, she just nods, echoing his words. "Your girl."

"Yeah? Gonna take my cum, sweetheart? Want me to fuck it deep into you?"

"P-please," she babbles, reaching down between their bodies to play with her clit, "Want— want your babies, wanna be yours, please daddy."

"My sweet girl wants to be a mama?" he's clenching down his teeth so harshly he's nervous he may break something, "I'll give you anything, baby, pump my cum so deep in your womb you won't even remember your fuckin' name."

Chants of please, please, please are all that can leave her at this point, deft fingers rolling over her clit as she feels her third orgasm rapidly approaching. He knows it, too, and he groans at the sensation of her pussy clenching over his cock.

"Cum for me one more time and I'll do it. My fertile little pussy, hm? Pretty fucking girl gonna be the prettiest mama."

That's all it takes for her to explode around him, this time gushing out clear bursts of liquid. He groans and curses, the sight instantly sending him to his own edge. In the back of his mind, he knows that squirting all over his torso and legs will put her to the final brink of exhaustion, and he's internally grateful that he can let go and make good on his promise to her.

So, he does. He finishes deep inside her, pushing his hips all the way up against her bum as his balls throb and empty, fucking his cum as far as it'll go. They're a mess of liquids and sweat and they both know it's gross, but there's not a single place either one of them would rather be.

When her eyelashes flitter open and she looks up at him, an exhausted smile forming on her lips, he swears he's never seen anything more beautiful.

. . .

"What are your plans for the holidays?"

Harry raises his eyebrows as he spoons some more miso soup into his mouth. It's a gloomy Saturday evening, with the temperatures finally dropping down to appropriate autumnal climates. Y/N came over this morning to pick up a book he recommended for her, but — as if either one hadn't expected it — ended up staying all day, basking in the cozy glory of Harry's apartment. They snuggled up on the couch, watching Jeopardy reruns, taking turns napping and retrieving snacks and drinks for the other.

"Well," he clears his throat, "I'm not American so I don't really celebrate Thanksgiving. And Christmas is a bit far away, so I'm not sure. Why?"

She shrugs, pulling her knees up to her chest. "My sister was asking if I'm coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Ah. Are you?"

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"Why? Isn't it coming up?"

She nods her head, occupying her fingers with a loose thread at the end of Harry's tee shirt that she had thrown over her body.

"Yeah. I just... I don't know if it's stupid, but I was curious about what you were doing. Before I made any decisions."

Harry's heart thumps in his chest, his entire body warming at her taking his plans into consideration.

"That's sweet of you, baby. Hadn't really thought about it, though."

Again, she nods, and he thinks that may be the end of the conversation. He doesn't want to impose, especially since he thinks he's been doing particularly well with the whole not-confessing-his-love thing, so he unmutes the TV and directs his attention back to the screen.

"Wait!" she blurts out, and he mutes it again through furrowed brows, "What if you... like, came with me?"

"For Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah," she bites her lip, nerves apparent on her face, "It's no pressure, my sister's hosting just 'cos she just bought a house with her girlfriend and they have two dogs that are really cute, and my dad might be there but he's not one of those weird hover-y dads that care about who I bring around, not that he wouldn't care but it would be weird to have to explain how we met, and my mom is probably spending it with my step-dad so it'll be pretty low-key, and—"

"Y/N." Harry cuts her off with a smirk before setting his bowl of soup down on the table. "Breathe. You're gonna pass out, I've never heard you talk so fast."

She takes a deep breath and he smiles, murmuring out a good as he turns to face her.

"I would love to come and celebrate Thanksgiving with you. That sounds really nice. Thank you for inviting me."

"Really?"

"Of course," he replies easily. "I love any time we spend together."

Her cheeks warm and she nods, as if she's convincing herself he's being truthful.

"Um... so, like, how should I introduce you?" she asks, and there are so many butterflies swarming Harry's stomach that he doesn't know if he can get any words out.

"Well... how would you like to introduce me?"

She shrugs her shoulders and rolls her lips into her mouth. "I mean, I don't know... maybe, like..."

And then she mumbles something, but it's so low that he can't hear a thing.

"I didn't hear that."

She repeats it, and Harry lets out a laugh when he still doesn't understand her.

"Baby, speak up. I can't hear you."

"WhatifIsaidyouweremyboyfriend."

"What?"

"WhatifIsaidyouweremyBOYFRIEND."

"Y/N, seriously, I don't know—"

"Boyfriend!" she exclaims, "What if I said you were my boyfriend?"

He can't fight the grin that breaks out onto his face, especially given her wide, exasperated eyes. He doesn't think he'll ever tire of teasing her.

"Is this you asking me to be your boyfriend?"

She groans and goes to rise from the couch, only to be quickly brought back down by Harry. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her towards him as his chest vibrates with laughter.

"Ask me properly."

She huffs, twisting in his lap. Swallowing nervously, she looks down, and he intertwines their fingers together.

"Harry... would you want to be my boyfriend?" she peers up at him through her eyelashes and he smiles that big, dimpled smile that she loves, and realizes she has nothing to worry about.

"I would love nothing more than to be your boyfriend."

He decides to save the I-love-you confession for another day, because he wants nothing more than to do things properly with her.

But when a matching toothy grin appears on her face, he mentally amends the one thing he got wrong about her: This is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

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thought--bubble · 5 months

Text

Dreamin of You

Modern Dark Actor Aemond X (Non-Famous GF Reader)

Warnings below

Word Count: 3065

Modern Aemond Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners by @arcielee

Warnings:: Jealousy, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, Dubcon, insecurity, unprotected sex (p in v), oral sex (F receiving)

Based on THIS request

"Aemond! Over here!" You cringe at the noise, a man with a camera nearly screeching into your ear.

Aemond shields his eyes, trying to block out the flashing of the cameras as he tightens his arm around you, pulling you through the crowd.

It has been about a year since he got his big break. The leading man on a hit show that streams on Netflix. One of this year's biggest hits.

His life entirely changed nearly overnight, changing yours right along with it. You could no longer go out in public with him. You would be swarmed by cameras and people reaching out and grabbing at him. Women yelled out to him that they loved him.

Oh, how the women scream for him.

It doesn't surprise you. He is handsome and charming, not to mention tall, with a jawline that could cut diamonds.

Aemond used to be a quiet man. Hiding in the shadows. Shy and self-conscious. His disability made him bow out from most social situations unless you were there.

You had met Aemond back in primary school. Growing up beside him, you knew him better than anyone else. Or at least you used to.

The man standing beside you now, curling you up in his arm, is not the same man he was just one short year ago, and the realization hit you recently.

You had accompanied him to a photo shoot as you often do. Watching him flit about the place, shaking hands and charming them all with that beautiful smile. The two female models on set hanging on his every word. One being so forward as to brush her hand on his arm. Which he allowed.

Every day, you felt the pressure of his newfound fame start to squeeze into every facet of your life.

You had never been an insecure person. Never. Now you found yourself constantly comparing.

Aemond had been approached by models, a fellow actress, and even a pretty popular musician, and when you look at them and then at yourself, it's obvious that there is simply no comparison.

He is going to leave you or cheat on you at some point, which has you constantly on edge. You had been denying this, but what man wouldn't? What man would stay with his average before fame girlfriend when he could have a lingerie model? A pop star?

You know that he loves you and you love him too, but sometimes love is just not enough.

That's how you find yourself here. Standing in his living room, watching him update his Instagram after fighting your way through a sea of photographers.

Your stomach feels sick as you watch him, trying to build up the courage to say what has been bouncing around in your head for weeks.

"It's time," you whisper to yourself.

You clear your throat as you gently shake out your limbs. "Aemond? I....I need to talk to you."

"Course." He doesn't lift his head from his phone, no doubt jumping on every notification coming from his social media accounts.

"It's important"

He lifts his head and furrows his brow.

"Everything alright, love?" He turns his phone screen down toward his lap to show you that you have his full attention.

You open your mouth to speak and immediately the anxiety of what you're about to do hits you like a tidal wave. Am I doing this? Really doing this?

Aemond can sense the panic that is coursing through you and stands up and quickly walks to you, taking your hands.

"Don't be afraid, love, tell me what's going on," He squeezes gently. His tenderness makes this all so much more difficult.

"I think it's...... Aemond? I..... I'm leaving" the relief you feel at finally telling him is soothing, it's done. You've said it. No take backs.

"Leave?" Aemond grips his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white as he turns his head from you. "Leave where? Go where? For what purpose?"

"Aemond..... I mean leave..... us. This" You turn your head in an effort to avoid that eye. You know you shouldn't look away. It's you who is doing this to the both of you. What right do you have to be sad?

The gentleness on his face is replaced with shock, and he turns his back to you, taking a few steps away. His silence is deafening, but you want to be fair. Give him a moment to process this.

"I... I just don't think we fit anymore, I'm so happy for you, Aemond. You're so talented, and all this that's happening to you? You deserve it, and i want you to have it." You recoil slightly at your own words. You've been thinking it for months, but saying it out loud, saying it to him. It's so painful. So final. "But, there's no room here for me anymore"

As you feel the all too familiar sting in your eyes, you watch his form turned away from you. You want him to look at you. Let you know that he understands that you don't want to hurt him. That this is what is best for both of you.

Instead, he chuckles, and you're hit with a wave of confusion before he turns around and stalks toward you. "Leaving? You think you're leaving me?" The smirk that creeps its way onto his face sends shivers down your spine.

He clicks his tongue as he reaches you, pulling you in tight against his chest.

"You don't get to leave." He coos. "No, my darling, you'll stay right here." he gently runs his fingers through your hair, the movement comforting and menacing.

The little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Who is this? This isn't the Aemond you know. Kind gentle, Aemond.

No, this person is someone else.

His lifts your face to him by your chin and kisses you gently. The way he moves between loving and domineering so seamlessly, it's as if there are two of him.

"You are mine little dove." He chuckles again as he looks down at you, the gleam in his eye, conveying a message that you are having trouble reading.

"Things have changed yes, we will figure out how to make you more comfortable, but one thing remains constant and that is you."

"You don't get to decide that." You wanted to say this with conviction but it comes out weak and feeble. You and Aemond have hardly ever fought and when you do, he wins every time.

Aemond sighs and smiles. "But I do. See i decide if we stay together. Me, and i have decided that we will. Now if there are things that we can work on to make you more comfortable I am happy to do that" He pushes his face into the crook of your neck as he whispers, " It's what's best for both of us"

You push him back, his arrogance finally pushing you over the edge.

"Who are you? Huh? This isn't you! This arrogant, entitled twat!" The dam that was holding back all of your frustrations fully bursts and you can't help yourself from offloading.

"You flirt with models right in front of me, you-"

"IT'S AN ACT!" He explodes, and you jump back, his voice unrecognizable.

"You think I want them? Those vapid cunts?" He grips your arm tight and shoves you down onto the sofa. The movement jarring.

"Don't shove me!" You move to get up but he leans down caging you in with his arms.

"When I sleep, I dream of you, when awake, I dream of you, when I do anything, I dream of you. There is not another for me, not in this lifetime or the next."

You push your body back on the sofa, trying to put a little distance between the two of you. He glares at you for a moment, lowering his arms from the sofa and bringing them to your shoulders.

"If you leave, I will find you, and I will drag you back to me" He slowly drops to his knees in front of you, sliding his arms down the length of your body in the process. "I'll always find you."

Your eyes widened slightly in fear. His love has always been expressed in gentleness, kind gestures, and soft caresses.

"What happened to being partners? Since when have you owned me as you seem to think?"

"I always have." He looks at you, not with malice, not with hubris, but with a look that tells you he takes this to be simple fact.

He pushes your skirt up, and begins trailing kisses up your thigh.

"Aemond.... we shouldn't. " His grip on your thigh tightens, but he doesn't stop. Your mind is telling you to push him away, stop him but your body is succumbing to his dangerous allure, like a lamb to the slaughter.

The closer he gets to your heat, the faster you lose your resolve. He's always had this effect on you. When he kisses you, touches you, loves on you, you all too quickly fall to your knees.

He slides his hand up your other thigh, slipping it under your skirt until he reaches your hip, gently squeezing at the flesh there.

You close your eyes and lean back on the sofa as he continues to lick and nip at your thigh. Every touch of his skin to yours sending currents of electricity through your veins.

"We're gonna be fine darlin" His voice is hynotizing. Just a moment ago you wanted to punch him in the face and now you are spreading your legs wider to give him enough room to fit his face between your thighs.

"That's a good girl, such a good girl" He moves his hand from your hip to your heat gently caressing you through the thin fabric of your thong.

"For someone who thinks we shouldn't be doing this you are very very wet" You feel the embarrasment rush to your cheeks but are unable to stop yourself from gently bucking your hips upward.

Aemond chuckles and clicks his tongue. "Is that was this was all about hmm? Have I been neglecting you sweet girl?" He moves your thong to the side and brings his finger to the wetness pooling there. "Hmmm seems I have, you poor poor thing" He mocks with fake sympathy.

You sigh as he grips your thighs dragging you to the edge of the sofa. pushing your skirt all the way up and exposing you to him.

"So fucking pretty" He leans forward and flicks the tip of his tongue on your pearl. Your leg twitches in response and he pulls his head back.

You groan at his teasing scooting your body closer to his face, as he starts to chuckle.

"Now, now sweet girl. I'm going to need you to admit, that you aren't going anywhere." He lightly scratches at the sensitive skin on your thigh with his thumbnail. You were supposed to break up and leave, This life with him was making you miserable. "Give me what I want, and I will return the favor" He again leans forward and flicks the very tip of your clit twice.

The teasing is starting to drive you to madness, you came into this room with conviction and a plan but it looks like you would leave this room with shame and satisfaction. "Fine! I'm not leaving, I'm not, I promise, I promise!" You feel a mix of discomfiture and arousal coursing through you but at this point you just don't care.

"Mmmmm" is the only sound he makes before again leaning forward and taking your engorged nerve into his mouth and sucking on it harshly.

"Fuckkkk Aem" You bring your hand down and grip his head, pushing his head closer to you and he is more than happy to oblige.

He slides a long course finger into you while he continues to swallow at your pearl. The sensations have your legs shaking uncontrollably, and as if your hips have a mind of their own, they buck gently against Aemonds face as he gives you everything he knows you want.

His finger crooks inside you, rubbing at the pad inside, gently calling your orgasm to him.

"Oh fuck ahhh!" Your whole body stiffens as he quickens the pace of both his mouth and finger.

As you tumble forward into your peak, you squeeze your legs around his head, the blood rushing to your face heating up your entire body. Is this heaven, or have you been tricked into hell?

After you finish sitting dumbstruck on the sofa, Aemond wastes no time. He slides towards you on his knees, wrapping his hand around your waist.

You rest your exhausted head on his shoulder and wrap your legs around his hips. With just one arm he lifts you slightly off the couch and slowly rises to his feet, you feel the muscles in his chest and shoulders tighten as he lifts you and himself from the floor carrying you into the bedroom. His hard cock pressed against you.

"Have I got you all stupid for me, sweet girl?"

You make some incoherent noises as he gently drops you onto the bed and climbs on top of you.

"I love you" He breathes the words directly into your ear, the sadness in his voice not lost on you. He slots himself between your legs tightly gripping your thigh and pulling it up against him.

"You can't ever leave ok?" He roughly kisses you before you can respond while he pulls you closer by the thigh pushing himself up tight against your core. "Not ever".

Aemond ruts against you, still fully clothed. "Can't live without ya." His voice sounds strained like this is taking everything out of him. "Won't live without ya." His movements become more rough, more desperate.

He pulls back from you just long enough to get your panties off, disposing of his boxers and trousers in the process, before slotting himself back between your legs.

He slides an arm under your back, bringing his hand to the back of your neck, raising your face to his.

"All I want is you. All I've ever wanted is you." His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, a kiss that screams don't go.

He pushes himself against your entrance, begging to be let in. You lean back further parting your legs and he pushes forward slowly.

"Fuck, I love you, oh gods I love you" He moans as he fills you up. Once he reaches the hilt, he lies down on top of you, sliding both of his arms under your shoulders before he gently starts to move against you.

Your bodies are pressed together so tight. You can hardly tell there are two separate people here.

"I'll never let you go, I'll never let you go," he repeats this over and over as his speed increases, his voice changing from desperate to domineering.

He grips your shoulders tightly, holding your body in place as he ruts up into you. "Do you understand now? You can never leave. I love you. You're mine. " his thrusts are slowly getting harder, as the heat again builds up in your abdomen.

"Fucking mine. Always mine. Forever mine," he growls the words at you as he bites into your neck.

"I'm gonna fill you up." He bites into your shoulder, pushing himself as far into you as he can get, but pushing ever still. He can't be close enough to you. He can't be far enough inside. Everything feels like it's just not enough.

He pulls back from you, has his speed increases, and his rhythm falters.

"Cmon cum for me sweet girl" He licks his thumb and brings it to your nub pressing down harshly on the nerve, his movements furious.

You whine out, your legs trembling as you feel your lower stomach growing tighter and tighter, the feeling overwhelming but so good. "Aem." You whimper, "ohhh gods"

"No baby, it's just me." He watches in wonder as you reach your peak for a second time, arching your back and yelling out loud.

"That's good. That's a good girl. Fuck yes baby" His movements become sloppy and he grips your hips tightly as he chases his release. "Say you love me," he growls his hips smacking against your skin with a loud slap sound as you moan out riding out the top of your pleasure.

"Fucking say it" he grunts as he tries to hold back his climax, "Please baby say it." His face is contorted somewhere between pleasure and pain until you acquiesce.

"I love you." The words flow from your mouth so delicately, so naturally. There was never a question as to whether you loved him. The question is whether that love is enough.

Hearing the words from your tongue immediately sends Aemond into the climax he was fighting as he screams out like some kind of feral animal thrusting into you harshly as he rides out his high, collapsing onto your chest leaving himself sheathed inside.

"I love you too"

You wake up the next morning to the alarm on your phone going off and grumble, turning it off and rolling onto your side, looking at a sleeping Aemond. Feeling ashamed of yourself for giving into him last night.

As you slide out of the bed to get ready for work he reaches out and grips your wrist tight.

"Where are you going?" His eyes are still closed and his body hasn't moved the only thing alerting you to his consciousness being the hand tightly gripping your wrist, and his voice.

"To work?" You move again to get out of the bed thinking the matter settled.

"Oh, no we are sending your letter of resignation today" He opens his eyes and shifts in the bed stretching but not releasing your wrist.

"Aemond, i'm not quitting my job!" You can't believe he would even think that was an option. You love your job. Why would you quit? Why would he even want you to? You look towards him in utter confusion as he slightly tightens the grip on your wrist.

"You can't go. You might not come back." He yanks you back into the bed crawling on top of you.

"Like I said before. You're gonna stay right here"

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#aemond fanfiction #modern aemond x reader #modern aemond fanfiction #modern aemond/ you #dark aemond x reader #modern aemond #modern aemond angst #modern au #ewan nation #ewan mitchell #ewanverse #ewan mitchell verse #ewan mitchell fanfic #jess fics #my modern war criminal bf

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stairain · 1 year

Text

Mommy's Boyfriend.

While dropping off your son at school, the last thing you expect is your ex-boyfriend Mr.Reid to be his teacher.

Warnings: Soft Dom Spencer, Mother reader, Your child is unnamed don't think too much about it, make-up sex, cunnilingus, begging, gentle-ish sex, doggy style, light choking, cream pie, he loves you too much.

WC: 7.1K

It was the first day of school, and you were dropping your son off, walking through the hallway and holding the little boy's hand. As you passed through various rooms, you smiled at passing teachers and students. When you finally make it to your son's classroom, you kneel down and kiss his forehead before saying a few encouraging words to him, patting his back before urging him into the room.

"I'll see you in a few hours, love.."

You say to him as he walks away from you. When you stand up, you're not at all expecting Spencer to be standing there behind you. The two of you had broken up just before summer started, and although you knew he was a teacher, you were really hoping you didn't see him today.

What are the chances he’s your son's teacher? Apparently very high ones.

You give him a forced polite smile before trying to walk away from him as quickly as you could.

As Spencer watches you go, he’s hit with a wave of shame, guilt, and disgust. He should never have let things end the way he had. He should’ve tried to fix things but, instead, he had just given up. It was something he would never forgive himself for. He decides that he’s not going to let you go without at least knowing that he regrets his actions. He walks after you.

"Hey."

You hear him, and the clicking of your heels against the floor speeds up as you try to get away from him as fast as possible.

"Wait.." He says in a calm, firm, serious voice with a hint of a pleading tone. He picks up his pace and is quickly closing the distance between you two. When he moves closer to you, he reaches a hand out to plant on your shoulder, trying to stop you.

When you shrug off his hand, he purses his lips and quickly runs in front of you, so you're forced to stop. You blink at the quick movement and look up at him with eyes full of undercover malice. Pushing your tongue into your cheek in annoyance, you quietly snap at him, so as to not attract a crowd.

"Can I help you?"

Spencer looks at you with eyes that are full of regret, sadness, shame, and longing. He takes a small step closer to you. You can see that he’s upset, but most of the emotions he is feeling are negative ones directed at himself. He looks like he wants to hug you and cry at the same time, but he is restraining himself, far too scared to make you even angrier at him. Even in all of his sadness and regret there is still a little bit of love in his eyes, and it looks like he’s about to cry.

You bite your lips as the look in his eyes still never ceases to make you melt. With a small shake of your head, you speak.

"Listen, it's been great seeing you, but I just came to drop off my kid, alright?" You push past him and start walking towards the front doors, not wanting to be around him any longer than you already have.

Spencer reaches out and grabs your wrist before you can make it to the door. He looks at you with pleading eyes, still full of the same negative self-loathing emotions, but there’s a glint of hope and love in them.

"Wait–please." He says, his tone now urgent. "I just need two minutes of your time; to explain."

You take a deep breath and look down at your watch before you look back at him. "Don't you have a job to do?"

Spencer takes a deep breath and his eyes narrow before his expression softens again. "Yes, I do," he says.

"But, I'll go to work every day for the rest of my life. Please, just two minutes of your time." He looks desperate and pleading but, if you refuse again, he seems like he’ll let you go.

It hurts you to admit it, but his words make your heart swell. If there was one thing he was always good at doing, it was putting you first. But ironically, that's what got the two of you here in the first place. With wavering eyes, you look around before sighing, and agreeing.

"Two minutes."

A huge wave of relief washes over Spencer and he can't help but smile a little bit. He walks you to a quiet place to talk. Once you are out of earshot of everyone around he looks at you with regretful eyes, and his voice begins to crack a bit.

"I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you and I am so sorry for the way I treated you. I was too caught up in my work and didn't give our relationship the attention it needed and I regret it every day. Please, forgive me."

You shake your head and look down at anywhere but him, because you know the second your gaze locks with those puppy-dog eyes you've always adored, all of your progress of "getting over him" in the past few months would go to waste in a heartbeat.

"I-I don't know, Spence.."

You hadn't even noticed the way you referred to him as his nickname you always used to call him, too caught up in your emotions to acknowledge it now.

"Please," His voice sounds desperate, like he might break down any moment now.

"I would do anything to fix what I have done. Please, just give me one more chance. I will never take you or our relationship for granted again. I love you."

As those last few words escape his lips his voice breaks and he looks like he might just get down on both knees and beg you. He looks completely ready and willing to show you, not just tell you, how sorry he is and that he can and will make things right.

Raising your chin a little to look at him through teary lashes, you run your thumb along your waterline. With a heavy sigh, you finally find the courage to look him in the eyes.

"You have a class to teach, Spencer. I'm sorry."

"I'll call in sick. I'd walk away from my job in an instant if it meant I got you back."

His voice is desperate as it breaks again and tears well up in his eyes.

"Please, love. Just give me a chance."

He looks heartbroken, and this is probably the most emotional, intense, and passionate he has ever been about his love for you and it's hard for you to resist. You’re sure you'll be making a mistake by saying no, but at the same time, you feel you’ll be making an even bigger mistake by saying yes.

You almost laugh at his words, but you stop yourself before you do. If you laughed in his face right now, you know he'd absolutely be crushed. With a sad smile, you sniff.

"Don't do that, Spencer."

With one last look at your watch, you barely think about the next words that leave your mouth. You were just saying whatever he wanted to hear, you couldn't help it. Even after everything, you just wanted to please him.

"Listen, I- School ends at three, right? When I come to pick him up, we can talk more, okay?"

Spencer is absolutely thrilled by how things just went. He fully expected you to just walk out on him, and he wouldn’t even blame you. He tries to hide the happiness on his face but he's unable to prevent himself from letting a small smile creep onto his lips. He nods his head in agreement.

"Three o'clock," He says in a calming, but still emotional, voice. "I'll be right here." He looks over you for a second before he turns and walks away, still clearly full of hope and optimism.

And you're left in the room by yourself and your thoughts as he walks out. You know this is a mistake, and you should've just ignored him and went on with your life, but it was too late now. In a battle with your heart and your head, you think you're going to let your heart win.

As the day passes, you're running errands and doing some work of your own, but your mind is somewhere else.

It's only two thirty, you've got another half hour until you see him again, and you feel your nerves race through your body. As you sit in your car in silence, the sound of your heart pounding in your chest rings in your ears, and it taunts you.

You can't help but feel excited as you think about finally getting the chance to talk to him and try to work things out despite knowing full well that this is a bad idea. Part of you still wants to run, but the idea of having him in your life again feels like a dream come true and it’s hard to resist that kind of temptation when it is just within your grasp.

At three o'clock Spencer is waiting at the school, just as he promised, hoping you won't change your mind.

Taking a deep breath and shaking out your hands, you get out of the car and begin to walk towards the entrance of the school. All of the other children and parents were walking back to their own cars, and you remember then that your son had after-school sports, and he wouldn't be going home with you now.

At least it gave you and Spencer more time to speak. As you walk closer to him, the pounding of your pulse fills all of your senses, and you force a polite smile on your face.

As you approach him he smiles and hugs you. His arms are warm and comforting, and just having him hold you again makes you feel better. You can tell he is nervous too, you can see it in the way his eyes are darting around and how he keeps fidgeting his hands. You can also tell that he’s trying to keep his composure and has the same polite smile you do. He's trying to act like things are normal and like he isn't just dying of impatience for when you two can go somewhere to have a serious conversation.

With a small push to his chest, you break the hug with an awkward chuckle. His touch felt so nice, so comforting, but it was too much for you right now. You clear your throat as you stand in front of him with your arms behind your back and stutter as you speak.

When you push him away you can see a little bit of hurt in his eyes before it’s quickly replaced with understanding and patience.

"I-I forgot that.. I forgot my son has soccer practice now.. So I don't have to pick him up for a few hours.." Your voice is wavering and sheepish, and you sound so unsure of yourself. The woman you were this morning, strong and unwilling to speak to the man in front of you was traded for a whole new persona, one that couldn't help but fumble under the gaze of Spencer.

"I see." He says in a calm, comforting tone, "Then, what would you like to do? Where would you like to talk?" As he speaks you can see him relax a little bit, but he is still filled with nervous energy, but it's clear that he’s trying to help you calm down.

And before you can stop yourself.

"We could go back to my place.."

When you say those words a huge smile makes its way across Spencer's face. He nods in agreement and takes your hand in his. You let him hold it.

"Your place, it is." As he speaks he leads you to his car and opens the passenger side door for you before getting into the driver's side himself. He turns to look at you to make sure you've gotten in safely and smiles again before turning forward to drive from the school to your house. As he drives, your thoughts race. You start thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, and they outweigh everything that could go right.

It almost hurts your heart that he still remembers where you live, without a GPS or directions. It's like he never really forgot, how could he? It's all muscle memory to him.

As Spencer drives, a wave of nostalgia hits him hard. He can't help but remember all the sweet moments you have had at your place. He remembers the long nights, and the quiet mornings. He remembers the way you used to make him feel.

Then it hits him, these are the same feelings that made him make the huge, dumb mistake that got him in this situation in the first place. If he doesn't want to lose you again he’s going to have to do everything in his power to fix his mistakes and do everything he needs to do in order to make you happy.

Pulling into your driveway, you swallow before unbuckling yourself and stepping out of the car. You don't wait on him as you're walking up the pavement to your front door, pushing it open and walking inside.

Spencer gets out of the car and follows you inside, closing the door gently behind him. He walks over to you and looks at you with intense love and affection in his eyes. Before you can speak, he gives you a long, passionate kiss. For those few seconds he is able to forget everything and all he can think about is just how much he's missed you and how much he loves you. When he finally pulls away, you can see how hard he had to try to pull himself away in the first place, he missed the taste of your lips on his.

"I love you.."

You gasp against his lips when he breaks the kiss, and the way your eyes widen almost rivals the moon. The nerve of him, you thought. But when his hands reach up to cradle your jaw, you can feel the anger fizzling into pathetic dust and you pull him in for another bruising kiss.

Spencer kisses you back passionately and his arms wrap all the way around your waist in the embrace. A wave of calm crashes over him as he holds you close to him because nothing feels better in the moment than being close to you again.

After a few minutes of kissing you he pulls back just a little bit to look at you and breathlessly speak.

"I missed you," he says, a little breathless, "So much."

Your eyes are full of passion and vexation towards him and you all but growl out your words.

"Shut up and kiss me." Grabbing the collar of his dress shirt, you deal another violent kiss to him.

"Yes, ma'am."

Is all he can say as he moves in again. He had to pry your mouth away from him for air, and he leans in to kiss you again, but this time, instead of going straight for your mouth he makes his way to your neck. He’s leaning over slightly as kisses your neck, your ears, and your jaw in a playful move that has more passion behind it than playfulness, but you can still tell he is trying to tease you.

Growing impatient and letting months of pent up emotions control you, you grab his hand on your head and forcefully move it down to your ass, putting your hand overtop of his as you make him squeeze your rear.

Spencer lets out a gentle groan at the feeling of you gripped in his hand, and grabs the handful roughly, digging his fingers into the denim of your jeans.

"Now, can we talk?" His voice is gravelly and breathless.

You’re pushing his body back until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he sits down on it. You sit down next to him and begin to kiss up his neck, one of your hands moving to hold his jaw steady.

"Go ahead.." You murmur against his neck as you press a wet and sloppy kiss against the goosebump raised skin.

Spencer lets out a small chuckle at how much you seem to be enjoying this. He's loving every second of it and he just smiles as his eyes start to go a little bit cross-eyed as he leans back into you.

"Stop that. I don't think I can hold a coherent thought like this."

His voice is half serious and half playful, still filled with the same passion and lust for you it has been the whole time.

"You're a genius, figure it out." Your voice is low and teasing as you bare your teeth against the flesh and nibble at it, leaving small, red marks.

Spencer groans a little bit as a shiver runs down his spine at the feeling of your teeth against his skin. His eyes go a little bit more cross-eyed the longer you do it to him.

"Please," His voice is a little bit breathless and it's unclear if he is asking you to stop or if he's just asking you to take a little break from it so he can finish his sentence. "I'm begging."

Despite his words, you continue to suck at his neck, determined to mark him as yours once more. He was right, you two needed to talk about it, but you were a little preoccupied at the moment. Smiling against his skin, you lick over a fresh hickey.

“Haven't changed much then, Spence.."

Spencer lets out a small noise that is part moan, part whine, and part laugh. His eyes are just about completely rolled back into his skull at this point.

"I can't talk at all while you're doing this," His voice is strained but it's clear he is trying desperately to keep a playful tone to it. "You're not going to make this easy are you?" You can hear him take a deep breath as he is just barely able to calm himself down enough to give you a warning.

"Nothing about this is easy, love.." The pet name just slips from your mouth, as if it were a habit. You don't dwell on it for too long as you lift yourself onto his lap and continue to kiss and mark his neck.

Spencer moves slightly to make it easier for you to sit on his lap and he lets out a soft sigh when he feels your weight against him and once again he can't help but smile.

"Baby," He says, his voice getting just a little bit more sincere now as he gives you a soft kiss on the cheek, "Please..." he asks one last time with pleading in his eyes.

"I have a lot to talk to you about. I'm not sure how you feel about everything but I promise it will be okay if you let me explain."

With a final press of your lips against him, you pull back and rest your hands on his shoulders.

"Speak then."

The man takes a deep breath and speaks with the most sincerity you have ever heard in his voice.

"I am truly, truly, sorry for what I did to you," His voice cracks at the end of the word ‘you’ as he gets emotional again. He takes a few more deep breaths to compose himself before tearily speaking again. You can see how much he means the things he is saying and how much it hurts him having to tell you this.

“You didn’t and don’t deserve anything I did to you. I was wrong, and I’m sorry."

You had hoped the cloud of lust that sat between the two of you was enough to distract and mask the real reason why he was here, and you sigh. The arousal in your body fades and is quickly replaced with solemnness.

"I didn't deserve it, and I so badly want to hate you, Spencer." He reaches a hand out to run through your hair as you talk, and you lean into his comforting touch. "I spent months wanting to scream at you, yell at you for how you treated me. I wasn't even going to talk to you today, really.."

At your words Spencer's eyes fill with regret. He can only imagine how hard and awful the past few months must have been for you and to know he is the one who put you through it all makes him feel like he's a monster.

"I can't blame you, I know I'm a terrible person.. I really do." Spencer's voice cracks and tears start to form in his eyes too, he looks at you with a sad, pitiful look in his eyes. "You didn't deserve any of it, baby. I don't know what I was thinking.."

You tilt your head to the side at his words and pout at the way he's putting himself down. With a slightly trembling hand, you reach to wipe the tears forming in his eyes.

"You're not a terrible person, Spence. Just.." Taking a deep breath, you actually think about your response this time. When you come to a conclusion, you don't know if it's the right one or not. "Just, promise not to do it again, alright?"

Spencer watches you as you wipe away the tears that have formed in his eyes. He looks up and meets your eyes with some of the most pure love and devotion he has ever had. He slowly nods his head in agreement as a small smile starts to form on his face at your response.

"I promise, my love... I will do anything to make up for what I've done."

His words are filled with so much love and compassion it almost seems impossible that he is the same man who hurt you so many months ago.

You slowly nod and swallow, and try to push away the already rising feelings of sadness and regret.

"Can I kiss you without being interrupted, now?"

Spencer chuckles a little and nods.

"Of course you can... I've been dying for one." He gives you a playful wink and a playful shove to your shoulder before turning to kiss you deeply. When he pulls away his eyes are filled with the same passion and desire you have always loved, and a bit of the same lust you felt earlier as well. He smiles at you as he leans back on the couch and wraps his hands on your hips.

"Come closer. I've missed you so much."

A warm feeling fills your body at his words and you grab the back of his head to tug him into a hot and heavy kiss, full of pent up emotions of anger, lust, love, and hurt.

Spencer moves in for the kiss with just as much desire and lust as you. He lets out a small, playful moan as you pull on his hair, he grabs your waist as you kiss him and a small smile forms on his mouth.

As your lips break apart he catches his breath for a minute but he seems unable to resist you for too long as he pulls you in again for another kiss, this one even stronger than the one before and his hands start to wander under your clothes to the small of your back. Just one moment seems to be too long without his arms around you and his lips on yours.

A sigh of satisfaction pours from your mouth into his, and the feeling of his hands on your bare skin was a sensation you've gone far too long without. His fingers swirling up the flesh of your back feels like it's burning you in the best way, and you're all too eager to finally connect with him again.

Moving your hands to take off your shirt, you pull away from the kiss, much to his disappointment. As you tug the fabric off your body and over your head, you're left in your bra and jeans as you look up at him through long lashes and sultry eyes.

Spencer gasps at the sight of you and it takes all of his restraint not to just pounce you like an animal. A grin washes across his face and that devilish glint returns to his eyes once more.

“You are more beautiful than I ever remembered,” He says in a way that is both flirtatious but also full of love and adoration. He smiles as he looks up at you.

“Will you allow me the honor of taking those off of you?”

"Please.." Is all you can mewl out, lust washing over your entire body, just ready to be his again.

At your words, Spencer's eyes light up with excitement and he smiles widely before getting off the couch and kneeling down in front of you. He slowly reaches out to the clasp of your bra and undoes it before slowly sliding it down your arms and off of you. He doesn't even try to hide his joy, it's evident in just how much he's smiling and the glimmer in his eye.

"You're still so perfect, my love... Just like a goddess." He whispers as he reaches to undo your jeans and unzip them.

You lift your bottom a bit off the couch to help him pull your pants down your legs, moaning softly at the cool air hitting your skin. Your arms cross over your chest, not used to being exposed like this after so long.

Spencer can't take his eyes away from you as he takes in your body again and a deep, content sigh escapes his lips as he looks at you.

"God.. You're more beautiful than I ever thought was possible," He whispers in amazement as his eyes take in your exposed body. "And you're just as beautiful on the inside too. I’m sorry it took me so long to understand that.."

You can feel your breath hitching at his words, and a warm blush spreads over your cheeks, and you slowly lower your hands from over your chest, and rest them next to your bare thighs. You're only left in your panties now, sitting on the couch as he's kneeling in front of you.

Spencer's heart speeds up and he breathes heavily as he takes in the view in front of him. It's almost a little overwhelming, but all he can manage to do is take it in and admire you as he is left speechless for a moment. Finally, he comes to and he slowly moves in to touch your thighs. He takes his time and caresses them softly with his fingertips.

At his soft soft, you flinch slightly before letting your body relax. You trusted him, even after so long.

You can see the care and love in every soft caress that Spencer deals to your delicate body. His slow, steady touch is done with an intensity and a passion that almost seems to radiate off of him and you can feel it as his fingertips glide over the skin of your thighs. You don't know if you have ever felt someone be so delicate, slow, and methodical with something before but it’s beautiful, almost like he was dealing with a piece of art.

Subconsciously, you feel yourself slowly spreading your legs as you watch his large hands move towards your body, and take the bands of your underwear in his fingers. He looks up at you for approval.

Spencer's breath catches in his throat and you can see his jaw practically hanging open as he's overwhelmed by the view that's in front of him. "You're beautiful, darling.." He says like it's a prayer. He lets out a soft sigh, and he nods in approval before slowly taking the bands off and peeling them down your legs.

You moan now that you're fully exposed in front of him, and all previous confidence you had in you has completely dissipated under his intense glare. Once the air flushes against your bare, soaked cunt, it makes you shudder with a shiver.

Spencer's eyes narrow down on you and they burn with passion and emotion at seeing you there on the couch in front of him, all spread out and ready for him. He's lost in you for a minute and you can see it as his breath hitches and his jaw is still hanging half open. He still moves with deliberate, slow, and gentle touches as he moves his hand to the top of your thigh.

"Baby.. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He whispers breathless, almost as though he is stunned by just the sight of you.

Moving your legs, you hook your calf around the back of his head, pulling him closer to your spread thighs, and there's a devilish smirk on your face.

He’s caught aback by how you pull him closer to your core and his eyes go wide at the gesture. He seems a little bit surprised but in the end he doesn't argue, instead he lets out a small chuckle and moves in closer to the point that the front of his face is pressed up against your thighs.

"What are you doing to me, love?" He asks innocently with a smirk of his own as he looks up at you with an amused smile on his face. His warm breath is ghosting over your glistening hole, and it makes you all the more desperate for him.

“Making up for lost time.”

You pull him in closer with your leg latched around him, urging him to get on with it already. You hadn’t slept with anyone since the two of you broke up, and you never really had time to take care of yourself. But that’s what he was there for.

“Guess I better get to work, then..”

Spencer huskily spoke before leaning down and encasing your puffy clit between his spit slicked lips. The sensation instantly made you arch your back and jolt away from him, but he was quick to wrap his hands and arms under your thighs and over your hips, forcing you closer.

As he pulls you closer, his long wet tongue peeks out from his mouth and licks a broad stripe up your cunt, tasting just how much you missed him. With each lick, he was lapping up at your juices like a man starved, moaning at the way your slick coated his tongue.

Your lips were parted in a high pitched mewl, and you squeezed his head tighter with your legs. It made him dizzy, being suffocated by your shaking thighs and your gushing pussy, and he couldn’t have asked to be anywhere better.

The wet muscle between your folds was pistoning in and out of you like heavy machinery, working you just the way you needed. You could feel your cunt contracting around him, further gushing your arousal on his tongue.

Spencer was breathlessly moaning into your core, not being able to contain it. He was agonizingly hard in his pants, and it took everything in him to pry himself away from you. When he does, he deals one last slow, tortuous lick up your folds, before licking his lips and backing away.

You look up at him with pleading eyes, and he was already working on lifting you from the couch, quickly making his way into the hallway and where he knew your bedroom was.

You could feel your still soaked cunt rubbing against the silky fabric of his shirt, and couldn't help but grind your hips down against it. You had been so touch starved, that even this tiny bit of satisfaction made your breath catch in your throat.

He gently laid you down on the bed, making sure your head was rested against a pillow, before he practically tore the buttons off his shirt trying to take it off. And his pants were no different, the leather of his belt slid against the fabric of his dress pants, and as soon as you heard a small clank of metal against your floor, his pants followed suit.

When he was fully undressed, and crawled over your body until he was caging you underneath him, and the sight of his slightly sweaty hair falling over his face made your chest heavy with emotion.

Spencer leans down to kiss a line from your chin to your jaw, before stopping at your ear and lowly whispering into it.

“Think you can let me take care of you again, like old times?”

And it’s almost like his voice has put you under a trance, because before he can even finish, you’re nodding. It didn’t matter what he asked of you, you’d always say yes.

He lifts himself away from you with a small mirrored nod, before hoisting you by your waist and flipping your pliant body around, and propping a pillow under your stomach and hips.

The cool material pressed against your sweat sheened skin made you sigh, and his rough hands traced over the curves of your hips and ass like he was trying to relive all the nights that he used to have you like this; plush ass bent over in front of him, soaked cunt begging for attention, spread legs practically inviting him between them.

He swallows at the memories, and has a hard time convincing himself this is actually happening again. But he doesn’t dwell on it for too long, whether or not you’re really in front of him, or he’s just dreaming again, he can’t leave you like this. He loves you too much.

Trembling hands find the heavy bobbing length of his cock, and he grabs himself at the base, shakily squeezing in order to urge himself to not cum immediately. You deserved better than that. You deserved so much better than everything he could give you, and he promised himself he’d somehow redeem himself.

There wasn’t a better time to start than now, he thinks to himself as he tilts his hips forward to rub the leaking tip of his member against the silky folds of your cunt. And thank goodness he’s kneeling, because the second he felt soft, wet flesh against him, he would’ve collapsed.

“G-God.. Missed this..”

You lift your head slightly from where it’s pressed against the pillow, and look back at him with a lazy smile. Your voice is slighted muffled against the fabric, but he understands you.

“Didn’t get laid over the summer, Spence?”

You lift your ass higher, arching your back further so he would get the memo to fuck you already, and with a shake of his head and the cant of his hips, he’s easing himself inside of you, inch by inch.

“N-No.. Was always yours, love.”

The smile slowly falls from your face and you turn back around to bury your face in the pillow, trying to play it off with a pleasured sigh.

The two of you had stayed loyal to one another, despite everything. The thought made your heart swell and your cunt clench. He was unmistakably yours, and he always would be, no matter what.

The squeeze of your hole around him forced him inside of you quicker than he had planned on, and he had to bite his lip, breaking skin, to stop himself from finishing right there and then. He grunted as he tried to regain control over himself, and pushed himself the rest of the way inside of you.

When he was buried to the hilt inside of you, your eyes rolled back into your skull and you bit at the pillow to stop yourself from screaming. He filled you so perfectly, just as he used to. It felt right, like he belonged nowhere else but entirely swallowed by your cunt.

Spencer mutters out a few curses to himself before he’s draping himself over your body, pressing his firm chest against your damp back. His mouth is right by your ear, and you move your head to the side a bit to hear him better.

And hear him better you definitely do. You can feel the heave of his chest as he breathlessly begins to withdraw his cock from inside of you. The rub of his veiny, long length dragging along your soft walls had you cursing like a sailor.

As his breaths and moans quicken, so does the shove of his hips against your ass. He was so deep inside of you it was a miracle he was even able to pull himself out of you, but he managed to do it just fine. There were no complaints from you whatsoever as you felt him imprint the image of his tip right against your spot with every thrust he dealt to you.

Your hands were planted out in front of you, gripping at the fabric of the comforter when his own came and fully encompassed them. Spencer intertwined your fingers together as the visceral sound of your pussy sucking him deeper and deeper filled your ears.

Every time he humped into you, your clit brushed against the pillow, and it only made your cries of pleasure grow louder. The friction was dizzying, and you unknowingly clench around him impossibly tighter.

And he just about loses his mind at that moment. When he’s sucked flush against your body, he goes cross eyed and squeezes your hands in his, as if trying to ground himself. A guttural groan leaves him and it’s a few more moments before he’s panting in your ear as he starts to move once more.

He pulled back his hips to let his cock slide halfway out of you, before forcing himself back into that tight drenched cunt of yours. You can feel the spurt of arousal that leaks out of you at the force of his thrust, and you writhed at the feeling.

Your body shakes underneath his as the combined feeling of grinding yourself down against the pillow and how deliciously his length abused your cervix and puffy folds drives you mad. You were gasping for air, trading your desperate moans and whines for a chance at breathing.

“Sp-Spence.. Baby–please.”

There wasn’t one single thought in your brain that knew what you were begging for, but somehow, Spencer knew exactly what to give you.

“L-Love you so much, sweet thing..”

He moans out to you, then he leans down unbelievably closer to you. He lets go of one of your hands to wrap his own around your neck, grabbing at your throat as gently as he can to urge your face up to kiss him.

It’s a little hard to catch his lips with yours, as with each plow into you sent your body forward, along with how heavily he was breathing. But when you do, the two of you seal your lips together in a passionate, burning kiss.

His grip around your throat tightens a bit, and it’s enough to entirely set you off the edge. With one more ground of your hips against the pillow, and one more stamp of his cock against that little spongy spot inside of you, you’re suddenly soaking everything around you.

The wet noise of your release is all you and him can hear, as you’re spraying your arousal all over his hips, his cock, your thighs, and those poor sheets underneath the two of you. Your eyes cross almost comically at the feeling of your orgasm rushing through you, and Spencer is doing no better.

As he feels you squirt all over him, he curses into your ear and his entire body goes rigid. His hips still and he pushes himself as deep as he can possibly get before dumping everything he’s worth right into your soaked velvet core, sending ribbon after ribbon of his cum right against your cervix.

“F-Fuck.. Fuck.. fuck..”

All you can think about is how full you are. His cock is miraculously still hard inside of you, even though he’s emptied everything he’s got into you, and his thick cum is practically fighting for any room left you’ve got inside you.

Wet. Wet would be the only word to describe the scene you’ve found yourself in. Your body goes limp against the soaked bed, and his sweat drenched body finds itself at the same fate as he collapses against you. The hand around your throat loosens and snakes its way back to your lonely hand, intertwining them once again.

The both of you are panting against each other's faces for god knows how long, and neither of you have moved a muscle. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, running down the expanse of your thighs to join the puddles of your own arousal that pool against the bed.

With a groan, he slowly pulled out of you, and it was like pulling the plug to a well, because the second his cock left your hole, a gush of a mixture of your arousals flowed out of you.

He chuckles at the sight, while you just moan softly. Spencer lays down right next to you and pulls your body against his, so you’re chest to chest. He reaches to move your sweaty hair out of your face, pressing a warm kiss against your sticky cheek. When he speaks, his voice is strained and you wouldn’t be surprised if he had lost his voice.

“You know, he was talking about you during class today..”

The slight rasp and squeak in his voice is problematically attractive to you, but you don’t think you could deal with another orgasm after flooding your own bed.

You shake your head and groan softly at his words.

“Oh god, what’d he say?”

“He kept saying to everyone, ‘Mr.Reid is Mommy’s boyfriend!’”

The tone in his voice heightens as he tries his best to imitate your son's words. You groan again and close your eyes.

“And I’m guessing you didn’t say anything to him about it?”

Your voice is strained and laced with faux annoyance, but he sees right through it. Spencer huffs out a small laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead. With the arm that’s holding you against him, he squeezes your shoulders lightly, as if to tease you.

“Course I didn’t, can’t embarrass him like that..”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and he pulls you closer to him as you shake your head.

“You’re the worst, I hope you know.” Your tone is playful and teasing, but you can feel yourself relaxing in his hold, allowing yourself to savor the moment for the time being.

“Maybe, but at least I’m ‘Mommy’s boyfriend’ again..”

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #dom spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #dom spencer reid x reader #dom!spencer #dom!spencer reid #soft dom spencer reid #dom spencer #spencer reid angst

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randxmthxughts · 1 year

Text

Second Chances - Neteyam x Omatikaya!Reader

summary: y/n and lo'ak were destined to be together, or so she thought... after moving to awa'atlu with the sully's, lo'ak starts to fall for a certain metkayina girl, leaving y/n completely heartbroken. it is unexpected when neteyam, who has been secretly harboring feelings for her, decides to tend to her wounds. can y/n reciprocate his love?

wc: 9,6k

contains: angst, sort of love-triangle (lo'ak - y/n - neteyam), childhood friends to lovers, fluff

a/n: based on this idea i had a while ago, so i'm finally getting to sharing it with you! if you are a lo'ak girlie, this is probably not for you haha. please don't forget to show some love in form of replies or reblogs (it is really devastating when you work on a 10k fic and only get 8 comments)

masterlist

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Bonds could be formed before Eywa, but they could also be broken. That was the law. Hearts that once beat as one could grow apart, it didn't always last. It was rare, but it happened. You understood this, as did Lo'ak, who knew it firsthand, growing up with the love story of his parents. But the two of you had never expected that it could happen to you someday.

You often thought back to your life in the forest, where even amidst the ongoing war, things seemed to be much calmer and peaceful than they were now, within the reef clan. The instability and uncertainty, the risk of clan members never returning, the frequency of grieving ceremonies, everything seemed unimportant, when you had one sure thing in your life - Lo’ak. He had been your unwavering rock, the only one who could see through you, see you. Until he didn’t.

Since the day you burst into Sully's home at the age of seven, with your mother trailing behind to prevent you from disturbing Toruk Makto's family, it was clear that you and Lo'ak were two pieces of the same soul. It was always trouble when it came down to the two of you, sneaking out, and stealing everything that could be turned into a game, coming home covered in dirt and debris. Your parents often joked that you were like a mirror held up to Lo’ak: he was the instigator, and you were the tail. It was mostly Lo’ak initiating the trouble, but you were always right there with him, egging him on. You couldn’t help it, you loved the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, and the way he held you in his embrace, chest vibrating with the sounds of deep laughter, when you got yourselves into sticky situations.

Soon enough, the whole clan could see that a strong bond was starting to form between two souls so alike, it was almost uncanny. The two of you felt it too. Every angry scolding from his father was yours to take as well, every injury and scar on his body was mimicked on yours, every loving gaze and touch of his mother was shared with you. The Sully’s became like a second family to you, and it was only a matter of time before you would officially be one of them. So, when they made the difficult decision to leave the clan and seek refuge in a foreign land, your parents reluctantly had to let you go with them, knowing that you were meant to be with Toruk Makto's son.

But now, whenever he looked at you, Lo’ak felt guilty. His heart filled with sorrow for the days when all that mattered to him was you - the smile that was plastered on your face when you greeted him, the warm gaze you casted upon him when he needed reassurance, the gentle touch of your fingers intertwined with his when words failed to express how he felt. It was no longer the same, his mind distracted by a thought more exciting. Unintentionally, really, if anything he tried his best to fight the pull towards the Metkayina tsakarem. He couldn’t explain it to soothe the pain, he just felt it. Like he had been guided to her by Eywa herself.

The doubts were suffocating you from the inside out at first, but you tried to ignore it. Lo’ak would never hurt you, he was only friendly to learn from Tsireya, so that he wouldn’t be a disappointment in his father’s eyes. When the clan had started to point out their friendship, and you heard gossip about the tsakarem finding her mate, you swallowed your pride and carried on, pretending that it didn’t bother you.

But when you watched them, you could see it clearly. They fit like two pieces of the same puzzle. Lo’ak brought in the thrill, in return, she grounded him. Bonds can be broken sometimes, you knew it. Tsireya seemed to know that too.

You had noticed the signs, but when he finally confirmed your worst fears, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. It hurt your throat when you accused him, simultaneously feeling cruel for pointing out things you were hoping he could explain. But he didn’t deny it, the day he sat you down in a clearing, too similar to the one back home, and told you it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was the law of Eywa.

"I still care about you, I always will," he tried cupping your cheek with the same caress he used to preserve for you only, eyes glistening with tears.

"You promised," you hissed angrily, pushing him away, “You promised, and I believed you."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Lo’ak dragged himself through the sand, his feet stumbling over stones, as he replayed the bits of your argument in his head. He couldn’t shake off the image of your face, the way you looked at him with so much anger and pain, it was almost like you were a different person. He never thought that there would be a day in his life when you would look at him with such disdain. If he could only change the way he felt but he was torn between his promise to you and his feelings for Tsireya, and he didn’t know what to do.

He had been walking aimlessly around the island for hours after you had demanded that he left you alone, and with the night growing darker, he dreaded going back home to avoid running into you. He took a deep sigh, approaching the family marui, the hopes of having his family already asleep immediately crashing, when a faint light glowed from within. Lo’ak really wasn’t in the mood for getting scolded.

“Where were you, boy?” Jake asked harshly, but there was a hint of concern evident in his face, as he began to quickly examine his son for signs of injury.

“Just…out, I got carried away,” Lo’ak mumbled, fumbling out of Jake’s grasp.

“Lo’ak, where is Y/N?” Neytiri’s voice followed, her worry barely concealed.

Lo’ak’s eyes darted around the pod - his siblings were there, but you weren’t. He swallowed nervously, under the weight of his family's scrutinizing stares.

“She didn’t come home?” he asked.

“She was with you, what do you mean?” Neteyam spoke up, confused.

Lo’ak’s stomach churned with anxiety; you were still out there, on an unfamiliar island, all alone. Alone because he had left you there.

“She was but we… we had a fight, and she didn’t want to see me,” Lo’ak admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, “I thought she’d be home by now, that’s why I stayed out so late.”

“What am I supposed to do with you?” Jake hissed, “You do not leave your mate alone in an unknown setting when it’s dark out. It’s not too hard to figure out.”

Lo’ak hung his head in shame, deciding against defending himself, as there was no point in doing so. He stood there, weighed down by his own guilt, when Neytiri's gentle touch on his shoulder brought him back to reality. He looked up at her, seeing the concern etched on her face. You were like a daughter to Neytiri, and she couldn't wait for the day you were going to be one of hers, so the growing distance between you and Lo’ak worried her.

Jake leapt into action, grabbing his flying gear, with Neteyam following closely behind. The older brother couldn’t help but feel bad for not bringing up your absence earlier. He should have trusted his gut that something was wrong and had gone after you hours ago. Should have known that Lo’ak would find a way to mess it up.

“I’ll come with you, dad,” Lo’ak stated but Jake’s face hardened at the mere suggestion.

“You have done enough.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Now every time when Neteyam went to sleep, he often thought back to the night he found you. His eyes would linger on the corner of the marui, half-expecting to find you there, deep in your sleep, only to be met with the image of your empty mat.

He was flying over the island on his ikran then, when he spotted a small figure, hidden in the thick greenery of Awa'atlu. He mumbled something to his father through the wired necklace, before diving down.

You were lost in a sea of tears, so consumed by your own grief that you didn't even notice when Neteyam landed next to you with a gust of wind. It was only when he pulled you into an embrace that you felt yourself melting into him, a deeper pain forming in your chest and suffocating you from within. Your whole body shook with the force of your sobs, and you clung to Neteyam desperately, imagining that it was Lo’ak, who had returned to tell you it was just a stupid joke.

“Let’s go home, okay?” he asked gently, but you shook your head desperately at that, forgetting to breathe in between your whimpers, “Y/N, you need to breathe.”

Neteyam pursed his lips together, raising his fingers to his necklace, when he heard his father’s voice on the other end.

“No, sir, she is not injured. But she doesn’t want to come home,” he fell silent for a moment before continuing, “I will make sure she is okay, you can trust me.”

As you started to feel more and more exhausted and began dozing off, Neteyam lifted you gently into his arms and flew you back home. He was grateful that you were asleep and spared from having to face the worried looks on his family's faces. He was especially relieved that you didn't have to see Lo'ak.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Lo'ak did not miss the way his chest tightened with ache, when you passed by him and lowered yourself on the other side of the circle, your eyes fixed on the ground, barely holding yourself composed during the shared lessons. His lingering gazes were miserable taunts because they meant nothing when you saw him struggle to breathe with Tsireya's palms resting on his chest. His questions to you hung unanswered in the air, as purposefully ignored him.

"Hey, would you like to practice with me? I think I'm losing my focus easily," Neteyam nudged your shoulder.

"Sure," you mumbled with a mixture of irritation and gratitude.

Neteyam was older than you, exuding maturity and confidence in everything he did and everywhere he went. It was no different in Awa’atlu, even when the weight of his responsibilities shifted drastically, he was still prioritizing others. Unlike Lo’ak, who usually cared for you only, Neteyam's range of care extended far beyond that. So you saw right through him trying to take you under his wing, when you no longer had someone to pair up with. He wanted to be the helping shoulder for you.

It was complicated. You had left your whole life behind with only one certainty, and now that you had lost it, you were entirely alone among people who saw you as a weakling and pitied you for your broken heart. You would be lying if you said you didn’t contemplate sneaking out on your ikran one night and returning home, pretending as though you didn't like your new life and that you were no longer in love with Lo'ak. But the idea of your clan looking down at you too made your chest swell even more. You were stuck. Lo'ak left you stuck all by yourself, and he was no longer there to reach out his hand to you and pull you out of the trap. Because this time he himself had set the trap for you.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"I just feel silly sometimes... I knew it was possible but I didn't think it could happen to us," you confessed with a deep sigh, avoiding the amber eyes fixed on you, "I always relied on him for everything, but now I feel alone. Completely alone."

Neteyam watched you with curiosity, discovering a side of you that was previously closed off to him. Perceiving him as an older brother sometimes put a boundary between you and him, blurring Neteyam into the background. He was like an extension to Lo’ak, never granted the same privilege of knowing you until now. Neteyam’s eyes lingered on your quivering lips, recognizing the same brave face his brother often put on to avoid showing vulnerability. He felt cruel and selfish for savoring this moment of you opening up to him. Not to Lo’ak, to him.

"He is a skxawng," he growled, trying to offer some support in the form of anger.

"Yeah, he is," you agreed with a small chuckle, despite both of you knowing that it wasn't really Lo'ak's fault.

You fell quiet again, your back leaning against the tree, fingers wandering in the fresh grass underneath you. Neteyam watched you intently, wondering about what was going on in your mind. He grew tense, struggling to guess, but you were difficult to read, your countenance rarely altering. His patience ran out, and his reserve crumbled as he blurted out with a pleading voice.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," you replied, looking up at him hesitantly before revealing your secret, "Just… when it gets too difficult, I like to imagine flying far away from here.”

"W-what?" he stuttered, "You want to leave?"

"I like to imagine that I can," you clarified, “I’m not really considering it, ‘s just a comforting thought, you know? Makes me feel free… like I have all the power over myself."

You could have sworn at that moment that Neteyam let out a relieved breath. It was strange to open up to him, someone whom you had never trusted with your thoughts before. But his usually annoying calmness was suddenly all you needed. He didn't judge you, didn't pity you, like the others.

His family was suffocating you with love to overcompensate for Lo'ak’s inability to give it to you anymore, and for some reason, it made you resentful. So you asked for a separate marui where you could stay by yourself for the time being. You often avoided them in public and stayed close to Rotxo during your lessons, ignoring the conversations Kiri tried to pursue with you. Eventually, the Sully’s started to give you space, everyone except for Neteyam. He was persistent, asking you to pair up with him during the lessons under the excuse that he was failing, and you were ‘so quick to learn.’ Challenged you to accompany him on walks because he needed a trained warrior to look out for him. You saw right through his acts of kindness but your heart longed for company, and he was always there, basically pleading you to join him. So you did.

Short and harsh replies eventually grew into longer chats into deep conversations, with him mostly doing all the listening and agreeing, as you complained. You tried to avoid talking about Lo'ak, but sometimes you would let slip a small detail or two, throwing a piece of your soul at Neteyam and quickly closing off. He didn't mind it though, because every time you pushed him away, you opened up a little more the next time.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Stop staring. I get it, you’re mad at me,” Lo'ak rolled his eyes at his brother before hanging his head again.

“I am not mad at you,” Neteyam replied, watching with a keen eye as Lo'ak proceeded to clean the fish.

“Sure, just like everybody else isn’t,” Lo’ak huffed under his breath with slight annoyance.

Lo'ak found it increasingly difficult to face the reality when spending time with his family. Your absence had disrupted the usual balance, leaving him to endure their gnawing, judgmental stares by himself. They refrained from commenting, knowing that it wasn't a matter of discipline, it was a matter of the heart. But the silence was worse - Lo’ak would have preferred hours of lectures from his parents and bickering with his siblings instead. He especially dreaded spending time with his brother, who always stood next to him like a figure of justice, so proper and goody-two-shoes. It drove Lo'ak insane.

“I think you should talk to Y/N.”

“Talk to Y/N?” Lo’ak’s eyes snapped back at Neteyam in bewilderment.

Lo’ak wasn’t naive. Of course he had noticed the way his older brother tried to fix the situation, coax you out of your shell and bring you back into the world. He felt agonized that once again Neteyam had to stand in for him, clean up his mess. But he couldn’t be angry this time because he knew he was helpless.

“No way, she hates me right now,” Lo’ak shook his head, “She will probably despise me for the rest of my life. Not that I don’t deserve it…”

“You underestimate her,” Neteyam spoke calmly, “But she can’t move on until she gets her closure.”

“Closure?”

“You owe her that much,” Neteyam patted his brother’s shoulder, standing up.

Lo’ak sighed heavily as his brother’s words sank in. He knew that Neteyam was right; he did owe you that much. And he couldn’t just pretend like you never existed and move on with another girl without at least trying to make amends with you first. You deserved to know that he didn’t lie to you, it just happened. Lo’ak continued to clean the fish in silence, already trying to come up with a way to approach you.

“I’m going to check on her,” Neteyam said, grabbing his spear, “When you’re ready, you know where to find us.”

Lo’ak nodded absentmindedly, still lost in his own turmoil.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“See? I’m telling you, it is like the water here is way slippier than back home,” Neteyam joked, as his spear poked through nothing, the fish he had been preying on swimming away.

You laughed at his attempt, knowing well that he was only pretending to struggle. Back home, Neteyam was known for being great with weapons, especially spears, even though your clan rarely used them, having preferred bows and arrows. You gripped your spear, fixing your stance and focusing on catching a fish; the anger you felt towards Lo’ak in the past weeks had driven you towards excelling in your lessons and improving your skills. With a quick thrust of your weapon, you successfully pierced through a fish and brought it close to examine. Fighting for its life, the fish flopped around on the tip of your spear, splashing water onto Neteyam. You laughed as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the burning of the salty water, and shoved the spear towards you instead.

“Stop, Neteyam!” you yelled out, trying to push it away from you, “I’m going to smell of fish!”

“You already smell like one,” he laughed.

Your fingers reached for the fish, pulling it off the tip gently and tossing it into the bucket next to you. Neteyam stood leaning on his spear, watching you with a small smile.

“What?” you grumbled.

“Nothing,” he shrugged.

“Stop staring, you look like a freak.”

"Tell me something I don't know," he rolled his eyes, and you felt a twinge of guilt.

Freak. It slipped out of you without much thought, but it was one of the silly nicknames that Neteyam and his siblings were called since their arrival to Awa’atlu. You felt bad, as you had it easier than them in those moments, seeming to be the most ‘normal’ to the Metkayina. But Neteyam didn’t even bat an eye at your words, like he was already used to it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that,” you reached out to touch his arm.

“It’s okay,” his eyes lingered on your hand before meeting your gaze with a softened expression, “You’ll have to try harder to offend me next time.” “Oh, you’re such a skxawng,” you playfully shoved him.

You laughed, as Neteyam stumbled back, losing his grip on his spear and falling onto his bottom with a splash. He started splashing you in retaliation, squeals and laughter filling out the air, as you let yourself get distracted from the usual gloominess that hung above you. That is until you heard him call out your name. Lo’ak.

You could feel the hairs on your back stand up, your spine straightening instinctively at the sound of his voice. Neteyam threw you a sympathetic look, as you turned around to catch the sight of Lo’ak, standing not too far from you.

“Can we please talk?” he asked.

For the first time in weeks, you let yourself meet Lo’ak head-on, feeling as if something stirred within you. His face twisted under your stare, the apple in his throat wobbling, waiting for you to respond. Instead of granting him a verbal response, you shook your head and reached for the bucket handle to get away from there as fast as you could.

“He means well,” Neteyam covered your hand with his.

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” you gritted through your teeth.

“I’m sorry, I just think you should talk,” Neteyam pleaded with you, “Please.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, letting him take the bucket out of your grip.

“Just trust me on this.”

You felt the anger vanish when you looked at him, his sincerity seeping through your defenses. It wasn’t hard to trust Neteyam, after all, he never made promises he couldn’t keep. You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before slowly turning to face Lo'ak. Neteyam let his palm linger on the small of your back before brushing past you to leave you two alone.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Well, are you going to thank me or kill me?” Neteyam asked playfully but there was obvious tension in his stance.

“Neither,” you rolled your eyes at him, ignoring that small fleeting feeling of gratitude you felt.

He didn’t see you for almost a day after your conversation with Lo’ak, and frankly, he had been going a little insane over it. It seemed like Lo’ak and you were gone for ages, since he only caught a glimpse of his brother right before he went to bed. After leaving you to talk, Neteyam struggled to distract himself with a swimming practice, but quickly grew tired of it and trailed back to the place where he left you. He kicked the sand around in annoyance when he didn’t find you there, assuming that you moved to a more private place instead. He wondered if he had unwittingly pushed you back into Lo’ak's arms, and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. It was probably wrong to secretly root for his brother and Tsireya to make it, but he couldn't help himself.

A small crush on you had started to grow in Neteyam's chest a long time ago, though he wasn't exactly sure when. Then suddenly, it had bloomed into a feeling so intense that it filled his lungs and made it hard to breathe. Whenever he saw the warmth in your eyes that was reserved only for Lo’ak, he would quickly look away, shaking his head to force himself to focus on something else. He often wondered if he had misunderstood his own feelings and was just happy that his brother had someone like you to rely on. It was too embarrassing to admit to his crush anyway, since he had been suppressing it for far too long now. Neteyam decided it was best to simply ignore it.

“I still kind of hate him but I don’t want to kill him anymore,” you tried to joke but it came out rather lame.

Neteyam winced at your words, but his expression softened into a grin soon after. You weren't one to joke around him often, but when you did, he found you amusing. It was nice to know that you could make the-always-serious Neteyam laugh.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Neteyam was the connecting link between you and his family, frankly, he considered you a part of his family for some time now. So when he begged you to join them for the evening, you couldn't bring yourself to refuse. It had been over a month since you distanced yourself from the Sully’s and moved out, and they were still having a hard time getting used to it. Neytiri and Jake, who tried talking to you during this time, felt particularly guilty for uprooting you and failing to keep you happy after promising to your parents that they would take care of you. You still saw the siblings more often, during your lessons, but it wasn't the same as it used to be. You weren't as close as you once were.

"Lo'ak won't even be home to make it awkward," Neteyam repeated, almost dragging you back home with him. "I'll take care of you."

It will be like the old times, he promised, except no one would mention your relationship with Lo'ak. But even without his warnings, his family knew better than to bring it up, as they didn't want to scare you away. Besides, he was getting irritated with his sisters' constant chatter about you. Or at least, that’s what he told you. You rolled your eyes, and you whined, and you almost broke your fingers trying to pull away from his grip, when you neared the family pod. Then it all came rushing back.

Neteyam's family couldn't help but feel a surge of love for him when they saw him bring you into their home. It had been a while since you had been there, and Neytiri was thrilled to see you opening up again. As they greeted you, Jake made a mental note to question his son later and find out how he managed to convince you to come. His sisters also couldn't hide their excitement as they beamed at you, though it felt just a little uncomfortable. His parents were visibly relieved to finally see you around, as, during all this time, they had been relying on Neteyam to check on you and make sure you were taking care of yourself.

You fidgeted in your seat, the tension in the room suffocating you. The breakup had taken a toll on you, and everyone knew it. But just as your anxiety was about to consume you, you felt Neteyam's hand sneak behind your back and touch your hand. Your fingers intertwined with his instantly, bringing you a piece of mind. It felt like everything was falling back into its place with him next to you.

Neytiri and Jake exchanged knowing glances, watching you chat with their kids animatedly, as the evening went on. Neteyam couldn’t peel his eyes off you, and it was so clear to them that their older son was more than smitten with you. Over the years, they had seen Neteyam grow into a mature and responsible young man, and they knew that he would make a wonderful partner for someone someday. So, while they felt a little strange about the change from Lo'ak and you to Neteyam and you, for some reason, it worked. Neteyam and you just seemed to fit better together, balance each other out, and they couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you and Lo’ak weren’t meant to be from the start.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“You’re good for her,” Jake concluded, once the dinner was over, reaching forward to pat his son’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t need that right now. She needs a friend,” Neteyam mumbled under his breath, hesitant to agree.

“You’ll have to tell her some day, you know?”

“No,” he shook his head, “She will think it is wrong.”

“What is so wrong about falling for someone?” Jake questioned, and Neteyam lowered his ears in defeat.

“It is wrong by the laws of Eywa. Her and I are not meant to be…”

“Neteyam,” his father’s tone softened, “You know that sometimes Eywa can change one's path, don’t you? What may have seemed like the wrong choice yesterday could end up being the only solution tomorrow. Just look at your mom and I. Do you think we're wrong together?”

“No, of course not. You’re perfect, actually…” he frowned under the weight of Jake’s words, “But Y/N, she’s… she doesn’t see me like that.”

“She might if you give it a chance. You need to follow your heart, Neteyam. It’s pure.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You laid on your stomach, chin resting on your hands as you watched Neteyam ponder his next move. The worn-out chess set, with its faded wooden pieces, had been a prized family possession since you and Lo'ak had stolen it from the science lab as children. It was one of the only things that you brought with you from back home to the island - a reminder of your childhood. Recently, Neteyam and you were especially fond of playing chess together.

Jake was proud to teach all of his kids to play the human game, and he enjoyed how much you seemed to like it. It was a small nod to where he came from, and while Neytiri never showed interest in learning it, as it was too foreign to her, she did appreciate the quiet it brought to her home. Sometimes, when the kids would get too tiresome, she would pull out the game and sit them down to play to keep them occupied and silent.

But Neteyam was too silent, almost distracted. He was making moves without his usual careful consideration, his focus absent, like there was something bothering him. It was unlike him to be losing, he rarely lost to anyone.

“Neteyam?” you propped yourself up, feeling the gentle sea breeze blowing through your hair as you addressed him.

“Hm?” he looked up at you, a little startled, as if he had forgotten you were there. "Oh, is it my turn to play?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “But are you okay? You seem distracted.”

"I am okay," he shook his head, shifting to sit up in a crossed-leg position. "I was just thinking."

You mimicked his movements, sensing that he was abandoning the game, ready to talk.

“What is it?” you reached to take his hand in yours.

Neteyam's gaze shifted to your fingers intertwined with his, feeling a warm sensation spreading through his chest. He had started holding your hand whenever he sensed you struggling to open up to him. But now, as you reciprocated the gesture, it warmed his heart, easing him into confessing about the dilemma he was having.

“I… there is something I feel like I need to do but I’m too scared,” he confessed, carefully avoiding any details that might reveal his intentions regarding you, “My dad thinks I should just do it and trust my instincts.”

“Well, what is it? Like hunting underwater or something?” you frowned, slightly confused at his words.

“No, not like that. It’s more about courage…I guess,” he mumbled, already regretting saying that, “‘s hard to decide if I should do it or not.”

“I don’t understand.”

Neteyam's eyes flicked up to meet yours, then quickly looked away again.

"It's nothing, forget I said anything.”

“No, please explain,” you squeezed his hand in yours, pleading, “I want to help.”

Neteyam hesitantly reached out and took his king, twirling it between his fingers as he looked back at the board. You observed alongside him, noticing that both of you only had a few pieces left, indicating that the game was coming to a close.

“It’s kind of like chess. I like to think long before making decisions, I plan it out. But this is not a matter of logic, quite honestly… It’s like, I don’t know if I should take the risk and move my king out in the open field, or if I should hold him back and keep him protected. What if I can’t back out and I’m cornered and I lose?”

You watched curiously, as Neteyam put his king back to its usual spot. He glanced up at you again, with uncertainty written all over his face.

"It's a tough decision, you know?” he continued tentatively, “Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of the board, unable to move forward because I don't want to make a mistake. Do you ever feel that way?”

“Yeah, I think I do,” you nodded slowly, meeting his searching gaze, “But sometimes you just have to take the risk. Things don’t always work out in your favor, no matter how much you plan it.”

“But what if you lose?”

“You can’t avoid it. Sometimes you just do,” you said, your voice faltering as you recalled your recent loss of Lo'ak, “But hey, if the worst does happen, at least you will know that it's over and you won't have to go through it again. In a weird way, it's like a relief."

Neteyam nodded with a small smile, his fingers trembling slightly as he lifted his king from its spot.

"I think I'm going to take that risk," he said softly, moving his king.

“Good,” you smiled encouragingly.

"I’m... I'm in love with you," Neteyam admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” you felt your breath catch in your throat. Was he joking?

"I have been in love with you for a long time,” he continued, words spilling out of his mouth uncontrollably, “I always thought it was wrong because you were with Lo’ak, and I obviously never stood a chance. So I tried to push those feelings away and pretend they didn't exist. But they only grow stronger with each passing day, and I can't hold it in any longer."

You froze, your mind unable to process his words. You never even considered the possibility of Neteyam seeing you that way, he was always like a brother to you.

“I don’t understand,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly, as if trying to shake off a bad dream. “So...all this time...?”

Neteyam nodded silently, his gaze fixed on you. He could sense that the answer he dreaded for so long was beginning to form on your lips, as your consciousness slowly began to return.

“Neteyam, I-I… I don’t know what to say.”

His heart sank at your words, and he looked away, struggling to keep his composure. He had expected this outcome, but it still hurt like a knife in his chest. You didn’t want to hurt him but nothing worthy came to your mind to comfort him, except for an apology. You weren’t even sure why you were apologizing to him, but it felt like a primal urge.

“I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s okay,” he spoke softly, as if you were the one who needed comfort, “I understand, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“I just… I had no idea…” you stammered, “I value our friendship so much. Neteyam, you have been my rock, you know that.”

He nodded with a forced smile, his heart sinking deeper and deeper in his chest. It was slowly and painfully killing him that you weren’t harsh with him, almost like the pity you took on him stung worse than the actual rejection.

"I hope I didn't lead you on.”

“’s not your fault,” he shook his head, “If you want, things don’t have to change between us. I’ll always be there for you regardless, I just needed to get it off my chest.”

You nodded, both relieved and confused by his suggestion. But the words lingered in the air between you two, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Deep down, something started to shift within you. All this time. Neteyam was no longer just a friend or Lo’ak’s brother. He was someone who had feelings for you, and that changed everything.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

And despite the promise you made to each other to maintain your friendship, it was difficult to keep it intact. Days passed, and the aftertaste of his confession wouldn't go away, hanging in the silence that had often replaced your usual easy banter. Every interaction felt weighed down by an unspoken tension, every walk you took together, every lesson where you paired up was now filled with underlying discomfort. Neteyam tried his best to ignore the pain consuming all of his being, though he was taunted by your mere presence. But he made a promise to be there for you, and he was determined to keep it.

You were flustered too. Small touches and looks seemed to hold a different meaning now, making you question the way you behaved around each other. Was it an accident how his hand lingered on the small of your back or the nervous swish of his tail when you approached him. Were you leading him on? Forcing to spend time with you only because you needed him for emotional support.

The thoughts in your head started to outgrow you at times, when you lost sleep recalling Neteyam’s words. He was always like that, his strong and persistent nature showing through everything he did and said. But he was also humble, never getting too cocky and not afraid to ask for help when he needed it. You grew up seeing how Neteyam always put others above him, even though it could hurt him at times. And you felt selfish for taking advantage of that and holding onto his friendship when he desired something more. What if the roles were reversed, and it was you who had confessed your feelings only to be rejected? Would you be able to handle it with the same level of composure that Neteyam had shown? Probably not. You couldn’t do that for Lo’ak.

Your room was filled with the gentle clinking of beads, a soft glow of the last rays of sunset casting a golden hue over the man next to you. Your own hands were holding a string with beads, pretending to work, but it was only a show. Neteyam, who sat in front of you, had been lost in his work, brow furrowed in frustration as the thin thread kept slipping from his fingers. The beads glimmered under the sun, as he added another one, determined to finish the bracelet he promised to give to Tuk before the eclipse. Your eyes darted between his fingers that were deftly working the thread under his skilled touch, and his face, illuminated under the light. His jaw tightened, as he struggled to work with a smaller bead, and you couldn’t help but trace the sharp line with your eyes.

Of course you had known that Neteyam was a beautiful person, it wasn’t like you had a sudden revelation at how attractive he was. Back home, he was winning hearts left and right due to not only his looks, which he took after his mother, but also for possessing the inborn strength of a leader and generally having a great personality. You just never paid attention to him like this before, always considering him to be your friend, a family. But as you stole another glance at him and he caught it with a shy smile, your stomach twisted in a swirl of emotions.

“I think I need to get my eyes checked by Tsahik,” he said with a nervous chuckle, pointing at the bead that had been irritating him for the past minute or so, “I can’t thread this to save my life.”

“Maybe it’s just a tricky one,” you forced a chuckle too to cover up the awkward aftermath of being caught staring at him, “Here, let me help.”

He gratefully accepted your offer, trying not to read too much into the way your hands touched when he passed you the bead. Not that you weren’t nervous under his observing gaze, but you were at least less flustered than he was. So, with a bit of effort, you pushed away all of the thoughts and steadied your hand, managing to lace the thread through the small.

“There you go,” you mumbled, passing the bracelet back to him.

“Thank you,” he nodded with that same shy smile, then pointed at the one you made, laying in your lap, “Do you need help with yours?”

“No, it is done,” you held up your handiwork to him with a grin.

Despite your distraction, you somehow managed to finish your necklace earlier than Neteyam. But considering the size of his fingers and the beads, it wasn’t really a surprise that he was slower than you when it came to crafts. The necklace swayed around in your hand, as Neteyam observed it with attention, trying to understand to whom it was meant to belong. Did you make it for yourself? He hoped you did, as he wouldn’t be able to bear it if you gave it to another man. The colors you used were so familiar though, and Neteyam shook his head to force the thoughts out of his mind; there was no way that you would match the necklace to the beads in his braids. No way, he convinced himself. You watched his face in anticipation, stiffening slightly at the lack of response.

“Well, do you like it?” you scrunched up your nose, feeling a little embarrassed to ask him that. If he liked it enough he would have said so.

“I do, it’s beautiful,” he cleared his throat, eyes snapping back at you, “Is it for anyone in particular or just yourself?”

“Um… I don’t really know, I guess I just made it?" you shrugged, "But if you like it, I can give it to you.”

A contented hum escaped from Neteyam's lips as he admired the necklace, a small glimmer of hope flickering in his heart. The longer he gazed at the brownish and green beads, the more he realized how perfectly it would complement his hair.

As you caught sight of his thoughts, your heart skipped a beat. Had you been so preoccupied with Neteyam that you unconsciously incorporated a piece of him into your creation? The idea of giving it to him warmed your heart, but the thought of others seeing him wear something you made crossed your mind right after. What if they thought it was strange or inappropriate, a necklace crafted by you to match Neteyam's hair?

Just the idea of others assuming anything past friendship between you and Neteyam was scary. You would look pathetic, maybe even revengeful, if you went for the brother of the man who broke your heart. And what would Lo’ak think? Probably that you were only unable to move on from him and hang onto things you could have, like his family. You shook your head in irritation at that. Why should you even care about Lo’ak’s feelings, when he broke off things with you? Frankly, it was silly to even think about it because the possibility of you and Neteyam being together was nonexistent. Or at least, you thought so.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Neteyam laid on his mat, staring up at the thatched ceiling of his pod. It was already late, close to the afternoon, and he knew that his family had gone out to begin their chores, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you instead, the change in your demeanor when he was around. You were nicer to him, more than you usually showed, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because you pitied him or because you were starting to see something else in him. Maybe he was reading into it too much and it was stupid. Really. After all, you had already rejected him once before. He would know if you changed your mind, right?

It took Lo’ak to clear his throat twice to get his brother’s attention. Startled, Neteyam finally looked up to meet his concerned gaze. It was strange to see Neteyam in the bed still, and Lo’ak made a guess that he was feeling ill.

“Are you okay, bro?”

“Yeah…” Neteyam sighed.

Lo’ak hesitated for a moment before walking closer and sitting down on the verge of his mat.

“Do you want to talk or something?”

Neteyam sighed again and sat up, running a hand through his hair. He knew that he would have to tell Lo’ak eventually, and there was no point in beating around the bush. Still, the fear of putting a crack in their relationship made him reluctant to share.

“I just want to be honest with you,” he started, noticing a slight curiosity in Lo’ak’s gaze, “Um… it’s about Y/N.”

“What about her?” Lo’ak physically felt his heart skip a beat, his mind already flooded with endless concerns: were you hurt? Did something happen to you?

“I am… in love with her. Have been for some time now… long before we even moved here,” Neteyam admitted with a shaky voice.

He was embarrassed, so much that his ears were burning up like he was on fire. How could he have fallen for his brother's destined mate, his best friend? Out of all people in the world, it had to be you. Eywa worked in mysterious ways sometimes.

Lo’ak’s face fell as the words sank in. The room was silent, as both brothers struggled to find a way to recover from this revelation. The thought of you being with Neteyam made Lo'ak sick to his stomach. His brother. The one who always stood by your side, even when you were with Lo’ak.

“I don’t even know how to react,” Lo’ak admitted, “D-does she know?”

Neteyam nodded silently, watching Lo’ak’s expression change. There was a mixture of emotions rushing to Lo’ak’s head, from guilt to jealousy to confusion. How could Neteyam have fallen for his former mate, take away the only thing that was reserved for Lo’ak only? The lump in his throat grew bigger, suffocating him from within.

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam's voice was stern, forcing him back into the conversation, “I didn’t mean to, you out of all people should know that. I would never intentionally do something to upset you.”

It was unfair to be mad at Neteyam. To be mad at you for moving on. Lo’ak took a moment to recompose himself, knowing well he had no right to be upset with either of you. You deserved someone who could give you everything, and Neteyam was just that - perfect. He could give you his whole life, whole heart served on a platter. But then, why did it sting so badly to picture you together?

“Okay, I understand,” Lo’ak finally spoke, the apple in his throat bobbing, “I have no claim over Y/N. She is a free woman now, so she can do whatever she wishes to do… I mean, as long as you make her happy -”

“No, Lo’ak, she rejected me,” Neteyam interrupted, feeling the sudden urge to stop assumptions from escalating, “She said she only saw me as a friend. I just wanted to let you know about how I felt.”

“Oh,” Lo’ak let out. He failed to deliver a humorous joke to ease the tension, “For once in my life, you want something that I have… rather, used to have.”

Neteyam’s expression softened, and he forced a breath out in an attempt to chuckle at that.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The joy of the Tulkun returning sent the whole village into a long night of celebration; the clan members dressed up in their traditional garb, air was filled with rhythmic tunes, and the smell of mouth-watering food. You had never felt more uneasy to be at a celebration, suddenly regretting that you had made no other friends since your arrival to Awa’atlu. And you stood there awkwardly, looking around, when Neteyam had insisted on sitting with him and his family.

But Lo’ak was there, forced by his father to stay close. When he saw you being led by Neteyam’s hand, he felt something bubble in his chest. His family perked at the sight of you, greeting you with their usual smiles, and you shoot Lo’ak a shy look.

“Hey,” he mumbled awkwardly, so low, that his voice was barely registered by his family.

You mouthed it back with a softened gaze, and Lo’ak couldn’t help but smile. It was awkward but it didn’t hang heavily as it usually did when you and he were in a close proximity. Lo’ak felt a slight relief at the fact that you even acknowledged him, though he was convinced a part of it was because of his family being right there. Still, he decided to take it as a win.

Neteyam's tail swished with contentment as he sat close to you, occasionally grazing your back for comfort. You couldn't tell if it was intentional, but with Neteyam, it was hard to gauge how much thought he put into things. Regardless, you felt giddy by his touch.

The conversation between his family slowly started to flow, and you found yourself chuckling at their jokes, feeling as if you belonged again. And when Lo’ak attempted to add to a story about his father's first ride on tsurak, you couldn't help but snort in amusement. He shot you a grateful look for that. Of course, you’d laugh at Lo’ak’s jokes, you had been laughing at them your whole life. You guess, some things never change.

As the night wore on, you were pulled out of the conversation at a distinct melody that filled the space. You took notice of how couples began to shift in their seats, rising to their feet to join the dance. Lo'ak stood up too, clearing his throat awkwardly before he made a way to where the Olo'eyktan and his family sat. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut when you saw Tonowari nod approvingly, and Tsireya rushing to take Lo’ak’s hand and pull him into the dance. You did not miss the way the air left your lungs, as people suddenly started watching you, as if waiting for a reaction. You scooched closer to Neteyam, hanging your head, to hide yourself with your hair.

“You okay?” he asked, staring back angrily at those who looked at you. He stiffened at the thought of you having to go through something like that.

“No, actually,” you chuckled nervously, looking up at him, “It’s like everyone expects me to throw a fit or something.”

Neteyam scrunched up his face at the comment. He looked around one more time before opening up his palm to you.

“Would you like to dance with me? Maybe that will shut them up," he said.

You felt his mother’s eyes on you, as you pondered on the offer. You really weren’t in the mood to dance now, and besides, everyone out there was coupled up.

“I’m not sure it is a good idea,” you mumbled.

Neytiri stood to her feet, pulling Jake with her. She shot you an encouraging smile.

“Come, Y/N, let’s go dance,” she gestured for you to stand up too.

“Yeah, come on girls, you too. Tuk, Kiri,” Jake pitched with a grin, “Sully’s stick together.”

You watched with a smile as the whole family decided to join in on the dancing despite the melody being intended to be just romantic. Neteyam stood too, pulling you by the hand, and really, you had no other option but to give in. His gaze softened, sending your heart into a race, and you followed shyly after him to join the other dancing Na'vi.

As you watched Tsireya and Lo’ak together, memories of your own time with him invaded your mind, but strangely you weren't upset by that, just nostalgic. Neteyam didn't let you dwell on these thoughts for long, as he gently pressed his hands against your waist and led you through the dance. When you looked into his kind eyes, it felt like all of the pain from before had dissipated into thin air. You danced for what felt like hours, surrounded by his family's laughter, and lost in the rhythm. Finally, it felt like things were back to normal, and you could relax, until the night was ruined.

You were taking a break from the dancing, watching the Sully kids goofing around with a fond smile. You had missed seeing them this happy. While back home it was a usual sight, in Awa’atlu, they were rarely this carefree. Ao’nung, in his eagerness to entertain himself, slipped in to stand next to you with a wicked smirk on his lips. It didn’t take him long to reveal his intention of approaching you, as he made a comment vile enough to send shivers down your spine. You wanted to punch him, crawl his eyes out, but all you managed was to scurry away.

Ao’nung’s sweet moment of satisfaction was interrupted abruptly by an aggressive shove. He stumbled backward, eyes widening at the sight of Neteyam.

“What the hell?”

“What did you say to Y/N?” Neteyam exposed his canines, ignoring the looks they were now getting.

“Woah,” Ao’nung smirked knowingly, “Nothing but the truth -”

“Tell me what you told her,” Neteyam shoved him again, this time harder, “Now.”

“Fine, you wanna know?” Ao’nung sneered, “I pointed out how pathetic she is, truly unworthy to live amongst my clan. It’s honestly embarrassing that she couldn’t keep one brother, so she’s now feeding into the pity of the other, in hopes to lock him up.”

“From now on,keep your mouth shut and stay away from Y/N,” Neteyam warned, taking a step closer, his voice dripping with venom, “Or you’ll have me to deal with.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Neteyam's heart felt heavy as he caught sight of you. You were in the exact same spot where he found you on that fateful night when Lo'ak shattered your heart into a million pieces. It was all too familiar - the darkness, the quiet sobs that filled the air. His mind flashed back to that night, the memory still fresh in his mind.

As he approached you, Neteyam couldn't help but notice the gentle glow of dozens of atokirinas that surrounded you, like tiny stars grazing your skin in comfort. With a long, heavy sigh, he sat down next to you, forcing you to meet his eyes with your red, puffy ones. The deep sadness started to cloud him, and Neteyam wanted nothing more than to take away your pain, to shield you from the cruel words that had been spoken by Ao'nung.

"Ugh, this is pathetic," you chuckled weakly, gesturing at yourself, "How are you going to rescue me every time?"

“I’ll be there as many times as you need me to,” Neteyam replied softly,

Neteyam's heart ached as he watched you avert your gaze and fight back tears. His mind raced, struggling to think of something to say that could ease your pain, so he pulled you into an embrace instead. His hands gently rubbed your back and head, trying to offer comfort as you buried your face into his chest. And the tears came harder than before, louder.

"He told me that no one else would look at me after Lo'ak, because I was pathetic," you sniffled, your voice breaking. "And he is right. Maybe I should just listen to him and leave.”

“Ao’nung is the biggest skxawng on this whole island, don’t you ever believe a single word that comes out of his mouth,” Neteyam said firmly, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes, “I see you, Y/N. You have a big heart, you’re brave and strong-willed, and there is absolutely nothing shameful about being loyal. You hear me?”

Your chest tightened with a flutter at the proximity of Neteyam, and your heart began to race as you found yourself lost in his deep amber eyes. It was getting harder to deny the pull you have felt towards him and have been feeling for the past many weeks, since the confession.

“I just want you to be happy,” he added.

“Being with you makes me happy,” you whispered.

He gulped down nervously, scared that it was yet another thing he’d misinterpret. That you were probably referring to his friendship with you, nothing more. But his cheeks flushed regardless, feeling a soft touch of the atokirinas settling on his shoulders. And as they surrounded the two of you, like a sign from Eywa, you brushed your hand against his chest.

“Neteyam,” you said, your voice dripping like honey to his ears, “There was one thing Ao’nung was right about… I like you,” you admitted.

Your eyes darted between his widened pupils and parted lips, mind clouded with his scent and the warmth of his touch, with the spell of the atokirinas swirling around you, as if they were blessing you. You could feel the way his breath hitched, when you leaned forward, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Without hesitation, he pulled you closer, his heart pounding so hard in his chest, he was afraid it would jump out. You were much more intoxicating than he had imagined, making him want to scream at the top of his lungs. His thumb rubbed gentle circles to the back of your neck, as you relaxed into him more, and fit perfectly into the curve of his body. Like you were made for him.

“I was too blind before,” you pulled away slightly, your lips curling up into a gentle smile.

Neteyam chuckled bitterly, the sound filled with disbelief and self-doubt. His hands found their way to your waist, bringing your body to his lap. He wanted to be sure that you really wanted this, that he didn’t just catch you in the heat of the moment. But his hesitance melted away, when you kissed him again.

“I see you too, Neteyam…”

He had never felt so alive, so happy, so loved.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

taglist (also tagging everyone who interacted with the teaser post): @bigdikzaddy @awriana @scarletrosesposts @abbersreads @mechformers @my-love-of-books @avatarbyamara @robin-the-enby @minjix @nilrilie @grierpilots @suntizme @jakesully-sbabygirl @netemoon @live-laugh-neteyam @misscaller06 @darkacademictrash @arminsgfloll @kireysiaugustine @crustskullz @dollyplayhouse @jellybeanstacey0519 @itscheybaby @loaksky @n7ytiri @theycallmesia @love-chx @gloryavila @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream

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