#fucking i just hope my nieces never have to to through a

[mejomonster]

Republicans love to to after freedom to exist huh

[macfrog]

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

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Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

“Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.

[gor3-hound]

don't hold your breath(nobody's home)

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, uncle-niece incest, non-con, loss of virginity, very minor blood description, forced alcohol consumption, alcoholism from leon ofc, reader gets slapped, age gap, guilt, one threat, fingering, p in v, non-consensual creampie, crying, idk leon feels entitled cause his brother sucks, reader hinted at having nice tits idk

a/n: sorry if this sucks ass... my motivation for writing has been non-existent w real life stuff n all the drama so... i feel like this is awful but here we are. title from razzmatazz by idkhbtfm... not proofread i'm sorry </3

word count: 1.9k words

Leon knew he had a drinking problem. He just hadn't realised it had gotten this bad. He couldn't even get his dick up with viagra anymore. He frowns as he looks down at the brunette he was planning to fuck, tempted to try and just push it in soft.

He ends up just kicking her out to drown his sorrows. He wasn't dealing with this shit tonight, not when he was seeing his asshole brother tomorrow. Pretty wife, perfect kids. His job pays better than Leon's ever will, and he didn't need to undergo years of trauma. Lucky bastard.

Leon does what he does best that night and drinks enough whiskey so he can pass out without worrying about the nightmares coming to ruin his night. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

He hasn't seen you in a good six years. You were still playing with dolls and shit when he last visited. Makes him feel stupid when he brings you a plushie as a gift. Clearly he forgot how time worked, cause he still expected you to be thirteen. You still hug him and say thank you, sweet as ever. When his brother said he'd be watching the house and looking after you, he didn't expect to see you so... grown. Too old to need a babysitter, really. Even if your parents are gonna be gone for a week.

He gulps as his hands settle on your hips, trying to prevent you from pressing against his hardening cock. Down boy. At least his dick still works. It just took his college-aged niece to get it up. Doesn't help that you've got your tits smooshed against his chest.

Therapy was gonna be a doozy this week.

He could only pray that this doesn't turn into anything. The last thing he needed was his dick being the thing that got him thrown into prison for doing something stupid to you, no matter how cute that body of yours is. That's a new one, he thinks, mentally slapping himself for even thinking about touching you like that. He'd never do it, of course. That's sick, and he knows it. He's just so frustrated. And you're hot. A total babe. Somehow, you managed to get a better rack than your mom. Must be the Kennedy genes coming in. Leon's got tits for days.

He knew he had a drinking problem, but he never thought he'd lose himself this much. He never thought about hurting anyone. He's not a bad guy. It's just that every time he tried to be with someone, he just couldn't get his body to react the way he wanted. That's what the oxytocin was for, he thought, already thinking about taking a swig of whiskey from the flask in his pocket. If only that fucking stuff worked on him. The part of his brain that controlled his cock seemed to be permanently on vacation, and his wires clearly got crossed somewhere if he wants to fuck his own blood.

Whatever. He could get through a week alone with his niece without any trouble. He's faced worse monsters than the ones making themselves present in his mind right now. He'd keep his distance, and all would be okay.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

That didn't work. Of course it didn't. You were just as clingy with him as you were when you were a kid, following him around like a lost puppy. He's convinced he's clutching the glass of whiskey in his hand hard enough to shatter it as you curl up against his side. His cock is throbbing, and he seriously hopes you don't notice how the fabric of his jeans is getting a little strained.

You really need to stop with those tits. He's gonna lose it if they brush his arm one more time. He's not sure what it is about you, particularly, that has him acting like a teenage virgin again, but his self-control is wavering by the second. He hasn't paid a single second of attention to the movie he was meant to be watching to keep his mind off of you.

Fuck this.

He takes a swig of whiskey that drains half the liquid in his cup in one gulp. Liquid courage and all that. Maybe he'd drunk a little too much while he was here, ‘cause his brain clearly isn't working right. Not when he's pinning you to the couch, kissing your neck despite your protests.

“Leon… Leon, what're you doing?” You force out, small hands pressing at his chest as if you'd be able to knock him off. Cute. He'd fought creatures six times your size. You didn't stand a chance. 

He starts undressing you, and you start writhing and crying, hitting his chest with clenched fists. He swallows the lump that builds in his throat, wiping the tears that fall down your cheeks.

“Shh… it's okay, I'm… I'm gonna take care ‘f you.” He murmurs, his voice slightly slurred from how much he'd drunk. You cry even harder when he presses a finger into you, making the guilt rise up faster in him. That's not fair. He's being nice. God didn't bless him with much, but at least he gave him a fat cock. You should feel lucky he's prepping you. Not making him feel bad.

“Hey.” He warns, shoving another finger in just to shut you up. You finch when he scissors you open. Poor thing. “That's enough. One more complaint for you, and I'll just force myself in.”

Shit. Now he really does feel like a monster. He's not drunk enough to handle the pure terror on your face at his words. He fumbles on the coffee table with his free hand as he lazily pumps into you with the other. Glass? No. Bottle.

Maybe you need some, too. Get you nice and pliant so you'll take his dick without bitching. Not a bad idea. He twists the cap off with his teeth, gulping some of the liquid down himself. He takes another mouthful before leaning down to kiss you, spitting the liquid into the back of your throat. He keeps your mouth on yours even as you try to jerk away, making sure you swallow it.

You really are adorable as you start coughing and spluttering. Such a sweet thing, you probably hadn't even drunk before. He lifts the bottle to your mouth, pouring some more into your mouth before setting it down, covering your mouth. “Swallow.”

He starts thumbing at your clit as he fingers you, relishing in the ways your whimpers turn into soft moans, your hips bucking against his hand. He manages to coax an orgasm out of you with a few more touches, a big smile spreading across his face.

“There we go, sweetie. See, that wasn't so bad, was it?” He coos, unbuttoning his jeans. The sound of the zipper has your eyes widening in horror, and he tuts softly. “What're you giving me that look for? It's your turn to take care of me now.”

There goes the begging and pleading again. It has his brows pinching together as a frown tugs at his lips. You really are his brother's kid. So goddamn ungrateful. He just took care of you, and now you just want him to… what? Fist his dick in the guest room?

He smacks you so hard your head snaps to the side, your breaths coming out in short gasps. You look better like that, tears stinging your eyes but your body completely limp. He can see the fight draining out of your eyes.

“I was gonna be nice.” He mumbles, brows furrowing as he lines his tip up with your entrance, forcing himself inside in one thrust. He groans loudly, shuddering as your tight heat envelops him. His eyes look down, locked onto your cunt as he fucks into you with long strokes. He freezes when he notices blood. He's not sure if he's happy or disgusted that he's your first. No wonder you put up such a fight.

You keep weakly begging him to stop, but your pussy is gushing all over him. It's not his fault he can't stop – you're giving him the hottest look he's ever seen, and your puffy cunt is so fucking greedy for his cock, sucking him back in everytime he starts to pull out.

“S-sorry… I'm so sorry…” He grunts, picking up the pace of his thrusts, groaning at the sound of your punched out moans as he drives into you with as much force as he can muster. You almost sound like you're enjoying it, but you're still fucking crying and he can't take it. His heart hurts.

“Baby, please…” He whispers, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the betrayal on your face. His arms tremble as he holds himself up, sloppily fucking into you. “I'm sorry… just stop cryin’, please…”

Every time his hips smack the fat of your ass, you're moaning out a ‘please’. With his eyes shut, he can pretend you're begging for more. That you like this. That is, until you start saying ‘stop’. He winces, but the movement of his hips doesn't falter.

“Fuck, baby… please stop begging.” He pleads, throwing his head back as his tip kisses your cervix. He whimpers as it makes you tighten around him, angling his thrusts to hit that spot each time he fully sheaths himself inside of you.

“I-I can't stop…you feel so… fuck. So fucking good. M'so close.” He groans. He can't even find the strength to pull out anymore. He buries himself balls deep in your cunt, grinding himself into your tight heat.

“L-Leon… please.” You say weakly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as panic sets in, your hands pushing at his chest. “Y-you gotta pull out, you can't… you can't.”

“What?” He breathes out, cracking his eyes open to look at you again. He looks genuinely confused. Why would he ever pull out when you felt so good? He can't bring himself to. “Baby, no. I'm cumming inside of you. Can't pull out now.”

That seems to bring your fight back. You start struggling under him again, punching him with all your strength. Luckily, that's not a lot. Especially when you're sluggish from your first time drinking and getting fucked. It's Leon's lucky day.

“Shit, baby. Don't look at me like that.” Or do. He's gonna cum if you keep staring up at him with that wide-eyed expression. “No need to be so scared, princess. I just… shit. Can't help myself.”

Doesn't take longer than a minute after that for him to finish. He buries his face in your neck, whining as he cums. His cock kicks inside of you, the warmth of his release filling every inch of you. You start sobbing all over again, slumping weakly against the couch.

He lies on top of you, his weight pressing you down into the couch. He pets your hair like you're a doll, his fingers carding through your hair.

“I'm sorry, baby. Forgive me. I'll be so good. Do whatever you want. Didn't mean it.” He murmurs, kissing your cheek over and over as if he's trying to get you to relax. He keeps it up until you fall asleep, wrapping you up in his arms.

When you wake up in the morning, you're fully dressed in your bed. You almost think it's a dream until you feel the dull throbbing between your legs.

[latherinhoney]

kinktober 2023 day 5 - stuff me full

(jake - enhypen)

genre: (non - idol au)

warnings: (18+), (hard smut), (breeding kink), (pregnancy kink), (mentions of jake wanting kids), (creampie), (soft dom jake) (pet names)

1.5k words

a/n: day 5 of kinktober! again sorry for the late post but I knocked out last night 😭 but I had alot of fun writing this one so I hope you enjoy! And as always feel free to send in any requests :)

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Jake absolutely adored the fact that you and him would eventually have kids someday. Seeing little copies of one another running around made his heart swell and he knew you'd make a great mother as well. He couldn't wait for the day when his little family formed.  

"Babyyy"  Jake whined to you trying to get your attention while you were both getting ready for bed. 

You let out a small sigh laughing at how he always gets like this when he wants something. 

"What's wrong honey?" you ask him, turning around so that you could face him. He looked so cute with the slight pout forming on his lips that you just wanted to pepper his face in kisses. 

"When are we going to start our own family?" He asks shyly "We've been together for a long time and I always see other people looking so happy with their little families and I want the same for us" he confesses. 

This caught you by surprise, you never knew that Jake had been feeling this way. I mean sure he loved playing with kids especially his nieces and nephews. You saw the way he looked while playing with them but didn't know he wanted that for yourselves. 

You'll admit though, that you didn't think you were exactly ready to start a family yet but the way Jake's face lit up talking about you guys having your own kids made you want to give him five on the spot. 

"Hmmm I don't know yet baby" you tell him nervously "I don't know if we're ready for that yet, what if it's not like what we expect or what you expect?" you ramble to Jake, starting to feel slightly worried now. 

"Shhh it's okay princess" he whispers as he grabs your hand, rubbing his thumb over it and placing a kiss on your forehead. "You'll be a great mom and you know why? Because you're already a great wife and there's no one else I can imagine being a perfect mother other than you" he reassures you by combing his fingers through your hair. 

"You really think so?" you ask, feeling your worries start to ease. "I know so" he whispers, placing a kiss on your lips.

 He deepens the kiss and you kiss him back harder. He's caught slightly off guard. 

"Mmmh fuck princess, if you kiss me like that I won't be able to hold myself back" he pants out, looking at you.

 He takes you in, how pretty you look before going to bed and thinking how sweet you are to him. You're the best wife he could have, how could he not want to have kids with you? Wanting to stuff all his cum into you, to the point it starts dripping out knowing that he'd for sure get you pregnant. 

"Fuck you make feel like I'm floating" Jake breathes out, breath getting heavy. "I need you so bad right now princess" Jake whines pulling you back in for another kiss 

You can tell he's starting to get turned on. Finding it really cute when he's practically begging for you. You continue the kiss turning from sweet to hot and heavy. He pulls away, saliva disconnecting from both of your mouths as he licks it away. 

"Lay on your back princess, I can't take it anymore" he commands, pulling the blankets to the side of the bed and plopping you down onto it. You adjust yourself on the bed, shifting into a more comfortable position as Jake is already taking off his pajama pants. As he slides them off you can already see the bulge on his boxers, your body shuddering at the sight. 

You can tell he's desperate by the way he's trying his best to take off his clothes as fast as he can. He then slides off his boxers, cock slipping out already stiff and leaking. 

He rushes over to you and spreading your legs open. 

"Oh fuck my princess looks so pretty for me, I can't wait to stuff you full of my cum, so much that it starts leaking out" he grunts out. It caught you off guard seeing his dominant side come out as he usually is nothing but a sweetheart. You couldn't help as his sudden aggressiveness turned you on and couldn't wait any longer for him to start fucking into you. 

"I'ma make my baby feel so good" he says taking off your shorts, underwear included. 

He groans at the fact that he can see your pussy clenching around nothing, ready to take him in. He grabs his cock, teasing you but sliding it up and down your slick pussy. 

"Hmmhm fuck Jake" you beg "Stop teasing and put it in already" you muster out gripping the sheets already. 

His head is spinning, flustered with the fact that he's finally gonna be able to stuff you full and breed you to his heart's content. He grabs his cock lining it up with your entrance. He slowly pushes the tip in, gasping at how fucking good it feels. He could feel the slight pressure of your pussy tightening around his tip making him go insane. 

He slowly pushes the rest of his cock in, making you gasp at how full he was making you feel. He moans at how fucking tight you feel around the rest of his cock, starting to fuck into you. 

"Fuck princess this pussy of yours is so tight, I don't know how much longer I'ma last" he grits his teeth continuing to slide his cock in and out of you. 

Your head is spinning, moaning as he fucks into you at a brutal pace. He feels so fucking good especially the way his cock is pushing up against your sweet spot, your head lolling back everytime he hits it. At this rate you didn't know how much longer you would last. He slides out for a quick moment to put your legs over his shoulders to fuck into you at a better angle. He slips his cock back in, both of you moaning at him re-entering you. 

With this new angle, Jake was directly hitting your sweet spot, the feeling in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. 

"Fuck gonna cum soon" you moan out "fuckfuckfuck c-cumming" you yell out arching your back from the bed.

The tightness from you cumming was clamping down on his dick sending him over the edge. 

"Oh fuck mmh cumming princess" he grunts out placing a hand on your stomach. 

"Cumming" 

He groans as he keeps his hand on your stomach to feel himself release inside of you. Thick ropes of his cum filling you up as you continue to ride out your high on his cock. 

"Hgnn fuck Jake" you whimper as you come down from your high. Jake still fucking into you to make sure he stuffs you full with his semen. 

"Mhhh fuck princess, I'm going to breed you so good" he moans "fill you up so good, stuff you full of my kids" he says applying more pressure onto your stomach with his hand. 

"Jake, stop please mhm sensitive" you plead out but he ignores you, and continues to fucking into you, making sure to release every last drop of his cum inside of you. He finishes riding out his high and pulls out of you watching his cum slowly drip out from your pussy. His head feels dizzy, watching the scene in front of him unfold, you still whimpering from the overstimulation meanwhile your pussy clenches around nothing dripping out his seed. 

"Fuck princess, I can't hold myself back with you" Jake pants out grabbing his cock and slipping it back inside of you again. Your body breaks into goosebumps from the feeling of him slipping back into you. 

"Jake please" you beg "give me a moment" 

"I can't" he continues pounding into you "Not when you look like this" thrusting deeper into you. 

He's desperate, his mind is being overtaken by the sole fact that he just wants to breed you. Fill you up so good that you'll be pregnant with his child by the time he's done with you. 

"Mmhmm coming again" he whimpers cumming into you for the second time tonight. Your mind has turned into mush at this point, overstimulated all you can do is just lay there and keep moaning out. 

"Fuck this pussy of yours feels too good, and it's all mine" 

Once he finishes he pulls out again, seeing how much more he stuffed you this time. Your body trembling, begging for no more but again he slips back into you and continues for multiple more rounds. 

"Fuck princess" he groans out slipping out for a last time. Watching the multiple rounds of his cum leak out of you. He leans over you to place a kiss on your forehead "you did so well for me" 

He places his hand back on your stomach again. Rubbing your stomach, pleased with himself at the fact that he stuffed you full of his seed. 

[anyonewannasteponme]

Summary: Your marriage with Aemond had been one of honour, not of love, yet when subjected to your husbands cruelty upfront you cant help but ache for a way to take your revenge.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Alcohol Usage while Pregnant, Incest

Authors Note: I feel like Aemond is lowkey out of character and I kind of hate this but oh well.

You sat awestruck, in shock at the vile accusations your own husband had just made not only against your brothers but yourself as well. You held back tears as you all but waddled over to where your step father held back Jace. "I'm sorry." You whsipered to Daemon. Your step father just gave you a pitying look as you caressed your heavily pregnant belly. Your emotions were already running rampant, you couldn’t believe Aemond had been so bold as to dishonour you in front of his own family. You didn’t just feel humiliated you were furious.

Aemond caught your eye from across the room, where he stood with his brother and sister. You could barely hold his glance, simply turning away and storming out of the dining hall tears brimming in your eyes. Please. You thought selfishly. Please come after me. Because even after the insult he had dealt you and your family tonight, you still wished for your uncles comfort. Craved it. Of course as was expected of Aemond, he did not.

When you were younger you had imagined it to be customary for husbands and wives to sleep in the same bed, now you knew that was not the case. Aside from a few moments of passion, of which Aemond never spent the night you and he had kept entirely seperate chambers throughout your marriage. That usually made you saddened, wishing and wondering what your marriage could have been like if you had simply not been born a bastard. Because of course that’s why Aemond had disrespected you. He saw you as less than, nothing more than a duty he owed to the realm as the second born son.

Tonight, you must admit you felt relieved that you didn’t share chambers with Aemond, knew you wouldn’t be able to control your rage if met with him directly.

A knock sounded at your door, startling you slightly, you prayed to the old gods and the new that it wasn't Aemond. You arose overcome with a sense of trepidation as if you were moving in slow motion, if it was Aemond what would you do? What would he do? You opened the door.

"Aegon?" You whispered, slightly taken aback. He simply grinned raising his left arm, in his hand a bottle of wine, he shook the bottle slightly as if hoping to get it through your thick skull that he wasn't here to chastise, he was simply here to... drink? "It’s Arbor Gold" He said. "Your favourite... now can I come in or are you going to keep me confined to the doorway." You cleared your throat stepping aside and allowing your uncle to enter your bedroom.

"Aegon if Aemond-" Aegon interrupted you by putting his finger to your lips and letting out a condescending assortment of hushes. "Aemond never did like to share, fear not niece I haven't come here tonight to take advantage of your delicate state, I simply come to offer a sense of comfort. From one person that has been sincerely fucked by this family to another. "

You didn't understand, Aegon had taken as much pleasure in your public humiliation as Aemond and yet you didn't open your mouth to argue knowing Aegon's temper you would take this act of goodwill with little complaints unless you wanted to risk waking the dragon. "I appreciate that." You responded. "But you know I can't drink this right? The Maester insisted."

"The Maester is a cunt." Aegon replied simply, pouring himself a glass that resided on the small table you oft took your breakfast at when you weren't expeted to be publicly feasting with your family. "Truly Aegon, if Aemond finds out-"

"What are you so afraid of." Aegon laughed, turning towards you, two glasses in hand. "My brother may have trained with the sword but I doubt he would turn his hand to his own lady wife."

Truly you didn't have a clue what Aemond would do and that was what frightened you. Yet you must admit a wave of excitement went through you at the thought. Your husband, who rarely showed you any emotions at all, losing his composure, the idea was intoxicating. You took the glass from Aegon, sitting yourself down beside him on the carpet at the foot of your bead. "I do have seats you know."

"Fuck seats."

You frowned. "You curse an awful lot for a prince of the realm." Aegon smiled at that. "And your awfully prudent, which is certainly not befitting of a bastard born daughter." His words hit where they were supposed to and you shut your mouth taking a gulp from your glass of wine. There was a fluttering in your womb at that, you thought nothing of it, treating it as a mere coincidence that came with how far along you were in your pregnancy. Yet you still placed a hand on your lower belly giving a comforting caress to the babe in your womb. "Does it ail you?" Aegon asked, staring down at your stomach in what may have been awe. "No." You responded. "Didn't you have Helaena to ask these questions to during her pregnancy?"

"I was hardly around during Helaena's pregnancy and I was most certainly not at the birthing." Those words saddened you. Your Aunt had been one of the only people in this court who had shown you kindness since your betrothal to Aemond and your Mother and Brothers taking their leave to return to Dragonstone. The thought of her laboring alone hurt your heart. Maybe that's because it could very likely be yourself in a few months, Aemond would most certainly provide you no comfort.

The night escalated from there, you had hardly meant to drink as much as you did but Aegon kept pouring you glass after glass until you were both shattered, giggling messes simply lying on the floor and complaining about how your lives had ended up the way they did.

"I always wanted to go to the north, marry a Stark." You whispered. "I hear they value honor above all else."

Aegon frowned. "Do you not think my brother honorable?"

"No!" You replied, flustered. "That's not what I meant." Yet you couldn't form a coherent thought or come up with a way to defend yourself courtesy of the alcohol. Aegon simply laid his head against your shoulder beginning to doze.

You found yourself relaxing too. Until your door swung open and a visibly irritated Alicent burst in. "Aegon." She growled. "Wake up you fool." She stood above her eldest son looking exceptionally regal despite her grievances. But Alicent wasn't who you were focusing on. No it was your husband, a stony, cool look washed over his face as his took in the compromising position you were in with his brother. Alicent had managed to prop Aegon up and began leading him out of the room, not before shooting you a look filled with malice. Aemond closed your bedroom door and locked it. That act alone sent shivers down your spine and a strange feeling began to well in your lower belly, accompanied by a neediness you had never felt before.

Aemond cleared his throat, clearly aiming to appear composed, yet you saw through his illusion; through his clenched jaw and blazing eyes, it was clear he was furious. He opened his mouth appearing unsure how to start a conversation with you. "Did he touch you." He began, getting straight to the point. "No of course not." You responded immediately. "I know you think me a baseborn idiot, incapable of remaining any semblance of loyalty but I assure you, I know where my loyalties lie."

"I never claimed you to be an idiot." He responded through gritted teeth.

"Yet you treated me as such when you toasted my brothers, blatantly questioning their legitimacy." You swallowed, feeling a sudden surge of confidence. "Jace is to be your future king and Baela his queen, you ought to treat them with the respect they deserve."

Aemond tipped back his head and laughed heartily "The day your brother ascends the throne will be the beginning of the downfall of this kingdom."

You froze in pure disbelief that he would say something so bold. "What you speak is treason."

His eye glinted with amusement. "Are you going to tell on me to your mother?" He chuckled cruelly. "You are no true Velaryon, that is for certain."

"Perhaps not." You whispered, approaching Aemond slowly. "But I am as much a Targaryen as you are and you'd do best to not forget it."

He went silent. Something passed between the two of you, maybe it was the alcohol acting but you found yourself staring at his lips as his tongue darted out to wet them. Wondering what they would feel like on your own.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips against him, he stiffened immediately at the contact arm coming up to grip your own, as if he was unsure whether he should pull you away or not.

“I will not take you.” He said at last pulling away, lips swollen. “Not if my brother has had you.”

You hated how chivalrous he always had to be. “He hasn’t.” You whispered. Please. You wanted to say, yet you caught yourself when you realised the picture you were painting of yourself. Bedding a man who had attacked and debased your family regardless of if he was your husband or not would come across as needy. You didn’t care. “I want it.” You whispered. His eyes widened and then something changed, his gaze became hungry, his eyes roving over your body, drinking it in. You were still in your dinner dress, now crumpled and stained from your drinking with Aegon. Your pregnant belly strained against the material.

“Lay on the bed.” Aemond ordered.

You obeyed.

“Spread your legs.” Aemond approached the foot of the bed where you sat. When you spread your legs, with slight difficulty due to your belly, he snaked his hand between them, pulling down your undergarments before assisting you in taking your dress off.

Aemond pulled a chair up to the foot of the bed and sat down, his legs spread. You found your eyes drawn to his straining cock immediately. You felt a thrill, having not taken him in months. “Touch yourself.” He stated.

Your eyes widened. “Pardon?”

He smiled cruelly as if you were nothing more than a joke to him. “You want it?” You nodded. “Then show me.”

You had only allowed yourself the reprieve of masturbation on your loneliest nights when you wished for anyone to keep you company in your large, cold bed. You gulped, snaking a hand down between your legs and finding your clit. You began to rub circles around the bud, letting out a light gasp at the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body simply by having someone watch you.

“You’re filthy.” He said simply, smiling and palming between his legs as you began to buck into your touch. “Close already?” You nodded desperately. “Hands off.” He said. “When you cum I want it to be from me.”

You continued, his words barely registering. In seconds Aemond was on you, ripping your hand from between you legs and pinning you to the bed. “Stupid girl.” He snarled. “Dumb already and you haven’t even had a cock in you.” You whimpered.

“Please put it in me.” You whispered prompting a growl from Aemond. He spread your legs even wider before undoing his zipper and freeing his length. “I shouldn’t be giving you what you want.” He growled. “Not after the stunt you pulled tonight.”

He aligned himself with your entrance before pushing in ever so slowly. You let out a cry of pleasure. “Fuck.” Aemond whispered, so feint you could have missed it, his eyes fixed on where the both of were joined. “Feel good?.” He asked.

All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and nod as his thrusts became deeper, more frequent.

“This is all you needed huh?” He asked with a laugh. “A cock to fill you up and you’re satisfied.” His words weren’t computing, your eyes rolled back into your head. “Fuck I’m close.” He growled, thrusts picking up. “Where do you want it?”

“In me.” You said before tipping your head back and moaning as you played with your clit, walls fluttering around him as your orgasm finally overtook you. You must have been squeezing him like a vice because Aemond came shortly after you, collapsing beside you as he breathed deeply.

You lay like that for a few minutes, before Aemond placed a hand on your belly giving it a light rub before standing up. You grabbed at his wrist. “Stay.” You asked, eyes pleading. How you had gone from being furious with him to asking him to spend the night you had no idea.

Yet it was Aemond. He left anyways.

Perhaps that was for the better. Aemond was blood of the dragon, as were you and yet some days he made you feel like a sheep in comparison to himself. So you went to sleep. The only evidence he had been in your room dribbling out between your thighs.

[dolicekiss]

Heyyyy,

could you write a one-shot, where fem reader is James Bond‘s niece and has accidentaly met her uncle in the city, kept following him and this is how she ends up in the casino? Bond realizes this pretty quickly, but can‘t save her from an intrigued Le Chiffre, who kidnaps her. (With Smut?)

Casino & Cash

PAIRING: Le Chiffre x Bond's niece!Female reader

CONTENT WARNING: kidnapping, dubcon, drugging, threatening, unprotected sex, age gap (reader is twenty, Le Chiffre is thirty five), hair pulling, bratty reader, choking, sadistic behavior, mention of blood, praise kink, degrading kink, forced oral (female receiving), forced fucking, knife play.

SYNOPSIS: The last person you expected to crash into was your uncle, in Montenegro, on his own vacation. You were warned to stay away from Bond, as the man was on a dangerous mission but because of your young curiosity, you found yourself following your uncle's trail. It didn't end well because when you entered the Casino, you not only caught your uncle's attention but a specific banker’s too; Le Chiffre.

You hadn't expected to find your own uncle at a store in Montenegro, shoppin for a tuxedo, especially when your own mother had warned you to stay as far as you could from him and his line of work.

Never were your whys and whats answered, only subtle orders left for you to follow.

You were stubborn. Wanted to know more about him, about what he did, just what did he do that was beyond your understanding.

“Listen to me—”

You interrupted him. “I will not. You always ignore us and never even visit us anymore. Mom keeps saying to let you be but we're family, are we not?”

You didn't like just how easily your uncle had abandoned you. Just for the sake of his all secretive, dangerous occupation. It didn't sit right with you. Everyday, your mother would miss her brother and hope that someday he'd visit but James Bond had his own plans, to save the world and rid it of terrorist organizations.

Bond let out a grunt of frustration. As if preparing himself for a game of tough poker wasn't already energy draining, he now had to deal with your stubbornness. “You don't understand. You're only a child, I do not wish you to even have knowledge about all this."

“A child?!” You exclaimed, clearly offended that he'd even thought of you as one. “I am twenty, an adult. You wouldn't know though. Last time you visited, I was only eighteen.”

You recalled back to his short visit. Only entering through the doors of your apartment, discussing a few words with your mother and then leaving after dropping a bar of chocolate on the wooden desk in front of you which he'd claimed was a souvenir brought from Japan.

A bar of chocolate — for an eighteen year old.

It pissed you off just how avoidant your own uncle was.

“Just because I don't visit often doesn't mean I don't keep an eye on my family.” You shook your head at that, staring at him with a pout like some petulant child. Your father had abandoned you when you were only a little girl and when James stepped in to take care of you, your attachment to him grew.

So when he too took off under the name of his dangerous work, you made it your mission to confront the man.

But the last thing you expected was to see him here. Strolling through the mall, coursing through the tuxedos hanging from the metal rod in a luxurious store. Your mother missed him but her reaction was not as extreme as yours.

Before you could utter out another remark of disappointment, your uncle dismissed you by answering a phone call. Then he left, just like that. He once again didn't bother to look back and you suppressed the urge to stomp your foot on the marbled floor in the middle of the mall.

But you weren't gonna sit idle.

So you got to it.

Following him — like a snake slithering after its prey and tracking down its every moment. Subtle or not. Pursuing him lead you to Casino Royale. It took you days to land yourself a place at the Casino Royale, all the opulence and wealth you possessed came in help. Coming from the Bond family, you had access to all the ancestral wealth as well as the money James Bond earned through his work.

Casino Royal was beautiful and glimmering in pure opulence, the type of place you usually avoided as you were not fond of rich scums that looked down upon everyone else and considered the lives of middle class and lower nothing but futile.

Draped in black satin, you made your entrance inside the casino. Quick to grasp the attention of multiple gazes but you focused only on your uncle, capturing his blue eyes.

Found you.

You sent him a short smug grin. Like you'd win, you had found him. Tracked him down no matter how hard he tried to conceal his tracks and not be found but he had forgotten that at the end of the day, you too were his niece and carried his intelligence.

Without knowing what you were stepping into, you moved across the room. In your naivety, you'd laid yourself bare to the lion that possessed the front seat. Le Chiffre watched you move with such grace, your hips almost dislocating with how blissfully you walked over to the table.

To you, you'd won this game of cat and mouse. Unbeknownst to the real danger that your uncle so desperately tried to protect you against. He did everything in his power to keep you concealed but your foolishness and stubbornness had lead you to step right in the lion’s den.

As you stood behind your uncle, you wrapped your arm around his broad shoulders. Everyone watched, but Le Chiffre analyzed the scene unfold before him. Finger tapping against his temple, the sight of you nearly making him lose focus on the game. He was more curious though — a craving to unwrap the mystery that you were.

You were not an agent.

If you were, he would have known.

When your face came next to Bond’s, the gears in his head turned. He tilted his head, stare running over the both of you in scrutiny before his brain snapped.

You were no damn agent.

Nor were you an accomplice.

He registered the similarities between the two of you. You beared a striking resemblance to the man you stood next to, the lips and nose nearly giving away your relationship to him. You were a relative and Le Chiffre’s mind already was coming up with ideas and ways to use you as leverage against his nemesis.

“See, I told you. You can't always escape me, dear uncle.” You whispered in his ear, a small giggle escaping you.

Completely oblivious to the man with the scarred eye who stared at you with heightened curiosity in his one, dark eye. The other still holding some remnants of human emotions.

Le Chiffre also noticed the nervousness that decorated Bond’s face. It was obvious he was sweating at your presence in the Casino, not fond of it at all. Your naivety was going to get you in danger, as he saw how the men in the room eyed you like you were some new piece of meat.

Bond was an egoistic man.

He didn't care about risking a few lives if it meant saving millions others. Sacrificing a few people was a game of chess for him but you.

You were family.

He couldn't possibly risk you.

Especially knowing his sister would unleash hell about you.

The man was in a fucking dilemma. He didn't know what to do, but right now progressing with the game was his ultimate goal and aim so he did. Brushing your small hands off his shoulders.

“Just leave and don't come back here.” He whispered, and you looked at him. His blue eyes held no sarcasm or hesitance. He was serious and the look he gave you caused a chill to dance up your arms.

With a pout of reluctance, you made another grave mistake by ignoring his order and walking away to the bar. Le Chiffre’s gaze followed you and when you plopped down on the velvety chair, you accidentally made eye contact with him.

Appalled at how attractive he was, despite the minor flaw of a scarred eye. His gaze drank you up, every drop of you. From the revealed ankles of yours to the slit in your dress. He found it irritating it that he couldn't peek further into the recess of your inner thighs, the gap closed as you'd tossed your leg over the other.

You were quite young. He could see that too and something primal rose up in his throat which he drowned down with a glass of cognac.

Bond knew things were going to go haywire, especially with the way you'd captured Le Chiffre’s attention. It was good as he could win the game of poker with you distracting him but he couldn't possibly allow himself to include you in all this. Knowing that once you're in, there's no way out. No way to escape the clouds of danger looming above your head.

Everytime Le Chiffre went in with his money, he stole glances from you. Following how your stained lips met the rim of the glass of martini — his own throat beginning to become parched. You weren't oblivious to his gaze but the aura that levitated off the man like a dark cloud of death was a warning enough to not give him any attention.

You only focused on your uncle, Bond’s sparkling blues finding you. Continuing to play the game but also worrying about you and how he'd face his sister if she were to find out her daughter was involved in James’ life threatening games.

You had both the men all over the place.

One with your beauty, other with your blood.

Three glasses of martinis and a reapplied lipstick later, the game had come to an end. It was your uncle who emerged as the winner and you couldn't control your joy. Immediately embracing him in a hug and smiling at him. All the people in the Casino watching you, curious to what your relationship with James Bond was.

“Uncle, you won.”

Le Chiffre heard that.

Oh he did and a small subtle grin passed when he did.

You had to be his niece. You couldn't be his sister, nor wife nor daughter. The man was an agent for god’s sake, he couldn't risk to harbor his own relationships. You had to be someone else's. Le Chiffre’s anger subsided because he had found the right leverage against James Bond.

“Don't call me that.” He said through gritted teeth — shaking his head in disappointment. You blinked your eyes, dumbfounded.

Le Chiffre left the room, after stealing a glance from you. Already making plans to kidnap you and bring you to his knees, use you into James handing over all the money.

Bond had lead you outside to the parking lot, angry and frustrated. You couldn't understand the depth of the situation. You were only cheering for him but you weren't aware that by referring to him as your uncle, you'd stepped into the spotlight of danger and macabre. He pushed you inside the car and slammed the door shut, slipping inside the driver's seat.

“If you're told over and over again to stay the fuck away from me, why won't you listen?” You watched with a blurring vision as he slammed both his hands down on the posh steering wheel of the car. Your body flinched at such an aggressive reaction, succumbing to the leather of the seat you were.

You tried to excuse your behavior. “Uncle, I only wanted to spend time with you—”

“Fuck spending time with me. You're a target now, they'll do anything to get their hands on you.” James was a fucking mess. Perspired forehead and trembling hands, he started the car and began driving. There was only one single thing on his mind, to get you to the airport as fast as he could.

There wasn't even enough time to contact MI6 and call for emergency transportation for you. Le Chiffre had found out and you were not a human anymore — only blackmail material. A threat to both MI6 and James Bond.

The car drive was reckless, tears falling profusely down your cheeks. You couldn't understand what was happening but you were sure that something shady, something past your normal life was going on here. James drove like his life depended on it but then a blast roared through the darkness of the night.

Cutting the silence crisply in between, as the car came to a screeching halt. Its engine roaring out into the void the sky had become. You had no time to register the situation as the car door was slammed open, from both sides, and you two were pulled out. The strange faces moved aside and there emerged a familiar face, the man with the scarred eye.

He scared you.

Just by existing.

Your uncle was knocked over and pushed on his knees by one of the guards while another held you tightly against him. You couldn't give in, not that easily. Turning to the man who held you, you bared your teeth and bit down on his arm. His scream was cut short as he slapped you across the face, sending you straight into the grass by the road.

“She's resilient.” Le Chiffre commented, impressed by your act of rebellion. You were surrounded by guns, by dangerous people but you had the fucking nerve to harm one of his men.

That was attractive.

“Let her go.” Bond gasped out, the side of his head bleeding from the rough handling of Le Chiffre’s men. “Take me, but release her. She's of no use to you.”

Le Chiffre tilted his head. He walked over to where you were, kneeled down on the floor with a gun to your head. You accumulated the spit mixed with blood in your mouth and spat it to the side, glaring up at him through your thick lashes. The man fucking relished in how seemingly daring you were. He was going to enjoy you more than torturing James for his money.

He saw a challenge before him.

Le Chiffre reached for your chin, holding it tightly in his palm. Examining your face for any bruises and other than a busted lip, he found nothing of serious cause. “She's of no use? She's of all the use I need right now.”

Your uncle let out profanities of disagreement at the idea of you getting involved with the disgusting world of these men. He didn't like it — he hated it. He'd kept you seperate from him all these years because you were innocent. Innocent like the people he'd taken up this job to save.

“Fuck you, cunt.” You swore at Le Chiffre, glaring at him. That act of resilience only made you more attractive and he had to claim you.

He released your chin and smirked. “Drug them.”

That was all his guard dogs needed. Punctured with a syringe in your neck, you tried to hold onto your uncle before the void could consume you but you failed.

— ♡ —

You'd regained consciousness, expecting to be chained in some dark basement. But you were in a bedroom, as your hazy vision registered your surroundings. It was a serene room — sleek and modern. Too boring and dull for your taste.

After the cloud of fog dissipated from your brain, you finally scanned your surroundings in depth. You were on a bed, comfortable and soft and the room had a table in the corner then a balcony. You tried to get up but couldn't, feeling weak in the knees and thighs for some reason.

Your forehead was sweaty and your cunt throbbed. All while laying in an air conditioned room. It was quite weird to be feeling this hot and intense when the room was cold and the temperature was low.

You tried to writhe out of the restraints put on your wrist, but it didn't budge. The rope scraping against your skin and bruising it in the process. A soft whimper left you when you squeezed your thighs. Just what the fuck was happening to you? Brain fogging up and sweat oozing out of all your pores, you tried to scream out but couldn't due to a parched throat.

Then the door opened.

You were so occupied with your own messed up situation, you didn't even look up at who had entered the room.

Le Chiffre stared at you, as you squirmed like some worm on the bed. Back arching off once in awhile, lips letting out little huffs and brows furrowed in frustration. He knew what was happening to you, he was the cause of it afterall.

“Feel any indifferent?”

Your head shot up at his voice.

You hated the man already. He'd kidnapped you and your uncle, hurt you both yet — yet he appeared so fucking attractive. There was something terribly wrong with you because all your mind thought about inching closer to the man and getting fucked by him.

He was like an oasis and you were a thirsty woman.

“W-What did you do to me?” You managed to stutter out, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to satiate the hunger of your moist cunt.

You hated how needy you were acting, especially for such an evil man. This was completely against your own morals yet you couldn't help but crave his cock right inside you, to calm down the throbbing of your soaked cunt.

He smiled. “Just a little drug, to make you more pliant.”

Pliant? For what?

You blinked a little. Cheeks flushed and strands sticking fo your forehead. “You fucking asshole. Let me go now.”

Le Chiffre grinned and nodded his head, leaving you completely shocked. He came closer to you, reaching over to untie the knots on your wrist and releasing you. His actions left you puzzled, your blurred gaze looking at him.

“Go.” He said. “Try stepping out this door and you'll get yourself fucked by most of my men here.”

You flinched at his words, not even having enough energy to step out the bed. Le Chiffre ran his finger over your arm, sliding it up and you leaned more into his touch. Desperately trying to get more, to settle the ache in your body.

Le Chiffre chuckled, seeing how desperate you were.

“P-Please. I don't feel good.” You had tears streaming down your face as you reached for his chest, running your fingers all over the expanse of it. You knew deep in your heart that to ache for him like this was wrong, to want him like this was horrible but your body wanted to succumb to this need. This crave and desire.

To you, Le Chiffre appeared ten times more alluring than he did before.

He stood before you, one hand in his pocket as he stared at you. “Yeah? Do you feel hot, mon chéri?”

You nodded your head, getting on your knees on the bed as your hands yearned to touch more of him. Flying up to his nape, freshly done nails grazing over the skin hidden beneath his collar. You stared at him, unbridled need controlling each and every molecule and tissue in your body.

“Want me to fuck you, hm? Tell me, do you want to cum on the cock of the man who has your uncle captive?” You stalled for a moment, not wanting to answer that. Guilt and wanton warring inside you. Your own uncle was somewhere, probably getting tortured and here you were with a saturated cunt aching to be fucked.

By the same man who'd taken you and your uncle captive.

You didn't want to answer.

Fingernails digging into his skin out of complete hatred, your gaze darkened and Le Chiffre only scoffed. You were touching him but also hurting him — a sweet mix which he found delightful. He grabbed both your hands, pinning your wrists down leaving you in need.

“Tell me.”

You shook your head.

He snickered. “Then suffer.”

Before he could sit up and leave, you grabbed him by his face and pressed your lips against his. The kiss was haste and messy, your lips hungrily colliding with his, tongue trying to pry open his mouth. Le Chiffre’s hand went up to your hair as he grabbed it — bunching it in his fist and tugging on the locks.

He tried to push you off him but the way you were kissing him like a starved, mad woman, it made his wall crumble apart.

You whimpered, pushing your body up against his. Trying to feel him, to rub your body all over his. Le Chiffre knew the drug had taken its affect on you but he didn't know you'd be this desperate. Hungrily sucking on his tongue and slurping up his saliva, like you needed him.

He could feel his spit mixed with yours smearing all over his mouth.

When he pulled away, he found you looking back at him with the most vulnerable and submissive look ever. Pants tightening at the mere sight of you looking this messed up, Le Chiffre felt his restraint slip away as he tossed you on the bed.

“Please,” you moaned, parting your legs like some common whore. “use me—ruin me, please.”

Le Chiffre had enough. He didn't waste time, ripping the dress to shreds and tossing its littered pieces everywhere. Cold hands groping you everywhere, acting like numbing gel to your fiery skin. He rid you of your panties too, prying your thighs open and exposing your sweet cunt to him.

The man brought his head down to your thighs, nuzzling it between them. His hands gripping each thigh tightly, fingers dipping into the flesh. “Look at your little hole clenching around nothing but air. How fucking embarrassing and disgusting.”

You responded with a whine, both hands dropping down to grab onto his neatly done hair.

He blowed air on your clit, watching it twitch and he chuckled. You were fucking pathetic and small and weak. All at his mercy and right now he could do whatever he wished to do with you. Humiliate you, hurt you, ruin you, fuck you. Just a doll for him to play with.

In a moment of regained control of your morals, you started to punch at his shoulders to move him away from you. Torn between the desperate chase for pleasure and the despair that awaited you at the end of this debauchery.

Le Chiffre didn't like how you still fought off the effects of the drug.

Releasing your thigh, he grasped both your wrists in a tight hold and pressed them over your stomach. “Enough. Don't fight it unless you want me to call in every guard outside so they can see you like this.”

Your act of defiance fell apart.

He ran his wet tongue over the slit of your cunt and your breath hitched, body twitching and back rising from the mattress. Striking you across your thigh, he pushed it up and bent your knee. Exposing more of your cunt to him. “Stay still.”

“C-Can’t. Feels too good.” You whimpered out, wrists struggling in his hold. You wished to be free, to kick and throw your hands everywhere. A pathetic mess of hopelessness and sin you were, sprawled across the bed for him to unfurl.

He chuckled against your cunt, before closing his lips around your clit. He sucked on it with vigor as you felt his sharp teeth nearly prickle the sensitive bud. Due to the drug, your body's sensitivity and senses had heightened, twitching in his hold everytime he touched you in the slightest.

You stared at him and in return he did the same, his scarred eye only fueling the ache in your abdomen. He was truly a beautiful man, the most attractive man you'd ever seen but his deeds were as ugly as his insides. There he laid before your very legs, using his skilled tongue to pull you into a deeper abyss.

Le Chiffre unwrapped his lips around your clit as his tongue made its way past your wet folds, plunging inside your hole. Tears rolled down your face as you attempted to free yourself from the restraint his hand was around your wrists.

“Wanna hold your hair, please. Just wanna hold it.” You were a sputtering mess and the man found you quite innocent in that very moment but he knew you were also a brat who'd given him a hard time. “You want to hold my hair, hm? You pathetic little whore. Want to hold my hair as I eat your little cunt while my men torture your uncle downstairs?”

Intaking a sharp breath, you didn't know what to do. As if his actions weren't already disgraceful, his words made you feel sick too. You whimpered for him, a simple plea to be freed and Le Chiffre grinned, slowly retracting his hands. The second he did, your fingers found themselves entangled between his dark silky locks. His intimidating eyes swallowing you whole as he continued his ministrations.

You could feel yourself near.

Stomach flipping and twisting into crazy knots, thighs suffering from convulsions. He only admired the view before him — a beauty with flushed, rosette cheeks and perspired forehead staring back at him. He ate you out like there was no tomorrow, a night that was his last. His saliva with a mix of your arousal falling down his chin.

“You taste so good, doll. Fucking delicious against my tongue.” He grunted, fucking you with his rigid tongue.

And you soon reached your own end, back arching off the bed and a high pitched scream tearing through your chest. Your throat parched and dry from all the sounds you'd made. Le Chiffre watched you as you became more of a mess underneath him, your arousal coating his tongue.

He licked you up like a dog, panting and melting in the taste your little body had to offer. Hands holding you down against the bed, he took in the sight of your eyes meeting the back of your skull and your body falling apart.

And when you'd came down from your blissful high, you found the ache in your pussy to only grow more intense. In need of something, something that only Le Chiffre could offer you.

In a few seconds, the man had hastily stripped himself naked. When your blitzed gaze fell lower and you grasped the sheer size of his cock — it dismayed you. In an attempt to run from him, you tried to slid off the soft mattress but Le Chiffre was quick to grasp your legs, tugging you closer to him. Until he was settled between your thighs, both hands holding your knees apart.

“Getting kidnapped and the idea of torture doesn't scare you but the size of my cock does? How fucking ironic.” Le Chiffre chuckled, firmly locking you in place.

He brought his hand upto your mouth. “Spit.”

You shook your head, stubborn. Torn between the ache of your cunt and the guilt about your uncle, you fought an inner battle inside you. Your body craved him but your mind reminded you just who he was, what he'd done to you and your uncle.

Just how evil he was.

He let out a groan of frustration, his fingers entangling in your dark locks as he gripped on the roots. “Fucking spit.”

You whimpered at the harsh tug and gathered saliva in your mouth, before spitting a glob out on his open palm. Le Chiffre hummed in satisfaction and ran the wet palm over his cock, lubricating it. You stared at him with hooded eyes as rubbed his fat cockhead against your clit — before entering you in one, harsh thrust.

A loud high pitched moan tore through you, the painful stretch surging your body forward.

He told hold of one thigh and hiked it up, bending your knee to angle his cock deeper inside you. The position gave him access to more depth of your gummy tight walls and the man growled, loving the feeling how you'd clamped down on him.

Walls clinging to him in desperate. Cunt trying to suck his cock, to consume him whole. Tears emerged on your waterline, tear ducts nearly expoding as Le Chiffre allowed you to grow used to his size. His delicious girth stretched you out like no other as your hips writhed underneath him.

He pushed until he had completely pressed his pelvis against yours. Becoming one with you.

“One might think you're a virgin from how fucking tight you are.” He grunted, staring down at you. Once neatly done hair now a mess, few strands slipping through the grasp of gel and hovering over his wet sweaty forehead.

Le Chiffre started to snap his hips against yours, holding you down as he took you against your will. Your perpetual cries and struggles loud and reverberating through the corners of the luxurious room. You tried to hit him — hands messily attempting to deliver a few smacks to his bare chest.

So he grabbed both your wrists and forcefully slammed them down, restraining you against the mattress. His one perfect eye holding all the anger and frustration that he soon was going to take out on you.

“Even the drug can't take the bratty behavior out of you.” Le Chiffre groaned, sliding in and out if you. “Your little pussy is soaked and throbbing for me but you still want to show off your morals.”

You sniffled at his words and he watched as a lone tear slid down. You looked so sinful and the man was not going to release you anytime sooner. He had big plans for you, especially now that he'd figured you were related to his nemesis.

Poor girl caught up in their evil games.

“I-I hate you.” You said, through broken moans and ragged breaths. Le Chiffre genuinely found it amusing when you'd expressed your hatred for him. It only added fuel to his desire, his thrusts going more vigorous as he stepped his foot up on the bed.

Both his hands flew to your throat — circling around to cut off your air supply. Your fists banged over his chest, at his arms and wrists but you were extremely pathetic against the man. Grip tightening with each second, he admired the way your face slowly turned almost a pale hue of blue. Back arching off the bed and body struggling.

Then he released you.

Just when your lungs had swelled up in dire need of oxygen, veins going numb.

“Wish I could kill you.” Le Chiffre moaned, hands still decorating your throat in bruises as the brute force of his strokes hit your sensitive spot. Feeling his thick cockhead repeatedly slam into your gspot and everytime he did, your body jerked. “But you're so much more useful like this. Killing you would be a waste of a good cunt.”

You loathed the way he spoke to you like you were some whore.

Face drenched in sweat and tears, your stomach heated up with a feeling that you deeply tried to suppress. Le Chiffre felt you grip his cock like a vice, realizing that you were hear. As was he.

His animalistic like thrusts continued delivering into you, and you sobbed whenever a vein of his cock throbbed inside you. It was all too vivid and raw. You could feel things that you were sure you wouldn't under a normal setting. The drug he'd used had heightened your senses and you hated just how good Le Chiffre was making you feel.

His hand unwrapped your throat, slipping between your legs to run over your swollen little bud. Your thighs twitched as he pounded into you, all while forcefully pulling an orgasm out of you.

Soon you came all over him — body twitching and trembling. He'd fucked your orgasm out of you, watching as you made a mess everywhere. Creaming all over his cock and the sight made him spill too, coating your walls with his thick seed. Your eyes rolled back and your lips shuddered, falling agape.

“Yeah there it is. Little cunt is so fucking tight, so very fucking tight.” He rode out his own release, with endless grunts and growls of pleasure. It only acted as an addition to your need for him.

He looked so attractive.

While he sinned inside you.

Le Chiffre grunted, fucking his cum back into you and by this point you were too far gone into oblivion. You allowed it to happen, frail body a victim of dehydration and the dehumanizing act done by Le Chiffre was too overwhelming so you didn't register it. Blocked it away and went numb.

He stared down at you, hand slowly reaching for your face. You flinched, expecting something rough or a hit even but instead came a gentle stroke from his thumb over your soaked cheek. “You're absolutely gorgeous, especially like this.” He licked the tear he collected on his thumb, before pulling out of you and dropping besides you.

Your breathing was torn, gradually becoming even with time. You turned away from him, not caring about anything anymore. You'd missed your uncle, and such a simple relationship lead to this. If you'd known, you would've always steered clear of James Bond and the people around him.

In a way, you deemed it to be your fault too.

“You didn't know, did you?”

Le Chiffre’s deep voice broke the silence, as a strong arm was tossed over you from behind.

You knew what he was referring to. Of course you didn't know your uncle was involved in some shady shit like this. If they had told you, if your mother had just been clear about all this, none of the monstrosities you faced tonight would've happened.

“Innocents often lose their lives amidst wars caused by others.” If you didn't know how cruel the man was, you would've assumed for a split second that these were words of reassurance but these were mere taunts — to remind you that he'd captured you.

You were leverage now.

For him.

[alloftheimagines]

roy kent | just friends

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | KO-FI

words: 3k

warnings: strong language because it's roy fucking kent, mentions of alcohol but not intoxication, bad date experiences with rude and not nice people, including comments on reader's body.

single parent!reader (they/them, bi/pan) x uncle roy in which he is your best friend and go-to babysitter when you have an awful date that ends early. protectiveness, hurt/comfort, and a heated confession ensues.

prompt: Roy Kent x Reader, Friends to lovers?

You’ve never been more relieved to be home, even as the sound of screaming children drifts from your house. You press your forehead against the cool door, taking in a deep breath. “Past their bedtime. Again,” you mutter, but your best friend allowing your daughter to have a late night with his niece, Phoebe, is the least of your worries after what you just experienced. 

Horror. Pure horror. 

“Oi!” you hear the deep, gritty voice of Roy Kent echoing down your hallway. “Come back ‘ere and do my other hand! Can’t be walking around with only one set of fucking nails painted!” 

Giggles follow, and you smile despite yourself. They give you the energy to open the door finally, and you step in to find your hallway lit brightly, Phoebe flying out of the kitchen with chocolate smeared across her face and bright blue nail polish in her hand. 

“Don’t be getting that on my carpet!” you warn, alerting everyone to your presence. 

Your daughter, Maisie, skips out next, waving. “We’re painting Uncle Roy’s nails!”

“Lucky Roy!” She’d been calling him “uncle” for the past year, though neither of you is related to the footballer-turned-manager. Maisie picked it up from Phoebe, and Roy hadn’t seemed to mind, since you’re practically best friends anyway. You’re constantly trying to tire the kids out with play dates at one another’s house, or else exchanging babysitting duties so one of you can have a free night. Of course, Roy isn’t a single parent like you, but he watches Phoebe enough that you’ve formed a bond over the years, one that stemmed from your shared love of your chaotic children. 

That bond has blossomed into something much more than you bargained for, though. After all, he is Roy fucking Kent, and his rough exterior matched with his hidden, softer side was always going to be your downfall. But since he’s been in and out of relationships and never made a move, you’ve let the small crush lie, trying to distract yourself with dates. 

Terrible, terrible dates.

Like the one you had tonight. 

“You’re back early.” Roy emerges last, leaning against the doorframe as he blows on his wet-varnished nails. “It wasn’t the one who speaks like someone’s pressed fast-forward on the TV remote again, was it? I told you they’re a loser.” 

“No. No, it was someone far, far worse than Fast-forward Frank.” You sigh and try to ignore the flickering in your chest, because gruff footballer Roy Kent is currently being pampered by two ten-year-olds and seems to be enjoying every minute. 

“Fuck,” he deadpans. “I’ll grab the wine.” He wanders back into the kitchen. 

You huff again, kicking your shoes off your aching feet and heading into the living room, where the girls are painting one another’s nails. It was at least nice to snuggle up on your couch and watch, legs curled under you. They’re arguing, of course, but you’re good at tuning that out most of the time. 

“You look very nice, Y/N,” Phoebe compliments. “Are you dressed up for my Uncle Roy?”

“No.” Even so, your cheeks flush, and you can’t help but hope he noticed your appearance before you left earlier. In fact, you’d been wondering all through dinner why he’d pursed his lips, jaw ticking, as he’d looked you up and down with shiny, dark eyes. It hadn’t exactly been the look of a man who lusted after you. More the disapproving stare of a father about to tell his child to go and change. “I went on a date.”

“What’s a date?” Maisie asks.

“14th of April,” Phoebe answers confidently. You smirk, glad when they return to their own little world. 

“Right girls,” Roy says as he comes in. “Go and play upstairs, now. We’re talking about adult stuff now.”

“And you should be in bed,” you remind, because you suppose that one of you has to be the responsible parent, and it certainly isn’t him.

The kids groan but trudge out of the room, leaving you in peace. Somehow, that’s even worse. You don’t really know why; you’ve had lots of awful dating experiences, but tonight, you’re just… exhausted. You don’t want to have to keep searching for something that most people find without a problem. You don’t want to meet new people who you don’t connect with, don’t even really like, just because the alternative is sitting at home with only a child for company, or sometimes Roy. 

Roy places the wine on the coffee table and raises his brow. “Go on then. Tell me what was wrong with this one.” 

“It’d be quicker to tell you what’s right. They started by telling me to put a blanket under me in their car so I wouldn’t scuff their leather seats. And then when I told them I had a kid, they looked me up and down and said ‘ah, yeah, I can tell. Have you looked into cosmetic surgery?’” You wrinkle your nose as Roy scoffs. 

“You’re joking!” 

“I wish I was joking.” You rest your head against the couch cushion, closing your tired eyes. “They tried to order a salad for me after that. I told them fuck off, I’m having the garlic bread. They didn’t like that.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Do you have their address?” Roy is already scrambling to get up, and you aren’t sure if he’s joking or not. 

You roll your eyes and tug him back down. “Stop it.”

“I’m not fucking joking. Where does this wanker live?” 

Okay, you realise. Not joking. His jaw is clenched, brows even more furrowed than usual. You’ve seen him angry before, but never… seething. It rolls off him until you yank him down a second time. 

“I don’t need you to beat them up. I need you to drink wine and tell me I’ll find the right person one day.” You pout as you pick up your wine glass, only half-joking.

His nostrils flare, but he settles down. “You will find the right person,” he reassures. “People are just dicks. You deserve better than all that shit.”

“I wonder sometimes,” you admit. “Nobody wants a single parent. I’m a package deal, and… well, there’s a reason I’m still single after all this time.”

“Oi.” He nudges you, draping his arm around the back of your couch so you smell his aftershave. You turn into the warmth, the comfort, though there is so much space between you still. More than you’d like. In another life, he might have been the one you were looking for. In another life, you weren’t searching for a good, healthy, passionate love, because you’d found it long ago, in the schoolyard where you met. 

But you’re in this life, you remind yourself, and you’re a far cry from the people Roy has dated before. It’s clear you’re just friends. You always will be. 

You lift your brows, waiting for whatever lecture he’s about to give you. 

His eyes pierce yours. “Don’t even bother going there. You and Maisie deserve the fucking world, and fuck anyone who isn’t going to give it to you.” 

The words pierce your heart, and something damp and warm trickles from the corner of your eye. A tear, you realise too late. 

Roy sighs, the rough pad of his thumb brushing it away. You’re not surprised by his gentle touch, though most people might be. You know him too well to think him anything other than tender-hearted and caring to his core. 

“Don’t get fuckin’ upset over that prick. Please, sweetheart.”

“No. I’m not.” You sniff, feeling pathetic. “I’m just overwhelmed. Tired. That’s all.” 

His touch drifts to your hair, brushing through the strands and tucking a few behind your ear as your eyes flutter shut again. You could stay like this for a long time. For forever. He has no idea just how much you need him, how much better things feel when he’s around. It would just make sense, you and him — if you took away his fame, at least. You love one another’s kids. You’d become family over the years. You trust him with every fibre of your being as the one steadfast person you can count on. 

“Y’know, you’re the person I’d call in the middle of the night if I needed to bury a body. Or if I thought there was a ghost in my house or something,” you admit. 

His face crumples. “Ey?” 

“Just…” You lean into him, burying your cheek against his chest. “You’re the only person who hasn’t let me down or left me.” 

His movements are stiff as he wraps his arms around you, but he melts into you quickly, holding you to him until you’re not sure where you end and he begins. You hear his heart echoing in your ear. Feel the prickly bristle of his beard against your skin. It’s the safest you ever get to feel, and it’s rare you allow yourself to be so vulnerable. But tonight, you can’t find a reason to keep pretending. 

“I never would,” he whispers. “If it was me, if you gave me a chance at a family like yours… I wouldn’t fucking waste it. They’re idiots, all of them. You and Maisie are precious. You deserve the best. Don’t stop until you find it.” 

You pull away, pulse racing. It’s never felt right to address your feelings before, and perhaps tomorrow you’ll regret it. Maybe you’ll lose him, even, but you believe him when he says he isn’t going anywhere, and you have to know…

“What if I already have?”

His frown lasts for minutes, hours, as he looks down at you. And then you see it dawn on him, and you don’t want to hear how this story ends. You don’t want to be rejected twice in one night. You stumble up. “Forget I said that. I had a couple of drinks at the restaurant, and I’m all… loopy. I’m going to get some snacks. Are you hungry?” The drinks were non-alcoholic, but he doesn't need to know that.

“No,” Roy says. 

It’s all he gives you. The message has been delivered loud and clear. He doesn’t want you. Tears sting your eyes as you leave the living room, heading into the kitchen. You catch your reflection in the window and almost break down entirely. You’re an idiot, and you’ve gone and embarrassed yourself in front of the one person you can be yourself around. 

You grab a tissue, drying your tears, but fresh ones fall all the same. 

And then your back prickles and you know he’s followed you. 

“Oi,” he breathes gently, tilting your chin up as he reaches you. “What are you getting upset for?”

“I’m not,” you lie pathetically, looking anywhere but at him. “You can head off if you want. I can watch the girls tonight and drop Phoebe off—”

“Can we just rewind a minute? Do you… Do you think that you and me…?”

“No! God, no. No. No, no, no.”

“Oh.” He nods, leaning back on his heels. "So no then?"

“No!” 

“All right, I fucking get it.” He lifts his hands as though they might wipe it all away. “I just thought that’s what you were saying before, on the couch. I thought…”

“You should stop thinking, Roy.” You offer him a flustered smile, your face burning. “Honestly, let’s just forget about it.”

“Right. Fine.” More silence. And then: “What if I don’t want to?” 

“Don’t want to what?” 

He shrugs. “Forget about it. What if… we’ve both already found the right people?” 

Your body is electricity now, and you can barely breathe. “What… do you mean?”

He scratches his stubble, lowering his gaze. “Well, I could take you on a date. I’d be much better at it than the losers you’ve been seeing.”

You’re caught off-guard, hands trembling, “Is that what you’d like?”

“Well, I did. I mean, I’ve wanted to. I just… you’ve already said no. Several times. So I suppose I got my answer, and that’s that.” 

“Well, I didn’t think you saw me that way. You’ve never asked before. Is this, like, a pity thing?”

“Fuck no!” he blurts too quickly. “I mean, no. 'Course not. And you’ve never mentioned it before either, by the way. You’re always going on all these fucking dates. When was I supposed to ask? Between Fast-forward Frank and that fucking woman obsessed with her pet ferret?” 

You blink, puzzled. “I mean… if you asked, I wouldn’t have gone on dates with Ferret Fiona.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “Now she fucking tells me.”

You don’t like the implication that you’ve been the one holding him back. “Well, it’s not like you’ve ever tried, is it? I mean, I’ve been single for years and you’ve never made a move, even before all this online dating palaver! And you’re not exactly easy to read, by the way. You’re always frowning, even when I’m trying to bloody well impress you! What was I supposed to think? That you fancy me when you always look like this?” You moulded your expression into a big, dramatic, brooding glower and hope it encapsulates everything that is Roy. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, looking angry now. Proving your point. “Oi! I don’t do that with my lips,” he points out. “And you’re always talking about how badly you want to find someone when I’m sitting right fucking here! That’s mixed signals, mate.”

“It was me hinting! Hoping!” you shout. “I was just waiting for a sign, or something, but you never treated me like anything more than a friend!”

“Because I didn’t want to be like that creepy Allen bloke you dated last year! He was your friend too, if I recall!” 

You sigh, realising the conversation is going in circles. You look at him. He looks at you. Both of you are breathless, wild-eyed, rosy-cheeked, and you know you’ll always remember the way he looks, standing in your kitchen, infuriated and perhaps more open than ever before, because you see it now; that dark look in his eyes was never a guard, never a sign of being just friends. It was want, need. 

It was everything you already feel. 

“Why are you two arguing?” a meek voice interrupts. You both look to the door to find the girls hovering in the hallway. 

“We’re not arguing,” you assure quickly. 

“It’s adult stuff,” says Roy at the same time. 

“We don’t like it when you argue,” Maisie says. “Especially when you’re supposed to get married.”

“What?” you question sharply, turning red all over again. 

Phoebe nods as though corroborating Maisie’s story. “We’ve planned it all. It will be next June at McDonald’s, and Uncle Roy will bring you flowers, and we’ll all have milkshakes afterwards.”

You put your head in your hands, peeking through your fingers and surprised to find that Roy is smirking. “Sounds like a shit wedding, Pheebs. Where’ve you got this idea from?” he says.

“Well, Mum said you two will end up together because you clearly fancy Y/N and it is invevitable.” 

A laugh bubbles in your own throat at her attempt to say inevitable, though you’re still too stunned to speak. 

“See?” Roy whispers. “Everyone else knew. It's fucking invevitable.” 

You shiver, lowering your hands to meet his gaze properly. It’s soft and intent, nothing like the anger of a moment ago. 

“All right, girls,” you say. “Get your pyjamas on. We’ll be up to say nanight in a minute.”

You usher them away, closing the door to when you hear their footsteps on the stairs. You’ve never been more aware of his presence, the fact it’s just the two of you — you don’t even know who you are without the kids jumping about, sticking their noses in. 

“Have I fucked it all up?” he asks finally. 

“No. Have I?”

He shakes his head. 

“Then what now?” you question. “What does this… mean?” 

“Well…” He leans against the counter, fidgety as he smiles again. “I’ll take you on a decent fucking date for starters. No kids, and no more of whatever the fuck this argument was.”

The thought leaves you feeling cracked and seeping with excitement, though you try to play it cool. “Okay. That’s a good plan.” 

“Right. Good. Then… are you free Friday night?”

You inch closer to him, timid suddenly. “I don’t know. My usual babysitter is busy.”

He rolls his eyes and tugs you toward him so that your torsos collide, and then his fingers curl around the nape of your neck and you can think of nothing but the way his lips look, and what it must feel like, having them between your thighs, beard grazing your skin. 

“You’re an idiot,” he rasps. 

“Takes one to know one.” You lick your lips, then his mouth his on yours, rough and ready and desperate. You let him in, let his tongue explore your mouth. You know you shouldn’t. The girls might come back in, might already be listening, but you’ve wanted this for so long. 

You both have. 

You’re breathless when he stops, his hands lingering just above your belly as he bites down on a groan. “If I don’t stop now, there’ll be trouble.” 

You’re not willing to let go, though, and you rest your hands on his chest as you kiss his jaw. “And?”

“And I’ve waited a long fucking time to do this properly. Give you the care,” he kisses your nose, “you deserve. Sweep you,” another kiss, this time at the outer corner of your eye, “off your fucking feet. So I’m going to.” He steps away. “Friday. Seven. Find a new babysitter, and make sure they’re free all night.” 

With that, he steps away, leaving you wanting more. 

“Uncle Royyyyy!” Phoebe is calling. “Will you read us a story?”

He grins, kisses your forehead, and then is gone. You’re not sure your knees will hold you up if you follow, but you listen to him talking to the girls, making them laugh, and you have never felt more right, more complete. 

You’re a fool for thinking anyone else could be perfect for you when the man you love has been here all along.

[ythankucaptainmccoy]

The Cowgirl and The Aviator Ch7

Next chapter baby! @smoothdogsgirl Warnings: Mentions of Death, Scene with a gun, Stalker, Stalker Behavior, Abusive Behavior and mentions of pregnancy

The squad was gone longer than a month, but you received word from Penny they would be coming in on Saturday. You only had four days until you could see the squad again, and you spent those four days making sure the apartments were spotless in between going to work and sleeping. Friday night you sat on Jake’s couch watching a movie when there was a knock at the door. You walked to the door and looked out the peephole, but didn’t see anyone so you opened the door. 

You looked around not seeing anybody there, but down on the ground was a picture laying face down with writing on the back of it. ‘YOU LOOK SO BEAUTIFUL. YOU NEVER WORE ANYTHING LIKE THIS FOR ME, BUT YOU WILL WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU!’ it read, and when you flipped it over it was a copy of the photo you had sent to Jake. You slammed the door and started to panic. How the fuck did he find you so quick. You should call the police, but that would mean handing over that photo.

You were torn and didn’t know what to do so you triple checked that the door was locked and crawled into Jake’s bed. You pulled his pillow to your chest and sobbed into it wishing he were here with you. You fell asleep like that and when you woke up you got dressed for the day. You went about your day like normal and then to work. “(Y/N) are you okay you seem out of it”, she said. “Yeah I’m okay just missing the squad”, you replied. “They’ll be back before you know it”, she tells you.

The next couple of days you are on edge constantly watching your surroundings. Any car that follows behind a little too long has you paranoid. At the grocery store while checking out constantly looking to see if you spot your ex. You continue trying to figure out how he found you, but no matter how many times you think about it you hit dead end after dead end. Then you think about who would have known you had come out this way.

The only person you knew was your brother as you had told him you were leaving. If he had threatened your brother's kids which he had done before your brother probably told him anything he wanted to know. You didn’t blame him, you would do anything to keep your niece and nephews safe. He was just doing this to get back at you for leaving him. He didn’t have power over you anymore and damn it if you were going to let him take your happiness. 

After Friday night's shift at the Hard Deck you grabbed your pouch from the front seat of your truck and walked into Jake’s apartment. A knock on the door and you opened it and there stood your ex. “Get back in your car and get the fuck out of here Jackson”, you seethed. “(Y/N) I just want you to come home with me. We were gonna’ get married”, he said. “I told you it wasn’t going to work. I’m not going home with you”, you hiss.

He grabbed the door as you went to shut it in his face. “I’m serious (Y/N) you’re coming back home with me”, he growled. “No I’m not, I have a boyfriend and I am happy here now get out of here!”, you yelled. “Listen here you ungrateful bitch”, he started. You reached for your pouch that you hung up by the door and brandished the .40 caliber sig in his face. “I told you no and I meant it Jackson, and if you ever threaten my brother's family again I’ll make sure you stay gone”, you declare. 

His eyes go wide, but he can tell you mean it and he lingers a moment longer. “FINE!”, he shouts. You watch as he high tails it to his car and peels out of the parking lot. You close the door locking it then sink to the floor as you try to catch your breath. You had hoped you never had to ever point a gun at someone, but you knew what Jackson was capable of and you weren’t going through that again.

You couldn’t sleep and you had to pick Jake up anyway so you sat watching tv and started a pot of coffee. Penny had told you when they should get in so you left the apartment at nine in the morning to get there by nine thirty. You parked in the spot where you had dropped Jake off and waited for what felt like forever when you saw Phoenix and Bob come out to the lot. You waved them down and they came over each giving you a hug. 

“Where is Bradley and Jake?”, you panic. “They are being assessed, it will probably be a few more hours”, Bob explains. “What do you mean assessed are they injured what happened?”, you asked. “We lost Banshee and Fluke”, Phoenix whispered. You were glad to hear they were okay, but saddened to know that they had lost two men. “I’m so sorry”, you whisper. “Are you all okay?”, you ask. “Yeah just like with anything it will take time, but Jake seems to have taken the blame for what happened”, Bob said.

“What do you mean?”, you inquired. They explained what had happened, how Banshee and Fluke were killed, and that Jake had been their wingman. You thanked them for telling you then after a while you let them go so they could go home to decompress and unpack. It was two hours later when Bradley emerged and you ran to him and hugged him. You could tell he was wearing the guilt of what happened and reassured him he had done all he could, but when Jake stepped out two minutes later your heart broke.

Jake had dark circles under his eyes and looked exhausted. Bradley waved you on as he left to go back to the apartment. You approached him like you would a wounded animal slowly and quietly other than your boots clacking on the pavement. “Jake”, you gently called. He looked up as you came to stop in front of him. He took you in to make sure this moment was real as you tilted your head at him. “Let's go home”, you whispered. He didn’t say anything as you took his bag from him and walked to your truck. 

“Do you want anything to eat?”, you asked. He only shook his head no as you drove back to the apartment. You grabbed his bag and headed up to the apartment as he walked behind you seeming to still be in a daze. When you got him into the apartment you sat his bag down and kissed his cheek then led him to the bedroom where you grabbed sweatpants and a shirt for him to change into and left to fix breakfast. He changed then joined you in the kitchen where he pulled you into his arms. You let him hold you for as long as he wanted.

“I’m sorry about Banshee and Fluke”, you whispered to him. “It was my fault they died”, he breathed. You pulled back and looked up at him as you took his face in your hands. “No, don't ever think that Jake. Baby none of what happened was your fault. Bradley told me what happened and there was nothing either of you could do”, you soothed. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, but he was willing himself not to cry in front of you.

He releases you so you can finish fixing food and he did eat a little, but you assumed he wouldn’t eat a whole lot after what he had been through. “When was the last time you got any sleep?”, you ask. “What day is it?”, he questions. That’s all you need to hear as you go to lead him to the bedroom. “No I’d rather watch TV”, he tells you. You relent but go and grab a blanket from his room as you sit down on the couch. 

You coax him into laying down on the couch with his head in your lap. You run your fingers through his hair as you put a comedy movie on. You continue to glance at him every so often and a third of the way through the movie he is asleep. He wakes up periodically, but you both don’t really move from the couch until dinner time rolls around. You get up to make dinner and this time he eats all of it. He seems to be settling and that makes you feel better as he tells you he is going to go shower. 

You clean the kitchen then pop next door to check on Bradley. He seems to be faring better than Jake, but you can tell he isn’t a hundred percent okay. “Are you going to be okay?”, you ask him. “Yeah Lilly is coming over to stay the night”, he tells you. “So what exactly are you two?”, you inquire. “Well I’m not dating her if that’s what you're asking” , he tells you. “I swear you give Jake shit, but you're just the same way apparently”, you laugh.

“I’m going to stay at Jake’s for quite a while. I came to grab some of my stuff”, you tell him. “That’s fine we were all given four weeks leave and Lilly is gonna be crashing here”, he explains. Jake hadn’t told you they were on leave, but with the events you figured it would be for the best. When you made it back to Jake’s he was still in the shower so you decided to slip in with him. He was leaning against the wall letting the water fall over him. You gently called to him and he acknowledged your presence, but you jumped when you felt how cold the water was. 

You reached for the knob and turned it to where the water was comfortable. Then you turned him to face you. “I’m here for you Jake”, you explain. He smiles weakly at you, but he leans down to steal some kisses from you. You both help wash each other and by the time you finish up it’s around eight at night. He follows you to bed and he pulls you into his side as he relaxes for bed. Sleep doesn’t take long to find either of you, but it doesn’t last long. 

You wake to find the bed empty and it’s late judging by how quiet it is. You get up and go into the kitchen where you see a figure sitting with their back against the fridge. When you flip the light on Jake is sitting there his chest heaving and you see the tears streaming down his face. You waste no time in kneeling beside him and pulling him into you. He automatically buries his head where your shoulder and neck meet and his hands grab fistfulls of your shirt. 

“It’s okay Jake, I’m here”, you soothe, holding the back of his head with one hand while the other rubs his back.“I’m sorry I shouldn’t be crying”, he says. “No Jake it’s okay to cry for the ones we have lost. It’s part of grieving and yes, real men cry. I won’t think any less of you baby I promise”, you whisper into his hair. You stay there letting him cry until the tears slow. “It’s the first time I’ve lost a wingman”, he whispers. “I remember when my dad lost his first wingman. He was devastated, but he learned that if you flew long enough it was bound to happen”, you tell him.

“What matters is you did all you could and I bet that Banshee and Fluke wouldn’t want you to be upset with yourself for it. You know the risks of flying right?”, you asked. “Yeah it’s never guaranteed you will make it back”, he says. “Exactly and they accepted that risk same as you do. They loved flying as much as you or any other pilot does. Remember them that way instead of how they died”, you told him. It seemed to help him as you asked if he wanted to go back to bed. 

This time you pull him into your side and he lays his head on your chest. You run your fingers through his hair until his breaths even out. You follow soon after and this time you both sleep through the night. The next couple of days Jake seems to be doing better as he goes in for evaluations at the base. He tells you that they deemed him ready to return after the four week leave was up. “Darlin’ do you think Penny would give you a couple weeks off?”, Jake asks out of the blue one morning. 

“I don’t know depends on what it’s for”, you reply. “I told my sister and her husband about my leave and they invited me to come stay at their ranch for a couple of weeks”, he explains. “What are you saying?”, you ask. “I want you to come with me”, he blurts out. You sit there in stunned silence for a minute before saying, “I don’t know if your sister will want a stranger staying in her house”. “Well technically it would be their guest house and I already asked her if I could bring you along which she said yes to”, he smiles devilishly.

You stare at him incredulously as he pops a cherry into his mouth from where you were making a cherry pie. “I guess I could call and ask Penny. What day were you thinking about packing the truck up and leaving?”, you ask. “Truck? Oh no darlin’ I already got the plane tickets” he boasted. “Jake what if Penny says no!”, you exclaim. “Won’t know till you ask her”, Jake laughs. “What day would we leave and when would we be coming back?”, you ask, pulling out your phone. 

He tells you the dates and you call Penny right away because it’s two days away. Penny doesn’t seem bothered by it and pretty much tells you to go and keep Jake out of trouble. You swear that Jake had already somehow told Penny his plan, but how he got her to agree to it you have no idea. The two days flew by and you had packed a suitcase full of clothes to where it looked like if it were opened it would explode. 

You’re nervous because you had never flown commercially on a plane. Every time your family moved it was always a moving truck and the old van. Jake took your hand when you started to fidget at the gate for boarding. “Why do the movies always make this part look so easy”, you state. “Well that’s because it’s a movie darlin’ and it doesn’t work that way in the real world”, he chuckles. He is loving watching you try to school your nervousness. “Why are you so nervous? You weren’t nervous when I took you up in Mav’s plane”, he states. “Because you were the one flying and I trust you”, you reply.

You watch as his smile widens and you know you just fed into his ego. “I’m glad you trust me so much”, he tells you as he places a kiss to the top of your head. Once boarded you make it to your seat and realize you have the window seat. You sit down and strap in as Jake takes his time. He buckles in once he is comfortable then leans back in the seat waiting for the rest of the passengers to get seated. 

Once the plane is ready they start taxiing to the runway and Jake can’t help but notice you bouncing your leg. He takes your hand in his again and grabs your attention. “Just keep your eyes on me”, he tells you. You do but it still doesn’t help and he seems to notice this. “When we get there do you want to go to one of the rodeos? I looked up the dates and I found one we could go to”, he tells you.

“Yeah I’d like that”, you tell him as the plane picks up speed. When the wheels leave the ground and the weightless feeling you get makes your stomach roll you grip Jake's hand tighter. He winces but you start to relax when the plane reaches optimal altitude and levels out. After that Jake notices you watching the landscape and how it changes. “How long is this flight?”, you ask. “Around three hours”, he responds. You end up reading your book you brought with you and Jake can’t help but notice the cover and title. 

Ideas start popping into his head at the shirtless cowboy on the front holding a saddle and rope. When you put your book down Jake leans over and kisses your cheek. “I’m glad you decided to come with me”, he tells you. “Like you gave me a choice, but I’m glad I get to see the state you grew up in”, you tell him. When the plane lands in Austin, Texas you immediately want to get to the ranch. “How far from here is the ranch?”, you ask. “Well it’s about two hours away”, he states. 

Once you pick up your bags Jake takes you in search of his brother in law. He isn’t hard to spot as you take in his tall and broad stature. He makes Jake look small in comparison, but you soon learn he is very sweet as he introduces himself as Colton. He takes your suitcase from you and carries it all the way to the truck and on the ride to the ranch you let Jake and him catch up. The landscape is so different from what you were used to back home, but you enjoyed it and couldn’t wait to see what a ranch in Texas was like.

When you pull up to the ranch your eyes go wide as you realize how large this ranch truly is. You could ride in any direction for what seemed like as far as the eye could see. Jake turned to look at the wonder on your face and smiled. “I bet you ain’t seen nothin’ like this back home huh”, Colton said. “No we had cattle and things like that, but nothing on this scale”, you replied.

“Question is, do you think you could live here on a ranch like this?”, Colton asked. Jake’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t say anything as you pondered the question. “Yeah for the right person I could and hell I’m sure a couple of kids wouldn’t hurt either”, you responded. Colton gave Jake a smug look, but Jake just rolled his eyes. When you all pulled up to the guest house it was beautiful. It had a wrap around porch with a swing with beautiful big windows. Colton helped you both into the house and handed Jake the keys. 

“Supper is in another hour and Evelynn is making your favorite steak. The guest truck is out back and the keys are hanging up by the back door”, Colton told Jake. “We’ll be sure to make it in time”, Jake replied. Colton took his leave and headed home while you marveled at the inside of the house. It was a cowgirls wet dream here and now you were hooked. Jake smiled as you took in your surroundings, but had to cut it short so you both could unpack.

There was no time to rest after you unpacked as you and Jake got into the guest truck to head to the main house. It was a fifteen minute ride but when you arrived you swore you were in heaven. There was an A-frame ranch house and it was absolutely gorgeous. “Holy shit your sister and her husband live here”, you gasped. “Yeah for the past ten years with their two kids”, Jake responds.

As soon as you both get out of the truck a little girl comes running. “UNCLE JAKE!”, she yells. “Annabelle”, Jake says. She jumps into his arms as he spins her around. Then like a flash of lightning a second kid much smaller collides with his leg. “Unc Jake”, the second child says. “Hey Georgia”, Jake responds. He places the older girl in one arm and picks the youngest up in the other. “Who’s that?”, Annabelle asks. The younger girl cocks her head at you and smiles. 

“This is my girlfriend (Y/N)”, Jake says. You introduce yourself and the youngest who looks to be about four reaches for you. Jake looks at you not sure if you want to hold Georgia, but you take her in your arms right away as she giggles. “It’s very nice to meet you Annabelle and Georgia”, you say. “DINNERS READY GIRLS AND YOUR UNCLE JAKE BETTER BE HERE”, someone who you guess is Evelynn calls out. “That’s our que”, Jake says as he takes your hand leading you into the house and to the dining room. 

“Oh well I see you have met my children and you already met my husband. I’m Evelynn”, a woman says as she places dishes down on the table. When you look at her you definitely see the family resemblance and as your gaze travels lower you notice she is heavily pregnant. “Nice to meet you I’m (Y/N)”, you reply. You sit down as they say grace then start to eat as Jake talks with his sister. “So you never did tell me if you're having a boy or girl”, Jake says. “Well you're getting a nephew this time”, Evelynn replied.

“I knew it”, Jake boasted. Colton talked about how he was excited to show him all the ropes and how to play football. The rest of the night went like that as they asked you about your family and you told them everything. By the end of dinner Colton made mention to his wife that Jake and you were technically here on vacation and that she could talk to you all tomorrow. She sent you back to the guest house with homemade apple pie that was to die for. The day was catching up to both of you as you got into bed. Jake pulled you back against his chest making you the little spoon as you both fell asleep.

[its-the-pilot]

Waves | Rooster x Reader

| Waves Masterlist | Masterlist |

My first Top Gun fic, please be nice and enjoy!

Summary: Fourteen years after leaving without saying goodbye, Bradley Bradshaw comes back into your life. (Mav's niece!reader)

Warnings: swearing, adult banter

Length: 2k words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Working on this as a series, let me know what you think and if you want to see more!

Message or comment to join the taglist!

Chapter One

“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe.”

Bradley immediately recognized the voice behind him without needing to turn around. He shook his head before downing the shot of bourbon in his hand and throwing his next dart, scoring 13. He’d never claimed to be good, but the unwelcome distraction didn’t help. “Hangman. You look… good,” he replied flatly, turning to face his fellow aviator.

Both men were wearing their service whites, customary for the mixer held for TOP GUN students the night before beginning training. “Well, I am good, Rooster. I'm very good. In fact, I am too good to be true,” Hangman gave his usual smirk as he picked up Rooster’s last dart from the table and threw it, hitting the bullseye without even looking. “Didn’t think they let old timers in.”

They had met a few years earlier in flight school, and they instantly had a rivalry of sorts. Bradley had been several years older than the rest of the pilots in the program, due to not being able to attend the Naval Academy like he wanted. It took him years longer than it should have to become an aviator, and there was a bit of a chip on his shoulder because of it. Hangman, cocksure as ever, had instantly picked up on that weakness and exploited it to the best of his ability, pointing it out every chance he got. Some things never changed.

“Didn’t think they let assholes in either, but here you are,” Rooster shot back, taking a long pull from the beer on the table beside him before moving to gather his darts off the board.

The younger man chuckled, the insult seeming to roll off him like water off a duck’s back. “C’mon now, Rooster, we’re old buddies! Some older than others,” He smirked, sneaking in another jab as he patted him on the back. “Don’t take it so personal.” Hangman did a quick once over of the bar, his grin still firmly affixed to his face as he noted the number of women in attendance for the evening. “Plenty of delectable dessert options tonight, why are you holed up over here all by your lonesome?”

“I’m here to fly, not fuck my way through Coronado.”

A boisterous laugh escaped the tall blonde’s mouth. “Someone doesn’t know how to take advantage of a situation when it presents itself. Your callsign really is fitting.” Straightening his uniform, Hangman’s eyes locked on to a pretty woman approaching the bar. “If you can’t get laid in Whites, you just don’t know what you’re doing. Watch and learn, Rooster.”

Bradley rolled his eyes and turned back to his dart game, draining his beer as Hangman walked away. As fun as it might be, he had no desire to watch him make a fool of himself in front of an entire bar with his cocky attitude.

-------------------------

You recited the drink order for your table a few times in your head as you walked up to the bar, raising your hand to get the bartender’s attention. Your coworkers Kendra and Hazel had wanted to come out tonight, knowing that the new crop of TOP GUN candidates would be here, dressed to the nines. You hadn’t been interested but they wore you down, telling you they would pay for your drinks if you just kept them company for a few hours. You secretly hoped it wouldn't take them long to find a couple guys to take home, so you could get on with your uneventful evening of laundry and prepping for work.

“3 beers, 3 vodka shots,” you ordered, passing a $5 tip across the bar. Sliding onto a barstool as you waited, you made a cursory glance around the bar and groaned to yourself, shaking your head. You couldn’t understand what the appeal was, most aviators had more balls than brains and were just looking for a quick lay.

It only took a minute of waiting for your drinks before you felt a warm, solid presence accompanied by a pair of hands resting on the bar top on either side of you, covered in white sleeves. “Not interested,” you said in a sing-songy voice, not even needing to look up to know it was a new TOP GUN aviator standing with his chest pressed gently against your back.

“Not even gonna give me a chance?” He asked, his southern drawl coming out as he leaned close to your ear.

You turned as much as you were able with his body so close and gave him a look, your eyebrow raised. He was handsome, tall and blonde, with striking green eyes, but his uniform was enough to turn you off. “Nope. I don’t date aviators.” Lord knew you had a lifetime’s worth of experience with them.

Your uncle Pete “Maverick” Mitchell had raised you from the time you were eight years old, after your parents died in a car accident. Growing up around Navy pilots gave you an aversion to them, and in your line of work, that was more helpful than you could imagine. You worked with aviators day in and day out in your job as an Aerospace Psychologist, and getting personally invested with the pilots would have consequences.

He chuckled, leaning back only slightly to allow your movement as his eyes traveled over your body. You wore a cabernet colored maxi dress with wedge sandals tied to your feet with white ribbons, like pointe shoes, and you had never felt more exposed than you did right then as he licked his lips, looking at you like prey. “You’re in the wrong place then, darlin’. We’re all aviators around here.”

“Well aware,” you sighed, turning back to the bar and waiting for your drinks. When the bartender approached and set your drinks down, you smiled warmly at her. “Thank you, Penny.”

The older woman grinned back, always happy to see you. She’d known you most of your life, though she was in and out of it at the will of your uncle, a typical flyboy incapable of settling down. You would never understand why she kept coming back to him after he broke her heart so many times. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, looking him over briefly. Penny knew how you felt about Navy guys, but she enjoyed teasing you.

“Not my--”

“Lieutenant Jake Seresin, ma’am. Callsign Hangman.” He offered his most charming smile as he cut you off and lifted his right hand from the bar to offer it to Penny.

You immediately took the opportunity to duck under his arm, grabbing the drinks on the bar in front of you. Penny laughed as Jake watched you slide away from him and head back to the table with your coworkers. “Better behave, she’s the owner,” you called back, your hands full of glasses.

“A pleasure, Lieutenant,” she took his hand and shook it before wiping down the bar where your drinks had just been. His eyes followed you across the bar, and she snapped the back of his hand with the towel. “You won’t wear her down. She’s got a million reasons not to go anywhere near Navy guys. There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

When you got back to your table, you snuck a glance back toward the bar, watching Penny give Jake what she was sure was a warning about you. He didn’t look phased though, and within minutes he had moved on to another girl a few seats away at the bar, repeating the same move he had done with you.

“Predictable,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as your coworkers chatted, rating the various aviators in the bar. You largely ignored them as you took a long drink from your beer, looking out the window at the sun setting over the ocean when you heard the tinkle of piano keys interrupting your thoughts. The old upright in the bar hadn’t been played in as long as you could remember, usually the only time you heard it at all was when someone got too drunk and fell into it.

From your seat you could only see the back of the man playing, but you could tell he was an aviator. Dressed in his service whites, his broad shoulders were pulled back with perfect posture as he tapped away at the keys, getting the feel for the instrument before he started playing an all too familiar song.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain, Too much love drives a man insane…”

The sound of his voice made your stomach flip as if you were in a F/A-18. “No fucking way…” you breathed, not taking your eyes off of the back of the man’s head as he played.

“What?” Kendra asked, stopping her conversation with Hazel to turn in the direction of the piano player, then back to you, confused as to your reaction.

You didn’t answer as you stood, your steps cautious as you made your way across the bar in his direction. It couldn’t be. It had been nearly fifteen years since you last heard from him, the night he left for the last time.

Without saying goodbye.

“Jesus, Bradshaw! Not this song again! Is it the only one you know?” Hangman complained, not far from the piano and chatting up what was probably his fourth girl of the evening. Hearing his name was all the confirmation you needed.

Bradley wasn’t deterred by Hangman’s whining, instead he just continued singing, the bar joining in. He had always been good at being the center of attention when he wanted to be.

“You broke my will, but what a thrill, Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

Moving closer, you slipped into his line of sight without a word, a combination of emotions you didn’t understand bubbling up inside of you. He looked just like his father from the pictures you had seen, but at the same time he was still the teenager you had known so long ago.

“I laughed at love ‘cause I thought it was funny, You came along and…”

Looking up, his voice trailed off and his fingers faltered on the keys, making a sour note as he made eye contact with you. There was a long, awkward moment of silence as the entire bar watched on, curious as to what was happening.

He couldn't believe you were standing in front of him. The last place he had expected to find you was anywhere near anything having to do with the Navy, even if it was just a bar. And now here you were, staring at him as if you were seeing a ghost. Though he supposed he didn't look too much different. “You look good, Dimples.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the nickname, and before you knew what you were doing, your hand reached out and slapped him across the face as hard as you could. The same hand flew to cover your mouth as you gasped at the realization of what you did. He didn’t immediately turn his head back to face you, and it made you feel even more nauseous.

It was so quiet a pin could drop. Embarrassment flooded over you and your eyes moved around the bar frantically before landing back on Bradley. When you realized his eyes were still on you, a sob only muffled by your hand escaped before you turned and ran out the back doors to the beach, barely stopping to get your purse and tell your friends you were going home on your way out.

There was no way this wouldn't be the talk of North Island tomorrow.

It remained silent until the door to the deck slammed shut behind you, then people started whispering amongst themselves, stealing glances at Bradley. Hangman had a smug grin on his lips as he stepped up behind his fellow aviator, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he leaned down to speak quietly.

“Damn, Rooster. I thought I was the only one who could earn that level of ire from women. Kinda hot, right?”

He shoved Jake’s hand away and stood, grabbing his cover off the top of the piano before heading toward the door you had exited from. “Fuck off, Bagman,” he snapped, hoping you hadn’t gotten too far.

Chapter Two

[norizz-nation]

Hey! I‘d love to read something about George smut.. but sadly I‘m not very creative so maybe you can improvise and think of something.. ☺️💕

I was just thinking about writing a George smut! Hope you like it. 🤍

Good girl 🤍

Summary: After seeing his baby niece and nephews, George wants a baby too.

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, breeding kink, slight choking, biting

George and you were dating for a good 3 years now. Having a great relationship, since he never argues with you, he somehow always gets your point and says “yes you’re right, im sorry”

You both were invited to his one cousin’s house. His cousin has a baby. Just after arriving George was so focused on his nephew, making baby voices, kissing him, making funny faces. You were looking at George from the kitchen counter as he noticed and came to you with a big smile and wrapped his hands around your waist. Snuggling his nose in your hair as he whispered “look at him, so cute” and you hummed.

“I wanna get you pregnant” he whispered in your ear and you looked behind with a confused face. “A baby? Really?” He nodded as your face lit up with joy, hugging him tightly and running your fingers through his hair.

You and George couldn’t wait that long, to go home then fuck. After having dinner George said that he’s having a headache so they should leave for home and somehow managed his cousin.

You and George were making out from the main door, practically ripping each others clothes, dropping every peace of clothing on the floor. As you both made it to the bedroom, George picked you up and threw you on ur shared bed, while you were just on your t-shirt and underwear as he crawled up to you kissing you hungrily. As his hands went to your tits, he then removed your t-shirt and bra and sucked on your tits. Making your head fall back in pleasure. Your hands instantly grabbed his hair as you started to moan a little. He then went lower and lower kissing your thighs. He then bit your inner things making you whine in pain “ahh George!” As he looked up at you and smirked.

He then placed a soft kiss on your clit and got up and positioned him infront of you. Jerking his dick while rubbing it in your clit as your moaned and ran your hands on his abs. He then went inside slowly, so slow that was painful for you as you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer, as his pace became fast.

His thrusts becoming harder and harder. As he puts your legs above his shoulder getting more access, grunting in your ear, as his one hand was choking you hard. “You want me to fill you up?” You nodded “yes yes! please, fill me up” his thrusts going deeper. “Oh sweetheart you’re gonna look so pretty pregnant with my baby” you bit on your lower lip as he came inside you, filling your pussy. “You’re such a good girl.” He stayed in that position for a while placing his forehead on yours. “I love you so much” you smiled and kissed him. “I love you more George” as you held each other so close.

A/N: requests are open! feel free to ask what you want me to write! luv you ❤️

[boiohboii]

The trophy boyfriend pt5.

In which Daniel Ricciardo and Kim YN are not done surprising the fans

or

In which Kim YN and her husband, Daniel Ricciardo allow the public to know of their children through media outlets

N.B: this is just something small I did for the fun of it tbh, hope you like it. And as always don't focus too much on the dates, they make no sense

PART 4

Liked by Danielricciardo, KimJeonwoo, and 1.3m other people.

Landonorris: my niece and nephew at the same age, 2 years apart.

Charles_leclerc: where is my godson 🤨

username: THEY HAVE A THIRD KID!

ussrname: well, obviously, Kim Jeonwoo was seen carrying a literal baby, these two can walk

ussrname: THESE TWO? pls, they are YN'S CHILDREN, PUT SOME RESPECT ON THEIR NAME

username: speaking of names, do you think they have korean or white names? Is it like korean first name and white second name?

username: I think they have both, like a lot of korean-mixed couples give 2 names for their children, however what i am curious about is the last name

username: ARE WE IGNORING THE FACT THAT CHARLES IS A GOD FATHER!! TO THE BABY OF THE KIM RICCIARDO FAMILY!!

Carlossainz55: my god daughter is the cutest 😍 also, why didn't you help her, can't you see her standing on her tippy toes to reach, do you want her to fall?!!

landonorris: shut up! You know it's making your heart melt, she looks so adorable trying to reach for stuff

carlossainz55: I see you have gotten braver over the break 😒

landonorris: no, it was just a spur of the moment thing, don't lock me in the bathroom again

danielricciardo: why have you not sent me these pictures!

landonorris: I have an entire album just dedicated to your kids, your phone literally has no storage!

danielricciardo: fine, I'll just give you my hard drive tomorrow to put a copy of every picture you have

landonorris: what do you mean tomorrow? I AM LITERALLY IN A DIFFERENT COUNTRY!

danielricciardo: yes, ik! The kids miss you and yn and I could use a babysitter

username: GOD I AM NOT OKAY

username: THE KIM RICCIARDO CHILDREN!

username: BABY GIRL KIM RICCIARDO HAS A GREAT FUCKING FASHION SENSE

username: it's so annoying that people are all like Kim- ricciardo, you can just say ricciardo I don't see the point of placing her family name first.

username: bitch pls, Daniel Ricciardo is the trophy husband here.

username: It's the Kim family's world and we all just live in it

username: YN KIM IS AN ICON, A LEGEND AND SHE IS THE MOMENT.

username: girl, they eating you up in the replies

username: oh to be a fly on the Kim Ricciardo House wall

username: SO ARE WE JUST NEVER GOING TO GET THE WEDDING PHOTOS

username: I honestly think that Daniel and YN filter all and every news that comes out about their family, like they hid their relationship for years and then no pictures of their wedding and no news of them until they felt it was okay to let the public know of their kids

username: well, yeah, that's the power of a chaebol.

username: I find it laughable that some people think that Yn and Daniel couldn't have hidden everything about themselves. Babes, YN and her family own like 40% of Seoul alone- and that's just their business in Seoul, let's not forget that they have international businesses- if they don't want you to know something you won't know it.

username: also the fact that they literally have family connections in politics and news outlets

username: I want to be their parent so bad but at the same time I want to be them! 😫

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter II - We Shall Find Our Answers

Summary: You and your family return to King’s Landing after several years, and you are dreading having to face your uncle again. While you cannot change the past, maybe the lines on his palm can show some insight into your future. And maybe, just maybe, the future might be bright for the two of you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 5,5k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Pssst. Hey, you. I’m back. And I bring thee the continuation of this story, which I had a lot of fun writing. I intend on writing more for this little universe, so if you've liked this story so far, please consider staying tuned for more parts to come!

Just for clarification, I don’t understand much about the rules and laws of monarchy, but since this is my story and I’m already saying ‘screw canon’, we’re also gonna say ‘fuck tradition’ (and if any of the characters, especially Aemond, seem a bit ooc I deeply apologize, I’m just trying very hard to Bob-The-Builder the events of the show)

Also, I have purposefully left the question of the reader’s father somewhat ambiguous so there can be more leeway for the reader’s appearance to be undescribed.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

It had been several years since you had last stepped foot in King’s Landing. Not since the death of your aunt and father. Or fathers. Which meant you hadn’t seen Aemond since that fateful night in Driftmark. You’d been by his side in an instant once Luke had shaken you awake wailing like a babe that he had done something terrible. You had held his hand as the maester tended to his wound, much to his mother’s grief. She had even tried pushing you away from her son, but his hand held tightly around yours prevented you from going too far. He had wanted, no, needed the comfort of your presence. But that all changed when Jace explained what had transpired, what he had called your younger brothers and, by extension, yourself. You had dropped his hand as if it burned, feeling more betrayed than ever, not missing the way your hurt was reflected in his own eyes. Well, eye. He had tried to talk to you after everyone had been excused but you fled from him, not wanting to face him just yet. Perhaps never again, you had thought at the time.

Now a grown woman, you returned to King’s Landing once more, summoned by the court for a hearing in which Ser Vaemond Velaryon intended to question Lucerys legitimacy as heir to Driftmark (which he was in for a surprise as your mother did not intend to pass Driftmark down to Luke, but to Jacaerys instead, as previously discussed and agreed with your grandparents, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, while she would name you, her firstborn,   as heir to the Iron Throne after her). So it’s no surprise you were not looking forward to this visit at all. 

While you had kept in contact with Helaena through exchanged ravens, you hadn’t once written to Aemond, nor had he done so to you. You were dreading the moment you had to see him again, as you didn’t know how he would react to seeing you after the way you left things off in the past. In reality… you missed him. You missed having someone to talk to, someone who truly cared about what you had to say, who shared similar interests to you and enjoyed the diverging ones all the same. You missed your study partner, as Jace’s high valyrian was incredibly subpar, leaving him far behind you in his studies. You simply missed having him. 

The first moment you had laid eyes on him had been, unsurprisingly, in the courtyard. You’d been following after your brothers as they explored what had changed and what hadn’t around the Keep, trying to ensure they didn’t get into any trouble, when you noticed a small crowd forming around two men engaged in a heated training match. One was none other than Ser Criston Cole, who hadn’t aged a single day but looked like the stick up his ass had slipped even further in, and the other… 

You couldn’t help but stare, oblivious to anything else around you. He had grown quite a lot in the years you’d been apart. He was taller, his shoulders pulled back and his head held high, no longer the timid, self-conscious boy you’d once known. Where Ser Criston was strong Aemond was fast, his tall frame and lithe shape allowing for a more fast paced combat, his movements sharp yet swift and even somewhat… graceful. 

“You should clean up, right there.” you snapped out of your reverie, brought back to focus by your brother Jace, who motioned to the corner of his own mouth with a smirk hanging from his lips “You’re drooling.”

Feeling a warm flush on your cheeks you swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, finding nothing there, as Jace chuckled at your naivety and moved to join the crowd along with Luke.

Little cunt.

You followed after your brothers just as Aemond had his sword pointed right at Ser Criston’s neck. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, only catching the tail end of their conversation.

“Have you come to train?” he had been saying, his eye trained on Luke, some underlying darkness swirling in it, before his gaze finally met you and something shifted in it almost imperceptibly “Little niece.” 

The way he said it, the use of the once mocking title, left you reeling. The tone he used made it so you couldn’t quite tell if he had been sneering at you or in awe at your presence, if he was jesting or quite serious, mocking or sincere.

But your musings were interrupted by the gates opening, Ser Vaemond walking in as if he owned the place. Or like he was owed something from this place. It seemed your dreaded reunion with your uncle would have to wait.

As much as you hated being back in King’s Landing you couldn’t deny this place did manage to keep you entertained. The hearing had gone as well as one could expect, with Ser Vaemond hurling one insult after another at both you, your brothers and your mother and ultimately losing his head for it. All was well with your family, Jace’s claim to Driftmark and his status as future Lord of the Tides and your own as heir to the Iron Throne after your mother had been reaffirmed by the King himself, backed by your grandmother. 

During the whole hearing you couldn’t help but glance at Aemond from the corner of your eye every once in a while. He had a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face all throughout Vaemond’s speech, the bastard, but once your mother mentioned her desire to establish you as her heir to the Throne something changed. His gaze met yours and his face softened, the smugness disappearing all together from his features. 

It was the last you saw of him, having taken off to the courtyard to relish in the diminishing sun as it lowered in the sky by sitting under the weirwood tree. Jace and Luke were enjoying a stroll around the Keep with their respective betrotheds, occasionally passing by your peripheral vision.

“I thought I’d find you here.” a voice cut through the air, souring your mood.

“Have you come to question my legitimacy as well, uncle?” you asked Aemond, who stood in front of you with his hands behind his back, before nodding in your brother’s direction as they skirted the edge of the courtyard “Be careful not to speak too loudly, we wouldn’t want you to lose yet another eye, now, would we?”

The smallest twitch of his eye was the only indication that he was bothered by what you said. You knew it was low, and you did feel a twinge of guilt about it, but the hurt you’d been cultivating for him since that night was festering in your heart.

“Always the jester, little niece.” he smirked, taking a seat next to you, keeping you on his good eye’s side.

“Only for you.” 

You both fell silent, the air around charged with years of tension built between the two of you.

“I haven’t heard from you in ages.” he spoke softly, facing forward.

“You didn’t write.” you jabbed.

“You didn’t either.” 

He had you there. 

“Helaena’s told me of your travels.” he tried again “You’ve visited quite a lot of places.”

“I wanted to see the realm.” you explained, feeling some of the tension dissipating as he extended an opportunity for you opened up “To learn the ways of the people we are to rule.”

He only hummed in response.

“And what about you?” you turned to him, noticing how his body seemed to instinctively turn towards you as well “How have you been faring?”

“Oh, you know.” he shrugged, nonchalantly “I have been busy, studying, training with a sword, as you’ve very well seen,” the smirk that formed on his face was enough to bring heat to your cheeks “and trying to stop Aegon from drowning in his cups every night.”

A giggle escaped from your lips, which in turn prompted a small grin from him. This moment, right here with him, felt like before; it felt freeing. The full weight of how much you had missed him hit you like a Vhagar-sized carriage. 

A moment of silence passed before he turned somber again.

“My mother has deemed it time for me to find a wife.” he spoke slowly, his words making something twist painfully in your chest “She’s been trying to find matches for me in some of the noble houses. But none of the ladies in court will even look at me.”

He cast his gaze down and away from you, his stoic demeanor cracking for a moment and giving way to a forlorn expression. It seemed… awfully familiar to you.

“I frighten them. Not just them, the maids too.” his voice was soft, resignation dripping from his words, the prideful man you saw earlier in the yard taking a step back to allow the shy and insecure boy you once knew to make a reappearance “I think your lines have lied to you. No lady would ever want a one-eyed husband.”

“Aemond-”

“I told you once before, I don’t appreciate your pity, niece.” his tone hardened, but it lacked venom, meaning he wasn’t angry with you, rather upset at himself.

You could only wonder how much the events of that night had changed him, for better and worse. He might argue that he had claimed a dragon, the biggest in the world, so that made things even but you could only imagine the kind of pain, both physical and emotional, he had gone through since then.

“For what is worth” you started, raising a hand to his face very slowly, giving him more than enough time to halt your movements. He flinched at first but eventually relaxed, allowing you to lay your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing softly against the end of his scar “I am truly sorry for what happened that night. You didn’t deserve any of it.”  

His hand raised, grasping your wrist and running his own thumb on the skin at the edge of your sleeve.

“What I said that night,” he closed his eye for a moment then looked at you again “it was unbefitting. I never meant to hurt you.” he paused, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly, as if he was letting go of a lifetime of weight he’d been carrying “No more than I believe Lucerys meant to hurt me as badly as he did.”

It was an olive branch, you realized. Given how he now carried himself it was the closest thing to an apology you’d get. While he might not simply ever forgive your brother, he was willing to try and put it behind him, to let go of the pain, for you. And for that you’d forever be grateful to him. He tilted his head to the side, letting his lips linger on your palm for just a moment, before pulling your hand away from his face and carefully placing it on your lap again, both of you facing forward once more.

The silence that fell was not an uncomfortable one. It reminisced of the days you’d sit together in this same spot and wait for the servants to come fetch you when it was time for supper. But every nice moment had to be broken at some point.

“My grandsire and mother believe Aegon should be named my father’s heir.” he spoke after a moment, your head quickly snapping to look at him.

“What?”

“They believe that, as his firstborn son, he would have a better claim to the throne.” he glanced at you “That most lords would support him if it came to it.”

You were baffled by this revelation, even though you shouldn’t really be all that surprised. Otto Hightower was a cunt who would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne. As much as your mother resented her former friend you’d come to the conclusion that Otto had been the one responsible to sway Alicent against her. It shouldn’t come as a surprise he would be plotting against her. That’s why the man was smug about today’s hearing, and why his face promptly fell once Rhaenys made her support of Jacaerys, and by extension your mother, known. But…

“Why are you telling me this?” you questioned, confused as to why Aemond, the dutiful son, would tell on his family like that.

An amused grin, almost resembling a smirk, took over his features, his eye turned away from you.

“New information has come to light regarding the line of succession.”

Your heart clenched, a smile of your own appearing on your face. He recognized you as heir to the Throne, as a future queen. 

His smile, however, slowly slipped from his face, leaving a sad look in its wake.

“What troubles you, uncle?” you asked.

“I just-” he sighed, almost exasperated “I just do not understand how they could possibly believe Aegon of all people fit to be king. He, who disappears every fortnight for the Street of Silk, who’s barely ever sober during the day. He, who has his way with the servants while his own wife exists silently, he who, dare I say, barely understands a word of high valyrian and the importance of our family to the realm.”

His rant left him slightly breathless, as if he had been suppressing those feelings for a very long time. And although he had not dared say it, you heard the hidden meaning behind his words. If he, now a grown man, was anything like he was as a boy, he was much more suited to be king than his brother was. He was probably well studied in both history and philosophy, he knew his way quite well around a sword, as you’d seen, and he’d kept up with his lessons in high valyrian, like you had. He would make for a fine king, if it weren’t for your mother and, eventually, you.

And then it hit you.

Otto Hightower would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne.

“Give me your hand.” you spoke firmly. 

Aemond looked at you quizzically, taking too slow to comply so you forcefully grabbed his hand in yours, his palm facing upwards.

“Not this again.” he said, bemused.

As you ran your finger delicately over his palm, you took your time noticing the way calluses adorned the skin, once soft under your touch, probably from years of dragon riding and intense sword training. 

“Your line of life is still quite long, good.” you heard his scoff, although it sounded quite like a barely contained laugh “It means the Stranger will not come for you for quite a while still.”

His eye was trained on you as traced another line on his hand.

“And your line of heart still tilts upwards, so you will marry a woman who loves you dearly.”

You spoke with so much conviction, squeezing his hand, your eyes finally glancing up, locked firmly onto his own as you said it. 

“She’ll love and cherish you for everything that you are, unwaveringly and unapologetically. You’ll be hers as much as she’ll be yours.”

His eyes shone with barely contained hope, before you averted your gaze back to his palm.  

“And here,” you pointed to a small line near the bottom of his palm “is the line of the king. It appears only on the hands of those who are destined to rule over the realm.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t falter.

“You are jesting again, niece.” 

“I am not.” you shook your head, determined “The lines have never lied before, remember?” you mentioned, and he couldn’t argue with that, as the prediction you’d spoke of last time you found yourselves in this exact situation came true barely a few weeks afterwards “You will be king, Aemond.” 

You stood up quickly, barely brushing the skirts of your dress as you did.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You took off before he could question you, rushing out of the courtyard in search of your mother. You had a matter most important you needed to discuss with her, one you’d already brought up with her many moons ago, but which at the time felt more like a distant childish dream.

Aemond hadn’t spoken to you again until it was time for supper. He had caught a quick glimpse of you sometime after you left the courtyard, speaking in hushed whispers with your mother while Daemon looked thoroughly vexed. But before he could approach you and inquire about your sudden departure earlier, both you and your mother took off to one of your chambers, he assumed, leaving his uncle to stare murderously at him. While Aemond wasn’t frightened by Daemon, he would even go as far as to say he admired the man, something about the way he was staring at him deeply unsettled him, so he decided to leave and wait for a better opportunity to speak to you, alone.

Now, during what surely was to be one awkward meal, he could see you from the other side of the table where you sat next to Baela. You looked positively radiant, smiling with your step-sisters and occasionally jesting with your brothers. From time to time you’d catch his eye, your smile turning mirthful, as if you knew something he didn’t. More than once throughout the night he caught you and Rhaenyra sharing a small, quick nod to one another, and Daemon rolling his eyes whenever he also noticed it.

After King Viserys congratulated Jacaerys and Lucerys on their betrothals, Jace leaned over Baela and whispered something to you. While he looked sullen, Baela had a small understanding smile as you tried to sooth him. His face softened as you grasped his hands, trying to reassure him of something, Baela supporting you quietly. The overjoyed smile that took over your features as Jace nodded lit something in Aemond’s chest, his heart skipping a beat.

At a certain point, after the King’s speech and Rhaenyra and Alicent’s toasts, Aegon got up and leaned over to “whisper” something to Baela, catching the attention of all those around her. Aemond couldn’t hear what his brother said all the way from his side of the table, but whatever it was Jacaerys looked like he was about to drive a dagger through him. But you and your sharp words were quicker.

“At least he can stay sober long enough to get it up.” you spoke, your voice loud enough for the entire room to hear “Can Helaena say the same about you, uncle?”

Several reactions could be heard around the table. Helaena herself snorted into the wine she had been sipping, Daemon laughed loudly from his place at Rhaenyra’s side and even a small, tired chuckle could be heard leaving the King’s mouth. Aemond couldn’t help but smirk as his brother all but crumbled back in his seat, a frown unveiling his embarrassment. 

Jace took his time toasting both his uncles but there was something… different in the way he addressed each of them. Whereas Aegon’s name was said with mocking admiration and contempt, Jace’s tone as he said Aemond’s name was laced with quiet resignation. And the tiny grin he directed at Aemond took him by surprise.

Helaena, a little bit tipsy at this hour, also took the opportunity to congratulate Rhaena and Baela in their betrothals, also taking a jab at Aegon’s already wounded pride. While he felt his chest fill with pride for his sister, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the moment you shared with your mother once again, the questioning look on her face and the determined nod you gave as answer to whatever question you found in the depth of her eyes.

“Speaking of marriage,” Rhaenyra started as she stood up and turned to face the seats of his father, mother and grandsire “my only daughter is now of marrying age as well.”

Aemond felt something twist painfully in his chest at the thought, turning his eye to glance at you and was surprised to find you already looking at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a soft grin.

“I would like to make a proposition.” your mother continued, turning to look at him, bringing his attention back to her. He felt his heartbeat increase as she stared at him for a moment longer, some heat climbing to his cheeks, before she turned to address his family once again, her eyes locked onto Alicent “I would like to propose we wed her to your second son, Prince Aemond.”

He barely registered anything else over the thunderous flow of blood against his eardrums, reflecting on the speed at which his traitorous heart was beating in his chest. He glanced back at you, watching as you smiled warmly at him. Something in him just felt right. He felt as if everything was falling into place within his life.

Aemond had never let himself want. He realized quite early in his life that he would only ever be the second son, and considering how much his father favored Rhaenyra over any other of his other children, he didn’t really matter much in comparison to his siblings. So he had learned never to wish for anything for himself, he had never dared hope that good things would come to him. And now here you were, the only one who has ever truly cared for him, offering something he never allowed himself to dream of.  

“And” Rhaenyra continued, drawing his attention back to her. There was more? What else could she possibly offer that could be worth more than that? He allowed himself a quick glimpse at Daemon, who once again looked bothered by what she was about to say “once I have come to pass and it is time for her to take over as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he would be crowned king alongside with her. He would be not a prince, nor king consort, but a true king. They would rule as equals, and eventually their children would sit in the Iron Throne after them.”

What?

As soon as the words were out of her mouth his mind simply ceased to work. They were thinking of… what? His head quickly snapped to look at his family, wanting to gauge their reactions as well and assess if they were just as confused as he felt.

His father was positively delighted at the prospect of uniting his fractured family once more. His mother, on the other hand, looked irked at Rhaenyra for having sprung this proposition in front of Viserys, as he’d obviously agree, and she wasn’t looking forward to having a possible bastard as her son’s wife (even if she knew he once cared deeply for you). And his grandsire… he looked conflicted. Otto Hightower wasn’t an easy man to read, but he had been so caught by surprise that he was wearing all his emotions on his sleeve. While he, like Alicent, seemed bothered by the timing of this proposal, he also looked… intrigued?

“We were thinking of passing Dragonstone down to Aegon and keeping both Aemond and my daughter here in King’s Landing so they can learn with me and the council the ways of ruling, so they are well prepared when it comes their time to rule.” 

“And what of Lucerys?” Alicent questioned warily.

“He would live in Driftmark with Jace, learning the ways of salt and sea, in hopes of one day becoming my, and later his sister’s, Master of Ships.” Rhaenyra completed.

Silence ruled over the room for a moment, nobody daring to utter a word. Not even the servants, watching from the corners, made a single sound.

“And who was the one” Viserys spoke slowly, getting more tired as the night progressed “behind such a wonderful idea?” 

“I-” your mother started, but Daemon quickly cut her off.

“The girl did.” he nodded his head towards you, a smug smile growing on his lips at the prospect of possibly throwing you under the carriage. 

Aemond’s head snapped towards you, your smile never wavering. So that’s what you had been speaking to Rhaenyra all day. After your talk in the courtyard, you’d gone off to find your mother, to express your wishes not only to marry Aemond, but to also make him king. Just like the lines on his palm told you. But… why?

“And just what” Otto questioned, as if reading his grandson’s mind “has led the princess to decide to break hundreds of centuries of tradition and wish to share the Throne?”

Rhaenyra turned back to you, sending a silent question in your direction yet again. You shook your head and stood up, as if deciding to face the judgment of the Hightowers all by yourself.

“While my family has resided in Dragonstone for the past few years, my lord,” you started, an eloquence that indicated you’d been preparing, and maybe even rehearsing, this speech in your mind for a while “I have taken to flying around the realm on dragonback, visiting all of the Seven Kingdoms. I’d wished to see for myself and understand the people I’d one day rule over. However, being away from King’s Landing for so long also means I am not versed in the matters of court. Prince Aemond, on the other hand,” oh, how sweet your voice sounded when you said his name accompanied by his title “has lived his entire life here in the Red Keep. He’s been in these halls, around the lords and ladies of court, for quite a while and knows how such matters are supposed to work. I believe our knowledge combined will give us the strength, as a unity, required to rule over the realm together and establish a peaceful and prosperous reign.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you paused, your expression souring.

“And” you chuckled mirthlessly, your previously warm smile falling to a resigned one “I am a woman. The lords of the noble houses of Westeros may support my mother’s claim as they have sworn an oath to his grace, the King, but many of them are already of advanced age and may soon come to perish, some have already died even. While most of these houses are righteous and their sons and grandsons will likely honor their ancestors' wishes and support me as my mothers heir, there is no telling what will happen. They might not take kindly to yet another woman ruling over the realm, and especially one they didn’t technically agree on. So as much as I loathe to admit it, having a man by my side, supporting me as an equal, would strengthen my claim and prevent anyone from questioning me as queen.”

It made sense, all of it. Change as impactful as this tends to happen over time, not all at once, and it was known the men of the realm would not so easily accept a woman on the Iron Throne, something Aemond knew his grandsire was counting on to bring Aegon to power eventually, so it was a smart move to have a husband at your side. Your arguing was solid, and Otto Hightower seemed to agree as he reclined back on his seat, somewhat impressed.

Alicent, however, looked like she still wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

“And why would you wish to marry my son?” she questioned, her tone stern.

Your smile faltered briefly, betraying your confusion.

“Why, your grace, I believe I have already explained-”

“No,” she cut you off “you’ve explained why this union would be beneficial for you as a representative of the Crown. I want to know why you wish to marry him. You could have any man in the realm, hells, there have been rumors that Cregan Stark himself has requested an audience in Dragonstone, possibly to request a courtship for your hand.” That was before anyone knew Rhaenyra planned on making you her heir and it was believed you’d inherit nothing at all, Aemond caught himself thinking “So why do you want to marry Aemond?”

That had him leaning forward in his seat. He knew, logically, this marriage stemmed from convenience. He knew he, and you as well, were mere pawns in your family’s schemes. But he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind your proposal. Even if it was just a political move, he would have accepted in a heartbeat but he dared to wish, no, hope that you actually wanted this, that you wanted him.

“I…” you fumbled for a moment, averting your gaze before steeling yourself, eyes locking with his mother’s once more “My uncle and I were close once, many years ago. We used to share a connection that has since been lost to time.” 

You took a deep breath, as if preparing to reveal your deepest secrets to the whole family.

“I would like for us to get to know one another once more and go back to the way things were. Maybe even strengthen our bond.” you then turned to him, your eyes soft and warm and with the slightest of glimmer to them, as if you were willing yourself not to shed any tears “And I believe, with time, I could learn to love him dearly. I would love and cherish him for everything that he is, unwaveringly and unapologetically.” your lips trembled almost imperceptibly, so much so that had he not been paying close attention to you he’d have missed it “I’d be his as much as he’d be mine.”

Aemond felt his breath hitch, his heart hammering in his chest once more. He didn’t know what to think. This, right here, seemed so unreal. Deep down he knew this might just be the solution to everyone’s problems, it could be the very thing that mended the divide that had been growing inside of House Targaryen, but… could it be possible? Would his family agree?

“I believe this to be an amazing occasion.” the King spoke, looking happier than he’d been in a long while, before turning to his wife “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Alicent in turn looked to her father for answers and Aemond waited with bated breath for his response. Otto’s word was law in her eyes, Aemond  knew, so he was the one who had final say in the matter. His answer came as a tiny nod and in that moment, as Aemond barely registered his mother’s next words, he had never been more grateful for his grandsire.  

“I am inclined to agree that this will be a most blessed union.” Alicent said, her smile, always cold when it came to you, warming considerably.

“It’s settled then. Looks like we’ll have a wedding even sooner than expected.” Viserys then tapped his cane on the ground “Let us have some music.” 

As the musicians started playing an animated melody, Aemond felt lighter than he had in years. He could hardly care for everyone around him, not even noticing anyone’s reaction to the news other than your own. With his eye focused solely on you he could see the relief settling in at his mother’s words as you beamed at him, more radiant than ever.

“Aemond, dear, why don’t you take your betrothed for a dance?” 

He was out of his seat before Alicent could even finish her sentence, crossing the space between you in wide strides and extending a hand to you. You accepted gracefully. As you positioned yourselves to dance, you smiled bashfully at him, looking down at your feet, slightly embarrassed.

“I hope you can find it in you to forgive me for bringing this up all of a sudden, uncle.” you explained, looking back at him “I didn’t want to waste another moment and risk losing my chance.” 

It was his turn to smile, not a smirk or a smug grin, a genuine smile. 

“There is nothing to forgive, little niece.” the way he said the moniker this time, once used to mock you, was so filled with only affection and care that it almost brought tears to your eyes once again.

You danced for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Then you leaned closer to him, as if wanting to share something privy to his ears alone.

“I told you once before, Aemond.” your smile turned into the tiniest of smirks “The lines don’t lie.” 

His heart clenched at the memory, which seemed so distant yet so fresh in his mind. He tightened his grip around you, bringing your body even closer to his own, wanting to feel you close to him, genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

“Indeed,” he whispered softly back to you, leaning his head against your own “I guess they truly don’t.”

And then everyone is happy, Rhaenyra and her family don’t leave for Dragonstone before dawn, meaning she’s there when Viserys goes to sleep forever, meaning she’s crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, meaning the Greens don’t usurp the Throne, meaning the Dance never happened, meaning no one dies and everyone lives happily ever after, hurray!

(About Daemon's behavior, he’s not mad at reader or Rhaenyra, nor does he dislike reader in any way. He’s just resentful Rhaenyra hasn’t thought nor has she offered to what she does to Aemond in this story. And as we know, when these Targaryen boys are frustrated, they tend to lash out. Hope this clarifies some things!)

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

[weirdwildwonderland]

How TUA should've ended

Lila and Five relationship-Lila and Five don't spend 7 years in the subway. They do get lost, but it's more like two years this time (whoever thought of 7 years was crazy). Two years is enough for Five and Lila to almost kill each other many times, enough for them to cry to each other one night and swear to never talk about it again. Enough for many bouts of food poisoning and starvation and cold nights when the train didn't show up. Enough for Lila to keep waking up with a sick feeling in her stomach because she keeps having dreams where she wakes up in her house, with Grace and the twins and Diego just downstairs. Enough for Five to stay awake as he wipes silent tears away because he's thinking of his siblings. The only ones who have been there for him. They find the strawberry timeline near the end of the two years, and it only makes them miss everyone more. There's a lump in Five's throat as he mutters something about how "wish we could've taken the idiots here" and Lila starts to cry, because something about this timeline is so warm and safe, because she would give ANYTHING to have a Saturday morning with her family again, Diego making her coffee, waking up the twins, reading to Grace. She finds a delicate silver bracelet on the floor of the greenhouse, and remembers how her father gave Grace a bracelet just like this when she was born, and that's when she breaks, and Five begrudgingly helps her off of the floor and pats her on the back. They find the notebook a few days later, and both of them well up as they ride the subway back. It's only been a few hours for the rest of them, and as Diego hugs Lila again, this guilty feeling wells up in her chest, because she remembers how they were before, how distant they had become. But he's still here, somehow. So they go inside and she starts crying when she sees everyone. Diego asks about the bracelet and Lila and Five exchange a look. You tell him. No, you. Diego asks if something has been going on, and it all comes out. Lila crumbles even more. Isolation does funny things to the emotions.

They all finish watching the dance of the sugar plum fairy before the news about Ben flashes onto the screen. It's the most peaceful hour or so of this whole fucked up week

2. They get swallowed by the cleanse.

3. And then they all wake up in the void. All of them are dazed and drained. The man on the TV is talking about shattered timelines (or something related to the themes of time in the show). God watches on her bicycle as they slowly figure out that they lost their powers again. Diego starts crying because he realizes Ben isn't there and Lila comforts him. Luther looks more worried about Diego than about the fact that they're dead. Allison, Klaus, and Viktor seem glad that their powers are gone. Five just looks happy that they're all still together. Klaus goes up to God.

He says something along the lines of "Hey, I'm happy that I can still come up here and all, but you need to get us back down somehow, because there's no way I'm spending all of eternity with THEM. Plus, I have nieces and a nephew and I hope they're...not up here too."

She says something like "They're not."

He stares at her.

She says "I think you're insufferable. I don't know anyone who comes up here multiple times and then goes back down."

"Look, God, I've had it up to HERE with my life so far, and I can say the same about all of them over there. But I've gone through some things recently, and it made me realize that I would really like to keep living it, if you wouldn't mind. And," he points at everyone "they have their reasons. And they deserve to live the rest of their lives out, too."

She stares at him. "I've had it up to here with you too. You know, I watch you down there, sometimes. I think you're better off there. Not up here, annoying me. Plus," she looks over at everyone else (they're freaking out/arguing etc) "it's too early for all of you to be here."

She picks 8 marigolds from her basket and plucks the heads off. They fall to the ground and new sprouts start coming up from the earth. "Whatever was in you, it's gone now." She looks over at everyone, annoyed. "Oh yeah, I forgot you need help to get back." She rolls her eyes.

"You know, you kind of remind me of my niece." Klaus says

She snaps her fingers

Cut to black again.

Cut to outside Diego and Lila's house. It's hot out, and they all wake up on the asphalt in their winter clothes. Everyone starts complaining about how hot it is. Diego gets up and knocks at the door. No one knows what day it is. For all they know, their kids could be teenagers now, and that scares him.

Someone bumps into Lila on the street, and it's the Handler. Only, she's not. She's just a normal woman talking on her cellphone, and she looks at Lila apologetically before continuing her conversation. A woman looks at Viktor and asks him if he needs help off the ground. It's Grace, and she's walking with a baby stroller. Viktor nudges Diego and they're both speechless.

The door opens, and Lila's mom answers. Lila bursts into tears and hugs her. Grace and Claire come to the door and Grace says something about "you didn't pick me up from camp on time, Mommy! And Coco's been crying for FIFTEEN minutes, that's what Grandma said. I think she misses you. Oh, and Ben (boy twin) broke a bowl, but Grandpa said it's okay" and Claire rolls her eyes and asks what they're all doing dressed in coats and tells them that they're all so weird. Grace turns to Claire and accusingly says "You never told me that grownups cry too." Klaus and Allison both burst into tears too, Luther and Viktor look like they're about to cry, and Five just looks the most relieved he's ever been in his life.

Lila's mom sighs and says "Come in, everyone. I don't want to know what you've gotten yourselves into now, but you look hungry. It's too hot out to cook, so you're eating the leftovers." Diego is still crying, but he starts to laugh. And then Five starts laughing too. And then the rest of them. Lila's mom tells them that they really need to get inside now before someone starts looking at them weird.

Cut to shot of all of them walking into the house, taking off their shoes, flopping onto the couch, hugging their kids, etc. Continue to "I think we're alone now" montage of all the side characters walking on the street living life as normal people.

POGO: On the twelfth hour of the 8th day of August, 2024, nothing out of the ordinary happened. You might say it was just a normal day.

Cut to black

Credits roll

Post credits scene

There's a knock on the door. Ben walks in looking dazed, holding Jennifer's hand. "What's up, assholes? I'm back!" he says, before everyone groans and the screen cuts to black again.

END S4E6

[mrs-kmikaelson]

04| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader, Elijah Mikaelson x niece!reader Summary: A while after the party, you're approached by Elijah at Rousseau's who has a request that you would've never expected. Warnings: none Words: 3.1K

Masterlist | Part 5

I shook a cocktail shaker vigorously before pouring whatever pink liquid it was into a glass and sliding it over to the customer on the other side of the counter, running a hand through my hair right afterward as I glanced around at the full bar.

Full fucking bar and I'm the only person here.

Camille had a date with Marcel tonight, but there was no one else who could possibly take her shift tonight because there was no one else working tonight. I told her I could cover for her because I had experience bartending in the eighties, but I didn't know it was gonna be like this.

I guess there was some sort of festival going on tonight, but in New Orleans, when isn't there?

It's been a week since the Mikaelsons through their party, a week since I had my 'family reunion', and I haven't seen any of them since. Don't know if I'm happy about that or not.

I sighed, tossing back a shot of my own before moving onto the next customer. I'll overthink later.

"Drinking on the job?" Or not.

Speak of the fucking devil, because I looked up and, sitting in the stool in front of me, was Elijah Mikaelson. He had a small, playful smirk on his lips, leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, but not in a way that made him look like he wasn't alert, but in a way that showed the world he wouldn't even dream of someone stepping to him.

I forced a laugh, wiping down a glass while I responded, "Yeah, well it's a little hard to be surrounded by all this and not get any." He smiled, nodding while I threw the rag over my shoulder. Inside, I was shaking, but I tried my hardest to treat him like he was any other person so he wouldn't take notice. 

I raised my brows. "Let me guess, whiskey? No- bourbon?" I didn't wait for a reply and grabbed the bottle while Elijah chuckled.

"Bourbon would be nice, thank you, Y/N," he said. I wonder if he had an inkling how freaked out I was that he remembered my name.

Half of me was hoping they'd forget all about me. The other half, well... I tried not to give that one a microphone.

I handed him the glass in a hurry, hoping to get away from him as fast as possible, but of course, the universe wasn't so kind because he stopped me, calling my name when I turned around. 

Fuckkkk. I screwed my eyes shut before spinning back around with that perfect customer service smile on my face. 

"Good luck," he said, and my brows furrowed. He saw the confusion on my face and nodded to the rest of the bar, elaborating, "With the customers." I held in a sigh of relief and smiled to him in thanks, moving on.

I'd normally ask customers how they were doing, what brought them to Rousseau's, but not only did I not have enough time what with all the customers, but I also did not feel like making conversation with Elijah Mikaelson after I've been drinking.

So, to resolve my frazzled state that was typically caused by drinking, I drank some more. And I continued to work, per usual, trying to bring my mind back to positive memories of me in the past instead of the dramas of my present.

I was in auto-pilot, serving customers while drifting off into a world of my own, thinking about a time when I wasn't so obsessed with finding my family. The reason why was that I already had one.

My mother and I were very close when I was young, and she did everything she could to protect me before the world took her from me, taking me in the process. Niklaus, obviously, was never in the picture.

He and his entire family did not even know I existed. For all I knew, Klaus just had a one-night stand with my mother and never saw her again. So there was no way he could ever find out who I was, not on his own. But Elijah... Elijah was as smart as Klaus was strong. I didn't want to talk to him too often and have him put together any puzzle pieces.

The night went on without any interruptions. I periodically checked the clock. Rousseau's closed a bit later than usual bars since it was in the middle of the Quarter, but I only had about an hour left before both my shift was over and the bar closed. Thank the heavens. 

Things were going as smoothly as far as I could tell what with me half listening to everything going on, but suddenly, I was brought back to my sense by someone yelling. 

My head shot up and, on the other side of the bar, I saw two people I recognized almost immediately, a man and a woman. The man was a member of Marcel's crew, and the girl was a witch I was familiar with since Marcel left the witch dealings to me back when practicing magic wasn't punishable by fucking death. 

The vampire, Dimitri, was yelling obscenities at Talia, the witch, as she yelled over him. He went to shove her and, without thinking, I rushed over in a blur and blocked him with my arm, separating them both. 

"Break it up right. now," I ordered, glaring at them both but mostly Dimitri. He always bugged me. The bar was less full now and I could tell that people had stopped to watch the encounter.

Talia crossed her arms and Dimitri glared back at me. "She's being a fucking bitch, Y/N-"

She scoffed, "Oh, would you just-"

I raised my voice. "Both of you, enough!" They both stopped and stared at me. "As far as I'm concerned, neither of you should even be talking to each other right now, much less arguing or physically fighting. That's violating so many different agreements at once." This time Dimitri scoffed and so I turned to him, raising a brow, feeling the annoyance in me bubble. "What, do you have something to say?"

He looked at me and smirked in a way that made me want to bite into his neck or turn his blood to acid, and responded, "Yeah- those were your rules when Marcel ran the city and let his bitch boss us around-"

I cut him off, an incredulous look on my face. "His what?"

He ignored me. "But the Mikaelsons are in charge now, and he is not," he boasted. "Which means- neither are you." His smirk widened like he'd just made some huge declaration, like he was in the one in control here.

But he couldn't be more wrong. You see, Marcel left negotiations to me, knowing I could talk to people a little better than he could. And since I kept the peace for him, he let me make a few rules. I was in charge, and I'd be damned if I let some newbie vampire think he bested me. 

I took a step closer to him, ready to fucking tell him how it is, but before I could even get a word out, someone had sped right next to me and cut me off.

I looked up, startled, and was even more surprised when I saw that the man that had sped over was Elijah. Fan-fuckin-tastic.

Talia took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself while Dimitri swallowed. Elijah smiled a tight-lipped smile, staring at Dimitri in a way that would be perceived to be friendly if it were anyone else, but with him, it just looked condescending. With one gaze, he was saying he was better than you without ever really having to say it.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I would rather not stand and watch this altercation from the sidelines," he expressed. "See, in my time, you'd treat a woman with respect, and it looks to me that you are treating both of these young women with anything but." I held back a snort at the 'young' bit. I'm older than Dimitri by a long shot, but I get the memo.

Dimitri stuttered back, but couldn't form a response. "I-"

"You what? You think that because the Mikaelsons are in charge now that you can run amuck and act as you please?" Elijah paused as if he was waiting for an answer and scoffed when he didn't get one. "Well, I am a Mikaelson," he announced, "and right now I am granting you the privilege of walking away from this because, from what I can see, Y/N holds more relevance than you do or ever have." Not once did he glare at Dimitri, simply holding his stare strongly, and Dimitri most definitely tried to hold that stare in challenge, but after a few seconds, he gave up, swallowing, and walking away quickly.

Elijah's lips curved slightly before they were forced down as he held back a smirk, turning to me and Talia. She nodded at Elijah--in thanks, I'd assume--and he reciprocated the action before she, too, walked away, leaving just me and him standing there.

I looked around at the rest of the bar and realized that everyone left was supernatural in one way or another, or at least knew about it because everyone had returned to their own conversations, not even batting an eye at the inhuman speed displayed.

Elijah glanced around too before looking back to me and nodding towards the door. I quickly understand the motion and nodded back. He wanted to get away from the prying ears, but I could do him one better.

I raised my voice and exclaimed to the crowd, "Sorry guys, party's over!" I heard a few groans and Elijah raised a brow at me, but I ignored it. It was closing time, anyway. "You can go home now! Like right now." I saw some people about to protest, but one look from Elijah and they were silenced. They did not want to fuck with that. 

The clear-out was one of the fastest ones I'd ever seen, especially on a night like this, but in minutes, the bar was empty. When I was sure no one else was around, I finally looked at Elijah and felt my previous nervousness return, but still chastised, "I had that handled."

Instead of being offended, he gave me that same smile he's been smiling all night and told me, "I know. But I couldn't help myself." Although that was meant to be somewhat of an apology, there was a smugness in it that I couldn't stand.

I hummed in a way I hope 'bullshit' was conveyed, turning around the clean up the bar. He chuckled. Good, message received then.

Even I was a little surprised with how bold I was being, but I guess that, even after 500 years, alcohol still gave me a little courage.

I picked up the glasses people had left scattered, putting them into the sink and tidying everything up so that, tomorrow, Camille wouldn't have to deal with any of it.

"So you handled business for Marcel?" I glanced at him to see his hand casually tucked into a pocket of his slack. Again, it was such a small, insignificant stance, but there was just something about it that made you want to fold into yourself.

I looked back to the glasses I was scrubbing, affirming, "Yeah, I'd negotiate with all sides to come to agreements we could all, well, agree on, I guess."

His lip quirked up as he sat down on a barstool right in front of me. I wordlessly handed him a glass and a bottle of bourbon, and the small quirk of his lips became a grin.

While he poured himself a glass, I kept working on the dishes and decided to make small talk so I didn't look like an alien creature that didn't know how to communicate with others.

"You've been here a while, and it's just after closing now. What's the occasion- or is it more of a you just needed a drink kind of occasion?"

Even though my back was turned, it was still like I could sense him smirking. "It's the latter," he revealed. "In fact, I'm drinking because of the disagreements within the factions."

"Oh?" I kept scrubbing.

He continued, "Yes. It's the same story every time: everyone wants power and no one is satisfied with what they have."

I snorted, "Yeah, Tears For Fears wasn't kidding. Everybody really does want to rule the world." And that was a joke, but it was completely true, especially in a city like New Orleans. 

"Precisely that, Y/N. And Niklaus-" I refrained from taking in a breath. "Oh, my brother is not handling it well." I'd imagine he wasn't. From what I've heard about Klaus, he didn't take kindly to people trying take what he thought was rightfully his. That's why he tried banishing Marcel, even though he was meant to be like a son to him.

I scoffed at that in my head. Klaus was a father to Marcel, raised Marcel, and was gonna raise another child in the near future, and yet he'd never even met me.

My brain was bombarded with the thoughts I tried to keep in at that moment. I wondered if he knew about me at all, if he knew and just didn't care, or if he had no idea of my existence. I wonder what he'd do if he knew. Would he care?

I pushed back those thoughts and shook my head, bringing myself back to the conversation and replying, "That's pretty expected. I mean, it took Marcel years to create what he had, and he also had me to keep the peace, too, so it's different." 

Elijah hummed, briefly reminding me of Klaus. For a few seconds, all that could be heard was the scrub-a-dub-dubbing I was doing and the steady response I was getting from him stopped. Until he resumed with enough fervour to knock me out.

"And what if we had you to keep the peace for us?""

I dropped the glass I was scrubbing in shock, quickly using my speed to stop it from hitting the sink and breaking. I put the glass down and turned the faucet off, turning to face him fully. I was half expecting to see a smile on his face, for him to tell me he was joking, but he had a completely serious look on his face.

If I didn't know any better, I'd see he even looked hopeful.

I looked at him, analyzing his face for a few seconds before lowering my guard slightly for the first time around a Mikaelson and whispering, "Oh my God, you're not kidding."

He smiled a little. "No, Y/N, I'm afraid I'm not." I blew out a breath through my lips, feeling the gears in my head turn 70 miles an hour.

What the fuck?

He's asking me to work for them.

My family.

Me.

Klaus' daughter.

But they don't know that.

No, they don't know about my relation to them. But Elijah does know that Marcel's my friend. I made this known, just in case he forgot in the few seconds it'd been since it'd been brought up. "You do know Marcel's my friend, right? Maybe even my best friend, if you want to get technical."

He took a sip of his bourbon before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."

I nodded. "Right, so then you know why I cant accept that offer." I wasn't thinking about the opportunity or power or really anything important at that moment. I was thinking about Marcel. And I was thinking about how coincidental it was that, a week after I got back to the city, Elijah takes interest in me of all people.

Maybe it's not a coincidence, my subconscious reasoned.

Oh, but hell, I really hoped it was.

Elijah took another sip of his drink. "You know these people, they trust you." I gave him a look, but hid my skepticism at the way he phrased his sentence. He said it like he already knew about my history with the factions. Honestly, knowing him, he probably did.

He used my silence and went on, "Arrangements could be made about Marcellus." My brows raised at that. "I'm fine with negotiating, Y/N." 

I narrowed my eyes. He was to trying to broker a deal with me. Smart. But a Mikaelson choosing to negotiate for someone with as little 'relevance' as me is odd, to say the least.

I stared at him for a few seconds before stating the obvious. "I have a feeling your brother wouldn't like what exactly you're offering me."

Elijah chuckled, shaking his head. "Believe me, Y/N, I don't have much care for what my brother does or doesn't like at the moment."

I pursed my lips, running it all over in my head in disbelief that I was even considering it. The offer alone was suspicious, but the situation was riskier than many situations I'd put myself into in my lifetime, and that was saying something.

I'd been chasing after the Mikaelsons for ages, watching the family I never got from a distance, the always and forever I wasn't apart of. Right now, Elijah Mikaelson was offering up the opportunity to see them up close on a silver platter, and I was hesitant?

I held Elijah's stare, contemplating. And perhaps it was the alcohol that made the decision for me, but soon enough I found my mouth opening, words spilling out of it. "Marcel is allowed back into the Quarter, and him and Klaus call a truce." He didn't flinch. "You agree to that, and you have yourself a deal."

Elijah continued to stare at me in silence for a few seconds after that, and as time passed, I began to think I royally fucked up, trying to order him around, but he proved me a wrong by holding a hand out. I looked at it in bewilderment.

"You have yourself a deal, Miss Y/L/N." I held back any surprise at the fact that he knew my surname when I never gave it to him, but really, there was nothing to be surprised about. 

I reluctantly reached out and clasped my hand in his, ignoring the rush of power I felt when my skin made contact with his and tried not to show it on my face. 

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

[maryonaccross]

Dear fellow team green fans, I’ve finally managed to make a list of fanfictions on AO3 that every team green fan should read;

(Most of these aren’t aggressively team green but focus on team green characters and explore them in interesting and respectful ways )

Fist we have the holy trilogy:

1. Burning Jasmine by our national treasure @scalyfreaks and literally anything else that she writes (BJ is a beautifully written Aegon centric alteration of the dance of the dragons)

2. See, what happened was by @daylander1000 / Daylander on AO3 (the best Aemond centric fanfic I have ever read. If you dislike the strong boys and how Baela and Rhaena were done dirty in the show and love angsty preteens and “dark fluff” as the author herself describes it this is the jam)

3. All of @dulcewrites fanfictions are an absolute must for any team green fans (she handles the characters with such care and the humor is amazing)

Then we have the category that I like to call JUSTICE FOR ALICENT:

1. Springs end by Navree (long one shot that explores Alicent’s feelings at the beginning of her marriage to Viserys, beautifully written, I cried)

2. Give me back my girlhood it was mine first by JustA_Person (beautiful multi-chaptered fic that dives headfirst into Alicent’s depression at the beginning of her marriage and does not shy away from roasting the fuck out of Viserys and is currently heading towards a rekindling of the relationship between Alicent and Rhaenyra)

3. In your grave by 136108 (short but brilliant one shot on what Alicent should have told Viserys on his death bed)

Then we have Daemon and Viserys haters must read section staring;

1. Sins of the father by SelfProclaimedUnicorn ( ABSOLUTE MUST for any Daemon haters out there, this is the best there is. This fanfiction centers around two children Daemon has with Rhea Royce at the beginning of his marriage and follows them in their childhood and teenage years (the children are the same age as Rhaenyra and Alicent). This is one of the best written team green fanfictions I have ever read and it tells the story in such an intelligent and thought out way with some perfectly seasoned Daemon bashing sprinkled all over it. It also holds up so well considering that its plot is unlike any other team Green fanfiction out there and centers around characters that aren’t really explored enough. Oh and it also addresses the suffering Aemma went through trapped in marriage with Viserys which is always a great touch)

2. Out of the mouth of Babes by UnknownEnigma ( beautiful six chapter fanfiction exploring Aemonds relationships with Viserys that shows Viserys’ neglect and cruelty in all its glory and ends in a very satisfying way)

And then we have a few more brilliant fan fictions that I don’t really know how to sort into a category:

1. Lose your Ego by Fjlh (this series just started and is about Aegon USING HIS BRAIN and fighting for his claim. Very promising so far)

2. The sky is always red above Valyria au by Aifsaath (beautiful series of one shots about Aegon x Baela that explores the trauma of growing up with a father that maritally rapes your mother)

3. Lady Dreamfrye by Ai_Megurine (story about Sansa Stark being reborn as Helaena)

4. I’m never gonna love ( again ) by @crescenthoax (very interesting Aegon x oc fanfic )

5. My hand was the one you reached for by haught_hightower ( explores Alicent’s relationships with Criston and her children )

6. a poison tree by Juliet_Capulet ( very detailed and well written story about the younger brother of Daemon and Viserys returning to the capital with his daughter, after the death of his wife and witnessing Viserys’ brain dead decisions unraveling while forming a bond with his nieces and nephews. Full of Daemon and Viserys Bashing)

I hope you enjoy, it took me a real long while to find some of these gems

[jocelynscrazyideas]

I Know You | Matt Rempe x reader

Inspired by the song I know you by Faye Webster

Warnings: heartache, salty fluff/angst, language, depression, mentions of death, (if you every need help I’m always here to listen and support you- always reach out and I’m here bubbas), the blurb is kinda long lwk. NOT PROOF READ

Summary: after wanting to follow your passion and go for a job you’ve been dreaming of, Matt turns down your dreams and shuts you out. You feel insufferable without him but feel unseen for your love and potential when you’re together.

a/n: I’ve been thinking abt Matt and I was listening to this song on the shower and I was like “damn, this is it.” So I hope you enjoy.

📚💬: Lando Norris? Or I could make a new blog and post there but yippee 🥳 OML and I know everyone likes my smut work more but im proud of this piece so don’t be mean. MATT REMPE WOULD NEVER DO THIS IRL (READ THSI WITH A GRAIN IF SLAT)

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺༻

I had recently been really verbal about my dream job, being a Social Worker. I grew up in a family issued home, and I had recently gotten out. I want to let people know that there is safety and secure housing out there. That’s why this job has always been important to me.

It’s off season, Matt is off ready to train for the summer. Matt, my boyfriend if 5 months had recently told me to reach farther than the stars. “The sky looks like the limit, but there are most definitely more than one universe out there. Reach for the impossible.” He told me. Matty supported my dreams until he found out the job I wanted to take was in Wyoming.

Now it seems stupid but, I’d go across the world to take the job- im determined to rescuing the unseen.

“You should stay! Find a social worker association in New York! Please.” Matt begged. For weeks he would buy me flowers and take me out to dinner.

“Matt you just don’t get it!” I yell from the other side of our shared bed.

“I know you better than I know myself y/n! Of course I get it.” He shouts in my face. He stumps towards me. I crawl over the large bed and run out the room. I slam the door. Running for my shoes.

“You can’t just run!” He screams from the top of the stairs. He watches me slide my shoes on, he runs down the stairs as he sees me darting for my water bottle and the keys to my car.

“You don’t get it Matt! I lived it! You didn’t!” I immediately shout, he takes a hold of my wrist. He scoffs and lets me go. Dropping my heart, my stomach, my air, and I leave.

I have a work cell and a personal phone. Matt has my work number but not the location so I purposely left my personal on the counter and left. “You left your phone! y/n!” He shouts as I get in the car.

“Keep it! That’s how you’ll remember me! How you treated me!” I mimic him. Mocking what I had thought was the love of my life- which clearly I was wrong.

He runs after me. I see him dash inside of the house letting the glass door shut into the frame. He rubs out of the house once more, this time sitting the door securely.

Surely he’s just going to the grocery. No. He’s driving after me.

I take a sharp left, right. I pass through a light, I turn into a neighborhood, behind a blue house was a path. I park in the Parking lot they had taht sits infront of a large pink and organge playground. I take my keys and let my water sit in the car.

I tie my shoes and sprint away. I make it to .14 miles and I check to see Matt isn’t behind me. No one is on the path. I set my phone down and I tighten my runners belt.

I stuff my keys and push my phone in. I put my AirPods in and stuff the case into the belt. I listen to sad songs to fuel my running crave. I stretch after that warmup.

I hear cars passing by. “I’m sorry, i am playing hide and seek with my girlfriend, she is hiding with my niece I was wondering if you have seen her.” I stand up from my stretches.

What the fuck.

I’m behind a wall of bushes that hide the running path. I slide my head over, I peek through. Shit.

It’s Matt.

“Her name in is y/n. If you see her just tell her to meet me at the green marble.”

Green marble. The place I took him when he had his first panic attack after an nhl game. I calmed him down at this lake and it was super clear- really beautiful. The green marble was the place we spend the most time at together, our first kiss happened here, our last date was here.

The real reason why we call it the green marble is because I was wearing a green dress and he had on socks that I made fun of, they were marble/ tie dye.

~

Matt turns as I jerk back. He made eye contact with me through the bush. “Y/n?” He mumbles. He apologizes to the stranger he was talking to and walked toward me. I ran. I ran to my car. Letting him think I was getting in. I watch him turn around and head to his car.

He thinks he’s going to follow me out of the park. Nope.

I take off. I start on a small jog towards the duck pond they have. I run around this pond about four times which lead to about 1.43 miles.

I get tired of letting Matt eat away my feelings. I run back to my car, I stretch before I get in and I drink my water. I’m covered in bug bites and sweat. It’s 92F out, I’m wearing pink gym shark shorts and a black bra from alo yoga. My hokas are worn down, and my Nike socks are covered in dirt.

I head back towards home, then I see Matt’s car isn’t there. He doesn’t park in the garage so I’m guessing he’s just out drinking his emotions away.

~

“Meet me at the green marble.”

I never him saying to the stranger.

~

I reverse my car out of the driveway and I head to the lake.

“You actually came.” He laughed. Matt got up, wiped his hands on his shorts.

“How many girls asked to take a picture.” I laugh.

My mom used to tell me, “sometimes you just have to be the bigger person, let the other person think they have won the argument, but really, letting them move on is the best win. Forgetting and forgiving is the best gift you can do for yourself, and especially in big moments and relationships you’ll have when you’re older.” I think about it taht all the time.

Does it work? Oh yeah. It sure does. Matt falls for it all the time.

Ms I doing it right now? Of fucking course I am.

Do you know how some people say that men push away their emotions? Yeah Matt is distant, and I want him to be more open. He just gets insecure.

~ after the beach ~

Matt tried to shower with me, and i was okay with the thought of us showering together again. Until, “bubs, the hamper is full again.” He spoke to me. He looked at me like I was the only one who was capable of doing siad laundry.

“Okay.” I stared at him. I didn’t shower. I put on pjs instead. While Matt showered I packed a go bag, you never know when you need it.

I stored the bag by the shoes downstairs. I ran back upstairs to lay in bed.

“Matthew. We need to talk.” I mumbled when Matt came into bed. He leveled his head to mine and pulled me closer to him. My back still facing his front I pull my hands towards my face. Covering my face from any chance that I could cry.

“What do you want ti talk about?” He asked and kissed my cheek. He lay back down on his back and sighed.

“I wnat you. I all of you, you here in New York with me.” He voiced.

I told him before he got drafted- when we were still friends, that I didn’t wnat him to leave. You know what he did? He left for New York anyway.

“I made a decision. You aren’t going to like.”

“Y/n. I love you, I will come to your senses.” He laughed. He thinks my words are jokes.

Before I tell him I am leaving, I get up. Sitting up straight, getting out of bed. I made this decision about for seconds after packing my go bag, “Matt, I love you. I also love myself, and- I… I wnat to go to Wyoming.” I stutter and I see him sit up. Without hesitation he looked at me like I was a piece of garbage.

“No. Y/n this is something we talk about together.” He shouted at me. Spot flies out of his mouth.

“It’s my job, they offered me a really nice deal, they house me for a year and that’ll get me enough money to buy a nice house. I’ll be able to pay everything off my name.” I present him the idea of me being successful.

“No.” He lays back down, thinking I’ll say okay, and sit with him in bed again.

That’s not what happened.

“If you leave right now, we’re done. Yiu hear me? If you leave the room, we are not a thing, we are breaking up if you go sleep on your car, or sleep in the guesthouse.” He adds before I stepped out of the room.

I left. I grabbed the door before leaving and I ran.

I shoved my bag into my backseat, I had extra clothes, I had snacks, my work cell, blankets, my personal belongings I was okay to sleep in my car for atleast three days.

~

It’s been a year without Matt.

It’s been a year without me.

When I was driving to a friends house to spend the night, I never made it.

A drunk driver had hit my car, I came flying out. Following that, another driver had ran a red light, running me over.

I had six broken ribs, a fractured wrist, I tore my meniscus and my acl from landing on the pavement.

When Matt came driving behind me looking for me, it was only after Sarah- my friend I was going to spend the night, with called him.

“Hey Matt, um, y/n didn’t make it to my house. She said you guys are getting in it and needed a place ti stay. It’s been an hour since she said she’s on her way, it only takes 15 minutes to get to my house.”

“Okay? Maybe traffic?” He answered.

“No Matt, you’re not listening, it’s 2:07 in the morning. There is no traffic, we’re in the suburbs, no one is up right now except drunk drivers, I have something in the oven because I thought she would wnat a dinner but she never made it.” Sarah sounded sacred she couldn’t leave.

“Okay fine. I’ll go looking for her.”

“Matt, it was always going be you looking for her. If I went out for her, she would have left you.”

~

I was on the cold black pavement waiting for someone to come get me. I couldn’t move. My lungs are crushing, my car is broken, the drivers taht and hit me all drove away. So much pain is going through my body it feels like nothing is happening.

I took a different way then I normally would have taken, just in case Matt came looking for me.

“Matt..” I kept whispering. I’m bleeding everywhere. My head is cracked open. My arm is twisted in ways it shouldn’t be.

I try rolling over, I could not get on my side, but before I feel back down, I felt my stomach. My actually guts. My actual organs were in my hands. I rolled back down in the cold now flooded with blood road.

I see a car roll up towards me. I know that car.

“Matt?” I cough out blood. I can’t see.

“Baby?!” He called 911.

He curled over me. Putting pressure onto my open wounds.

I know better than to pass out, but I give up. I felt my heart beat slow and I fell asleep.

Alseep forever.

~

At the hospital I was out in machines to stay alive. There was 5% taht I would wake up again, but I would not be able to function the way I could before the crash.

Matt stayed with me for days, he never left the hospital grounds he was always there, he showered at home but that was only during non visiting hours.

He would talk to me.

“I know baby.”

“It’s okay. I know you.”

“You can go. I’ll be here doing this for you.”

“I know you.”