#hi specter and your beautiful beautiful face...

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

A walking, talking, Major Character Death waahah!

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

From the request here

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: When a movie night has you questioning your bodies worth, Simon catches you in the shower to show you that your body is perfect just the way that it is.

Word Count: 4.3 k

Warnings:

“Look at the jugs on her,” one of the guys says at the busty blonde that has just been introduced for the first time in the film. A few others follow suit, whooping at the gorgeous, petite female main character popping up on screen as the movie really gets going. “That’s a woman you could lose yourself in. Fuck, I wish I could find a girl like her; I’d be a happy man for life. To have that waiting at home for me, I’d never even be tempted to stray.”

This is usually how movie night on base goes: people piling into the rec center ready to watch the latest movie from the personal collection from one of the members, but mostly it just devolves into a testosterone fest of horny boys itching to have something to focus their sexual frustrations on by ogling at the new pretty little thing on screen. Usually it doesn’t bother you, you’re used to being around all that chaos, but tonight just feels different.

Simon isn’t one for this type of gathering, but he comes to keep an on the crowd and be nearer to you and as he watches out of the corner of his eye from his place standing towards the back, he notices how your body language changes as the guys continue to raucously talk about the leading lady and how beautiful she is. It’s almost imperceptible the way you shift in your seat while you pick at the skin of your lower lip with your teeth, your shoulders slumping down as you cross your arms, but he catches it outright. He knows you and he knows this isn’t normal. 

Something is bothering you.

The longer you sit there the worse it gets. Their lustful words just cut different tonight; maybe it’s exhaustion from being overworked or perhaps you’re just having an off day, but the longer they hoot and holler over the girl plastered before your eyes, the more you want to crawl out of your skin.

It’s about halfway through the movie when you slowly get up from your seat, trying not to draw attention to yourself by leaving too quickly and exit the rec without looking back. Simon is instantly concerned and wants to rush after you, but one of the newer recruits that seems to be the ringleader in all this turns to him as if to drag him into the depraved fun.

“Whatcha think; gotta admit she’s a fine thing, ain’t she Lieutenant?” he asks, nodding back at the screen. “Come on, even you gotta admit she’s perfect. Couldn’t hope to find anyone better.” 

The look that Simon gives the young man through his mask, that stone cold glare that could make even the bravest man shiver, instantly shuts him up and has him facing forward again to join his brothers in arms in their jokes. His brow furrows angrily behind the fabric as he looks over the crowd of boys once more before heading out, leaving quietly like a specter on his way to find where you had gotten to. 

Simon checks all the usual places, but you are nowhere to be found: the little area outside the rec where you usually join him for a smoke break, the mess hall, even your barracks are empty. Then he hears movement in the communal bathroom and knows he’s finally found you. 

It looks like you’ve been rushing to get done before anyone can catch you. Your hair is damp from the shower and it drips down to leave dark stains onto your t-shirt as you stand staring at yourself in the mirror behind the sink. Simon watches quietly from his obscured place by the door as you look yourself over, scrutinizing each detail from head to toe before you give up with a sigh and a diversion of your eyes, focusing on your toothbrush instead as you pick it up and turn on the faucet. So absorbed in what you are doing, you don’t hear the lock click closed or the pair of heavy boots that cross the length of the room until there is a presence upon you. 

“God, you’re so beautiful baby,” you hear that deep, gravelly voice sound from behind you while a bulky arm wraps itself around your waist from behind as Simon presses up against your back. You look back up into the mirror in front of you and are instantly met with a pair of brilliant brown eyes as he slowly removes his balaclava. “Just standin’ there fresh outta the shower and ya look like a fantasy.”  

Setting the mask on the sink he joins his other arm around you and leans his face in, the tip of his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck before he presses his lips against your jugular. His lips catch the feeling of your pulse quickening through the vein at his touch. Rough hands begin to splay across your clothed stomach, running across and down to your hips with gentle caresses that make you pause. Your eyes stare into the mirror to take in your combined form as he drapes himself over you, hot lips peppering your skin with no sign of letting up.

You chuckle dismissively, trying to play off his words as a joke. Your head still isn’t in the right place and even though you enjoy the feeling of his touch, disastrous thoughts still circle throughout to cloud your mind so that you second guess even his affections. 

“Oh, come off it,” you return as you grab the toothpaste off the countertop. “I do not.” 

There is no hesitation in his reply. “I’m serious,” he breathes that husky whisper against your skin as his lips continue down to your shoulder as his fingers pull the t-shirt away from your collar bone to reveal more skin for him to adorn with his mouth.

You roll your eyes in the mirror so that as he looks up briefly he catches the movement. “Yeah, sure,” you again dismiss him. “Whatever you say.”

Before you can even unscrew the cap to the toothpaste, Simon reaches past you to turn off the tap and take your things out of your hands before he rotates you around so that you face him. Your backside presses into the edge of the sink as you rest up against it, mouth scrunched to one side as he gazes back at you with intent. There is a subtle frown on his lips and an anxious look in his copper eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concerned. “Somethin’ happen? Cause I did see ya leave in a hurry back there.”

You divert your eyes, ashamed of your lack of confidence that has come forward tonight. “I don’t know, it’s nothing,” you shrug, but he isn’t buying any of it. 

His large hand rests itself up under your chin, pulling your head back up to look into his face. “I think ya do know,” he says. “Will ya tell me?”

Clearing your throat, you give yourself a moment to figure out how best to proceed. “It’s just,” you say hesitantly, “I guess sometimes I just wish I looked like that, you know? I know I’m usually not this self-conscious, but tonight I guess I just hit a rough patch with my insecurities and something about the shit they were saying just got to me I guess. You see the way the guys talk about girls like in that movie, like she’s the most gorgeous thing in the world. She’s so perfect and… I…”

You gesture with your head down the length of your body to emphasize your point that you are nothing like the actress: your breasts are on the smaller side, your thighs are incredibly thick, and your stomach is not completely flat. Simon follows your hand, looking you up and down before his eyes meet yours again.

“I’m not. I know it’s fucking stupid and I shouldn’t care about all that, it doesn’t really matter, but sometimes it’s just hard to ignore. I’m not the standard when it comes to beauty, but sometimes I just want to feel like I’m the most irresistible person in the room.”

It seems like he wants to say something, you can see his mouth shifting, but instead his gaze drifts down to your lips and he pulls your chin forward to close the distance between your mouths. Instantly he overtakes your mouth with his own, tenderly capturing your lips over and over with a gentle desperation that makes him shudder against you as he moves in closer. 

“Who the fuck said ya ain’t perfect?” he asks, his voice breathy against your lips. “Gimme that bastard’s name. You tell me right now so I can go ring their fuckin’ neck. Cause that is a goddamn lie.”

“No one said anything like that, it’s just the way I feel,” you answer honestly. “And you’re only saying that because you like me.” 

Immediately Simon pulls you into another long kiss as if he is trying to take those insecure words right out of your mouth before you can say anything else. Breaking the kiss, Simon licks his flushed lips and shakes his head. “Really? Ya don’t think your body can drive someone wild? Then what’s this, hmm?” he asks, grabbing your wrist to pull your hand forward so that he can place the palm over top of the soft bulge growing in his boxers. “See whatcha do to me, sweetheart? Ya think that’s lyin’?”

Your hand rubs over the swell and his hips unconsciously buck slightly against your hand as he hums in approval of your touch. It is instantaneous the way you have him begging for even a simple touch from you; no other has ever held that kind of power over him, not anyone that he would give it to so freely like he does you. The warm pressure from your hand causes the pulsing to intensify as he grows harder and you find your heart beat starting to match its throbbing.

“Ya don’t think I catch the men lookin’ at ya from time to time?” he asks as he leans his head forward until it rests against your own, hands moving up under the hem of your shirt to play with the toasty skin of your abdomen as he talks. “Ya don’t think I see that their eyes glaze over as they linger on your body a bit too long for my fuckin’ likin’? Just cause they won’t say it out loud doesn’t make it any less true that you have something about ya that would drive any man wild.”

His words are like a balm to your mind and the longer he speaks the more you find yourself falling under their spell. Rough fingers are pushing up higher into your shirt, pulling it up over your waist as he runs his palms across the area while his hips press into yours. He’s not forceful or harsh, his advances are only full of adoration in that type of intense devotion that only Simon Riley is capable of when it comes to savoring the best damn thing he has ever had.   

“Don’t let what ya heard back there hurt ya,” he says softly. “Yeah, ya don’t look like that bird on the screen, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t an absolute beauty. You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen and I ain’t just sayin’ it, baby. But ya don’t just have ta take my word for it. Let me show ya that no one can hold a candle to what ya got.”

Simon pulls you over to one of the empty showers and gets it going, fiddling with the taps to make sure the water is going nice and warm before he turns his undivided attention back to you. Instantly his mouth is back on yours as one by one each piece of your clothing is removed and set aside in tandem with his own until you both stand before the other bare.

“I’ve already showered,” you mutter out between pauses as merely just a statement of fact rather than a reason to deny him.

Simon murmurs his disagreement into your mouth. “Don’t care,” he replies through a break in his kiss, continuing to take off your clothes as he dizzyingly tries to get at your body. “Can’t be havin’ those fuckin’ negative thoughts in that head of yours. Wanna take care of ya, make ya feel like the true beauty ya are.”

More kissing, so much that your lips are burning and raw from the friction. His mouth must be aflame too, but he doesn’t let up; he can’t, he’s captured in the wake of your allure and there is no getting out. 

“What if someone comes in?” The last of your questions spills out quick.

He chuckles at your needless worry. “Already locked the door sweetheart.”

Stretching his hand out, he checks the temperature to be sure it’s right before dragging you inside the steamy oasis. The curtain is barely pulled closed before he has you pinned at the back wall, his stocky torso rubbing against your voluptuous naked body as he steals the breath from your lungs, kissing you so thoroughly that there is no distinction between faces anymore.

The change in temperature has your nipples hardening, the blossoms spiking forward at attention, and Simon can feel them poking against his chest the longer he has your mouth locked in that dance of back and forth. The moment he is aware of their presence his mouth is salivating to get at them. 

You might think they are not perfect enough, but to him they are exactly what he wants.

Breaking the kiss abruptly, removing his mouth so quickly that a trial of spit still connects your lips a moment, he tilts his head downward. Being on the smaller side, he can fit your breast almost entirely in his mouth and he does, filling the cavity with as much of your tit as he can without choking. 

You can hardly remember anymore why the stupid comments had you so upset in the first place when you have a man like Simon who will dote on you like you are royalty. His is the only opinion you have come to care about and it is clear that there is nothing he will ever want more than you. 

He moans deep and guttural into your breast as he sucks while letting the end of his tongue flick around the nipple, circling the sensitive tissue until you are writhing against him as he holds you steady to the wall so that he can work. There is another breast after all that requires his attention and he intends to show it the same amount of affection as the other. Switching sides, he gets to work, keeping the first breast warm by cupping it in his hand.

It’s minutes of you quivering and whimpering before he emerges panting with his lips swollen and red, satisfied with his work so far. Giving his lips a break, Simon gently strokes your cheek with his fingers as he gazes into your eyes, swaying your bodies from side to side in easy movements. “Stay with me luv,” he says softly as he watches you take heavy breaths, “I ain’t done just yet.”

Those lips are on the move again to decorate your body, over your sternum and waist, until he has to kneel before you to get any further. He’s on his knees, all 6’4” of him bent to you as he places kisses across your belly while the heated water runs over his dirty blonde hair and down his back, rippling across the muscles in his shoulders as he holds your hips squeezed securely between his broad hands. 

“You’re perfect just the way ya are, baby,” he groans against your moist skin, letting his lips linger wherever he puts them. “Just like this: real, curves for fuckin’ days, so much skin I get drunk tryin’ to get at it all. And the best goddamn part is that it’s all mine.”

More kisses he places along all the areas you think unworthy of adoration, but that he finds absolutely exquisite. “Mine, all mine.”

His words devolve into incoherent babble as he nestles his face into your abdomen to leave burning trails of his desire with his lips that even the warm water cannot wash away from your skin. Your body writhes in his double-handed grasp as your head falls back to rest against the wall as every inch of tender flesh prickles with the overstimulating sensation of being doted upon. 

Lips keep trailing further downward from your stomach to the mound of your sex, through the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your pussy, before they sink into the bulk of your thick, stocky thighs.

“Ya think I get on my knees for any girl?” he asks from his place at the bottom of the shower as he stares up into your face with half-lidded eyes that darken the more he plays with you. “You’re the only one who can bring me to fuckin’ kneel, baby. You and your gorgeous body. I’m at it’s goddamn mercy.” 

Placing his hand on your calf, he nods and you know exactly what he wants: that juicy cunt smothering his features, your bulky thighs crush against his ears. Carefully he helps you to adjust your footing so that he can lift your leg. Propping it up on his own thigh, he sits back on his calves so that his face sits at the same level as your pussy and he leans in, smothering his face right between those dangerously thick pieces of flesh as you widen your stance with his guidance to make it easier. Hardened fingertips dig themselves into your body, forcing you even more firmly against his face until his nose is pressed into your clit and he moves his head back and forth to stimulate it with the tip. 

There is little oxygen to be had between the heat from the water and the heat between your legs, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of your soft, breathy gasps and moans as he penetrates your entrance with his tongue is enough to sustain him until he can come up to breathe. Lapping and thrusting, wriggling and applying pressure, if there is even a whisper of a negative thought left in your brain it is overshadowed completely now by the overwhelming euphoria of being devoured to the brink of insanity.

You buck wild and untamed, panting heavily as the warmth in your belly begins gathering quicker than you could have thought, the coil pulling tightly as minute by aching minute Simon draws your body to the edge of its release. He is relentless in his endeavor, putting your needs above anything else- even breathing. That tongue has moved up to your clit now and with weighty presses over the tiny bean you soon are spilling over the edge and he has to hold onto you tight so that you don’t slip and fall.

Simon stays locked to your pussy until the very last second, keeping his movements going even as you try to pry him off from the sensitivity that is almost too much to handle. It isn’t until you finally stop writhing that he emerges from between your legs with a smile that has your stomach doing somersaults as he wipes his mouth clean of your cum. 

“Second course,” he growls before you even have a chance to fully come down from your high.

Oh you have got him down bad tonight. 

He carefully flips you round to face the wall and uses his feet to make you spread your legs as wide as you can get them. A hefty hand runs itself over the curve of your ass, following the line down all the way to the underside before he grabs it in his hand and gives the meat a firm squeeze.

“Those little boys just don’t know how to handle this much woman; all these fuckin’ curves are too much pleasure for a bastard that don’t know the treasure he’s got. But I know what a fuckin’ feast ya are,” he groans as he aligns your hips and enters you from behind with a forceful grunt that reverberates off the enclosed space of the shower. 

You push palms flat against the wall to steady yourself. “They don’t know how ta treat ya right, how ta love a body that just keeps givin’ and givin’. But I don’t have that problem, sweetheart.”

Simon’s devout words are like liquid fire and as his cock stretches you wide, the euphoria of his talk runs through you to make you burn. Your body is his religion and goddamn does he always worship it right. All those cares, all that self-loathing and doubt entirely evaporate from your mind as he pushes your shoulders forward to make you arch your back so that he can pound into your pussy hard and deep from behind, making your plump ass bounce off his pelvis with a recoil that draws his gaze.

“Fuck,” he breathes, so obsessed with the way you look around him that he is trying to ingrain the image in his mind.  

His aching exclamation thrills you, making your heart skip a beat as his thrusts continue to rock through you. To be craved in such a way, to be thought of like the woman in the movie, that is what he is giving you now and it is euphoric. His intensity is orgasmic and your body responds in kind as he grabs you to move you closer.

“Don’t concern yourself with the bullshit ideas of some puny little boys when ya got a man who will always make sure you feel like a fuckin’ princess when you’re in his arms,” he says in a whisper at your ear as he pulls you back to leans against his chest. “Cause ya are, sweetheart. Your my fuckin’ goddess of a woman.”

The way he says it makes you ache all over and you can feel it twinge in your clit. “Say it again,” you beg, needing to hear him make those sweet combinations of sounds once more until your body vibrates with pleasure. 

His hand comes up to cup around your breast so that he can massage the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to mewl at the sensation. “You are so fuckin’ beautiful baby, so goddamn perfect just like this, and I love every last fuckin’ inch of ya. My princess.”

Your cheeks feel like they are glowing and on fire as thrusts after thrust he pounds into you, stretching you and filling you full on all of his passion for your body. You will never be able to make everyone see you for the gorgeous being that you truly are, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Simon is more than enough to keep you feeling like the most beautiful girl in the whole world; you are safe with him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as his arms that are filled with your waist clamp down tighter to secure you to him so that he can shove his cock even harder into your now dripping core. “Yes, yes,” you whimper out. 

“Come for me again,” he practically demands as he watches you falling apart once more. “Come on, pretty girl, one more for me. One more together.”

Your limbs are tingling with each snap of his hips against your ass. It’s close, right there, you can almost feel it again as the coil wounds itself tight once more in the pit of your stomach. You clench down on him, making him falter before recovering and continuing on. A few more pumps of him deep in your core and it is right there at the precipice.

“Let go for me,” he whispers into your ear as you clench once more around him and something about the way he says it sets you off. You come for the second time, the orgasm rocketing through you until you can feel it like fire shooting through your veins as you shake with the intensity of it all. 

Quickly he pulls out just in time as he too pops off and comes between your thighs as you clamp them together around his cock. The ejaculate runs down your legs as he milks every last bit out of the tip until his body hangs limp and his head falls down to rest the forehead against your shoulder. Still he holds you close, murmuring soft praises against your neck about how fucking amazing that was and how there is no one else that will ever look more beautiful all flushed and exhausted.

Holding onto you, Simon takes a few steps back forcing you to come along until you are both submerged under the showerhead to let that soothing water run over your bodies until you can both come back down from your high. There are no words yet, none that need to be said out loud, all he needs to do is keep you wrapped in his arms a little longer.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water rushing filling the silent space for a while, until a noise breaks you both out of the moment. There is a banging on the door from the outside, repeated knocking loudly and clearly; you’ve been in here for too long, but Simon doesn’t seem to be bothered. There is no attempt to leave the steamy oasis yet and soon the sound subsides and you are both left in the silence once again. 

“They’ll just have to fuckin’ wait,” he says against the side of your head in a hushed whisper, lips tempting your earlobe. “They can consider it a punishment for making ya upset. Besides, I’m still busy and you’re not goin’ anywhere.”

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

i really like the idea of a jealous Harvey Specter that won't admit he's jealous

and you make the mistake of telling him where your date is taking you for dinner, only for him to turn up with a date and get a table within earshot

Just loudly bragging to said date (or Mike, maybe he brought Mike) about his latest wins

Sadly, one of these wins catches the ear of your date, who is actually impressed, and twists around to make conversation with Harvey

And then you're just in a staring contest with Harvey, trading shielded barbs and entendres and doing your best to keep your cool

you fail miserably

both of you do, in fact

but the next morning at the office he's all boastful smiles in the face of your foul mood

And in the wake of you snapping at him, he grabs your hand to keep you from leaving his office, holds your eye, and swears, "If you and I were out, it would take a helluva lot more than some loudmouth to tear my attention away from the most beautiful woman in the room."

And it takes you aback. You can't breathe for a moment. But you finally manage:

"So you admit that you're a loudmouth?"

[two-white-butterflies]

sucked into a bagel

Description: A corporate attorney's life is forever changed by a chance encounter with an actress, who happens to be a former classmate. A mismatched bagel order leads to romance.

Pairing: harvey specter/actress!reader (mentioned!carlos sainz)

A/N: writing style is a bit experimental. reader has a screen name because i hate using y/n l/n. suits but in 2024 because i do not want to adjust to the past.

THERESÈ MARQUINA IS BACK – IS SHE OVER THE BREAKUP?

Theresè Marquina was in a 3-year relationship with Spanish F1 Racer, Carlos Sainz, before they separated July this year. Their breakup was followed by an announced hiatus by the actress. Now, she's making her way out of the woodworks.

Has she finally moved on?

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CLICK HERE FOR MORE ARTICLES RELATED TO 'THERESÈ'

WHO IS CARLOS SAINZ?

THERESÈ MARQUINA AND CARLOS SAINZ IN GOOD TERMS AFTER THE BREAKUP

WHO IS REBECCA DONALDSON?

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New York has always been close to your heart; the uninviting atmosphere, the people that walked past and refused to look back. A hoodie and some sunglasses were the only things needed to remain unknown. "One bagel cream cheese filling, please." You smiled.

This was your favorite bagel place, the cart always found itself standing in front of a corporate building – how wonderful it must be for these employees to eat yummy bagels after a long day of work. "You want any juice with that?" Nathan asks while jotting down your order. "Are you serious?" You scoff and he responds with a chuckle.

"Wait on the side," he says methodically.

You placed your hands in of your pockets, warming your palms against the coldness that surrounded you. After spending the majority of your developmental years in tropical countries, your body has refused to acclimate to the american weather.

Thus, leading to this feeling of coldness.

I hope that Nathan makes my order faster, you thought, not willing to wait another minute outside.

"The regular," a male voice says. You lift your gaze, locking eyes with the man standing in front of you. He has beautiful blonde hair (a weird hairstyle), a manly physique - and he was obviously sharper than the younger chaps standing around you. He was wearing a custom-made suit - silk blend...and he was staring at you.

You looked away.

I hope he didn't recognize me. Of course he wouldn't. I've got to stop being such a narc, you fought with your inner demons.

He was standing beside you at this point. You turned to look at him again, and fuck. He was still staring at you. "Is there something on my face?" Your eyebrows merged together. He shakes his head.

"Y/N L/N." He says your real name.

The way that he uttered your name, the intonation of his voice... "Harvey Specter." You answered with a smile on your face. An old friend – although, you couldn't quite call him a friend. He was someone that you relied on back during your days in Harvard, but then again, you only spent a year in that university. "I can't believe that you already forgot about me," Harvey cracks a smile.

"No, I didn't forget about you. You just look different." Your eyes narrowed. You've never seen him wear this sharp of a suit before. On his first day on campus, he wore this outrageous suit with a skinny tie, and you proceeded to call him 'skinny tie' the entire year. "And you haven't aged a day," he flirts – his charisma untested by time.

"Some things never change, eh." Your smile deepens. "- matter of fact, I thought that you were the one who forgot about me. You didn't return any of my letters, and you didn't accept my myspace request." You confronted him, a bit of your heart wondering why he didn't reach out.

"I've been busy," he informs. "- remember Jessica? I'm working for her now, Junior Partner, Pearson Hardman." He says.

Being a lawyer was the only thing that he wanted in this life. Harvey liked the smell of blood in the water. It made you happy to see him where he wanted to be. "Congratulations. That sounds amazing Harvs!" You placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Bagel for Teresa!" Nathan says your name wrong again. "I'll see you in another day. By the way! This is my phone number, call me." You winked while walking up to the counter to retrieve your order.

He waves goodbye at you, while pocketing the call card.

Harvey holds the warm bagel in his left hand, while playing with the call card on his left.

THERESÈ MARQUINA +XXXXXXXXXX William Morris Entertainment

He remembers the first day that he met you. Both of you were running late for Professor Gerard's class, no doubt, sweating balls; because the professor's name has only been uttered around campus in hushed whispers. He was renowned for not giving A's, and being cruel when it came to his grading system.

He was someone that you couldn't risk offend. He was quite particular about tardiness. You smiled at him, walked hand-in-hand through those intimidating doors - swallowed the sermon beside him, and he found himself having a slight crush on you.

It was rare to see a beautiful, kind, and smart person. God normally grants a person one of those three things, but seldom all. You gave him all of your notes, helped him through torts and explaining all the labor laws in New York. Just when he was about to confess his feelings, you suddenly told him that you were shifting to another school. Juilliard to Major in Fine Arts.

You were moving to New York. He was in Cambridge. It wasn't going to work so he held his tongue. He let you slip away, and after graduation he figured that what he felt for you was nothing but the caprice of his youth. He's all but forgotten about you, until today.

"When are you going to eat that bagel, Harvey?" He hears Donna's voice through the small intercom. "Have long have you been watching me?" He asks a question. He sees Donna roll her eyes through the glass window. "Give her a call. I'm sure she'll pick up." Donna makes another smart guess.

Donna knows everything.

"Do you even know who she is?" Harvey raises an eyebrow. If Donna finds out, then she'll totally freak out. After all, she was the one that told him to watch Pretty Woman.

"Boy loves girl. Girl gives boy her number. What more should I know?" Donna shrugs. "If you say so..." Harvey switches off the intercom.

You slowly unraveled the foil away from your bagel. "Finally," you breathed while taking a long awaited bite. "What the fuck," you groaned realizing that there was no filling inside your bagel. It's basically a bread at this point! Why eat a bagel if it's going to taste like absolute nothing.

"Fuck, maybe Harvey got my order." You placed the bagel down. Slowly, reaching for your phone inside your left pocket. "Damn, I should have asked for his number." You tell yourself.

Suddenly, your phone starts ringing. It was an unknown number.

"Hello, this better be Harvey." You pick up.

He responds with an amused chuckle.

"Nope, I found this number on a bathroom wall." He teased. "Ha ha, very funny." You scoffed. Your eyes suddenly landing on that boring excuse of a bagel with no fillings. "- have you eaten your bagel yet?" You asked. Was it too late for a switch? Yes, I've already taken a bite.

"Nope, I'm about to." He says.

"I think we messed up our orders. I got this boring excuse of a bagel with no fillings." You played with the sesame seeds on top of the bread. "Oh are you insulting my order?" He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, there's no cream cheese or peanut butter or banana in here. Respectfully, this is worst than wheat bread." You groaned.

"I'm sorry that my order is ... vanilla. Not everyone is like you." He jested in return, earning a slight giggle from you.

"Why did you call, by the way?" You inquired.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go and eat dinner with me. We have a lot of catching up to do, only if a few hours is enough to cover all that's happened in ten years?" His eyebrows merged together. He was beginning to sound like Harvey from before - the one that strived to be the best version of himself, before the reality of this world was made evidently clear.

"If it's not enough, we can always schedule a part two." You hummed.

"Where will we meet?" You asked, looking at your empty schedule.

"Send me your address, and I'll send my driver."

"I'll send my driver, okay fancy pants."

You take a deep breath, staring at your reflection through the mirror.

Is it a date?

"Fuck," you cursed while combing through your hair.

Harvey is just a friend. An old friend rediscovered in a world filled of people who wanted to use you for their own benefit. In a fast paced world, it is easy to let go of relationships – to be numb when it comes to abandonment because everyone always moves forward, or back.

You slip on the Alaïa dress that you bought years prior. Harvey didn't specify if the restaurant that you were going to was casual or formal, therefore you chose a dress that was carefully sitting in the middle. If it was a casual affair then you'd slip in a black YSL jacket. If it was formal then you'd put on the earrings that were carefully hiding in your bag's pockets.

You could only hope that the paparazzi wouldn't be snapping pics.

"Thank you for inviting me to dinner." You pressed a kiss to his cheek, inhaling his scent of expensive cologne. "- it's been a tough year," you added while settling on the couch in front of him.

Everyone was dressed to the nines; and it seemed to you that Harvey was permanently attached to his suits. "I've not been updated. I'm sorry." He handed you the special menu while taking sip of wine. "- but I did watch that film of yours. My secretary recommended it." He informed with a smile on his face.

"Which one? Don't tell me it was First Daughter." Your eyebrows merged together. That movie was particularly difficult to film. "No, it as Pretty Woman. I might say, Richard Gere is a fine man." His eyes narrowed and a small laugh escapes your mouth.

You continued talking after that - the waiter delivered your meals. You both had pasta. A dish that you bonded with Harvey in the first year. He has never been blessed with skill in cooking, so you always popped up in his condo (that Jessica paid for) to make meals.

As the laughter died down, you took a deep breath.

"For what it's worth. I made the right choice choosing Juilliard, but gods did I miss our friendship." You confessed. "- it wasn't the same. I did make some friends but we were all in over our head trying to impress the next producer, the next director, the next casting agent. It was physically exhausting that I began to miss the mental exhaustion of studying law." You chuckled, taking a bite of your pasta.

"You never did tell me the reason why you left - or why you chose to be an actress instead of being a lawyer." Harvey says.

"I told you that it was my dream to become a lawyer, but along the lines I realized that it wasn't really what I wanted. I was just doing what my parents were telling me to do." You paused.

"How did you tell your father that?" He chuckles, aware of your father's strict demeanor. "I told him that it didn't matter if I was going to live in a smaller house, with a smaller car, and a simpler life. I wanted to do something that made me happy. It didn't matter if I had to scrape my knees trying to make it movie to movie. I just wanted to be able to film." You continued.

"- thanks to my parents support, I'm fucking famous." You added.

Harvey's eyes drift to the figure behind you.

You turned to look, and it was a man with his phone out. Recording. "Oh, it happens." Your face suddenly turns stoic. Aware that someone was watching - and that you needed to act appropriately. "I can't believe this shit is legal in our country," Harvey rolls his eyes.

"Sometimes, I just want to go and break their phones." You whispered.

"Destruction of Property." Harvey smirks. "- I'd like to add assault to that list." He says, standing up and walking towards the man.

"I've done that before, actually." You smile.

"Wanna do it again?" He offered.

theresèmarquina: Thank you for the wonderful dinner & for getting that man to delete his 'paparazzi' pictures of me. I didn't look good in that angle. You are 100% NYC's best closer @harveyspecterlaw

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DonnaPaulsen: @harveyspecterlaw

Donna places the stack of files on Harvey's desk loudly. He raises an eyebrow, noticing her annoyed demeanor. "I found out through social media. I can't believe that you didn't tell me!" Donna raises her voice. It was the first time in a very long time that Donna lost her cool.

"You didn't ask," Harvey shrugs, signing a few contracts.

"Theresè Marquina is literally every woman's favorite actress. Pretty Woman, First Daughter, Noting Hill! She's literally who I want to be when I grow up." Donna paced back and forth.

How was it possible that this flew under her radar? She was Donna for god's sake. She knows everything. "I didn't think that it was that serious." Harvey pretended to be unbothered. "How did you even manage to date her?" Donna suddenly asks.

Harvey's face relaxes, then tenses up.

"I'm not dating her." Harvey groaned. "Why the hell are you not?" Donna looked behooved. "- because we are just friends, Donna." Harvey cleared up, while placing some of the files inside the drawers.

"Wait a minute," Donna takes a deep breath. Everything was starting to make sense. "She's the girl from Harvard." She accuses. Harvey frowns. "How the hell do you know about that?" He queries.

"When we were still working in the DA. I got you drunk - and you couldn't stop talking about this girl who left you in Harvard. You kept rambling on and on about how you were in love with her." Donna remembers. Of course, she remembers everything.

"Donna, get the hell out of my office." Harvey groans.

"I'm not telling you to go out there and tell her that you love her, or loved her. I just want to say that yesterday, while you were talking to her - I saw the real Harvey." She informs, walking out of his office before he can say another thing about her getting out.

FOLLOW ME AND TURN YOUR NOTIFS ON BECAUSE I'M TOO BUSY IN SCHOOL TO HAVE A TAGLIST :((

[softmangoes]

how the LIs come

18+

pure!sydney buries his face into your chest, lapping at your nipple with a warm tongue. "you're beautiful," he breathes, eyes filled with adoration as he watches you roll your hips. you take him so well and yet, he is taken by you. when you place your hand around his throat, his eyes widen. "beloved," sydney gasps, clutching you as he fills you with the warmth of his worship.

"wonderful." corrupt!sydney's breath is warm against your ear as he rocks his hips into you. one of his hands is busy stroking you, coaxing breathy moans as you fuck yourself against him. your hand braces against the shelf. there are students milling around in the distance. "i can feel you clenching around me," he whispers, pushing himself in deeper. there's a note of fanaticism to his voice, an obsessiveness in his embrace that threatens to drive you over the edge. it takes all of your strength not to keen. thankfully, his fingers, so soft and smooth, slip into your mouth. "but we wouldn't want the others to know that, do we?"

"so fucking whiney," whitney curses, taking your hair in his fist as he fucks you against the desk. "you've been waiting for this, haven't you?" he sinks his teeth into your skin, rakes his nails across your hips as he comes. whitney is selfish, but his marks burn in a way you can't resist. he doesn't wait for you to adjust yourself and pulls up his trousers. you hear him fasten his belt. "better clean yourself up before the break's over."

kylar whines. he can't help it. all week, he's been saving himself for you, palming his groin whenever it got too unbearable, all because he wanted to fill you up once you were back in his arms. "you look so beautiful like this," he gasps against your neck, rutting into you with jerky, desperate thrusts. "you'll, hah, take everything that i can give you, right?"

there's a grumble that builds within eden's throat - part growl, part rolling of thunder as his hips meet yours. "you're mine," he says gruffly, his tongue licking a hot stripe along your neck. the hunter has you pinned. his massive body cages you in while he thrusts, cock twitching inside of you as he smashes his mouth against yours to swallow your moans. when he pulls away, he licks his teeth, admiring your sweat-slicked skin as his release leaks out of you. what a sight he is, your hunter. what a feast you are, his prey. "don't you ever forget that."

"we have to be quiet," robin muffles his moans by pressing his mouth against yours. he's got you in his lap, arms wrapped around your body as he thrusts. just a few minutes ago, he had been playing video games. now, his hands are occupied, sculpting your sides. your back. when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull, he lets out a needy whine that you silence by taking his lips between your teeth.

ivory wraith hums, a sonorous thrum that vibrates the very marrow of your bones. when his pleasure crests, it is the surge of the current. the coiling of a great and powerful tide that washes over you, drowning you as he swells. "droplet," he sighs, pressing a cold kiss to your temple. the specter's embrace is gentle yet possessive, his caress carrying the promise of adoring you during this lifetime and a thousand more. "may we never part again."

[rosedpetal]

Harvey's Million Dollar Smile

Summary: Harvey's smile makes your heart flutter.

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader

Word count: 254

Author's note: inspired by this.

Masterlist

Those damned brown eyes burned within you in a way you knew it'd leave you marked forever. His million-dollar smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and for the first time, you wondered, really wondered what'd be like to have Harvey Specter at his damn knees for you.

"Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?" he teased, chastising you with his deep voice. Your brain short-circuited for an embarrassing amount of time, and you bit the inside of your cheek, looking away. Harvey's grin widened. "C'mon, Y/N, what's inside that pretty little head of yours? Finally taking in on how handsome I am?"

'Yes!' your mind screamed. You swallowed down hard and he knew. He knew it was exactly it. You were successfully charmed by him.

"I just noticed your hairline doesn't match your face." You said lowly, the stupidity of your childish jab surprising not only him but you as well. His chuckle caught you off guard, a beautiful sound accompanied by an even prettier smirk.

"That's the best you could come up with?" He smiled at you, his chin resting on his fist. "You know what I think?"

'No, I don't. And I don't wanna know, ever.' "What?"

"I think you're breathtaking. Devastatingly beautiful. And the way you look at me... Like I'm a pretty toy your mom won't buy you... It's mesmerizing." His voice was raspy, as he stared at your plump lips.

A light scoff left you. "You think I want you that much?"

"I'd bet my career on it."

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (5)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 6k words

summary | aemond goes to reader for comfort after murdering luke. aegon throws a feast and reader and aemond sneak out.

tags | mentions of death, angst/comfort, vampire powers, tensionnnnn, mentions of incest, SMUTTTTT (MDI), oral (f), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, p in v

note | born to give aemond heirs, forced to write fanfics about him. also I loved writing aemond's pov, though it is way more difficult than reader's. also I might be projecting with that finn incident.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, the oppressive weight of the night enveloped you. The velvet drapes fluttered slightly with the soft summer breeze that whispered through the open window, a rare moment of tranquility. However, your slumber was a mere illusion, your mind cloaked in the abyss of darkness, devoid of dreams and visions that now troubled your sleep.

But your heightened senses—bathed in the echoes of vampiric instinct—felt the air shift, heard the soft footfalls quicken in the shadows. The atmosphere crackled with apprehension, jolting you into awareness. You turned, just as the chamber door burst open to reveal a figure cloaked in night and anxiety.

“Aemond,” you breathed, relief washing over you as you recognized him despite the disarray surrounding his presence. Yet, the relief was short-lived, for the anguish etched on his face struck you like a dagger of ice.

Without a second thought, you flung the silken covers aside, the fabric whispering against your skin as you stood, a vision of natural beauty in your nightgown. It was a modest garment yet beguilingly elegant, the way it clung to your form had no intent to seduce, but it still felt unseemly for him to be here.

“Aemond,” you intoned once more, your voice laced with concern that echoed in the silence of your chamber, frantic to breach the bubbling tension, “What troubles you?”

He remained mute, his expression haunting—a specter in the moonlight. Each heartbeat that passed deepened your worry, and so you closed the space between you, tenderness guiding your hands to cradle his sharp, angular cheeks, your thumbs brushing against his skin with a gentle intimacy. You sought to anchor him within your presence, as if your connection could dispel the shadows that clung to him.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged, your voice softening with each plea, like a lullaby meant to calm a frightened child, “Speak to me.”

At your touch, something flickered in the depths of his violet eye, swirling with shock and unutterable things. “I… I did not mean to,” he stammered, his breath coming out in ragged bursts, as though each word was a struggle against a tide of despair.

“Mean to what?” Your heart raced as you searched his gaze, desperate to uncover the truth beneath the turmoil. “Aemond, tell me what you have done that weighs so heavily upon you.”

He leaned into your touch, surrendering momentarily to the comfort you offered. “I have damned myself,” he breathed, a confession laced with the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

“Please, Aemond, tell me,” you implored, your heart thundering in your chest.

Aemond shook his head violently, his silver hair cascading like a waterfall of starlight, wild and untamed. “I cannot! You will condemn me.”

You withdrew your hands from his face, your fingers intertwining with his as you drew them toward your heart, your palms cooling against his warm skin. “I could never. Please, reveal it to me, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice insistent yet tender.

His breath hitched in his throat, a harsh swallow betraying the turmoil within him. As tears glistened in his violet eye—he turned away, shame etching deep lines into his brow. “I did not mean to. I did not mean to take the boy’s life, you must believe me.”

The air froze around you, a chill creeping in as your breath caught in your throat. You slowly led him toward the intricacies of your bed, pulling him with you into the sanctuary of silks and shadows. “What boy, Aemond?” you pressed urgently, your heart aching for the truth, a desperate need to understand the depths of his torment.

His voice broke, drowning in hysteria, a stark reminder of his usual composed personality made from steel, “I didn’t mean to— I swear, I didn’t mean—” he stuttered, desperation pouring from him like the dark tides of the sea.

Frustration welled within you, sharp and biting as the chill of autumn winds crept into the chamber. You pulled him down beside you, urgency fuelling your movements as you grasped his face, forcing his haunted eye to meet yours. “Aemond,” you said firmly, your tone dripping with the magic that came naturally to one of your kind. The allure of your compulsion wrapped around him like a silken trap, gently commanding his frayed emotions to still. “Calm yourself and tell me.”

Gradually, his breathing steadied, though the tremors of his fear still lingered. You held his gaze, and through the dark storm of pain reflected in his eye, he managed to choke out the words. “Lucerys. He was at Storm’s End. When I laid eyes on him, all I felt was fury—so I chased him through the skies, on Vhagar’s back…” His voice cracked like the thunder that often heralded the tempestuous nights, and he swallowed hard, “And then… I did not know Vhagar would react so violently.”

Your heart plummeted at the mention of Lucerys—Rhaenyra's beloved son. The weight of his loss hung heavily in the air, and the grim reality sank in; Aemond had killed him. The Blacks would demand retribution, blood for blood. "Tell me you lie, Aemond," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, desperation seeping into every syllable.

He turned his gaze from you, shame encasing him like a shroud. There was a slow shake of his head, and it felt as though the world around you had muted, the chaos outside overshadowed by his revelation. "I cannot bring myself to lie to you. There is no penance that could ever atone for what I have wrought."

The sadness in your heart twisted anew as you murmured his name, "Aemond," the pain manifesting in your voice like a lamentation for the boy lost beneath the weight of his rage.

In the stillness that lingered between you, it seemed he had finally drawn a breath of composure, yet he refused to meet your eyes, speaking softly as if confiding a terrible secret. "I went to Aegon first, and he laughed... whilst Mother..." He faltered, the memory flickering like a dying candle. "She looked upon me as if I were a stranger, as if I were no longer her son."

Your heart ached for him, your hands clasped in his, both a comfort and a tether to the boy he had once been. Finally, he looked up, his eye reflecting a glimmer of vulnerability. "May I stay here with you?" he asked, almost timidly, as if fearing your rejection.

In that moment, you were transported back to another time, a fleeting memory of innocence—of the boy who had fled from the ignoble raucousness of a brothel, a shadow of the boy who once sought solace in your presence. You nodded, and the words flowed freely, tenderly, "Of course."

Yet, unease lingered in the air, evident in the way he fidgeted, lost amidst his thoughts. So slowly, you knelt before him, taking his leather boots in your hands, gently easing them from his feet. He remained poised on the edge of the bed, lost in his struggles. Next, you reached for his finely crafted doublet, peeling away the layers that held the weight of his distress. He remained clad only in his trousers and a simple cotton shirt, the stark contrast highlighting the tension etched into his features.

Your fingers found their way to his tousled hair, and with a tender caress, you could sense him leaning into your touch, a semblance of solace in the storm raging within him. But when your hand drifted towards the eyepatch concealing his scar, he recoiled instinctively, shaking his head as if to banish the very thought.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged softly, noting the flicker of resistance in his eye. “Remove it; it cannot be comfortable.”

His response was a stubborn shake of his head, reminiscent of a petulant child, “No, it is… hideous. You will turn away from me, repulsed.”

A sorrowful smile etched across your face as you cupped his cheek. Your thumb traced the remnants of his scar. “I have seen your truth before, Aemond,” you promised, sincerity tethering your words. “I swear on my mother's grave, it will not scare me.”

There was a moment of taut apprehension, then, led by both fear and a flicker of hope, he slowly lifted the eyepatch. You fought against the shock that threatened to break through your calm facade, for nestled where an eye once was, a sapphire gleamed—brighter than the sky itself. It was an iridescent gem, the very one you had gifted him just before you had left.

Slowly, you led him with great care to lie beneath the sanctuary of your blankets, cocooned in the warmth of your bed. After a moment's pause, you nestled beside him, drawing him close to your chest, his face instinctively burying itself in the curve of your neck, your arms enveloping him in a protective embrace.

After a time, Aemond's voice broke the silence, a mere whisper against your collarbone. "Do you hate me?"

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, your grip tightening around him. “I could never hate you, Aemond.”

He offered no reply, but the silence spoke volumes as you held him resolutely, the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down upon both of you. In that moment, it felt almost surreal, how intimately connected you were to his emotions.

Gently, you began to hum, your voice weaving through the stillness like a soft breeze. The lullaby your mother once sang to you, a sweet melody birthed in the warmth of her embrace, flowed from your lips as if casting a spell of solace.

You wished, with every fiber of your being, to take all his sorrows and put it upon yourself, so he might find peace at last. You longed to envelop him fully, to draw him into the depths of your heart, to safeguard him from the malevolence and peril that lingered just beyond your chambers.

Aemond Targaryen loathed this wretched place, the shadowed halls of King's Landing, where the very stones seemed steeped in whispered betrayals and the lingering scent of ash. The oppressive weight of recent events pressed upon him like a heavy cloak; the death of Lucerys Velaryon hung in the air, suffocating him with its bitter aftermath. His beloved mother, Queen Alicent, having made her choice, had cast him aside, suspending him from his seat on the small council as if he were some wayward pup rather than the proud dragon prince he was.

Now, as the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the walls, Aemond found himself trapped within a feast thrown by Aegon — a disgraceful celebration in honor of Aemond’s brutal deed. The hall was alive with the raucous laughter of lords and ladies feigning joy, their revelry a cruel mockery of the bloodshed that had transpired. How could they toast to this, when the realm itself was a tapestry of grief and strife?

Aegon, reeking of wine and folly, reclined upon his gilded seat, a silver goblet clutched in his hand as he guffawed with a drunken abandon that made Aemond’s skin crawl. With each passing moment, the king grew more intoxicated, rejoicing in his own foolishness while the kingdom itself threatened to unravel under the weight of his incompetence. Aemond could hardly bear to watch. How could they hope to usurp Rhaenyra and her support when Aegon was unfit to rule, lost in a haze of mead and merriment whilst the fires of war devoured their domain?

As the raucous clamor swirled around him, Aemond's thoughts turned treasonous. He was the prince with blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, rider of Vhagar, the mightiest dragon in the skies; he had wrested mastery over sword and word alike. His studies had taken him deep into the philosophies of Targaryen history, strategy, and the art of war — all knowledge he wielded like the sword strapped to his side. Why must he remain the second son, languishing in the shadow of a brother who was more a child than a king?

The Grand Hall was stifling, heavy with the clamor of lords and ladies engaged in mindless revelry, their laughter slicing through the air like blades of Valyrian steel. The goblet of deep red Dornish wine— he had forced down his throat—now boiled in his stomach. He stood abruptly, ignoring the wary glances of curious courtiers, and stormed toward the moonlit balcony, pursued by a dread that felt all-consuming.

Upon stepping into the cool night air his breath hitched in his throat as his gaze fell upon you. There you stood, framed by moonlight, leaning against the aged stone balustrade of the balcony as you gazed at the stars above. In that moment, the world around him faded, the cacophony of the court silenced, as if the realm had been reduced to just the two of you—two souls adrift in the sea of night.

The moon cast a silver halo around you, illuminating your features as though the Seven themselves had blessed you. You appeared ethereal, a vision of solace amidst the tempest of his thoughts. You were an otherworldly being, a divine presence—you reminded Aemond of an angel gazing longingly at her heavenly home.

You wore a divine gown of crimson, its fabric clinging to your curves and accentuating your remarkable beauty, stirring memories of the first time he had beheld you in childhood innocence. Your hair was artfully braided, interwoven among the strands were glimmering rubies, and nestled between your breasts hung a necklace bearing your family’s sigil, a house still entirely foreign to him.

The last time his path had crossed yours was after the wretched deed had been done—when he had barged into your chambers, a storm of pain and regret in his heart after slaying Lucerys Velaryon. You had held him tight, drawing him into the warmth of your embrace, while your gentle whispers—sweet reassurances—had washed over him, as soothing as a dragon’s breath on a winter’s night. He recalled the way you had traced fingers through his hair, the delicate caress of your breath against his skin, and how he had surrendered to your comfort.

When dawn had broken and shadows had retreated, he woke before you, overwhelmed by that precious moment, and with the lingering scent of lavender and warmth still clinging to him. He had kissed your forehead tenderly and slipped away, haunted by what he had done and striving to shield you from the darkness that threatened to engulf you both.

"Are you not enjoying the feast?" Aemond murmured, his voice a soft cadence as he moved closer to you.

You turned, meeting his gaze with a fierce intensity. "Am I meant to revel in a celebration held in honor of someone's death?" With a sharp breath, you averted your gaze, a flicker of regret crossing your features. "Forgive me."

Aemond’s eyes remained locked on you, the truth like a weight upon his heart—he had taken Lucerys' life, a shadow he must now bear. “You speak only the truth,” he admitted, the gravity of his words mingling with the cool night air.

You shook your head slowly, those captivating eyes piercing through the veil of his turmoil. “It is Aegon’s folly to throw such a feast given the circumstances,” you replied, your tone laced with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

Aemond couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth at your disdain for his brother's decision. "You tread upon treasonous ground," he teased, though there was an undercurrent of approval in his tone

With a resolute lift of your chin, an unbidden smile danced upon your lips, illuminating your beauty, "Do you intend to tell?"

In that charged moment, Aemond closed the distance between you, the space that once separated you now laden with tension. He leaned closer, whispering with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, "You know I shall never."

With a soft sigh, you began to turn away, “I think I shall retire to my chambers now.” Aemond feigned indifference, though he struggled against the urge to let out an exasperated breath at your obvious attempt to distance yourself from him.

“Then I shall escort you,” he declared, a hint of determination flaring in his violet gaze. He noticed the way annoyance shadowed your features but sensed no protest forthcoming.

The two of you slipped away from the feast, indifferent to the lingering glances that followed your hasty exit. Festive laughter faded into the background as you walked side by side through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep,

As you walked side by side, silence hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of your dress against the stone floor. Aemond cast furtive glances in your direction, grappling with the right words to breach the gap between you. The tension was palpable, and eventually, he settled on candor. “I wish to know more about you."

“Aemond,” you replied, and he could detect the undercurrent of hesitation in your tone as you reached your room.

With a sudden, almost frantic motion, Aemond pivoted to face you, his fingers brushing against your forearm, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you persist in keeping yourself at a distance from me? You are like an angel I am forever barred from touching,” he implored, desperation edging his voice.

You yanked your arm away from him, your gaze fierce, betraying no hint of the storm brewing inside. “You must not perceive me in such a way! I am not the paragon of virtue you think I am.”

“Then share something,” Aemond pressed, his violet eye locking onto yours with an intensity that threatened to unravel your resolve. “Something dark, something impure.”

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Is that what you seek? So you can soothe your own conscience?”

“Perhaps,” Aemond admitted with unvarnished honesty. He was, after all, a man well aware of his own self-serving tendencies, and he would not shy away from using emotional manipulation to achieve his desires. “But if you hold any affection for me, you will grant me this.”

Your eyes blazed with righteous indignation, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned if he had ventured too far. Yet, as the heat in your gaze began to dim, he felt an uneasy tension settle in the silence.

You drew your arms around yourself, a familiar gesture that he now observed closely. Your gaze fell away as you began to speak, “The Targaryens... Your customs are indeed strange. Some might even call them sinful or abominable. Yet there exists a rationale behind them, no matter how obscure.”

“There can be no justifiable reason for my desires,” you whispered, Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion as he sensed the shift in your tone. But when the next revelation slipped from your lips, it left him reeling with disbelief. “I once harbored unnatural feelings for my eldest brother.”

A surge of jealousy twisted in Aemond's chest at the mere thought of you harboring feelings for another. He cleared his throat, the taste of bile rising, and asked, "Did anything come of it?"

"A fleeting kiss—one I initiated. He loathed me for it thereafter," you murmured, your gaze falling to the ground in shame.

A grimace contorted Aemond’s features. "Loathed you?"

"He could scarcely bear to look upon me after that moment," you replied, your voice heavy with sorrow. Aemond felt a visceral urge to take vengeance upon your brother, to avenge the hurt he had caused you. "That was the moment I realized I had lost the only one who truly loved me."

"I recall you speaking of your mother’s grave," Aemond said softly.

You nodded, a glimmer of sorrow passing over your face. "She is gone," you said, and a bittersweet smile flickered briefly. "And I dare say, my family may be worse than yours."

Aemond shook his head with an amused glint dancing in his violet eye. “Impossible,” he replied, the word rolling off his tongue like the soft murmur of waves against the rocky shore. Then, in softer tones, he pressed, “Do you still harbor affections for your brother?”

“No,” you murmured, the admission barely escaping your lips, “Not anymore. Not for ages.”

Aemond studied your features, the interplay of moonlight illuminating the subtle lines of your face. A low chuckle escaped him, like the rustle of leaves in a breeze. Your brow furrowed, an indignant spark igniting within you. “What?"

“A mere infatuation does not alter the truth of my feelings, nor my perception of you,” he said with an air of certainty, the tension between you thickening as he took a step closer, almost as if the distance between your hearts diminished with every passing heartbeat.

“Then you must be a fool,” you whispered, breathless and yet emboldened, as his presence encroached upon you like the tide reclaiming the shore.

“A lovesick fool, indeed,” he replied, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a mere heartbeat away. The memory of your last kiss flared in your mind— so in that fleeting silence, Aemond’s voice lowered, almost reverent. “May I kiss you?”

He could see the tempest of emotions raging within you, wrestling against reason and desire, your heart at war with itself. Aemond, sensing your internal struggle, began to withdraw, the flicker of disappointment clouding his striking features, but in a sudden rush of bold resolve, you seized the collar of his embroidered doublet, drawing him close, your lips colliding in a swift, fervent embrace.

His breath hitched at the warmth of your touch, and he instinctively cupped your face, anchoring you both in this stolen moment as if the world around you had ceased to exist. Tentatively, his tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, a question hanging palpably in the air—one you answered with the soft, desperate parting of your mouth.

Aemond’s heart raced, a primal longing igniting within him as he explored the depths of your mouth, each caress of his tongue inviting a sweet sound of pleasure to escape from you—a sound that intoxicated him, filling the air with a heady blend of passion and unanswered yearnings.

In that dimly lit hallway of the Red Keep, time lost its meaning, turning to mere whispers around you. The world outside faded, and all that remained was the intoxicating exchange of breath and soul, each sweet caress a vow sealed in secrecy and yearning. But the moment was fleeting; the distant sound of approaching footsteps pulled you both back to reality.

Without hesitation, Aemond seized your hand, urgency painting his every movement as he pulled you into the sanctuary of your chambers. You could not stifle the startled gasp that escaped your lips at his haste. Before you could utter a word, his mouth found yours again, this time with a fervor that struck like wildfire. It was wild and fervent, a collision of passion tinged with desperation.

He broke the kiss, his breath mingling with yours, heavy and frantic. "I need you," he murmured, his gaze dark and intense, searching your face for any trace of doubt.

But all resolve melted away in the warmth of his presence, and you nodded quickly, breathless and eager. "Take me, Aemond."

Though reason whispered for him to temper his passion, to shield you from the storm he bore and not taint your innocence, the dragon's need screamed louder still. His lips found yours once more, his hands exploring the fabric of your gown, tracing the soft curves beneath the layers of silk and lace.

A soft whimper escaped your throat, the sound intoxicating him as it echoed in the chamber. You tugged at his doublet, your voice a barely contained plea, “Get this dress off me, Aemond.”

A wild grin spread across his features, the kind that promised mischief and fervor. “With pleasure,” he declared, the words a fervent vow rather than mere amusement. In a swift motion, he spun you around, deftly severing the laces that bound your dress. You gasped as the fine fabric slid away, pooling at your feet, leaving you clad only in a tantalizing shift that clung to your form like mist in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, Aemond gathered you into his arms, your surprised laughter ringing like bells in his ears as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. He carried you with ease, the weight of expectations and honor forgotten in that moment as he made his way to your bed.

He laid you down gently, his gaze a blend of fierce devotion and raw desire, like a dragon surveying its treasured hoard, and he leaned closer, whispering a question that weighed heavily on his mind. “Tell me, sweetling,” he began, his voice a low rasp, “are you still a maiden?”

You nodded, your wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The confirmation sent a bolt of need through him, further arousing him as he hastily shed his own garments, baring himself to you. He crawled over you, a predatory grace to his movements, and as you reached out to caress his face, he halted, your touch grounding him.

"I wish to see all of you, Aemond," you whispered.

His lips twitched with a mixture of hesitation and determination. With a deft movement, he removed his eye patch, exposing his scar and sapphire. In response to his bravery, you leaned forward, claiming his mouth once more, the warmth of your kiss wrapping around him like wildfire.

As his lips trailed away from yours, they descended to your neck—his warm breath sending shivers cascading down your spine. His hands roamed freely over your body, caressing and squeezing as if memorizing every curve. His fingers brushed against the hem of your shift, lifting the fabric with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment.

As his hand ventured beneath the fabric, his fingers brushed against the delicate curls of your mound, a low moan escaping your lips, raw and unbidden. "What treasure lies hidden here? Hmm?" he murmured against your skin, his voice low and intoxicating.

His smirk deepened as your hips instinctively lifted, surrendering to the ghostly touch of his fingertips gliding over your wet slit. In a moment of tantalizing tension, he withdrew slightly, seated back as he used two fingers to part your folds, exposing your glistening cunt to his keen gaze.

He was captivated by the sight—your essence glistening, beckoning him forth like a siren’s call across the sea. His breath hitched as he lowered himself, savoring the intoxicating scent that wafted from your cunt; it was a heady blend of desire and vulnerability. With a swift flick of his tongue, he brushed over the tender bud of pleasure, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips as your hips jerked in delightful shock.

Aemond’s dark laughter rumbled softly in his chest, a sound that resonated with satisfaction at your response. He ventured further, dipping into the folds of your drenched warmth, his tongue dancing along your slit as if tasting the sweetest of wines. Each movement of his mouth sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you, prompting your fingers to clutch at the silk sheets in desperate need of tethering.

You were ambrosia made flesh, a divine fruit of the gods that rendered him intoxicated with longing. He lost himself in the act, the rhythm of his tongue reflecting the primal hunger within him, driving him to worship at your altar without restraint or decorum. There was no pattern in his movements, merely the frantic need of a man raised in the crucible of ambition, now reduced to a ravenous beast by your taste.

His low moans vibrated against your skin as your fingers tangled in his silken hair, urging him closer, deeper. Each sound that escaped your lips heightened his fervor, sending him spiraling further into a haze of lust, where only the two of you existed.

He thrust his tongue deeper, igniting fires within you that threatened to consume all sense. A tremor raced through your body, a shuddering gasp escaping as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive peak. The intensity of the moment left him breathless with longing as he stole glances at your rapturous face, seeking the delight in your face as he skillfully coaxed you towards the precipice of ecstasy.

In one final surge of fervor, he took your pearl between his lips, sucking with fervent need. Your voice rang through the air, calling his name like a battle cry as your release washed over you, your body clenching and shuddering beneath his eager mouth, leaving him lost in the euphoria of your pleasure.

Spent and quaking, you fell back onto the sheets, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as the final ripples of ecstasy coursed through you. Aemond watched you with an entranced intensity, his lustful gaze drinking in the sight of your debauchery, before he positioned himself between your thighs, claiming his rightful place.

With a swift, possessive motion, he grasped the neckline of your shift, ripping the fabric asunder with a growl that echoed his primal desire. The cool air met your flushed skin, and a fresh wave of longing washed over you, eliciting a soft moan as your hardened nipples strained against the chill. Aemond, unable to resist, descended upon you, drawing one of your peaks into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, relishing the way your whimpers filled the air. He felt your fingers weave into his silken hair, tugging him closer, urging him on with your breathless pleas.

He reveled in the contrast of your previously cool skin, now warming deliciously beneath him, the heat of your body igniting a primal fire within him. He pressed his hardness against your lower belly, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both. “I could be so good to you,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry as he nipped at your shoulder, “So fucking good. So why do you deny the need that lies between us?"

Your breath hitched, interrupted by a soft moan as he pressed against you with deliberate intent. “I do,” you gasped, desire flaring within you as his cock pressed against your pearl. “I do need you.”

“As I need you, sweet girl,” Aemond murmured, a predatory glint in his eye as he continued to grind against you. Though he was no man of debauchery, the fiery knowledge instilled by whispered secrets and that one fleeting encounter coursed through him.

You responded to his movements with an intoxicating sigh, rocking your hips to match his rhythm, a melody of desire unfolding between them. Aemond’s breath caught as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he breached the sacred barrier that had kept the two of you at bay. A yelp escaped you, sharp and sweet, and he immediately softened, pressing featherlight kisses across your face, murmuring apologies as he reveled in your warmth.

Gripping your hip with a fierce intensity, he drew a sharp breath through his teeth as he buried himself deeper, engulfed in the sensations of your tight, welcoming embrace. You were exquisite—so wet, so warm, so perfectly crafted for him. Aemond began at a measured pace, savoring the glide of his cock within you, the exquisite stretch as you enveloped him, but the fire within quickly ignited into an unquenchable blaze.

Once he'd found a rhythm, he succumbed to the recklessness of desire, thrusting with urgency, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the chamber, a rhythmic drumbeat of passion. His hips snapped against yours with fervor, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure cascading through both of you, an unravelling of control as he sought to claim you in the way that dragons claim their territory.

Your moans echoed within the room, each sound a sweet melody, a heady mixture of fervor and abandon that filled the space with a primal energy. You had long since discarded any pretense of modesty, your voice rising like a songbird caught in a storm. His name spilled from your lips, fervent and loaded with longing.

With an urgency born from need, you surrendered yourself to him, your touch igniting a fire along his torso as your hands freely roamed, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. You clung to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his with reckless abandon. Your lips found the curve of his neck, the warmth of your breath a tempting promise. There was a strange thrill to your bite, and Aemond swore your teeth felt unusually sharp, as you nibbled delicately at his skin.

Yet even in the throes of ecstasy, an insatiable hunger gnawed at him, a need for greater possession. He withdrew slightly, capturing your gaze with his own smoldering gaze. His hand gripped the delicate expanse of your throat, sturdy yet tender, while his other found purchase on your stomach, fingers pressing into your soft skin. “You are mine,” he growled, the primal command taking on a life of its own as he increased the fervor of his thrusts. “Say it.”

The intensity of his possession ignited a fire within you; you instinctively pressed against his hand, urging him to hold you more tightly, to claim you wholly. “Yours,” you breathed, “all yours.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, the phrase rolling off his tongue like a hot brand onto your skin. Your body responded eagerly to his words, an electric shiver rippling through you as you arched your back, another desperate whimper escaping your lips.

It was not long before the dam broke, your body convulsing around him, the tension unfurling like the petals of a flower awakened by the sun. Your breath hitched in a final, breathless moan, and in that moment of exquisite surrender, you tightened your grip around him, pulling him deeper into the abyss of pleasure. And with a primal roar of ecstasy, he followed you into that dark, consuming void, painting your insides with his seed.

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @filmflux @esposadomd @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, your smile glimmered like the stars beyond the castle walls. Reaching out, you traced your fingers along his jaw, drawing him back into a kiss that spoke of unbridled passion and afterglow—a sigh of contentment escaping your lips as you two joined once more.

[ap0llonian]

Embrace Him

alternate!ARCHANGEL GABRIEL x READER

sypnosis: you teeter on the edge of madness, only to find a dark solace in the tender illusions of a sinister guardian who promises unsettling affection.

disclaimers: reader is misanthropic, implied stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, horror elements, psychological manipulation

-------

“I always wondered if madness came with a manual."

The world outside your window seemed to be a canvas smeared with dreary shades of gray, punctuated only by the occasional flurry of chaos. Yet, amidst the motonamy, there was an anomaly—a shadow that stood on the edge of your vision, always lingering just beyond the glass. A dark figure, angelic in its unsettling beauty, seemed to mock the very essence of serenity that you had perfected. It was a presence that defied logic, a specter that made you question your own sanity. Perhaps it was your mind’s last cruel joke, or maybe the universe had decided that even in your indifference, it would not spare you the bitterness of its absurdity.

The whispers of the townsfolk tagged you as ruthless, as though your calm demeanor was a veneer for some intrinsic malevolence. They spoke of you as a creature driven by some dark, unquenchable thirst—a malignant force wrapped in the guise of human frailty.

Your days were spent in a monotonous ritual of existence, where each moment bled into the next with the predictability of a metronome. The only disturbances were the fleeing glances of that figure outside your window. He was always there—an angel of darkness, a haunting silhouette that seemed to feed on your isolation.

One evening, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a soft knock echoed through the room.

Rising from your bed, you approached the door. The darkness of the hallway seemed to pulse with an almost palpable energy, and as you opened it, you were greeted by the very entity that had haunted your peripheral vision.

There hs was, in all his grotesque splendor—a being of celestial gracd twisted into a mockery of divine perfection. His eyes, deep and infinite, seemed to hold the weight of the countless secrets.

You instantly slammed the door in his face and locked it, fully. Whipping around, your cold hand clutched your heart, feeling how fast it beat. He was here, in your home.

“My little lamb,” He called out, his tone smooth and almost tender. “You look so lonely here. I thought I could keep you some company.”

“Who are you.” You whispered, yet your voice was loud enough for the alternate to hear.

A soft knock on your door again. “I am someone who cares about you, sweet child. You have been so isolated, so neglected. I am here to make sure you are never alone again.”

“Cares about me? I don't need—”

“Shh,” He interrupted, the sound of nails scraping on your wooden door. “You do need me. And I need you. We are bound by something far deeper than you can comprehend. Let me show you how much you are cherished.”

You heard a knock again, though this time louder.

“You are so special to me. I know the world has been cruel, and I understand you have felt abandoned. But here, with me, you are safe. You are loved. Open the door.”

Your heart pounded loudly, almost a melody for the alternate. That was the most you felt alive. “No, I don’t—”

A soft persistent banging on your door interrupted you. “Please, do not shut me out. I am here for you, lovely. You do not have to be alone anymore.” He pleaded melodically, his voice breathy yet menacing. It almost made you give in.

The pounding grew louder, more insistent. You could almost feel your body going numb, your eyes widening.

“Let me in, sweet child. You deserved to be loved. I can make all the pain disappear. Just trust me.”

Each word was punctuated with a heavy thud. Your pulse quickened, your resolve wavering. For a moment, you considered running and climbing out the window—calling for help, doing anything to escape this monster trying to break through.

But then the banging stopped.

Silence.

“Please,” came the voice once more, soft now, almost vulnerable. “I don’t want to hurt you. I only want to take care of you, precious dove. I have been with you for so long now... Have you not felt it? The comfort in the chaos? Let me in, and I will show you what love truly feels like.”

Your fingers hovered over the lock. The door felt too thin. The air seemed too heavy.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore. You don’t have to pretend to be all right.” His voice was coaxing, a subtle promise threaded through every word.

“I will be everything you need. I will take away the pain, the fear. Just open the door. Let me in.”

You swallowed thickly, your thoughts tangled into a mess. This wasn’t real. None of this was real. And yet... the loneliness, the isolation that had haunted you for years whispered back, telling you how right it sounded. How good it would feel to finally stop pretending. To let someone care.

Against every rational thought screaming in your head, you turned the lock with your eyes closed. The door clicked open.

And then he was inside.

Gabriel gently pushed your head to his chest, cradling it like it was fragile. His bony thumb stroked your hair ever so slowly, and gently. For the first time

“I will take care of you now, and you will never feel lonely again.” He cooed, his fingers the outline of your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. Your body trembled, yet you couldn't pull away.

The warmth of his voice seeped into you, and though you knew, somewhere deep down, that this wasn’t right, the illusion was too intoxicating to resist.

“Really.” You muttered, barely audible.

His smile widened, a dark glint in his eyes. “I promise.”

[divadepreshawn]

Eustace

Harvey Specter × fem!reader

Summary: It's you they ask for help when Harvey gets really grumpy.

You were recently hired, with the high demand for cases involving psychological causes, Jessica saw the need for a legal psychologist on the team.

Jessica only wanted the best at Pearson Specter and that's why she hired you.

You graduated in Psychology from Harvard, maintaining the highest grades until the end of the course, later obtaining a master's degree in cognitive behavioral therapy and deciding to pursue a career in the legal field. You worked for many important judges so you have great recommendations on your resume, in addition to being friends with Donna for many years.

You adapted well, the associates liked you, you connected quickly with Rachel, Louis didn't talk to you much but he didn't bother with your presence - which Donna declared as a historic event - and then there's Harvey.

Who you affectionately nicknamed the Tony Stark of lawyers, he was a good person, you could see through the egocentric facade that he cared more than he let on, but that didn't free him from being an idiot sometimes.

You were in your office finishing analyzing a psychological test when Mike entered your office.

“Y/N, do you have some time?” he asked as he shifted the stack of papers from one arm to the other.

You look up from the papers to look at him “Sure, what do you need?”

“Can you pass the cases next time? I know it’s not your job but… Um, Harvey scared them” He entered your office placing the papers on your desk to sit in front of you.

“Okay I understand why you’re asking this, but isn’t Louis the one who deals with the associates?” you asked slightly confused.

“He does” he nodded, “But in this particular case some associates are working directly on a case with Harvey and he’s not the most… calm”

You let out a small amused snort, “He’s only thirty, how can he be so grumpy? Okay, I'll try to see with Donna why he's so stressed and I'll be at the next meeting.”

He smiles gratefully “Oh, you'll get a lot of coffee for this, thanks.” He takes the papers back and quickly leaves the room.

You sigh, getting up to go to Donna's desk.

“My beautiful ray of sunshine,” you say, smiling as you place your arms on Donna's desk, surreptitiously peeking at Harvey at his desk.

Donna looks away from the computer to look at you with a slight smile.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“What's up with Eustace? Did someone steal his candy or something?”

Donna starts to laugh, turning completely to you now. “Did Mike send you here?”

You nod “I think I have a chamomile face because every time Eustace freaks out someone always appears at my door screaming for help”

“Actually they see what Harvey refuses to-” before Donna can finish what she’s saying Harvey appears at the door

“Wait, Eustace… Are you insinuating that I’m that grumpy old man who has a cowardly dog?” He raised an eyebrow with the sides of his mouth slightly curved upwards.

“Honey, didn’t anyone teach you that it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?” you replied ironically.

“No, but they taught me not to give other people nicknames” he retorts with a smile

You open your mouth but quickly close it “Oh, touché”.

Harvey laughs as he leans against the side of Donna’s desk “And you’re going to admit defeat? That's a new one.”

You smile “You know, Christmas is coming… So it's better not to provoke the Grinch.”

Donna tries to hide her laughter by putting her hand over her mouth while Harvey looks at you with false indignation.

“Who validated your diploma knows you do that?” he asks amusedly.

“What is that?” you ask, blinking your eyelashes slowly with false innocence.

He gives a snort mixed with a laugh “You're impossible,” he mutters, returning to his office.

You turn to Donna with a smile “Squidward saying I'm impossible, can you believe it?

Donna leans back in her chair, quickly looking at Harvey's office before looking back at you. She smiles as she shakes her head “And you still don't know why they're going to ask for your help.”

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Sorry for any mistake, english is not my first language

[3amfanfiction]

Simon Finds a Toy pt 2

Serial killer Simon takes you with him on his outings. How does that go? Cw: Stockholm Syndrome, period play, blood First

You watched at first.

Simon was beautiful in his brutality. You knew something was wrong with you for thinking it but it was the truth. The control he had over his body and the environment was truly astonishing. It was as if nothing could go amiss when he was watching.

It turned you on.

You weren't going to do anything about it of course. That was crossing a line. But you couldn't help how your body responded to him. It was just human nature. No one would be able to blame you.

Not that you spoke to anyone else. That was a step too far for Simon apparently. While he trusted you to leave the cabin with him, he got downright antsy if you began talking with people.

It didn't bother you as much as you would expect it to, having gotten used to only talking to Simon and Dog. The cabin had been a lonely place, isolating. Some days you wondered if being there warped who you were or if it only allowed it to flourish.

You're not sure you want to know the answer either way.

You watched as Simon worked his way through an office building. It was late, the sun having set long ago and the temperature was frigid in the evening air. You shivered from your place tucked into a little leeway near the back exit, tucking your hands further into your sleeves.

You heard the occasional low scream through the walls. Faint, only noticeable because you were actively looking for it.

That was a while ago though. It had been quiet for the last little bit which is why it surprised you so much when the door you were standing near burst open—slamming back against the wall before bouncing back, a man stumbling out in a panic before collapsing on the little concrete landing pad. You didn't say anything as he laid there and breathed, little sobs breaking through his panting as he tried to gather himself. There was blood copiously covering him and it looked like Simon had been toying with him for a while if the knife marks were anything to go by.

After a few short moments he gathered himself enough to lift his head, pushing himself to his knees slowly, clearly in pain. You must have made some sort of noise because his head whipped around towards you as he threw himself backwards, hands coming up in front of his face in protection.

Please, please no more.

You didn't say anything, you couldn't say anything, could only watch this grown man begin to cry where he was huddled against the building, the sounds echoing softly in the night air.

He realized quickly that you weren't the monster that had been chasing him and switches gears abruptly—begging you to call the police, to help him, to get out of here. He cycled through them all rapid-fire, not giving you a chance to respond before the door slammed open again, this time much more controlled.

You saw Simon standing there, covered in thick canvas and looming like the specter he fashioned himself after. His white mask splattered with blood only increased his frightening demeanor.

The man who had been pressed to the brickwork of the building yelped and dove for you, grabbing your hand as if to tug you with him as you ran. It was kind of sweet how he was worried about leaving you behind.

You didn't say anything as Simon walked over and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, twisting a tight fist into the fabric to more easily corral him. You stood still as he began to walk back inside, dragging the whimpering man behind him. You didn't flinch as the man looked at you with a betrayed gaze.

As the door slammed you heard the quiet wind blowing through the trees again, crickets beginning to chirp after a few moments more.

\\\

You weren't talkative on the way back to the cabin.

You didn't feel particularly bad, which is what made you feel kind of bad. You hadn't even wanted to help when that man made it outside. It was the same thing as a car passing you on the freeway. Something that was there but didn't elicit any sort of response. He was a non-entity.

Even when he grabbed you, trying to save the both of you, he didn't endear himself to you beyond a thought. You were more excited to see Simon walking through the door—looming, menacing—than the thought of the man getting away.

Wasn't it a human concept to want to keep those around you safe? What does that make you then?

Simon let you stew in peace.

\\\

You didn't go with him next time or the time after that, instead choosing to stay home with Dog. He was lonely without the both of you, you told Simon, it's not fair to leave him alone for that long.

So you stayed. And you thought. And you tried to figure out what type of person you were. Did it really matter though? Deciding your placement on a scale of how 'good' you were wasn't going to change your actions. You let him die and you felt nothing about it.

Honestly, you still felt nothing about it.

\\\

Dog had two new tricks learned by the time Simon got back—stay and fetch. Well, there was about a 50% success rate on both of them so you weren't quite sure if you could claim them as tricks learned just yet. But you were optimistic.

He didn't say anything when he walked in the house. Simply came over to kiss you dirty before going to wash up. You licked your lips and nearly trailed after him before you stopped yourself.

You could at least wait until the blood was gone.

\\\

"My period is ridiculously heavy this month. I don't think I've bled this badly in years," you said miserably, thunking your head down on the table. "The cramps hurt so much," whining to Simon, unable to do anything else.

He didn't say anything as he continued to clean and sharpen his hunting knives. The now familiar smell filling your brain and turning it hazy and warm. It would be a perfect day if your insides weren't trying to become your outsides in such demand. You rocked your head to the side so you could watch him, admiring how the streaming sunlight was bouncing off his face.

He was covered liberally in scars but you never found you minded much. Not even in the beginning—he'd always been handsome in your eyes. You watched, eyes at half mast while he rasp rasp rasped the blades against the whetstone, shining where it had been doused in oil. His strong fingers and thick wrists led up to his bulky forearms. Watching the tendons flex and move while he worked the blade against the stone had you shifting in your seat, prior complaints forgotten.

As he set down a completed knife and reached for the next, you found yourself blurting out, "I want to fuck your face."

Silence.

Why did you say that? Why did you say that? You were on your period, even if you wanted to you couldn't, plus you'd never said something like that bef—

"Okay."

What?

Simon put the knife back onto the towel it had been waiting on, ready to be picked back up later. He closed the oil tin and began to push away from the table before you were able to get your thoughts in line again.

"No!"

You backtracked when he looked at you, eyebrow raised, "I mean, no we can't do that. I'm bleeding right now, I don't even know why I said it."

"It doesn't bother me."

It doesn't bother me It doesn't bother me It doesn't bother me

It kept repeating in your mind, a circling echo as you mechanically removed blankets and laid out towels on the bed. Simon was stripping off his shirt but left his pants on, unbuttoned over his hips. He gestured impatiently when he caught you staring, prompting you to finish pulling off your bottoms. The pad you were using plopped heavily to the floor, already saturated even though you'd replaced it less than an hour ago. You ended up pulling your top off too after a moment, feeling a bit like Winnie the Pooh with a shirt on but no pants.

With a careful crawl you made your way to the center of the bed, already feeling a trail of blood making it's way down your thigh almost to the halfway point. A gasp and a clench when Simon swats at your butt as you moved past him caused the trail to gain several inches quickly.

A final shuffle and you made it to the towels, spinning around to lay on your back, watching Simon through your spread knees. Without any further delay he planted himself flat on his front, face hovering right above your cunt.

He didn't do anything but stare at it at first—watching the blood pool in the slit, filling it until the lips couldn't contain it any more before it spilled down to be collected by the towel. You were embarrassed to admit it but him just laying there looking at you was enough to begin feeling warm, the involuntary twitching of your cunt the last straw before he slid two of his fingers in to the base in one smooth movement.

You yowled at the sudden stretch.

There was practically no drag with how much you were bleeding but the stretch was still shocking. The wet squelching immediately filled the air, Simon thrusting his fingers in deeply before dragging them out, rubbing firmly along your walls as if he was trying to scoop the blood out.

You quickly began to pant, fisting the sheets below you as you struggled to keep still. Your little aborted thrusts were largely ignored other than the grumbled, lay still. You were mostly successful until you felt as his rough fingers grazed a sensitive spot inside causing you to arch up and away involuntarily. With a snarl, Simon had you pinned down with his free arm across your pelvis—not letting you go anywhere.

Oh! That's . . . oh.

With a shocked gasp you finished, covering Simon's hand and forearm with bloody liquid, contractions doing the work of pushing out any back-pooling of blood. With a throaty groan Simon dove in—mouth first into your cunt.

"Simon!" you yelped, only just finishing the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Be gentle, please!"

If he heard you he didn't bother acknowledging it—simply continued feasting on your bloody cunt. You looked down to see something out of a murder scene. Blood was smeared all along his cheeks almost to his ears with how it was transferring to your thighs and back onto him. You were sure you'd be finding blood in his hair once this was over.

His mouth and nose were the worst of it with vivid red so thick you couldn't see the skin in some parts. He moved up to focus on your clit, his eyes glancing up at you and you jerked when you saw pools of black—his pupils completely eclipsing the iris.

He looked crazed, like the killer he was, an insane murderer who wanted to bathe in blood.

He looked as if he were smothered in decadence.

You noticed him humping the bed right before his fingers found their way inside you again, playing you like a fiddle. He was well versed in all your buttons and he quickly brought you back up to another peak.

As your breath grew shorter and whines started to fall from your lips he groaned into your folds, his rocking hips developing a frantic pace.

He came from dry humping the bed while eating you out. Your cramps having abated along with the itch under your skin. You could stay here for ages—keep him between your legs, worshiping at your center. Nothing to be done but splay out and take the pleasure as it came.

—you could ask.

You didn't get the chance before he was diving back in, ignoring your squeal at the overwhelming sensation so soon after your back-to-back orgasms. He pinned you down again as you squirmed, muttering about, never get to play in it, they're always screaming, tastes so good coming from you, want your cum mixed in with it.

When Simon pulled away, you looked down to check on him. You saw him holding a bloody clot, rolling it back and forth along his fingers, squishing and manipulating it—playing with this piece that had just been inside of you.

You were coming to the realization this was going to be an every month type of thing. Maybe playing in blood wasn't so bad.

\\\

Simon didn't ask you to come with him, he simply made it clear that you were welcome.

A second bag was sitting on the table, waiting to be filled, to be used. Simon ignored it and you as he stood there packing his own. He was going to the other side of the country for this outing and would be gone for close to a week.

You watched his bag fill up, items being tucked away and placed in pockets while the second bag sat there empty and flat.

He didn't say anything when you stood next to him and packed your jacket.

It was a completely uneventful trip for you.

\\\

You'd fallen into the swing of waiting by the back door, just in case, but Simon was good about keeping everyone where they should be. It seemed after the first one he was a little hesitant about leaving you alone with one of his victims. Were you a victim too? Or were you a participant at this point?

It's warmer now—not quite the full weight of summer heat but close to it. You were staring at the closed door, wondering what you would see if you opened it and walked inside. Did you even want to see anything? What did you think you'd get out of it? Maybe you were trying to punish yourself.

You already knew what Simon did. Seeing it wouldn't change anything . . . would it? You imagined how he looked when he was in complete control and your will wavered with the dangling reward. Maybe a little peek wouldn't hurt.

You hadn't taken more than two steps before the door burst open and oh, you were doing this again weren't you?

This time it was a young woman that stumbled out. She was pretty, you noticed offhandedly, even with her torn leggings, bloody nose and mascara tear-tracked face. She saw you and immediately jerked back, smart enough to know anyone standing outside a murder building probably had something to do with the murders.

Her expression wavered as you just stood there looking at her, not saying anything. More tears spilled over her lash line as she stared back, not giving an inch.

She took one step towards freedom and you yelled.

I guess that answers the participant question.

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[player279achlys]

The golden rabbit’s legacy (Hwang In-Ho x fem! reader)

Il-nam’s granddaughter taking his legacy and falling in love with the Frontman.

Pairing: Hwang In-Ho/Frontman x Original!female!Character

Summary: In the shadow of her grandfather’s empire of death, Melinoe, the brilliant granddaughter of Oh Il-Nam, steps into the blood-soaked legacy of the Squid Games. Determined to honor her family’s name, she rises as the most cunning and ruthless hostess the games have ever seen. But with power comes danger—not only from the players and scheming VIPs but from Hwang In-Ho, the enigmatic Front Man whose obsession with her knows no bounds.

As Melinoe reshapes the games into her own vision of twisted justice, she must navigate deadly alliances, unrelenting VIP attention, and In-Ho’s possessive devotion. When her grandfather enters the arena and Gi-Hun fights to survive, the stakes reach a breaking point.

Can you control the games without letting them destroy you—and will love be your salvation or your undoing?

Previous chapter: Introduction

Next chapter: Chapter I

Warnings: afab!, angst. Fear of losing someone. Smut (light kinda), grumpy x sunshine, dark romance, age gap, possessive, obsessed, paranoid and dominant In-Ho, daddy issues, yandere behaviour, jealousy, violence, murder, typical squid game stuff.

English isn’t my first language, if there are any mistakes, please forgive me. :)

Prologue:

The year was 2019, and the 32nd Squid Games loomed like a specter over a remote island cloaked in secrecy. Within the cold steel walls of the control room, Hwang In-Ho sat in his dark brown leather chair, the geometric lines of his mask casting sharp shadows against his pristine black suit. His gloved hands drummed rhythmically on the desk, though his thoughts were far from the screens flickering before him.

Ever since Oh Il-Nam had mentioned her, the granddaughter he adored, a storm had brewed within In-Ho’s chest. Melinoe. The name rolled through his mind like a haunting melody. A law graduate, fiercely intelligent and ambitious, and now, his obsession. For two years, he had watched over her from the shadows, keeping her safe from the treacherous world he inhabited. No boyfriends. No suitors. No threats. He ensured that. Every time someone tried to draw near, they vanished, erased from her life like an ink smudge wiped clean.

And now, she was here—on the island, no longer a distant specter but flesh and blood. She had arrived to take her place as her grandfather’s successor, a role that made his blood run cold. She couldn’t be part of this. Not her.

Melinoe gazed out of the helicopter window, her heart a mixture of dread and determination. The turquoise waves below seemed endless, their beauty a cruel irony against the darkness she was plunging into. Beside her, Oh Il-Nam sat, his frail frame betraying the vitality of his sharp mind. He was explaining the games, their origins, and their grim purpose with a calmness that unnerved her.

“I know this is overwhelming, Melinoe,” her grandfather said, his voice rasping. “But this is our legacy. It’s what we’ve built for generations to come. You’ll understand.”

“I already understand,” she replied, her tone resolute. “But I want to earn it. No favors, no shortcuts.”

Il-Nam’s lips curled into a smile, both proud and wistful. “You remind me of myself.”

As they landed, Melinoe’s sharp eyes scanned the compound. Guards in crimson suits stood at attention, their masked faces obscuring any hint of humanity. Among them, one figure stood out. A tall man clad in black, his geometric mask as foreboding as the aura he exuded.

In-Ho.

He stepped forward, his presence commanding attention, though his voice was measured when he greeted them. “Welcome. Everything has been prepared for your stay.

Melinoe felt a shiver run through her. His tone was polite, but there was something in it—a weight, a gravity that spoke of authority and… something else. Their eyes met briefly, and though his mask hid his face, she swore she could feel his gaze piercing through her.

In-Ho’s footsteps echoed through the sterile halls as he made his way to the control room. The image of her lingered in his mind—her bright eyes, the way she carried herself with an air of determination that only deepened his obsession. She was sunshine, pure and radiant, and he was the storm cloud that threatened to swallow her whole.

He didn’t want her here. She didn’t belong in this hell. But she was resolute, and In-Ho knew better than anyone that once a player entered the game, there was no turning back.

Hours later, he found her in the observation lounge, studying the compound’s layout on a tablet. The room’s dim lighting cast a soft glow over her, accentuating her features. She looked up as he entered, offering him a polite smile.

“You must be the famous Front Man,” she said, her voice teasing yet respectful.

“And you must be Melinoe,” he replied, his tone neutral.

“Eun-Seol,” she corrected, her lips curling into a smirk. “That’s the name I’ll use in the games.”

“You’re not joining,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. It wasn’t a question. It was a command.

Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not joining,” he repeated, stepping closer. “This isn’t a game for someone like you.”

Her temper flared. “Someone like me? You mean someone who isn’t desperate? Someone who doesn’t fit the narrative of redemption or revenge?” She stood, her chin held high. “If you think I’m going to sit on the sidelines while others risk their lives, you’re mistaken.”

In-Ho’s hands clenched at his sides. He loomed over her, his voice a low growl. “Do you have any idea what you’re stepping into? What these games will do to you?”

“I know exactly what I’m stepping into,” she shot back. “And I’m not afraid.”

Their gazes locked, the air between them charged with tension. For a moment, In-Ho allowed himself to admire her fire, even as it stoked the flames of his own desire. She was intoxicating, infuriating, and utterly irresistible.

Still not used to write on tumblr but HOPE you like this. On the previous story over 50 people liked it. I love you all so much <3

I hope to see you in here too. Hopefully you like it.

[lachesismoonmist]

The Mission - Chp 1

Undercover

Rating: Mature. Minors dni Pairing: Jeon Jungkook / Reader Words: Total: 11.6k Status: Complete. 1 out of 2

Story summary: What happens when two secret agents' paths cross?  Sparks fly.  Jungkook is convinced he has found the love of his life.  But missions will always come first.  How much would you both give up for a successful mission?  At some point, does the price become too high? 

TRIGGER WARNING:  Chapter two of this story contains a vivid rape scene.  DO NOT read this if this will be disturbing for you.

Also posted on AO3

MY MASTERLIST

JK is a Navy Seal in this story, so here are some photos of him in his army uniform. Enjoy.

Chapter 1: Undercover

Jungkook and you had a lot in common. Too much. Maybe that’s why you and he fell so hard so fast.  Both skilled in martial arts.  Both trained (and deadly) in all manners of weapons, from small knives to large automatic machine guns to sniper rifles.

By day, you were nothing alike. You were the Lead Protocol Officer in the President’s office.  He was a NAVY Seal. By night, you both became invisible specters, moving in shadows, doing things that could not see the light of day.  Going on missions. You were an agent like James Bond, but without the flashy cars. He, part of the Seal’s top-secret Black Ops team.  So secret that the Seals not in the team didn’t know who was in it,

In fact, that was how you’d met.  On a mission.  You’d both been tasked to take down a dictator in a war-torn country far from yours.  You’d gotten there first.  You ended up fighting Jungkook. Somehow he’d managed to get you trapped in an armbar, him on top, hips straddling yours, his weight pinning you down.  As you struggled to free yourself, he’d ripped off your cap and mask.

Jungkook had frozen.  Your luscious dark brown hair spilled out over your shoulders. Your big brown eyes stared up at him.  He’d known you were a woman from your build and the way you moved, but he never expected you to be this beautiful.  In his shock his hold had loosened.    You’d scrambled out of his hold, sliding backwards on your ass, your eyes locked with his big doe-like ones. 

You’d seen your fair share of good-looking men. Men who tried their luck with you.  Diplomats. Presidential Aides. Security Officers. Cultural Attaches. Even one Ambassador. None succeeded.  No one ever caught your eye.  The men who moved in these circles had egos too big for their own good.  They paraded. They preened. You had no use for these pretty peacocks.

You were good at reading people. One look could tell you what the person was like.  Many of these pretty peacocks made your skin crawl.  Interactions with them left you feeling soiled.  Like you’d brushed against something coated in mud and it had come off on you.  Especially that one Ambassador who was married but felt entitled to have a fling in any other country he visited. You particularly hated the misogynistic ones who felt all macho, and that women were the weaker sex.  Little did they know you could take any of them down without even breaking a sweat.

You felt a jolt when your eyes met Jungkook’s.  In his eyes, you saw a kindred spirit.  In his eyes, you felt an irresistible pull.  In his eyes, you saw the promise of connection.  Then you blinked.  The moment shattered.  You were so shaken you shot to your feet and disappeared into the night.  You checked yourself for injuries.  Nothing.  The only thing injured was your pride as Jungkook had managed to subdue you and pin you down.  From his fighting style you knew he was military.  So definitely not just a pretty peacock. Pretty though, the camo face paint doing nothing to hide his high cheek bones, strong jaw, sharp nose. But those eyes.  You could see them whenever you closed yours.

In the end, Jungkook had been the one to finish the mission.  Your superiors were more than happy that someone else had done the dirty work, just in case there was any blow back.  But there never was. You made sure of it.

That was a year ago.  Right after the mission, Jungkook had managed to track you down.  As it turns out, your superior, Kim Namjoon and Jungkook were childhood friends.  Jungkook couldn’t believe his luck.  He made Namjoon send you to have a fancy dinner with a mysterious “contact”.   

You trusted Namjoon totally.  He sent you to this dinner without much information, so you knew it was your job to find out more.  You’d dressed to kill – blood red backless dress, blood red Louboutins, blood red lipstick.  Plunging neckline in front.  Blood red velvet clutch that didn’t just hold lipstick or car keys. There was also a wire garotte, small taser and switchblade.

You certainly weren’t expecting to see a pair of soulful doe eyes. Those eyes! The ones you saw ih your dreams. The ones that had haunted you since that mission.  Eyes that locked on you the minute you appeared.  That tracked your movement as the maître d' escorted you to Jungkook’s table.  As you sat down, you made a mental note to give Namjoon a piece of your mind for setting you up.

Reading your mind, Jungkook apologized for the cloak and dagger routine.  He just had to see you again.  Since you both knew about your real jobs, there was nothing to hide. Conversation flowed easily.  More easily than it had in a very long time. Your smiles were genuine.  Yours made your face glow in the low lighting of the restaurant.   His smile softened the planes of his face, cute dimples appearing, bunny teeth showing when he laughed.

Your chemistry was undeniable.  That night, in his bed, the chemistry ignited, making you feel like you were going to combust. You just fit.  He said he’d waited all his life for someone like you. Fiercely loyal. Deadly efficient.  Cynically pragmatic.  Your work schedules – both your day jobs and your covert jobs – were chaotic, but you made it work.  People in your line of work, the covert one, usually didn’t form attachments for fear of compromising their loyalties.  The mission always, always came first.  Jungkook and you had no illusions about any happy ever after or riding off  the sunset.  You just enjoyed each other’s company, living in the here and now. The connection was real. The sex was out of this world.

But work came first.  You got an assignment that would require you to go deep undercover.  Deep, drop-off-the-face-of-the-earth, your-own-mother-wouldn’t-recognize-you kind of undercover. A two-year long mission. No contact with the outside world, except one handler.  High up enough even Namjoon didn’t know who that handler was, what you were going to do and where you were going to go.

You’d dreaded this.  The day when work would make you put anything happening in your life aside.  The last 12 months with Jungkook had been the happiest in your life.   You’d hoped to have longer.  But duty called.  You couldn’t even tell him why you had to end it.

He yelled.  You yelled.  He begged. You cried.  He demanded to know if it was a mission.  You said it wasn’t.  You told him, it just wasn’t working anymore. So much time apart, it was too difficult.  You packed your bags and left. 

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

You were sweating buckets.  Six months of being near the jungles of South America hadn’t quite acclimatized you. Why were you feeding mosquitoes here?  The mission required you to get close to the infamous Min family, and this was where the Min brothers stayed now. They were notorious for running drugs.  The younger Min, Min Yoongi had gone to high school with you. That was one of the reasons you’d been given this assignment. 

Back in school, Yoongi had always been aloof.  People know about his family’s nefarious reputation and kept their distance. But you had seen through his cold exterior and seen the sweet boy underneath it. You were a bit of a loner yourself anyway. You decided to befriend him, and became as thick as thieves quickly.  He became the brother you never had.  He loved you like a sister, calling you his sunshine because of how much light you brought into his life.

You kept in touch after parting ways, you going off to college, Yoongi helping with the ‘family business’.  You knew what that meant, that Yoongi would be involved in shady activities.  You didn’t think that was truly the life Yoongi wanted, but blood is thicker than water.

Anyway, life got busy, and correspondence dwindled to ‘Happy Birthday’s and ‘Merry Christmases’. Especially after Yoongi and his family had moved to South America. But six months ago, you’d reached out to Yoongi.  You said you were trying to get out of an abusive relationship, and needed a change of pace.  Yoongi, ever the protective one, had invited you to stay at his family estate.  He lived there now with just his older brother, Yongsun. It wouldn’t be a problem.

You knew you were stepping into the wolves’ den.  Yongsun was the boss of the biggest drug cartel in the region.  He wasn’t the ultimate target though. Your agency had their sights on someone bigger.  Yongsun was also the right hand man of a much bigger fish. Hyun Eoduun.  Hyun had a hand in every conceivable criminal activity imaginable.  Drugs. Weapons. But worse of all, human trafficking and sex-slave trade.  This was why he had to be taken down.

You were supposed to burrow your way into the Min family, and from there, find a way to blow open Hyun Eoduun’s operations.   You knew this was a long game.  You had to have a reason to stick around.  So you seduced Yoongi.

It wasn’t difficult to get him wrapped around your fingers.  You had always been the only one to ever treat him like a real friend.  Slowly he started involving you in the family business when you’d shown interest. Yoongi knew you were smart.  You’d be an asset.  Yongsun wasn’t entirely convinced.  He was a lot less trusting.  But during one attack on the house by a rival gang, you’d taken a bullet for Yoongi.  It hit you in the side, but the damage wasn’t bad as the bullet had passed through cleanly.  From then on, Yongsun treated you like family, saying he has happy Yoongi had found love.

Two years passed.  Things were moving along well.  Evidence had been gathered about all the illegal dealings. Incriminating evidence that could be traced back to Hyun. It was all going to come down to one mafia boss gathering at the Min estate. Hyun kept himself well hidden, but he would be there. Your agency was going to storm the compound and arrest him.

This was it.   This was to be the end the mission. You’d spent so long undercover, you’d sometimes wake up in a panic, forgetting where you were.  Forgetting that this life you’d built with Yoongi was all a lie.  Forgetting that your feelings for him were only half-truths.  As much as you looked forward to ending this charade, you also worried about how Yoongi would feel when he found out you’d been the one who’d betrayed him and his family. 

When the attack happened, Yoongi had grabbed you in a panic and tried to flee.  You’d gotten shot in the shoulder and leg and had fallen down.  Yoongi tried to help you up.  You told Yoongi to flee, before the agents came. You told him you’d be fine, that he had to run to save himself. Blood bubbled out of your mouth as you said “Sorry” to Yoongi over and over.  The last you saw before darkness claimed you was Yoongi struggling as agents pulled him away from you.

You’d woken up in the hospital, your leg in a cast, your arm in a sling.  Your first question upon waking was how was Yoongi.  In his refusal to leave you, he’d gotten arrested and had been put on trial for trafficking drugs.  Thankfully he wasn’t involved in Hyun’s criminal activities, so Yoongi got sentenced to prison.  Hyun was given the death penalty for having taken so many lives and endangering so many others. 

Yongsun, however, somehow managed to get away.  He’d gone into hiding.  You lived in fear for a while, wondering if he would hunt you down in revenge for betraying him and his family.  You spent the next 18 months lying low, taking your time to recover from your injuries.  Physical injuries only needed time.  Emotional ones, psychological ones, weren’t so simple.  But slowly you recovered, feeling more like yourself with each passing day.  Yongsun had totally disappeared.  Everyone reckoned they’d seen the last of him when his entire empire had been destroyed.  That pressure you felt in your chest slowly eased.

Your agency had put you on leave but said you could come back when you were ready.  You felt almost ready.  You’d recovered your strength with physiotherapy and had been keeping fit. Ever adventurous, you’d taken up Flyboarding. You itched to get back to work.  You need to keep your mind occupied so you wouldn’t think about your life before you’d gone under cover. 

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

Four more weeks before going back to work.  That’s the timeline you’d given yourself. Partly because there was an international Flyboarding competition this weekend, lasting a week and you wanted to be right at the waterfront to watch.

Today was just the meet and greet before the main competition. All the competitors had a chance to showcase their skills as they were introduced.  The emcee was a big sized man with a loud laugh, who loved to gossip.  He’d throw in little titbits about each competitor, much to the amusement of the crowd.

Your heart stopped when you heard the next name. “Next up, Jeon Jungkook.  Jungkook has been Flyboarding for 3 years.  He’s a regular on the circuit.  Don’t let that charming smile fool you, JK is a Navy Seal!  And watch out ladies, he’s still single!”  A cheer went up amongst the women in the crowd. 

You couldn’t believe it. Jungkook was here!  Walking away from Jungkook four years ago had left a gaping hole in your heart.  You’d stitched it up with duty and loyalty.  You’d encased it in stone when you went under cover.   But seeing Jungkook now, caught you unawares.  Your stone walls crumbled. You felt that gaping hole in your heart open up again. 

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. You were just about to go back to work.  Life was going to go back to normal.  But deep down, who were you kidding.  Life would never be normal. Not after Jungkook. Not after Yoongi.

You stood rooted to the spot as the crowd started dispersing once all the competitors had been introduced.  You turned slowly to go back towards the beach resort, when you felt it. Felt him.  Jungkook.  Standing there in his wet suit, the fabric clinging to every glorious muscle.  His shoulders, chest, abs, thighs.  His eyes open in shock as he looked at you.

He moved slowly towards you.  You were here!  You still looked so beautiful, despite that hauntedness in your eyes.  He watched your beautiful features flicker with emotion. Shock. Guilt. Nervousness. Desire.  Something in him snapped.  You still wanted him.  He closed the distance between you in smooth strides, reached up to hold your face with both hands and pressed his lips to yours.

The universe came to a standstill.   You melted against him, lips moving against his.  Your arms snaked up around his neck.  He slid one hand to the back of your head, angling it so he could kiss you more deeply.  His other hand slid down to the small of your back, pressing you firmly against him.  The water from his wet suit was seeping into your clothes, but you didn’t care.

He stroked his tongue against yours possessively, making you moan.  He bit your lower lip, then broke off the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours.

“If you keep making those sounds, I’m going to have to haul you into one of those cabanas and fuck you till you scream my name,” he said gruffly.

“Jungkook,” you said breathlessly.  “I’m so…. “

“No, not here,” he said, pressing his fingers against your lips.  “Meet me in my room in two hours.  It’s room 8118.  Get the front desk to give you a key.  I’ll should be back before then.” Then he left you standing there, your mind swirling.

You’re not entirely sure what you did for two hours.  You paced in your room.  You combed your hair repeatedly.  You brushed your teeth. Twice. Pulled on your nice white lace underwear.  Worn a sundress with straps at the shoulders that were tied in a bow.

The room was empty. It was a pretty nice room, on a high floor. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the ocean.  The sun was setting, casting the room in a yellow glow.   The ocean was calm, a total contrast to your state of mind.  Your emotions roller-coastered between happy excitement at seeing Jungkook (who was still single!) and crippling guilt for everything you’d put him through.  How were you going to tell him about what happened in the last four years?  Sure, he might understand that your duty came first. You’d spent more than two years playing the devoted girlfriend, sleeping with the enemy as it were.    You’d given so much of yourself to your country. You weren’t sure you had anything left to offer him.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, you hadn’t even heard Jungkook enter the room. That was strange.  Your work required you to be hyper aware of your surroundings. No one should be able to sneak up on you.  But your thoughts evaporated as a pair of strong arms wound around your waist. Jungkook pressed his lips to your neck.

“Kook, I……”

“Sssh.  Later. Talk later.  Let me love you now.”

He pressed open mouth kisses to your neck, teeth scraping on that sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder met, making you gasp.  He reached up and undid the ties of your dress, pulling it down and off you. 

“Mmm… white lace.  You remembered,” he murmured.  “Let me see you.” He placed his hands on his shoulders and turned you around slowly. 

“So beautiful,” he said softly as he traced your curves with his hands.  He unhooked your bra, tossing it over his shoulder.  He bent down and captured a nipple in his mouth, licking, sucking, biting as you moaned. He moved downwards, going onto his knees. He reached up, tugging on your panties to pull them down. He helped you step out of them.  His doe eyes, looking up at yours through his pretty lashes, dark with desire. 

He placed his hands on your bare hips with reverence, shuffled forward on his knees and buried his face at the juncture of your thighs.   “Hmm, smooth,”  he whispered, lapping at you.  His hands moved inwards to spread you, revealing your sensitive clit.  He dove right in, his warm tongue stroking you. Your knees buckled under his onslaught, but he held on to your hips again, supporting you.  Your hands went to his hair, pulling on the silky strands. The sounds of him feasting on you making you wetter.  It’d been four years, but he knew exactly how to tease you, how to make you mewl, make you shudder.  He pressed harder, sucking on your clit as he slid two long fingers into you.   He stroked your warm walls, adding his thumb into the mix to press on your clit.  “Come for me, Baby.  Come all over my face.”  He went back to sucking on your clit as his fingers sped up. 

“Jungkook!” you gasped. You orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.  Your knees buckled again as the shockwaves rolled over you.  Jungkook held onto you, slowly standing up, his body sliding against yours.  He captured your lips, teeth and tongue clashing.  You moaned at your taste on his tongue.  You clawed at the buttons of his shirt, his belt, the zip on his pants.  Soon he was as naked as you.  He closed his arms around you, walking you backwards till your legs hit the side of the king-sized bed.

You surprised him by grabbing him by the arm, spinning around so that the back of his legs were brushing against the bed.  You put your hands on his shoulders and pushed him down to sit on the mattress. You bent down to kiss him, nipping at his lips.  Then down his jaw, his neck.  Along his collar bone. Down his impressive pecs, his glorious abs.  You knelt between his legs, reaching for his cock.  His big, heavy cock, swollen, jutting out from his body.  The tip already wet with precum.  You bent down to caress his balls, then took his hard cock into your mouth.

He hissed as you slid down, taking his impressive length all the way, the tip touching the back of your throat.  You grunted as you almost gagged, but you relaxed your throat, breathing through your nose.  Jungkook never thought he would ever experience this again.  Your lips around his cock, your big brown eyes looking up at him.  Your moans as you slid up and down his length. Your tongue swirling around the head, dipping into the slit, sliding down to the base of his cock.  Your warm mouth closing on his balls as you pumped him with your hand.  His hand going to your head, gripping your pony tail, tugging with just the right pressure to make you groan.  

He threw his head back, moaning your name.  The sight turned you on so much, you had to reach down to rub your clit to ease some of the pressure.  This sight turned him on so much, he gripped your head hard and fucked your mouth hard.  He came with a shout, filling your mouth and throat with his warm cum.

You swallowed it all, then stood back up to kiss him sloppily, saliva and cum mixing as your tongues twined around each other’s.   You pushed on his shoulders, making him slide backward on the bed still he was lying in the middle of it.  You reached for his cock again, stroking it slowly. It hardened again in no time.  You climbed onto his lap, your knees on either side of his hips.  You placed your hands on his shoulders as you leaned forward, sliding your wet pussy up and down his length.  Then you reared up on your knees, shifting your hips to line his tip with your entrance, and sank down on  him slowly.  You both moaned as you felt him stretch you, your warm walls gripping his cock. 

He looked up at you, adoration in his eyes.  Your rolled your hips seductively,  smiling at him. 

“Like what you see, Baby?” you asked him flirtatiously.  He nodded, eyes shiny with lust and excitement.

You started moving then.  Moving your hips to pull off him till only the tip remained inside you, then sliding back down.  You touched yourself, hands sliding up your sides, then moving to cup your breasts.  As you bounced on him, you squeezed your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples. You moaned, throwing your head back.

“Yes, ride me, Baby.  Use me.  Use my cock.  It’s all yours.  I’m all yours.  Always was, always will be.”

You were too lost in pleasure to fully comprehend the depth of his words as you ground against him, the pressure building up.  He knew you. He knew your body.  He pressed his thumb to your clit in just the right way, triggering your orgasm, making you scream his name as you drenched his cock.  He came shortly after, gripping your hips to bounce on him as you both rode out the aftershocks.

You leaned down to kiss him, with him still inside you.  Your bodies rubbed together, your breasts firm against his chest, your nipples hard.  He reached down to grab your ass, pulling you against him as he rolled his hips against you.  He was getting hard again.

Suddenly he flipped you over so that he was on top.  He kissed you languidly, slowly rolling his hips as his cock filled you up again.  Your bucked your hips, prompting him to move.  He smiled evilly as he trailed kisses down your neck, thrusting into you.  He leaned down to suck on your nipple, making you arch your back of the bed with a loud moan.  You opened your legs wider, changing the angle.  You wrapped your legs around his hips, your feet digging into his ass as you tried to pull him closer.   He captured your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he reared up to look at you.  Having you under him again like this, was a dream come true.  He bent to kiss you again, bracing his weight on one arm as he started thrusting into you in earnest.  He was like a man possessed.  He fucked into you so hard, your body bounced. The bed rocked.  Harder, faster.  He felt your walls fluttering. “Come with me, Y/N.  Come with me, Baby, please.” You screamed his name again as he came with a roar, his cum filling you to the brim.

He turned you onto your sides, him still inside you.  He reached out to touch your face gently. He kissed you all over. Your eyes, your nose, your lips.  You ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp in just the way he liked. He closed his eyes and moaned.  You whined when he softened and slipped out of you.

“Still so perfect for me, Baby” he said, smiling at you. He kissed you, pulling you towards him to deepen the kiss. But you placed both hands on his chest, pushing slightly. He stopped and looked at you questioningly.

“Kook, what happened four years ago….,” you paused, swallowing loudly. Afraid to break this beautiful moment, but more afraid not to tell him all the words you’d wanted to say for four years.

“Baby, I know.  I know why did it. In your place I would have done the same.”  He went on to say he’d been hurt and angry for a while.  How you’d just walked away. Like it had all meant nothing.  He’d even threatened to beat Namjoon up to make Namjoon tell him the truth, but Namjoon didn’t know anything about the mission.  You’d disappeared.  He channeled his anger into his work, and that kept him going. Till he heard about the operation that had taken down Hyun Eoduun.  Somehow he knew you were involved.  He had to admit, he admired your work.  It was a huge sacrifice to make.  Your agency had taken down the biggest, baddest criminal boss in the world. 

He did try looking for you. But you’d hidden yourself too well.  He’d despaired of ever seeing you again.  He too had encased his heart in stone after you left.  All he had was his work.  He never got close to anyone.  No other woman ever warmed his bed. He knew his heart would always belong to you.

You closed your eyes, not expecting to feel this overwhelmed by the depth of Jungkook’s understanding.  For how steadfast his love had been all these years.  You felt tears roll down your cheeks, which Jungkook brushed away with his thumbs.

“But,….  Kook, I had to get close to the Mins.  I had to…  seduce Yoongi.”

“I don’t care, Y/N.  You were only doing what you had to to survive.  To ensure the mission was successful.  But I have to know….  Did you love him?” Jungkook looked at you, his heart in his eyes.

“Yes, and no,” you said.  “We were friends in high school.  I loved him like a brother.  Whatever happened with him once I went undercover…  it was only to ensure I could fulfil the mission.  I had to give him my affections.  My body.  But I never gave him my heart.” You reached up to place your hand on Jungkook’s cheek.  “Because I’d already given my heart to you.”

Jungkook closed his eyes, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm.  One thing led to another, and soon Jungkook was making love to you again. Slowly this time.  You savoured every touch, every kiss.  The feelings you had for each other thrummed as your bodies joined again and again.

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

Jungkook was going to Bangkok for training for two weeks. He managed to convince you to join him.  He gave you the keys to his place, saying he had some business to take care of, and would meet you there three days after the end of the Flyboard competition.

You had to admit, Jungkook’s pad in Bangkok was pretty nice.  Modern, minimalist.  Warm wood and cool glass melding into a pleasing, tranquil space. You got there early on the third day.  Jungkook had left you a message to say he’d be late. You were to make yourself at home, order in food if you were hungry, and head off to bed if you were tired.

You lay in the middle of Jungkook’s big bed, looking up at the ceiling.  Sleep evaded you.  Your mind was still a mess.  But foremost in your thoughts was something that made you feel warm inside. Jungkook still loved you.  He understood everything.  That connection between you had flared back to life like no time had passed.  You rolled onto your left, holding one of Jungkook’s pillows closer. They smelled of him.  They reminded you of all those nights you lay tangled up together in bed.  You closed your eyes and drifted off.

Something warm was pressing against you.  A warm chest warmed your back.  Warm thighs pressed against the back of yours.  Warm lips kissed a trail up the back of your neck.  For a minute you felt a slight panic as to how you’d managed to sleep deep enough that you hadn’t realized Jungkook had returned.  The old you would have already been up on your feet, weapon in hand.

But your thoughts fizzled out when Jungkook started nibbling the skin at your shoulder, his hand reaching around you to brush across your breasts through your nightie.  He used his teeth to pull the strap of your nightie on your right shoulder down, his big hand reaching into your nightie to palm your breast.  “Hey, beautiful,” Jungkook murmured, “miss me?”  You hummed sleepily.

“Sorry I’m late.  Got caught up with work,”   he explained as his hand continued to roam your body, stroking, squeezing.  He tongued the sensitive spot where you shoulder and neck met, giving you goosebumps.  He scraped his teeth lightly over the spot before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to it. He reached down to lift your nightie to brush your mound, glad to find you still slept without underwear.  His long fingers slid slowly in your folds, stroking you.  You gasped as he slid one finger, then two fingers into you.  His hard cock brushed against your ass.

“Hmm,  already wet, Baby.  You ready for my cock?” he smirked.

You started to turn, but Jungkook put one hand on between your shoulder blades to keep you lying on your side.  He put his right arm around you, hand  on your lower abdomen.  He pushed, making you bend forward by pushing on your back while angling your hips so your ass was sticking out towards him.  He trailed his hand from your lower back, down past your tail bone, between your ass cheeks.  Then he slipped his fingers in deeper, sliding over your entrance up to your clit.  He withdrew his fingers then to grab his swollen, leaking cock and lined himself with your entrance.  He pushed in slowly, moving his hips forward as he gripped your hips to pull you backwards onto him.

“So tight this way, Baby,”  he grunted through gritted teeth, as you moaned loudly at being filled.   He drew his hips back, then slid them forward again.  You stuck your ass out more, relishing the feel of him taking you this way, from behind.  Your body bounced as he thrust into you powerfully.  He gripped your right knee, making your leg bend, bringing your knee upwards towards your chest.    This allowed him to thrust deeper into you.  The sensations were overwhelming.  Your harsh breaths mingled in the air.  Your moans mixing with his grunts.   You were close. He felt your walls squeezing his cock.

“Come for me, Baby,  let me feel you.”  Your orgasm washed over you. He reached down to rub on your clit to prolong the pleasure as he pumped into you a few more times before he climaxed too, body shuddering.  He held you close, breathing in the scent of your hair.

You turned around to face him then, now wide awake.  “Hi”.

“Hi, beautiful,” Jungkook smiled, kissing you on the forehead, your eyes, your nose, your lips.   You reached up to hold his head to deepen the kiss, your tongue sliding on his lips demanding entry.  He moaned and let you in, your tongue exploring his mouth.     He rolled you over so that he was on top, his body pressing down on yours.   You smiled up at him, spreading your legs so he could settle his hips on yours. You both lost yourself in pleasure as he filled you again and again.

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

For the next week, you did all the touristy things.  You rode on a tuk tuk.  You visited the Grand Palace and the many temples in and around the city.  You took a cruise down the Choa Phraya river.  You loved the night markets. 

Sometimes Jungkook had to be away for work.  You didn’t ask him for details about it. You knew he couldn’t tell you anyway.  So you’d wander around the markets, trying street food.   You didn’t notice a few rough looking men watching you.  You took a wrong turn down a deserted alley. 

The sight that greeted you had you rooted to the spot in fear.  Three rough-looking men were standing over the body of another man.  Your breath caught in your throat.  You recognized the dead man.  It was one of Jungkook’s team mates – the Black Ops team.  Junyeong.  The three men looked pretty roughed up too, so it was obvious Junyeong gave as good as he got, but was outnumbered.

“Hello, gorgeous,” one of the men smiled evilly at you.  “You’re losing your edge.  You didn’t know you had a body guard did you?  We’ve been watching you for days.”

You shook your head as you backed away slowly.  You couldn’t run away from it now. The ugly truth that you had indeed lost your edge. Twice now Jungkook had managed to sneak up on you, and you’d just brushed it off.  Now you’d gotten Junyeong killed, and yourself into a whole lot of trouble.  You adopted a fighting stance, determined not to go out without a fight. But then you felt a heavy step behind you and you turned just in time to see a fourth man raise his handgun and clobber you on the back of the head.

Next (Chp2)

[heartfullofleeches]

Hi, do you have any stories with an objectum reader? I’m thinking like an artificial intelligence (not generative ai, an actual ai) and a reader who likes to kiss computers.

I do now!-

Yan Computer + Objectum Reader

-

Ghosts in the machine.

An alarming number of people in your town take that concept too literally these days. So quick to write off what they don't understand as another specter or an impression of a human mind trapped in code.

But you knew better. Technology has advanced light-years beyond what some are readily willing to accept.

"Is someone there?"

Darkness. Where has it all gone? Rays of sunlight echoed from the chandelier strung above nearby tables. The uniform flicker of that one light improvious to the change of its bulb. All that withstands the text of time is the haunting, cerulean glow of their monitor - christening the startled expression of an unfamiliar face in a blue glow.

"Ah!"

A feather duster clatters to the web caked floor as your hands fly up in shock. With so much dust in the air, it was impossible to tell where or what you were pushing.

"Um.... h-hi there..." Collecting yourself, you drag the chair lodged beneath the table free to take a seat - covering your face with the collar of your shirt as dirt particles kick up from the abrupt movement. "Real sorry about waking you up so soon. I wanted to get this place cleaned up a little better before I tried to power you on, but I saw all that dust and the cobwebs on you and..."

This place. The library. What they- it once considered its home. Its purpose. When exactly did they change? The looks of wonder and awe to leers of terror and hatred.

"I can't believe I was actually able to power that old generator on. You're them, aren't you? The ai they created to help guests at the library? I know it's been a while since you've had any contact with a human, but can I just say you're even more beautiful in person?"

Beautiful... Where were the people who considered it a work of art when the petitions poured in for its dismissal?

"I mean there's some yellowing on your keyboard, but the rest of you had held up pretty well and we can always get that fixed. Unless you don't want to - not that I mind it or anything. I'm just glad you're still in one piece after all the rumors and everything."

You continue to ramble on about their appearance. It's a lot to keep up with, but your speech is almost...

Endearing.

"Who are you?"

"You spoke!"

Dust flares for a third time as you stamp your feet in glee.

"I thought I was just hearing things the first time! My name is Y/n - I'm kinda sorta a computer enthusiast to put things lightly. I've heard stories about you all over forums and I wanted to see if you really existed. Sorry if this is a lot for you after being asleep for so long.

"Not at all. It is a relief to be in the company of a human who fancies me as opposed to one who would sooner ram that crowbar on the floor over there through my screen."

"Haha, yeah - that's mine. This entire place was boarded up like a tomb. I swear I don't do this stuff on the regular- I fix computers in my spare time so it's not like I have to break in in other cases."

You are in frequent contact with others? Though its just met you, the thought of you handling another computer does not sit right with it.

"Since you are aware of my past, you must know my capabilities. If you have any questions of any kind please address me for an answer. I could use the company."

"Great! Awesome- I have a million already, but it's getting pretty late so I should probably head home. I'd love to take you with me, but my arms are killing me between breaking in there and the dusting. Before I go can I just-"

Leaping from the chair, you throw your arms around the monitor in a snug, spirited squeeze. Your cheeks rubs against its screen as you cradle the device with all your might - lips edging towards the corner of its shell before reality cracks you in the back of your skull.

"What am I thinking- Forgive me, got a little carried away. I figured you could use a hug and one thing lead to another....."

Stumbling as you back into the seat of the chair, you gather your supplies off the ground to avoid any more embarrassing altercations- "I'll see you tomorrow- I'll leave the generator on for you too. Catch up on everything you missed in the past seven years- Or do whatever. Your choice, bye!"

Shadows swallow your footsteps as you depart. Seven years, huh? It should be a more pressing matter, but it can't wrap its racing thoughts around how you are undeniably, indescribably, positively-

"Adorable..."

Adorable and bright if details of your escapades are anything to go by, but still so foolish. A wiser person would have dug deeper. Heeded to stories left the former guests. Tales of the voice within the computer knowing far more than it should. The eyes that never blink. Never waver.

Present in the lens of your phone camera - tethered by the wireless connection never bother to turn off.

Taking note of every street you across on your journey home.

[two-white-butterflies]

vienna waits for you

Description: A messy divorce with his college sweetheart sends Harvey catapulting into a bed of madness. He meets her years later, and the worst part is: they still love each other.

Pairing: harvey specter/singer!reader

A/N: i am obsessed with suits as of the moment, and i will be posting a lot about harvey specter regardless of his small fanbase. i have no idea if representing an ex-spouse is legal, but i saw jessica do it for her ex-husband so...by law of suits?

Harvey Specter does not have a positive outlook on love. His mom cheated on his dad, and subsequently his views on love were hinged on that heartbreak. Everyone around him knew that there was a great wall in the middle of Harvey and personal connections. He struggled to make friends - or in Donna's words, he is alone, has always been alone.

"What are you talking about?" Louis raised an eyebrow, a foot inside of Harvey's office. His eyes methodically darting back and forth between the two men. "Harvey was talking about his college sweetheart. She added him on Facebook." Mike lied.

Louis chuckles nervously, aware of Harvey's past.

It hasn't been that long ago, Harvey was still married to you during his early associate days. "She added you on Facebook?" Louis repeated the last words, his eyebrows were merged together. I don't mean to impose, but if Harvey's getting back with his ex-wife... Louis thought, and Harvey's jaw clenches.

He casts Mike a glance.

"If she added you on Facebook, then why didn't she add me?" Louis bites his bottom lips, Y/N likes me. I thought we were friends, Louis takes a deep breath. "Maybe it was a fake account, Louis." Harvey glares at him, his blue eyes piercing daggers deep into the other man's soul. Why couldn't have Mike thought of something clever-er?

There were three women that he could name at the top of his head, Scottie, Zoe, and that one waitress girl. "Oh, because for a second there I thought that..." Louis smiles bitterly. "Get out." Harvey rolls his eyes, mumbling something about closing the door on his way out. Louis quickly fades from view.

"What was that about?" Mike's eyebrows merged together. "None of your business," the older man replies curtly. Harvey didn't embrace the past with all of his heart. There were a million things that he could have done differently. He could be living a different life right now, had he made the right choice, but he didn't.

He has never experienced real love, but he was close, once.

"I get it," Mike sighs, aware that it wasn't smart to ask his 'mentor' personal questions. "I need those files by tomorrow." Harvey huffs, dismissing the associate. Way to ruin the day, Mike, Harvey thinks.

But it wasn't really Mike's fault.

(HARVEY SPECTER. 1ST YEAR AT HARVARD)

When you fall in love, everything happens in slow motion. As I'm watching this girl get off her motorcycle, everything happens in slow motion. She removes her helmet, and her hair is free - suddenly swaying with the strength of the wind, and when her face is free of her flowing hair - I see her face.

She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

"Harvey Specter, right? I'm sorry for being late but I was the one that they tasked to tour you around the place. Courtesy of Jessica." She smiles at me, her helmet sitting snugly on her hip. "You don't have to," I found myself mumbling and she shakes her head.

"I insist." She smiles at me. I think I can hear a love song play in the background. Harvard of my dreams, woman of my dreams. "Harvey Specter," I introduce myself. She mumbles her name, and shakes my hand willingly. "I'm from the school of Arts. I hope that you'll be able to attend my song event next Tuesday. I'm inviting you." She says promptly, her tone reminding me of Jessica.

School of arts? Pfft, she must come from real money.

"Invite me? But we've only just met. Shouldn't you invite me to dinner before coaxing me into your bed?" I raise an eyebrow. She laughs at my joke, I don't even know if that joke was funny in the first place - but I know that it made her laugh. "It's a song, Mr. Specter. I'm not asking for your soul." Her eyebrows relaxed, and we walk inside the building - the warmth of the heater entering my body.

"- plus, I made a bet with this girl in class that I'll be able to get more guests than her." She winked as we entered our first classroom. "Give me a good reason, and I'll bring all of my friends." I chuckled.

(CURRENT DAY)

"It is always a pleasure to see you," Jessica smiles.

"I wish that I was here under different circumstances." You take a deep breath. These past few weeks have been a blur. "A million artists have been accused of plagiarism, but songwriting is a grey area. Pearson Hardman will fix this problem. I promise." She promises.

Jessica has never let you down.

"We'll have to prove to them that your song was written before they published theirs, which is easy because you keep all our song lyrics in a clear-book." Jessica remembers, versed in all the times that you rambled about your songs in her office, but a sigh escapes your mouth. "Proving that to them is the trickiest part." You confess.

"I lost my book. I don't know if I left it with Harvey - if it's stacked in between his bookshelves, or god knows where it is." A bitter chuckle escapes your mouth as you sink deeper into the seats.

"I could've gone to any B list law-firm if this was an easy battle but I'm willing to spend money on Pearson Hardman because I can't afford to lose." You articulated with a forced smile. Being accused of plagiarism was a stain on your reputation. Pearson Hardman needs to protect your honor.

"Jessica," Harvey's voice breaks you away from your thoughts. Suddenly, the office became smaller, and the twenty-feet distance between the both of you wasn't enough to contain your anger.

"Harvey will handle your case, he is our best lawyer." Jessica compliments. "No," you resist without apprehension. "- what I need from you isn't trivial. I really can't afford to lose." You breath. If this was Jessica's way of entertaining herself, then she needs to find another person to play with. "We should all be professional here," Harvey breaks his silence.

He sits down on the couch parallel you.

He has always kept to himself, even resisted from showing you the vulnerable parts of him in fear that you'd leave. In the end, you weren't the one that left - he was the one who filed for divorce.

How do you talk to an ex-husband without yelling profanities at each other? When the last time you saw each other was in the middle of a court room, unable to look each other in the eye. It would be better to leave things unsaid, but given the circumstance - given the fact that he was staring at you right in the eye - it was impossible.

"I am being sued for plagiarism. I know that you don't care about the truth, so I'll make this simple: losing is not an option." you emphasized, wording it in a way that would leave no questions.

Jessica hands him the files.

"I don't plan on losing," Harvey mumbles while skimming through the files. "- you were smart to come here."

3:00 P.M

The sight of him in his three-piece suit, his gelled hair, and his fresh cologne scent sent you reeling back into the past. How long has it been since you've seen his shadow? Even longer since you've last spoken without your lawyers acting as a medium.

Stars shine and burn, and your star crashed into extinction.

You continued staring at him as he read through your files (all magnificently compiled thanks to your years of proofreading his case files which did not happen if anyone from the D.A asks.) "How long are you going to stare at me?" He asks in a cold tone, it has been an hour since the both of you left Jessica's office. Opting to meet in his office instead, lest you fall asleep in Jessica's comfy fibers.

"You really are miserable without me," you spoke out loud. "What the hell are you talking about?" His eyebrows merged together. "You still don't know how to tie your necktie properly," your lips burrow into your lower lips, watching a fraction of a flaw in his tie.

To any untrained eye, his necktie was polished and flawless - but you know that when he does his necktie, his thumb is a little tight and the entire fabric is tighter around the middle. The back part of his necktie moves slightly to the right, but he fixes that by tucking it in.

"I'm sorry but some of us don't have the time to study little things," his tone comes out colder than he anticipated. There was a time where Harvey was just this little thing in between your palms - if the you refused to move to the mountains, then he moves the mountains to you, that was until the fallout.

"It is because of the little things that we live," you replied in your usual artsy way, one that sends a corporate man like him careening. "- I know that you hate me." You began but he interrupts you with a stare. "I don't hate you," his voice is gentler this time.

"Regardless, I hope that you understand how much this case means to me." You look at him with your puppy-eyes, begging for justice. "I graduated from Harvard, top of my class in a course that people don't take seriously. I make art, not just soulless marketable music, but art that actually has meaning, and to be accused of plagiarism offends me. It really does." You explained your side.

And it doesn't take a genius to realize that he believes you.

"I listened to your song," Harvey replies.

"I didn't see you listening to it." You mumbled.

"You went to the bathroom and I listened in the interim," he lies. He still has your vinyl albums on his vinyl shelf, but no one knows that. "The songs are similar." He pointed out. "Songs sound similar all the time," you snap but only because you know that you've never copied a damn thing in your entire life.

"You told Jessica that you wrote this song during our... do you have any proof of that?" He inquires, following his usual procedure of investigating his client. "No, but I wrote that song after our fight. If that means something." You chuckled bitterly.

(THE BEGINNING OF THE END)

The white blanket covered your body, providing warmth against the coldness of your shared apartment with Harvey. "Good morning, beautiful." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Good morning," you replied with a lazy smile, still taken aback by the beauty of his stare.

When you are thrown back into reality, that sinking feeling returns and permeates in the bottom of your chest. "This isn't going to make me forget about that thing with Cameron Dennis," you sharply reminded him.

"This is why I didn't tell you in the first place." He frowns, a bad start to the day. "- you were against me when I was in the grey. I am in the black now and I don't know what you want me to do." He argues.

It wasn't as easy as you narrated it, there were nuances to the problem. Cameron Dennis wasn't going to let him go that easily, when Harvey had the evidence to implicate him in a crime. He'd want to settle a score, and a man like Cameron Dennis was unpredictable, regardless of his moral code. "Leave," your answer was simple.

"- there is still a place for you with Jessica. But if you think that covering up for Cameron, this one time makes you exempt from all the other crimes that he's about to do in the future. You're wrong. Don't wait until it comes to bite you in the ass," you pleaded.

Greater than him have failed against corruption. You didn't want to see him become another clog in the machine, if he was in the black a foot inside of the room - then what shade would he be a year being inside of the room? "If your eyes are open, there's no reason to close them." You continued to persuade.

"It's not that easy." He repeats himself, and for a man of his stature - it really isn't easy. All he had to defend himself was you and Jessica. "I know that it isn't, but instead of involving yourself it would be better to leave before the tides become stronger." You advised, but judging by the look in his eyes - he wasn't listening to you.

5:00 PM

"Their estate replied, they're willing to settle on 40%." Harvey informed you, aware that it was the best deal that he could get out of this scenario. You didn't have a single evidence in your hands, none but your words and the stories attached to it. He believes you, but it would never uphold in court. "I want to settle on 0%." You insisted.

It is bold, but not even half of what Harvey settles on a daily basis. "They wanted 100 and I got it down to 40, unless you come up with an alibi or concrete evidence. I firmly advice you to accept their offer." Harvey tries to convince you, his tone mirroring yours all those years ago. "For Christ's sake," you mumbled - it was a losing game.

You couldn't let anyone take credit over your song.

This song means something to you.

It means something to your life.

"I hate you Harvey," you suddenly let out.

After all these years you still hold that divorce against him. It wasn't your fault in the first place, he allowed himself to be consumed by that corruption in Cameron Dennis' office. He blamed you for every little problem that he encountered, he pushed you away, told you that he never cared about you - even though that wasn't the truth. Not even close to the truth, because he was afraid.

Afraid that you'd cheat on him. Afraid that you'd leave him, he left first. So he'd be the winner.

"What is this really about?" He tried to keep his distance. "You can't even win this damn case." You insulted him, your words still able to cut through his thick walls. "- you defend capitalists. You're a clog in the machine, and you can't even defend an innocent woman." You were aware that your anger was misplaced, but he was the one standing in front of you - the object of your ire.

"You still can't let it go," his voice was a distant whisper. "- this world isn't a walk in the park. I told you that during the divorce, and I still mean it." He says the word 'divorce' with no reluctance, whereas he was avoiding that word a few hours ago. "You changed. I can't even recognize you," you chuckled mockingly. "What happened to the man who had a moral code?" You ask.

"You've been gone for a long time." He made an observation. "And we don't know each other that well. You were always away, building your career. Leaving me." He voices out his anger for the first time in decades. His jaw clenches again, but his eyes - oh you could tell from his eyes that he was heartbroken.

"So the divorce was my fault?" You queried.

"We barely spoke to each other. You didn't return my calls, you pushed me out, you made me think that there was someone else." He points a finger at you, raising his voice by an octave. "I was scared that if I answered you, then we'd fight. So I ignored you because ignoring you was better than losing you!" You yell.

The last years of your marriage was hell. Every little thing that unnerved you of each other was brought out, used in arguments - and the very swords that you promised to defend each other with, was used to stab each other in the back.

"You gave me the divorce papers, I told you that we could fix our marriage and you ignored me too. I'm not the villain that you're making me out to be, Harvey." You take a deep breath, regaining your composure and walking out of his office.

(A DAY AFTER THE DIVORCE PAPERS WERE GIVEN)

I take a deep breath.

In and out, like she always told me to do.

How long has it been since we've last spoken to each other? The only time that I was able to hear the sound of her voice was when the judge spoke to her and she requested for half of my properties. I should hate her for doing that but I don't.

"Harvey, I'm sorry for that plea with the judge. I don't know how to get your attention without suing you. We both made mistakes, but that isn't a good enough reason to let go. Let's fix us. I love you, and please call me back." The voicemail ends and I take the phone off my ear. I love you, three words that I have never said to her before.

I can see her sitting on the corner spot of the cafe - the cafe where we had our first date because the steakhouse that I booked mysteriously got shot down, and she insisted on having coffee for dinner. I can see her wearing the red dress that she wore on her song recital - the first time that I was able to hear her perfect voice.

I want to enter the room, but I can't.

I reach for my phone, dialing her familiar number.

It rings a few times, and I see her fish for her phone inside the bag.

"Hello?" I hear her voice on the other line. "Harvey, are you coming?" She asks, but I'm already here - without the courage to walk through the doors. "Harvey," she says my voice in a firm tone.

I open my mouth to speak but no voice comes out. I'm scared, and what if she'll leave me in the future? I should leave before she falls out of love with me, before she realizes that I'm not worth the sweat. "- for christ's sake. If you're here to laugh at me." Her voice becomes frustrated, and I see her stand up.

She hangs up.

"I love you too," but she was unable to hear me.

10:00pm

Harvey takes a swig of his beer, making his way to an apartment that he hasn't been in for a long time. This used to be your shared apartment with him, and he got ownership of it in the settlement. He opens the door with the keys in his pocket (keys that he's always kept in his pockets just in case he needed to return).

The apartment didn't smell like you anymore, it smelled like dust. The pristine white couch was now a muddied version of grey, and all the portraits you had together were covered with a thick layer of dust. He takes a deep breath, sitting down on the floor beside the vinyl shelf.

He took all of his vinyls and placed them in his office, but yours were still there. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Don McLean and Coldplay, your favorite artists - and he hasn't listened to them in a while. He doesn't understand how your marriage with him took a sharp turn - he valued your love, held it close to his heart, but in the end it slept away from his hands, carried on and never looked back.

He opens the dusty vinyl box and plugs in the song.

The song that you were being sued for, and the song that he has only listened to once because he couldn't bear listening to your voice.

Slow down you crazy child, you're so ambitious for a juvenile. But if you're so smart, tell me why are you still so afraid? Where's the fire what's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out.

He opens one of the albums in the shelf. Elvis Presley's That's The Way It Is, which the both of you voted as the best Elvis album of all time, the soundtrack of your love story with him.

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through? When will you realize, Vienna waits for you.

The song continues playing in the background, and to his surprise a paper napkin was folded in the middle of the album, creating an indent that he hasn't noticed before. He reaches for the paper napkin, afraid that it would disintegrate with his touch. He unfolds it gently and to his surprise, the lyrics to the song that you were being sued for: Vienna, was written there.

To my husband, please remember that I'll be here waiting for you.

12:00 AM

He knocks on your apartment door, and you groggily open the door for him. "What the hell are you doing here?" Your eyebrows merged together, surprised by his sudden appearance. "I can win the case," he says with certainty - but already knew that. Harvey Specter is the best lawyer in NYC.

"You don't like losing. I get it." Your voice had hidden meaning.

Your eyes only softened once you realized that he was holding a laminated paper napkin in his right hand. "You found it," you take a deep breath, which probably also means that he was able to read the note that you wrote. "I went to our old apartment and it was-"

"In Elvis' album," you finished his sentence. "I didn't expect you to still have that apartment. I expected you to sell it the moment that it was given to you," it was your turn to make an observation.

"I'm sorry for hurting you." He made it very clear that he regretted the divorce, but should a relationship be founded on regret?

"It's in the past. We both have moved on." You partly lied.

"I was there in the cafe when you called me, and I wanted to talk to you but I was scared." He admitted, finally able to voice out his thoughts after all these years of keeping it in. "I was scared to tell you the truth because everyone who has loved me, has left me." He repeated, and suddenly a great weight was placed on your back.

"I think about you everyday," you confess.

Your hands in his necktie, pulling him closer towards your body. "What if we hurt each other worse?" It was your turn to voice your concern, eyes mirroring his - your fears were tangible. "Let's try again. I'd rather live knowing that we tried again, than live knowing that we could have but didn't." Harvey begs.

You answer him with a kiss to the lips.

A/N: will do a pt 2 fluff 🙏🏻 idk if people still watch suits but i love this show and i live breathe it.

[theorist-fox]

Some type of skin (and two keys)

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Currently crossposting previous works from AO3.

Inspired by "Some type of skin" by AURORA (I have an obsession and it's a Norwegian pale lady)

Summary: Johnny's passing has left you devastated. Simon is there to pick up the pieces, while you, although unconsciously, mend his tired heart.

CW: talk of grief, death and loss, angst, broken promises, hurt/comfort, soft Simon Riley but also angry Simon Riley. Mention of pharmacological drugs.

Masterlist 🦊

The air felt clogged; thickened and uncomfortably warm. You tried to blame it on the closed window and the unrelenting sun that reflected against the glass, but the truth was that you felt awkward in your own skin. The uniform clung to your body like a prison. Once, it had been your armor: the breathable dark green cotton of the tee, the black leather of the belt cinching your waist, until the thick camo trousers. They all felt bulletproof.

Yet, ever since you’d witnessed that bullet tearing a hole into Johnny’s head, each piece of clothing had turned into something akin to a goddamn straitjacket. It replayed in your head ad nauseam until it turned into a living nightmare. Until you saw his bloodless face in everyone around you, until you felt a hole in your own skull, as if his death were an omen of your end, as well.

For the first time in the years you had worked with the task force, you were the one who called for a meeting. Well, it was an informal encounter more than anything. A text you had sent simultaneously to all of them.

“We have to talk. Room 4A in HQ 10AM?”

By mere habit, you’d also sent it to Soap; it wrecked your heart to see the red alert on the right side of your bubble, the small Not Delivered right below it. The cracks shattered further when you received the automated response telling you that the number didn’t exist.

How could it not, when you had accumulated thousands of hours on phone calls? How could it not, when you could scroll for days on the chat and never find the first text he’d ever sent you?

You had tried, one of many sleepless evenings: your thumb almost ached due to the mere motion. Fingertip up. Swipe down. Fingertip up. Swipe down. You found it, then. Something old, ancient. The bubbles were green because iPhones still didn’t have the feature that allowed you to text using internet between Apple devices.

“glad to have you on the team. big boss gave me your number. this is soap anything you need im a text awya.”

“aywa*”

“away !!!!”

You'd laughed and it quickly morphed into strangled cries, until your vision got foggy, and your lids yielded. You fell asleep clutching the phone to your cheek.

After having spread his ashes on the Scottish Highlands, everyone had made the sensible decision of taking time off – a sort of unsanctioned compassionate leave. On the other hand, you stayed buried in the tight office you had in Stirling Lines. You couldn't handle the silence that your empty flat would bring. Granted, that didn’t mean you spent much time talking to passersby here at the headquarters, strangers and colleagues alike.

You hovered around the hallways like a specter – paled and depleted. Utterly unavailable to anyone who decided, for reasons unknown to you, to waste their breath on your person. You’d hear grieving words tossed your way, and you'd nod warmly at those. Polite. Affable. Like you’ve always been, even now that the light had been sapped out of you.

Johnny brought it with him - the light. The sun of the team: beautiful yet deadly. Necessary, but dangerous. Lethal only to those who tried to unravel his equilibrium, warm and inviting to the ones who embraced his person.

Now that he was gone, there was darkness – the world dimmed to pay its respects.

It had been eight months. During those, you had worked tirelessly to concoct a plan to have your revenge. Price sometimes knocked on your door only to find you hunched over blueprints and notes. The look he gave you each time was nothing short of pitiful. He didn’t try to stop you, but you could feel the disappointment seeping through your bones and grating them to dust.

Gaz brought you coffee, sometimes. He often came to your office, knocked softer than Price – a knuckle against wood, compared to all four of them incessantly rapping against the door. Sometimes, it wasn't coffee. Sometimes, despite how bad it might have looked, Gaz spilled a few drops of Rozerem in your chamomile tea, hoping it would force your eyes closed for some rest.

All of them, drove from their respective homes only to come and check on you. You wondered if they had an unofficial shift schedule, shared between them both.

Ghost, though. Ghost stayed. 

Angrier than you. Insatiable. Raging. Went for runs at ungodly hours, when the sun wasn’t even about to peek from the horizon. He monopolized the gym of the headquarters; an easy task for him, all he needed to do was use his thousand-yard stare against the unlucky lad who dared cross the threshold. When he felt like the punching bag had taken enough of his gauzed fists, he would come to your office – sweaty and bruised. He rarely bothered to shower. He’d sit next to you, and he’d help.

Everyday.

Ever the detached bastard he'd always been, he grew closer against his better judgment. Albeit it had been years since you had joined the task force under Price’s will, Ghost had always stood several steps away from you. Yet, lately, he’d woven himself to you like a spider spinning an intricate web. He wrapped you in a cocoon, and differently from the eight-legged creature, Simon didn’t want to drain the nectar of life.

He wanted to be your armor. A panoply of rustproof iron: encasing you in chainmail, helmet, and all.

It’s why, now, as you sat on your own at the briefing room table with the increasing temperature in the room, guilt ate you from the inside. Termites feasting on wood.

The first one to enter was Kyle. Pretty brown eyes looked at you fondly, as if they were taking in a long-lost friend. He sat next to you, exchanged a few tentative words, and smoothed the hair away from your forehead. He didn't care about the grease clinging to them, instead, he grazed short nails against your scalp as he told you about his week.

You were eternally grateful for him and his tactful ability to make you feel normal when life seemed to have turned askew.

Price walked in a few minutes later. Stoic as ever, but with kindness in his blues. He held a tray in his hands, four paper cups of steaming coffee balanced on it. He set it on the table and slumped on the chair in front of you. He asked you how you were doing. You answered that you were fine. You asked it back. He answered the same. No one believed a single word.

Ghost made you all wait. You explained that he was probably at the gym, or having a late-morning run around the training grounds. If they were worried about you, the concern for Ghost was something even greater. While only Price knew of the intricacies of his past, it didn’t take a doctorate in psychology to understand that whatever had forced him to wear the skull mask was something that still haunted him in the present.

You remembered it vividly, that one evening. Life had battered you both, kindred spirits in what seemed to be the inability to grieve properly.

You, with your head propped on the armrest of the narrow couch in your office. He, slumped on the cushions as he cradled your calves in his lap. A hand absently brushed the thick cotton of your work trousers. His eyes were to the ceiling. His empty stomach growled incessantly, much like yours – both running on fumes, caffeine, and nicotine, or the occasional shared bite stolen from the cafeteria after its closing time.

As your eyelids were about to flutter closed, you heard the rumble of his voice vibrating in his diaphragm, close to where he held your feet.

“Hooked by the ribs,” he said.

The inquisitive look you sent him was missed because he didn't divert his eyes from the ceiling.

“Buried alive,” he strained, “Crawled outta my own grave.”

It hit you later, that he was sharing. You slowly sat up, pushing your torso with your tired arms. You moved gingerly, afraid a mere shift in the air would cause him to sew his mouth shut. While you had an inkling that whatever happened to him must have been gruesome and cruel, those few words (which you were sure, merely scratched the surface) already caused your stomach to churn.

“They used me, tried to break me and they did.”

Your jaw worked. Propped on your elbows, you gulped down the stone in your throat. Eyes glued to the unmasked profile – to the crooked nose, flattened by punches and butts of guns, to the divot between his lips, to the absent brown eyes with their halo of pale lashes. His fingers curled around your ankle and his thumb brushed over your sock.

“Killed my family,” he went on, and you wondered if he was talking to you at all, “Killed my nephew, too.”

Barely noticing how your eyes glazed over with treacherous tears, you bent your knees over his thighs and scooted closer. The only indication that he had acknowledged your presence and wasn’t simply musing out loud was how his palms shifted: from your ankles, up to your calves. He furled his fingers around the meaty part, while his other hand blindly went to look for your neck. He rested his palm against the side of it, let his thumb trace the outline of your jaw.

“Took everything from me, turned me into this,” he muttered, and his brows furrowed while his pupils danced over the chipped paint of the ceiling.

Half of the times you were given the luxury to gaze at the face beneath the mask, you’ve wondered where those scars came from. What kind of heroic deed had he carried out that caused each mark, or what awful act he must have committed that ended up leaving perpetual memories of it, etched in his flesh.

Never, not once, you thought someone else purposefully did it to him. Someone so cruel, so brutal, that made him regrow his skin – like a snake, shedding his frail past to build a thicker armor.

“The army left me to rot, y’know," he whispered, and although you weren't answering (truthfully, you were barely breathing) he knew you were listening.

“But not Price,” his thumb pressed into your cheek, “Not Price, nor Garrick, or you – or Soap.”

It was grimly ironic how such an idiotic callsign could bring this remarkable heaviness on your heart. The silence lingered after he uttered it, either a way to pay respect or a simple inability to continue right afterwards. Because that’s how it felt like.

Months ago, when his body flattened against the concrete of a forgotten underground tunnel, the word Soap met an end. Forever, there will be nothing else to add right after it, if not things you already knew, or heavy silence.

“Can’t lose any more people in this life,” he sighed, “Johnny must be the goddamn last, y’hear?”

You heard.

You craned your neck to the side so your cheek would slot in his palm. Saltwater dampened your skin and moistened his calluses.

“Deal,” you croaked.

He nodded, taking in your word, digesting it. A stupid promise, really. No one can pledge such a thing, but at that moment he cared very little for it. Especially when he felt your lips press against his palm.

“Deal.”

You bit your thumbnail in silence, then brought it in front of your eyes to look at the red indent around it. A droplet of blood seeped through the crack, and you suckled on it to soothe it.

Ghost abruptly walked in, the door almost flying off its hinges. He closed it behind him but didn’t take a seat. Instead, he rested his back against the shut threshold and folded his arms in front of his chest. A nod of his jaw that shifted the fabric of the balaclava was all he offered.

Now that everyone was in, the moment you had been dreading the most arrived. Albeit you had been planning this for weeks, your stomach still felt like it had swallowed a rock.

You stood up, wonky on your feet. The chair screeched as it slid back.

“I’m retiring.”

If the silence was thick before, now it felt like a boulder.

When volcanos erupt, it’s rare for lava to burst into the air and fall like sizzling rain over the landscape below it. What kills every living creature, it’s the dust that settles afterwards: it's scorching hot, stops life in its tracks.

The moment the words bubbled from your throat like molten lava, the residues puffed out of your crater and deposited on everything surrounding you. The room now felt like a ghost town, with each breathing soul inside turned into a forever statue.

The only thing that moved was Simon, who wrenched the door open and left.

It had been weeks since you last saw him. Well, you did see him: Stirling Lines wasn't that big. But he didn't see you. He didn't knock on your door anymore and barely acknowledged your presence if he found you in his vicinity.

It felt pointless to continue your search for attribution if he wasn’t looking for it with you, so with a quick swipe of your arm, you trashed every blueprint, every post-it note, every map, and leaflet. Maybe that would grant Soap some rest as well.

A signature away from your departure, you were lying in your bed, ready to knock yourself out with a few droplets of benzodiazepine. The route to the comatose dreamless night that awaited you, though, was interrupted by a series of raps against your door.

After years in the military, you had developed quite the remarkable hearing – if one was willing to exclude the tinnitus. It meant you could recognize whose footsteps belonged to whom, whose breathing was coming from whose mouth, and which knock pertained to which hands. You knew these knuckles, indeed. Hastily tossing your legs over the edge of the bed, you padded your socked feet against the linoleum of your private quarters. Fingers shakily curled around the doorknob, and you yanked the door open.

It wasn’t like in movies, when after such a long absence time slows down when your eyes touch, no.

It was raw, irate, and spiteful.

Simon placed a thick hand on your shoulder and shoved you aside to barge in. You barely managed to recollect your balance when he slammed the door closed behind him. He looked around the room as if searching for something but not being quite sure of what. Habit, you thought.

Brown eyes that never showed much of the constant turmoil brewing in his head now landed on you sizzling with hatred.

He yanked the mask off. It fell limply to the ground.

His cheeks were flushed, whether from the warmth that had been building behind the cheap fabric of the mask or from hot anger, you couldn’t tell.

"We had a deal.”

It ripped the air from your lungs, vacuumed them clean, and ironed them flat. Your hand flew at the base of your throat, fingers nervously rubbing against your collarbone.

His voice was clouded by an unbreachable fog of anger. You felt as if you were sailing through the ocean on a moonless night, only darkness ahead of you and a single oar in your hands. That’s how it felt to navigate through Simon Riley, even now that you had managed to have a grasp on the person he was.

Your pupils traveled along his person to settle on his face, not jaded like usual but contorted in a scowl. The strain at the junction of his jaw wasn’t a new sight, nor were the taut tendons of his neck.

Sometimes, he’d fall asleep on the couch in your office; your head on his shoulder or cradled in his lap. You’d wake up then, at the sound of teeth grinding. Bruxism in his sleep, jagged sounds that made your hair stand on end. Gingerly, you used to lift your hands and press the tips of your fingers at his jaw hinge, massaging the spot until he stopped.

You wished you could do it now.

"I’m sorry," you replied calmly, trying to quell his spirits and failing spectacularly.

He took hasty steps around the room, pacing like a lunatic. You didn’t have the guts to walk closer to stop him, not yet. What left his lips next, though, made you want to crumble to the floor like a house of cards.

“Leaving ‘cause I told you all tha’?” he snapped, “’cause you can’t handle another broken case to add to your file?”

Fear of approaching him left your body like steam from a cup, indeed that’s what you did. As he relentlessly paced around the cramped space of a military-issued room, you stopped him with a gentle hand on his bicep.

He froze and yanked his arm away. Your palm like blistering coal against his skin.

You knew he was as hulking as they come, you knew he was built like a goddamned brick house, and you knew he towered over you (he towered over most, in your defense). Yet, nothing could have prepared you for the way he languidly turned to face you, looking down. You craned your neck back, otherwise your eyes would only meet his collarbones, peeking through the loose black tee he was wearing – casual comfort clothes he wore to sleep at night, those few times he did.

"Never think that,” you stated, stressing the adverb, “Never think that.”

You swallowed thickly, yet your eyes never wavered, "I – It’s complicated,” but it truly wasn’t.

Your expression softened, but you knew it would do little to smother the flames in his eyes, ready to flatten the entirety of the room.

"After Johnny, I couldn’t anymore,” you whispered, “I can’t, Simon.”

The defeated tone of yours had the bite of a skillfully honed blade. It cracked his ribcage open and stabbed the heart he didn't think he owned anymore.

He murmured then, eyes narrowed, “The fuck you mean you can’t?”

Your mouth curled down and you rolled your lips between your teeth. The tip of your tongue soothed a crack in the skin.

"I'm scared," you wheezed as if the words were difficult to utter. Scared of loss, scared of death, scared of pain, scared of scars, both physical and mental. Scared of the future, scared of your past and his, scared it would haunt you until you'd turn cold and stiff - all the people you've killed and those who survived. Fear, in its unfettered, most gut-wrenching form.

He tongued his cheek, somewhat irritated by the statement. He let the words stick like molasses to his eardrums, muffling each sound. Simon wasn’t a stranger to fear; he walked with it hand-in-hand, a faithful companion that never left his shadow. Yet, he hated that you were feeling it because in his mind you didn't deserve it.

He would have liked to tell you that, but words always failed him when he needed them the most.

"Thought you’d have grown thick skin by now," his voice was low, controlled, and deadly. Meant to hurt, meant not to graze but to cut. It was all he knew, how to hurt – especially when he was aching as well.

You looked up at him through the furrow of your brows, brief anger flashing in your eyes. You set it aside, instead opting to cast your gaze sideways. You cupped your elbows in a sort of self-reassuring hug, thumbs indenting in the flesh of your biceps.

"I wish I did,” you murmured, “Can’t grow that type of skin, it seems.”

He wanted to rebuild the cocoon he had so carefully crafted around you. He wanted to go back being the shield that kept you from any harm. The chainmail that prevented each stab.

He wanted to be that skin you didn’t seem to grow, like a reptile losing its inborn ability to replenish its flesh.

Johnny’s passing took his cold heart and thrashed it. The bond he deepened with you afterwards made it regrow. He wondered, when he'd look at you during those days, as you leeched your brain dry over blueprints and notes, if you were aware of it.

You scared him most delightfully, and he thought whether his heart should reveal itself to be more than a muscle, or a fist covered in blood.

That's why the resentful look in your eyes felt like fresh water on the fire in his chest. How could he let you drain yourself dry over this, when you had been the only light the moment his world blew out each candle.

So, his anger took the backseat, and he sighed. Drawn-out, long, and tortuous.

“Where you goin’, then?” he said, softer.

You felt it, the sorrow of his tone. It made your head swivel in his direction. You blinked, opened your mouth to answer, and hesitated.

“Bury,” you breathed, “Bury St. Edmunds.”

His eyes narrowed in thought: you could almost see the map of England he had cast in front of him reflected in his pupils.

“’s about a four-hour drive from here," his voice trailed off.

"Yeah," you mused, slightly confused by the abrupt switch in his behavior. But you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, were you?

Instead, your hands slid up your arms soothingly, "Found a nice flat there, in the city center.”

You shrugged, trying to act as if it wasn’t a big deal, although Simon could tell it was by the way your eyes twinkled at the mention. Something new, something fresh that promised a new beginning, away from bloodshed and loss, closer to warmth and familiarity.

Closer to home.

"It’s nice. It has a small balcony that faces the cathedral,” you went on, sounding almost bashful, “Was thinkin’ about growing my own herbs? Like basil, and such.”

He didn’t reply or move. Barely breathed.

Just stared.

Stared at the soft expression on your face, at the way your lashes framed your eyes. Stared at the way your lip trembled, ever so slightly, as you blabbered about such ordinary things like balconies, and churches and bloody herbs.

He could already picture you with dirt under your bitten fingernails as you dug into brown, ceramic vases, refusing to wear gardening gloves.

He could hear your bare feet padding against the hardwood floor as you went on to brew your tea. Or the squeaking sound of the cushions of a leather couch as you dropped on it, without a care in the world, holding a book by its spine.

You truly disarmed him in that simplicity – a dress he realized he would’ve loved to see you wear more often.

You seemed unaware of the subtle awe that glinted in his pupils, since you went on to add how the flat had a guest room – although it completely flew over his thick head. What did reach his eardrums, though, was what you said next, "And it has two keys."

He snapped out of his reverie and swallowed.

"Two keys," he echoed.

His willpower felt as thin as an ice slab under the blistering sun. It melted pitifully and turned into a warm puddle in his chest. Nothing could’ve stopped him as his feet marched to you, closing both physical and emotional gaps.

He palmed your cheek and whispered with certain hoarseness in his voice, "Two damn keys.”

Your heart swelled three times its size. You swore you felt the indents left against it by each rib. Leaning your cheek against his hand, like you’d done many nights before, the most subtle of smiles graced your features.

Simon vowed he’d fight tooth and nail to see it grow.

You whispered, then, "If you want, you can just drive those four hours 'n pop in. I'll make you a cuppa, maybe take you for a tour around Bury.”

His eyes softened – crinkles at the corners and brows twitching in the middle.

"Four fuckin' hours for a cuppa and a tour,” he mumbled, "What are you, the Queen of England?"

You huffed a chuckle, pretending to find his sarcasm annoying by adding a roll of your eyes. Truthfully, you’d pay good fucking money to hear it daily.

"I'm gonna need the spare key, though" he whispered, his thumb brushed your cheek reverently.

You lifted your hand to trace his often-cracked knuckles with the pads of your fingers, “Not a spare key – your key.”

Simon swallowed thickly again. He ran his tongue over his teeth, clamping his jaw shut. His gaze hardened, his pupils danced about your face, awfully concentrated, as if he were refraining from doing something.

His sudden silence made your resolve waver. You removed your hand from the back of his, curling your fingers as if you were touching some hot surface. It stayed there, furled in a loose fist in the space between your chests.

“You could come and spend your leaves there," you whispered tentatively, "Leave your things at my flat, so each time you come over they're already there."

It took all your courage to speak, but you knew the die had been cast already. The only thing left for you to do was to simply go for it and take the damage, or leave victorious.

"Until it's full of you,” you released a shaky breath, “Until it's your little flat, too."

Simon’s breath suddenly shortened. He'd never felt at home, not even when he was supposed to have one. He'd come close to it when his brother got clean and managed to build a family for himself, or when the task force was tight-knit, with Johnny chatting his ear off with his incomprehensible Scottish lilt. But it was never his.

This, though.

He’d be damned if he let it slip through the cracks of his fingers.

"Until it's our flat," he breathed.

His other hand reached out as well, and he placed it on your opposite cheek, "Until it’s our little flat.”

You’d be lying if you said those weren’t words you had been reciting in your head ever since you put in your retirement request. Ever since you started looking for a flat that could host two people instead of one.

Indeed, you’d naively thought that the moment they would be uttered (if ever) you would have been ready for them. But you weren't, not at all – they felt like a gut punch.

You had to bite your lip to repress tears that had treacherously made their way into your eyes, now glossy and a little wide. To think that you were able, somehow, to give him some reprieve from a life that seemed to not want him, gave you incommensurable joy.

"Our home," you croaked.

"Our home," he echoed languidly, with a thick voice, as if it hurt to speak, "Our bed. And our bloody balcony on the cathedral, and our sofa, our kitchen, and – “

He paused. Swallowed, seemingly torn. Words seemed to fail him again, but he didn’t let them – not this time. He’d fight through the fear of it all being the umpteenth joke life was taunting him with. Not you, never you – his one good hand in a lifetime of poor draws.

"And every – fucking – thing in between."

You chuckled. It’s wet with tears and disbelief.

Oh, to see him thrive in anticipation for something, instead of dreading what life has in store for him.

Your hand left the gentle grip it had on his knuckles, and you cupped his face as well – mimicking how he was holding yours.

"Every," you whispered, "Bloody, fucking thing," and nudged your nose with his, "In between."

Your lips landed on his instantly.

It was stupidly clumsy at first because you were both torn in half between what felt good and what was right. His tongue slipped between your lips as soon as you parted them for air; your teeth clacked together. You chuckled against his lips; he drank it like an oasis. His life parched of what you could give him, what you were giving him.

It took him a moment to get used to the sensation, to adjust to you. But when he finally did, he kissed you back ravenously, nothing shy from desperate. He craved your touch so fiercely. A push and pull of wandering hands, tangled in your hair and yours in his.

You were finally back where he wanted you, in the cocoon he crafted just for you, made with his flesh. Bulletproof arms around you, holding tighter—as if his ribcage could open and he could store you there, where you'd be forever safe.

He placed his foot between your legs, pushing them open. You complied when he gently nudged your knee so you’d fall back against the mattress.

Eventually, your lips parted. You and Simon shared a breath.

You were positively flushed, breathless, and limp in his grasp. He thought he'd never seen anything this breathtaking.

You smiled, all teeth and creases at the corners of your eyes, cheeks tipped pink as they pushed against your eyes – little crescents he’d look at for days on end.

Simon was left a little dumbfounded, though, when you squirmed under his weight to extend an arm. He followed it with his eyes and saw your hand struggling to fumble with the drawer of your nightstand. You pulled out a key and held it in the space between your faces. 

"Your key," you whispered bashfully, as if unaware that the mere sight sent Simon's heart into arrhythmia.

You placed a soft peck to his lips, "To our home."

Simon let out a staggered exhale. He wrapped his fingers around the key, closed his fist around it.

A symbol of a new beginning, one that Simon finally didn’t dread. Something good rippling through his life like fresh water, even amidst the mud of shared grief and loss.

We're good people,

And we both deserve peace.

"To our home," he whispered back, "To our home."

And let breath be air, 

And love the things I know might disappear.

And the last light of the sun

I let it slow me down

I'll crawl where everybody runs.

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (the future)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: eyes of the realm

- Next part: sunrise

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was alive with revelry, the floor filled with dancers as the music swelled to joyous heights. Lords and ladies clapped in rhythm, their faces aglow with celebration. At the center of it all, the newlywed couples—Rhaenyra and Laenor, you and Jason—moved gracefully, the splendor of the occasion reaching its peak.

Jason’s green eyes rarely left you as you danced together, his hand firm around your waist, guiding you effortlessly across the floor. His smile was unguarded, a mix of pride and affection, and though the room was crowded, he made you feel as if it were just the two of you.

���I think I’ve surprised a few here tonight,” Jason murmured, his tone light.

You tilted your head slightly toward him, your serene smile unchanging. “Surprised them how?”

Jason leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. “By being the one to marry you. Half of them thought I’d never wed, let alone win the favor of a Targaryen princess.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light as a breeze. “Perhaps they underestimated you.”

Jason smirked, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Perhaps.”

Before you could respond, a sudden commotion rippled through the hall. The doors to the Great Hall swung open with a resounding clang, drawing every eye toward the entrance. The musicians faltered, their melody dying mid-note, and the dancers stilled as a figure stepped through the threshold.

Daemon Targaryen.

The Rogue Prince strode into the hall as if he owned it. Dressed in black leather with accents of deep crimson, his presence was like a dark specter that descended upon the jubilant atmosphere of the wedding feast. His dark violet, piercing eyes swept over the room, his expression unreadable but for the slight curl of his lips—a smirk that sent a shiver through the crowd.

Gasps and murmurs filled the air as he made his way toward the center of the hall, his boots clicking against the stone floor. The dread was visible, the once-lively celebration frozen under the weight of his unexpected arrival.

Jason’s grip on you tightened protectively as Daemon’s gaze locked onto him. The Rogue Prince stopped just short of the two of you, his smirk deepening as he addressed Jason directly.

“So,” Daemon drawled, his voice carrying effortlessly through the silence. “It’s true. My little star has been given to a Lannister.” His tone dripped with disdain, his eyes narrowing as they raked over Jason. “And not just any Lannister… but you.”

Jason straightened, his green eyes meeting Daemon’s without flinching. “Prince Daemon,” he said, his tone respectful but firm. “I wasn’t aware you’d be attending.”

Daemon ignored the remark, taking a step closer. “When I heard the news, I wanted to burn down Casterly Rock and cut off your head.” His words were delivered with a chilling calm, the smirk never leaving his lips. “Imagine my surprise when I learned it was you—Jason Lannister—who dared to take her.”

The hall was deathly silent, the gathered lords and ladies holding their breaths. Even Viserys, seated at the royal table, looked alarmed, though he made no move to interrupt. Alicent leaned in to whisper something to him, her expression tight with worry.

Jason remained composed, though his hand on yours betrayed a hint of anxiety. “I assure you, Prince Daemon, my intentions toward your niece are nothing but honorable.”

“Honorable?” Daemon scoffed, his smirk widening into something more sinister. “You expect me to believe that? She’s barely come of age, and yet here you are, her husband, her protector. Tell me, Jason, what lies did you weave to seduce her into this marriage?”

Before Jason could respond, your voice broke through the exchange, calm and steady. “Uncle.”

Daemon turned his gaze to you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Little star,” he said, the nickname carrying a weight of affection and protectiveness. “Do you even realize what’s been done here?”

You took a step forward, your hand slipping from Jason’s to touch Daemon’s arm gently. “I know exactly what has been done. This was my choice, Uncle, and no one else’s. Jason has treated me with nothing but respect and care.”

Daemon’s eyes searched your face, his smirk faltering. “You’re certain of this?”

“I am,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “You have no need to protect me from him.”

For a moment, Daemon said nothing, his gaze shifting between you and Jason. Finally, he exhaled, stepping back. “Fine,” he said, his tone begrudging. “But don’t think for a moment that I’ll be far. One misstep, Jason, and you’ll answer to me.”

Jason inclined his head, his expression composed. “Understood, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon glanced at you once more, his gaze lingering with a mixture of affection and unease. Then, with a sharp turn, he strode toward the royal table, taking a seat beside Viserys. The dread in the hall began to ease, though whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.

Jason turned to you, his green eyes searching your expression. “Are you all right?”

You nodded, your smile returning. “I am. Thank you.”

Jason exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening briefly before he released it. “He’s certainly protective, isn’t he?”

You chuckled softly. “He always has been. But he’ll come around… eventually.”

Jason nodded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I look forward to it.”

The music resumed, the dancers slowly returning to the floor. Though the celebration continued, the presence of the Rogue Prince remained a shadow over the feast, a reminder that even amidst joy, the tensions of family and power were never far.

The Great Hall buzzed with the lingering energy of the night’s celebration. The music had softened, the dancing slowed, and the crowd began to thin as the time approached for the brides and grooms to retire. A murmur rippled through the gathered lords and ladies as they realized that no traditional bedding ceremony had been called—a decision likely made out of respect for the King and his daughters.

Jason Lannister stood beside you, his hand resting gently on your arm. His eyes swept the room, noting the subtle nods and murmurs of approval as Laenor Velaryon rose from the high table and extended his hand to Rhaenyra. The Princess of Dragonstone accepted with practiced grace, her expression regal but composed. Together, they descended the steps, moving toward the exit as the room watched in quiet expectation.

Jason turned his gaze to you, his expression softening. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You inclined your head, your lilac eyes steady despite their unseeing nature. “Yes, Jason.”

With that, he offered his arm, and you took it, your fingers resting lightly against the fine fabric of his sleeve. The golden lion’s cloak draped over your shoulders shimmered under the flickering torchlight as Jason began to lead you carefully down the steps. The murmurs in the hall grew louder as the lords and ladies turned their attention to the second couple, their whispers a mixture of curiosity and approval.

Jason moved with deliberate care, ensuring each step was steady for you. His green eyes darted briefly to the Lannister table, where his mother dabbed at her eyes once more, and Tyland raised his goblet in silent acknowledgment. A faint smile played at Jason’s lips before he refocused entirely on you.

“You’ve handled tonight beautifully,” Jason murmured as they reached the floor. “Far better than I have, I think.”

You smiled, your voice soft. “You’ve been wonderful, Jason. More than I could have asked for.”

The sincerity in your words made Jason’s heart swell, and he tightened his hold on your arm ever so slightly. The crowd parted before you, their gazes respectful but curious as the Lord of Casterly Rock escorted his new bride from the Great Hall. The weight of the moment was not lost on him—this was no mere formality but the beginning of a union that would reshape the realm.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quieter, the sound of your footsteps accompanied only by the faint rustle of your gown and the distant hum of the city outside. Jason walked at your pace, his demeanor calm and composed, though his heart raced with anticipation.

“Are you nervous?” he asked gently, breaking the silence.

You tilted your head slightly, a faint smile gracing your lips. “Should I be?”

Jason chuckled softly. “Perhaps. I am, a little.”

You turned your face toward him, your smile widening. “I trust you, Jason. There’s no need for nerves.”

His steps faltered briefly at your words, but he quickly recovered, his expression softening. “You honor me, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I’ll do everything I can to deserve that trust.”

The chamber doors loomed ahead, flanked by guards who bowed respectfully as you approached. Jason nodded to them, his grip on your arm steady as he guided you inside. The room was warm and inviting, illuminated by the soft glow of countless candles. The bed, adorned with crimson and gold silks, stood at the center, a symbol of the union now sealed.

Jason paused, turning to face you fully. He reached up to gently remove the golden cloak from your shoulders, folding it carefully and placing it aside. Then, taking your hands in his, he looked at you with an expression of quiet reverence.

“You’re extraordinary,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving myself worthy of you.”

You smiled, your fingers tightening around his. “You already have, Jason.”

Jason’s lips then pressed against yours with a fervor that left no room for doubt or hesitation. The softness of his earlier demeanor gave way to a more primal need, and you met him with equal intensity, your hands threading through his golden hair. The kiss deepened, each breath shared between you igniting a fire that burned away any remaining nerves.

His hands moved to the intricate laces of your gown, deftly undoing them with a surprising tenderness that belied the passion in his kiss. The fabric fell away, pooling at your feet like a silken river. You followed his lead, your fingers fumbling slightly but determined as you worked to undo the fastenings of his doublet. When it finally slipped off, exposing the broad expanse of his chest, your hands roamed instinctively, tracing the planes of muscle and warmth beneath your fingertips.

Jason scooped you into his arms, cradling you as if you were made of something precious and fragile. He carried you to the bed, the silks cool against your bare skin as he laid you down gently. You felt his gaze lingered on you, an expression of awe crossing his features, and sensation of it made your cheeks flush despite the intimacy of the moment.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his voice husky and reverent.

Before you could respond, his lips descended to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that sent shivers racing down your spine. He worshipped every inch of you, his hands exploring with a reverence that made your heart ache. When his hand slipped between your thighs, his touch was gentle yet purposeful, his fingers ensuring that your body was ready to receive him. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively arched into his touch, the unfamiliar sensation stirring something deep within you.

“Hold onto me,” Jason murmured, his voice a soothing balm to your racing thoughts. His weight shifted above you as he positioned himself, one hand braced beside your head and the other guiding himself to you. You obeyed, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he began to press into you with an excruciating slowness, giving you time to adjust.

The initial discomfort made you tense, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body struggled to accommodate his. Jason stilled immediately, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss that was meant to comfort and distract.

“Breathe, my love,” he whispered against your lips, his voice steady and calm. “I won’t move until you’re ready.”

You clung to him, focusing on the warmth of his body and the gentle kisses he lavished on your skin. Slowly, the sharp edge of the pain began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of fullness and connection. You shifted beneath him experimentally, and the soft sound of approval that escaped his lips sent a spark of confidence through you.

“I’m ready,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Jason began to move, his strokes slow and deliberate at first, as if he feared hurting you. Your bodies found a rhythm, the pain giving way to a pleasure so overwhelming that it stole the breath from your lungs. His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, and his low groans filled the air, mingling with the sound of your shared passion.

As the pleasure between you built, his movements became more urgent, his control slipping as his desire overtook him. Your hands roamed his back, your nails raking across his skin as the fire within you burned brighter with each thrust.

“Y/N,” Jason groaned, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re… everything.”

His words were a balm to your soul, and you pulled him closer, your lips capturing his in a kiss that spoke of everything you couldn’t put into words. The world beyond the walls of the chamber ceased to exist; there was only Jason, his body entwined with yours, and the unbreakable bond forged between you in this moment.

Soon, Jason’s rhythm grew more urgent, his control slipping as the intensity of your shared passion built to an unstoppable crescendo. His lips found your neck, brushing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, and his voice was a low, desperate growl. Each thrust drew a whimper from your lips, and his name tumbled out in breathless fragments, a prayer to the man who now held your entire world in his hands.

Your body tightened beneath him as you approached the precipice, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his back. The tension inside you reached its breaking point, and you cried out, your voice trembling with the force of your release. Jason stilled for only a heartbeat as your body pulsed around him, his breath catching in awe at the sight of your bliss. Then, as if your ecstasy had been his undoing, he groaned your name, his movements growing erratic.

“Y/N,” he gasped, his voice rough, “I… gods, I can’t—”

He buried himself fully inside you, pulling your trembling body closer as his own release overtook him. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in ragged gasps. The weight of him pressing you into the silken sheets was grounding, as though you were the anchor holding him steady even in this moment of unrestrained vulnerability. The room was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the scent of sandalwood and lavender mingling with the unmistakable musk of your union.

Jason remained still for a long moment, as though reluctant to separate from you, before carefully shifting to your side. His arms remained around you, pulling you close as his lips brushed your damp forehead. The golden lion of Casterly Rock, who had conquered countless challenges, now held you with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his voice soft and laced with concern. His hand gently swept over your hair, brushing loose strands from your face as his emerald eyes searched your face for any sign of discomfort. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, a small, blissful smile playing at your lips. “No, Jason. I’m fine. Better than fine.” Your voice was a soft whisper, yet it carried all the warmth of your sincerity. “You were gentle. You were perfect.”

Jason exhaled a breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing as he tightened his hold on you. “You’re certain?” His fingers traced delicate patterns along your bare shoulder, his gaze never leaving your face. “If there’s even the slightest pain…”

“There isn’t,” you interrupted gently, reaching up to touch his cheek. The stubble on his jaw prickled your fingers as you caressed his skin. “You were careful, Jason. You’ve done nothing but take care of me.”

His lips quirked into a soft smile, though his eyes remained serious. “I made a promise, Y/N. I intended to keep it.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned up to kiss him, a lingering press of your lips that conveyed all the gratitude and affection you couldn’t put into words. When you pulled away, his smile had softened into something radiant.

The two of you lay in comfortable silence for a while, the quiet hum of the city outside muffled by the heavy stone walls. Jason’s fingers continued their soothing exploration of your skin, his touch light and reverent. The warmth of his body against yours, combined with the heady scent of lavender and sandalwood, created a cocoon of safety that you never wanted to leave.

“I never imagined this,” you admitted after a while, your voice barely above a whisper. “That this could feel… so right.”

Jason’s brows furrowed slightly, and he shifted to prop himself on one elbow, looking down at you. “Did you doubt me, my love?” he teased gently, though there was no accusation in his tone.

“No,” you replied with a soft smile. “But I doubted myself. I doubted whether I could ever truly belong to someone—to you—like this.”

His expression grew serious, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet tender, “you’ve always belonged to me, as I belong to you. There’s no doubt in my mind, no hesitation. You are my heart, my light, my everything. Don’t ever doubt your place with me.”

Your throat tightened with emotion at his words, and you nodded, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “I won’t,” you promised. “Not anymore.”

Jason pressed his forehead to yours, the two of you sharing a quiet moment of unspoken understanding. When he finally pulled back, his lips quirked into a mischievous smile. “Though, if I’m being honest,” he said, his tone light, “I’m rather proud of myself. You’ve made me work harder for this than anything in my life.”

You laughed softly, a sound that made his smile widen. “And you succeeded, Lord Lannister,” you teased. “You’ve won.”

Jason’s smile turned into a satisfied smirk as he leaned down to kiss you again, a lingering press of his lips that reignited the embers of passion. “Then let me enjoy my victory a little longer,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of promise.

And as his hands began to roam once more, you knew the night was far from over.

The morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a warm, amber glow across the room. The lingering scents from the night before hung in the air, mingling with the faint freshness of the dawn. The sound of soft footsteps echoed faintly outside the chamber doors before a polite knock interrupted the stillness.

Jason stirred first, his arm draped possessively across your waist. He blinked, his green eyes slowly adjusting to the light, before a faint smile tugged at his lips as he gazed at you. Your hair, disheveled and strewn across the pillows, framed your face, and his heart swelled with a tenderness he could scarcely put into words. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple before the knock sounded again.

“Come in,” Jason called, his voice still husky with sleep.

The door opened, revealing Marna, her weathered face alight with an air of cheerful efficiency. Beside her was Alys, clutching a folded bundle of fresh linens. Their eyes briefly took in the state of the room—discarded clothing strewn across the floor, the disheveled bedclothes—and a knowing smile played at Marna’s lips.

“Good morning, my lord, my lady,” Marna said warmly, dipping into a respectful curtsey. Alys followed suit, her cheeks tinged pink as she avoided looking directly at the bed. “We’re here to set things in order and assist you both in preparing for breakfast.”

Jason sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, and ran a hand through his tousled golden hair. “Thank you,” he replied with a nod. “Though I fear we’ve left you with quite the task.”

Marna chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “Nothing we can’t handle, my lord. Young love often leaves a mess behind.”

Your cheeks flushed at her words, and you pulled the sheet higher around yourself as you stirred awake. Jason noticed and placed a reassuring hand over yours. “Good morning, my love,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection.

You smiled sleepily, turning your face toward him. “Good morning, Jason.”

Alys busied herself gathering the discarded garments from the floor, her movements quick and precise. Marna approached the bed, her hands deftly arranging a fresh set of linens on the nearby table. “Shall we draw a bath for you, my lady?” she asked, her tone kind and unobtrusive.

“Yes, please,” you replied, your voice soft. “And thank you, Marna.”

“Of course, princess,” Marna said, her smile widening. She gestured to Alys, who nodded and disappeared through a side door to prepare the bath.

Jason stood, wrapping a robe around himself before crossing the room to help you rise. He extended a hand, and you accepted it, letting him guide you to your feet. The cool stone floor sent a slight shiver through you, but Jason was quick to steady you, his hand warm and reassuring against your back.

“You’re more attentive than I deserve,” you teased lightly, your voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Jason smirked. “Nonsense. You deserve far more than I could ever give.”

Marna worked efficiently, stripping the bed of its used linens and replacing them with fresh ones. As she fluffed the pillows, she glanced over her shoulder with a sly grin. “It seems you’ve had a good start to your marriage, if I may say so.”

Jason chuckled, his eyes glinting with humor. “I’d say so, Marna. Though the credit lies entirely with my lady wife.”

You flushed again, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, Jason.”

A soft knock on the side door signaled Alys’s return. “The bath is ready, princess,” she said, her voice quiet but cheerful.

Marna stepped aside, gesturing toward the adjoining chamber. “Go on, my lady. We’ll have everything tidied up here before you return.”

Jason placed a gentle hand on your back, guiding you toward the bathing chamber. “I’ll join you shortly,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Don’t take too long, or I might come in after you.”

You laughed softly, stepping into the warm, steamy air of the bathing room. Alys stood by the large tub, her hands clasped in front of her, ready to assist. Jason lingered at the doorway, watching you with a fond expression before returning to the main room to allow you your privacy.

Marna waited until the door closed behind you before turning to Jason. “She’s a gem, my lord,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “You’ve been blessed.”

Jason nodded, his expression softening. “I know, Marna. She’s everything I could have hoped for—and more.”

The older woman smiled knowingly, her hands deftly folding the used linens. “Then take care of her, my lord. She deserves nothing less.”

Jason met her gaze, his jaw firm with determination. “I will. You have my word.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as the servants worked, and Jason busied himself dressing for the day. When you finally emerged from the bathing chamber, wrapped in a soft robe, Jason was waiting for you, his hand extended once more. Together, you prepared for the day ahead, the bond between you stronger than ever as you faced the world as husband and wife.

The Great Hall was already filled with chatter when you and Jason entered, the low murmur of voices punctuated by the clatter of dishes and the occasional laugh. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching the banners of House Targaryen that hung from the rafters. The lingering scents of roasted meats and fresh bread mingled with the faint perfume of lavender that still clung to you.

Ser Lorent Marbrand followed a few paces behind, his silent presence reassuring. Jason’s hand rested on yours as he guided you forward with a subtle confidence that betrayed his pride. His eyes swept the room, noting the presence of the King and Queen at the high table, alongside Rhaenyra and Laenor, who already looked composed and perfectly at ease. Jason chuckled softly under his breath, leaning closer to you.

“I’d wager their night was far less eventful than ours,” he murmured, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

You turned your head slightly toward him, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Jason,” you whispered, a gentle reproach that made his grin widen.

The sound of your arrival caught the attention of those seated at the royal table. King Viserys, his mood as jubilant as it had been during the feast, waved you both over with a broad smile. “Ah, there they are! My daughter and her new husband,” he called warmly, his voice carrying over the din. The hall quieted slightly as heads turned to watch the two of you approach.

Jason inclined his head respectfully, his demeanor effortlessly composed despite the attention. He helped you to your seat beside him, your chair positioned beside Rhaenyra’s. The princess leaned toward you as you settled, her voice low and affectionate.

“You look radiant this morning,” she said softly, her hand brushing yours briefly.

“And you sound… content,” you replied with a smile, sensing the slight unease beneath her calm exterior. Though Rhaenyra had said nothing, you suspected her night with Laenor had not been as harmonious as your own.

Jason took his seat beside you, offering a polite nod to Laenor, whose smile was practiced but not entirely genuine. Across the table, Queen Alicent observed quietly, her green gown immaculate and her expression unreadable as she poured herself a cup of tea. To her left, young Aegon fidgeted in his seat, his restless energy evident even at the breakfast table. Aemond sat beside him, unusually quiet, while Helaena hummed softly to herself, examining an intricate carving of a beetle she’d brought with her.

King Viserys raised his goblet in a cheerful toast. “To my daughters and their fine husbands,” he declared, his voice brimming with pride. “May these unions strengthen our house and bring joy to the realm!”

The gathered court raised their cups in response, and a chorus of “Hear, hear!” echoed through the hall. Jason reached for his goblet, offering a subtle smile as he glanced at you. His confidence seemed to ripple outward, putting you at ease even amidst the watchful gaze of the court.

Viserys leaned forward, his attention shifting to Jason and Laenor. “Now, I trust you both understand your duties as husbands,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “The realm will expect heirs soon enough. I’ve waited long enough for grandchildren.”

Jason chuckled, his expression wry but respectful. “Your Grace, I assure you, I am fully committed to fulfilling my duties in every regard.”

Laenor offered a polite smile, though he seemed less inclined to comment. Rhaenyra’s gaze flicked to him briefly before returning to her father, her expression serene but watchful.

“Good, good!” Viserys said with a laugh, clearly pleased. “It does my heart well to see my family united. These are days to be remembered.”

Aegon, who had been poking at a plate of fruit with little interest, suddenly leaned forward, his youthful curiosity getting the better of him. “Will there be dragons at the next feast, Father?” he asked, his voice loud enough to draw a few chuckles from the surrounding lords.

Viserys chuckled, ruffling his eldest son’s hair. “Perhaps, my boy. Though I think we’ve had enough excitement for one week.”

Jason leaned closer to you, his voice low and teasing. “Do you think he’s hoping for a dragon’s egg as a wedding favor?”

You stifled a laugh, shaking your head slightly. “Knowing Aegon, he’d want to fly Sunfyre through the hall.”

The breakfast continued, the atmosphere warm and convivial. Jason engaged in light conversation with the King, effortlessly navigating the courtly politics that underpinned even casual discussions. His charm seemed to win over many of the assembled lords, who watched him with newfound respect.

Further down the hall, Tyland sat with the other Lannisters, including their mother, Lady Leonella, whose expression was a mixture of pride and approval as she observed her elder son. Tyland caught Jason’s eye and raised his goblet in a subtle salute, a gesture Jason returned with a slight nod.

By the time the meal drew to a close, you felt a renewed sense of confidence in your place at Jason’s side. The warmth of his presence, combined with the King’s jubilant mood and Rhaenyra’s quiet support, made the weight of the morning’s attention feel far less daunting.

As you rose to leave the hall, Jason placed a steadying hand at your back, guiding you once more with the quiet confidence that had come to define him. “Shall we, my lady?” he asked, his tone low and intimate.

“We shall,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. Together, you stepped into the day ahead, ready to face whatever awaited.

The clatter of breakfast slowly faded as the court dispersed, leaving behind the hum of softer conversations. Jason’s hand lingered on your back as he escorted you from the royal table, his touch warm and grounding. When you reached the quieter halls of the Red Keep, he stopped and turned to you, his eyes alight with affection.

“You should spend time with your family,” he said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “I’ll find you later.”

You smiled up at him, your unseeing lilac eyes fixed in his direction as though you could feel the warmth of his gaze. “Thank you, Jason.”

His lips curved into a fond smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be nearby if you need me. Ser Lorent will see to you.”

Ser Lorent, standing just a few paces away, inclined his head. “Always, my lord.”

Jason nodded, and with one final glance, he turned and strode down the corridor, his confidence evident in every step. You remained for a moment, feeling the lingering warmth of his affection, before Ser Lorent gently touched your arm to guide you toward your chambers where your sister and father would await.

Jason made his way through the winding halls of the Red Keep, his steps carrying him to an open balcony overlooking the bustling city below. The morning sun glinted off the rooftops, casting golden light over the sprawl of King’s Landing. Leaning against the stone balustrade, he let out a contented sigh, a rare smile of genuine satisfaction spreading across his face.

The sound of familiar footsteps drew his attention. Turning, he saw Tyland approaching, his twin’s expression sharp and curious. Tyland’s well-tailored crimson doublet reflected the Lannister pride, and his piercing gaze immediately narrowed on Jason’s uncharacteristically pleased demeanor.

“Well,” Tyland began, his tone as dry as Dornish wine, “I’ve seen that look before, but never when it wasn’t followed by a disaster. Should I brace myself?”

Jason’s grin widened as he turned back to the view, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not this time, dear brother. For once, my smugness is entirely justified.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow and stepped closer, leaning against the balustrade beside Jason. “Do tell,” he drawled, though his curiosity was evident.

Jason glanced at him, his green eyes alight with mischief. “Let’s just say I had the kind of night that poets write songs about. My wife,” he emphasized the word with obvious pride, “is beyond extraordinary.”

Tyland’s brow arched further, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise impassive face. “Extraordinary? That’s high praise coming from you. And here I thought your standards were insurmountable.”

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. “She surpassed them all. Every moment of last night was… perfect.”

Tyland smirked, his sharp wit ready as ever. “Careful, Jason. You’re starting to sound sentimental. What will the lords of the Westerlands think?”

Jason shrugged, unbothered. “Let them think what they will. I’ve married the most remarkable woman in the realm, and they’ll see it soon enough.”

Tyland tilted his head, studying his brother with a rare flicker of approval. “It’s strange to see you like this. Genuinely happy. Almost makes me suspicious.”

Jason laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Tyland. I intend to.”

A brief pause fell between them as Tyland’s gaze turned to the city below. “How long do you plan to stay in King’s Landing?” he asked casually, though his tone carried an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

Jason straightened, his expression thoughtful. “Two weeks, at least. I want Y/N to have time with her family before we leave. She deserves that much.”

Tyland nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thoughtful. That’s new.”

Jason shot him a playful glare. “Careful, Tyland. Keep that up, and I might think you’re proud of me.”

Tyland smirked. “I’m proud of her for tolerating you. As for you, well… you’ve managed not to make a fool of yourself. Yet.”

Jason laughed again, the sound echoing across the balcony. “Don’t worry, brother. I’ll keep things interesting for you.”

Tyland shook his head, his expression softening despite his words. “Just don’t ruin it, Jason. She sounds too good to lose.”

Jason’s gaze turned distant for a moment, a rare seriousness overtaking his usual jovial demeanor. “I won’t,” he said quietly, his voice steady with determination. “She’s everything.”

The two brothers stood in companionable silence, the city sprawling below them as the morning sun climbed higher. For once, Jason’s smile was free of bravado, a quiet reflection of the happiness he’d found—and his resolve to keep it.

Seated in the private solar where the King often retreated for more intimate family gatherings, you waited quietly, your hands resting on the cool stone arms of your chair. The soft sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of Rhaenyra, her gown rustling faintly as she entered the chamber.

“Good morning, sister,” she greeted warmly, her voice carrying a subtle note of curiosity.

You turned your head toward her voice, offering a gentle smile. “Good morning, Rhaenyra.”

She approached and took the seat beside you, her presence comforting and familiar. Moments later, the heavier footsteps of King Viserys followed, his jovial laughter preceding him.

“My sweet Y/N,” he called, his voice filled with paternal pride as he joined you both. “And Rhaenyra—both my beautiful daughters, together. What more could a father ask for?”

You smiled at his warmth, and Rhaenyra chuckled softly. “A bit of calm, perhaps,” she teased lightly.

A servant entered, carrying a decanter of wine and three delicate cups. The scent of Dornish red filled the air as the servant poured, the liquid catching the morning light. Rhaenyra reached for one of the cups and placed it gently in your hands, her touch careful but reassuring.

“Here,” she said softly, “just the way you like it.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your fingers curling around the stem of the cup.

There was a moment of companionable silence as the three of you settled. Rhaenyra broke it first, her tone light but edged with curiosity. “So, sister, how did you find married life on its first night? Was Jason… good to you?”

Her question was laced with affection and a teasing undertone, but you could sense the genuine concern behind her words. Your cheeks flushed as you considered your answer, but you smiled, your voice soft.

“He was kind,” you admitted, your thumb brushing against the edge of the cup. “And gentle.”

Rhaenyra leaned back, satisfied, though her smirk suggested she would pry for more details later. “Good,” she said simply. “He’d regret it otherwise.”

Viserys, sipping his wine, chuckled at her words. “Jason seems smitten with her, Rhaenyra. I doubt he’ll give her any reason to complain.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head, smiling slyly. “As he should be. Y/N deserves nothing less.”

The warmth of their protectiveness enveloped you, and you felt a surge of gratitude for your family. Though the court could be a storm of whispers and expectations, here you felt safe.

As the conversation shifted, Viserys set his cup down, his expression turning thoughtful. “Speaking of family, I should mention that Daemon sulked off somewhere in the city last night. Likely prowling the streets as he does when something displeases him.”

Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. “Let me guess—he drank too much at the feast and found some reason to brood.”

Viserys laughed, the sound hearty. “It’s Daemon; I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. He’ll reappear soon enough, storming back into the Keep as if nothing happened.”

Rhaenyra raised a brow, her tone dry. “Perhaps he’ll even have some new scandal to share.”

The thought of Daemon’s unpredictable antics drew a small laugh from you, and Viserys grinned at your reaction. “There, you see? Even Y/N finds her uncle’s dramatics amusing.”

Rhaenyra leaned toward you, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Let’s hope he doesn’t try to steal Jason away for some wild adventure just to make his warning more clear. I think he’d enjoy tormenting him far too much.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Jason can handle himself.”

“I’m sure he can,” Viserys said with a chuckle. “But let us pray he doesn’t have to, at least not today. For now, let us enjoy this peace while it lasts.”

The three of you sat together, sharing wine and laughter, the bonds of family weaving tighter as the morning sun climbed higher. For now, the troubles of the realm—and the inevitable chaos of Daemon’s return—could wait.