#but on the other hand no one seems all that broken up about his death???

[kradogsrats]

ngl I would pay someone actual money to go to a writers Q&A and ask if they can tell us what happened to King Atticus or if that will be revealed elsewhere

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, domestic violence, abuse, suicidal ideations, suicide attempts, accidental murder, death

gn reader

You should have never fallen in love with someone so brash, but you like seeing the good in people much to the abuse of your own. Still, rough around the edges as he was, you’d never thought he’d become such a monster.

The first time he slapped you, you were so shocked you’d ended up the one who apologized—all the way convinced you must have deserved it. And ever since then, you’ve only accumulated more bruises in areas you can’t explain.

You’re in the bathroom now. The door’s locked, but you don’t think it’ll keep him out for long.

“Open the door, babe—I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t even know if he has himself convinced of that or if he’s just saying it to soothe you. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that your wrist and rib are broken. You’re so terrified you think you might end up dying from the fear alone, sitting in the bathtub just waiting for the inevitable.

You don’t have a phone—it was taken when an old boyfriend had texted. You’d share his from then on, he said—better that way so he can keep track of you. It’s strange, but somehow, you believed it was rather romantic. 

You were going to leave this time. It would be so simple. He was at work, and you’d just leave everything and walk right out the door. But there was an incident at the office which made him come home early only to catch you red-handed heading out the door you know you’re not supposed to open without him.

You’d been so panicked you’d tried running—but there was really no chance. His arms caught you hard, and the floor he threw you back on met you even harder—hence the snapped bones.

Still, you’d managed to scramble to the bathroom with just enough time to lock it behind you.

And now you were left all out of options.

“Open the door, we’ll talk. Maybe I misunderstood.” His voice had calmed down now. He’d been at it for a while—he sounded more airy, teetering on frantic, and it only served to scare you even more. “I know it can get pretty cramped in ‘ere all alone. Maybe you were just getting some fresh air, is all?” He left the question a couple of seconds worth of breath before sending his fist into the door. “Come on, answer me!”

You were sobbing. He might actually kill you this time. God knows you’ve thought he would other times with both his hands wrapped tight around your throat, stringing you up, making you lose voice for days.

You thought about it—the razor blades in the drawer. It seemed like the only option left. Better you than him, right? He’d make it painful. Or worse, he might not go through with it at all, and you’d be stuck living with him forever.

That really did seem worse than death, you thought, sitting on the floor while holding the shiny metal piece to your wrist. Which way was best to cut again? Right. It’ll be quick, and then it’ll be over.

You don’t even hear the door breaking down before he’s on you. You don’t even realize you’ve cut before you see the red. You don’t even know whose blood it is before he gags on it—before it splutters from his mouth upon your face and the slice on his neck splits upon and gushes out like a waterfall all over your clothes.

He drops to the floor with a heavy thud a moment later.

The blood is so warm you don’t even understand how he’s dead.

You even think about stopping the bleeding for a moment, but then it suddenly settles. And then along, shortly after, the understanding that you’d killed him.

The razor hits the bloody tiles with no sound—it’s all so thick it splats before sinking, disappearing slowly. You swallow once, but you’re throat is all but dry. Even the tears had stopped in the shock.

You spot the phone on the floor, having slid from his pocket—moments away from drowning in the blood that seems to just continue seeping and spreading forever. Something within you grabs it before it can.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Hi! Uhm… I’ve just killed my boyfriend.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Enji, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ DS – Akaza, Inosuke, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[stormhearty]

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

How to train your pet Human pt.2 (Yandere!Alien X GN!Reader)

part 1, part 3

CW: Abduction, imprisonment, yandere themes, death, pet/owner relationship, tickle torture, humiliation, sexual themes, angst

"There they are~" Kirtch bent to pick (Reader) up, lifting them easily like a child and carrying them with one hand under their butt. (Reader's) face scrunched up in embarrassment. They were wearing an ugly shirt, both baggy and synched tightly, flowy around the body but locked in place like a neck corset at the top and wrists. When Kirtch first presented the tacky gift, (Reader) had ran to hide, forcing Kirtch to wrestle the outfit onto them.

With all of the unnecessary buttons and ties, (Reader) was incapable of taking it off themselves, and was now sulking.

"I have a lot of duties today that cannot be completed in my office, so I thought you might enjoy coming with me so you don't have to be couped up alone." Kirtch gently knocked his forehead into (Reader's).

'Escape chance, escape chance, escape chance-' "Yeah, that sounds nice." (Reader) tried to contain their excitement, consciously aware of their heart beating loudly in their chest.

"Wonderful! I've packed a couple of toys to keep you occupied if you get bored, as well as snacks." He replied happily, seeming so pleased with himself as he briskly walked down the hall from his bedroom towards the main hall. The two passed by many other aliens walking up and down the corridors, none of whom seemed to be the same species as Kirtch. Everyone wore the same cloak, standing them out from the creatures in the shopping district, a uniform slightly lighter in color than Kirtch's. Most would pause while walking to rub a hand over where their noses should have been, and Kirtch would raise a hand in response.

"What are they doing?" (Reader) whispered.

"It is a sign of respect. I am their superior, so if they are not in a rush to get somewhere they are greeting me."

Fear tickled (Reader's) spine. "Are you guys in the military?"

Kirtch laughed, a high pitch clicking sound that almost sounded like a broken music box. "No. I'm just an upper level leader in our trading company."

They arrived in front of a decorated wall, and Kirtch squeezed (Reader) a little while smiling. "Now this is a very important meeting, I need you to be as quiet as possible, okay?"

(Reader) huffed. "I'm not a child."

"I know you aren't. You're a very sweet pet, who is most definitely a grown adult human."

They felt humiliated. It had been almost a month since they were bought by Kirtch, and they did everything in their power to not anger him or appear as though they needed "release". (Reader) constantly watched and waited for the perfect escape attempt, while fighting off Kirtch's affections in as non threatening a way as possible. Like they were emulating a cat. (Reader's) skin burned, but they held back their tongue.

The wall opened, revealing a board room (at least that's what (Reader) assumed it was), a bare room only decorated with a long table surrounded by stools. Kirtch sat (Reader) on the floor and pulled out a sack from the inside of his cloak. While they didn't want to immediately act the part of a good pet, (Reader) was curious as to what was in the bag. The first thing they pulled out, however, was a taxidermied cat. (Reader's) eyes widened, and they couldn't contain their anxiety, shaking as they stared into the cat's glass eyes. Was this some kind of threat?

"Do you like it? I've been meaning to buy you more human toys, so I thought you would appreciate a stuffed animal." Realizing that the 'gift' was not malicious, the nervousness immediately dissolved into mental fatigue.

"Oh. I get it. Stuffed animal. Yeah." They put the animal back in the bag, hoping Kirtch didn't think their exhausted smile was permission to buy more dead bodies.

More aliens entered the room, greeting Kirtch before taking their seats. (Reader) couldn't understand what the meeting was about, since they were all speaking in Kirtch's native tongue, but their voices and faces were tense. The meeting went on for well over an hour, but (Reader) found it surprisingly entertaining, dubbing over their conversation inside their mind like Mystery Science Theater, chuckling with how wild their hand movements were. It was very human of them.

(Reader) fucked up, accidently snorting at one of the angrier aliens. Although they didn't understand the language, one of his sentences sounded awfully like "Pineapple farts", and with how intense his face was, it made it seem like he was describing how his ass felt. Their sound was so quiet it was almost inaudible, but the alien still noticed and spun his head in (Reader's) direction so quickly his exoskeleton creaked. (Reader) bit their lip to hide a smile, turning away from the conference to pretend to munch on their fruit (?) slices.

The irate alien began ranting louder, and (Reader) caught a word they had heard from a few of the underlings they had been introduced to. Bah-blk. Human.

Shit.

They snuck a glance towards the group very slowly to view Kirtch's expression, worried they may have angered him by interrupting the meeting. And indeed, his almost perfectly flat face was pulled into a scowl, but it wasn't aimed at (Reader).

"(Reader), pet, could you come here for a moment?"

His voice was light and smooth, as it always was when speaking to (Reader), but Kirtch's face was grave as he refused to break eye contact with the alien in front of him; said alien's shell glistened like he was sweating under Kirtch's glare. (Reader), not wanting to be punished later, left their spot on the floor and shuffled over to their owner. Kirtch pulled (Reader) into his lap the second they were within his reach, still staring daggers at the poor alien across the table.

He spoke to the offender, holding (Reader) lovingly with one arm as if to make a point. The man was panicked, waving his arms and sweating profusely, sounding apologetic. It wasn't enough, whatever it was he was saying. He referenced (Reader) as Bah-blk again, and then he was dead.

Before (Reader) could understand what it was that Kirtch had pulled out of his robe, a soundless shot was fired across the table, green blood splattering across the wall as the alien's head was pierced by some kind of projectile.

Everyone turned away, unsurprised by the killing. It was a lukewarm reaction, as though this wasn't the first time they witnessed someone die at Kirtch's hand. The body fell, head slamming into the table with a wet thud.

(Reader) didn't know what he had said, but to kill him... It was jarring. The young adult hadn't payed any attention to the tears dripping down their chin until Kirtch wiped them off. The roughness of his hand startled (Reader), making them flinch away from his touch.

For the rest of the meeting (Reader) couldn't pry their eyes away from the dead body lying across from them. It was a nightmare seemingly without an end, staring at a corpse while his murderer held (Reader) tenderly, rubbing his thumb on their side absentmindedly while discussing business with colleagues like it was a regular Tuesday.

If (Reader) was more aware, they would be disgusted with themselves for not fighting Kirtch as he picked them up to go back to their room, but they just wanted to go back to the safety of their *bed*, and couldn't force their brain to focus on anything else.

The bed was more like a twin sized pillow nestled in a metal cage, but it was soft and felt secure, like when (Reader) was young and thought that hiding under their blanket would protect them from the shadow people in their closet.

"Are you alright, (Reader)?" Kirtch asked, his voice full of concern.

(Reader) curled up, pulling the blanket tight over their face.

Kirtch sighed, and crouched down by (Reader's) bed. "(Reader), please don't be upset with me. If this is about my colleague, please know that what I did was necessary."

"Murder is never necessary."

"He tried to accuse me of not being.. as invested in the job as I should be. And that the reason for my lack of dedication was you. He used very strong language." Kirtch placed a hand on (Reader's) back. "I told him not to disrespect you. Yet he continued."

(Reader) began crying, shaking under Kirtch's touch. "Are you saying that I'm the reason he's dead?"

"Oh, pet.." Kirtch sighed again, pulling (Reader) out of the fetal position and into his arms. "I've always been incredibly interested in humanity. When I was a young child, there was a 'book' in my father's study about primitive species, and that's how I learned about humans. Did you know that you and I experience life differently from one another? Our brains function differently. We have different pain receptors; our brains' physiology are almost nothing alike; the diseases humans are capable of developing simply for existing are concepts we've never had to worry about. Even how we perceive the color spectrum, humans are so unlike any other sentient species I have met."

"I was so fascinated by Earth, especially by humans. We are not allowed to visit Earth as it is a restricted area, so much of what we know is recorded knowledge from captured defectors. My chances of meeting a human were next to none. Then, we had to dock in Dol-Hu, a shady planet only inhabited by criminals and those in hiding. And wandering through the market, I saw you."

"The one thing I've always wanted, for the past seventy years, I recognized you as a human immediately, even though you were so much cuter than I could have expected. You're so soft, and fragile, in comparison to my armoured flesh. You were bent over, but I knew from descriptions I had memorized what you were. As one who has always loved Earth, I am fluent in every Earth language we know of, so I was excited to communicate with you. I was so eager to have a piece of humanity. And now here you are."

(Reader) rolled over, their heart clenching painfully as they looked up into Kirtch's sadly smiling face. "I wonder what I look like through your eyes."

Their heart began doing somersaults in their throat as the tears continued flowing.

"You may have been the only human I've ever known, but I can say with confidence that you must have been the best humanity had to offer. I only want to give you the best life possible."

(Reader) wrapped their arms around Kirtch's midsection, sobbing loudly. His body didn't bend or squish under the full strength of (Reader's) embrace. And that was how (Reader) fell asleep, crying themselves into a nap.

When they awoke, they were alone, lying in the bed with the cat tucked into their arms. (Reader) left the room to find Kirtch at his desk, working on paperwork. The giant heard (Reader) behind him, and turned his attention on them, smiling as he held out his arms in an offer to pick them up. And much to his surprise, (Reader) willingly entered into his embrace, and allowed him to set them on his lap without pouting or making a fuss.

"I have a few more documents to look over, then I can play with you, okay?"

"Okay." Their voice was quiet and monotone, (Reader's) mind still fuzzy from crying so much before falling asleep.

"Are you still upset? Is there anything I can do to make you happy?"Kirtch laid down his work, trapping (Reader) in his arms.

"No.. you can continue working."

"You're more important than my work. I consider your unhappiness to be a crises."

Worry began to prick at (Reader's) skin. "I'm really fine, we don't need to play!"

"Need?"

Memories of the day (Reader) was bought flashed through their mind, causing them to go red and hot as they started to squirm in Kirtch's embrace. "I-I- didn't mean it like that!"

One hand left (Reader's) body to grab something from Kirtch's desk. "Don't fret, I recently purchased a new toy I thought would bring you joy."

(Reader's) eyes bulged out as they froze in anticipation, their heart hammering in their chest. But what Kirtch retrieved did not appear safe to go near any genitalia, a strange contraption formed of multiple thin prongs on a handle. Embarrassed that they had assumed something sexual was about to happen, (Reader) bit the inside of their cheek, puzzling over the strange discomfort they were feeling. "What's that?"

Kirtch raised (Reader's) shirt, and dragged the device across their skin, causing an involuntary shudder. It tickled.

"Ah! No!" (Reader) accidentally laughed, trying to push Kirtch away. He trailed the toy from their pelvic area visible above their pants to their left armpit. The light tingling sensation forcibly clenched their stomach muscles as they let loose a howl of laughter.

They couldn't breathe correctly, laughing so hard that their spasming abdominals made it feel like they were choking. But they couldn't stop, begging Kirtch to "knock it off" while their cheeks hurt from the smile they had. That damn toy tickled every inch of their body, not even noticing when Kirtch removed their pants. They kicked futilely, unable to break free from the assault. Their sensitive skin was almost becoming painful to the touch, but the laughter only got louder.

"pleASE! KIRTCH, stop!!" (Reader) heaved. Their whole body felt tender, highly reactive to each touch. Which made them aware of the fact that the only thing separating them from Kirtch's lap was a thin pair of underpants. With how they had been writhing on his lap, they were relieved that Kirtch didn't seem to have a dick that could become aroused from such movements.

(Reader's) smile fell. I have no idea how Kirtch's species reproduces. Maybe he can get erections, but he won't get one for me because he sees me as a pet. An animal. Their heart turned to concrete as it dropped out of its cage.

Kirtch halted his attack when he saw (Reader) go limp. "Are you tuckered out, pet?"

(Reader) tried to slide off his lap like jelly. "I'm done playing. I want to go back to bed."

"Alright, my stubborn little grump, what is it now? You were all smiles but a second ago, so what is it plaguing your mind?"

They tried to scrunch up their nose to prevent more tears from sheepishly forming. "I'm not a pet. I'm a human. I want to be treated like an equal!"

Kirtch's smile was replaced by a hurt scowl. "Is it so unpleasant being my pet?"

"No!" (Reader) interjected, not understanding why it pained them so much to see Kirtch upset, "I just want to, I just.. I don't know. This is confusing, and it feels.. weird. You're really nice to me, and sometimes it feels like... but then other times you treat me like I'm a cat. This isn't what I want. Either be a bastard and treat me like an animal or treat me like-" Their words caught in their throat. Treat me like what?!

A fearful kiss was placed on their forehead, ghostly with hardly any pressure. Kirtch's hands trembled on (Reader's) sides. "All I wish is to adore you for the rest of your life."

He pulled (Reader) into his chest, petting their back in a comforting manner. "I'll give you anything you ask for, I'll do anything you ask of me. Just to keep you happy, with me. You are all that I've ever wanted. All I wish is to care for you, and spend all my attention on you. If there is anything you want, please ask me. I need you to love me."

(Reader) felt so confused. Like a squid was destroying their gut, everything was uncomfortable and scary. They knew that Kirtch viewed them as a pet, he loved them how (Reader) loved their family dog as a child. But when they heard him begging for their love, it made them wish for an odd moment that he wasn't an alien. That (Reader) was sitting on their boyfriend's lap right now, a strange human man who sometimes infantalized them but only out of affection. Why couldn't this be simple? Why did (Reader) want him to kiss them right at that moment?

"I want to go home. I want to meet someone kind and fall in love." (Reader's) words stabbed Kirtch in places he never knew could hurt.

"I can't do that, (Reader)..." Kirtch's embrace constricted almost painfully tight. "You're all I've ever wanted. You can't ask me to let you go. I'll take such good care of you, you'll see. I have the rest of your life to make you fall in love with me."

They sat there, holding one another in agonizing silence, both loving each other in a way that they couldn't explain. The way their brains functioned didn't just mean that Kirtch could see a wider range of colors than (Reader), but the way their species experienced love was too vastly different for the other to comprehend. Despite Kirtch wanting to own (Reader), that was the greatest love he had ever felt, since his species did not pair bond and only mated when two beings agreed amicably that they wished to procreate. He knew that humans felt many forms of love, love for a mate, love for their offspring, love for a friend.. but to something that never felt any of those forms of love, Kirtch couldn't understand the difference between them.

"I love you, my little pet. And I will always love you."

[thewritetofreespeech]

Tender Loving Care

pairing: Aemond x Reader

summary: after a training accident, Aemond's wife takes care of him. In more ways than one.

tags: heterosexual sex, cowgirl, massage, hand job, cum eating, cranky Aemond is a good boy for his wife, mentions of the other members of the Green but not present.

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

Training accidents were as common as breathing if one wanted to master the sword.

If one wanted to hold a blade, then one must also be prepared to suffer its bite. Aemond was well aware of this. Even though it was just training, play fighting for the knights & instructors brought in from all over Westeros to teach the prince, he had been cut before. Nothing serious. Nothing like his eye. He wishes it had been. It would make this latest injury less wounding than the others.

A simple misstep, that was all. His own clumsiness was what put him in this bed. His leg wasn’t broken or maimed, but twisted in his fall, to the point that he could put no weight on it. Or at least that was what the maesters said.

2 weeks. That was the punishment for his own mistake. He was not to leave this bed save to relieve himself and the few moments a day he was granted to stand & test his legs progress. Each day was a new torment. Not for the pain, Aemond could handle that, but the failure of trying his leg and only have it betray him again & again. He wondered how his father did it all those years trapped in his bed. Aemond would have begged for death sooner.

“Husband,” the prince looked up from his window and thoughts of limping over to throw himself out of it, when his wife’s voice came into the room.

One of his few constant visitors during his confinement. Helaena came to visit him but was busy with her children. Aegon only came once, to taunt him about his trip more than anything before he left and a back handed ‘get better Aemond the Fierce!’. His mother came as well but flapped between concern and scolding for his ‘recklessness’. She was the only one who seemed genuinely concerned for him, though her concern was not needed. Aemond did not wish to feel more like an invalid than he already did. “What is it?”

“It is time to change the bandage on her leg.” To keep it straight. To keep him bound, he thought with a spat, although Aemond arched a brow at the comment.

“Where is the maester?” His wife was many things, but she was no practitioner of medicine nor magic.

She sighed. “Did you really expect them to come back willingly after last time?” Aemond pursed his lips.

Under the best of circumstances, Aemond was aware that he was not the most agreeable person in the realm. Could anyone really blame him? His existence had taught him over & over that it was better to lash out and cut first, lest you be the one who is sliced. Metaphorically, of course. He wasn’t a mad man like some of his ancestors. And attached to this bed the only weapon at his disposal was his words. He had cursed, jeered, and ranted, honestly uncharacteristic of himself, at the maester who had attended to his leg the day before and had the nerve to tell him his progress was splendid. If it was so splendid then why was he still in this bed? If he was such a great man of knowledge and skill, why hadn’t he healed him yet?! He should go back to whatever dung heap he crawled out of and beg alms for to the gods for wasting a fine Citadel education on an incompetent!!

The prince said a few more unkind things before he forbade any of them from touching him again. He did not think they would take him seriously.

“So, they sent you to do the work of a common barrio healer since they do not wish to do their jobs?”

“I think it was more that they thought you wouldn’t scratch at me. More fool they then, hn?”

Aemond sunk further into his pillows, sulking. He doesn’t mean to scratch at her. He doesn’t mean to scratch at any of them, honestly. He just wanted to get out of his bed and go on with his life. To have the world move on around him, to grow weak and irrelevant in this bed, was the real punishment. “I’m sorry.” He apologized. “…thank you…for helping me…”

“You’re welcome Aemond.”

How quick she was to accept his apology. How quick she was to help him, already coming to his side despite his scratching, when he needed her. No wonder he was always alone….

The prince did what he could for her as he raised his leg from the pillow propping it up and held it there while she unwrapped the old dressing. “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” It was not meant as a slight. Just a genuine curiosity on if she knew the proper way to wrap his injury.

His wife just chuckled. “Yes, Aemond. Despite not wanting to come in here on their own, the maesters did instruct me on how to do it properly.” Cowards, he thought. “There! All done.”

Aemond looked at his leg with his good eye and tried to flex at his foot. His nostrils flared at the persistent pain, but it was wrapped correctly. He was impressed. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I want you healed as soon as possible as well.” Her hand reached for his on the bed and clasped it. “In fact…I was told of another treatment….one that might help with the…circulation in your leg.”

“Oh?” Aemond was curious about that. Trapped in this bed, his legs were not getting the work out that they normally would. Training aside, the walk around the castle was enough exercise for most lords. He hadn’t been able to go more than a few steps for days. His legs teetered between weightlessness and the sharp pricks of falling asleep all the time. “Will it improve my condition?”

“It….could…” She seemed unconvinced. Avoiding, even. But perhaps that was because the last person who made remarks about the improvement of his condition was threatened to be fed to Vhagar. “Will you let me try it?”

What was there to lose, he thought, and Aemond nodded before he helped her take off his lower bed linens so both his legs were bare. A small vial appeared out from her pocket, and she poured some of its contents onto her hands before rubbing them together and placing them on his leg. “Just…try to relax for me.”

A hefty ask, but he does try. All he could do recently was ‘try to relax’. ‘Rest, my prince’, ‘you need time to heal’. It was all he had heard for the past days, to the point that any word close to ‘relax’ had almost the opposite effect on him. But for her, he does try. For her it worked a little. His shoulders finally untensing. Looking at her in the candlelight. Soft feelings swelling at the touch of her soft hands. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes.” He answered, almost without thinking. It did feel good. He didn’t realize how stiff his leg was until this moment.

Aemond let out a deep exhale. Not really a sigh, just the release of all the air in his lungs and tension built in his body. His eye closed as he laid back and let his wife work. They aren’t strong, but persistent. He continued to enjoy until he felt her hands shift up higher. Up his calf where his injury was to above his knee. “What are you doing?”

“What??” Her shocked face was particularly adorable in the soft light. Wide, wild eyes. Body frozen save for a soft tremble in her shoulders. “I..I’m rubbing your leg. I told you.”

“My injury is not there though.” He told her logically. Gaze still fixed on her for any kind of reveal.

“I…I know…” Her hands shift to seem to want to move away from him, but she willed them to stay still. “I just thought…maybe there was some other tension I could help you with….”

It was Aemond’s turn to be shocked, but he doesn’t show it on his face like she does. His wife was a lady. A demure, kind, noble one at that. Though she wasn’t nearly as boring & cow eyed as the other noble ladies on offer to him at the time of his betrothal, or so Aemond assumed as he didn’t pay much attention to any of them, boldness like this was not heard of in their marriage. She never denied him. Seemed fond of when they were together; or at least made all the right noises like she did. But it was always he who initiated such acts in their bedroom. To see her offer, and on offer, as he finally took in her appearance and the thin robe she had come to him in, Aemond would not deny that it was quite arousing.

Without another word, Aemond parted his legs further to give her room. If this was her intention, he would not deny her. There was a flush on her cheeks that bleed down her neck towards the V of her robe when he did this. Her resolve seeming to waiver, and disappointment started to drip into his chest at the prospect he may have ruined this too with his terrible attitude, but she continued.

The prince sighed. Gladdened to feel her hands on him again and closed his eye with a newfound desire for his treatment, now that he knew what was going on. “Higher.”

“Here?”

Her coquettish tone was a tonic to his ears. She was enjoying this. She was enjoying touching him and playing with him. His cock jumped as it filled fuller. More aroused by the fact that his wife truly did want him than her hands close, but not close enough, to his member. “Higher.”

“Here?”

Aemond opened his eye and genuinely growled at his wife. Though this game was amusing, enticing, it had been days since he’d found release. Being stuck in this bed did not really spur a person on towards desire. And though she laid with him at night like a good wife she had been spared from her ‘wifely duties’ for some time as Aemond was either still in too much pain from his leg, or unable to move it to perform the act, or in too bad of a mood to make the effort. Having her close. Feeling her touch. It was like the flood gates opened on a dam he had long since locked up and threw away the key on. “Please….”

His kind, noble, demure wife took pity on him, and also took his cock in her hand. Aemond’s head tilted back as he moaned. Her soft hands stroking his member from under his night shirt slowly, deliberately. She had touched him before, so she knew how he liked it, but honestly she could have touched him anyway she liked. Like a clumsy novice that first night they were together, and he still would have melted in her hands.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.” Again, without thought. But headier this time. More needy. He opened his eye to look upon his wife and found her staring at him. Those bright eyes darkened with desire. He’d never seen it before; mostly because when they were together her face was either buried in his chest, or shoulder, or in the pillows. Aemond bit his bottom lip hard. Trying not to cum at just the sight of her.

“It’s ok.” She told him in a whisper. Like it was a secret between the two of them. “You can let go husband. Will you let go for me?”

It was the softest command that Aemond had ever heard, and yet it forced him to obey more than any other. His back pressed further back into the pillows as his head tilted back again. His cock spasming in her hand as his seed leapt out from the tip. Covering her hand and perhaps getting some on her pretty robe by her knee. He would have to get her another one.

He opened his eye again after coming down from his high. Just in time to see her lick his seed off the palm of her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Well, the royal seed is sacred, is it not?” Her grin was soft, but mischievous. “We should not waste it.”

Aemond’s hand darted out to grab hold of her arm and drag her down to him in a deep, needy kiss. Apparently the flood gates he thought were released earlier were in truth just a leak in the levees. This was when the dam broke now. The need he had for her burning so hot that he could almost taste blood at the back of his tongue, his blood was boiling so hot.

He tried to spread his legs wider to make more room for his wife, but when he moved, he was reminded (painfully) of his injury. “Damnit!” The prince hissed against his wife’s lips. The throbbing in his leg almost in tandem with his cock.

“Sssh…it’s ok Aemond.” He wanted to bite at her soft words.

It was not ok! None of this was ok! He was injured, in pain, stuck in this bed, and now he couldn’t even fuck his wife! He felt useless. He felt angry. He felt humiliated not being able to do things as a man should, and he just wanted to get back to normal!

Before he could tell her any of this, however, his wife pulled back and removed her robe from her body. Mesmerizing in the fire light. No Valyrian alabaster, but still just as dazzling to Aemond. Shift discarded, his wife raised her hips and inched closer to hover them over his own. “The maester said not to move unless absolutely necessarily.” He wanted to argue that laying with his wife was absolutely necessarily, particularly in this moment, but all his words left him on a moan as she lowered herself onto him. “So you just stay there. L-Let me take care of you.” The little stammer in her voice as she started rolling her hips almost sent Aemond into a frenzy, but he endured.

He genuinely couldn’t move with her on top of him like this and his position on the bed. Though why would be want to? For the first time since his accident, Aemond was actually ecstatic to be stuck here in this bed. His wife lovingly impaling herself on his member. Riding him with skill just short of a dragon rider. If he had the wits still about him, he would have chuckled at his own joke. ‘Dragon rider’. As it was though he was stupid with lust. Dumb, witless, helpless at her mercy as she took from him everything and gave him back so much. He still had brains at least to return the favor.

His wife cried out when he reached up to cup her breast. The weight of them in his hands something he missed. Aemond does not get a lot of time to enjoy them, however, as his wife suddenly fell forward. Covering his body with her own. Hips still moving but at a much snappier pace with the depleted gap between them. He didn’t care though. His hands just repositioned themselves on her other mounds at her backside and pressed her to move faster.

“A-Aemond!” Her cries were his music. The tempo in which he set a new rhythm.

The wet sound of their sexes kissing along with their actual kissing fill the room, until it all stopped in one bright, shining moment of his wife shaking on top of him while her fists tried to fight his pillows and he spilled inside her this time.

He wished he could hold her like this for longer. Her weight a comfort, like a blanket, in his arms. But she rolled over onto his non-injured side to lay beside him. It was good enough. “Do you feel better now?”

Aemond looked down at her, having to turn his head completely as to not just look at her with the sapphire in his eye, realizing at last what this was about. Her idea of a good will effort. To lift his spirits and relieve his tension. Maybe keep him from trying to execute more of the maesters in the castle. “Yes. I’m feeling better.”

She smiled, then placed a soft kiss on his shoulder. “Good.”

The fingers from the hand around her own shoulders played with her hair as he stared at the ceiling. “Was this all just for me though?”

His wife looked at him with a perplexed look, but then realized what he was asking and blushed. She was smart enough to figure it out. “Not…all of it. I did want you to be in better spirits but…I have missed you.”

The corner of Aemond’s lips ticked up. Pleased, and pleased with himself. He did not think his sexual prowess was worth much compared to his prowess with a sword or strategy. But to hear that his wife wanted him, truly wanted him, was all the praise he would ever need. “So, you came up with this idea to satisfy both of us, ābrazyrys.”

“It wasn’t….all my idea…” Aemond arched a brow at his wife’s words. Curious now where she had got the idea from, as it had clearly come from somewhere. “Aegon commented on your bad mood and how someone should ‘cheer you up’. He gave me the idea, but the rest of it was all my doing.”

Aemond wasn’t sure which comment he was more shocked about. The fact that his brother knew how he was faring in his recovery, or the fact that he made lewd comments to his wife. He was battering between feelings of an odd sense of touched and white hot furry, but he decided to just let it go for now and enjoy his wife. “Well, thank you, regardless. In future I will try not to scratch at you while I am still confined to this bed. Lest you ask.”

She giggled when he kissed the top of her forehead. “And the maesters?”

“They are on their own.” Idiots. “I make no promises on their safety, but I will…endeavor to be of better character in the future.” At least not threaten to feed them to Vhagar. That seemed a reasonable adjustment.

[saltofmercury]

Sentimental

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Author's note: Writing feels so good!!! I'm so happy to be writing again :)

Summary: Jason holds onto things that make him emotional. That doesn’t make him emotional.

*

Jason Todd would never call himself emotional.

He prefers the term sentimental. Sentimental is what surrounds the items in his trinket box. There’s not many items inside —some personal information mostly. A death certificate, a watch, and more recently items from you. A scrunchie, a broken keychain, and notes.

He had noticed the bracelets, gold and silver trinkets decorating your arm, then something not as shiny, the weird black ribbon scrunchie. The scrunchie you never gave it to him.

He watched as you pushed your hair back, your hands guiding the elastic weaving through your hair, sitting on top of your head.

What was left was the red indent on your wrist. You seemed to pay no attention to it, but he did not like the idea of something leaving a mark on you. Red and indented. The angry mark kept being shown, often closed off by your other bracelets.

“Does this hurt?” He asked you later at night wondering how it hadn’t gone down since the afternoon. 

“No, I get these all the time.” You say, carefully gauging his reaction.

“But I don’t like the impression it leaves you with.” He scowled, rubbing his thumb along the indent. 

Impressed by the mark it did leave—He took the scrunchie the next day, wearing it for a total of five hours. He had come back to the apartment you two shared, showing you the indent of his own. Now he keeps your scrunchie on his arm, willing to hold it for you. You never really take it back though, you just let him hold onto it. Seeing how he fidgets and snaps it on his own. He doesn’t give it back either.

Sentimental over the keychain you bought him for the key to your apartment. A big step in your relationship, where he had been earning your trust, giving you space, waiting for you to take the next step — you just wanted some peace of mind from him entering through the balcony window.

It had been a small joke between you guys about how you wish you had a pocket sized “him” so you could tell him at any moment anything that happened during your work day.

It prompted the idea to make him into a Lego.

You carefully selected the top, bottom, and head, and even added a red cap on top as an inside joke for his mask.

Jason could hardly respond. It leaves him tongue tied at the little figurine placed in his hand. Your smile beaming at him, then, expressionless when he doesn’t say anything. 

“You don’t like it?” You pout, hoping you didn’t cause offense.

He stares back at you intensely, suddenly breathless.

“I love it.”

He does wish he were more careful with it. After falling from a two story building, he had landed on it causing the little figurine to crack into multiple pieces. He would have taken a dislocated shoulder over the broken keychain.

“You fell on it?” you ask, seeing it cracked in multiple pieces in your hands.

“The guy snuck up on me and kicked me off the ledge.”

“And you fell … on it? Didn’t that hurt?” You peer up from your hands concerned he’s not fused with any other Lego pieces on his leg.

He tries to glue it back together, seeing the irony in himself in the Lego pieces. It frustrates him, he places it in a bag and puts it away in the box. He just starts to keep the key around his neck. The next day he gets surprised by the different figurine.

“Don’t land on this one ok?” You smile up at him.

Sentimental over every note you’ve ever written him— which causes his small box to overflow with colors of

“I’ll be back with dinner”

“went to the market” 

“Ice cream in the freezer!”

And all the “I love you’s see you later”

Scribbled in your writing on blue, white, pink, and yellow scraps of paper, post-its, and notepads. 

What seemed like a small note was a reminder to him that someone does come back for him. 

Someone is there for him.

So no, Jason Todd isn’t emotional. He’s just sentimental.

[ellecdc]

HI QUEEN 🎀🩷🎀🩷

I literally just atalkws all your marauders fics for like 2 solid hours. You're writing is healing me at this point.

I was wondering if your requests were open? And if they are can I please request a fic that happens directly after the first war (marauders era) and reader has ptsd and maybe got triggered by the smallest of domestic actions done by one of the boys and comfort ensues for the episode and aftermath guilt?

I'm sorry it's oddly specific, just fighting some demons rn and your awesome writing kinda does the trick heheh

please feel free to ignore this one! love u <33

thanks for your request, love. hope things have been easier on you as of late <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader who is struggling with PTSD [1.5k words]

CW: PTSD, post-war, mention of past character death/grief, panic attack, hurt/comfort

The war had taken its toll on all of you; ghosts of the people you lost and the people you all once were haunted you, reminding you of scars both visible and invisible that coloured every aspect of your life.

There were things that the four of you staunchly refused to talk about; Remus refused to speak about his time in the feral packs, Sirius refused to speak about his brother, James refused to speak about Peter’s betrayal, and you refused to speak about what happened when you went missing.

Perhaps there were healthier ways to manage the grief and pain, perhaps you would all benefit from reconsidering those lines each of you had drawn in the sand.

But you were all alive, you were all together, and you had your whole lives ahead of you, and for now, that was enough. 

It was enough until it wasn’t.

It was enough until Remus was sitting on the floor of your kitchen with you pulled into his chest as Sirius hovered in front of you, holding your hands against his chest as he begged you to breathe, to copy his breaths, to come back to him. 

To come back to him. 

You and James had been fussing in the kitchen making breakfast this morning; Remus being wholly uninterested in mornings but very much interested in the two of you had been sitting at the kitchen table in camaraderie as Sirius shuffled sleepily into the room. 

He took the time to admire Sirius’ sleep rumpled hair and the faint lines over his face and bare torso, clearly having rolled straight out of bed before going in search of his loves. 

You were reaching into a cupboard to retrieve Sirius’ favourite mug when he came up behind you and placed his hand at the nape of your neck at the exact moment that James burned himself at the stove; cursing loudly and dropping the pan which landed on the floor with a bang, closely followed by the sound of breaking glass. 

Remus was up from his seat in record time, aching joints be damned, and at James’ side.

“I’m sorry, I’m okay; sorry.” James gritted out, acquiescing to Remus’ probes and allowing him to examine his hand.

“Awe bubs, you got yourself good.” Remus cooed as he cast a quick aguamenti over the burn.  

“Shit, yeah.” He breathed out. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What broke?” Remus asked then, looking down at the pan that had landed horribly close to James’ feet and searching for evidence of a broken bowl.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you not drop something?” Remus clarified.

James shook his head with furrowed brows. “Just the pan.”

Their bemusement turned to concern when they heard a choked “baby” coming from Sirius’ lips. 

Remus’ stomach dropped as he turned to see you half keeled over, leaning against the counter with one hand at your abdomen and the other over your mouth as if you were suppressing a scream. 

“Is she hurt!?” James asked quickly, moving swiftly along from his own pain.

“It…I- it was me. I-” Sirius started, sinking to the floor in time with you as your legs seemed wholly unable to hold you up in your current state. 

“She’s panicking.” Remus surmised aloud, quickly tiptoeing over what he realised were shards of Sirius’ mug that you’d been procuring moments before. 

“Dove? Hey, look at me.” Remus offered as he crouched in front of you.

You shook your head quickly and sucked in a stilted breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, my love, just look at me.”

You shook your head again and tried to back further into the lower cabinets as if hoping they would simply swallow you whole.

“I’ll clean it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” Sirius pleaded, “we’re not worried about the mess.”

“I’m okay.” You sobbed, sounding anything but.

“I know you are, dove. You’re okay, come now.” Remus said as he finally joined you on the floor, leaning back against the cabinets and pulling you into his lap so that you were fully enveloped in his embrace. “Big breath, babylove, can you do that for me?”

You made a high pitched keening sound and shook your head quickly. “I’m sorry.”

Remus looked over to notice that James had his burnt hand held protectively against his chest while his other kneaded into Sirius’ shoulder as he whispered into his ear.

“Look, dove, Jamie can fix the mug no problem, and Siri’s gonna help you take big breaths, okay?” Remus tired then, stirring both boys into action as James straightened and cast a quick reparo to Sirius’ mug and Sirius shuffled over on his knees to station himself between Remus’ spread legs and in front of you. 

“Can you copy me, baby? Like this?” Sirius begged. “Just like this.”

Sirius pried your hands away from your face and encouraged them to flatten out against his chest where Remus was sure you could feel the hammering of his heart as he took a dramatic breath for your benefit. 

You choked out a few more apologies that both boys gently admonished you for as you tried to copy Sirius’ breaths; they were nowhere near as deep or graceful, but Remus was thankful for your effort nonetheless. 

James reappeared then, his own hand now wrapped with medical tape and smelling strongly of Remus’ healing balms when he held something out for you.

“Angel, can you do me a favour?” He asked extraordinarily softly that it even had Remus feeling more at ease. “Can you hold these for me?”

Remus watched your face as you wretched your eyes open - another ‘deep breath’ stilted by a sob as you looked to him - to see him holding two large spheres of ice that Sirius had for his firewhiskey. 

Sirius kept his hands gently stationed on your arms as you removed them from his chest and accepted the ice from James, still never letting go even as the ice began to melt and drip freezing water down your wrists. 

When your sobs became the occasional hiccups and Remus felt you deflate further into his embrace, he braved a gentle caress of your upper arms in warning of his presence.

“Better?” He murmured lowly into your shoulder, earning him a deep sigh that came out only slightly shaky. 

“I…think so. I’m s-”

“No, no, dove.” He admonished quickly, peppering slow kisses along your shoulder and the column of your neck. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

“I didn’t mean to cause a scene.” You murmured quietly, and Remus watched as Sirius’ face crumpled.

“You didn’t cause a scene, baby.” He argued quickly. “You were scared; I-”

James made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat as he wrapped an arm around Sirius and pressed his lips to his long-haired boyfriend’s head.

“Should we not touch you like that, dove? Here?” Remus asked carefully then; dragging a barely-there finger across the nape of your neck and watching goosebumps appear.

“No, that’s fine, I- it wasn’t that I…it was just both and I…I didn’t sleep very well and it was just…”

“Too much?” Sirius offered as James relinquished you of what was left of your ice that had you and Remus damp, drawing circles into your wrists that he still had secured in his grasp.

“Just at once, I’m sorry.”

“Angel…” James chided.

“I am sorry.” You insisted as you looked at James imploringly. “I’ve not been doing a very good job handling my shit lately and now I’ve ruined the morning for everyone.”

“It’s not your shit, baby, and it’s not only yours to handle; we’re supposed to be helping you too, yeah?” Sirius pressed as he craned his neck to meet your eye that you were trying to avoid. 

“And you didn’t ruin anything; you could never ruin anything.” James added. 

You sniffled at that and took another deep breath that hardly shook at all as you leaned further into Remus. “Is your hand okay, Jamie?”

James smiled softly at you before bending down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’ll be good as new, but I owe Moons some healing balm since I used a whole jar from his stash.”

“I’ll buy it!” Sirius announced quickly, surprising a small laugh from you.

“I’d think not, Pads; I’m the one who used it up!”

“Yes but you’re the one who was hurt, I’m the one who upset our girl.”

“I upset her too.” James countered as they began arguing who had played a bigger hand in this morning’s commotion. 

You and Remus shared a fond yet exasperated look before the two of you stood - on shaky legs after being folded up for so long - and opted to take a warm shower and change into dry clothes.

It may not have been the start to the day any of you would have liked, but you all made it out okay, you were all together, and you had your whole lives ahead of you. 

And for now, that was more than enough.

[ba9go]

Hey!!! I was wondering if you could write about reader still having really bad nightmares of katsuki’s death? With some comfort from him and whatnot. Maybe when he finally wakes up again too? Completely up to you! 🫶

(I keep seeing it on my fyp on tiktok and it has me sobbing.)

having nightmares about losing katsuki (again)

WARNING: REFERENCES TO MAJOR SPOILERS, EXPLICIT MENTION OF CHARACTER DEATH UNDER THE CUT

hurt/comfort; reader has really bad nightmares about losing katsuki again. fem reader (katsuki calls u his strong girl once at the very end!)

ever since katsuki woke up, you've been having the same nightmare for weeks.

the first time it happened, you woke up gasping for air, chest tight and heart pounding. your eyes were wide open, but you could barely see anything in the pitch black darkness. still, you whipped your head to the side, and you sigh quietly.

you could barely make out the head of blonde hair next to you. though you could barely see katsuki, you could definitely feel katsuki. his warm body was pressed up against yours. one strong arm wrapped around your waist, and the other tucked under your neck.

katsuki's here.

katsuki stirs slightly from your sudden jostling, and you can barely make out the frown that creases between his brows. you don't notice it but you hold your breath until his face relaxes again and he falls back into his peaceful slumber.

it took you a while to fall back asleep, and you didn't tell katsuki about your nightmare when you both woke up the next morning.

the nightmares persisted for weeks. it sucked, but at least it wasn't nearly as bad as when katsuki had actually been dead. you could hardly sleep during that period, spending most of your nights crying and sobbing instead. any wink of sleep you got was probably from you blacking out of sheer exhaustion.

you told yourself that it wasn't that bad. after all, katsuki's here and alive, isn't he? surely, the nightmares would go away.

but they didn't. it wasn't every night that you had nightmares, it wasn't even the same nightmare most of the time. sometimes, you'd dream of fighting shigaraki alongside katsuki until katsuki puts his own life on the line to save yourself, and you'd wake up broken and guilt-ridden. sometimes, you'd dream of not being next to katsuki in his final moments.

but one thing was constant in all of your nightmares — katsuki didn't wake up.

thankfully, katsuki doesn't seem to catch on to your nightly afflictions. he stirs on some nights where you wake up crying, but you've always managed to stifle your sobs just enough to make sure he wouldn't actually wake up.

katsuki does, however, notice your puffy, red eyes and stuffy nose the mornings after.

"allergies, huh?" katsuki huffed, grabbing your hand and placing a couple of pills on your palm.

"oh, um, yeah." you don't dare to meet katsuki's gaze. you feel like you'd crack instantly and tell him about everything. "allergies."

at some point, the nightmares stopped being just nightmares. your thoughts and fears of losing katsuki started haunting even during the day.

katsuki finishes whipping up breakfast, placing your plates on the table. you do your best to smile and thank him for the food when he sits down in front of you, but your eyes end up drifting to the scar on his face.

katsuki cocks his head to the side, raising a hand to touch his scar lightly. "what, ya think m'ugly or somethin'?"

your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently. "no, no, no, of course not! i would nev—"

"then what's botherin' ya?" katsuki pushes his plate slightly over to the side to let you know that he's fully invested in this conversation and will not resume breakfast until this conversation is had.

"what do you mean?" you try your luck anyway.

"m'not messin' around, y/n," katsuki frowns, but the look in his eyes tells you he's more worried than upset with you. "c'mon."

"i..." you started fidgeting with your hands under the table. "i've been having nightmares. about you, i mean." your eyes start to tear up as soon as you finish your sentence, and katsuki's getting up and by your side in an instant.

"darlin'," katsuki starts as he crouches down next to your chair. he takes your hands gently in his and starts tracing little circles with his thumbs. "for how long?"

"i dunno. been a few weeks."

"weeks?" katsuki echoes, and you wince. "baby, why didn't ya tell me?"

"didn't wanna burden you. i thought i was bein' silly. i mean, you're here. my brain's just—"

"scared, yeah?" katsuki finishes for you. he cups your cheek softly and looks at you so lovingly, so knowingly. of course katsuki would understand. tears streak down your cheeks, and you start to wonder why you ever thought you'd have to hide such a thing from him.

"yeah," you whispered, resting your cheek against his palm and squeezing your eyes shut. "m'sorry. i get it now. i won't hide things anymore."

katsuki wipes your tears away with calloused, soft hands, and you feel him lean in to press a soft kiss against your lips.

"that's my strong girl."

you break down completely, and katsuki holds you in steady arms and lets you cry into his shoulder, patting your head and whispering sweet nothings to you.

"m'not goin' anywhere, you got that? went through all of that to get back to you. m'here now. ya ain't gotta worry no more, alright? i've got you."

thank you so much for the request!! 🌷 i hope i did it justice hahdhwjds and sorry for the inactivity, life has been kinda hectic recently. i hope everyone's doing well :))

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s @deimosjay @iguanahykhv @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @yoyolovesdaiki @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy

[wandixx]

Danny, the Young Justice member snippet nr 2

these snippets aren't connected in anyway but just some little scenes I came up with, everyone is welcome to build up on them if they want to

Trigger warning: death mentioned, self-harm mentioned, idk, Danny gets flashback to portal incident

unrelated snippet nr 1, unrelated snippet nr 3 (?)

Out, out, out.

He tripped over his own legs and almost fell and it didn’t matter because he needed to get out. 

Away, away, away. 

He wasn’t sure if he ran or flew or dragged himself on the rough floor but he had to get away. His back hit a wall and he couldn’t get past it, intangibility just out of his grasp.

He logically knew that Zeta Tube wasn't the same as the portal but it was similar. So deadly similar.

He wasn’t sure when his own, corps-like, trembling with rigor mortis cold hands started rubbing his arms. He also wasn’t sure whether it was to comfort himself in this lonely self-hug or to try to rub hard enough that the hazmat and skin underneath would be torn, allowing him to see his own, red blood running in his veins. It was still red, right? It was still red, right? Of course it was still running, why wouldn’t it?

His knees gave up. He fell to the ground with quiet reverbatting thump, his eyes fixated on danger at the other side of the large room. He had to get further away but he couldn’t.

Because he was dying again.

Eyes full of tears and terror were jumping around, unable to see the room around him. Why couldn’t he see anything? Why were there only splashes of various colors, all contrasting with a light gray background. Were these people? Colors were moving, that seemed likely. Ghosts?! He had to get ready if these were ghosts he needed to fight them. People could be in danger and he couldn’t even stand without support. He started it, he had to take care of it, no matter how he felt right now.

His normally overly, unnaturally sensitive ears were filled with constant electric buzz from still active Zeta Tubes.

He was quite sure someone was yelling something but no matter what, Danny couldn’t understand what was being said. He tried looking around again but his teary eyes still failed him. There were no red stains though. Not in the right shade at least. No one was bleeding. It was okay for now.

Was it really? He hadn’t bled when he was dying had his accident though. It was all inside him, the crushing hollowness inside him and infinite outside pressure making his body implode. Ectoplasm bubbling in his mouth, throat, stomach and fingers, silencing his scream of agony and destroying his muscles. His limbs were limp and tense, twitching like a broken light bulb, out of his control but not out of his senses. It was so cold that it bit his bones and so hot that his skin was melting. There were screams so loud that it could shatter glass, as if every inhabitant of the Ghost Zone wanted to be heard and absolute suffocating silence. He was alone like nobody ever was and stuck in a stifling crowd that could stomp him to death any second. It was all contrasting, impossible but happening, existing together. He lived died it.

It was impossible, just like him.

There were others, they could help while Danny got himself together.

They couldn’t help if it was a ghost. He had to calm down and get ready to fight.

He couldn’t.

It was all happening again.

He was dying again.

It hurt to even think about.

Would it at least kill him for good?

Air he hadn’t needed before, not since his first death he always needed, like all functioning, alive human beings, got stuck in his lungs. He was gasping for it, choking on it. There was something stuck in his throat. SOme part of his brain that wasn’t screaming in agony and panic and loneliness had considered tearing his neck open just to get whatever was stuck swallowing but it didn’t help. 

He rubbed his arms harder. His eyes were locked on a blurred, still active portal. One of the color blobs moved, growing larger but he couldn’t think about what it meant. His arms hurt. It was good. Pain was grounding. In a gray room with few portals. Not the basement. Ghosts still could be there but it wasn't a basement. He still needed to get ready to fight

If he could feel pain, it meant he was alive, right? Ghosts never showed that they felt pain right? His parents always said they couldn’t.

He knew it was a lie but he felt like it was his last hope.

He realized that growing group of colors actually looked like a person but he had no way to tell whether they were alive or not. His ghost sense was quiet but he didn’t trust himself to not miss it. His throat was still shut tightly. His body kept twitching like a glitching character. No matter what, he couldn’t fight right then. He had to get himself together.

He scratched his arms almost violently.

Warm, soft, gentle hands pried his palms away from his arms. It wasn't a ghost. Ghosts weren't this gentle, this calmingly warm. Someone, someone who was alive, was crouching in front of him, face at the same level as his, hiding portals from his sight. Danny nearly sunk into their gentle touch.

“-om." their voice also was so gentle, filled with concern but firm enough to get to him over the buzz of portals. He tried to concentrate on this voice. He didn't want to hear portals.

"-ntom." It sounded like they were calling someone. He had to focus more to understand. Gentle grip on his wrists got more firm. There he was. He wouldn't feel it if he was dying again.

"Phantom." They called quietly, like little windbells Sam gave him as a birthday present. It was his name, they were asking him something he couldn't understand, something he couldn't do.

"I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure if any sound came out of his mouth.

Grip on his hands loosened a little, not enough for him to do anything about it, but enough to return to the pure feeling of safety and reassurance it gave him before.

“It's okay Phantom." they murmured. Danny nearly cried at their kindness and calmness. Air slowly started to fill his lungs again. It truly was okay, he wasn't dying again."Can you focus on five things you can see for me?"

He could do it. It wasn't much to repay the gentle person kneeling in front of him.

He blinked tears away and started the list in his head.

Black Canary in front of him.

Superboy in the middle of the room. He looked like he didn't know what to do.

Kid Flash next to him, ready to come to where Danny was shaking on the floor.

Robin and Artemis both made sure that Kid stayed where he was.

Miss Martian for sure feeling his panic and having trouble coping with this. He should calm down as soon as he can, he didn't want to cause any of his teammates too much stress.

Danny nodded, looking once again at the only adult hero in the room.

Molecules in his body were rearranging again. It all hurt.

"Thank you Phantom. Can you focus on four things you can hear?"

Five racing heartbeats.

One heartbeat that sounded more like buzz because of its speed. KF's heart was always weird.

Tapping of someone's feet.

Zeta Tubes.

He had been in the portal again, it had turned on with him inside again. He was dying again.

Next cautious nod.

"Alright. Now three things you can touch." Black Canary still sounded so calm, so sure she had it all under control. So contrary to her panicked heart. Danny wanted to believe her voice.

Canary's hands still on his wrists. In fact she was touching him more than he was her, but it still counted. There was some physics rule about it.

Cold stone he was sitting on. Weird, he was sure this cave was heated.

Hard wall pressing on his spine.

"Excellent. Two things you can smell?"

Jazz had done same exercise with him before.

Cookies made by Megan before she went on a mission.

Ectoplasm. Somewhere there was ectoplasm that wasn't inside him. He couldn't smell his own ecto. But there was no ghost in the cave. His sense was silent. It was there somehow else. It was concerning but not enough to make him panic again. They could handle it.

His lungs were still aching but air started filling them nearly as much as it did normally. His limbs stopped shaking so much too. He knew he wasn't dying this time. He was calming down.

"You're doing great Phantom. Now think, what's one thing you can taste?"

Aftertaste of ectoplasm he spat between the rough fight and the moment when Kid Flash rushed him to the nearest Zeta Tube, talking about medical attention. Danny tried to tell him, he didn't need that but he was inside before his explanation left his mouth.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," It was all he was able to say at the moment. He truly felt better but that didn't mean good. It was only a little less bad than shitty, one step from fully dead.

I considered writing continuation with Danny explaining a bit what happened and how he even ended up in Zeta Tube but a) lost spark to rewrite it b) hated what already had But if you want, I can probably rub my remaining two braincels together and continue. Or someone else can. Do it if you want to. Do it. Do it

[spicy-apple-pie]

You know how in Batman and Robin, when Nobody finds out that Damian was only pretending to rebel against Bruce and lowkey tortures him. There’s a panel where he’s breaking Damian’s fingers.

So imagine afterwards, most of Damian’s fingers have been broken. He cannot use his hands for anything. So Bruce has to take care of him. He feeds him, bathes him (just cloth bathes, since Damian’s casts are too much of a hassle), and keeps him company since Damian can’t do a lot of what he usually does to past the time.

Damian is super pissed he’s pretty much bed bound for a couple of weeks, and Bruce can’t blame him. Because yeah, it fucking sucks. He’s sure that Damian would try to sneak away to train or something, but luckily the pain meds make him drowsy enough for him to just pout on the couch.

He also complains about Bruce trying to find something for them to watch, claiming that such things are brain rotting. Bruce begins to put on animal documentaries, which Damian seems to enjoy well enough. But then Bruce starts showing him other things, like that guy who restores old paintings, which Damian gets really into. And eventually Bruce manages to get Damian to try a Ghibli movie, probably Grave of the Fireflies since it’s more grounded in reality and Damian loves it. And they proceed to binge watch all the Ghibli movies they can find.

At one point, Bruce pulls Damian close to him, and hugs him tight. “Father, what are you-“

“Shh.” Bruce hushes, in a sad tone. “I just- I need to know you’re here. That you’re safe.”

And Damian realizes that his Father, a man he idolized and looked up to as long as he could remember, was scared. Bruce’s “death” taught him that his Father wasn’t invincible. But his Father being scared was a whole other thing. It made him… human. And that made Damian scared too.

Damian allowed his Father to hold him. And felt himself slowly melt into it. He took comfort in it too. As much as it scared him, it was almost comforting to know that his Father was scared for him. That he was loved just as much as Bruce’s other kids. He wasn’t the problem child or a demon. Damian was Bruce’s kid, his son.

And even after Damian heals and is able to care for himself, they still have movies nights every so often.

Idk having a story where Bruce has to learn to trust Damian followed by a story where Damian has to learn to trust Bruce. GIVE IT TO ME!!!

This is why we need to bring back “filler”.

[pinejayy]

hi . i have a request

what if muzan wife had been reborn and he saw her by accident how would he reacts? . sorry for any mistakes English isn't my first language

sure thing!! I hope you enjoy this uwu

trigger warnings: mentions of death, a bit of yandere

here's part 2

I'll make you remember me (Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader)

It's been years since Muzan has lost you and it has broken him, he had lost you his wife. The Demon King truly missed you, he misses your smile and he misses how kind you were towards him. But everything was taking away from him after you were killed by some humans. They found out about your relationship with the Demon and since you were human it was just against their laws that a human and a demon could love each other. But he made sure to kill those humans who took you away.

But that was about 30 years ago, and Muzan has pushed those feelings down deep inside of him.

Tonight was a peaceful night, he was walking around the small village, as people were walking past him he couldn't help but growl to himself, he hated humans. He hated how they took you away from him. But the Demon needed a break from his work and the Upper Moons, they all get on his nerves. He just sighed to himself, as he was walking hearing the humans walk around and speak to each other but a voice caught his attention, it sounded like your voice. No that can't be right? You were long gone and 6 feet under.

"Fresh Noodles right here! Come buy them as their fresh!"

Yes that sounded like your voice, he decided to follow the voice, as he walked he seemed to be getting nervous. As he walked towards the voice he saw you? Standing by a small Noodle shop. You were smiling and waving at people walking by. Was it really you, Muzan walked towards you. Was this reincarnation? Did the universe send you back to him?

"Hello sir, would you like to buy some noodles." You say with a smile.

Muzan couldn't help but smile as he heard your voice and he just nodded. To which you just nodded, both of you walked into the shop. He looked around there was a few people. He sat down by a table that was away from everyone else.

"What can I get you today sir?"

He looked at you, it seemed like you don't remember him. "Y/N you don't remember me? It's me Muzan your husband." To which you looked at him confused.

"Oh I'm sorry sir, it seems like you have the wrong person." You say. "But would you like to hear about the specials today?"

Muzan looked at you, so you really don't remember him? He was heart broken. He just looked down. "Please Y/N...we were married. You were my wife...You were Mine." He hissed softly, looking at you. Muzan looked around the small shop and it seemed to be empty now. "You we're my Wife! They took you away from me!" He said. Standing up. He looked down at you. Seeing your eye color. They still looked beautiful.

" Oh sir...I don't know what you're talking about..Please leave now!" You say, taking a step back. And this just made Muzan even more upset. How dare you tell him to leave.

He looked at you one last time before leaving you alone at the shop. He was going to get you back and he was going to make you remember him and your past life.

After awhile, you were closing up for the night. Cleaning up everything, you sigh and thought about that odd man. He did seem familiar, and his voice you also recognized. But nothing came to mind. As you were getting ready to leave, you heard something behind you, and before you could turn around you felt a arm wrap around you. And a cold hand over your mouth, you tried to struggle. But whoever was holding you had a strong grip.

"Shh don't make this harder for me my queen."

Hearing the voice of the man from awhile ago. Struggling more, this made Muzan growl softly and he tighten his grip against you. "Stop moving Y/N." He said removing the hand he had over your mouth. and he started dragged a nail against your cheek.

"Please sir.." You started to cry out. "I don't know you."

He snarled and with that he turned you around so you were facing him. He grabbed your face quite harshly and forced you to look him in the eyes. "YES YOU DO, WHY CAN'T YOU REMEMBER ME Y/N! I LOVED YOU! YOU WERE TAKEN AWAY FROM ME!."

You whimper softly, and started to tear up. This made Muzan softly. He loosen his grip but didn't let you go. "I'm sorry my love, it's just been so many years without you and I deeply miss you."

You just stand there looking at the man's eyes. His pink oddly familiar eyes... "Please...let me go."

Muzan didn't want to force you out of here but if he has too then he will. He smirked, looking down at you. Placing a hand around your neck and bringing you closer to him, he placed his lips against yours. Oh how much he misses your lips.

You just stand there shocked, and of course you didn't return the kiss. Muzan pulled away and smiled at you.

"Don't worry my love, I'll make you remember me." He said and with a quick motion he hit you across the head. You fell to the floor. Out cold, Muzan just sighed and picked up your body and he threw you over his shoudler.

"You're going to remember me Y/N. I'll make sure of it."

[gatorbites-imagines]

Daddy kink Wolverine x reader… just throwing that out there

Logan Howlett x Gambit variant male reader

Ficlet

Reader is a Gambit variant, cuz I love Gambit… I have no idea how to write accents though, so you’ll just have to imagine it. This isn’t as long as my other ficlets, but I just needed to get it out my system. There is also no outright written smut, but you guys will live.

Deadpool and wolverine spoilers ahead

Two Gambits was an experience, any member of your small resistance in the void could back said claim. Most of the time none of them could pick up on what you and Remy were talking about, since you both slid into your mother tongue on most occasions. Unlike Remy, you had had a life before being thrown into the Void. Apparently, you were only meant to be the horseman of death for a while before returning to the Gambit, but instead you had become one with this new part of yourself, meaning you needed to be gotten rid of.

Your life sense, as an avatar of death, was what let Laura find Wade and Logan so easily, and how you guys could avoid Nova and her folks as well. Seeing Logans disregard for Remy and the rest had just made you laugh, speaking in the same accented voice as Remy, making Wade make even more comments about dialect coaches and tongue twisting. The only tongue twisting you were gonna do, would have to be a bit more intimate though, your sentence ended with a short wink shot Logans way.

Maybe it was nostalgia that had you picking on Logan the night before your big surprise attack on Nova. The original Logan from your universe had never been an X-men either, not for long at least, but he had always been in your circles. It had led to multiple rolls in the hay together, so to speak, but in the end, he had even sided with the X-men to take you and the other horsemen down. Thinking back, you could never figure out if he was sad to see you go, but part of you were happy to see him finally looking comfortable by the x-men’s side.

You were both pleasantly buzzed when you crawled into his lap, throwing your long coat and headgear to the ground as you got comfortable. His hands were so rough and calloused on your hips, Logans voice deep and growly as you smirked down at him. Who would have thought that the wolverine would be into being called daddy. The moment the word left your lips, just to be a tease about it, his pupils seemed to blow wide open and before you knew it, you found yourself on your back.

Grumbles of Cajun French left you as Logan ripped through your pants with that inhumane strength of his, looking half feral with that sneer on his lips. The ferocity lessened when that title left your lips again, hands settled on his sideburns as you murmured out accented begs, soft “daddy, daddy, daddy” passing your lips.

With how wild Logan had been acting in the beginning, you honestly thought hed fuck you like he hated you, like you were just stress relief. But to your shock, it became something more akin to lovemaking. Sure, he gripped your hips hard enough to leave dark bruises, and covered your neck and shoulders in enough hickeys to make even Remy blush, but he was surprisingly soft.

And every time that word left your lips, Logan just seemed to melt into it more and more, his usual growling and snarling more akin to a deep rumbled purr against your chin as he moved you as he pleased. It was so intimate, you almost teared up, and that soft almost vulnerable look on Logans face made you think maybe he felt that way too. He kissed like you were something special and precious instead of just another partner to warm his bed, something you had so rarely felt before.

Slumped together and spent made you wonder if this meant anything at all. Or were you two just fellow broken souls who’d lost everything and everybody, and who could only find comfort in another just as shattered person. Feeling Logans arms around you made you at least want to survive and see, who knew, maybe there was space for another Gambit wherever Logan was gonna go after this.

[star-girl69]

New Romantics

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!AphroditeCabin!Reader

—-

sypnosis: you and clarisse meet during a capture the flag game, In A Good Way prequel!!

a/n: IM SO GLAD EVERYONE LIKES MY CLARISSE FIC ☹️☹️☹️☹️ i have so many planned but i just wanted to say thank you all sm!!!! this one is so silly….. i hope you all enjoy!!

LMK IF YOU WANNA BE ON MY CLARISSE TAGLIST!!!!!!

New Romantics - Taylor Swift

warnings: violence, swearing, mentions of death and blood, insane clarisse bc she gets a LITTLE too into capture the flag, protective clarisse obvi i will never write a fic without her showing up, clarisse makes me SWOON if you couldn’t tell, not proofread we get turned into pine trees like thalia over here, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Your legs ache. You’ve been at Camp Half Blood all your life, but you just spent the entire school year doing absolutely nothing. It was an adjustment. You’re already being forced into the horrible tradition of capture the flag. You met up with your favorite and best friends Jackie and Tyla at the beginning of summer, and you’ve all been attached to the hip ever since.

The three of you thought you could escape to a random part of the woods and skip out.

It’s not like you were lazy, or couldn’t hold your own in a fight- but you had just taken turns doing each others nails yesterday, and it would be such a shame to see them all smudged and broken.

You were on the red team, so you watched as the incomparable Clarisse La Rue ran around instructing everyone what to do- completely skipping past the three of you. Jackie took it to heart, complaining about how she had lasted two minutes sparring with Clarisse once, and she had no right to label all Aphrodite kids as weak and useless.

You remember the night you finally made it to the crest of camp, blood staining your hands, your satyr protector dead on the ground behind you as some monster you didn’t know the name of chased after you.

The three of you thought maybe a nice walk at the edge of the woods would be nice, when suddenly a squadron of the blue team came running out trying to catch you as prisoners. It wasn’t a rule of the game, but it was generally expected that that the winner had more prisoners, or else the victory just didn’t seem right.

The blue team saw Aphrodite kids as easy targets to pick off.

This felt all too familiar to that stormy light, your pounding heart, looking around as everything crashed around you. One of them even jumped down from the freaking trees, and you screamed at the top of your lungs as all three of you sprinted off into different directions.

There was only one chasing behind you, a Hermes kid you didn’t know the name of, but he was fast on your tail.

Just as you had reached the crest of the hill, you screeched at the top of your lungs as you saw four figures in front of you. A satyr. Two girls. One boy.

“Not another one,” the stayr moaned, before beckoning you towards them. You stayed frozen in place. The monster was big and slow, but you could hear it approach.

The boy held out his hand.

“I promise,” he breathed, locking eyes with the smaller girl, maybe a year or two younger than you, before looking up at the older girl. You could tell she was battle hardened, she was ready to win this. “We’ll all make it to camp.”

Both monsters chasing you let out ear-piercing roars, and you quickly slapped your hand into his and sprinted away.

Thalia, you would later learn her name, didn’t survive that night. But you did. Luke did. Annabeth did.

The three of you will forever be bonded by that, even if you’re on different teams in capture the flag. Gods, you wish it was Luke chasing you right now- but it’s not.

You’ve forgotten everything about swords and fighting in exchange for the Russian Revolution and the Periodic Table. You hate school even more in this moment.

He reaches out towards you and you’re distracted by his hand touching your shoulder, heart pounding in your ears, and you trip right over a root and stumble before falling to the ground.

You faintly see the flash of bronze armor pass you, then you suddenly hear a body slam into the ground. You whip around, only to find a girl wearing a red-tipped helmet on top of the boy chasing you.

“Clarisse!” she shouts. “I got him!”

You breathe heavily, watching at the boy yells and tries to buck her off of him, but you faintly remember seeing her constantly around Clarisse. She must be another Ares kid, which means there’s no way she’s letting this Hermes kid gets away.

Clarisse saunters out of the woods on your left, looking between you and the boy on the ground.

You sit up on your hands, watching it all play out, not able to catch your breath.

She smiles, slow, like a cheshire cat.

Gods, why does she have to look like that? Why does she have to smile like that? Why does she have to make you feel this way?

Why doesn’t she just drop the spear and make out with you?

“So, this is the dummy who thinks it’s funny to chase around Aphrodite kids,” she says, slowing walking turns him. The girl holds up his head so he has to look at Clarisse. She places the end of her spear into the dirt. She leans down in front of him. “Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Aphrodite cabin is on the red team, right? Right?”

The girl tugs his head up and he winces, but nods.

“And who captains the red team? Cause I think it’s me, isn’t it?”

He’s learned his lesson. He nods quickly, now.

“I’m feeling nice today. Why don’t you apologize to the pretty girl, and maybe I won’t kill you.”

His eyes lock with yours. He says nothing.

“I said apologize, dumbass.”

He glares at Clarisse.

“You’re fucking insane.”

She laughs a bit. “It’s capture the flag, Zander, why are you not getting a little crazy? Chasing after Aphrodite kids is just embarrassing, honestly.”

“Fine,” he spits. “Fucking fine. I’m sorry.”

“Was that so hard?” she coos. She nods, and the girl let’s him go.

Holy Hades if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

He runs straight off into the woods after a moment, when he realizes they’re not gonna chase after him, not now at least.

The other girl turns to you. “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you dust off your knees. “There’s more of them by the edge, just so you know. Just north of the river.”

The girl smiles. “Gods, yes. Fuckin’ love destroying the Hermes cabin.”

Clarisse turns to you. She tilts her head to the side, watching you breath heavily on the ground. She sticks out your hand. Your grab it quick, scared she might pull away, and her hand is so warm and fits perfectly with yours. She pulls you up and you dust off your knees.

The other girl takes off running, following the boy, yelling for Clarisse to hurry up.

She smiles a bit, and you swear to Zeus her cheeks are a little flushed, you swear she looks at your lips for a second.

She brushes her thumb across her cheek.

“You’ve got some dirt on your face, gorgeous.”

She runs off before you can say anything, electrical spear crackling to life.

Oh, you fucking love capture the flag.

—-

clarisse “you’ve got some dirt on your face, gorgeous” la rue the woman you are

—-

[nicksolemnlyswears]

STAY WITH US

this oneshot can be read as a standalone.

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME (PT. 2 HELAENA'S TURN)

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader x helaena targaryen

word count: ~2.7k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of death of a child, mentions of blood, light cursing

a/n: so i lied, so sorry, my apologies, remember how i said i wanted this part to be smut? well it didn't happen. in the end it didn't seem right because these oneshots originated form a place of care and comfort [not horniness like usual]

that being said i am open to doing a series of small oneshots based on their relationship that are more spicy because regardless it lives rent free on my brain and i'd love to share the pervertedness they'd get up to. also i've never written a threesome and that seems like a good writing exercise.

hope you like this oneshot. it's really sweet and when i was thinking of what else to do with them it simply clicked. my only wish is for it to have the same comfort provoking feeling as the other two. while this little series was written as a way for me to feel better about these characters it makes me happy to know it served the same purpose for a lot of you guys. also this was my first time writing for HoTD and you're all so nice ;) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE.

enjoy!

Without Jaehaerys by her side, his twin sister Jaehaera must adjust to being alone. Her lifelong playmate is gone, and now she ought to find her place as an only child.

The silver-haired girl restlessly jumps through different activities, searching for the one that will entertain her long enough without company. It is difficult because each time she successfully gets distracted, she turns to catch her brother's attention, only to find he's no longer there.

Queen Helaena watches her as she stitches together a new embroidery piece for a dress. The Queen spent her days with both her children, but now that one of them is gone, she spends nearly every waking moment with her daughter. Observing. Protecting. Alert.

"The three-headed dragon shall rise once more," Helaena mumbles under her breath. The maids ignore her mumblings. The Queen's words don't make sense half the time.

A squeal of delight from her daughter prompts the needle to pierce Helaena's finger and a bead of blood forms at the pad of it. Looking up, she finds you picking up Jaehaera and kissing her chubby cheeks. The girl is enamored by her cousin and the attention you provide.

"Good morrow, 'Laena," you brightly greet her, setting down Jaehaera and sitting by her on the floor. "Have you broken fast yet?"

Helaena places a hand in yours as a greeting and nods kindly, assuring you she's been eating all her meals. At times, her appetite turns into nausea as glimpses of her dead son invade her senses, but she tries fighting through it.

She closes her eyes and thinks of anything else—primarily you. You who distract her and treat her with such care without judgment of her eccentricities. It's odd how she's caught herself multiple times seeking your approval.

As Helaena returns to her stitching, Jaehaera bounces over and falls into your arms. "I wish for my hair to be like yours."

"Allow me, Princess," Jaehaera's nursemaid intervenes. She does not wish to be seen as lazy and incapable of her job to care for the children.

The small Princess holds tightly onto you, hiding her face on your chest as she settles on your lap. "No, I want my cousin to do it. She's a Princess, and I want Princess's hair."

You giggle at her words and gesture to the nursemaid that it's alright. "Come on, sweet girl, sit," you coo, positioning her in front of you.

One of the maids hands you a hairbrush, and you begin your work. As a Princess, your hair is mostly styled by your maids, but every lady should know how to style it appropriately.

"You're such a pretty girl, Jaehaera. Did you know that?" You talk to distract her from squirming too much. She's an impatient little thing, like her father.

Jaehaera giggles sound throughout the room. She hasn't laughed like that since her brother died. It brings a sad smile to Helaena's lips.

"You're prettier," Jaehaera whispers bashfully, her cheeks a healthy hue of pink.

"Oh, I don't know about that. You're much more beautiful. Do you know why?"

Jaehaera shakes her head, causing you to hold tightly onto the intricate plaits you're weaving in her hair. You inadvertently smile at her benightedness.

"Because you look just like your mummy, and she's very beautiful, and she's a Queen," you gasp lightly, creating a tone of excitement in your voice.

Although she's kept her nose down while stitching, Helaena's cheeks burn just as brightly as her daughters. Your words continue to flatter her. You have a way with words that can make even the most ordinary of townsfolk feel special.

With a small, excited gasp, Jaehaera asks, "Will I be Queen one day?"

"There's always a possibility," you hum, pining the remaining plait into her hair. It is hard to explain the complexities of succession and legacy to a child when there is a current war debating that same subject. "All done, go over to the mirror."

"She adores you," Helaena sighs as she watches her daughter fawn over her new hairstyle.

"And I, her. She's the sweetest girl ever."

Helaena turns to look at you and sees the soft smile gracing your lips. Your eyes then catch hers, and your smile broadens. It makes her wonder what her life would be like if you were not around. How would she have dealt with her emotions?

"I must go, but can you come to my bedchambers tonight? There is a matter I must discuss with you," Helaena says timidly, casting aside her embroidery.

"As you wish, my Queen." You can't fault her for preferring to speak in the depth of the night when the castle sleeps, and there are no wandering eyes to pass judgment.

It gives Helaena whiplash when you effortlessly switch from calling her name to calling her 'my Queen.' She rather enjoys both terms, especially when you call her yours.

Helaena bids you farewell with a kiss on the cheek, blissfully unaware of its effect on you. Such displays of affection are not rare in court, but lately, their significance has changed for you, as Helaena has never been one to indulge in court etiquette when it involves physical touch.

When the sun has disappeared over the horizon, and the castle has quieted down, you make your way to the Queen's bed chambers.

You have always been inclined to stay in the shadows, where it's safe. You are a sheep amongst a den of wolves, and if you draw too much attention to yourself, danger will follow.

You have failed so far, considering you enjoy the company of the King and Queen. Grief unexpectedly brought you together and made your bond steadfast, but wherever Aegon and Helaena go, watchful gazes follow, thus making you part of the spectacle as well.

Otto and Alicent Hightower are taking the reins of this unnecessary war, but you feel safe under Aegon's and Helaena's careful watch. You believe they will protect you from any danger coming from within the castle walls, at the very least.

You're doing your mother a great disservice as you strengthen the bond of the King and Queen. The ache of losing a child will forever remain in their hearts, and waves of pain continue to crash, but that thick fog of grief that was cast upon them has slowly started to lift, thanks to you.

Pushing open the door to Helaena's bedchambers, you step into the room. It's well into the night, and the candlelight illuminates the room. You stumble over your steps when you notice Aegon and Helaena standing close together as if they were about to kiss.

"My apologies, your graces. I believed the Queen to be alone," you bow your head, red painting your cheeks. It's a gesture that originates from embarrassment rather than submissiveness.

"Do not apologize. We wished to speak to you," Aegon speaks, beckoning you deeper into the room.

He offers you a goblet of wine, which you accept gracefully to alleviate the dizzying wave of nerves you're feeling. You've never been alone with Aegon and Helaena. People have always been around, and up to a fortnight ago, they barely spoke to one another.

The ruling couple sought your counsel regarding their marriage, recognizing you as an intermediary. You offered your advice to the best of your abilities, considering you have yet to marry.

With time and encouragement, they reached out to each other for comfort. Piece by piece, they were able to speak and share the emotions that troubled them. Nonetheless, they kept you closer than ever.

You're the calm amidst the storm.

You take a drink of the sweet wine to busy yourself. Helaena and Aegon stand side by side, his hand on the small of her back as Helaena plays with her fingers. They're backlit by the fire burning by the fireplace. It casts a warm glow over their figures, making the situation seem much more intimate. You're certainly intruding.

"We wish to thank you for everything you've done for us recently," Helaena breaks the creeping silence. She's just as nervous as you are, if not more.

"Helaena and I have been thinking about how to repay you for your generosity," Aegon continues, staring intently back at you to gauge your reaction to his words. He's afraid of reading you wrong and fucking things up—like he usually does.

You instantly shake your head, "As I said before, there is no need-"

Helaena's following words cause silence to befall as you stare back at them in surprise. A sort of surprise they cannot read. "We wish to wed you," Helaena blurts nervously, her fingers twisting together.

This is not a moment to speak in riddles. Helaena is fully aware of the situation before her and wishes nothing more than for you to stay by their side, no matter the cost.

For once in her life, she hasn't felt lonely in the castle. She has an ally she can trust and confide in.

You've been the subject of Aegon and Helaena's conversations for numerous nights. At first, it was difficult to understand that they both held deep affection towards you while caring for each other. They debated for a long time about what to do about it and they agreed on one thing wholeheartedly—you only deserved the best.

Then, it came to Aegon.

He's named after Aegon' The Conqueror' Targaryen. The King took over the seven kingdoms with his sister wives by his side.

A simple Valyrian tradition would solve their dilemma while strengthening his claim to the throne. It's poetic, a part of history being re-enacted.

"Pardon?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. You stare back at them with wide eyes as they jump from Aegon to Helaena and back to Aegon.

The goblet in your hand lightly shakes along with your hand. You place it on a nearby table, afraid of spilling it. Surely, you misheard.

"Our affection grows greater day by day. More than we ever thought possible," Helaena confesses, desperately reaching for your hand.

Your gaze falls on Aegon to seek his opinion, and he nods in agreement. There is not much to say. You have proved yourself valuable to them in a way that is much too important. You serve to keep them sane and emotionally stable. A feat no one has cared to accomplish before.

You do not use Aegon as a puppet or manipulate him to achieve sinister goals on behalf of his name, much like the rest of the court does. Those people only care for power, even if they break Aegon piece by piece. They destroy him while you take the time to pick up the pieces and put him back together.

"Such drastic actions must not be taken. I merely offered you comfort when you needed it because I care for you both," you stutter, pressing a hand to your forehead. All of a sudden, the room is warm, and a layer of perspiration forms on the back of your neck.

Aegon grunts and approaches you, cupping your face in his palms, "That is precisely why we wish to do this. You have cared for us like no one has before, including ourselves. You planted yourself in our souls, and now we cannot let you go lest we go insane. If you do not feel the same, say it, but do not lie to us."

His tone is firm, yet he cannot disguise the pleading behind it. He's never wanted something as much as he wants you.

"I-" Your palms ghost over the top of his.

It is all too much. The prospect of being wed looms over your head like a threat. Otto Hightower will have no qualms about using your lack of a husband as a war strategy. It should not be his decision in the first place, but it is out of your hands as you're considered a prisoner to him.

You would be a liar if you said you did not reciprocate their feelings. They've been present for a while now, it is why comforting them comes so easily to you. Seeing them hurt only pains you.

With this new opportunity, you will no longer be used. You will not be sold to some old lord in the countryside for the gain of a few hundred men. You would be protected.

Most importantly, you will marry a man and a woman who love you. Yes, they are broken, but with you by their side, they will thrive and rise to the occasion.

Aegon's lilac eyes beg you to accept their proposal. "I feel emotions I thought impossible. They are confusing and overwhelming, but they are real," you admit.

Relief floods over Aegon, and he can't help but release a sigh of relief. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering a silent thank you to the old gods and the new.

"Will you become our wife? Our lifelong companion?" Helaena asks, coming up behind you. You feel her breath on your neck as she leans her head on your shoulder.

One word is enough to respond. One simple word will change your life. For good or bad is to be determined.

"Yes," you breathe, reaching for her hand. The smile on Aegon's lips and Helaena's giggles in your ear make it all worth it.

Aegon needed to do things right so no one could argue against your union. He contacted the Septon himself, and only a day later, after his proposal, the Valyrian ceremony took place.

He clearly instructed his guard and the Septon that they must not tell anyone, or there would be consequences.

The ceremony is quick and private amongst the gardens of the Red Keep. You wear the traditional red and gold robes and headpieces that match Aegon's.

A red dragon decorates the front of your garb, matching Helaena's golden one on her dress. She stands to the side with a faint smile, Jaehaera clinging to her dress.

Aegon carefully cuts your lip with the dragon glass. As blood surges to the surface, he presses his thumb to the cut and later spreads it across your skin. You repeat the same on his lips, staring apologetically back at him, yet the burning pain does not compare to the pain he's felt before. It's almost pleasurable as he takes in the symbolism of the gesture.

Cutting your palms, you let the blood that will bind you together for eternity fall onto the goblet. You lock eyes with Aegon as you take a drink from it, passing it to him a moment later.

He was not raised surrounded by Targaryen customs, but he has a new deep appreciation for them. The ceremony is deeply intimate as they share the blood that will mark them as one.

With a couple of final words, the Septon concludes the ceremony and with the knowledge that you are entirely theirs, Aegon crashes his lips against yours.

Aegon stayed firm in his words. He did not wish to sully your name, so he waited until the moment was right. The reward is much too sweet.

It is the first time you've shared a kiss with Aegon, and it is unlike anything you've felt before. In the past, you've snuck kisses in dark corners of the Red Keep, but none have ever kissed you with the intensity Aegon has to offer.

Helaena approaches your tangled embrace, and as you resurface for a breath, she presses her much more delicate lips on yours. The kiss is so different yet the same simultaneously. The intent behind it is identical while the pace is slower and sultrier.

Yours and Aegon’s blood coats her lips and it’s as if she also partook on the ceremony. Your heart beats intensely inside your chest but you’re happy.

Finally, you three are bonded, destined to stay together for eternity.

Jaehaerys will forever be missed. His life has become a mystery; Aegon and Helaena will never see it fulfilled. But in this tragedy, the gods were kind to Aegon and Helaena and provided a new person to love, cherish, and join their family.

were you expecting a good old throuple situation? eh, eh (pretend i'm wiggling my eyebrows and nudging your side with my elbow). im just saying she's perfect for their little dysfunctional family and the drama it will create with the Hightowers and Targaryens? immaculate.

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and gushing about hel and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

[spideyjimin]

Right time | jjk

⤷ part of the timing series

⏤ pairing: jungkook x female reader 

⏤ genre: parent au, exes to lovers, ceo au, angst, fluff, and smut 

⏤ rating: 18+

⏤ warnings: dilf!jungkook, tattooed!jungkook, nervousness, swearing, mention of sex, sexual tension, teasing, mention of jk being a fuckboy, mention of breakup, mention of heartbreak, mention of death, mention of grief, crying, mention of sadness, dry humping, masturbation, mention of heartbreak, oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, mention of going through a though time, broken hearts, mention of suffering, mention of unhappiness, and heartbreak

⏤ words: 10,724

⏤ summary: following your reunion with jungkook, getting back together seems to be the right thing to do however everything is different. jungkook is a father, running the company you’re working for, and there are still things to be solved. nonetheless, it can’t erase the tremendous physical attraction between you. is it now the right or wrong time?  

⏤ author’s note: this part is finally out! it's been quite some work but it's finally out and all yours! since it's finally posted, I can already let you know that there will be a third part called perfect time. the teaser will be posted tomorrow 😬 i hope you like this part, let me know what you think! thanks a lot for your support & for waiting patiently for this part ���

To say that Jungkook was nervous was an understatement. He’s going out on a date with you. He’s literally screaming on the inside like a 5-year-old that finally got the candy they were asking for. He’s been waiting for this for years and also, he hasn’t been on a proper date in a while. But he’s very much excited. 

“Hi,” you say as you step outside of the apartment complex. 

A bright smile appears on both of your faces when you see each other. Honestly, having had sex a couple of days ago brought some happiness to your lives. You’ve been feeling more alive than ever, and nothing can erase that feeling. Well, at least, that’s what you thought. 

There are still things left to discuss but right now, you’re both on cloud 9 so you don’t feel the necessity to talk. You simply want to stay in your little cloud a little longer which means that you’ll do everything to stay there. 

“Hi, yn,” Jungkook offers you the bouquet he’s holding in his hands. 

“Thanks for the flowers,” you reply as you take the bouquet. 

Your eyes move from Jungkook to the flower arrangement, it’s a very pretty one. This kind of surprises you since Jungkook never bought you flowers when you dated before but you have to forget about the past. Things are different now as you both are very different people today. 

“Arya helped me choose them,” the smile on his face grows bigger while remembering being in the flower shop with her. 

At first, he was planning to go alone to buy you flowers but then, he was spending the day with his daughter so he brought her up to have her little opinion. Now, she’s staying at her mama’s place for the 3 upcoming days. Jungkook hasn’t mentioned anything about you to Eunji yet but for sure, Arya will mention the bouquet to her mother so he’s very much aware that he’ll have to at least explain something to Eunji. 

“Well, you both have good taste in flowers,” you quickly smell the beautiful bouquet. 

“She’s my daughter so she definitely has good tastes,” he instantaneously answers. 

A little laugh leaves your lips at his words. That’s easy to say when it’s your own daughter, you think but his words also warm your heart. It’s so sweet that he let his daughter assist him in choosing a bouquet of flowers for you. And it’s also extremely sweet how he speaks about her. 

“Your tastes can be very much questionable,” you tease him. 

With surprise, he raises an eyebrow. He definitely wasn’t expecting to hear you say those words but he’s undeniably liking being teased by the woman he loves deeply. 

“If mines are questionable, then yours are dubious,” he doesn’t hesitate to reply, “especially your taste in men,” he adds. 

“For sure, it is because I’m still wondering how on earth I could have fallen for you,” you end up laughing. 

But the truth is how you could have not fallen for him. It’s easy to love him, and it feels even easier to be loved by this man. There are for sure many things to say about your love for him but it’d take you probably days or weeks or even more to list all the reasons you fell hard for him. 

“That’s exactly what I was referring to,” he adds. “Not sure how you fell for me, especially back then.” 

Hearing him saying that inevitably breaks your heart, even if he’s joking. For sure, back then, he wasn’t the best person on earth, he was a fuckboy after all. He was very much known on the campus for being the guy who fucks every girl he meets, and for being a heartbreaker. But he was perfect for you. Beyond that image of fuckboy, he was the sweetest guy you had ever met.  

“Don’t say that,” you gently slap him on the arm. 

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you saw in me when we started dating,” his stare becomes quite sincere.  

Now, your heart is very much broken by his words. This man doesn’t even see how pretty and amazing he is. But beyond that, he’s without any doubt the most brilliant person you’ve ever met. Even back then, what charmed you was his mind and heart. It was never about his looks because if it was for that, you wouldn’t have approached him at all. He was a fuckboy, the kind of guy that you hated. 

“I saw your heart underneath all those walls,” you say before placing your hand on his chest, right above his heart. 

Jungkook places his hand on top of yours. He can’t even express what he’s feeling right now but he’s absolutely sure of one thing, he feels lucky to be with you here and now. His hand caresses yours, both of you with a little smile on your faces. This moment is undeniably heartwarming for the two of you. 

“But you were the only person that I let in,” he whispers. “You’re the only one that got to see who I truly was.” 

At his words, you inevitably squeeze him in your arms for a tight hug, your head pressed against his chest. It surprises him but he holds you back. While hugging you, it reminds him just how much he missed it. When you were together, you used to hug each other a lot. It brought a lot of peace to the two of you, it was a moment where everything would disappear for an instant. It was a moment of pure happiness. 

Just as it is right now.

None of you want this moment to end. This feels extremely good. You hold him even tighter in your arms, you don’t desire to let go of him. You close your eyes to enjoy this moment even more. This is something you also missed deeply. Well, to be honest, you deeply missed Jungkook. Maybe more than you’ll ever admit. 

“I love this,” you whisper very low. 

Jungkook hears it and can’t help but smile even more. He doesn’t say anything, he’s simply enjoying this moment with you. Hopefully, this won’t be a one-time thing. He’s hopeful that you’ll get to do this more often. Because a hug always heals a heart. 

“We should probably get going,” Jungkook says before pressing a gentle kiss on top of your head. 

With a heavy heart, you pull away from the man you love. You walk to his car and he opens the door for you. Feeling like a princess, you enter his priceless car. It’s undoubtedly a very expensive car but as a CEO, he can afford tons of luxurious stuff. Your eyes wander around, admiring this wonderful and expensive car. 

Jungkook jumps in the car seconds after you. His eyes take in the pretty girl sitting on the passenger seat. That’s a sight he never thought he’d get to see and it absolutely warms his softened heart. Hopefully, from now on, this will be a view he’ll see more often. His face turns to the windshield to start driving.  

For the two of you, being here right now brings you back to ten years ago. Your ex-boyfriend would drive you everywhere, it would always be good. Most of the time, you’d sing along to songs he’d chosen but he’d always take the ones you two liked. Some other times, you’d have intense conversations about random topics or yourselves. Tons of talks took place in his previous car, even hard conversations. 

Honestly, you’re feeling a bit nervous. It’s exciting to be with him at the moment however, you’re a bit fearful that an unpleasant topic of conversation will be brought up. Even if you’re on cloud 9, you’re still very much aware that there are a lot of things to be talked about. You broke his heart, that’s not something that can be erased with some conversations and sex. For sure, sex isn’t the answer to his broken heart. 

But right now, you don’t want to think about it, so you brush away any sour thoughts. You’re on a date with him and you should enjoy it as much as you possibly can. This will maybe help you to get to a better place. 

“How have your parents been doing?” he asks, his eyes quickly looking at you. 

Following the kind of ‘closure’ conversation you had at his place, he kept wondering how your parents were doing, especially after the death of one of their children. Even though it’s been 10 years since your sister passed away, it must still be very hard for them. He can only imagine how it feels. He’d stop living if Arya passed away, his life wouldn’t make any sense without her, and his heart would be beyond broken. 

“Now, they are kind of doing better,” you reply. “But losing a child is something that changed them completely, they aren’t the same and I strongly believe they’ll never fully grieve.” 

Your heart breaks as you recall all the times you found your parents crying over your sister. Things haven’t been easy since that tragic day but you’ve always been there for them. They also have been very much present for you. It was hard for all of you because you all lost someone very dear to you. But today, days are better. It’s easier to smile, to enjoy little things in life, and to simply live.      

“I lost a sister and it’s already very awful but losing a child…” you start saying while shaking a bit your head. “I don’t even want to imagine the tremendous void that it leaves in your heart.” 

You haven’t had a child yet so this is a kind of pain that you cannot understand. But she was your sister. It was still a very painful loss and for sure, something you were never prepared to face. However, with time, you started getting used to the constant ache inside your heart. It’s there, all the time, and some days, it destroys you. During those moments, missing her becomes too overwhelming. 

“I’m still very sorry for your loss,” he tells you. 

He quickly glances at you. As your eyes meet, you can tell that he’s extremely sincere. When he breaks contact, you stare at the wonderful night sky. Right now, you’re feeling extremely nostalgic. Being in a car with Jungkook brings you back to when your sister was still alive. After a little outing with your boyfriend, you’d come home and find her reading a book in her bed. That thought alone brings tears to your eyes. 

Before you can even realize it, tears are rolling down your face. Now all you can see is her face with a bright smile while she’s saying some nonsense that she used to say. She used to make you laugh with the silly things she’d say. She was a sunshine. A shining one. But it’s gone now and it will never come back.  

Jungkook immediately stops the car to the side. It breaks his heart to see you like this. Now he’s the one being brought back to ten years ago. Following the passing of your sister, he was the one holding at first. He was the one consoling you when your world fell apart. 

“Hey, yn,” he says before pulling you into his arms, your eyes instantly closing. 

For sure, it’s not comfortable at all but you manage to put your head on his strong arms. At that moment, you let yourself cry. Jungkook presses gentle kisses on top of your head, his left hand caressing your shoulder while his right hand caresses your back. He’s trying as much as he can to soothe you but he feels helpless. Seeing someone he deeply loves devastated always makes him feel powerless.  

Jungkook never meant to cause any pain by asking how your parents were doing but he should have thought better. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers in between kisses. 

You hold him tightly while you cry your heart out. This really comes as a surprise for you but it might be due to the fact that seeing your ex-boyfriend has brought back memories from the past. You definitely didn’t think that you’d start crying on your actual first date. You’ve been extremely happy following the very steamy session with your ex and this right now is the exact opposite. 

“Please forgive me for bringing this up,” he adds. 

This is definitely not his fault. It’s no one’s fault, except for the driver that killed your sister. He was completely drunk, was driving on the wrong side of the road, and around a bend, he drove full force into the car your sister was in. Your sister and her boyfriend died instantly. So, to conclude, it’s the driver’s fault. It’ll forever be his fault. 

Slowly, you start to calm down in Jungkook’s arms. They are extremely comforting, just as they were ten years ago. 

“It’s not your fault, Kook,” you say. 

His lips press another gentle kiss on top of your head. 

“We can cancel the date if you don’t feel like it,” he tells you. 

For sure, he wouldn’t feel comfortable going on a date with you when you’re feeling like this. Even if he was excited to spend this time with you, your safety and happiness come first. 

“No,” you reply, “I really want to go to the restaurant.” 

You clean your eyes in an attempt to look presentable but there are no doubts that the makeup you spent hours working on is completely ruined. Probably you ruined everything now. What was supposed to be a cheerful moment has turned into a crying session. 

“You’re sure?” he asks with concern.

“Yep,” you directly say. 

You take a deep breath before sitting correctly on your seat and parting from Jungkook’s strong arms. His eyes scan your face carefully, trying to understand how broken you are. To his surprise, he’s just watching sadness in your eyes. Ten years ago, the only thing he’d see in your eyes was emptiness. To tell the truth, he was expecting to see that in your eyes but there’s just sadness. In some way, it reassures him because emptiness makes him feel helpless. 

Sadness is something he can help you with. He has seen that a lot in Arya’s face and in yours as well. For that, he can do something, he will for sure find a way to cheer you up. He’ll do whatever it takes to remove the sadness he caused in your eyes. 

“You’re absolutely stunning, yn,” he mumbles. 

Your cheeks blush at his words, your eyes are still teary but a small smile still manages to make its way onto your face. 

“How can you find me stunning in this state?” you ask. 

Without any doubt, the mascara runs down your face, your eyes are puffy, your cheeks are red from your cries and also from his compliment, and your hair is a bit messy from your hug. However, you look absolutely wonderful in his eyes. This is the real you, and he wouldn’t want to see anything else than the real you. 

“You’re stunning under any circumstances, yn,” he answers. 

“Don’t say that,” you shyly say. 

“I’m just telling the truth,” 

A little smile appears on his face, he definitely loves to see you acting all shy around him. That’s a sign that he makes you feel something and he loves to see it in the girl that he always loved. 

“Stop saying nonsense and let’s go to the restaurant,” you reply. 

Undoubtedly, if he keeps staring at you like you’re some kind of goddess, you’ll kiss him and probably beg him to fuck you in this car. But that will be a way to forget this awful feeling and you can’t use Jungkook to make you stop thinking about your sister for a brief moment. He doesn’t deserve that, not after all that you made him go through for the past ten years. 

“As you wish, ma’am,” he answers. 

A little laugh escapes your lips while your ex starts the car again. All the way to the restaurant, Jungkook keeps making you laugh, slowly pushing away the sadness you felt earlier. During the entire time, you feel grateful this man even exists. Nobody has ever made you feel this way. 

Once you arrive at the restaurant, Jungkook places his hand on your lower back while walking to your table. A table reserved by him the day before. The restaurant is extremely fancy and is without any doubt very expensive. This is your first time in this type of restaurant. 

The dinner goes well, Jungkook tries to cheer you up all along, an attention that honestly warms your heart. He purposely tries to avoid mentioning the name of your sister, too scared to make you cry once more. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he ruined the date again. 

Spending this time with him was wonderful. He spoke a lot about his daughter Arya, he’s for sure extremely proud of her. From what you got to see and hear, he’s an excellent father to that little girl. They are both lucky to have each other. 

Once you’re done eating and discussing, you leave the restaurant. Jungkook doesn’t let you pay although you really insisted on paying at least a little something. However, he promised to let you pay next time. You know for sure that it will never happen, he’s never going to let you pay anything. 

Right now, you’re both walking to his car. As you're walking, your bodies are very close, his hand brushing against yours, and you’re just dying to hold it and intertwine your fingers with his. During the entire dinner, you were just craving his touch, wanting his warmth to embrace your body. 

“Thanks for the dinner, Kook,” you tell him. 

His face turns to glance at you. A gentle and sincere smile appears on his face but what really catches your attention is the way he’s looking at you. There’s so much affectation and tenderness. No man has ever looked at you the way he’s currently doing. Undoubtedly, he’s the one for you. He always has been.  

“Do you want to do something? Or do you want to go home?” he asks you. 

For a brief moment, you hesitate but you’d love to spend more time with him. You don’t want this moment with him to be over. You simply want this to last forever but it’s not possible. There’s a point in time when you’ll have to go home and sleep. In a couple of hours, this moment will turn into a memory that you’ll cherish deeply but you definitely don’t want it to be a souvenir just yet. 

“Maybe we could do something,” you answer. 

“Would you like to go to my place and have some cocktails?” he asks. “I’ve become quite an expert at preparing them.” 

That definitely surprises you. You can’t imagine him preparing a cocktail but there’s absolutely no doubt that you desire nothing more than to taste one of his cocktail creations. 

“Let’s do that,” you say with a bright smile on your face. 

The drive to his place goes by pretty smoothly. The two of you are in your own world, it’s like nothing ever happened between you. It’s just like you’re back to loving each other. The crushing reality is quite different but none of you wish to face it at this precise moment. It’s quite obvious that one day it will happen and it won’t be a fun moment for both of you. Being purposely ignorant can cause great pain, more than you can dream of. 

Once you arrive at his mansion, he invites you to enter first. Jungkook stays at the entrance, not moving at all. His eyes are devouring you. This is something he never thought he’d ever witness and he feels a mix of emotions. On one side, he’s actually very delighted that it’s happening but on the other side, he’s not very sure this is supposed to happen after all the pain you put him through. 

To him, you’re beautiful in every way. The green dress you’re wearing embraces your body perfectly, letting him see how imperfectly perfect your body is. It’s not the first time that he’s checking you out, he did it quite a lot when you were together. However, this time is different. This time comes after 10 years of no contact. It feels like he shouldn’t be doing it. 

You turn around to look at the man behind you. The way he’s staring at you catches you off guard and takes your breath instantly away. There’s affection and tenderness. With just one stare, a feeling of love grows inside you. This makes it more real that there’s a possibility of trying again. A possibility that warms your heart and scares the hell out of you at the same time. 

“You’re not coming?” you finally ask. 

“Yes, yes,” he agrees while entering and closing the door behind him. 

The precise moment he closes the door, he gets closer to you. A little too close. His eyes stare into yours, your heart starts beating faster as you realize how close you actually are. There’s barely any space between your faces. His eyes quickly look down at your lips, and unwittingly, yours do exactly the same. Suddenly, the tension between you becomes very tense and sexual. 

“Yn,” he whispers as he closes his eyes for a brief moment. 

In a matter of seconds, you both end up in the living room. The same room where you met for the first time his adorable daughter. Honestly, you don’t really know how you arrived there. Jungkook simply grabbed your hand before basically running through his house to the first room. 

Once in the room, your ex doesn’t hesitate, pressing his lips against yours for a fervent kiss. Even if this kiss is the mere result of the extremely high sexual tension between you, it still feels tender. It reminds you of the kisses exchanged while you were together. In the middle of this sensual moment, this kiss warms your heart. 

Your hands find their way to his hair while he kisses you hungrily. His hands are placed on your lower back, slowly pushing you closer to him. This feels like he doesn’t want you to run away from you, even for the slightest bit. For sure, you’re not going anywhere right now. You solely desire to lose yourself in all this lust. Until this flame isn’t consumed, there’s no way you’re leaving this house.  

To be honest, a couple of weeks ago, you would have never imagined kissing your ex-boyfriend again. The breakup wasn’t easy, plus, you were the type of person to be convinced that it’s never a good idea to get back with your ex. But oh lord, this is Jungkook. How can you ever resist this man? 

Jungkook slowly walks backward before sitting on the couch, causing you to sit down on his lap. He desires nothing more than to sense more friction. This action lifts your dress, revealing more of the skin on your legs. He’s yearning to touch you in every possible way but this closeness between your bodies is driving him crazy. The two of you are gasping hard but it clearly doesn’t matter. 

You desire more and more.

As you break the kiss, you quickly unbutton his shirt, revealing his bare skin to your eyes. You enjoy the view, his tattoos in full display just for you. His body is sculpted as a Greek god. His hard work at the gym has definitely paid off. What will forever surprise you is the fact that underneath his perfect suit, his arm is covered in tattoos. It seems so contradictory. But it only makes him even more desirable in your eyes. 

Jungkook glances at you. All that he can see in your eyes is lust. Honestly, it’s all that matters to him right now and it swells his chest with pride. You can’t help but touch his soft skin and he lets you do whatever you want. The CEO of Jeon Industries shivers from the feeling of your fingertips brushing against his skin. Your lips press against his, needing to be completely intoxicated by him. His tongue licks your bottom lip before his teeth grip it, making you moan. As he hears your sweet moan, his dick twitches inside his pants, he’s growing harder underneath you. 

When you open your mouth, Jungkook seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside to finally meet yours. A moan leaves your lips at the feeling, and unintentionally, Jungkook flexes his toned thigh underneath you. You feel it in all the right places, making your pussy clench around nothing and it causes you to whine again. 

This unintentional action ends up being a good thing and he can’t help but smirk. His hands move down on your exposed thighs to caress them. Your skin is soft under his palms, his hands feeling so huge on your body. Before doing anything else, Jungkook pulls one of his legs out from under you, making you sit on top of only one leg. As he does so, you adjust yourself on his thigh. Your dress is pushed even higher, Jungkook having now a proper view of your beige panties, your clothed pussy brushing now against his dark pants. 

Both of you know where this is going. Probably it isn’t a good idea but none of you wants to stop it. You’re getting addicted to the other more and more, and the thought of stopping doesn’t even cross your mind. 

“Fuck, yn,” he groans when you start moving your hips against his thigh.  

Jungkook presses his lips on yours for a filthy kiss, his tongue passing past your lips and licking against your own. This feels marvelous, everything about you is addictive, and Jungkook definitely desires to bring this to the next level. Honestly, it is a shared feeling.  

As his tongue plays with yours on your mouth, his hands find their way to your waist and guide your hips as you’re straddling his thigh. A small moan leaves your lips but the man in front of you swallows it directly. He pushes his thigh firmly against your clothed pussy and flexes the muscle once more. 

“I love the way you’re riding my thigh, princess,” he whispers against your lips. “But I need to feel you properly against my thigh.”  

One of his hands slides down on your body and tugs aside the fabric of your panties until your clit is directly pressed against his thigh. A breath falls from your lips as you drag your pussy against his thigh. Jungkook pulls you firmly against his flexed muscle, and once his hands are back on your waist, he quickens the pace of your hips. A trail of moans leaves your mouth, loving the friction of his pants against your pussy. 

“I adore to hear you moan, baby girl,” he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. 

His tongue licks your ear, a little trick that will bring you closer to the orgasm. A little trick that he learned when you were together. It’s your weakness, and he knows it. Since you’ve been very intimate together, he knows your body by heart and everything he needs to do to bring you down on your knees. However, by doing so, he also brings himself closer to the orgasm. Hearing you moaning and seeing you completely overwhelmed by what he does arouses him a lot. There’s proof of it right now as his length is getting harder and tighter on his pants. He’s definitely about to explode. 

Honestly, even if you would try to speak, you wouldn’t be able to form a proper sentence. Your mind is way too consumed by this blissful moment. You can’t even think properly but damn, you’re enjoying every second.   

“I will touch myself as you keep riding my thigh,” Jungkook says with quite some desperation in his voice. 

Before you can even process what he said, he gently inserts two fingers in your mouth, and with his other hand, he lowers his underwear, allowing his cock to slap against his lower stomach. His cock takes your breath away, standing proud in between your bodies. He’s thick and long, this sight alone gets you wetter.    

You suck on his finger, coating them with your saliva, and that alone snatches a groan out of his pretty swollen lips. A proud smile appears on your face. When he feels that they are soaked enough, he pulls them from your mouth. His fingers hold his cock, covering it with your saliva as they go up and down the length. 

This man is as filthy as he was before. It clearly reminds you of the beginning of your relationship, when you had your first time together. It was explosive because man, he had a lot of experience due to his fuckboy past. For sure, over time, it got even better because you started to discover each other.   

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his head slowly going back at the feeling of his fingers on his length and your clit rubbing against him. “You’re doing this so well, baby girl.”

You bite your bottom lip as you stare deep into his eyes. The intimacy of the eye contact with the friction against your clit makes the wave of pleasure grow intensely inside you, and you know that you won’t last long before that wave hits you hard.  

“Pleasuring yourself on my thigh while I touch myself,” he growls as his hand keeps pumping his cock. “It’s too hot, baby.” Jungkook runs his thumb over the tip of his cock and grips his bottom lip between his teeth. 

He strokes his cock at the same pace at which your hips are working on his thigh, and he also feels like he’s about to cum on his hand. 

“Fuck, baby girl,” he growls as he looks down to watch your throbbing pussy rubbing against his thigh, “you’re doing this perfectly.” 

You put your hand on his shoulder and circle your pussy faster against his thigh. You’re so close. 

“Jk,” you say and his gaze meets yours once again, “I’m so close!” 

The hand resting on your waist goes down and his thumb circles on your clit. It sends you over the edge, the orgasm hitting you hard and you feel it in every part of your body. A guttural moan leaves your mouth and you close your eyes to enjoy the feeling.  The sight of you coming undone makes him come, a deep groan coming from his throat as cum flows on his hand. 

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, completely surprised that you gave in to temptation. Nobody says anything, you’re just both trying to catch your breath and you close your eyes. 

Slowly, you fall asleep in his arms, exhausted from this wonderful night with him. Jungkook feels it but doesn’t say anything, enjoying having you in his arms. This hadn’t happened in years so he enjoys every single second passed with you. As you’re falling deeper, he moves a bit and you groan.

“I’m just putting back my pants, baby,” he whispers in your ear. He does it quickly to not disturb you more. “I’ll put you in my bed, you’ll be better.”

“No,” you mumble half-awake, “I want to stay in your arms.” 

Even though he craves nothing more than to have you in his arms, this position is very uncomfortable for the two of you. It’s best to go to his bed, it’s way more comfortable than his couch. Jungkook stands up, holding you tight in his arms. You mumble some words that he doesn’t understand, making him chuckle. Once in his bedroom, he carefully places you in his bed before lying beside you. He crawls to you, holding you again in his arms. 

“Have you introduced a girlfriend to Arya?” Eunji asks Jungkook. 

A little smile appears on his face. Undoubtedly, Arya has spoken about the flower situation to her mother or maybe she has mentioned the time when she met you at his place. Maybe she even mentioned both.  

“What did she tell you?” Jungkook asks the mother of his daughter. 

Honestly, Jungkook doesn’t even know how to explain this situation to Eunji. You’re not his girlfriend but you’re not a friend as well. You’re in an in-between situation. It’s a situationship like many people may say. 

“Apparently, she met a ‘female’ friend of yours and she helped you choose a bouquet of flowers. A bouquet that I deduced you offered to that said friend,” she tells him. 

“Well,” he starts saying, “I’ve been seeing my ex.”

His mind is brought back to three nights ago when you went on a date. The next day, the two of you went completely wild. You stayed at his place and spent almost the entire day having sex. It was wild but definitely amazing. There’s no doubt that the physical attraction is still very much present. 

“Yn?” she asks. 

Of course, she has heard about you. They’ve been friends for quite some time and he has been very open about his past with you. She knows that you’re the only ex he’d ever see again, that you’re the only ex he ever loved.  

Jungkook simply nods, not knowing what to say to her. Actually, he wants to first see her reaction before adding anything else. Honestly, he’s scared of her reaction, he deeply cares about her and her opinion. At the end of the day, she’s the mother of his daughter, they are linked forever. 

“Jk, are you sure it’s a good idea?” she asks him.

She’s quite concerned about him. Even if she always knew that he still deeply loved you, she constantly prayed that you wouldn’t meet again. She doesn’t want him to be heartbroken once more. He doesn’t deserve it, he has a golden heart she’ll protect at any cost. 

“At this stage, we’re simply talking and hanging out together. Nothing more,” he tells her. 

In a way, she’s happy that Arya told her about all this because now, she’ll keep an eye on her daughter’s father. Also, if he gets heartbroken once more, inevitably it will have an impact on their daughter as well. She’ll see her father constantly sad even if Jungkook tries to hide it and she’ll try to cheer him up.  

“But would you want to try again?” she raises with concern. 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” he starts saying. “I love being with her, talking about the past, and discovering what we have become. For sure, everything is different but it scares and excites me at the same time.” 

Being around you is a blessing for him but when you’re not together in your little bubble, he thinks about the full situation. It’s extremely frightening. There’s some trust that has been broken, and a heart that aches. Also, your lives are totally different. Jungkook is a father, running one of the biggest companies in the country. You’re his employee, you’ve been engaged and you lost your sister. You’re both totally different people now. 

However, this is a situation that he kept dreaming of for the past ten years. Every day, he wished you’d come back. So he believes he can’t throw away this opportunity but if it doesn’t work out, at least, he would have tried. He wouldn’t regret and he’s convinced that he would more easily move on from you.   

“It’s normal, Jk,” she says, “so much time has passed.” 

He couldn’t agree more with her. Ten years is quite a lot and it’s definitely what also scares him. What if in the end, it’s never the right time? What if you are never meant to get back together? All those questions keep haunting him when he’s by himself. Nevertheless, he tries to not overthink. It’s unquestionably not a good idea, especially since he has so much to think about at work.       

“I know,” he answers while running his hand through his hair. “But I don’t want to overthink this situation, let’s take it day by day and we’ll see the outcome.” 

Eunji simply nods. Obviously, he’s not comfortable talking about all this right now. She’s not going to force him, it has to come from him. 

“Just try to be careful with Arya,” she reminds him. “She’s very young and it’s best she isn’t involved in our relationships before we’re secure it’s serious.” 

They established this rule years ago. It has always seemed so easy for Jungkook to respect it since he only had one-night stands but this time around, it appears quite difficult. Arya already met you by accident, she sometimes questions him about you. 

“I’m aware of it, Eunji and I’ll make sure they never meet again,” he answers. 

She smiles, happy that he’ll ensure that her daughter isn’t involved in a heartbreak. Knowing Arya, she’ll also be sad if suddenly she stops seeing you. She can easily get attached to people so it’s always best to provide her with some stability. 

The little girl suddenly appears in the kitchen where both her parents are. She smiles when she sees them, a smile they both return back to her. She’s the person they both love the most, she lights their world in a way they can’t express. This love is what will forever tie them together. They created this wonderful little girl. Jungkook always believed they did a good job when conceiving and educating her. 

“Is mommy eating too tonight?” she asks, looking at them two. 

Before Eunji has the time to answer, Jungkook proceeds to reply to his daughter. 

“Yes, she is,” he says with a bright smile, “We’ll have a little family dinner.” 

Happiness suddenly radiates from Arya’s face. Her mother can’t say no now that Jungkook said she’ll stay. Her daughter’s father trapped her but she won’t complain. She adores it when the three of them spend time together. Those moments are rare however they are always filled with joy. What always warms their heart is seeing how content Arya is. Nothing will ever beat that.   

The entire night, Jungkook completely forgets about you. There’s just him, Eunji, and Arya. This is a moment deeply cherished that will forever stay in his heart. This is a moment that can heal his broken heart. This is a moment where time completely stops. This is a moment where he’s simply proud of the family he built. He’d do everything to protect them at all costs. For sure, this isn’t the kind of family he expected to have but his family is perfect. At the end of the day, both he and Eunji try as hard as they can to make everything work, which is all that really matters. 

At some point, he just looks at them with a big smile on his face. 

Eunji and him never tried to be together. They had a one-night stand that resulted in creating Arya but never have they thought of getting involved romantically. They have always been good friends and amazing co-parents. It’s sometimes not easy but what’s important is that they always find a common ground. 

There are some moments where he wonders how things would have looked like if you remained together. Would he have started his company? Would you have started a family? Would you be married? Would you be happy together? All those questions will forever remain unanswered but he’s very proud of everything he accomplished with this void inside his heart. 

For sure, getting his heart broken made him work hard. So hard that he built the Jeon Empire from scratch. An empire that started with Jeon Industries. An empire that he’ll bequeath to his daughter. This would have probably never existed with you by his side. 

But now that he has it all, will he manage to have the one last thing that he’s always wanted? Or will it be too much for him to handle? 

For the past month, you and Jungkook have been seeing each other quite often. Of course, it’s impossible when he’s with his daughter, which is totally understandable. She comes first and he needs to spend as much time as possible with her. You would never dare to even say anything about it, you actually even encourage him to spend more time with her. Those moments together are what she will forever remember and cherish. 

As you enter the elevator, you notice at the end the man that haunts your dreams. A little smile appears on your face. Without any hesitation, you make your way to the end to be near him. There’s no doubt that you’re not going to be able to say or do anything as there are other employees. But you can be near each other, even for a brief moment. When you get closer to him, he also notices you. Jungkook tries to hide the little smile forming on his face. 

“Miss y/l/n,” he speaks when you’re next to him. 

“Mr. Jeon,” you reply. 

If anyone was truly looking at you, they would notice the way you’re staring at each other. Or should we say, the way you’re devouring each other with your gaze. There’s so much affection and tenderness in his eyes, it immediately warms your heart. Jungkook doesn’t have to say anything, his eyes speak louder than any word he could ever say. Whenever he lands his eyes on you, he always feels loved. Every part of his being feels it. He doesn’t doubt that his feelings are reciprocated. 

Scared to be caught, you look away. Being this close while he’s your boss is kind of a tricky situation. Honestly, you’re truly considering quitting the company. This is becoming way too delicate, you can’t stay in this company while you’re clearly in love with your boss. It’s not about what people would say because honestly, you don’t give a shit about it. It’s just that it can create conflicts of interest. He’s your superior, and your relationship might affect any decision he makes regarding you. And knowing yourself, you’ll always believe that whatever decision he makes will always be considered to help your career. 

Actually, you’ve already prepared your resignation letter. It’s sitting in a drawer of your desk, waiting for the perfect moment to be given to the director of your department, Kim Taehyung. The excuse you’ll give is that working in a massive company such as Jeon Industries caused you more anxiety than expected. Taehyung will for sure be surprised and will probably convince you to stay. You haven’t been here for a year but it’s most likely the best to do. Nobody needs to know the truth but you can’t stay while this love is blossoming. 

Quickly, your eyes gaze at Jungkook once more. It breaks your heart to think that you’ll leave the company any time soon. However, it will be easier for you two. The CEO notices the quick glance you took but he doesn’t do anything. He’s too afraid of what he could do or say in the presence of his other employees. Once you reach the fifth level, you leave the elevator with a heavy heart. You love being near Jungkook, it’s rather hard to be far from him. Your ex watches you walk away from him. Just like you, it’s hard to see you exit the elevator, putting a physical distance between you. 

Pretending that there’s nothing going on between you is extremely hard. This is the other reason pushing you to leave the company. As time passes, you both grow confident that this is the right time for you but one day or another, the other people working here will notice it. It will be even harder to quit then. It’s better to take measures before the inevitable happens. 

The rest of the day goes by quite fast for you but the resignation letter has been a lot more present on your mind. So it has led you to this precise moment. You’re in front of Jungkook’s secretary’s desk, waiting for her to let you inside his office. Your heart is beating extremely fast in your chest, your hands are shaking, and you’re getting very nervous. 

“Miss y/l/n, you can come in,” she says with a little smile while she holds the door. 

You nod before walking in her direction. “Thank you,” you tell her as you pass in front of her. She closes the door behind you, leaving you now alone with the big boss. 

When you enter the massive room, you find Jungkook walking in your direction, clear concern painted on his face. Your eyes scan him, he’s wearing a white shirt with dark blue suit pants. His sleeves are slightly lifted, he was for sure very focused on his work. Now you feel guilty to be bothering him with your shitty thing. He was probably working on something way more important than you, you think.

What you totally ignore is that the company is facing quite a huge problem. An issue that Jungkook is trying to solve but it’s been hard. He was working on it before his secretary announced your presence. 

“Yn,” he speaks, “is everything okay?” 

Jungkook is concerned because never before you came to his office. As soon as his secretary said your name, his heart started racing in his chest, his mind imagining the worst happened to you. 

He gets close to you, his hands grab your face and his eyes scan your face to make sure you’re doing well. He sees something in your eyes that he can’t quite describe. There’s some sadness, that’s undeniable but there’s something else. A something that he can’t quite put his finger on. 

“Everything is fine, Jk,” you tell him with a little smile appearing on your face. 

“No, there’s something otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” he instantly replies back. 

Indubitably, this man knows you, but it doesn’t surprise you. You’ve been spending the last month talking a lot, and you also dated for 2 years in the past. 

“I will give my resignation letter to Mr. Kim tomorrow morning,” you inform him. 

Before quitting, you wanted to inform him personally. You didn’t want him to find it out through Taehyung that you’ll be leaving. Knowing him, he’ll be very angry. 

“Why?” he frowns. 

“Because of all this between us,” you immediately reply. 

Jungkook takes a step back to look at you properly. To be honest, this surprises him a lot. In his mind, you were never going to quit and you would figure out together how to navigate this situation. But he was obviously wrong. 

“I can’t stay here while we flirt together outside work,” you add. “You’re my superior and inevitably, it will be a problem one day. It will be a lot harder to leave at that time so I prefer to do it now.” 

“No,” he answers while turning his back on you. 

“This is my decision, Jungkook, not yours.” 

There’s no way you’re letting this man tell you what to do. Leaving is your decision and he can’t object. Actually doing it will make you quite angry. It's a decision that will benefit you both. Plus, it seems obvious that he can’t leave his company. 

“It’s something we should discuss together before making this kind of decision,” he replies. He doesn’t turn around to look at you. He’s still in shock at what he just heard, it feels unreal to him. 

“We both know you’ll never agree to it or you’ll try to find a solution but the only reasonable solution is me finding a job in another company,” you explain while walking in his direction. 

Jungkook shakes his head. He’s convinced there’s another way but he can’t let you lose this opportunity of working in one of the best companies. He knows how happy you were to join his company, he knows it was your dream because this would be a massive opportunity for you to work with the best people in the industrie. Seeing each other can’t be a barrier to that. 

“Look at you,” you say, “you’re completely refusing it but I have to go, I have to work somewhere else if we want to give a shot at whatever we are doing. I choose you over this job.” 

Maybe it’s not the best decision you’re making because you should never put a man before your dreams. But that man ain’t any man. With Jungkook, you also speak a lot about work and together, you can help each other. Even if you start working for another company, he will give you his input in whatever you’re doing, if you ask it of course. For sure, you wouldn’t be able to tell him what project you’re working on but if you ask him what he thinks of this or that, he’ll gladly help. At the end of the day, you both did the same studies. 

“You can’t do that, you can’t choose me over your career,” he says while finally facing you. 

“But think about it,” you start saying. “If I stay, it will generate a conflict of interest for you. We will both be in an uncomfortable position, I will doubt every decision you make that involves me and you’ll also consider me when making a decision. That’s not right, neither for us nor for the other employees,” you argue. 

Jungkook has already thought about this all but he knows there will be no impact. He’s way too high in the hierarchy and you’re at the bottom. Taehyung is the one making decisions directly involving you, but still there, there’s your manager, Jimin in between you and Taehyung. In any case, Taehyung’s decisions will be made following instructions that he received from Hoseok, the CFO, and that he directly received from Jungkook. There are some people involved in between. His instructions will only be considered for the sake of the company. Nothing more, nothing less. 

“Look, there are Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jimin between us.” It seems so weird to you to hear the first names of your superiors. “My decisions are made for the sake of the company so I don’t see how it can directly affect you and only you. The three of them follow my instructions but they can adapt them. Most of the time my instructions are simply a result that I expect from a specific department but then how the result is obtained doesn’t matter to me,” he explains. 

There’s no need to be a genius to know how a decision can benefit you. 

“You’re quite close to Taehyung because he’s one of the best in his area. If he tells you that I did well, you can seize that opportunity to convince him to promote me as manager or whatever you think of. That can be an unfair treatment because you like me.” 

You wanted to say ‘because you love me’ but that seems a bit too much since you’re not exactly sure of his feelings for you. However, that’s what Jungkook wanted to hear because he still loves you. But it’s better you didn’t say it. 

“You can say whatever you want Jk but I won’t change my mind,” you say. “My decision is made.” 

Well, Jungkook is perfectly aware of it. That’s something that didn’t change about you. Once you’re convinced about something, wrong or right, nobody can change your mind. You’re way too stubborn.

“Well, then I appreciate you informing me before going to Taehyung,” he simply replies. 

There’s for sure some disappointment in his face but deep down, he knows you’re right. In the long run, the situation will be problematic one way or another. But he would have preferred that you gain some more experience in his company before leaving. It would only be beneficial for you. 

“I better be going, Jimin will probably get worried,” you say. 

Jungkook nods. Both of you proceed to get back to work without saying anything else. The rest of the day, you don’t speak or text. There’s like a thin wall of ice that appeared between you, and it’s scaring you both. But since you want to try to get back together, you’ll both pretend that it isn’t there. Almost as if you’re voluntarily closing your eyes because you don’t want to lose each other. 

Since you didn’t like the way yesterday went by, you decide to show up at his place. Before appearing unexpectedly, you made sure that Arya wasn't there. Jungkook has been making sure that you don’t randomly end up meeting Arya. You couldn’t agree more with this decision. 

“Yn?” he says with surprise when he opens the door. 

The man standing in front of you is still wearing his suit. Immediately, you understand that he’s still working. Probably something has happened at work which needs to be solved. 

“Sorry to come up out of the blue, I didn’t mean to bother you,” you start saying. “I just want to have a conversation with you, especially after what happened yesterday.” 

Jungkook nods before letting you inside. As soon as you step inside, he presses his lips against yours. This is very surprising but honestly, it feels absolutely wonderful. Feeling his lips against yours is extremely intoxicating. You’re completely addicted to him. 

“Are you okay?” you whisper against his lips. 

“I just need you, yn,” he mumbles. 

Things have been hard at work for Jungkook. Unfortunately, it has been affecting him in general. Whenever he’s alone, away from you, he wonders if indeed it’s a good idea to try again. He hates himself for thinking that way because he has always wanted to be with you. He never moved on from you. But now that he has you once more, he simply doesn’t know. He’s completely lost. 

Before you can understand, you’re in his bedroom exchanging fervent kisses. You’re both intoxicated by each other, lost in your little bubble. In a matter of seconds, you’re both naked, his head in between your legs, eating you out like a starving man. Your moans quickly echo in his bedroom, his name leaving your lips while Jungkook procures you a lot of pleasure. You have orgasms upon orgasms and it doesn’t stop him at all. It’s pleasantly overwhelming. 

Throughout the time he eats you out, he strokes his cock. Hearing you moaning and feeling your fluids on his face and tongue excite him more than he can explain. It doesn’t take him a long time before he’s hard as a rock. His mind is fully consumed by lust. All he can think of is to fuck you. 

Once he senses that he has tortured you enough, he stands up, placing himself on top of you. There’s no need to talk to understand that he’s going to penetrate you in the next few seconds. On the moment, none of you think of using protection. You’re just completely lost in your burning desire. With no surprise, he penetrates you. It causes an instantly deep moan to leave your throat. Jungkook adores seeing you underneath him in this state. You’re intoxicated by each other. 

Sloppy kisses are exchanged while he fills you up with his little monster. He takes you in every position possible, pushing both your limits. You stop counting the orgasms you have, it’s just too much but in a delicious way. You take all that he gives you until your body gives up. Your body actually starts trembling quite fast after he fills you up. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Jungkook completely explodes inside you. It’s at that precise moment that you realize that you didn’t use any protection. But you’re too lost to say or do anything about it. Your lover stands up, grabbing a tissue to clean his cock. On your end, you stand up to use his bathroom. It’s always recommended to pee right after sex. You never miss doing it even if all your fluids left your body while having intercourse. 

When you come back into the room, you find him sitting on the end of his bed. He looks absolutely devastated. You haven’t seen him that way in years. You run to his side, taking him in your arms. The second he feels your arms wrapped against him, he bursts into tears. You instantly close your eyes since it absolutely crushes you to hear him cry. 

Whilst he cries in your arms, you don’t say anything. You’re simply there for him, trying to comfort him with your simple presence. Seeing such a strong man in this state indicates that he has really reached a low point. This time you’re going to be there for him and help him. This time you’re not going to give up on him. He doesn’t deserve it. He never deserved it the way you treated him in the past. 

“I’m here,” you finally mumble while pressing a kiss on top of his head. 

His hands on top of your arms hold you tighter, almost as if he’s scared you let go of him. But you’re not going anywhere until he hasn’t calmed down. You’re probably even going to spend the night here with him. There’s no way you’re leaving him alone when he’s like this. 

“I’m so lost, yn,” he whispers. “I’m way too lost.” 

It breaks your heart to listen to him saying that. 

“There’s too much going on at Jeon Industries,” he says. “Having you quit the company is also hard because I feel like I’ve failed everywhere with it. I don’t know what to do anymore, I just want to throw it all away and just stay with Arya.” 

You kneel down to see his face. It breaks your heart even more when you see his face ravaged by tears. His weeping eyes find yours. 

“You haven’t failed anything, Jungkook,” you say in an attempt to comfort him, “you actually exceed everywhere.” 

Your thumbs clean the tears running down his cheeks. You don’t wish to see him like this, it’s way too heartbreaking. 

“Remember when you were talking about building your own company?” you ask and he nods straight away. “It was simply a dream back then but you made it happen. All by yourself. It’s even one of the biggest companies in the country. You can be proud of yourself for all that.” 

Even if you weren’t together, you felt so much pride seeing him building his empire. He accomplished more than he ever described to you. Times might sometimes be hard but that’s part of life. It would be boring if we didn't face a little challenge. In the end, it is what makes the taste of victory feel even better. 

“This is a challenging time for Jeon Industries but it’s temporary, you’ll totally overcome it because you’re Jeon Jungkook. The smartest person I’ve ever met.” 

Jungkook places his hand on top of yours. This warms his heart more than he can even express. Being around feels absolutely good. 

“And I’m simply leaving the company so I can be by your side, I’m not going anywhere,” you finish. 

He closes his eyes. His life is falling apart in front of his eyes, everything is out of control. Of his control. The only thing secure is his daughter. All the rest is simply overwhelming. Too overwhelming. He needs a break from the world. Even one from you. 

A week has passed since the crying incident at his place. You’ve been quite concerned with him but he hasn’t been talking much with you. However, for the past few days, you have given him the space that he needs. He’s not going well so you’re not going to force him to open up with you. 

Today, he has invited you to join him in a little park. Seeing that message brought a bright smile to your face because you’ve been excited to be with him. You imagined that he probably prepared a little cute date to just get his mind off work. But strangely, when you reach the park, you find him sitting on a bench, his face looking down at the grass. 

When he hears you getting close, he stands up. He doesn’t smile at all. Actually, you can’t read his face at all. It catches you off guard. This isn’t something you expected to see at all and it doesn’t sound good at all. Instantaneously, your heart starts pounding extremely fast at the same time that your hands start shaking. You’re scared of whatever he might say today. 

“Thanks for coming, yn,” he starts saying. “I truly appreciate it.” 

Jungkook doesn’t move closer, putting a clear distance between you. This man standing in front of you isn’t the man you have been hanging out with lately. This man is barely recognizable. 

“There’s no problem,” you reply.

“As I have told you, I’ve been feeling extremely lost lately,” you nod. “Everything is way too overwhelming for me and I simply don’t know what to do. But I know that having you back in my life is one of the reasons I’m feeling this way,” he explains. “I’ve always wanted you back but I never considered the consequences it would have on me. To be honest, I don’t know how to handle having you in my life again. Everything is different. I’m not the Jungkook you used to know. I used the pain you caused to build this new life. Everything I have today is because of all the suffering you put me through so how can I have you in my life with all this?” 

Tears start running down his face. This is too hard. It’s hard to realize that the person he has ever wanted in his life is the same one who is causing all this pain. The way he’s feeling right now is mainly because of you. Without you, this issue at Jeon Industries would have been solved quickly and wouldn’t have made him cry like a baby. 

“When we’re not together, when I’m not in our bubble, my mind starts wondering a lot. I question all that I have right now and wonder how my life would have been if you had never left me. The only certainty that I have is that nothing would be like this,” he pauses for a couple of seconds. “I keep overthinking everything and it’s driving me completely crazy. I’m currently not happy and this is not possible when I have a daughter to take care of. I have to take care of myself to provide her with the most wonderful life.” 

To hear all those words shatters your heart into a million pieces. 

“I would like to say that I want to date you again, I truly want to. What we have been having, I’ve been dreaming of it for ten years but it’s too much for me right now,” he continues. “We need to put an end to this right now before I simply explode and destroy everything. I don’t want to hurt you or anybody around me, especially my daughter.” 

What you feared most is happening. Jungkook is pushing you away because he’s hurting just like you did ten years ago. However, you’re the person responsible for his suffering. He’s pushing you away because you’re still causing him a lot of pain. 

“I need space and time to heal,” he finalizes. 

For a moment, you simply stare at each other. Jungkook is waiting for an answer from you but you’re not capable of saying anything. This is way too surprising for you but you need time to process every word that he just said. But this breaks you. More than words can say. 

“I’m going, yn,” he says when he notices that you’re not reacting. “Take care,” he says before leaving you. Now, you’re brokenhearted alone in the middle of a park. It seems that in the end, it wasn’t the right time for you and Jungkook.

[netherfeildren]

FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Series Masterlist;

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn. 

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys. 

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house. 

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues. 

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now. 

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also. 

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now. 

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her. 

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died. 

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for. 

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say. 

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him. 

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him. 

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him. 

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My daughter, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back. 

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now. 

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room. 

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue. 

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral. 

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too. 

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action. 

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched. 

He should’ve fucking been here. 

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

 His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you. 

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit. 

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths. 

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you. 

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick. 

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.” 

We. 

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him. 

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance. 

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything. 

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt. 

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks. 

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it. 

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt. 

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

-

Your father is made small and withered in death. 

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man. 

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone. 

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for. 

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one. 

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber. 

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger. 

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell. 

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time. 

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim. 

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself. 

-

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry. 

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world. 

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime. 

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob. 

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory. 

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave. 

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat. 

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear. 

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another. 

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all. 

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday. 

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way. 

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy. 

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time. 

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year. 

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient. 

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor precisely intentional in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom. 

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days. 

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp. 

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph. 

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home. 

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly. 

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range. 

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him. 

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling. 

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.  

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him. 

-

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone. 

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself. 

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower. 

You’d always hated them. 

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved. 

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended. 

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans. 

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad. 

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel. 

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far. 

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want? 

Someone to care. 

Someone to love you. 

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy. 

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s. 

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling. 

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be. 

Who that is? Still being decided. 

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch. 

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get. 

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else. 

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad. 

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way. 

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you. 

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god. 

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less. 

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without. 

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all. 

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped. 

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. 

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh.  “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so. 

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him. 

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up. 

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son. 

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you. 

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy. 

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath. 

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time had been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your American twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion. 

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know. 

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha. 

Obviously not. 

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing. 

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good. 

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you. 

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday. 

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel. 

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now. 

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that. 

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad. 

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue. 

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along. 

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life. 

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you. 

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you. 

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully. 

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man. 

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it. 

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony. 

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.” 

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl. 

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable. 

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest. 

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours. 

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered. 

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head. 

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either. 

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains. 

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning. 

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core. 

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now. 

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest. 

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop drinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return. 

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned. 

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.” 

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood. 

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him. 

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

Chapter 2; Sugar, Not so Sweet

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