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geeky-politics-46 · 4 months

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Kinktober 2023 - Day 7

Sex Toys with Bucky Barnes

"The Gift"

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Summary: You give Bucky a gift he never knew he wanted.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - masturbation, sex toys, homemade porn, dirty talk, pet names, langcorn, reference to oral & vaginal sex, Bucky being a needy boy.

Bucky paced back and forth, trying to avoid staring at the box on the bed. His fingers pulling on his hair and biting at his bottom lip, trying to find a way to direct his attention anywhere else, but his mind kept pulling him back. The ache between his legs was beginning to throb each time he looked at the box & let his thoughts drift back to you.

You had to know what even just your innocent little texts did to him when you had been gone this long. Even just a sweet "miss you so much, Buck" sent his blood straight to his cock. It gets him thinking about how you can be all sugar sweet around everyone else then turn into such a dirty girl the minute you get to your bedroom. Hell you loved nothing more than whispering something filthy to him right before walking in a room with someone else just to get him wound up.

He had no idea what he had unleashed the first time you two started getting a little frisky. He loved how you seemed a little old fashioned when you started dating. How you made him court you made him earn each and every little kiss. By the time you two had gotten to the point of sex being a possibility, he was nervous he would scare you away by being too aggressive. Little did he know what awaited him.

He will never forget the night he found out how bad you really were. You had been dating a couple of weeks and had the compound to yourselves for an evening, so it wasn't surprising when watching a movie devolved into a hot and heavy make-out session. He tried not to let on that you had him hard as a rock. He didn't want to put any pressure on you. Then, as you were adjusting to hook your leg around him, your thigh brushed up against his erection making him moan against your lips. He hoped maybe you hadn't noticed or, at the very least, were going to pretend you didn't feel the massive bulge in his pants.

You pulled back to look in his eyes, and he looked like a deer in headlights. He was terrified you were gonna slap him or never want to see him again. He didn't expect you to let out a dark little chuckle and bite his bottom lip. You sucked his lip into your mouth, then let it go with a wet pop before licking it once. He sat frozen as you moved your lips to whisper in his ear. Your voice dropped an octave as you spoke.

"Well, well, soldier, seems like you're enjoying this, huh? Enjoying having my mouth on you. Have you thought about what else I can do with my mouth?" With that, you sucked his earlobe into your mouth, and he let out a little high-pitched squeal he didn't know he could make.

"Maybe my mouth is a bit too much for now, hmm. Don't want you to blow just yet, Buck. What about my hands? Bet you've thought of them touching you. Stroking you all over."

As you spoke, you moved one hand up to his hair, leaving the other wrapped around his neck, keeping him close to you. Accenting the end of each sentence with the particular touch you described.

"Thought about my fingers pulling on your hair." You purred, gripping his soft, short, dark brown hair and giving it a soft tug.

"My nails scraping down your back." You gently pulled your nails in a straight line down his spine, stopping at the base of it.

"My palm sliding up and down your chest", you let your hand circle his waist and slide up under his shirt, pressing your entire hand flat to the center of his strong chest. You could feel his heart pounding. He had his eyes closed and was trying to keep his breathing steady. His nostrils flared. He didn't want to let you know how close you had him to losing all control.

You paused for a moment, lulling him into a trap to make him open his eyes. You kissed his lips softly and sweetly. Innocently. Then, after rubbing your nose against his, you pulled back to see his beautiful blue eyes.

Like a cobra, you struck. Using the hand looped around his neck, you grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. You rose to your knees, so you were looking down at him and slowly started pulling your hand downward.

A wicked grin on your face as you dragged the next sentence out word by word. You knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

".. and I bet that there's something else you've thought about my hands doing, isn't that right, Buck? Bet you've thought about it so much. Bet you've thought about it after every date we've had."

You could feel him inhale sharply as you touched the top of his abdomen. You slowly started to curl your fingers in, leaving just your index finger touching him.

"Maybe you've thought about it when you're in the shower..."

You felt his abs contract under your fingertip.

"I'm sure you've thought about it in bed at night too. I know I have, baby."

Your fingertip hit the top of his jeans, and just for a second, you stopped. Giving him a chance to push you off of him if he didn't want you to go any farther. When all that came from him was a little whimper, you let your fingertip continue over the button & down his fly.

"Bet you've thought about me touching you here. Thought about me touching, and rubbing, and stroking your hard cock. You feel even bigger than I imagined, baby."

After hitting the bottom of his groin with just your fingertip, you turned your hand and gripped him with your whole hand. Starting to massage his entire bulge. A loud moan escaped as he fought the urge to thrust into your hand.

He was now staring at you with his eyes wide & his mouth hanging open. What happened to the sweet shy thing who blushed when he brought you flowers? Here you were a little sexbomb on the verge of making him cum in his pants and you had only just started touching him.

From then on, you just kept surprising him with how dirty you could be. So, really, he shouldn't have been that surprised when he found the naughty little gift you left him when you went on your mission.

It was the first time either of you had to leave since the 2 of you started dating, let alone having sex. You knew the both of you would be missing each other something bad. So the last night you were together there were lots of pics and few little videos. Bucky knew they were mostly for him. You were gonna have your hands full with the mission.

You had awoken something in him that had been asleep since before he became the Winter Soldier. He couldn't get enough of you, of your body. Of your perfect wet little pussy. He loved telling you that too. That was why you got him the gift.

It was a sex toy. A Fleshlight.

He picked up the card and read it again:

Something to play with until you can enjoy the real thing again. I picked the one I thought looked the most like your best girl ;)

XOXO

Your best girl and your girlfriend too

He hadn't dared to open the toy yet. He wanted to, but he wasn't sure he could. His 1940s sensibilities were getting the best of him. He wasn't a prude by any means, but the idea of fucking a plastic toy designed to look like a pussy just seemed so... dirty.

Of course, that was also the appeal, wasn't it? Especially the fact that you had picked one you thought looked like your pussy. His pussy. He was curious if it really did. It was hard to tell from the outer box.

There was no harm in taking a peek, right? You had sent him a message after you knew he had found your gift. Telling him that if he didn't want to use it or it weirded him out that he didn't have to use it or even keep it.

He would just have a look and then put it away. Figure out his feelings a bit more before he decided what to do. He at least had to know if it did look like you. Although he would put money that it wouldn't be as perfect as yours. Nothing would ever be as perfect to him as your pussy.

He double-checked to make sure his door was locked. Approaching the box and tentatively picking it up. He looked over the images on the outside and felt himself cringe. It felt like the naked woman on the box was judging him. She looked nothing like you and did absolutely nothing for him. He quickly unsealed and opened the box, and pulled out the toy wrapped in tissue paper. Not sure if he wanted to unwrap just the end or the whole toy.

He decided to go right for what had him the most curious. The soft, skin colored silicone slowly coming in to view. He let the fingers of his right hand stroke the edge of the silicone. To his surprise, it did feel rather nice under his touch. Now, he was ready to reveal the toy fully. He bit his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away the last bit of tissue. A moan pulling deep in his throat.

Oh fuck, it did look like your pussy. His pussy. His mouth watered and his pants immediately got tight. He couldn't tear his eyes off of it now. He let his thumb stroke over the fake clit on the toy and swore he could almost hear you shudder. Then he used his index and middle finger to trace the plump labia of the toy and momentarily stretch the hole.

He was right, it was nowhere close to as perfect as your juicy pussy, but it was much more tempting than he could ever have thought possible. He wanted to lick it like he would lick you, and he wanted to fuck it like he would fuck you. Was he really going to do this? He picked up your note and read it one more time, imagining the look on your face and the things you would say to him if you were here watching him.

Yep. He was really going to do this.

He quickly stuffed the paper wrapping in the box and threw the box under his bed. Pulling the blankets back on his bed and dropping the toy there. Quickly opening his nightstand and fishing for the bottle of lube. Throwing his shirt and jeans off as fast as he could before moving to lay in the very middle of the bed. That way, he could smell your pillow and pretend you were really there with him.

The toy momentarily forgotten as he began scrolling through the various naughty photos and videos he had of you. Starting to palm and rub at his hard cock through his underwear. He could practically hear you saying how much you loved seeing him in his just his boxer briefs. You always said his cock looked incredible straining against the tight fabric. How they hugged his thighs and his ass perfectly. That you never thought a guy in his underwear could get you that wet.

Fuck you made him feel so good. He forgot all the things he hated about his body when you touched and praised him. You made him feel sexy. You made him want to show off for you. Making a very clear point of saying how all these photos and videos weren't just for him. Maybe he would send you a picture when he was done?

He stopped at a video clip where you were sitting between his legs, slowly taking off your bra and panties. Stopping to rub at him a few times or shake your tits at him. He heard his own voice telling you to pull at your nipples. His cock twitched at the moan that fell from your lips. He knew what was coming next, so he quickly set the phone down reaching for the lube and the pussy toy.

He flipped the cap up on the lube and let some of the slick clear liquid coat the pads of his fingers just in time to hear himself tell you to take off your panties and show him your pussy. To show him his pussy and how wet you were for him. As you did exactly what he told you to in the video, he let his lube slicked fingers start to pet and stroke the outer lips of the toy. His long middle finger running a small circle around the hole, barely dipping inside before sliding back out and around.

Once the toy was nice and slick, just like your cunt now on display in the video, he set both it and his phone down just long enough to pull his underwear off. He gasped as he felt the cool air of the room make contact with his leaking tip. He was wetter than he thought he was, clearly underestimating his own need.

With his phone in one hand and the toy in the other, he waited until he heard his own voice in the video again. Waiting until he told you to come and rub your pretty pussy all over his cock. To get him nice and wet while you made your little pussy feel good.

The next video was a close up of his cock slotted between your pussy lips as you slid yourself back and forth against his shaft. He started to copy your motions in real time, letting the toy slide against his cock in time with your movements. A needy little moan falling from his lips when the toy caressed the ridge under the head of his cock.

His hips unexpectedly bucking a couple of times when he heard your whimpers in the video. If he closed his eyes, he would never think that it was a toy in his hand and not the real thing. It still wasn't you, nothing would ever feel as good as you, but fuck him it still felt so good.

He couldn't hold himself back much longer, so he flicked to the video of his cock slowly sliding in and out of you cunt. He could never get over how incredible you looked stretched around his length, how his cock glistened with you slick everytime he pulled back out. Your swollen clit front and center and just begging for attention.

He pulled his attention back to the toy in his hand. Angling it so his tip pressed against the hole of the toy. Adding just enough pressure to feel it start to stretch around his thick leaking head, just like your pussy would. A gasp pulled from his lips as the toy slowly engulfed his tip. Pulling it back up before pushing it down just a little more.

Repeating the same action over and over. Pushing down so the toy swallowed another inch of his cock, then pulling all the way up. Them pushing back down again until he had finally bottomed out. The video on his phone was momentarily forgotten. It felt incredible. So tight and snug and wet around his aching cock.

His hips acting on their own as he started rutting into the toy. Whimpering as it seemed to suck his cock back in. He fought the urge to start frantically fucking the toy. As good as it felt, and holy fuck did it feel good, he still wanted to fantasize it was your cunt he was fucking.

He let his eyes close again with his cock fully sheathed in the fake pussy. Quickly rolling onto his side and burying his face in your pillow as his hips started to thrust hard and fast. Moaning as your smell filled his nostrils. Replaying all the mornings you had woken up together only to have innocent spooning turn into fucking.

Bucky let himself start to whimper little praises as if you were really there. His vibranium hand grabbed at the blankets and clamped around your pillow. Pulling them closer to him. His mind turned to mush as the toy practically sucked the life out of him.

If he focused, he could almost hear you responding to him. Keening at both his praises and degradation. Saying filthy things right back to him.

“Fuck! Feels so good, baby. Always take my cock so fucking well. Can't wait to have you back in my arms. Can't wait to fuck you for real the second you are home. Miss you so much.”

He felt the heat of his climax building and his balls pulling tighter. Whimpering as he bit your pillow. Imagining he was biting and marking the soft, warm flesh on your neck. His flesh starting to tingle, and sweat starting to form on his brow. His hips thrusting so hard and fast the mattress was creaking. His needy groans and the wet suction of toy echoing through the room.

“Gonna cum, babydoll. Fuck, gonna cum so hard for you!”

Bucky thought his soul might actually leave his body with how hard he came. Spurt after spurt of his warm release filling the toy. A faint thought in the back of his mind about the possibility the toy might start to overflow.

Slowly his orgasm faded to electric aftershocks of pleasure. His breath still coming in gasps. His cock starting to soften, still nestled in the warm silicone that suddenly felt nowhere near as comforting as being inside of you. Even if it could give him an incredible orgasm, he was well aware that it wouldn't provide the loving and intimate aftercare that you always gave him. Snuggling his face into your pillow once again, he smiled as he thought about when he would get to hold you in post-coital bliss again.

When he finally caught his breath, he looked back to where he had dropped his phone earlier. The video had ended. Frozen on a closeup of your face with the most wicked smile on your face and the mischievous twinkle in your eyes, he knew so well. He wondered if you were missing him.

He hopes you are missing him, because fuck is he missing you; and your gift only made him miss you more. He was sure he was addicted to you.

After going to shower and cleaning himself up, along with cleaning the toy, he noticed the light on his phone blinking. Reaching for it once he was settled back down in bed. Frankly, he felt exhausted after trying out your present. Flicking on the screen, he saw that there was a new text message. It was from you. It was an emoji of a smiling Devil followed only by three words.

Enjoying your gift?

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luvfy0dor · 3 months

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“You Know That I'm Obsessed With Your Body ♡⁠˖” BSD Men x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Sigma, H.P. Lovecraft

Warnings; Suggestive, kisses, hickeys, bite marks, allusions to self harm (Dazai), sh scars (Dazai), prolly a little ooc

Description; BSD men and their physical attributes

A/n; CAS lyric title!!! But I cannot bring myself to write reqs RN so............but guys i actually talked to a guy OMG never thought I'd have big enough balls but I got his ig ^w^

⑅Chuuya Nakahara⑅

Chuuyas arms are beautiful to you, they're not insanely buff and they're not thin, but at a perfect equilibrium. They're decorated with intricate tattoos and beautiful colors, and sometimes small dotted lines left by your teeth or maroon spots formed by your love and passion for each other. You loved feeling them wrap around your torso or waist with him leaning his head against your back, letting all the thoughts in his mind flow from his mouth like a waterfall. Other times, he'd hang his arms over your shoulders, letting you feel his biceps against the nape of your neck, ghosting over the baby hairs on your skin. His arms can carry you too, no matter your weight. If it'd make you feel better, he'd use his ability to help and reassure you that he won't drop you or let you get hurt.

“There we go, darlin', see, I told you I wouldn't let you get hurt. Literally not even the strongest gust of wind could knock me over with you right now, so quit worrying.”

⑅Osamu Dazai⑅

Dazai has such a gorgeous torso, bandaged or not. His skin is soft on contrast to the rough and volatile life he's always lead. The only patches of skin that aren't smooth are the ones that are littered with past scars, whether self inflicted or from other people. When Dazai trusts you enough, he'll ask you to help him take off his bandages before bed, letting your fingers brush over the rigid bumps and sharply inhaling while adjusting to your sweet touch in a new, naked place. He lets you kiss the scars and it helps him feel a little relaxed receiving your acceptance through soft kisses and affection instead of being pitied or shamed for his past. It's not like you encourage it, but you don't waste your breath on lecturing him on why he shouldn't have. It's in the past, so instead you'll offer your support for him now rather than dwelling on what you can't change.

“Mmnn...your lips are so soft on my back, baby...keep going, sweetheart, you know how much I love feeling your kisses on my skin...”

⑅Nikolai Gogol⑅

Nikolais thighs could resurrect a dead man, and you couldn't help but feel the same way every time you had your head between or against them. Occasionally your hands would hold them apart and squeeze or grope at them, feeling the firmness beneath the palm of your hand. The pressure from your fingertips leaves temporary pale spots with every pinch and your teeth and tongue leave red ones in your wake as you kiss, suck, and bite all over his thigh, and he loves it. Nikolai loves the harsh feeling of your teeth clamping around his skin, making him gasp and giggle in excitement with a hand on your neck encouraging you to continue. He's got a higher pain tolerance, so if you like to give lovebites, especially on thighs, he's your guy.

“Ah-! Oh, don't worry dove, it doesn't hurt. You know I have a good pain tolerance! You can keep going, hehe, I don't mind it.”

⑅Fyodor Dostoevsky⑅

Fyodors hands are thin and pale aside from some select spots with higher blood concentration. His nails are bitten down to the quick almost always and his fingers are bony and thin. They rest gently on your hips when you sit on his lap while he types or just relaxes with you, his thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of either your top or bottoms. Sometimes they'll travel upwards, resting against your midsection and making you shiver from their low temperature. He'd laugh under his breath at your reaction and slide them further up, loving the idea that he has you squirming in his grasp. Otherwise, he'd keep a hand on your thigh, rubbing it out of habit modestly. In public he keeps his hands to himself, but in private his hands have a mind of their own.

“Are they that cold, Moya Lyubov? You'll get used to it eventually, unless you'd like to find your own way to warm my hands up?”

⑅Sigma⑅

Sigmas jawline is so defined and Everytime you look at it, an overwhelming urge to kiss along it bubbles up inside of you. Sigma doesn't dislike it, but he'll act like he does, always squirming and playfully grimacing. Eventually he'll give in though, holding your hand while you pepper soft pecks along his skin. He'll return them all over your cheeks and nose, tickling your skin and making you giggle. You can't help but watch Sigmas fingers trace over his jawline while he's deep in thought about this that and the other, admiring how perfect it looks on him.

“H-hey, knock it off, I'm in the middle of fillin' out papers! I said quit it- huff...fine, just a few though! You're really distracting, you know that?”

Bonus; ⑅ H.P. Lovecraft⑅

His hair is so long and luscious- how could you not want to run your fingers through it while your sleepy boyfriend lays his head in your lap? The upper half is smooth and straight while it changes into silky curls towards the bottom, though they're not the tightest and allow for your fingers to brush through them with minimal effort. He loves the feeling of your hands against his scalp, giving soft hums and groans of a relaxed pleasure. His face has his usual neutrality regardless of how nice it feels to get his head massaged by his lover. He frequently lets you pull it into a ponytail or put it into braids or whatever style you please. He lets you brush it, too, as long as you start at the bottom instead of ripping the brush through his hair.

“Mnn...that feels nice, dear...don't mind if I fall asleep on top of you, I can't help it.”

A/n; I feel so bad for not getting to requests, something like this was the easiest thing to do this week though because I had mock trial comp right after school so i couldn't write anything from 8am-7;30 pm some nights and it was the end of the quarter so i had to focus more on school work.

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ceesimz · 2 months

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Our Sun Is Setting

TW: mentions of homophobia and grief for a parent. It's quite a heavy fic, please keep that in mind.

"I told my Mami about you today."

You didn't think it was possible for a relatively normal, short sentence over the phone to make you feel sick to the pit of your stomach, but it did.

"Oh." That was all you managed.

Your mind was in overdrive as you stood in the middle of the grocery store, buying ingredients for the dinner you were preparing for later that evening when Alexia was going to come over. Any other person would have reacted better, wouldn't have been frozen to the tiles of the shop in the middle of the breakfast aisle, wouldn't have been on the brink of a panic attack from a simple statement.

"She was very happy. And she would like to meet you soon, whenever you like."

Another punch to the gut.

"She also teased me for talking about you so much. I couldn't stop myself." Alexia paired her words with a shy laugh.

The sound of it grounded you slightly as you moved out of the way of an old couple walking in your direction, but your head was still being insistently ruthless as you wandered mindlessly through the rest of the shop. Alexia was still talking over the line, seemingly not noticing your silence, but you couldn't work out what she was saying due to the unbearable ringing in your ears.

You were in shock.

"Are you still there?"

"Y-yeah, sorry. I think the signal went a bit weird, I didn't catch much of what you said." You reply in a shaking voice.

On the other side of the phone, Alexia frowns ever so slightly - she can almost sense something is wrong, but she can't quite figure out what or why. She hopes that when she sees you later, you are perhaps feeling better or if not, at least she's there for you.

"Okay cariño, would it be better if I left you to your shop?" She suggests, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel of her car where she was parked outside of the training complex before an afternoon training session.

"Yeah, probably. Sorry, I'll see you later."

And with that, you hung up.

As you went to slide your phone into your pocket with your shaking hands, you missed, causing it to clatter heavily against the tiles. It earned a few stares from the people around you, only intensifying the jittery dread that surged through you. Pins and needles encapsulated your body as you crouched down to pick up your now-smashed phone, but currently that was the last thing on your mind.

Alexia's statements circled relentlessly around your head - to literally anybody else in the world, hearing those words from someone they had were seeing would be enamouring and seen as a key, heart-warming milestone. But to you, it opened up a dark spot in your mind that you had shunned to the side for some amount of time. It seemed now was the right moment for that unidentifiable problem to break free from its shackles and make itself known, and you were terrified of what those repercussions would be.

You carried out the rest of your shop on autopilot, shoving a handful of notes into the cashier's hand before rushing out without a clue of how much you just gave them. For all you know, you could have massively overpaid them or robbed them in broad daylight. You were so out of touch with the world right now.

So much so, that you were unlocking the door to your apartment before you realised. How long did it take you to get home? Did your phone still work? What time is it? Did you walk, get a taxi, catch the bus, how did you get here? What did you even buy at the shop? Why won't this fucking door open-

A neighbour walked past hastily as you barged a shoulder against the door and almost crashed through it as it finally opened. You sent them an apologetic smile, though there was no doubt in your mind it was more of a manic and unnerving look than anything else, before slamming it shut behind you. The icing on the cake to this whole thing was the fact that the bottom of your shopping bag split open, scattering your groceries across the floor of the entryway. At least now you could see what you had bought.

Whether your legs failed you and buckled or you put yourself on the ground, you kneeled on the floor and gathered everything into your arms to transport it to the kitchen. It was a struggle, your trembling arms barely having the strength to hold themselves up, but you managed to dump your belongings on the kitchen side. Once you'd done that, you rested heavily against the counter, desperately trying to replenish the oxygen that had been stolen from your lungs some point along the way to this moment here.

What the fuck do you do now?

You turned to lean back against the counter and slowly slid down to the ground until you were sat on the floor, head back against the cupboard. There were too many conflicting thoughts and emotions rushing through you that all you could do was sit and stare. Feeling nothing but everything at the same time, thinking nothing but everything all at once.

Seeing Alexia tonight might tip you over the edge. You hope it doesn't end that way. You hope that her presence eases you. You hope she saves you from falling, sinking, spiralling into an irrevocable state of mind, whether she recognises that she's doing it or not. You hope, hope, hope.

Time seems to be a temporary concept for today, because before you've even had the chance to start preparing dinner for tonight, Alexia is at your door. Her voice calls out from behind it, asking if you're in there and if you're okay, because you've zoned out again. You're on the sofa, your cross-body purse still hanging off your shoulder, your jacket still zipped up to your chin, your shoes still on. Your groceries are still strewn on the kitchen counter, and the torn bag is still in the entry way.

"Amor, are you in there? Let me in." Alexia calls out, her voice tainted with concern.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm coming!" You jump up, kick your shoes off, throw your bag onto the small dining table, and open the door. She visibly deflates at the sight of you, her tense shoulders dropping, but her face contorts at your attire.

"Why do you have your chaqueta on?" She asks, and you're beyond grateful to hear it's said in an amused tone.

"Bit cold s'all. Come in." You're not cold. You live in Barcelona, and it's the middle of the spring.

You step to the side and she walks in with a tiny smile on her face. She's glad to be here, you realise. She seems to be in a light and happy mood, carrying no extra stress or other burdens, and, rather selfishly, you're glad.

"How was training?"

You plaster a smile on your face as she takes her shoes off and drops her bag beside them, turning to you and opening her arms. You walk into them with no hesitation, but the feeling isn't as relieving as you desired it to be.

"It was good. I did a amazing free-kick, I will show you the video." Alexia beams, and that does warm your heart somewhat. Her passion for her work, her career, her life, was forever an invigorating thing to witness. It's a shame you weren't in the right mood to appreciate it.

"That's great, Ale." You smile genuinely up at her, more than happy to return the soft kiss she offers.

It momentarily calms and heals a small part of you you'd been hoping she would subconsciously fix, but it wasn't enough and you recognised that straight away. You'd get on your knees, beg, and pray to any higher power that would listen to you just so you'd feel okay for one more day. Except, who do you pray to when you don't believe in God?

"What's that?" She points to the white plastic bag from earlier.

"Oh, the bag for the groceries ripped as soon as I walked in. Must have forgotten to pick it up." You shrug it off, wishing for her attention to be elsewhere for the time being. "I haven't started dinner yet, sorry."

"That's okay." She smiles, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly and kissing your cheek. "How was your day?"

Tough question.

"It was alright, haven't done much." You brush it off, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen... where the whole area was still a state.

"Oh, what happened here?" Alexia frowns.

If it was just a few items, she wouldn't be so puzzled, but when a good portion of the food left out was fridge and freezer food? Strange.

"I... I, when the bag ripped before, a jar smashed by the door and, uh... I took a while cleaning it and forgot to put the rest of the stuff away." You ramble unusually quickly. It was a blatant lie, but she didn't need to know that.

Except, Alexia was an incredibly attentive person, and she knew straight away that something was amiss. The first sign was that, in her intelligent mind, she knew that theoretically if a jar filled were to smash by the front door, the white bag from earlier would have been covered in its contents - but that wasn't the case. The second sign: whenever you cleaned your apartment, you used a very strong smelling citrus scented spray - she often complained about it and nagged you to get one that smelt nicer. Your apartment didn't smell uncomfortably citrusy right now. Funny observation, sure, but these two pieces of seemingly inconspicuous evidence gave away the fact you weren't right. Oh, and your strange behaviour showcased on the phone earlier and a few moments ago didn't help your case either.

But, she chose not to pressure you about it yet. She wanted to wait until you perhaps opened up to her some point this evening. However, that didn't entirely stop her from speaking up.

"Ven aquí, amor." Alexia demands calmly, reaching a hand out to you. Suppressing a sigh, you take it, and she looks down at you with a pressing stare. "Answer me honestly. Are you okay?"

No.

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm fine, Ale, I am." You try to reassure her, squeezing her hand and smiling up at her.

"You promise?" Alexia raises her eyebrows and offers her pinky for you to seal your, rather untruthful, truth. "It's okay if something isn't right."

Pinky promises, as childish as they may come across to some, were never to be broken. Since the start of your relationship, they had been a thing that had been utilised by the both of you to ensure you are telling the truth. Alexia had broken one of her promises she had made to you before in the past, so why couldn't you do one in return? It's only fair, right? Relationships were meant to be equal after all.

"Promise." You smile again and raise your other hand to lock fingers with her. She smiles, though you can see she's not convinced, but nevertheless she kisses your knuckle.

"Can I help you cook?"

"I'm meant to be cooking for you. And you are a bit of a control freak in the kitchen." You tease, desperately trying to steer the night away from the morose direction it could go down, and instead towards the light-hearted, content way you so needed.

"I think I am just a control freak in general." She smirks at you before turning to put away the disregarded shopping. You would also happily accept that direction too, you supposed. "Venga, I am so hungry, I skipped lunch at training for a meeting and now I regret it."

To your relief, you both make peaceful conversation once you've told her what you planned on cooking, and it's so peacefully domestic as you do your individual tasks beside each other. Every so often, Alexia will joke and bump her hip into yours as you giggle, and this version of your girlfriend is exactly what you needed. For a moment, you feel the cloud over your head slither away, until the topic you wanted to avoid came up.

"So, what do you think of me telling my Mami about us? You never gave me a response on call earlier."

You freeze momentarily, Alexia thankfully not noticing from the corner of her eye. With a subtle clearing of your throat, you continue cutting up the chilli peppers on the board in front of you, but your now shaking hands pose as a slight kitchen hazard considering the sharp knife you were wielding.

"I, yeah, it's nice. Nice that you, um... did that." You stutter out anxiously, nausea settling cruelly in the pit of your stomach. Alexia takes in your reaction and laughs under her breath, turning briefly to leave a kiss on your forehead.

"No need to be nervous, amor. We have been together for many months now, it was due to happen soon. And M-"

"Ow- fuck!" You gasp sharply, dropping the knife immediately and cradling your hand as blood began dripping from the middle joint of your index finger.

"Woah, amor, what happened?" Alexia winces at the sight, grabbing a few squares of kitchen paper and pressing it against your cut.

"I- my hand slipped and I obviously cut myself." You grimace, eyes tightly shut to rid yourself of the sight. "It burns too, fuck."

Alexia knew you didn't handle blood too well, so she turned you away from the scene and wrapped one arm around your back, rubbing up and down comfortingly whilst she still applied pressure to the cut.

"It's okay, it's okay, it hurts more because of the chilli. Take some breaths, vale?" You nod hastily, not really realising your cheeks had puffed out as you held your breath. Alexia watches your face closely, eyes still closed as you took deep breaths to calm yourself. "You're doing good, bebita. Keep doing that, so good. Let's relax a bit, hm? We should sit down in case you get lightheaded."

The last sentence is her thinking out loud as she started guiding you towards one of the chairs at the dining table. Resting one elbow on the table whilst Alexia continued to hold your wounded hand, you lay your forehead against your uninjured hand as Alexia crouched beside you. Your joined hands lay in your lap as you calmed down, or at least tried to.

To Alexia, it would appear that you were just mentally recovering from the shock of the incident. But actually, you were trying to dispel the unsuspected horror that filled you to the brim at Alexia's earlier reminder.

I told my Mami about you today. She wants to meet you.

That line inevitably meant you had to tell your family too. Except, you couldn't. There was no way you would, no way you could, not without facing realities you had pressed down far into unreachable and forgettable depths of your mind. It was all too much, it was simply not a possibility for you. You knew what it would lead to, and you weren't ready for that.

For the past months you'd been with Alexia and the time you spent getting to know her before that, you had mostly lived in a bubble that dissociated you from the broken, cracked, ruined, utterly destroyed parts of your brain. It had been perfect so far, and you'd be fucking damned to leave that bubble now. But perhaps it was too late and the damage had been done long before Alexia said what she said earlier, maybe that darkness just needed a catalyst before it submerged you in its wake.

"Amor? Hey, come back." One of Alexia's hands lightly patted your cheek to bring you back into the room. "You scared me there. Your breathing got really bad and you were in a... a weird daze. I was talking but you weren't reacting or anything. Are you back now?"

You nodded wordlessly at her, still not entirely taking in what she was saying.

"The blood... freaked me out." You rasp breathlessly, shaking your head a little to rid the glaze over your vision.

"That's okay. Do you feel a little dizzy? I can get you something to help that. Clear your head maybe." You nod again, and she gently lets go of your hand. Cold shivers immediately burst through at the lost contact, but you had to get over yourself and get used to it.

Cautiously, you take the tissue off of your hand and inspect the damage. It doesn't seem deep enough for stitches, which instantly fills you with relief. If you weren't already in a state of intense dismay already, a trip to the hospital would cause a hurricane of emotions that left a lasting imprint on everything and everyone around.

"Here, some apple juice. To get your blood sugar back." Alexia places a mug of apple juice in front of you and notices your now bare hand. "Oof, amor, that looks painful. I'm not sure if that may need a doct-"

"No! No doctors, no hospital. It doesn't need stitches, it's fine." You rush out, eyes wide in what Alexia guesses is fear as you look down at where she's crouched again. "Please, no hospital. It just needs to be cleaned and wrapped up."

"Okay, if you are sure." Alexia replies, nudging the cup closer to you. "Drink that and I will get the first aid kit."

You do as she says, drinking the half-empty cup of apple juice whilst she searches through the kitchen for the green box of medical supplies. Her eyes hardly leave your slumped form at the table, filled with worry for you. Things weren't adding up now, it was obvious, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could ignore it.

A part of her feels afraid to push you; emotionally she wants the best for you and if subtly, or not so subtly, urging you to do that works then she'll do it, but intellectually she senses a deep, internalised issue that could rip through you if handled incorrectly. It's not up to her to cause that. So she asks a question that's so layered it flattens all remaining atmosphere in the room.

"Cariño, how do you feel now?" She pretends to busy herself with organising the already packed box of medical necessities you kept.

"Better." Phyiscally true, but mentally wrong.

"Why don't we order something for dinner instead?"

As if you weren't filled with disconcertion already, that suggestion signs, seals, and stamps the envelope set to be sent to the fucking psyche ward for your admission. Were you so inadequate now that you couldn't even cook a simple meal? Apparently so.

"O-Okay."

Alexia frowns and comes back over with alcohol wipes, antiseptic cream, and a box of plasters, placing her items on the table and gently tapping your chin to get you to look up at her.

"I love you, you know that?"

The words fell from her lips before she could stop them. Alexia maybe wasn't the most emotionally helpful person ever but she sure did try. She thought her saying that would comfort at least a small part of you, but she couldn't be more wrong. It planted the seed of an unforgivable idea in your head.

The realisation of what you had to do poured over you like cold water, washing away every ounce of the little remaining hope and positivity you had. A feeling akin to mourning settled in your heart, accompanied by the debilitating weight of this twisted entity in your mind seeping into your bones. Your body strained under the heaviness of it all, unable to capacitate for the burden of living life like this, only confirming that the thing you must do was your only solution. Your lower lip quivered as the thought consumed you, the devil in your head chanting it over and over and over and o-

"I do know." Your lips tug into a smile but your throat bobs to conceal the sobs bubbling at the surface. "I know that. I love you too."

For the remaining time you had with her, you would make sure she knew that too.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

It's silent between you both as she delicately cleans the wound before applying cream and wrapping it up in bandages. It's silent as she leads you to the sofa, silent as she ordered your meal for you from one of the common takeaways you always got together. It's silent as you wait for it to come. It's less silent when Alexia turns on Netflix and opts for a new TV show for you both to watch together. It's still fairly silent even as you sit beside her, back stiff and straight beside the woman whose heart you were soon to break.

Alexia has never loathed quietness more than she does right now. It was an occurrence she valued at any other point in her life; watching football, reading, studying a game, relaxing in a post-match bath, going on a solitary walk to gain some peace of mind. But here, in this moment beside you, her skin crawls at the unbearable stillness of the room. Sure, she did enjoy silence with you too, but it felt like the unavoidable elephant in the room was stomping on her heart with every beat of her heart. There was a hidden agenda in the belly of the beast attacking her, and for some reason it felt like she was running out of time to put out the fire.

Her spiralling was interrupted when the buzzer of your apartment rang through the room, letting you know there was someone outside of the apartment complex without a fob to enter the building. Alexia reluctantly gets up from the sofa to let them in and hovers by the door to wait for the delivery driver to find your flat. She keeps her eyes on you, subtly watching you attentively, but even if she stood face-to-face with you, noses touching and breaths mingling, you wouldn't have a clue she was there. Your senses were incredibly warped and you were so far detached from reality, it felt like you and Alexia were two worlds apart.

What's at stake right now is something that's much bigger than the both of you. The dynamic around you may as well have a 'fragile: handle with care' sticker slapped on it, except, even that wouldn't have stopped the hands of the puppets controlling the world from acting so cruelly. You'd taken constant blows for quite some time now with no respite. Just as you started to recover from one punch, another would come to hit you square in the face.

"Hey." Alexia lightly knocks on your forehead with her knuckle. Every concerned glance from the woman in front of you felt like a jab at your body, slowly working you down until you gave in. "You are here, but you are not here."

You blink gormlessly up at her, your shoulders lifting in a careless shrug before you took back control of your mind.

"Food's here?" You force a smile, taking the paper bag from her hand and walking on shaking legs to the kitchen. You get plates and cutlery out, dishing up your meals before joining Alexia back on the couch, the taller woman now the one seemingly stuck in her head. "Ale, your meal."

"Ah, thank you." She leans in to quickly kiss your cheek when you sit beside her again.

The blonde woman has one more trick up her sleeve to try and bring you out of your shell, and it's one she hardly ever played.

Immediately, she begins to babble on about her day and her teammates and her family and whatever new antics Mapi and the youngsters had got up to, going abnormally overboard with the amount of anecdotes she was spewing out. Everybody knew Alexia was not a talkative person, and she only ever acted like this when she was in a rare giddy mood. And that really was rare.

The Alexia on display so far tonight was not in a giddy mood. She was happy, of course she was, but factor in the concern she'd shown for you tonight and the giddiness she had not portrayed at all even recently, something was off. It threw you completely off-kilter, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why she was doing this.

"I'll tell my Dad about us tomorrow." You blurted out, interrupting another of her rambles. It's kind of the truth, not all of it, and it's not the biggest decision you've made for yourself tonight, but you owed her something at least for putting up with you.

"Que?" She frowns. Out of all things she'd expected you to say tonight, that wasn't one of them.

"You're talking a lot because you want to know why I'm acting weird. It's because I'm thinking about telling my Dad about us, I'm scared to do it but you told Eli so I'll tell my Dad." You explained, pushing your food around your plate as Alexia processes your words for a moment.

"You don't have to do that if you don't want to. I don't mind, I know things haven't been... haven't been great between you both since your Mu-"

"Okay, but he's still my Dad." You cut her off again. You're not in the mood to discuss what she was about to bring up.

"You don't owe him anything, amor. Sure, he's your Dad, but you said it yourself only a few weeks ago; he's an idiot. No one should treat their child the way he's treated you after they've just lost their Mami."

There. She said it anyway.

"Alexia, I know you're just trying to stick up for me, but please don't go there. This has nothing to do with my Mum." Another partial lie.

The subconscious, realistic part of you knows every issue you've had in the last two years has everything to do with... her. But right now, the impulsive side that has been at the forefront of your mind ever since it happened wants to blame everything on the world around you and not your flaws that you've ignored all this time. Anyone could see that your refusal to sit with your grief and just feel was your Achilles' heel.

"Okay. I'm sorry for mentioning it. But I am absolutely on your side, amor, I'm always on your side. So if you want to tell your Dad, tell him. If you want me there next to you or if you want me out of the country whilst you do it, then I'll do it. I will do whatever you want me to." Alexia tells you, her voice pleading as earnest swirled around the eyes that bore down into you.

Well, you thought, that's good to know.

"Thank you." You smile ever so slightly, dropping your fork and placing a hand on her leg. You squeeze her knee three times, one more chance for her to understand the love you held for her.

"De nada, amor. Now eat up, please."

The pair of you spent the rest of the evening delicately dancing around the untamed elephant from earlier whose patience was wearing thin at the prospect of going entirely avoided for the night. Conversation topics were kept light, finally giving you a brief reprieve from the onslaught of your mind, and Alexia kept her arms tight as they wrapped around you. It was as if with each breath you let out or with each twitch of your body, she held on tighter and tighter, every hint of movement from you a reminder of your presence and how much she ineffably adored you.

Yet, the sun began to set, indicating that it was almost time for Alexia to leave for the night. She had to get up early tomorrow whilst you had the day off, and initially Alexia always agreed that when this was the case, you should sleep separately so that you could rest. However, as she collected her bag and slipped on her shoes, she kept her movements purposely slow to delay her departure. The last thing she wanted to do was leave you alone.

"Are you sure you will be okay tonight?" Alexia sighs, a reluctant hand on the door handle.

"I'll be okay." You answer simply, hesitating for a moment to decide on your goodbye gesture, before settling for a lone kiss on the cheek.

"Call me, immediately, if that changes. If you wake up in the night and need me, I will be straight here. If you call me in the middle of training, I will be straight here. Please. Don't suffer on your own."

Oh Alexia. If only you weren't so late.

"Everything will be okay, Ale." You tell her, desperately trying to disguise the emotion threatening to break through. "Te veo pronto, sí?"

"Sí. I love you." Alexia smiles, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, then opening the door.

"I know." Is all you can say now to that declaration. And fuck, if Alexia hadn't felt so uneasy in her life after that.

Somehow, you managed to sleep that night. Maybe it was your body allowing you to build up all the strength you need for the day ahead, because your life was about to be irreversibly changed. And the worst was yet to come.

"Hi Dad." You murmur quietly from your place in the corner of your sofa, legs tucked underneath you as you pitifully hold onto a cushion for comfort.

"Well, it's been a while since I've heard from you." The man on the other side of the phone chuckles spitefully. "Remembered who I was again?"

"Hm. How have you been?" The best way to deal with such a man was to ignore his behaviour, in the hopes he dropped the act when you didn't give a reaction. Perhaps you underestimated him.

"That's a loaded question, you know that. It's all everyone asks nowadays and I'm fucking sick of it." He grumbled, and for the first time in a while it sounded like his anger wasn't directed at you.

"I do know that." You stated.

"So why ask then? Still as dense as ever, I see."

Okay, well, clearly you judged him too soon.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing." You mumble insecurely, a frown settling on your face as you try to hold back the emotions you knew would spill out sooner rather than later.

"Don't lie to me." He snapped through gritted teeth. "You couldn't give a shit about me if your life depended on it. Be honest and tell me what you want, I have better things to do than talk to you."

"I... I have a girlfriend, Dad. Here in Barcelona, I've met someone." You reveal with a hint of a smile on your face.

All morning, you'd been in over your head on whether to tell him about Alexia. Part of you thought it was futile since you had already decided on your future with her, or rather, the lack thereof. But the naïve and childish part of you painfully thought he could be happy. That wasn't a concept this man had understood as of late, so it was a wonder why you'd thought he'd be happy for you. Especially given his latest behaviour, and his long-standing opinion on your sexuality. If only your Mother was here.

"Wow. Because I couldn't give you the life you want after your Mum left-" he could never say the true reason for her absence out loud, "-you look for it elsewhere? What did I tell you about doing that? A home can't be a person, kiddo, you need to stop looking for that. Your Mother wasn't home, I'm not home, this new 'girlfriend' isn't home, a person cannot be a fucking home! You're just desperate to fill in the love that's absent in the death of your Mother. Get a fucking grip of yourself and get over it, this 'girlfriend' business. You know your Mum would never have stood for this."

Silence.

Of all the words in the world, across all languages and cultures, over all periods of time, there was only one description to be used of how you felt right now. In your little flat in the heart of Barcelona, cowering in the corner of the couch, you felt suffocated. Any semblance of clarity, peace, hope, love - suffocated, by the words of your father, by the events that had changed you for the worse throughout your life, by the burden of simply just living.

Except, the words 'living' and 'simply' could never be used in the same sentence, because that wasn't a possibility. Every aspect of human nature wasn't simple, that's the beauty in it. The thousands of tiny mechanical functions in your body that allow you to breathe, the hundreds of muscles exerting themselves daily for one small step, the twitches and spasms of nerve endings to feel just a little alive. And despite it only requiring thirteen miniscule muscles to smile compared to forty-seven to frown, the latter felt so much easier. The weight of a smile had never seemed so damning, so suffocating.

The promise of life was a unique one, that's common knowledge and yes, life is beautiful, but any glorification of the struggle of living was inefficacious, nothing could extinguish the flame of the fire inside of your mind that was already uncontrollably burning through your self-preservation. No promise of light one day shining in your world again was worth it; you were merely a shadow of the people you loved.

"Okay Dad." You choke out. Even uttering one word was such a fucking exhausting challenge. "I... I planned on breaking up with her anyway. I think I want to come home."

You expected the feeling of verbalising your plans to be freeing, but the gravity of what you were going to do grounded you so humbly it almost almost stopped your heart entirely.

"Wow, I mean, if I had known that you would listen to my opinion and follow my advice so quick, I would have given it more often." He laughed maliciously, his way of celebrating your fall from grace.

"Can I come home?" You can't stop yourself in time from asking that question in such a begging tone. Another victory for him.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart. If you're that desperate, maybe stay with your grandparents. Perhaps they'll want you." He sighed as he said it as if he was in a rush, acting like speaking to his daughter was such a chore. "Listen kiddo, you done now? I've gotta go."

"Yep, I'm done. Can I see you if I come home?" The question was paired with a hasty swipe away of tears as if the man hundreds of miles away could see them.

"Oh honey. You fascinate me. You're at danger of almost being interesting now, you know that?" He laughed once more at his own words before hanging up.

Silence again. Such a plaguing thing.

The weight of the conversation you just had collapsed down on you, a whirlwind of emotions surging through you as a result of it. Each beat of your heart served as a reminder of every word spat at you from the man you once thought held all the love you had to give, the thump against your chest echoing his disappointment and distaste for you. A daughter's love for their father was undoubtedly one of the most dangerous things to themselves, proving that point yourself as you mentally scrambled to find a way to mend the fractured bond, yet each time coming up empty, feeling powerless and minute in the face of your father's disappointment. Every response from that man carved deep wounds of guilt and regret into every crevice of your mind.

Behind a facade of stoicism, a torrent of emotions fulminated throughout your body - a spiteful mix of every insecurity, every doubt, every shattered dream, it all coming together to form the final piece of the puzzle that was needed to make the decision to break out of your life. There was no other choice.

Outwardly, there wasn't a hint of such breakage shown anywhere on your body. And that's how it had to be, that's how you had to be. Completely numb to it all until you had escaped this turmoil.

By 2pm, everything was different.

Flight booked. Every suitcase you owned bursting at the seams, waiting by the door. Apartment tenancy ripped up. Your resignation handed in to your work. Every bit of furniture, every little trinket, all of it ready to be left behind. Despite it all, the most heartbreaking symbol of your new start, was the cardboard box of Alexia's belongings sat in the passenger seat of your car as you drove, waiting to be dropped off discreetly outside her door.

Your life was the perfect image to sum up how quick things can change. Twenty-four hours ago, you were walking to the local supermarket to pick up the stuff to make a perfect meal for you and your girlfriend to eat and have a quiet, relaxed evening together. Now? You were driving to said girlfriend's apartment, equipped with the words to tear your lives apart.

Oh, how things change.

In the blink of an eye, you were parked up outside her apartment building. You had the key to her apartment in your hand and the code to enter the complex memorised for one more use. You failed to notice her car parked in her usual space as you walked through the car park. The heaviness of the box was nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest of what you were about to do.

Ears ringing, eyes blurred with unshed tears, throat burning and constricted, your bones aching under the weight of purely just existing, all of it immensely overwhelming. But you were numb still. Numb and out of tune with your feelings, because you had to be. Otherwise, all of this couldn't happen. There was no way any of this would be possible if you just listened to what your heart wanted. No, that devil on your shoulder had gotten its way once again.

"Oh, what are you doing here?"

Fuck.

You had truly done it this time, because here Alexia was, standing in the doorway of her apartment as you froze at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here?" You ask frantically, desperately praying for her attention to be anywhere but the box of her stuff in your arms.

"Well, this is my apartment, amor. I just got back from training but I left my phone in my car." Alexia answers, an eyebrow raised down at you. Of course she'd catch on that something was wrong. She always did. It was one of the things you loved her for. "What's this? Are you a delivery driver now?"

She laughs to herself as she says it, taking the box from your arms and placing it on the floor. You're still stuck to the spot, eyes wide in fear at what she was about to find, and your heart thumps angrily against your chest in protest, trying to get you to react in some way. But it's too late. Alexia has already opened the box and began to read the letter in there before you could stop her.

The smile on her face immediately dissipates at the first line.

"To Ale, I'm sorry... what do you mean?" She asks, glancing up at you briefly before continuing to read it.

That's when your body finally decides to react. You slowly back away from the woman in front of you, but Alexia grabs your wrist tightly to stop you from running away.

"No, you will not leave my sight right now. Explain this fucking letter, what is going on?" Alexia attempts to sound commanding, but there's a certain glisten to her eyes and a lump in her throat. "What is going on? Tell me, now, please."

"I... I'm sorry, Alexia." You croak out, rushing to wipe the tears already falling with the sleeve of your sweater. "I am sorry, you have to know that."

"Sorry about what!?" Alexia shouts, then takes a deep breath to compose herself momentarily. "Come inside, sit down, and please can we talk?"

"Everything I have to say is in the letter, Alexia, I-"

"No, no it is not. This letter is hardly a whole page. You've come to my apartment with a box of my stuff and a letter that starts with the words 'I'm sorry', I'm not letting you leave." Alexia says, and you have no choice but to listen to her. However, she softens for a moment, and the lost look on her face tugs on every one of your heart strings. She takes one of your hands and squeezes it three times, resulting in another stream of tears from yourself. "Please. Whatever is going on, give us a chance to solve it. I need you to explain what's happened so I can help you, amor. Please."

You relent easily, forever at her mercy, and follow her into her apartment. She leaves the stacked box by the front door, completely unbothered by it - in fact, she doesn't ever want to look inside it if this conversation goes the way she thinks it'll go. She's kicking herself mentally, her mind already skimming over every interaction she's had with you recently, desperately trying to plot a point in time where your attitude had changed. It's easy for her to do so, the moment jumps out almost immediately. If only she hadn't been so scared, so cautious, maybe she could have solved this before it was too late.

"What do you want me to say, Ale?" You sigh exasperatedly as you sit on the edge of her sofa, eyes fixated on your fidgeting hands.

"What do I want you to say? Amor, I want you to be honest and explain why you're sorry, why you've come over with all my stuff, why you've written me this letter. It's all come out of nowhere, I have no idea what's going on and I just want you to clue me in. Yesterday we were laughing together and having a nice evening, and now you're... I don't even want to say it." Alexia laughs nervously as she speaks, her shoulder stuck up in a shrug as her hands gesture eratically.

"It's okay, I'll say it for you." Your false facade takes over, body armoured with a hard exterior. "I'm leaving, Ale. I'm leaving Barcelona, leaving Spain."

To hear you say those words were perhaps the greatest pain Alexia has ever felt in her life.

"Leaving... leaving me?" She whispers quietly, the question punctuated with a gulp as she swallows her emotions.

She sounds eerily similar to a young, innocent child who's just lost all they've ever known. It makes you wonder for a brief second if you're a sick individual for causing such pain, but you shun those thoughts away for a later date, because right now you need all the feigned courage you can muster up.

"Yes." The ease with which you say it sends shivers down her spine. It's the hardest sentence you've ever had to say, and it's just one word - once more an example of how life can never be conformed to simplicity.

"Why are you being so cold? This is not the woman I know." Alexia practically pleads, inching closer to you on the sofa. Her hands land on your knees, but you're too far in to back out now.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Alexia. I need time and space to figure my shit out, that's what is best for me right now and that's why I have to go." She scoffs in your face once you've finished, and that's the moment this conversation goes far more downhill you could have expected.

"What about me? What about what's best for me? You're leaving me behind!"

"Leaving you behind? You're acting like a sad dog that I've just abandoned in the middle of nowhere! You were perfectly fine in your life, your very successful and established life might I add, before I came along and you'll be better off without me!" You snap back. This is not the direction you thought this would go. "Why can't you accept the fact I need to leave?"

"Because I fucking love you! I love you and I don't want to live a life that doesn't have you in it! But maybe I should grow out of that opinion since it seems so easy for you to turn off your feelings for me, so easy for you to be so selfish at the flick of a switch."

"Selfish? I'm being selfish?" You repeat her words back to her with an outraged laughter that sounds all too familiar to you. Is this who you've turned into? "I'm being selfish for choosing what's best for me? I'm being selfish for wanting to take time on my own to figure my life out? I'm being selfish for wanting to take time to grieve my own, dead Mother?"

Alexia's face falls as soon as those words come out of your mouth. Never in her life had a sentence caused such a visceral reaction from her because it feels like someone's just plunged a dagger right into her heart. She'd been too panicked, too focused, on her own feelings to even wonder why you had made this decision. She had been the selfish one for jumping to conclusions and now her lethal arguments had completely tanked the conversation. The possibility that there was no coming back from her vicious assumptions instilled a deeper, darker fear in her than she had ever felt in her life.

"No, no, I didn't-" She begins to dig herself out of the hole she finds herself in, but you're in no mood to entertain her begging.

"Good one. Really funny, that." You stand up and go to walk away, but not without one last attempt from Alexia to stop you.

"I didn't mean that, I swear, I am just so confused and scared and-"

"Do you not think I'm scared too? This will be the second time I've uprooted my life and regretted everything I have ever done. I'm terrified to leave, terrified to find out what's waiting for me at home, terrified to figure maybe this is all I am and that there's no better side of myself to find." Your voice trembles with a mix of fear and fury. "I've realised that throughout our whole relationship, from the moment I stepped into this country, I've been someone that I'm not. Losing my Mum was losing the biggest part of myself, and everything I've done from then 'til now has just been a poor attempt at filling in the hole in my heart-"

"S-so, what, you're saying our relationship was fake?" Alexia splutters out. You pause at her words, completely caught off-guard by her utterly stupid and inept fight back.

"That's what you caught from all that?" You ask, dumbfounded. "Right. Because it's always about you, Alexia, isn't it? This whole conversation has just been you talking about yourself. Have you even properly heard what I've said? Have you read more than the first line of my letter?" The guilty look on her face says it all. "That's what I thought."

"But I... I know what it's like to lose a parent, amor, I can help you!"

"Wow. For the sake of us both, don't go there, Alexia. Don't." You fix her a warning glare, shaking your arm out of the grasp of her hand.

"You can't leave. You can't, I won't let you. It's not right." She speaks sternly again now, a final plea for your relationship.

"Oh, fuck off Alexia. You have the emotional maturity of a teenage boy. I'm done with this now. Good luck at the World Cup this summer."

You walk out and slam her door shut without looking back.

Alexia's life had just taken a nosedive, because a breakup was absolutely not on her agenda for the day. The hand that had grabbed your arm earlier tingled with the stain of your touch and certain areas of the room were tainted by the lingering scent of your perfume. One conversation and you had vanished from her life - an excruciating result caused by her own incompetency to act like a decent human being.

For some time after you had left, she had been stuck rooted to her sofa, her mental temporarily ruined by the events of the day. A traumatic event had occurred, this was a natural reaction, to go into shock. To be so damaged by something that all she could do was sit and be consciously unconscious to the world around her until her body and mind could recover.

There was one phrase that ran circles around her mind. It isn't fair. What that defiance was directed at, she wasn't so sure yet. At first it had been you, but as the clouds cleared a little, it was obvious that it wasn't. Despite her words earlier and how accusing they came out, she didn't blame you. Not one bit. No, her anger was aimed at the so called 'fate' bullshit that everyone championed so often. How can people praise such a phenomenon when it had brought so much evil into people's lives? It felt like everything came at the price of something, and that's not fair.

For Alexia? It felt like her career came with the price of her Father. Everything she had done was because of him, and he couldn't even be here to see it. No, because fate or destiny or whatever other nickname it had, had taken that opportunity away from her. It isn't fair. For you? If anyone asked you, in the future when you're in your rocking chair, a knitted blanket draped over you and the waves of the ocean lapping away in front of your eyes, you'd say that in this period of time you had gained the world for the price of your soul. This dichotomy of good and evil sometimes felt like it wasn't worth the fight because in cases like this, it just wasn't fair.

The realisation of it all left a sour taste in Alexia's mouth. But something seemed to snap in her, some higher power finally giving her a backbone, and she sprung into action. You didn't deserve any of the stuff that had happened to you, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be another name on that list. One of her worst fears, a view shared by all of humanity, was to remember someone she loved in such a gut-wrenchingly awful way that it tarnished her entire memory of them. That's something she couldn't do with you. If you were to end this, it had to be on good terms.

So, she grabbed her keys and headed down to her car, where her phone still was. Alexia was a determined woman; when she put her mind to something, she got it done. This would be no different.

Call after call, after call, after call, came through on your phone from the one woman you probably least expected. There was only so long you could hold her off because, after all, you were once in a relationship with the woman, meaning you got a front row seat to her persistance.

"Hi, uh, Alexia. What do you want?" You say when you answer, finally.

"We have to talk more." Alexia rushes out quickly, for lack of better words and composure.

"I don't know if I want that after what happened earlier." You state in a defensive tone. But secretly, you craved nothing more.

"I know, and I am so so sorry for all that. It was so selfish and awful of me, I regretted every word that came out of my mouth the second I said it. I just... can we talk again? Please?" She begs, her hand fidgeting against the steering wheel of her car as tears silently rolled down her cheeks. "I would hate myself if I didn't at least try for this, amor, let me try."

"The decision is final, Ale, you can't change it. I'm sorry. You said yesterday that you would do whatever I wanted you to do. Well, this is what I need you to do, Alexia. I need you to let me go."

"Okay." Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, tears spilling out the corners, and her clenched fist comes to rest against her forehead. "Can I see you one more time? So I can properly apologise? I have no other intentions than that, I promise. I just... I can't remember you that way. I can't remember us in the way we left it. It doesn't give us as people any respect and it does not do justice to the beauty of our relationship."

That was the tipping point for you. There's the woman you love.

"Okay." You smile and sit up in your bed where you previously lay in a cocoon of your own pity. "How about we meet on neutral grounds this time?"

"Let's do that." Alexia responds, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

Some time later, you found yourself walking along the promenade of the beach, looking for where Alexia said she was seated on one of the benches. It was a chilly evening with no help from the sea, so you had your hands tucked into your coat pockets and your chin hidden under the zip of your coat. Alexia had spotted you long ago, a content smile on her face at the all too familiar sight of you and your distaste for the cold. You recognise her soon after, taking a deep breath before approaching her.

"Hi." You mumble, muffled by your jacket and the wind whipping around you. Alexia hears it of course.

"Hi. Sit down, please?" Alexia taps her hand on the wooden slats of the bench beside her, and you quickly follow suit. "I, uh... got you this."

She hands over a takeaway cup of hot chocolate. Your favourite.

"Thank you. Something to keep my hands warm." You say, happy to see her laugh quietly and nod.

"Exactly why I got it."

The pair of you sit in silence for a while, encapsulated by the serenity of the sky and the elegance of the ocean. Strangely, you realise, the two things resemble you and Alexia. Two things of beauty that never quite meet, never quite mend, just a parallel that reflects each other. You can't tell if that's a horrifying allusion or a calming one.

"So, what's this then, a... a post-mortem of our relationship?" You joke, giggling when Alexia scrunches her nose at the suggestion.

"I mean... you could say that." She shudders as she says it, not quite at peace with the new revelation. She's not sure she ever will be.

"I have to go, Alexia. I... it's so hard leaving you behind. It's the hardest decision I've ever made, but it's one I have to make. I hope you know that."

"I do. I do know that. I want you to know I understand. I'll never be... content with it, but... it's a necessary evil." Alexia has her eyes cast down on her coffee cup, fiddling with the lid. You notice and take hold of one of her hands, intertwining your fingers perhaps for one final time.

"It is. I've got no energy to fight anymore. I need to sit with my emotions and all that shit," You pause as you sigh dramatically, making her laugh once more. "So that I can figure out who I am after all this. Doing that whilst in a relationship isn't fair on either of us. It'll only lead to something more soul destroying, no matter how hard this conversation is."

"I know." Alexia purses her lips and nods, finding the strength to look at you. A genuine smile breaks out onto her face. "I had a feeling something was wrong a little while ago. I guess I'm just... angry. That I can't solve it."

"I'm angry that I can't solve it." You repeat, a sad smile on your face. "There's just a lot wrong with me, I think. And I can't burden you with it all. I have a lot of baggage I drag along and there's an awful lot of cracks in my mind-"

"There's cracks in everything, amor, that's how the light shines in."

You had half a mind to berate her for interrupting you again, but you find yourself at a loss for words. Why were you leaving this woman again?

"I'll value you forever, Ale. Nothing could make me change that, even if we left things at what happened before. You're the most astounding person I've ever met, and even when I'm breaking your heart, you still treat me better than anyone else. If we forget what happened at your apartment." You tease, the both of you chuckling lightly.

"It's hard to hate you when you're breaking my heart so gently." Alexia states. "I'll always love you. It's probably not the right thing to say but it's the truth."

"No, I... I'll always love you too." You respond, absolutely certain. Despite the predicament you both find yourselves in, Alexia finds every bit of relief and closure she could ever need in that one simple sentence.

"When do you... when do you leave?" She asks with a sniffle.

"I fly out later tonight." You answer quietly.

"Will you come back one day?" It's the one thing she knows she probably shouldn't say, but she can't resist. She has to know.

"I don't know, to be honest." She turns away and nods slowly. You squeeze her hands three times.

"If you do, will you let me know?"

You can't promise her that, and she knows it.

"I will." You smile softly up at her.

You both fall into silence once more. This one feels a little less suffocating than those of the past. There's still so much more to say, but as your head falls to rest on Alexia's shoulder and you both look out at the view that had been the background of your relationship, neither of you can name a reason to interrupt the peace that's settled. It's perhaps more peace than either of you had felt in a long time.

The thing is, about the ocean and the sky, is that they do meet. They're one and the same in their own essence, and in the distance, they do eventually meet. And the sun will rise again. Two inevitable occurrences that form at the hands of a little thing called fate. Or destiny. Or whatever it is.

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso community #woso imagine #Spotify

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jksprincess10 · 7 months

Text

Doing the work || Joel Miller x reader

TW: unspecified age gap, Joel is old and has back problems, reader on top, handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, Joel is insecure about his age, talks of aging, daddy kink, dirty talk, mostly in Joel's POV, no use of y/n.

A/N This is just a 700 words drabble to get back into writing smut. Still, I hope you enjoy.

Dividers by @saradika

Joel Miller masterlist

He was already grey and tired when you came around. You; a young bird fluttering with life between his calloused hands. His back already hurt, his scars were already set, pale lines across the dark skin of a man who worked outside for most of his life.

When he smiled, wrinkles formed around his eyes. When you smiled, sunshine reflected on your smooth face. Most days he felt old. Most days he felt like he would disappoint you one day. He wished he could build a time machine and go back to the body he had before.

"I like you the way you are, Joel." Your fingers trace his strong jaw as you admire the salt and pepper stubble there.

"But my back hurts - and I can't please ya like I would have been able to in the past, sweetheart."

He sees a glimmer in your eye, malice or perhaps lust.

Your hands lay against the flannel covering his strong chest and you push him down so his back lays against the mattress. Joel obeys, like your strength sufficed to push him down.

"Then let me take care of you, Joel."

He watches intently as you unbutton his plaid shirt, uncovering his strong chest and the soft belly he bore after spending months in Jackson. He was much healthier than when you first met him. Your hands trace the skin there, the tips of your fingers sliding down his happy trail until you unbuckle his worn leather belt. Joel lifts his hips and helps you pull down his bottoms until he is bare in front of you - except for his opened flannel. He was already semi hard. You circle his girth with your soft hand and pump him slowly, as you simply admire his blissed out face.

"If my back didn't hurt..." He complains, a strong hand taking over your cheek and pulling you down in a soaring kiss. Your tongue pushes his lips open and you kiss him with all the love swelling in your chest.

"Then what, Joel?" You ask against his lips, your breath tickling his skin.

"I would fold ya in half and destroy that sweet pussy of yours."

"Hmmmm. This is also nice." You pump harder and faster, watching as his face twists in pleasure. "Don't you think, baby?"

"F-fuck... yeah." He grits between closed teeth.

He watches as you move away from him for a few seconds, temptress that you are, to undress until there is nothing left. He barely has time to complain and you're back, straddling his hips and hovering over his leaking tip. You take the base in your hand and move the tip in your slit, sighing when you catch your clit. When you're ready, you sink down on him.

"Relax and let me do the work." Your hands lay against his chest for leverage. He looks up at you, warm eyes filled with adoration. His calloused fingers find your hips, so he can at least help you as you start bouncing up and down, creating a pace that would please the both of you. His grasp is strong and reassuring.

It seems like you're not getting tired, not as fast as he expected you to be. When your legs hurt, you take a break and simply roll your hips slowly. You wish you could watch him, but your pleasure is strong and blinding.

He keeps his tired eyes open, admiring the sweet bouncing of your breasts, the way your body curves like a cat asking for pets when you find your pleasure. With his hands, he helps you jump up and down rhythmically on his cock, making his tip hit the deepest parts of your being.

"Look at me, baby girl."

You open your eyes as a soft moan escapes your lips.

"So fuckin' beautiful. So good fo' me..."

One of his hands leave the comfort of your hips so the pad of his finger can tease your slit until he finds that spot that makes you stutter slightly.

"F-fuck daddy..." You arch in his touch as he circles your clit. You lose any ounce of concentration you once had; but you knew what Joel was trying to do and how much he valued your pleasure.

"That's it, come on daddy's cock." Joel groans as your walls squeeze around him. Your bliss is so strong, he has to hold you up so you don't fall. Your tightness is enough to uncover his own orgasm that hits him like a soft, sleepy wave.

You lay against his chest as you come down your high, and let your body melt in his loving embrace.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x yn #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut

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emotionoitme · 1 year

Text

about a girl

carmy berzatto x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: mutual pining, friends with benefits, bdsm dom/sub undertones (some much needed dom! carmen), implied age gap, dirty talk, choking, masturbation, lots of lewd thoughts

wc: 3.8k

a/n: getting excited for season 2 & decided to write a fic for the first time!! staring everyone’s husband & a newer employee at the bear. lots of mutual pining and tension. this was done in a mad frenzy on my phone so i apologize about lack of refinement! please enjoy my horniness over carmy :) i’m thinking about maybe writing a part 2 so stay tuned if you like it <3

nirvana - about a girl

it was never supposed to go this far.

it was never supposed to end up in this position, with her big eyes gazing up at his towering stature, her lips slightly parted, breath heavy.

all of the deliberation, the firm decisions to not pursue, the promises he made to himself, the longing eyes torn away too soon.

he brought his big hand to caress the side of her jaw, and scanned his eyes over her flushed face. she stared up at carmen with blown pupils, leaning into his touch. he likes the way she looks right now—entirely at his mercy, so eager for more of his touches. he continues, running his thumb along the soft skin of her cheek, then delicately tracing it over her supple lips. he swiped over the swell of her bottom lip, pushing it to the side and gently down to reveal her teeth. he fought the urge to push his thumb into her mouth and watch her plump lips suck.

“please,” she breathed out

he clenched his jaw, tore his eyes away from her lips and into her doleful eyes. how he loved the way she sounded and longed to hear more; longed to hear his name exhaled from her mouth; longed to hear pleads and whimpers. he reminds himself to be slow, with gentle sweet touches as to not to startle her; pushing away the many images of what he wants to do to her out of his mind.

“please what?” he asks, thumb still resting on her lip.

her hand creeped up his leg, then fingers timidly hooked onto his belt.

“can i…” she sheepishly turned her face, darting her eyes away. carmen slightly tightens his grip on her jaw, pulling her back to meet his eyes.

“fuck” he exhales sharply, “you know what you do to me?” he takes his finger off her lip, brushing her cheek gently and trailing his fingers down her neck to caress; very delicately squeezing— just enough to hear her let out a sweet sounding breath and watch her cheeks flush at the action. he noticed very quickly the way she gravitated towards his natural dominance; the way her body relaxed and eyes would soften when he gave her commands, or hover over her like this.

his hand traces from her neck and down over the black crew neck shirt she wears, grabbing the hem and pushing it up over her breasts. he groans at the sight, bringing an inked hand to softly caress her right breast, checking her face before gently squeezing before rubbing his thumb over her perked nipple. she fights against a whimper, biting her lip to keep it in. he continues soft circles around the bud, then gently pulls it. her mouth falls open with a pant. carmy brings his left hand to caress her other breast, squeezing them in tandem before removing his hands completely, earning a huff of frustration from the girl. to this, carmen brings his hand back up to grab her face. he leans over, their faces inches apart, and stares into her eyes. “don’t give me that,” he says in a gruff tone. “you know what you’re here for.” cold blue irises overtake her vision, and she attempts to relieve herself of the intense eye contact, eyes darting down to his soft lips, but then quickly back up. the rule was no kissing, as both agreed early on that it blurs the lines too much. he tightens his grip, slightly. she could feel his warm breath on her lips and shifted, trying to alleviate the slick ache in her core.

“carm,” she breathes out, leaning forward, lips ghosting his, he smells so good. he removes his hand from her face, pulling away and standing, a stiffness in his jaw. she leans forward to touch his thighs, “can i just… suck it? to make up for today?” she sweetly asks, kissing his clothed thigh a few times, inching towards his firm bulge.

“fuck” he groans in response, taking in every detail of the scene in front of him. he smirks a bit and rubs a hand over his face, looking at the slightly cracked ceiling of his dark office— then back down at her kneeling form, with eager eyes and soft fingers teasing the threshold of his pants and bare skin.

“yeah? you- you wanna suck it? make up for being a brat earlier?” he asks in a low tone, feeling a pulse in his pants. she enthusiastically nods, biting the edge of her lip. he goes to unbuckle his belt when a loud and sharp bang on the closed door of the office interrupts the two— eliciting a sharp gasp from her. carmen reacts quickly by grabbing her arms and pulling her to her feet, helping her shove her shirt down over her bare chest.

the door swings open to reveal richie, who’s eyebrows raised at the two’s proximity— noticing carmen’s deep breaths and the girl’s flushed face.

“am i interrupting something in here?” richie said with a growing grin on his face.

“no,” carmen retorted quickly, eyes glancing at the girls figure next to him. “i was just telling her she’s fine to go home”. he turns towards the desk and away from richie with the hope to conceal his tented pants. the girl meekly nods, meeting his eyes one last time with a wanting gaze.

“goodnight chef,” she offers softly before slipping by richie and out of the small office. he watches the way her fingers brush her hair past a golden hoop and behind her ear revealing her soft neck, dark with a mark from where his lips had been earlier.

carmy tears his eyes away, taking deep breaths to cool down. he runs a hand through his tousled hair, patting his pockets in search of his cigarette carton.

“what do you want?” he asks gruffly. richie begins his tangent— complaining about “some fuckhead customer coming in at close” and continuing by ranting about his troubles with the new register system. carmen could care less, zoning out as he watched her figure pass by the office door and exit out the back. he was stupid for telling her to get down on her knees in his office, he thought. at least while closing with the most disruptive employee at the bear.

“yo. yo, cousin! you listening to me man?” richie shoved his shoulder, bringing him back to the conversation.

“yes, i was fuckin’ listening,” he snaps, bringing a tattooed hand up to squeeze the side of his neck. he was blatantly lying— richie knew the same, and persisted.

“no you weren’t, you were watching her leave. shit, you know, you better not have the hots for her, man. it’s best to leave the college girls alone, trust me!”

“fuck richie, i told you it’s not like that.” carmen snapped, shoving past him and through the door of the small office, cigarettes in hand.

“okay, whatever man, i saw the guilt all over your faces once i opened the door.” richie continues, “just don’t come crying to me once you’re in too deep, alright?”

carmen tenses. “i don’t get involved with my employees. you’re imagining things.” he runs a hand through his curls. “now get the fuck out of here already, cousin. i’m going out to smoke.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” richie turns to leave, pauses and turns back, “you know i wouldn’t blame you one bit, carmy. she really is a hot piece of a-“

“fuck richie! go home!” carmen interrupts with exasperation. he just wanted the topic to be dropped completely; her name never gracing anyone’s lips but his. any teasing carmen endured regarding her would make him snap almost immediately— because he knew it was completely true. she was younger than him, in her fourth year at the university nearby, and he knew how bad that looked, especially being her boss.

but he had such little self control when it came to her, for reasons unknown. the pull towards her was almost magnetic.

carmen pushes out the back door, cigarette resting in between his lips and a furrow on his brow. a breeze brushes past him as he steps out into the alleyway, the night warm and air thick with june moisture. he notices her to the side of the building almost immediately, letting her thick hair down from a claw clip, waves cascading over her bare shoulders, body clothed by a small halter top tied around her neck. his jaw twitches, raking her in with his eyes and admiring the newly exposed fabric, which he had shamelessly eyed peeking out from under her work clothes earlier. he clears his throat, catching her eye, and walks over to the side of the building.

“hey,” he says simply. her lips shyly curve upwards.

“hi.” a soft response

they share a beat of silence. carmen fishes a lighter out of his pocket and sparks a flame, deeply inhaling the smoke. “you got plans?” he asks, gesturing to her change in outfit, eyes quickly raking over her exposed shoulders and midriff. she shakes her head no, leaning against the wall of the alley, eyes forward. he doesn’t break his stare.

“it was really warm in there…” she elaborates, letting out a breath. a slight smile cracks his face for just a moment, bringing the cigarette to his lips for a drag.

“embarrassed?” he asks, ever so slightly teasing. she whips her head to face him, cheeks reddening.

“are you not?” she exasperates.

carmen shakes his head slightly, “no, he, uh…he didn’t see anything.”

he watches her visibly untense, as her creased brows relax a bit, and she slowly nods her head, “okay, good… i thought i might’ve given richie an eyeful.” carmy lets out a short breath through his nose in humor and clears his throat, eyeing the girl next to him before speaking.

“yeah, uh…that’s my bad. we probably shouldn’t mess around in the restaurant.”

she nods in agreement, with an utterance of a soft, “yeah, we shouldn’t,” trying to hide her slight disappointment. she waits a moment, seeing if he’ll say something else. yearning for an invitation to continue what richie interrupted earlier somewhere else. she takes in his standing form, muscled arms clad in pristine white and imagines what it would be like to sleep in those same arms, to be protected from anything and everything.

she lets out a soft sight, tearing her eyes away, pulling out her phone and checking the time before saying, “i should probably head home, it’s kinda late.”

carmen glances at her. “you got a ride?” he asks.

“no,” she shakes her head, “i’m only like 20 minutes away. just gonna walk.”

“what?” he asks, brows furrowing, “no you’re not.”

“uh, why?” she asks with uncertainty. he scans her face, in disbelief to her obliviousness, but finds she is completely serious.

“because it’s 11 o’clock. and we live in chicago” and you’re dressed like that and i can see your nipples through that shirt and i don’t want anyone to fuckin’ abduct you he chooses not to add, flickering his eyes over her form. she crosses her arms, turning to face carmen, moving closer.

“i have pepper spray,” she rebutes. his facial expression doesn’t change, stoic and wholly unconvinced. “aand,” she adds with a smile, flexing her bicep, “i have these babies.”

his face breaks, unintentionally smirking and looking away, which eggs her on.

“i’m serious, carm! i’ve been hitting the gym. they’re almost as big as yours,” she says, poking the small muscle. he watches her with a soft smile on his face, entertained by the girl's antics to try and convince him. carmy takes a final drag, drops the butt of the cigarette and steps on it, then begins walking.

“cmon,” he says to her, “ ‘m gonna give you a ride home.”

she was confident she would be able to get home safely by herself, as she had done many times before that. that being said, she wasn’t necessarily eager to turn down a ride and endure a long, anxiety-filled walk home. so she follows after carmy, lightly smiling to herself. he manually unlocks the older car, climbing in and opening the passenger door from the inside. she says a soft thanks as she gets in the car, closing the door behind her. she looks around, as carmen starts the car with a rumble, at the various items scattered in the confined space. the interior smells like cigarettes and dark roast.

“uh, sorry for the mess,” he apologizes. she wasn’t really focused on the mess- empty coffee cups and papers scattered about- just how her heart continued to inexplicably pound against her ribs. she offers him a small smile, “i don’t mind.”

carmy shifts the gear into drive, and she points with her finger, listing off a few directions, to which he nods. it’s a fairly quiet drive before he lightly clears his throat and glances at the passenger.

“i, uh… i didn’t know you were walking home every night,” he breaks the silence.

“yeah, it… can get sketchy sometimes. but it’s really not that bad,” she replies. he looks over with a concerned expression on his face. a beat of silence.

“i’m gonna drive you home from now on,” he tells the girl.

she glances at him with confusion on her face, “huh? carmy, you really don’t have to. i don’t wanna put you out.”

his jaw tightens a bit, “i don’t want you walking home alone when it’s dark,” he solidifies. a moment of quiet falls before he decides to add, “you’re not puttin’ me out, either.” she goes quiet at this, heart relentlessly beating in her ears at the gesture. they go silent for a moment, stopped at an empty red light, waiting for it to change.

“carm?” she asks. he turns to meet her eyes, face cast in an orange hue from the glow of traffic light. she continues, now under the pressure of his gaze, “is-…does earlier- i mean,” she lets out a breath, “in the office, does it…count?” she stammers out, avoiding his eyes. he fights a smirk, as he so often does with her, eyes shifting back to the road, light now green.

“count? you mean, as a punishment?” he asks, “for being bratty, when i gave you orders?” there’s the slightest edge in his tone, a gruffness to it that reignites the ache in her core and makes her face feel incredibly hot. she slowly nods, eyes daring to creep up onto the man’s side face, admiring the curvature of his nose, his lips, jaw, neck, chest— ignoring the growing urge to grab his face to smash her lips against his, or even devour him completely.

“what do you think?” carmen asks, quickly glancing at her up and down, “you learn your lesson?”

she bites down on her lip, hard; a dull pulse in her lower regions, clenching around nothing. she had never come across anyone who had such an effect on her with just simple words, the combination of his demeanor and voice making her head spin with infatuation and an arising goal to get back on her knees in front of him tonight.

“what lesson?” she challenges with, a smile ghosting the edges of her lips. he wanted so badly to pull the car off to the side of the road, drag her to the backseat, fuck her into submission, his head swimming with lust.

“guess not,” comes his reply, low in tone.

she presses her thighs together, focusing on the remaining road in front of them as they approach her street. the car slows to a stop outside her apartment unit, engine idling as she unbuckles her seatbelt. she mentally encourages herself to be bold— turning to face the driver, sitting up and pushing her chest out a bit, allowing her growing lust to give her confidence and take a chance. she pushes a piece of hair behind her ear, “do you…want to come inside?” their locking eyes increasing the fire between them.

his automatic instinct, entranced by her, is to say yes, follow her upstairs, and blow off some steam (which god knows he needed). but he falters, deliberating their relationship and the complexities that would arise as they continued to spend time together and grow closer. the two’s relationship was anything but appropriate, given their circumstances, and carmen knew this. he feared the possibility of stepping into an apartment that smells completely of her, that emanates her essence, and would subsequently be unable to leave, completely wrapped around her finger. he opens his mouth to answer her, but the pause she receives from him was enough to signify an answer, and she drops her eyes to the ground, grabbing her bag and opening the car door.

“nevermind,” she get out of the car, ears feeling hot, “thank you for the ride, really,” she reiterates, now standing on the asphalt outside her complex. she moves to close the door, and he says her name.

“- hey, wait a second.”

she pauses, locking eyes with him as her face heats up, eager to make her exit after the sting of rejection. he looks away, then back at the girl, bringing a hand from the steering wheel to rub his chin.

“why don’t you come over to mine tomorrow night, after we close?” he asks. she looks away from his unwavering gaze, crossing her arms. she felt a small jump in her chest at the thought of going to his place for the first time, but decides to even the playing field slightly. she pretends to deliberate the invitation a bit, knowing full well where she would be the following night.

“you only scheduled me until 7,” she reminds him.

“i’ll pick you up,” he offers, “on my way home.”

she lets a small smile grace her face, uncrossing her arms.

“okay,” she responds.

“okay,” he says back, “good.”

she adjusts her top, slightly pulling it upwards and revealing to him more of her rib cage, teasing the threshold of the soft skin under her breast. he briefly questions if his decision of staying in his car is the wrong one.

“goodnight carmy,” she chimes

“yeah, ‘night,” he tells her before watching the car door slam shut. his eyes follow her, car idling, as she walks across the pavement and up the stairs to her complex. she fumbles with the key a bit, and opens the front door, turning back and giving carmen a small wave. he puts his hand up, returning the gesture, and watching as she safely gets into her apartment for the night. once the door closes he lets out a breath, shifting the car back into drive, and continuing home, alone.

once in his apartment, sliding his shoes off and throwing his keys on the table, he collapses on the couch and runs his hand over his forehead, rubbing his face. he closes his eyes, leaning his head back and taking a moment to breathe. his days at the restaurant felt longer than ever, as now the cherished times where could talk to the girl one on one usually only came while they weren’t working. he brings his hand to the dip of his neck, squeezing the tight muscles as he tilts his head to the side for more access. he thinks more about the girl— the stretch of fabric around her body, what color was it? he sighs, recalling nothing but the way the chill wind outside of his car raised the thin fabric. he lets go of his neck and drops his hand to his lap. her flushed face flashes in his mind, her heavy breaths, reminiscing of the way her body quivered under his delicate touches. he feels a twitch under his palm, entrapped by jeans and a zipper. breathing deeply, he slowly runs his hand over the length of his clothed member, stiffening quickly. he could physically feel the pent up sexual tension within his body, hips rutting up against his hand. without further thought carmy unbuttons his pants and shoves his underwear down far enough to comfortably remove his hardening cock from confinement. he’s immediately reminded of her earlier attempts to take care of his needs, doe eyes gazing up at him obediently. he lifts his shirt over his stomach, wrapping his fist around his length and squeezing slightly, clear precum beading at the head. as he slowly begins to pump his hand, he throws his head back closing his eyes, letting out a quiet but guttural “fuuck..”

behind his closed eyelids all he can think of is her. hair falling over glowing shoulders, shapely ass confined by tight jeans, the smell of her coconut perfume as he would pass her closely by. his pace picks up as he remembers the feeling of her breasts, skin soft and delicate under his calloused hands, aching for more of her to be touched by him. he feels a knot form deep within his stomach, amplified by the quickening strokes that can hardly keep up with his imagination. straightening his posture and shoving his pants down further, he imagines what it would be like to fuck her, the opportunity not yet having graced him. he figures she would be just as responsive as earlier, if not more when he’s burried deep inside of her. he gets more and more riled up at the thought of claiming her completely, making her dependent on his cock, his face flushed and hips snapping upwards to meet his hand. he can hear her voice in his head, smell her skin, and it’s all too overwhelming. with a stutter of his hips and a few more pumps, carmen cums, letting out a strangled moan and shooting out thick white ropes onto his stomach, eyes tightly shut. he folds forward slightly, breathing ragged, agonizingly thrusting his slick cock into his hand to ride out his orgasm, muscles contracting. he tingles from oversensitivity, falling backwards against the couch and catching his breath. he feels a small pang of shame, having just masturbated to the thought of one of his employees, it becoming impossible to even refer to her as only that. he groans at the mess, stripping his white shirt to clean the cum off of his abdomen, then standing to discard his pants and underwear completely. he tosses the pile of clothes into the hamper in his bedroom, walking to the bathroom and turning on the shower, not bothering for the water to heat up before he steps in and allows the water to engulf him.

it was never supposed to go this far— and the extent to which carmy found himself yearning to see her the next morning at the restaurant was off putting to no end, trying to convince himself that these feelings must be the novelty of the two’s newfound “friends with benefits” relationship. he reassures himself, anticipating the feelings to diminish over time as the thrill wears off, and the both of them get what they’re looking for, which was some simple fun. a functional relationship was next to impossible for his lifestyle, he reminds himself for the umpeenth time.

he still remained in control, he told himself, he just wanted to taste her before ending things, feel himself inside her.

it was never supposed to go this far— but he just wanted a little bit more.

—

thank you so much for reading! pls let me know what you think! <33

part 2 - safe in your skin

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

1K notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 6 months

Text

frankie, baby

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: “Well… we technically can’t touch each other inappropriately,” you begin, tracing your fingers on his black shirt, circles then squares, then triangles. “But, Will wasn’t specific about saying inappropriate things.”

warnings: explicit. 18+. smut. p in v. nsfw chat up lines. flirting. one slight spank. frankie undressing you. frankie being gorgeous, minor cock worship, christmas themes. reader wears a green dress, talks of lipstick - but nil else.

wordcount: 3.7k an: huge thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this and ensuring words meant what i meant. to all my frankie-lovers, this one is for you. credit to this tiktok for the idea.

It wasn’t that Frankie hated Christmas parties, he just found they weren’t his favourite.

Over the years of attending the Miller’s annual bash, he’d always found himself asked the same questions over, and over, again. They would always come at him in varying voices, accompanied by different expressions.

But they all had the same undertone: what’s next for you, Francisco? What’s your future like Francisco?

He’s sure he wouldn’t find it all so tedious if it were only once he had to deal with it.

However, it replays itself—almost like a rerun—when he visits his own family. The only difference is there’s more judgement, a higher pitched concern and intermittent Spanish.

This year, there was at least one noticeable change. A thing which spoke for itself: you.

Stepping out of the cab, you close your bag, fussing with the bottom of your green dress before you look over at him—eyes finding him.

He counts—a thing he does now. He does so until it appears. Having begun doing so without realising when the two of you made it official. He’d learnt that sometimes it comes by the count of five, but he loves it when it’s on the count of three.

Tonight, it’s two—two, measly seconds.

Eyes zoned in, Frankie watches it like a spectacle—like it’s a firework show just for him. His eyes trained as it blooms and stretches out, gazing as it brushes out over your cheeks. It hits your eyes, that smile which could stop his heart.

The one which makes him feel lucky; that burned a bonfire inside of him that no rain, wind or hail could ever extinguish.

“Keep looking at me like that, Morales, and we’ll break Will’s one, and only, rule.”

While the two of you would never describe yourself as animals, apparently the Miller brothers disagreed. Unbearable had been another descriptor used—

It’s not that we’re not happy for you both. But, around my family, could you calm it down?

Smirking, he holds his hand out to you. Something shifts back into place when your palm meets his and your fingers find their homes between his.

“I’m not the one with their legs out, querida.”

“I didn’t want to be underdressed!”

Snorting, he pauses at the steps to the front door. The music from inside thrumming, the hard-to-contain usual excitement is practically already trying to seep its way out into the night, trying to brush over the two of you, as he takes a second to admire you.

Because you looked radiant, indescribable. Yet, it isn’t even the half of you.

Fingers brushing your smile, he swallows, half thinking to himself if this is all a dream, he hopes he never wakes up. Not from this, from you.

“I tell you that you look good?”

Stepping closer, you press your lips to his. Bathing him in heaven and sweet scents, leaving a mark of you against his mouth.

“You did,” you whisper, breath dancing with his when you part before your thumb wipes over the stain your kiss left. “Now, let’s go in, so we can begin the countdown to getting home.”

Foolishly, Frankie had expected you being on his arm would answer questions.

But if anything, it forced more to arise.

Some he could answer with a smile, a laugh, even a shrug, and others he found were ticking time bombs that no amount of sips of his beer would dilute. It was made worse when you’d slip away, tempted by a cocktail or a glass of bubbles, a kiss to his cheek as a parting gift while you left him to the hounds.

When he managed to make a break from the third when are you asking her to marry you, Frankie hides next to Ben—who is eyeing up the buffet table like it has all his answers and prayers layered over it.

“Hey man, having a good time?”

“Yeah, Benny. Great.”

Snorting, Ben grabs a piece of fruit. “Y’good?”

Twisting the cap off another bottle, he shoots a glare at Ben—hoping it’s readable, his anguish, how fucking uncomfortable he is. “Your Aunt just asked me when I’m getting married, and when I’m making her a great aunt.”

Laughing, he watches as his friend pops another piece of ham in his mouth. “And are you?”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“Jus’ saying, maybe I wanna be an uncle while my knees are still good.”

Shoving him, Frankie leaves him laughing, moving through the guests, nodding and hugging those he had managed to avoid thus far. But his eyes are fixed on finding one thing—you. With each brush over a group, his heart sinks a little.

It only returns to its rightful place when he finds you in the corner, tucked away. Close to the overzealously decorated Christmas tree, positioned close to a set of bookcases he remembers hiding next to himself last year.

You have your back to the room, allowing him a moment to brush his gaze over your spine—over the way your dress skims down over your curves. Your attention is stolen, either genuinely interested in what you’re holding or busy pretending to be in a book covered in more dust than an abandoned building.

Sliding his arms around your waist, he feels you curl into him.

“Answer me this honestly. Do you think if I drank a smidge of bleach I’d still be able to fly with you to your family, or will I ruin Christmas?”

Laughing, he hooks his fingers together over your stomach, thumb brushing out over the silk—allowing himself to feel the softness that glides between his touch and your skin.

“That bad, huh?”

“Apparently I both have good skin and simultaneously could benefit from a skin regime—I found both out in the space of five minutes.”

Pulling a face, Frankie turns you, resting his head on yours as he feels your arms slide around him. Hearing you softly murmur which relative handed you both pieces of information.

“We could hide out in this corner all night? It’s a nice corner.”

“This where you hid last year?”

He says nothing, but the face he lets fall out says enough.

“We could hide or…” you say, an infliction to your tone.

One he doesn’t catch immediately, but dawns on him in the seconds that pass. More so, when he feels your eyes on him, burning, glaring.

“Or?”

Smirking, you bat your lashes—feigning innocence. A look he knows all too well means anything but angelic.

“Well… we technically can’t touch each other inappropriately,” you begin, tracing your fingers on his black shirt, circles then squares, then triangles. “But, Will wasn’t specific about saying inappropriate things.”

Leaning closer, Frankie narrows his eyes, pinching the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“So, let’s see who can get away with saying the wildest, but publicly appropriate things.”

His mouth twists, watching your head tilt ever so slightly, lips remaining parted, waiting.

“Who wins?” he asks.

Tracing the edge of your upper lip with your tongue, you slowly begin to smirk—all wide-eyed, practically fucking shimmering.

“The person who calls an early cab home.”

It thrums in him, the tension of when you’ll say something.

Your fingers are in his as the two of you join the others, finding a place next to Will—who is busy both telling and reenacting a story Frankie is already sure he told last time.

He’s also sure you know it. Having been sure it was one Will had told most chances he got. But the way you’re hanging on to every word, makes him question otherwise.

“Very on top of things, isn’t he?” you whisper, nodding your head to Will.

Pausing, Frankie bites his smile, brow raising as he watches you twirl your finger over the top of your glass. The distinct sound of Santa, Baby playing in the background, fading from the loudness to a simple hum as you adjust your dress in front of him. Letting him see a glimpse of your breasts—showing him how all that remains between him and your skin is one single, thin piece of silk.

Keeping his hand at his side, he watches you. Assessing. Trying to work out your direction, your ploy—taking a sip from his beer just as you begin to add:

“I like to be on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?”

He almost chokes. Heat flushing on his neck, burning up to his ears. Somehow able to bury the splutter, your face shifting into one of concern—but he sees the devilishness under it. Your eyes giving you away, even if your hand is patting his back, calling his name.

Moving closer, your lips almost brush his ear. “You like that one, Morales?”

Catching himself, he knocks the bottom of his bottle against your glass. “That’s a good one, querida. But, wait—are you an elevator, because I’d love to go down on you.”

It’s instant, the way your mouth falls open— eyes widening before he swears they twinkle.

“That was…”

Moving closer, he presses a kiss to your forehead, taking your empty glass from your hand. “Can’t wait to see you crack, baby.”

“Oh, it’s so on, Morales.”

At one stage, between you whispering ‘is that a candy cane in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’ and him replying with ‘nice dress. Can I talk you out of it?’, Frankie had lost you to Will and an intense game of darts.

When he manages to pull himself free from an intense questioning from one of the smaller cousins on helicopters, he finds you in the kitchen—just tidying up some plates.

“Hey.”

Smiling, you slide the one in hand into the dishwasher. “Hey, handsome.”

“Why you in here alone, querida?”

Standing straight, you sigh, resting your palm on the counter as you look across at him. “Just… I’m not feeling myself.”

Placing his drink down, he moves around the counter. A wave of guilt crept up, wondering to himself how he’d missed it when he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you.

Placing his palms on your jaw, he slides his fingers up your cheeks—lifting your chin.

“Can I feel you instead?” you add.

He feels your smirk sliding up into your cheek—slowly shaking his head as you begin to bite your tongue, his nose scrunching.

Laughing, low, almost gruffly, he smiles. “You’re so bad.”

Nodding, you slide your arms around his neck. It’s second nature to move you, press your lower spine into the counter—press his hips to yours.

“How you gonna make me good, Morales?”

“Well, I’m not a dentist, but I bet I could give you a filling.”

Grinning, you tighten your arms around his neck, mouth ghosting over his. For a moment, it’s just the two of you. The room fades out, the party a distant memory and the music nothing but a soundtrack. His fingers fall, sliding down, knuckles brushing over the silk which sits over your breast, running over your nipple he feels harden, before sliding down. Moving, slowly trailing his way until his hand grasps your hips—hearing the soft gasp you let escape.

You make him so hard—make him desire and crave.

Make him want to slowly pull up the skirt of your dress and feel for himself too if you’re having the same effect. If you’re soaked, if the tops of your thighs are coated in want.

“Frankie,” you whine, all low, barely more than a whisper.

As his waist presses against you, survey you as your brows rise at the realisation of how hard he is inside his jeans—how hard he is for you. Eyes flashing, something shifting—no longer a game but a prize within reach—as you lift your chin, slotting your mouth over his.

It begins soft, gentle. But in a click it's desperate. The words, the insinuations—all of them—slamming into the two of you as you crawl your nails against his scalp, and tug on his curls. His own grip tightened on your hip, keeping you flush to him, letting him rock his hips ever so slightly, the friction helping, groaning into your open mouth.

“Want you,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” he pants, drawing a circle on your hip, feeling you urging to kiss him. “Call a cab, baby. Call one and I’ll make it worth it.”

You halt, pause.

Blinking a few times, before clarity washes over lust—drowning it, dragging it back out to sea, leaving the beach with only memories.

“You should know…”

Tracing his nose over yours, he bites your bottom lip. “What should I know?”

Rolling your lips, you stare at him—the biggest, fullest eyes he’s seen. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He knows you move, but he doesn’t feel you do so.

Suddenly short-circuited. Left with only a fleeting recollection of the way your hip felt in his palm, the way your dress felt under the callouses and years of service. It isn’t until the door to the kitchen swings back, brushing against the frame, does he blink. Snapping out of it. Forcing him to realise what it is you just said.

“Fuck.”

Moving, he turns on his heel—palm flat on the wooden door as he pushes it open. His blood is thumping, jeans are uncomfortably tight as he scans the area.

All of the lines he’d found on his phone were seemingly pointless now. Hell, even the game seems pointless now. How close it was already, the fact all his nerves were sizzling, faint memories of how warm you were against him.

Especially now he knows he can pull you into an empty room, slide the fabric up which covers your body and find you bare.

The only thing he wants to do is surrender.

Is it say his goodbyes, call a cab, and have you at whichever home is closest. He just needs to find you. Doing another look, another scan. Moving through the room—spotting how the numbers have dwindled—before he finds you with Ben, no drink in hand, just a tight expression on your face.

“Hey—”

“I’ve called us a cab,” you announce, staring pointedly, the weakest wink sent only for him. His lips desperate to crawl up, clamber into his cheek. “Told Benny my headache was getting worse.”

The two of you are barely through the door when he presses you flat against it, it clicks into place—his finger-twisting the lock, sealing the two of you inside, nothing and no one allowed to interrupt.

“Bedroom, now.”

You slip out of your shoes, fingers wrapping around his chin as you slant your mouth over his—and he’s able to taste the bubbles you enjoyed earlier, the faint remnants of mint from gum you likely chewed in haste. Then it’s gone.

Fingers around his wrist, dragging him past furniture and rooms until he’s being led into his own room, your touch falling from him—feet stepping back, moving closer to the bed.

“If I said you had a beautiful cock, would you put it inside me?” you ask.

Groaning, he closes the gap, and pulls you flush to him as his palm comes down on your ass—your gasp spreading into his mouth, before your groan replaces it, washing past to his throat, tongue licking past his teeth.

His mouth on yours, his shirt coming undone. Your nails scratch down his chest, his stomach, pausing right where his belt sits on his waist—

“Dress on, or off.”

He barely registers the question at first, until his fingers grasp the dress by your waist. He tortures you with it, the way he bunches it up, slowly pulling it up, letting the edge of it skate past your knees, up your thighs. Each inch unveiled meaning the cool air is kissing your skin, brushing over it, likely making even more of a mess between your pressed-together thighs.

Not halting his movement until he can see you weren’t lying earlier, and then he aids you in getting it over your head, unveiling you—a goddess, the hottest fucking thing his eyes have ever seen.

And, you’re all his.

“Sit down, baby,” he moans.

You do, slowly perching your rear on the end of the bed, spreading your legs—looking at him with the same wide eyes as you’d given him in the kitchen. But, he’s only focused on the space between your thighs. How you’re drenched. Practically desperate.

“You want me?”

He watches you nod, and he steps closer—forcing your thighs apart, spread by his thighs as he slowly removes his shirt—eyes gesturing down to his belt. And, you read his mind well. Tongue swiping over your lip as you begin to undo his belt, the melt clattering, his jeans loosening as you move to the button, then the zip—the noise cutting through the slow breaths the two of you keep trying to take.

Commanding your eyes up to his, he slowly kneels on the bed—one on either side as he watches you slide back, the two of you moving more into the middle, bodies almost touching, heat searing between the two of you. It only warms further when his lips find yours, when it’s needy, all tongue and whimpers.

His hips move with his movements and strokes, the air tinged with the littlest moans as he grabs a hold of his cock, dragging the head of it through your slick folds, making you plead, beg—smearing and skating it spitefully over your slick folds.

That’s when it meets his ears, those distinct words—ones he knows he’ll think up when the two of you are apart and he can’t sleep. When he’s rock hard and only imagining you being with him—I want to feel you tomorrow, Frankie.

It unlocks something. Floods him. He manages to take in a breath before he buries himself inside you, right to the hilt, going deep. He feels you stretch around his thickness, as he revels in your tightness, the way you gasp at the feel of him—fingers digging, scrunching them into his sheets. In awe of you, momentarily just watching you before he wrenches your back from his sheets, perching you on his thighs, needing to see you, needing to run his palms up your spine.

“You look beautiful taking me, querida?”

You moan as his hips snap, taking him so well, so perfectly—a thing he tells you, a rush of good girl, good querida taking me like this. And he expects a comment, a thing you bite back.

But it never arrives. Instead, it’s a barrage of chants, all yes, please, yes, painting the shitty room—giving the crumbling paint something to be disgusted at, other than its own despair. The metal legs of the bed squeal against the floor, the headboard hammering, and clattering, leaving a mess of years of repainting along the cheap flooring.

“More, Frankie. Please.”

His hand sliding down between your thighs, above where the two of you are joined, thumb finding your nerves, drawing circles—languid, slow. Tracing the letters of his first name against your throbbing clit—the sound of his cock fucking into you growing louder, sloppier.

"Love your cock, Frankie. Always feel so good inside me."

You're a mess, covered in a sheen of sweat and make-up smudged, but to him, you're still perfection. A realisation that almost nears him to the edge, to emptying himself inside of you and writing his name there too.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he grunts, teeth pinching your ear as your hand grips his wrist—thumb still swirling, the R and N being from your favourite from the way you moan, the way you clench around him, “Thought about this all night. Only fuckin’ thing that got me through it.”

He feels your nails dig down into his neck, mouth searing as it burns against yours, moan after moan coating him, letting him taste the sound of his name.

“Y’ruin me, Frankie—only one I ever want fucking me.”

It spurs him on, angling his hips, hitting the spot which makes your words slide into moans, all pleases and yeses, undoing you. It ripples out. Making your back arch into him, tightening up from your head to your toes, before it bursts. Erupts.

You clench all around him, tightening, squeezing him until his vision blurs and your name curls somewhere on his tongue, all set to be spat, spoken, even fucking whispered. Somehow able to swallow it when it unfurls through him, when it shoots up his spine and surges through every nerve and muscle.

The two of you collapsing against his mattress—both of you gasping, his heart hammering in desperation to rip out his chest and be with yours, as you turn in his grasp. Then, he feels your lips on his, burying three words against them, three words he says back, pressing them to your mouth, so he knows you have them.

Both relaxing, your ear coming to his chest, hand sliding out over his body.

“I liked our game,” you whisper.

“Me too.”

“Next time, we should make it more fun.”

Next time, he thinks, letting his eyes drift out to the drawer you never go in—the one stuffed with his underwear, and a box you no nothing about.

“Could get toys we need our phones for,” you continue, a mix of mischief and sleep adorned on your face.

Kissing your hairline, he sighs in contentment. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

Because next year he’ll let you have whatever fun you want, as long as you’re his fiancé and not his girlfriend.

an: think sundays are now feral-frankie-sundays with jo...

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

491 notes · View notes

stvharrngton · 9 months

Text

don’t leave me hangin’ on the telephone

a/n: just a lil somethin somethin i wrote inspired by a certain blondie song :^)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), dirty talk, friends to lovers sorta, hint of perv!steve if you squint

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @nix-rose

Your back hit your bed with a quiet thud, your clothes still stuck to your body, one shoe off, one shoe on. The bottle of wine, or two, you shared with Nancy sounded like a great idea at the time but now the room was spinning and your skin was buzzing, it seemed less so.

Groaning, you managed to get your other shoe off, downing half the glass of water you’d left on your nightstand. You glanced at the red numbers on your alarm clock, 12:02 they read, and then at the phone on the table.

Wine always had you like this. A little needy, a little desperate. Hot under the collar and skin clammy, usually fixed with a cold shower or a hand shoved down your panties.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, toying with the flesh as the scenario you imagined swirled around your brain. He’d been on your mind all night, in fact, he was never off your mind. A crush on your best friend that he was totally oblivious to.

“Fuck it,” you sighed, picking up the phone and dialling the number you had memorised long ago. It rang out a couple times, a part of you hoped that he wouldn’t pick up but another part of you hoped he really fucking did.

“Hello?”

Your heart was in your throat as the person on the end of the line answered, their voice gravelly and rough as if they’d just woken up.

“Hi, Stevie,” you whispered as innocently as you could. Fingers curling around the phone cord as you try your best to remain calm.

“What time is it, is everything okay?” your heart swooned at the quick change of tone in his voice, the panic evident. Steve knew you were hanging out with Nancy tonight and there would be alcohol involved, he just hoped you hadn’t gotten yourself into any trouble.

“A little after midnight,” you replied, your fingers toying with the strap on your top, thighs squeezing together at the mere sound of Steve’s voice on the other end, “and I’m okay, just wanted to hear your voice s’all.”

Ouch, subtlety was never your thing when tipsy. You could only imagine the look on Steve’s face in the dark of his bedroom, hair still full of sleep, lips soft and pink, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” You could hear the cockyness clear in his voice, the sound making you gnaw on your bottom lip out of arousal.

“No reason.” You lied. There was a reason, a reason that you hoped Steve would be able to pick up on so you wouldn’t have to utter the words yourself. Something told you that you were both on the same page.

Steve thought he was dreaming when he answered the phone and you were on the other line, voice sweet like saccharine. Truth be told you were all Steve thought about. His gaze follows you whenever you aren't looking, thoughts circling his mind about how his life would be ten times better if you were his girl. Innocence interrupted by impure dreams of how good you would look bouncing on his cock whenever you would wear that skimpy red two piece by his pool, or that skirt was a little too short.

“I’ll just hang up then if you won’t tell me, sweetheart.” Steve teased.

“No!” you cried, internally closing in on yourself at how desperate you sounded, “No, please don’t go.” Your fingers were now teasing the waistband of your shorts, your need to keep Steve on the line ever present.

Steve chuckled on the other end, hushing you as you got yourself worked up. “Fine, fine,” he started, “but you gotta give me something here, love.”

You groaned, cursing as you hoped he wouldn’t actually make you say it. “Just keep talking, please?” you asked, fluttering your lashes wishing he could see, “I just need to–” you cut yourself off, preserving your dignity.

Steve played along happily, engaging in small talk until he could hear the quiet breaths and subtle groans coming from the end of the line, “Have I ever told you how pretty you are?” he blurted out.

You could only respond with a small moan, your fingers now situated in your panties, your index finger teasing your throbbing clit. Your eyes shot open as soon as the noise left your mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in total embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Steve whispered under his breath, “are you touching yourself, pretty girl?” he cooed, his attention fully on the sounds you were making on the other end of the line.

“No, I–” your voice quivered, “you think I’m pretty?” you asked innocently, Steve’s words suddenly registering in your foggy brain.

Steve chuckled, running a hand through his messy bed hair, “I do, yeah,” you could hear his breath become a little heavier, a little more shaky, “but I’d think you were a whole lot prettier if your hand was in those panties.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, your clit throbbing beneath your fingers. All you could hear was your racing heart beat, all the blood rushing to the tips of your ears. Steve’s voice rang in your ears when he spoke up again.

“You still there, babe?” He asked, minor concern mixed with self assuredness lacing his voice.

“I’m still here, Stevie,” you nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

“Good girl,” he cooed, “gonna tell me what you’ve been thinkin’ about?” he asked, his own palm running down his chest now, fingers sitting pretty at the waistband of his boxers.

You considered not answering, considered telling him some lie that somehow ended up with your fingers playing with your pussy to the sound of Steve’s voice, but fuck it, you were too far gone.

“Y-you.” Your voice was shaky, full of adrenaline and wracked with nerves. You squeezed your eyes shut as you waited for his response, your thighs clenching as your clit throbbed in anticipation.

“Yeah?” he questioned, “What about me?”

You sighed in response, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. You cursed Steve at the boldness of his question and you knew he would pull the answer from you one way or another. On the other hand your head was too fuzzy and all you could think about was the tension in your lower stomach and Steve.

“Your fingers.” you breathed, fingers now circling your clit once more.

“Oh yeah?” Steve chuckled, “What about my fingers, pretty girl?”

The pet name made you swoon and your heart beat faster, “How good they’d feel in my pussy,” you whispered down the phone. You were now long past caring about any feelings of embarrassment or preserving any dignity.

You heard Steve mumble out a curse on the other end of the line before he spoke again, “Mm, I bet they would. Why don’t you take your fingers and pretend they’re mine for a minute, hm?”

“Fuck,” you whined as your fingers moved further south, circling your entrance before you plunged a single finger into your cunt. You breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling, a sound that went straight to Steve’s cock.

The boy had his fingers wrapped around his length now, softly tugging as his lips parted, praying to God that this was real and wasn’t some sort of cruel dream. He had the girl of his dreams moaning and whimpering on the end of the phone line, Steve swore he had died and gone to Heaven.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He cooed, his voice sticky sweet and a sexy kind of patronising.

“Y-yes,” you moaned, trying your best to curl your finger like you imagined Steve would, “but it would feel better if it was the real thing.”

“I’m sure it would, honey,” you heard Steve mumble, before hearing the sound of him clearly spitting into the palm of his hand rang loud in your ear, the sound going straight to your core, your arousal coating your fingers and leaking down onto the sheets, “and I’ll give you the real thing, real soon, I promise, but can you do one thing for me?”

Your fingers slowed as your eyebrows pinched together before you stuttered out, “Yes, Steve, I’ll do anything.”

Steve wished you could see the smirk on his face at your response, his fingers still wrapped firmly around his aching cock as his spoke, “Wanna grab that flesh coloured toy I know you keep in your bottom drawer and fuck yourself with it f’me?”

You gasped at his request, your movements all but stopping in their tracks. You wracked your brain as to how he would know what you kept in that drawer but you were all but stumped. The silence on your end of the line had Steve wondering if he’d crossed a line and taken it too far but he couldn’t help himself.

Truth is, he’d seen the silicone length, complete with veins, tucked away when you’d left the drawer open accidentally when you’d excused yourself to the bathroom a month or so ago. And Steve found it simply impossible to get the image of you filling yourself up with the toy out of his mind.

“Is that okay?” Steve asked, bottom lip held firmly between his teeth now. Heat rising to his cheeks at the thought of being rejected. He could hear you moving and rustling at the other end, the anticipation making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His heart was racing, his hands growing clammy. Saliva thick in his mouth as his stomach churned with nerves.

You settled back against your plump pillows with the dildo in hand, holding the phone to your ear once more. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared at the toy, “I have it.” you squeaked out, feeling yourself get wetter by the second.

“Oh, that’s a good girl,” Steve purred, his fist beginning to pump at his cock once more, “now can you suck on it a little? Get it nice and wet f’me, baby.”

You mumbled a little mhm down the phone and Steve could only imagine what you looked like with, could only dream about what you would like with his own cock in your mouth, bright eyes blinking up at him and spit dripping down your chin. Fuck, what Steve wouldn’t give to see that.

You whined down the receiver as your hand was preoccupied, leaving you to only be able to squeeze your thighs together. The sound of you sucking and slurping on the silicone cock made Steve impossibly harder, his cock now aching and throbbing, the tip angry and leaking precum.

Steve’s jaw went slack at the sound of the dildo hitting the back of your throat, gagging on the toy, a string of spit still attached to the thing as you pulled it from your mouth. You breathed heavy down the line as you regained your composure.

“Christ,” Steve groaned, his stomach tensing as he squeezing his eyes shut, “why don’t you stretch out that little hole for me?”

You gulped at his words, teasing yourself with the toy like you usually did. Letting the tip of the dildo brush over your clit a couple times before you pushed the head into your entrance, wincing at the sweet little stretch it created. You moaned loudly once you sunk the toy a quarter of the way in, moving it in and out slowly.

“That’s it, baby,” Steve cooed, “can you go a little faster for me? Wanna hear how wet that pretty little pussy is.”

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned before obeying his wishes, speeding up your movements, fucking the dildo in and out of your cunt faster now. In a deliberate attempt to tease the boy, get him real riled up, you pulled on the phone, stretching the cord until the receiver was closer to the apex of your thighs.

The loud sound of the wet slap of your pussy as you fucked yourself with the toy boomed over the line and Steve reacted as expected. Hand tugging on his cock faster now, his feet firmly planted on his mattress as he bucked his hips up into his hand, his breath getting heavier and his moans getting louder.

You brought the phone back to your ear so you could moan out the boy’s name, “Oh, Steve,” you whimpered, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten.

“You’re doing so well, honey, fuck–” Steve groaned, “taking that cock so well, huh? Can’t wait to see you take the real thing, shit, bet that pussy’s just the sweetest little thing, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, yeah, Stevie,” you whined, bucking your hips to match the movements of the toy, “wish you were here. Need your cock so bad.”

Steve wasn’t even here and you were already so fucked out, so close to your orgasm, one you knew was going to wipe you out. The sound of his strained voice over the line, his unruly and raspy moans were driving you insane.

“Don’t worry pretty girl,” he cooed, “you’ll get it real soon, I’ll fuck you real good, nice and deep. I bet that’s how you like it, hm?”

Once Steve opened his mouth the words wouldn’t stop. There was no going back now, no hiding any feelings, no sparing himself of any embarrassment. The poor boy was drunk on you, drunk on the sweet little whines and whimpers that found their way down the phone receiver.

“It is, yes, fuck, it is,” you cried, “I need to cum, Steve, please?” You dropped your grip on the toy, your fingers resuming their circles on your clit, your movements becoming faster, “Oh, please can I cum?”

“Fucking hell,” Steve groaned, his own orgasm around the corner, “yeah, go on baby, cum for me.”

The boy’s words pushed you over the edge, your legs shaking as you writhed on the bed. Your pussy fluttered as you came, moaning Steve’s name down the receiver like a song, the sweetest melody that Steve had ever heard.

“That’s my good girl, does that feel good?” Steve’s palm was slick with his own spit as it was wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping his fist harder and faster. Steve moaned loudly as you rode out your high, his own climax a stroke of his cock away.

“Fuck, baby,” he whined, toes curling into the sheets as he came, painting his stomach with ropes of hot cum. Babbling words of praise and incoherent moans into the phone, followed by heavy breaths.

The line went quiet for a beat, nothing to be heard but the both of you catching your breaths and regaining your composure. Your head became clear now, no longer tipsy, no longer desperate, suddenly realising what had just happened. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you went to speak, before Steve cut you off.

“I think I owe you a real date after that,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, “pick you up at 7?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington blurb #steve Harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #k.fic

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pearlfeline · 13 days

Text

Homesick

peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 2k

tw: none

a/n: i used to write for hp and i tried to start anew with this blog but it failed lol. (might still write for hp if i feel like it) but i luv peter and wanted to write for him so bad. i kinda didn't know how to end this but i thought it was fun to write anyway. thanks for reading.

"What can I getcha?" You attempted a decent smile, though Peter could tell you were tired. He knew tired. He IS tired.

Peter, blinking that thought away, snaps back into reality. He is in a small diner, and he took too long deciding outside the door if he wanted to go inside, so to avoid looking stupid he shuffled inside and sat down.

"Banana wheat cake... Is it any good?" He lets out a dry chuckle.

You press your lips into a thin line. "I know I work here but..." You bit your bottom lip, tucking your pen behind your ear. You drew closer to Peter so he could hear you. "It sucks. Get the breakfast combo." You winked, tracing a circle around the menu item. Peter unintentionally takes in a whiff of your perfume, giving him a hard time remembering what you just recommended.

"It comes with a free coffee." You flip open your notepad again, and as you grab the pen from behind your ear, a piece of hair falls to your face.

"I-I'll get that then." Peter closes the menu handing it back to you.

"Great. Bacon or sausage?"

Peter catches a lump in his throat. Almost as if words were filling to the brim and he couldn't say a word.

"Bacon." He smiles but keeps his gaze on his hands. They were almost uncontrollably fiddling with each other.

"Got it. I'll be right back with that."

Peter watches as you quickly let go of your charm to catch up with refills of coffee. You worked hard every day just to make rent but you never complained. Peter was never a customer until today, yet he could tell so much about you. His eyes couldn't help but follow you wherever you went.

His eyes followed you around the counter, grabbing a tray and putting his food on it. You were trying to keep him from waiting any longer and picked up the pace approaching his booth.

“Oh!” You slip, losing grip of the tray holding Peter’s breakfast.

Before you could react to the impact of the floor, you were pulled up. You opened your eyes and find Peter’s arm over your waist, successfully maneuvering the tray to grab everything that flew.

“Great reflexes.” You looked up at him with bewilderment.

“Thanks.” He shyly loosened his grip on your waist. You pull down and flatten your apron. “Whew. That was incredibly lame of me but surprisingly cool for you.” You let out a chuckle, making sure nothing was ruined on his plate.

“Why surprising?” He replied. “Do I look like a loser?” He suppressed a small smile.

“No you just look more… smart cool and maybe a possible ninja? I don’t know what else to call what you just did.”

Peter lets his smile crack a little, taking a sip of his previously airborne coffee.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re not lacking physically because you’re a book smart type of guy.” You give him a quick once over cheekily.

Before Peter can panic and come up with a mess of a response, a disgruntled old man cuts the moment short. “Coffee! Hello?” He slams his mug on the table.

“Duty calls.” You gave him a small wave, quickly making your way to the opposite side of the diner.

Peter spent the remainder of his time quietly finishing his breakfast, stealing quick glances at you.

Watching you smile even though you’re probably overwhelmed and exhausted. The hardest part was deciding when to leave. He had to go eventually to avoid being a creep. He had finished his food ten minutes ago. Before he leaves, he folds a $20 dollar bill into an origami heart, leaving it on the table.

The next morning, Peter walked a little faster, posture a little straighter, and smiled a little more.

Peter wanted to see you again. He knew not to tell you about the past, but what would be so wrong just talking to you? He attempts a nonchalant glance through the windows, making sure you were inside before walking in himself.

Peter gives you a shy head nod, making his way to sit at the counter instead of a booth.

"There's the generous tipper from yesterday. Hi, I'll be right with you." You got up from speaking to your coworker and greeted Peter.

"Was my service that good?" You flip open your notepad.

"The best." Peter pretends to study your name tag. "...Y/N."

"Well, thanks..?" You tilted your head slightly.

"Peter."

"Ah, Thank you, Peter."

"I won't be her for long, I just wanted a coffee."

"And you came here?" You snickered. You only half meant that statement. You didn't know why, but seeing him a second time was making your dreary work day go by easier.

"Yeah, in case you decided to fall again today."

You gasp, being dramatically 'offended'. "I'll let that comment slide... Since you gave me that nice tip. Even though I was struggling to unravel it for a while in my car." You grab a pot of coffee, pouring it into a cup that says 'print design here'.

"Thanks." Peter chuckles.

"No sugar?" You asked.

Peter's gaze slowly reached yours. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" You raise an eyebrow innocently. "Nobody here drinks black coffee unless they're over fifty or a pretentious student. Oh, were you afraid to ask this whole time? Hold on." You reach and dig into the pocket of your apron.

"N-no, it's fine. I don't really drink sweet coffee anymore." Peter's face falls in defeat. Of course, you wouldn't remember his order. Peter had to remind himself that he was a customer and a customer only to you.

"So, you're a pretentious student huh? No wonder I got a big tip. Let me guess you're studying tech?"

Peter shakes his head. "Biochemistry. Though, I do have somewhat of a tech background. I-" Peter almost rambles on but catches himself. "I'm poor. Not really enough money to be pretentious." He sinks into his seat, taking a sip to cover his face.

"Dude, do you know how tipping works? You can't be poor and tip me $20 after a breakfast combo from a dingy part of the city."

"You work hard." Peter scratches his neck. "...At least from what I've seen." He sighs.

"Are you actually poor?" You start wiping down the counter to keep your boss off your back for being unproductive.

Peter sheepishly avoids your eyes.

"...I'm poor too." You smiled. "If that wasn't painfully obvious by how I look."

"No. Not at all." Peter took this opportunity to take in your appearance. You looked exactly the same. Even though it had taken months for him to face you again. It's like your eyes were waiting right where he saw them last, inviting you in.

Unknowingly, you take his one-sided reunion with you as innocent flirting.

"I get off at 5." You blurted out. Why were you so inherently flirty all of a sudden?

Peter straightens his posture as if that would help him hear you properly. He blankly stares at you as you do the same for a response.

“…Are you free..? Or interested?” You throw the towel over your shoulder.

“YE-yes. Yeah. I have no classes today I can come get you of course but I don’t have a car I just walked here but not from far.” He rambles.

You visibly relax your composure as that alone was enough evidence that Peter was just a nerd without the rich snob part. Though he kept the physique of someone who would visit his rich dad’s personal gym.

“Here's my number. I’ll get you an actual good meal.” You shyly look down at your feet, ignoring your ugly, work-approved kitchen shoes.

“Deal.” He pays for his burnt diner coffee, and leaves an appropriate tip this time.

You sneak in one last wave before he disappears around the street corner.

This shift couldn’t have gone any slower for you. The wait from 4:00 to 5:00 was the most excruciating pain of consecutive boringness.

When it was time to clock out, you rushed out the back, shoving your work shoes into your book bag and trying to fix your disheveled hair that had been put up by a pencil this entire time.

You rushed to the front of the diner while putting on your wrinkled sweater to mask the smell of butter off you at least a little.

You waited. And waited. And waited some more. 5:15. Why was he late? Did you scare him off? Is he never coming back to the diner? Was that big tip an accident? Maybe he took out the wrong bill and played along today just to avoid being awkward.

“Shiiit.” You groaned. You looked around the intersection. “Maybe he’s rushing towards me?” You thought. “He’s gonna come around any second and say sorry frantically like the nerd he is.”

He didn’t. He never showed. You waited for an hour more and just decided to walk home.

As you were walking along the dark and wet sidewalk, you were internally thanking yourself for bringing that sweater, but cursing because you wanted to take the scenic route and walk to work today.

“Hi miss.” A voice called from behind you.

You turned around to see Spider-man.

“Oh wow, hi?” You’ve never seen him this close before. The rainy afternoon gave his suit an exaggerated glimmer and despite his bug eyes, he didn't seem scary while approaching you.

“Why would a pretty lady like yourself be walking alone?” He starts walking beside you holding out an arm for you.

“Well, I was supposed to leave work an hour ago.. Something came up.” You take his arm cautiously. “I usually walk home anyway, nothing different today.”

Peter feels a lump growing in his throat. Even when he ditched you, you don’t insult him.

“Except… it’s an hour later. That means it’s an hour’s more worth of danger out here.” He jokes.

You nod, not really the response he was expecting. Spider-man was not getting the same treatment as Peter.

“Something wrong?” He felt wrong asking immediately. Yes something’s wrong. He was wrong.

“I just.. I’ve been feeling empty almost. Recently it’s like… It’s like I’m missing something. Not completely empty, but enough absence to feel hopeless. I had a date today and he didn’t show.” You almost continue until you looked up to realize you were talking to a bug man.

“Sorry. It’s dumb. I don’t expect you to understand or help.” You chuckled dryly.

Peter wanted to tell you everything so badly. He was already pushing it by seeing you again. Giving you a second taste of danger. But he burned for you. Maybe the first time was a sign. This was a new opportunity to keep you safe and he blew it. He crawled back to you desperately just for a glimpse of you. To see that you were okay. Now he’s knees deep in a new relationship with you and you didn’t even know.

“It’s not dumb.” He quietly answered. Peter on his way to get you, was leaving his apartment when he saw someone being robbed. “Maybe he ran late?”

You scoffed. “For an hour? More like he forgot.”

Peter knew convincing you to forgive him was bad. He knew doing the opposite was for the best. To tell you to forget Peter. But he couldn’t. He had you right here. Like he used to.

“Things happen.” He shrugged. “What if he got robbed?”

“Wouldn’t you have helped him?” You replied, unimpressed.

“Oh. Well I did help a really handsome dude and he got robbed. Was he like an attractive guy or..?”

“He’s cute." You admitted.

Peter blushes under his mask. Though you had said more affectionate things to him before, apparently he still gets giddy.

"Well, I'm sure he didn't forget someone as pretty as you."

You let out a scoff. "Did you drop down next to me to take me home safely or be stupid?"

Under the mask, Peter had a huge grin. He was proud of you. Still the same in how you always know how to avoid trouble. He rarely ever had to save you. You were too smart. No stranger was safe from you, not even Spider-man.

"Sorry." He says cheekily.

You both eventually reach your apartment though Peter had to act oblivious that this was your home.

"This is me. Thanks Spider-man." You tug on a zipper from your bag, reaching for something in the bottom. Gummy worms

"I don't know if you take payments but uh, I was going to share these with my date. It's my lunch I forgot about. Don't judge."

Peter feels a pang of guilt hit his chest. "Th-thanks... you really don't have to." He slowly takes the bag.

"It's okay really."

Peter sighed. "Look, if that guy is actually stupid enough to ghost you, just call me."

"How do I call you?"

"Like this; SPIDER-MAN SPIDER-MAN AGHHH THAT IDIOT NEVER CALLED ME BACK!" Peter ran around in a circle mocking a girl's voice.

"And you'd help me from wherever you are?" You raised an eyebrow.

"I have pretty good hearing." Peter comically dusts off his shoulder.

"Alright man, no excuses. Even if you're fighting off a giant monster or something you have to help me."

"Something tells me I won't need to. Y'know? One of my powers is basically a gut feeling that's always right." Peter puffs up his chest proudly.

You let out an amused exhale. "You're a nerd. See ya." You went inside, waving without looking behind you.

"See ya." Peter says quietly. As soon as he saw you disappear around the corner, he zipped to the top of a random building.

"hey y/n, so so so so so so sodsdo sorry for ditching you. PLS FORGIVW ME!!! had family emergency. wanna meet tmrw???" Peter mumbled along as he typed, two gummy worms stored in the side of his cheek.

"I sound so lameee haha." Peter thought. He goes to delete but presses send.

"Man."

#pearlfeline #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #mcu peter parker #mcu!peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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chloessleepystories · 10 months

Text

Rabbit Hole

Based on a true story

Zoe was slumped down in the back row of the classroom, scrolling through Tumblr on her phone instead of paying attention to the teacher. Like usual.

Oh, here’s a sexy picture to share. Here’s a gif to attach a few lines of dialogue to… She liked teasing the boys (and girls) online, and they liked teasing her. Especially when she was in class and couldn’t do anything about her rising horniness.

Oooh, a hypno story, her favorite. She checked that the teacher was droning on, and not looking her direction, and started reading. Just a couple paragraphs in, she knew it was a good one. She reblogged it to finish reading later, and to share it with her followers (her many, many followers… how had that happened?) and kept scrolling. Ooh! A spiral! Don’t get distracted… But uunnnfff, so easy to get distracted… to get drawn in…

She shook herself, sharing the spiral with a drooling smiley face, and moved on.

“I’m a little concerned, looking at your last batch of papers, that so many of you got to college without apparently learning how to punctuate a simple compound sentence, much less to fill it with original thoughts…” Miss Thompson was saying.

Zoe squeezed her thighs together, feeling the arousal spread through her body. She looked around. Nobody looking. Good. She knew she should be listening, should be taking notes, but all she could think about was her needy pussy.

The constant alerts from her phone kept drawing her back to the glowing rectangle in her hand. BUZZ. Another favorite blog had just shared something, Tumblr wanted her to know. BUZZ. Someone was tagging her in a pic of one of her favorite porn stars. BUZZ…

She was powerless. She had to look, every time the phone buzzed. Every time Tumblr fed her more. She didn’t used to be like this, did she? She used to have, like, an attention span and stuff? Could leave her phone alone for a few hours? Now she was addicted… like she had conditioned herself to salivate at the buzzer.

Or been conditioned, came a whisper.

Been brainwashed.

Cuntwashed.

Drippy cunt. Salivating pussy…

BUZZ.

Ooh! a hot little gif that someone wanted her to see – “wanna ride me like this?” he asked, adding Zoe’s handle. Where was the teacher? Zoe knew she should scan for Miss Thompson again, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

BUZZ BUZZ. Three more guys wanting to talk to her privately. She was already keeping four conversations going…

This one, for instance, was telling her, in detail, what he would be doing to her if they were in a hotel room together right now. She was giving as well as she was getting, egging him on, hoping he was stroking to her words the way she wished she could be rubbing to his. This one was begging her to punish him, and reveling in her attempts to be domineering. And this one… oh, this one kept sending spirals, and inductive texts, drawing her ever downward (or trying to), making her sleepy, making her horny… making her a mindnumbed cockslave…

She tapped the little pencil symbol to make a public post.

“You guys are making me so horny!!!” she typed.

I’m supposed to be paying attention to the teacher right now but my tumblr feed is full of porn and 3 of you fuckers are having hot conversations with me trying to make me horny and IT’S FUCKING WORKING I’m sure my neighbors can smell me I’m so turned on I can feel how drippy I am goddammit I need to stroke I’m not gonna make it

That was a mistake, of course. As she knew it would be. The sharks smelled blood in the water, and circled.

“Just keep watching little slave. Soon you’ll be my little cock hungry whore”

“It’s just so nice to be able to turn off your brain for a while, ya know? Join me?”

“And when I say “horny bunny” you’ll have a powerful urge…”

“Mmm damn what a view! Your nice tight pussy wrapped around my cock feels so damn good. I’m going to enjoy fucking you hard, bottoming out hitting your womb”

“…And then one day you wake up and you’re an empty headed pink bimbo, with no thoughts in your dumb bimbo head but getting bigger tits and pleasing your Mistress’s pussy…”

Another public post:

Ogod now ur all piling on cumming our of the woodwork why csnt i turn off this app why do i keep lookin im not gonna make it im such a dumb hotny cow

Sent.

And back to messaging, the words pummeling her brain –

Blank. Obedient. Responsive. Counting from 10. Letting your mind slide away. Relaxed. Empty. No thoughts. 8. Letting go….

Then, even before she could register the shadow over her desk, a hand snatched the phone from her fingers.

“You know the rules about phones in my class, Zoe,” said Miss Thompson. Zoe made a choked whimper, her fingers mindlessly twitching after the phone.

“You can get it back later. If you’re good.”

If you’re good. If you’re a good girl. Good girls obey.

Zoe whimpered again, as Miss Thompson walked away. She was going to have to sprint to the ladies’ room when class was over. The phone would have to wait. Her clit was throbbing… and she needed to obey.

*****

Later, after everyone had filed out, Miss Thompson carefully and (BUZZ) meticulously wiped clean the blackboard. She liked the board to be as neat (BUZZ) and tidy as her desk.

(BUZZ)

What on earth was – Oh. Right. That girl’s phone was still on the desk. Vibrating away, for some unknown reason.

She sat down and picked it up, turning it on. Silly child didn’t seem to have a lock on the –

A rainbow of porn leapt out of the screen and slapped Miss Thompson about the face.

Cocks going into young women’s mouths. A girl’s tongue on a pussy. “Zoe, are you still there?” Breasts, so many breasts. “Zoe, girl, look how hard you made me…” A maelstrom of dark and light flesh that she couldn’t make sense of for a moment, until she saw the caption “gangbanged fuckslut made airtight with BBC”… which, to be frank, didn’t ENTIRELY explain the picture to Miss Thompson, but it let her figure out what some of the shapes were…

Horrified, repulsed, Miss Thompson started scrolling. And couldn’t stop scrolling. Stories of incest and bondage. Lewd photos and gifs, scenes of decadence and degradation. She shook her head, her mouth open, but she couldn’t stop…

And the hypnosis. Over and over in the girl’s feed, the hypnosis! Glassy eyed girls with drooping mouths, baring their breasts… Women with spirals in their eyes, and cocks in their mouths… Flashing gifs with pictures and words, too fast to follow, telling her how she should be, how she must be, how she knew she already was, if she would just admit it to herself… Inductions, and fantasies, and more spirals, and submissive, drooling women, eager to serve cock, to serve pussy, to become slaves to their own needy cunts…

Miss Thompson hadn’t noticed how hard her nipples had gotten. She hadn’t noticed how wet her own cunt was, until she found herself dipping in a finger… She bucked against her hand, but didn’t stop stroking… just kept scrolling…

Someone calling himself Master of Mystery – except with some of the letters replaced by numbers – BUZZed into a private message. “Getting pretty horny, Zoe? Pretty needy and desperate?”

“No,” she found herself typing. “I mean, no, I’m – I’m not… No.”

“Oh, you certainly sounded pretty desperate to me. You sounded like a little slut who needed permission to cum… A naughty fucktoy who can’t stop touching her princess parts even though she’s not supposed to…”

Miss Thompson bit her lip and with an effort pulled her hand away from her pussy. “I’m not Zoe. I am Miss Thompson, her teacher,” she typed.

She tried to pull herself together.

“And you should keep a civil tongue in your head, young man.”

“Ohhh! Naughty, naughty, teacher… Are you looking through a confiscated phone? And getting TURNED ON by someone else’s Tumblr porn? You are, aren’t you… Go ahead, you can admit it…”

“i” she typed and sent by mistake.

She cursed.

“I will do no such thing. I am… I am putting the phone down now.”

“No you’re not.”

She hesitated. He seemed so sure. She waited, panting.

“You won’t, because you would have already without saying anything. You would have before you got so horny scrolling through her feed.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Because you are horny, aren’t you? All pent-up, tied up in knots…”

“Yes, yes, I am, OK, but there’s nothing wrong with that”

“No, not at all. Tell you what. You seem tense. Let me help you relax. Can we do that?”

“Um”

“Just focus on your shoulders for a second. Feel how tight they are? Tighten them up even more, just for a second. Take a deep breath in. And then let it out, and as you do, feel all the tension go out of your shoulders…”

“what”

“Sshh shh you don’t have to say anything just listen. I’m going to count, and with each number you’re going to release a little tension, and it’s going to turn into warmth… warmth spreading through your body…

“And then maybe we’ll look at a spiral together for a while… You’ll like that…”

*****

Zoe was feeling SO much better – though her legs were still a little wobbly – as she walked toward the classroom door. She couldn’t believe she’d left her phone behind! She hoped she could get it back quietly, without much fuss. There didn’t seem to be a class in there now. Maybe she could just slip in and grab it?

She eased the door open gently… and then almost dropped her backpack in surprise.

Miss Thompson was sprawled, nearly nude, in her wooden rolling chair! Her skirt was bunched around her middle, panties on the floor, white blouse and bra tangled on her desk. Most surprising of all, one hand was operating Zoe’s phone, and the other hand was operating Miss Thompson’s bushy cunt!

She stepped closer, sliding the backpack gently to the floor. The teacher’s breathing was ragged, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glassy… and sure enough, Zoe could see a spiral on the glowing screen. She tiptoed close enough to read over her shoulder.

You want to watch

To let the spiral suck you in

To let my spiral suck away all resistance

You want to become mindless for me, because it feels so good to stop thinking

Each word you read will bring you pleasure, and each second you spend watching will make you sink deeper and deeper, until you can’t help but obey…

She reached around her teacher’s body, and cupped both breasts at once.

Miss Thompson gasped, and then relaxed with a moan as Zoe began kneading her nipples.

“How are you doing, miss?” she whispered.

“Can’t… Can’t cum. Need to… but don’t… don’t have permission…”

“Mmmm.” Zoe tweaked her nipples, massaging her surprisingly full and warm tits. “I know it’s a lot to handle if you’re not used to it. I’ve been sliding into this rabbit hole a bit at a time for months, so I’ve built up a liiiittle bit of an immunity.” Partially true, anyway. “But my feed and my followers must have hit you like a ton of bricks.”

Zoe giggled to herself, as her teacher panted.

“Who are you talking to,” Zoe murmured.

“M-Master of Mystery,” Miss Thompson gasped, her back arching.

Ah yes, thought Zoe. Also known as Kevin.

“Tell him I’m here. And ask him what I should do to you.”

“Master…” Miss Thompson typed, and after a moment, responded.

“He says to get on your knees and lick my s-slutty, juicy c… cunt.”

Zoe smiled. “That’s what I was hoping he was going to say,” she murmured as she knelt.

After all, she thought. Good girls obey.

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maxsimagination · 2 months

Note

Can you please do some Elisa de almedia smut? 🥰

𝙥𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙨 - 𝙚.𝙙𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙢𝙚𝙞𝙙𝙖

warnings: smut. 18+ below the cut.

-------

“ma chère, please hurry up!” (my dear)

i could hear elisa’s voice from where she was downstairs. i was just slipping on my heels before grabbing my bag and walking down to elisa.

when i was standing at the bottom of the staircase, i could feel her eyes on me, even without looking.

“you look amazing, amour.” (love)

i could feel the blush creeping onto my cheeks.

we were going out to dinner, meeting some friends at a popular restaurant downtown. elisa looked hotter than hot in her dress pants and silk shirt, it took all my self control not to take her back to the bedroom.

sakina, clare and grace were all already at the restaurant waiting for us, making me feel a little bit bad for them. i hadn’t meant to take so long but it wasn’t my fualt that elisa was wearing her silver chain tonight. it made her look irresistible.

“bonjour dames. sorry we took so long.”

(hello ladies)

we all sat at the table together, chatting about all sorts. sakina and clare had ordered some entrees that they knew everyone would like so we nibbled on those until we decided to order our own food.

i was enjoying the night, hanging out with the french girls and clare, the token australien, was always fun. but i couldn’t shake a pooling feeling in my gut everytime i looked over at elisa. i knew that feeling well, it made my thighs rub against eachother subconsciously, attempting to gain some friction.

clearly elisa noticed because she reached a hand over and placed it on my thigh, stopping my movements. i looked over at her, she had a knowing grin plastered on her face without even looking at me.

as the night went on, i tried my best to keep paying attention to the conversation but the feeling in my stomach got heavier, i was very close to saying i wasn’t feeling well, just so we could go home and elisa could finish me off.

i had eventually zoned out again while clare and grace were having an animated conversation about god knows what, and that’s when my thighs started rubbing again.

again, elisa noticed. she placed her hand on my thigh, again, this time a bit higher than before. she started creeping her hand slowly up and under my dress hem. i was unsure what she was doing, surely she couldn’t be trying to satiate me here, in a booth of a very public restaurant.

i was wrong.

my eyes widened and i whipped my head to look at her. she was doing exactly that, slipping her fingers under my panties and swiping her finger over my clit. the intrusion gave me a shock, my hips bucking forward a little. elisa’s fingers stopped, she gave me a warning look. if i wanted a release, i couldn’t move or make a sound.

she continued her ministrations, her finger drawing lazy circles over the little bundle of nerves, occasionally dipping down to poke at my entrance.

i was on a very thin line of orgasming and overstimulation, needing a release badly. i looked over at elisa, who seemed to be intently listening to grace talk about her newest piece of gossip. i poked her in the side, giving her a pleading look.

she knew what i was asking for, raising an eyebrow at my silent begging.

“please.”

i whispered desperately, and praying that none of the other three had noticed what we were doing or saying.

elisa didn’t have a verbal response, only started moving her fingers faster around my clit.

finally, i could feel the coil deep in my stomach start to tighten. my pussy was clenching around nothing as elisa’s fingers skillfully worked against my pulsing nub.

she was pushing me closer and closer to the edge, an edge that i was so desperate to be pushed over. not even five minutes later, i could feel myself teetering on that edge.

“elisa, please.”

i muttered quietly, tapping her thigh to ask permission to cum.

she simply nodded at me, and i let myself go. my clit was a throbbing mess and i didn’t even want to see how wet i’d become from the orgasm. elisa slowly pulled her hand from between my legs, bringing her hand up to her mouth, subtly sucking her digits clean.

i was reeling from what had just happened, and the fact that not one single person in the restaurant, let alone the three girls that we were sat with, had noticed.

it was truly a miracle, and a risk that was so worth taking.

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #woso smut #elisa de almeida #elisa de almeida x reader #elisa de almeida imagine

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turcott3 · 3 months

Note

Can you write birthday smut with mark? I know his birth was a few days ago but

SO SORRY IM ANSWERING THIS SO LATE

mark estapa x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, alcohol, protected sex, fluff ofc

masterlist

“you know you want to y/n, you have been talking about fucking him for at least a month now. besides, he told luca about this place he fucked a girl at a few days ago that’s close by, no way he wouldve told me that for no reason he knows we’re best friends.” your best friend says to you as you eyeball him across the room. you and mark had been snapping for a while now and you’ve grown this massive crush on him, and not in the wholesome ways. like the way his hair was wet after practice made you squeeze your legs together subconsciously.

“i don’t know, what if he doesn’t want to? and i am not fucking in the woods that is a line i will not cross.” you reply sipping on your red solo cup.

“girl have you seen the way he looks you up and down? and besides, it’s his birthday, he wants to fuck i know he does.” she scoffs.

“no.” you lie, your face burning red.

“come on just do it.”

“what am i supposed to do? walk up to him and say ‘hey we should fuck’ like girl come on.”

“or you could down another drink and sing it.”

“MY SONG?” you reply.

“you already know.”

“fine, hand me the fucking tequila.” you sigh, giggling. latto was your go to drink karaoke and with enough tequila in your system to keep you conscious yet relaxed, you could care less who you sang in front of. you took a big swig from the bottle, setting it down and b-lining for the living room where mark was always found with some of his friends around.

“what you guys know about latto.” he laughs, slurring your words. the song started smoothly, you knew the words from all your shower world tours so this surely was a breeze. you felt two hands against your shoulders shove you in mark’s direction. you turn your see your best friend smirking at you. you turn back around to see mark staring at you with eyes you couldn’t quite read. you dragged a finger down his chest while the chorus rang through the speakers. maybe he found your lack of care for others opinions hot.

“let’s fuck.” mark leans over whispering in your ear. you giggled at his words finishing your song, attached to marks chest. his hand held you firmly in place by the ass. you flung the mic across the room. he guided you through a crowd up the stairs, the noise beginning to quiet as you got further from the group downstairs. you enter a bedroom, shutting the door and locking it behind you.

“a lot quieter up here.” you say lowly, cocking your head sideways and smirking at the brunette.

“not for long, but yeah.” he giggles approaching you as you sat on the bed. he leans down attaching his lip to yours hastily, his tongue gliding across your bottom lip. you rip apart, both of you discarding your clothes as quickly as you could, reconnecting your lips as he lays you down on the bed.

“you have no idea how long ive wanted to get you like this.” he says breathlessly.

“i’m all yours birthday boy.” you smirk as he pushes his hard cock into you effortlessly. the two of you were so horny for each other that no prior help was needed.

“fuck.” you groan, gripping the sheets with your fists.

“so good.” he coos, nipping the skin of your neck, praying that it would be littered with hickeys once the two of you were done. his strokes were deep and hard, stretching you in ways you couldn’t explain. he adjusts his angle, the pitch in your moans snapping up an octave as he hit the spongey spot buried deep inside you.

“oh my god mark.” he moan, your hand gripping onto his hair as you lock eyes with the boy inches above your face.

“such a good girl, so tight for me.” he grunts, smirking at you. he could tell you were close. he reconnects your lips sloppily, rubbing your clit in circles with his fingertips, your moans becoming closer and closer together.

“i’m gonna cum.” you whine as you pull away from his swollen lips.

“cum for me baby,” he replies, fucking you through your high. the octave of your moan falling once you cooled off of your intense orgasm. he pulled out of you, still jerking himself off.

“let me.” you say, sitting up shakily. you take his cock into your hand and stroke him firmly.

“fuck.” he groans, tosses his head back. you run your tongue along his sensitive tip, begging for a climax. you felt his cock twitch in you hand. you shut your mouth, allowing his milky seed to make a mess of your face. you giggled as he finished, scraping his climax off your face with your fingers before sucking them clean.

“happy birthday mark.” you say sweetly, still on your knees in front of him.

“happy birthday to me indeed.” he giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. he helps you off the bed and gathers your clothes, handing them to your as you put them on one by one.

“hey so um,” he starts as he begins putting his clothes back on, “do you wanna get out of here?”

“what? like go home with you?”

“i mean yeah, i like you y/n. i wanna spend time with you alone.”

“i like you too.” you smile.

“and plus, this doesn’t really give me a chance to take care of you, aftercare is so fucking important to me. we’re in a frat house. let’s go back to mine so i can take care of you, okay?” he says adjusting his shirt on his body.

“okay.” you blush. he takes your hand, intertwining your fingers, guiding you back downstairs. on your way out the door you bump into luca and none other than your best friend.

“oh hey guys.” luca laughs nervously.

“did you just-“

“yeah did you-“ they pause before dapping each other up. mark wraps a gentle arm around your waist, pulling you into him.

“we’re heading back to my place, too hectic in there for this.”

“you two have fun.” your best friend says slapping your ass as you walk past her.

“what a coincidence.” mark laughs pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he leads you down the street to his home.

the two of you spent the rest of the night laying in his bed, wrapped up in each other, sharing stupid stories of your childhood and learning small details about each other. both of you hoping it could spark into more than a hookup.

#mark estapa #mark estapa x reader #mark estapa smut #umich hockey #umich boys #umich imagine #luca fantilli #hockey smut #turcs’ talk

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barbieaemond · 7 months

Text

Intrusion (part I)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: (modern) Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Aemond has no filter, drug use (very brief), mentions of overdose, suggestive themes, sexual tension (sadly nothing more but part II will be a helluva ride)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sothoryos is a large continent in Martin’s universe. It is located below Essos.

WORD COUNT: 7k

Song for this fic:

taglist: @zae5 @chompchompluke @multyfangirl

“What’s up with the green light?”

Jason's voice came distantly, even though he was sitting right next to her. She looked up through her long eyelashes, scanning the mighty, green-lit Hightower from top to bottom, an emerald glow kissed her face.

“How dumb are you? It was a beacon once.” She said mindlessly, dragging her eyes away from the car window to watch her brother crouched on a little mirror with three lines of white powder on it.

“D’you want some?”

“I’m done with that shit.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled, rolling a banknote between his fingers with the expertise of a magician ready to do his trick. “Dad is still paying the hospital to keep their mouth shut. Not to mention the papers…”

She heard him snort the substance, humming with delight as it reached his brain. She looked at him for a moment, green just like the glowing light on her face. It was so easy for Jason to surrender to the void. She struggled to do even that.

“Speaking of which” he said wiping his nose “he could’ve bothered to come.”

“And watch Otto Hightower gloat in his face? Dad would rather throw checks to the homeless.”

“Why are we here then?” he asked as the car stopped in front of the huge, tall building, the tallest in all the continent.

“Because he wants to remind everyone we are still the wealthiest in this wretched world.” She said she grabbed her little purse and got out of the fancy car as soon as the driver opened her door.

Blinding lights fell on her as photographers took note that the Lannister family had sent its scions to attend the annual Gala held by the Hightowers. A party that had always been held in the capital in the previous years, at least until what the newspapers had called the divorce of the century.

“I would not be so sure about that.” Jason said, squinting his eyes in front of the ruthless flashes. “Papers say Viserys is going to pay a fortune, for alimony and all that shit.”

“Miss Lannister! Here, please! On your right!”

She built a broad smile for the photographers, maneuvering her hair to let it slide down her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. A well-thought-out act, repeated incessantly for as long as she could remember. A beautiful machine doll bathed in gold and diamonds.

“Do you still read papers?” she asked, not breaking her plastic smile.

“How else should I find out if I've done something illegal?”

“They’re a reliable source on that, less on others. They claim I had a thing with Cregan Stark when even walls know he’s gay.”

They claimed many other things. But she never confirmed or denied the rumors, because it was all part of the plan.

Any rumor of an alleged flirt or talk of an engagement with a scion from one of the old power families of the country only increased the height of the pedestal on which her father and mother had placed her. So that when rumors died, the vultures would come even more savage, raising the stakes to win the most coveted prize in their circle of starched shirts and centuries-old privileges that no longer had any value except in the small, greedy world inside their small, greedy heads.

She moved, swiftly but graciously, and stepped inside the building, followed by her brother and his giggles, and the photographers screaming at the top of their lungs, begging for another picture—just one more. The begging had started already.

The Hall of the Hightower Palace was a sight to behold. Adorned with green and dark tones, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and yellow cocktail music pushing all the fine-dressed people to chat and laugh more loudly as if they unconsciously tried to imitate the lively ups and downs of the notes.

The Lannisters lingered on the entrance, immediately catching many pairs of eyes, greedy and green as the decorations around them.

“Are they waiting for us to go greet them?” Jason asked, watching the Hightowers at the center of the Hall. “Gods, why do they always act as if they were royals and us merely subjects?”

"Apparently, it has been proven they have hints of blue in their blood.”

“Who’s the blondie?” he asked, taking his sister’s arm as they walked towards the hosts.

“Helaena Targaryen.”

“Oh! The freak?”

“She’s not a freak. She’s a renowned entomologist.”

“And my point stands.”

Miss Lannister knew all the four Hightowers waiting to be greeted. After all, who didn't?

Otto Hightower was the most influential man in the country, although he liked to hide and pull his strings behind the curtains. They said that family and strangers made no difference to him. His daughter Alicent would agree with a stiff lip.

She wore the most lavish dress of all, but that was not what caught the eye, but rather the determination in her gaze and the way she stood. A woman free from the chains of a marriage she had never wanted.

“It is a pleasure to have both of you here.” She said smiling at the two Lannisters. Her father Otto was towering just behind her, a curious look on his face as his eyes rapidly scanned Miss Lannister.

In fact, he stepped in, saying “Indeed, Alicent. Especially Miss Lannister. I’m relieved to see you well.”

After what happened in Pyke, was the part he deliberately omitted.

The young woman looked at him, unfazed, building another one of her plastic smiles and then directed her attention to the youngest son of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen. Daeron.

The boy was no more than twenty, but he had a way of standing and carrying himself, which gave him at least five more years. That was the price of being doomed to inherit a heavy family name and all within it. The young Lannister girl understood it all too well.

As for Helaena, she seemed the most out-of-place creature, like watching a dolphin swim along sharks. The Lannister girl didn’t know her that much; truthfully no one did. Helaena was always far away from the country for her studies, traveling to the edge of the world to discover wild and rare creatures. She had a way of avoiding eye contact, Miss Lannister noticed, if not for brief and furtive glances, as if she was afraid that if she looked too much, she would see too much.

“And you don’t call that a freak?” Jason asked once they moved away from the Hightowers.

“You are just sour because she barely looked at you.” his sister answered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Hey. I’m nice to look at!” he said gesturing to his figure.

“You tell yourself that.” she sipped her bubbly like water, barely tasting it, as her eyes roamed around the lavish hall, watching the same old play unfold, with the same old puppets. And she was one of them, perhaps the main star, ready to follow the script and never stray from it. It was her purpose in life. A well-trained parrot with a melodic laugh and the stillness of a porcelain doll.

She looked around and saw the eagerness, the anticipation as they bided their time before flocking to her, begging for flesh and money and power, each one of them so eager to sell one piece of themselves to be on a golden plate, the very same on which everything was always freely given to her. Things, places, people. The Golden Girl, they called her. She was born in it, she reflected it. She never had to ask, she never had to beg for anything. While everyone around her seemed to be able to do nothing else.

"Miss Lannister, we would love to have you as our guest in High Garden. Please, consider our invitation."

"Miss Lannister, did your father receive the gift I sent him last week? Please, have him contact me as soon as possible, I have another proposal for a collaboration."

"Miss Lannister, please, convince your father not to cut off the funds, I wouldn't know what to do without the invaluable support of your bank.”

“Miss Lannister, please—"

Please. Please. Please. Please.

They all came muffled, the beggars and their begging, as if speaking from the surface while she was deep down underwater, floating. Then the puppet would take over, moving haughtily and mischievously, promising lies with empty smiles and stolen words. The same old power play, to tell the world the Lannisters were far above it.

But amid the muffled chatter and greedy eyes, there was one in particular, stripped of all reverence, blue and cold as the eye of the scientist dissecting something under a microscope.

He had placed her under the lens out of pure boredom.

He never attended these kinds of gatherings, at least not after Sothoryos, not after Floris. He was there only because his mother had insisted, almost pleaded with him. This was the first public event after the divorce. It was essential to appear close, united.

The word tasted rotten in Aemond's mouth.

He had made sure Aegon would not attend, and had come in through the back, creeping into the hall like a spectre.

Alicent had seen him at once, her eyes widening with surprise as if she were certain he would not come. And they had barely talked.

She had kissed him on the cheeks with that look in her eyes, the one that rose tenderness and contempt at once inside him, twin flames mirroring and dancing around each other. His mother's lips opened and closed repeatedly, like a record needle cutting the same groove on and on without making a sound. And he had no desire to fix that.

Once, maybe. He had nurtured so many unspoken words that they had ended up souring and festering the more he held them back, locked in a dark corner where no light filtered. So, his mouth stayed sealed and silent, like a tomb.

He had withdrawn to a corner of the hall, watching as the people lingered with their gazes on his dead eye, half curious, half scared. Something he was all too used to. He found himself cursing under his breath for wasting time in such a vapid and useless way. He could have been at home, studying, or working in the basement.

But then he had spotted her.

It was hard not to.

The moment she had entered the hall with her brother, it seemed she had drawn all attention to herself, absorbing all the light from the chandeliers. It seemed that her golden dress was truly made of gold.

Aemond had seen her once or twice in the past and each time, two distinct thoughts had rapidly crossed his mind.

First: that she was a pretty doll with more money in her pocket than cells in her brain.

Second: that he wouldn't mind taking her doll's clothes off.

No man with sense would have denied her beauty, but the more he looked at her, the more he saw how dry she was, how cold, like a sculpture doomed to live the same moment forever.

It was all scene, all pose. And Aemond understood it at once since he himself had enacted the same play in the years past. He knew what it meant to be an inanimate thing waiting to be moved by others, for duty or loyalty. Things that had lost all meaning to him once he’d found out that the more he latched on these things, the more hollow he felt.

He watched the Lannister girl build fake smiles at each turn and he found himself grimacing, feeling pity for her, almost contempt. Perhaps she was just a tool, an extension of his former self for him to loathe, like spitting into a mirror.

But he just couldn’t stop watching.

She had a way of making the place where she stood like some kind of holy shrine and everyone around her kept scrambling to fall at her feet. She had a way of moving, slowly, like a creature living underwater. She would lean forward as she listened to people, only to retreat when it was her turn to speak, and she did it quietly, making the privileged speaker unconsciously lean towards her.

A tactic—a working tactic, though. Because Aemond had found himself craning his neck forward more than he would’ve liked to admit, and he wasn't even close to her.

“Choosing your next victim?”

He turned on his blind side as Helaena stopped beside him, handing a flute of champagne.

“Hāedar.” he said, taking the glass “Don’t say that. With all the shit they say about me, tomorrow they might title I’m a serial killer.”

“Well, you do have a dank basement in your place. And with the way you keep looking at the Lannister girl, it would be hard to beat the allegations.”

He looked down at the sizzling bubbles and curled his lips. Helaena did the same as her blue eyes scanned his face. Of all her brothers, she had always had the closest bond with Aemond. Born only one year apart, they had grown up as close as twins. Helaena did not look down when she talked to Aemond; she did not stutter or struggle to voice her thoughts as she did with anyone else. And his lips, which struggled so much to voice his emotions, always curled up in the most spontaneous way when they spent time together.

“You won’t get away with a smile, though.” She pointed out after a sip of bubbly “You barely talked to me earlier.”

“I was afraid our mother would stir up a hornet’s nest seeing me here.”

“She was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t have. This place smells of coffin.”

She watched him for a moment, trying to guess his mood and, therefore, whether it was a good time to speak. “Did you get my message last week?”

His eye remained fixed on the elated crowd, but Helaena didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips. “I did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“What was there to say?”

“Aemond, I know you have your grudges, but... he’s our father and he’s severely ill. He wants to see us, all of us, at Summerhall, next month. I want to believe he’s changing and—”

“Must I remind you what happened the last time we had a family heart to heart?”

She did nothing but cast a single, saddened glance to his dead eye and all her willingness to talk and try to make things better withered like a leaf in a frosted land.

“He’s changing because he already has one foot in the grave. Quit the fancy words, Hel, he’s not changing. He’s just trying to relieve his conscience. A bit late for that, no?” and he downed his champagne in one gulp.

“Aem—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care.” He said, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one cigarette between his lips. He glanced one last time at his sister and with the coldest distance he said “But do let me know when he dies. I'll toast to that.”

She had had three flutes of champagne while talking to a countless number of faceless beggars when she started to feel nauseated. She didn’t even know by what, whether it was the champagne, the people, or herself. Perhaps all of them.

The cold night air embraced her as she went out on the terrace, making the hairs on her arms stand and her half-covered spine shiver. She had not brought her coat with her, but she did not mind. The cold awoke her from her torpor, made her stop being a relic on a mantelpiece.

She slipped a cigarette between her lips and looked into her purse for the lighter. "No, no, no—" she said to no one, frantically feeling every nook and cranny of the purse. "Fuck!"

"Here."

She jumped, turning her head just in time to see a lighter flying towards her. She caught it, staring at the dark corner on her left. There was a man sitting there, wrapped by the shadows, except for a thin white hand laying on the table, long fingers, and half a cigarette resting between index and middle.

She squinted, trying to get a better look. “I can’t see you.”

“I do.”

It was just a simple statement, but his tone was strange, riddled with an edge of shrewdness.

She stared at the dark figure for a moment longer, then lit her cigarette and walked a few steps closer.

"I would like to know who I'm speaking to, stranger." She said, handing over the lighter.

A moment later the shadow stood up, and she had to lift her chin as she watched the glow of the lamps unraveling his face, sharp like a knife. The air hitched in her throat, her gaze inevitably caught by the blue of his eye, as well as the dead blue of the prosthetic. "Oh."

His arched mouth bent upwards. "Define your oh."

“It’s just a oh, you’re not a stranger after all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, curiously tilting his head with a ghosting grin “What do you think you know about me? Aside from what you read on gossip papers.”

“I don’t read gossip papers.”

“Yes, you do. All the girls like you do that.”

“All the girls like me?”

“Dolls with a trust fund to squander before forty.”

She raised her eyebrows, quickly scanning the young man before her. He was clad in black, with a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, accentuating his sharp features and pale face framed by short hair, a bit curly but neatly styled. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I have blue blood in my veins.”

“I don’t work for my family.” He said matter-of-factly “They don’t pay my rent and they don’t cover up my shit.”

“Mine neither.”

His eyebrow raising was enough to dismantle her lie right away. “Papers say otherwise.”

“Do you trust papers and their cheap rumors?”

“Hmm. Trust is a strong word. But true or false, rumors are often more revealing than facts.” he took a long drag on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes and she watched as the dead one remained unnaturally still. It was not disturbing, she thought. It gave him a sinister allure, catching her off guard.

“Then I should believe all the rumors about you and your...charming mystery.”

“They say I’m charming now?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe they called you a sphinx” she deadpanned “before claiming you hit a journalist, a woman.”

“And which one do you think is more likely?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Well, he was charming. But he was a lot more mysterious. More than a sphinx, Aemond Targaryen was a living riddle.

Even before the accident in Sothoryos, from where he returned with an eye missing, the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower was a foggy figure, often in the shadows, more than often in the shadows of someone else, his half-sister Rhaenyra, his older brother Aegon. And after Sothoryos, he seemed to have grown his own shadows, distancing himself from his family and dropping his academic career to do Gods-know-what in a small flat in the oldest quarter of Oldtown.

“Both?” she dared.

He clicked his tongue, looking away with disappointment, and flicked the cigarette. “Too easy. And now you’re boring me.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” she chirped with a tight smile.

“Don’t expect me to follow you. I am not one of those wankers inside who come in their pants as you bat your fake eyelashes.”

The smile left her face instantly, and she glared at him, throwing her half-cigarette on the ground. “It is true, then. Royals do act like the rudest jerks.”

Instead of looking offended, her words seemed to do nothing but tickle his pride—some kind of gratification that poured like poison from the angles of his mouth. “I don’t act. But if I wanted to, I'd know who to turn to.”

“Meaning?”

“And you keep boring me.” his eye went momentarily below her neck, and he tilted his chin “Are those pretty diamonds slowing blood to your brain?”

Miss Lannister looked stunned. No one, ever, dared to talk to her like that.

She was used to being praised and begged and praised. A beautiful portrait framed by gold and hung on a wall for all to see. She should have been outraged, she should have used her last name as shield and threat. But for once, she was breathing on her own, free of any strings.

“Are they real?” he asked suddenly, and she stilled as his hand ghosted on her necklace, feeling his cold fingertips hovering above her skin.

“Of course they are.”

“Hmm.” He mused, pulling his hand back as he continued to stare at the necklace and then down at her dress. “They serve their purpose I’d say.” he said dragging his eye back to her face.

“Slowing my brain?” she asked with a little vitriolic smile.

“Hiding all the fake beneath them.”

“Who are you, a fortune teller?” she spitefully asked. “Do you possess the Third Eye as well as the Fake One?”

“One eye is enough to see right through you, golden girl.”

“And why were you watching me if I am so blatantly obvious?”

He almost shrugged his shoulders. “These parties are dreadfully boring. I was in need of a distraction, and you were hard to miss.”

“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze flicked for an instant to his dead eye. “Except that I don’t hide in dark corners from my own family.”

Whether he was stung by her words or not, his composure remained utterly impassive. A sphinx through and through.

“No. You do it before them.” An amused smile, spiced up with poison, curled his lips. “At least I have the dignity to disappear instead of begging for attention like a pathetic creature.”

Her words did not sting, but his surely did. And they shouldn’t.

They had crossed paths once or twice in the years prior, but effectively, Aemond was but a stranger to her. She wasn’t even aware of him watching her inside the hall, maybe too absorbed in her puppet play, or maybe resigned to scream into a crowded room of deaf mannequins.

She swallowed heavily, not dropping her gaze, waiting for all the gold to shield her, hide her, serving its purpose once more. But Aemond had a strange look in his eye. He was staring at her, and what he saw thrilled him.

He was sure he would see harshness, contempt, but not that. Not…anguish. It was buried in her pretty eyes and yet it just lied there in full sight, the darker shade of abyss beneath the crystalline blue of the deceiving surface.

If only someone had bothered to look.

“You remind me of someone.” he said almost mindlessly.

“Do I dare asking or do you wish to offend me some more?”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking at her as if he were measuring an opponent.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He moved, leaving the terrace without waiting for her, sure enough she would follow him. And she did.

Not immediately, though. She stared at his tall figure as he went back inside and thought she should go back to the party, go back to the script. There was something uncanny, almost eerie about staying close to him, like walking on the thin thread of a cobweb while being dreadfully aware to be walking towards the spider’s bite.

But the dread made her feel alive, made her heart pounding in her throat. So, she followed him.

“I didn’t know your family had it.” She said with a tinge of amazement as they stopped before the painting gloriously exhibited along one of the lavish corridors upstairs. “I thought it got lost during some war.”

“It was.” He said, stopping beside her, eye roaming on the canvas.

“Did I remind you of a lost anonymous painting?”

“You reminded me of the Maiden.” And his eye flicked to the left of the painting. Then he dragged his gaze on her, turning his head, and watched her. “Do you know the story?”

“The myth?”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“I don’t believe in Gods. Or myths.”

“That is strange, coming from a girl who spent so much time building her own.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling subtly, but it was different this time. There was no poison dripping from the angles of his mouth, but the clearest intrigue.

It stopped her heart for a moment. A sudden cut in the canvas, a crack in the porcelain. And she felt that this stranger was peeking inside, or perhaps she was.

Aemond looked back at the painting and laced his arms behind his back, making the leather of his jacket creak. “They said once there was a land inhabited only by Gods and Monsters. The Maiden was the most beautiful Goddess in the Holy Garden. She grew flowers from her hands, trailing behind her as she walked. But she was unhappy. The Gods only sought her for her gift, used her as a piece of ornament. She was beautiful on the outside, but inside—”

“Lonely and hollow.” she filled in.

“Just like the Stranger.” he said, and they turned at the same time, locking their eyes.

Aemond glanced back at the ominous figure in the painting and said “He was not allowed to enter the Gods world. He lived underground, blowing his mortal winds to call the souls into his realm of death. But then he saw her. He dried her tears through his wind until one day—”

“He took her.” she filled in once more. “He used the wind to tie her hands with the flowery branches she grew and kidnapped her from the Holy Garden.”

“Are you sure kidnapped is the right word?”

“According to the myth? Yes. You might have been a great scholar, but I’m not a goat.”

He chuckled quietly, and the sound made her turn again to watch him.

He held her gaze as amusement left his marbled features, and without taking his eye off her, he tilted his chin towards the painting “Look at her. Look at her face and tell me what you see."

She did so, observing the anguish, the dark trepidation on the Maiden’s face.

“She is frightened.”

“Is she?” he asked, and suddenly he was almost behind her. His breath tickled her ear like the wind on a hot summer day, and her breath hitched once more. “Look into her eyes.” he whispered on her nape “Is it fear to be taken…or desire?”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the painting, and dug her nails into the expensive fabric of her little purse. “Art is not math.” she said with confidence “There is not one undisputable interpretation.” And she turned to face him “So unless you painted that, and I have some doubts, you say she’s keen on being taken. I say she’s frightened.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment with a strange new look on his face, as if someone had just issued a challenge to him. His blue eye was wide, and the little smirk was peeking through his lips. “Do you ever choose a position, golden girl?”

“I think I just did.”

“Allow me to rephrase, then. A less boring position.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. “Let me show you something a little less ambiguous.”

"Wow, these are beautiful," she said as they climbed the stairs to the floor above the one where the glorious anonymous painting stood. On the angled wall, a series of photographs were exhibited—portraits, precisely—all in black and white.

"Are we complimenting each other now?" he asked, halting on a step.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment before slightly widening her eyes. "What, these are yours?"

He gave her a simple nod, and she looked back at the portraits.

"My mother put them here. Her way to prove she cares, I guess." He said absent-mindedly, as if conversing about the weather.

The Lannister girl watched him closely, in search of something that would betray such a cold statement, but there were no cracks, no cuts.

"The great mystery unraveled.” She said forcing a dramatic tone “Aemond Targaryen is a photographer."

"I am not. I don’t do it for a living.”

“Yes, because you don’t need a job to get by.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She glared at him, trying with poor success to stifle a smile.

“It's just an interest." He stated.

"A passion." she dared to suggest.

"I wouldn't call it that. Passion preludes emotion, ardor. Photography is nothing like."

She watched him fold his arms behind his back in a peculiar way, grabbing his forearms with his hands. He had done the same thing earlier, in front of the painting. The gesture caught her attention then, as it did now.

"What is it then?" she asked, trailing her eyes back to his face.

He stared at her for an impossible long time before answering. “Revelation.”

She looked back at the portraits and observed them thoroughly. There were some men caught behind the camera, but the majority were all women. Young and beautiful women.

The portraits were majestic, she considered. He had found a way to toy with light which made these people look like glimpses from an otherworldly dimension, flashes of dreams.

No, not dreams, she thought.

The light was cruel, exposing, cutting. And all the subjects seemed to have been caught in a moment of great distress, flowing almost into a grotesque despair.

Flashes of nightmares.

The sight made her lips part, her skin shiver with eeriness and something else, something she could not name. The same basic instinct that had pushed her to follow him. These people, made eternal by black and white, were dressed, but their souls utterly naked before the eye.

“I wouldn’t call it revelation…”

“And what would you call it?” he asked, stepping beside her to watch the portrait, not missing her little startle when his elbow brushed against hers.

She took a deep, silent breath and turned her head to look at him. "Intrusion.”

“Hmm.” He mused, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket “Intrusion of which kind?”

He placed the cigarette between his lips only to see her hand snatching it away, but slowly, just like she was used to move, so much that her fingertip brushed his upper lip. “Any kind.” she answered and his eye fell on her rosy lips closing around the filter.

His mouth twitched, as if her light brushing had lit his skin aflame, and he moved unconsciously, bringing the lighter close but pausing, his thumb lingering on the little wheel, and he looked at her, just as she looked at him.

When he pushed his finger to light the flame, the short metallic sound came through with a strange finality, a curtain dropping after the first act.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glancing at the portraits and then back at him. “Did you fuck these women?”

“No.” was all he said, hiding a little smirk as he slipped another smoke between his lips. He saw her raising her eyebrows with clear disbelief, so he clarified. “Not all of them.”

“I bet they revealed themselves thoroughly.”

“They were more than keen to do it.”

“And did you?” she countered, tilting her head, lowering her voice so that once again, he found himself leaning towards her, like a moth to a flame. “Did you reveal yourself as well? Did you let them intrude?”

“Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”

She clicked her tongue and laughed—the very first genuine laugh she could conjure up in the span of hours, or even days. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Yes. And unfortunately for you, it is working.”

She gave him a bemused look at his brazen statement, but she felt strangely exposed under his unblinking stare, a hand ending her ceaseless floating to anchor her against the seabed.

“I want you to come to my place," he said suddenly, his voice kept quiet, almost soft, to the verge of whispering. It wrapped her senses like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why? To end up on this wall and in your bed like dozens of girls before me?”

“Dozens?” he raised an eyebrow “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hmm” he crooned, cocking his head to one side, a contented expression stretching on his face, much like a cat licking its whiskers. “Envy doesn’t suit a Lannister.”

“Envy?” she repeated, laughing scornfully. “You’re an arrogant brat, has anyone ever told you?”

“Many in fact. So, shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Pity, I thought you had stopped boring me.” He said pocketing his lighter “Stay here playing the doll with those old fogeys, if you like. I’m leaving.”

She had only time to blink and he was gone, leaving her on those steps with the foreign, unsettling longing to follow. Her feet moved on their own, dragging her back to the party with an urgency shaking her bones, pushing her eyes to dart in every corner of the hall, moving amongst the people as if chasing the wind.

“Oh, there you are!” Jason pulled her to him, and she stilled, as she was used to, but everything inside her kept moving. “That Lonmouth smartass came at me screaming like a chicken.” Jason said with cocaine pupils, slurring words after words “as if it’s Dad’s fault that he’s an idiot. Put him in his place, would you? I’m too high, I might stick a fork between his eyes. D’you you want to hear something funny?”

“No, Jason. I don’t.” she replied absently, looking around once more “Listen, did you see Aemond Targaryen?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She said, wriggling herself from his hold, but he was fast to pull her back “Sis, why are you looking for that creep?”

“Let me go, Jason.”

“Listen to me. First the shit show in Pyke and now Aemond One Eye? Dad would not be happy to know you are—”

“Dad would not be happy to know fucking anything that he has not concocted and told us to do. And I’m tired of it, Jason.” She hastily broke free from his grip, alerting the well-dressed people around them, but she ignored them altogether. “Just this once, you’ll have to play the puppet. I’m done for tonight.” she tugged the pocket square from his jacket and threw it at him. “And wipe your nose, for Gods’ sake. There’s coke on it.”

She wandered inside the huge hall like walking through quicksand, sinking a little more any time another man or woman stopped her to chit chat, to ask her about her father and the bank and the next slot in her father's agenda.

As if she had any clue. As if her father had not dismissed any of her natural vocations like wrong bills to be fed to the shredder only to make her study economics, only to frame her degree, and then instruct her himself to specialize in the sacred act of parading herself around like a rare stuffed creature.

“Here you are.” A hand slipped around her waist, and she found herself enveloped by two familiar hands. “I’ve looked for you anywhere.”

“Quentin.” She said, looking into the dark glinting eyes of Quentin Martell, slightly wrinkling her nose for the heavy male perfume in which he had apparently dunked his suit.

His eyes scanned her slowly, looking like he wanted to peel her dress off like an orange. “Always outshining anyone else, are you?”

She looked away, stifling an exasperated sigh, all too used to Quentin’s redundant flatteries.

“This party is dead, isn’t it? And rather self-celebratory from the Hightowers. As if they don’t owe their current position to Viserys Targaryen.”

She glanced at him and saw her father talking. It was one of his favorite refrains at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It made no difference to him. Any time was a good time to incense themselves as the best, the wealthiest, the proudest, and hundreds of more superlatives that made the food instantly go rancid in her mouth.

Distractedly, her eyes roamed around, numbing her ears while Quentin kept talking. It was then that she saw him. He had not left.

Holding a glass of some liquor, he seemed to be in deep conversation, or rather on the receiving end of a soliloquy from his grandfather, who was leaning slightly over him, almost talking to his ear.

His eye was absently buried to the floor, one long finger tapped against the glass. A couple of words she could not make from that distance slipped from his mouth, resigned as his whole demeanor.

She thought she was looking into a mirror.

“Honey, are you listening to me?” Quentin asked at some point, tightening the hold on her waist. “Who are you looking at so rapt?”

“No one.” she hurried to say. But Quentin was quicker to follow her gaze before she dropped it. “Aemond One Eye?” he said on the verge of mockery. “Baby, he is so out of your league.”

She cocked her head and plastered a tight smile on her lips. “And precisely, what do you know about my league?”

“You know what I mean. How blind can you be not to notice that your brother has been screwing your girlfriend behind your back for months? Oops, sorry, wrong metaphor.”

“Both the Baratheons and the Targaryens have denied it.”

“Sure, sure. Then why the Baratheons were not invited tonight? And why did the one eyed come? He never does. Oh wait, look at that, Aegon’s missing. Not surprising though, didn’t they say Targaryens used to fuck amongst their own in the old times?”

She lowered her gaze, lost in thought, and then turned her head, instantly widening her eyes, shoulders tensing when she saw Aemond looking straight at her, sipping his drink, straightening the cobweb’s thread on which she had been tottering until that moment.

“Baby, are you high again?” Quentin asked her, with a genuine, inquisitive tone.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Greyjoy told me everything about that night. Said you went batshit crazy on coke. Depraved as he is, it’s actually a good thing that you OD’ed. That creep would have fucked you even that stoned.”

She immediately grabbed his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go.”

“Oh, come on.” He nothing but hold her more tightly. “I know you like to get a little freaky once in a while. I do, too. In fact, why don’t we take a tour upstairs? We could cheer up this drag.”

“No. Quentin, let me go.”

“Come on.” He insisted, pulling her to his chest.

She had to step on his foot to shake him off. “Let me cut straight to the point. I won’t fuck you, Quentin. Not tonight, not even if you were the last man left on this earth.”

He grimaced, spitefully twisting his mouth like any man who's been denied the chance to feel like a man for a few minutes. “I had warned Greyjoy about this. I told him you’re a spoiled cunt. You know what? You should get with that Stark fag. He may fuck your ass, so maybe you’d feel something 'cause I’m sure as hell your cunt is drier than the Red Waste.”

The insults were also part of the play.

After all, the act might not please everyone in the stalls. “Just shrug them off. They’re praises, actually, disguised bitterly for what they cannot have.” her mother said “Besided, a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep.”

When she was younger, each bitter word was a giant finger pointed at her, a gavel sealing the next judgement. Her mother had tried with all her carelessness to teach her how to be exactly that. Careless, a river flowing in its direction no matter the filth that would pollute the waters.

But she was draining, ever since Pyke, perhaps long before that.

She was tired of pretending to be gold while her fingertips seemed to leave behind nothing else but ash.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like to be tagged when I post part II, leave a comment below 🫶

#intrusion #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #ewan mitchell #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #Spotify

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vinvantae · 1 year

Text

Unmasked

9/16

<<< previous part

Word count - 3.5k

Both Bahrain and Saudi Arabia were what felt like near perfect starts for the team - only Max outscoring you both in the second race of the season, so going into Australia you felt confident. You were hoping that continuing to perform like this, the team would finally break and talk to you about Thirty, and whilst that conversation was currently benched, you’d managed to get a 2-on-1 meeting with Mattia about you and Charles.

Sure the relationship was still fresh but you wanted to let him know sooner rather than later that their media co-ordinated relationship had turned into something more, that you had very real feelings for your teammate. The Monaco native kissed the back of your hand softly as you waited for the team principal to join you. “What do you think is going to happen?”

“I’m not sure, but they were the ones who put us together… so…” you giggled, leaning over to kiss him.

You heard the door open and close behind you. “Hmm, I had a feeling that was what this is about, your little show had become a bit too convincing.”

Your boss circled the desk and sat in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him as he studied you both - the way Charles’ thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the way you look more relaxed than you had in years.

“Well yeah, it’s kind of not fake anymore.” You chuckled softly. “And well, we’re not planning on breaking up any time soon so we wanted to know how you wanted to proceed.”

He pressed his lips into a line as he thought, eyes flickering between you both. “This is a conversation I’d already planned to have, as I said - your acting was getting too good. For now, we’ve decided to continue to use your relationship as a distraction from you being Thirty until we think of something else. While we know the media has zeroed in on you being a woman, the laundry list of potential candidates is still long and we’d like to keep you as close to the bottom as possible.”

“Speaking of Thirty, I-”

“We’re not having that conversation. Not now. Keep performing and we’ll have that meeting.”

Charles watched as your jaw clenched and you slumped back into your chair - he hated the way they were using your reveal as a carrot on a stick, encouraging you to keep racing. You were a talent without the blackmail, and it was frustrating to both of you; Charles knew he could try and step in and argue your case but Mattia wouldn’t hear a word of it without the rest of Team Thirty to back him up. He simply stood up and placed his hand on the small of your back as you both exited the room. “I’m sorry, mon amour.”

“I know, I know…” You sighed, looking up to face him. “Hey, at least they’re chill about us, right?”

Your teammate smiled softly as you lifted your hand to cup the back of his neck, gently brushing your thumb across his skin. His eyes flickered across your face before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “We best get going, free practice starts soon.”

Once you stepped into the paddock again, you were fully clad in your racewear - bouncing a little on your feet as you tried to warm yourself up ready for the weekend to begin. As much as you didn’t want to let Mattia and the rest of the team hold your reveal over your head depending on your results, getting the job done was still important. You had a championship to win and with Charles currently ahead of you, everything was to play for.

*****

******

To say you were fuming was an understatement. After a piss poor qualifying and car issues putting you in 9th and hard tires relegating you to 14th at the start, you didn’t think it could get any worse. But with only the first lap of the race complete, you fucked it completely and slid across the track, off into the travel at the exit of turn 10.

You didn’t stay for a second longer in the garage than you had to, slamming the door of your driver’s room and screaming into a pillow. It was a stupid mistake, you couldn’t blame anyone but yourself for it - you’d gone too hot into the chicane and ruined your own race. You turned on the TV to catch the rest of the race, too nosey to not know how everyone else was getting on but it only frustrates you further.

The gap between you and Charles in championship only grew with your teammate getting his second win of the season, Max also not finishing the race. The Monegasque had 71 points to your measly 33 and you wanted to be happy for him, you did, but it was bittersweet watching him lift the trophy above his head and you hadn’t even finished the race, let alone got on the podium.

You watched with a straight face as he sprayed Carlos and George down with the champagne, his face a contrast to yours - a smile that would usually brighten your day but it didn’t help at all. Instead you opted to flick off the TV and flop back on your sofa - just letting your eyes closed shut.

However, getting a moment of peace was not to be when your handler and PR manager practically ripped the door off of the seams to come into your room, their faces paled.

“What? Did I do something wrong?” You frowned, sitting up.

“…we’ve got a problem.”

******

*****

This time in Mattia’s office, you were outnumbered. Charles was still down in the garage, celebrating with the team but you were being stared down by the team principal and the two members of Team Thirty who had burst into your room not even moments ago. The public reaction to you not being at the barricade to congratulate Charles was… negative, to say the least. It was the third time you’d not been there for his podium and despite someone posting a photo from your behalf on your instagram story showing you were watching from hospitality, it wasn’t enough.

His die-hard fans were starting to hate you. You weren’t good enough for Charles.

It wasn’t the effect on your mental health that this character assassination that Team Thirty was concerned about, it was the public reaction to you being revealed. All this was doing was making them question everything you’d been working towards.

“I’m not sure how you expect me to be in two places at once.” You grumbled. “Sure, today I could’ve been there but the first two races I was with him on the podium.”

“We know.” Your handler sighed, the last few months had aged him - the once jet black hair he sported now featured more than a few greys and his frown lines had deepened. “So, we’ve always tried to avoid this but, if you both finish on the podium in the next race, we’ll have to bring in a body double.”

You frowned. “…how’s… in what world would that work?”

“At Imola, the cars will be parking on the track at the end of the race - and whilst Charles is talking to the press, we will get you inside, changed and out the front while your double goes on the podium.”

A groan left your lips and you ran a hand over your face. “Why don’t you just let me-“

Your handler agent slammed his hand down on the desk, making you cower back in your chair and the two other men in the room’s eyes widened. “Everything is on the line, y/n, don’t you understand?”

He didn’t give you even a second to protest before he seemingly magicked your contract out of thin air and placed it on the desk in front of you. “We have done nothing but try to protect you, why can’t you see that? This contract was put in place to make sure you had a racing experience without the stigma of being a woman… revealing you now? After all this negativity about you being Charles’ girlfriend?”

The man tutted and leant in closer, and you swallowed heavily - your breath caught in your throat as his dark eyes flickered across your face. “You have no right to fight for a reveal after your piss-poor performance today. Charles is a race winner, you haven’t won us a championship in years… you’re lucky to even have a seat.”

Mattia and your PR manager stayed silent, letting the words hang heavy in the air - you wanted to fight back, give them a piece of your mind but you couldn’t help but think he was right. Instead, you simply excused yourself from the room and went to the last possible place they would think to look for you and thankfully, the person you were hoping to see was standing right outside.

“What do you mean you lost her?” Charles frowned, stood in your driver’s room with your handler who was pacing nervously. He’d come up to check on you after your DNF to make sure you weren’t blaming yourself too hard but instead he was met with a very stressed looking staffer.

“We had a bit of a disagreement and I haven’t seen her since.” The man admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And it would be too suspicious if I put out a MIA memo for some random staffer so we’ve just had people keeping an eye out.”

Your teammate shook his head. “You are unbelievable, mate.”

Before the staffer could get another word out, Charles left the room - he couldn’t even call you, your phone was currently stuffed in his pocket after he saw it left on the side table in your room. He could feel the panic bubbling in his chest as he walked through the paddock, every flash of red catching his eye. Clearly, he wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding his stress because more than one person tried to stop and ask him if he was okay and as much as he was grateful people seemed to care, you were still at the forefront of his mind. Where the hell were you?

He was moments away from shouting out your name when a firm hand was placed on his shoulder - Charles turned to say he was fine but when he was met with the dark eyes of Carlos he simply frowned. He felt himself deflate, his eyes desperate as he looked at his rival.

“She’s with Max.” He said quietly, and almost immediately Charles could feel his heartbeat ease. “Because the last place people would think to look is with Redbull, no?”

“Did you see her? Is she okay?” His volume matched the Spaniard’s as they walked in the direction of the Redbull Motorhome, noone batting an eye at the two drivers chatting away - nothing out of the ordinary. “How did she even get in wearing her kit?”

Carlos shook his head. “I didn’t see her, Max texted me that they were together so I don’t really know how or why she’s in there but I saw the panicked look on your face and guessed you didn’t know either… definitely won’t be able to sneak you in.”

The Monegasque nodded. “Can you tell her I’m out here… please?”

The Redbull driver gave him a gentle smile and another friendly pat on the shoulder before disappearing inside the navy blue motorhome - leaving Charles feeling very out of place standing outside of somewhere he definitely shouldn’t be. Thankfully, he didn’t have too much time to overthink before you stepped out of the motorhome, still clad in your Ferrari polo. He took your biceps in his hands and studied your features, eyes puffy and nose as red as your team wear- those bastards.

The driver pulled you into his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, shielding you from prying eyes. Max wasn’t too far behind you, a sorry smile on his face. “Thanks for looking out for her.”

“Wouldn’t hesitate.” The Dutchman said. “But, you might want to get her out of her before too many people notice.”

Charles’ nodded and guided you out of the paddock, doing his best to keep you tucked into his side as to avoid too many prying eyes. Unlike other races, he simply waved at fans - allowing you to keep your head ducked down beneath your Ferrari cap as you head to the carpark, still not speaking a word. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, Charles could feel the weight of it dragging you both down. He locked eyes with Sebastian across the parking lot and the older driver gave him a concerned frown as he watched the young Monegasque help you into the car.

He waved his phone a little at Charles and the Ferrari driver nodded before slipping into the driver’s seat. Charles would be sure to ring Sebastian later but right now you were his priority - you sat slumped in the passenger seat, playing with the skin around your fingers. He’d seen you defeated before but there was something else going on here, he could just feel it.

“Y/n…”

“Can we just get out of here?” You finally met his eyes as a single tear rolled down your cheek. “Please.”

He didn’t even hesitate, driving as quickly but as safely as he could back to the hotel - ushering you into your shared room where you didn’t even hesitate to yank your polo over your head and throw it across the room before dropping to your knees and sobbing into your hands. You felt an intense guilt about breaking down like this in front of Charles when he’d such an amazing weekend - you felt like you were taking away from his accomplishments.

But when you felt his knees brush yours and his strong arms wrap around you, you simply melted into his chest - gripping onto him for dear life as you cried. You felt so betrayed by your team, you’d given them years of your life and your handler had just thrown it back in your face like it was nothing.

“Cherie… talk to me.” He whispered, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

You grumbled into his chest. “I-I… your fans hate me. So if… If we get on the podium in the next race they’re swapping me with a body double so I can meet you at the barricade. Like a good girlfriend”

Charles scoffed, pulling back to take your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs across your cheeks to wipe away some of the tears. “That is a whole new level of stupid… why can’t they just bite the bullet and-”

“Because they’re trying to protect me.” Your tone was mocking. “Because I’m not fucking good enough anymore, Charles.”

He went to speak but you shook your head and stood up, grabbing a T-shirt from your suitcase to change. You let out a pained laugh, running your hands over your face before putting the shirt on - hands shaky as you worked on the button of your trousers. “I should be grateful I even have a seat, they said… so, maybe there’s no point revealing me because by the end of the year I’m not going to be here anymore anyway.”

“Hey.” Charles grabbed at your wrist a little - you didn’t look up at him. “Don’t let them get in your head, y/n. You’re a champion… they’d be absolute fools to even think of letting you slip through their fingers.”

Your teammate could tell their words had really impacted you, your quiet thank you wasn’t convincing as you gently pulled your wrist away from his grasp. “You should call Sebastian, he’s worried about you…”

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’m here for you, okay? Don’t shut me out.”

“I know, I know… I… this just hurts. I at least thought they had my best interests at heart but…”

You sighed and Charles simply nodded. “I know, Cherie. They’re idiots. We’ll get you out of this soon, I promise.”

This time your thank you seemed genuine as you kissed him, a gentle smile on your face - you were eager to believe him but remained cautious. Simply getting out of the rest of your uniform and slipping into bed, the other driver not far behind. “How did you get into Redbull anyway?”

“Max just took me in, no questions asked… I honestly think he could get away with anything.” You chuckled softly, propping yourself on your elbow to look down at your boyfriend. “He didn’t even hesitate to help me, I almost feel bad we’re going to absolutely destroy him in the championship.

Charles laughed, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “There’s my girl. You do still need to call Sebastian though before he hunts us down.”

“I know, I know. I just have to be careful about what I say to him or else he’ll fly out to Italy early to burn down the headquarters.” Your cheeks flushed a little, reaching over to your nightstand to grab your phone; dialling the German’s number. “Hey Seb.”

“Hey kid, how are you doing?” His voice was gentle, you could almost picture the softening of his eyes. “You looked pretty down.”

“That’s a nice way to put it.” You laughed weakly, eyes flickering across Charles’ face. “I don’t think my reveal is going to happen any time soon…”

There was a shift in his tone of voice. “What? Why? Do you need me to go down there myself and talk to them because I will-”

“I’m not performing well enough, and the public opinion of me is apparently bad because I’m not greeting Charles at the barrier…” You explained, letting the fingers of your free hand trace across the skin of Charles’ jaw. “I’m actually worried that I won’t have a seat at all at the end of this year if I don’t start winning races.”

“Y/n, if Ferrari let you go then other teams would fight to the death for a chance to have you… they’re not idiots. They’re just threatening you so you keep feeling loyalty to them and honestly? I’m starting to doubt they deserve it.” The soft tone of his voice had returned, you could hear him chopping up something in the background. “If you’d let me, I’d like to sit down with you and go through your contract. See if we can find anything, not only as a GPDA rep but as your friend.”

You took a deep breath, your mentor always knew exactly what to say. “Thank you, Seb. I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay, well, I’ll let you get some rest. Say hi to Charles for me… he’s a good kid, I’m glad you found each other.”

Charles watched the corner of your mouth tug up into a fond smile - your eyes sparkled at the German’s words but he couldn’t hear them. “Me too. I’ll see you in Imola. Bye Seb.”

“What did he say that got you smiling like the… what's the expression… the cat that got the milk?” He hummed, making you giggle softly.

“Close, it’s cream not milk.” You said, voice fond. “He’s gonna go through my contract with me, see if there’s anything in there we could use to help me… there… there has to be something, right?”

“I really hope so… We’re gonna figure this out, okay?” His hand came up its home on your jaw, the warmth of his touch soothed you - you pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. “Me, you, Seb… Max and Lewis if it comes to it. You deserve to be celebrated.”

Charles simply let you draw shapes on his face, his chest, his neck as you studied him intently - the sunset slipped through the gap in the curtains illuminating the greens and blues of his eyes like the swirls of a watercolour painting. A beautiful ocean brimming with life and warmth, inviting you to dive in. You weren’t afraid of drowning in them, you felt safe as he looked right back at you, the gentlest smile on his face.

He observed you for a moment longer before leaning in and pressing a meaningful kiss to your lips, one you hoped would cement his words and it did. You felt more in that one kiss than any other you’d shared, any doubts you had about his feelings for you seemingly melted away in that moment. You were falling for this boy, hard.

If there was one good thing to come out of the mess that Ferrari was orchestrating; it was him.

And you were starting to think, maybe, just maybe, he was worth every second of it.

***

*****

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throneofsapphics · 7 months

Text

misted realities

Rowaelin x f!Reader

Summary: Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Warnings: angst, injuries, mentions of torture/death, mentions of blood

Word Count: ~8k

A/N: based on this request! reader is fae, has earth-based magic.

“You never have time for me anymore,” you fought to keep your voice down, and clenched your fists to hide your shaking hands.

“Gods,” Aelin sighed. “We’re all busy,” she did look exhausted, small circles forming under the Queen’s eyes. Days would go by when the three of you barely passed a few sentences between each other. At least between you and them.

“I know,” you bit down on your bottom lip, willing the tears to disappear from the corners of your eyes. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

“Don’t cry,” Rowan’s curt tone shocked you. Tears were replaced by anger, beginning to simmer deep inside of you. “You see us everyday.” He’s right, you sleep in the same bed each night. But, as soon as they come in - they’re ready for bed. When they wake, it’s lucky if you have mere minutes to speak with them before they’re gone.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Right.”

Rowan’s eyes rolled, but he strode towards you, one hand braced on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. His eyes searched your face, thumb wiping away one of the stray tears. “We’ll talk about this later.”

You took a step back, shaking off his grip.

“It’s always later,” you spit out.

Aelin’s fingertips rubbed at her temples as she glanced at the clock. “We don’t have time for this.”

They never have time, not anymore. In the beginning, it felt like they would always make time for you - always time to go out into the forest, to go into the city, to just exist together. Maybe you were being selfish, they’re the Queen and King of Terrasen for gods sake. But, where they used to seek you out, now you always chased after them and it was getting exhausting. Months of the same thing.

“Don’t worry about it,” you let out a slow breath, but it did nothing to abate the tightness in your chest. Aelin frowned, lips pressing into a tight line. “I’m … I'm just overthinking.”

Rowan’s look said; obviously, but Aelin still seemed a bit disgruntled. She glanced at the clock again.

“We have to go,” she glanced over to Rowan. He gave her a soft smile, shot a nod your way, and looped his arm through hers before leaving the room. You stared after them, at the closed door. Never, they’d never left like that before. Not even a hug, or a i’ll see you later. Or have a good day. You clenched your fists at your side, gripping the fabric tightly.

Space, maybe some time away from here would do you good. Ella had invited you on a trip, one you declined because you thought they would have a free day this weekend. But, at this point, who even knows if they’d want to spend it with you? You couldn’t put everything else on hold in the hopes that they might decide to grace you with their attention. If you remembered correctly, the trip began tomorrow.

Slipping on your boots, you left the castle as quickly as possible - to find her and tell her to add one to the itinerary.

It would be telling, that’s for certain. Either they’d miss you or … maybe realize they were better off without you. You prayed you could handle the truth, whatever it might be.

“I’m leaving for a trip with my cousins tomorrow, I’ll spend the night at Ella’s. It’s an early start.” You stood in the door of the bedroom, fresh out of a bath, a pack slung over your shoulder. She’d been thrilled and shocked you decided to come along. Excited enough you felt some shame - shame that you hadn’t spent time amongst your family. That you’d focused so much on your relationship it surprised them you would go along.

Aelin’s eyes flicked up from her book, her legs stretched across Rowan’s lap. “Be safe.”

How long had they been out here? Not bothering to come say hello to you? Rowan gave a curt nod. It felt like a clear dismissal, and you took it.

You gave them a tight smile, one they didn’t see, and strode for the door - shoulders back and head high. After you’d passed the gates, you realized they hadn’t asked where you were going, or when you would be back.

The Oakwald was gorgeous this time of year. Brannon’s forest. It always felt … peaceful. Like a place you could come to to escape the rest of your thoughts. The trip had gone well, visiting a few old friends in a neighboring province. A week long trip, and one of the best weeks you’d had in a while.

They were in the back of your mind, not consuming your thoughts, not constantly lingering in the front. All of your focus went to your family, your friends, and on spending quality time with them. It was a thing of beauty, and something that left you feeling revived. Alive again. You’d given too much of yourself to them, and received too little in return. King or Queen aside, you deserved more than half-assed attempts and short words. Your last interaction with them had sealed it. Anything you might have had at one point, had faded away. There’s no sense in drawing out something like this. No sense in you desperately begging for any scrap of affection or attention. You had more respect for yourself than that.

You approached the next clearing, and the hair on the back of your neck stood. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Something here was off. You stopped at the edge, one hand palming the knife at your side, and scanned the surrounding treeline.

“Down,” you shouted as a figure moved, your Fae hearing picking up the slight zing of an arrow string pulled taut. They listened, and dove to the ground behind some rocks. With another thought, the ground underneath the attackers shifted, rolling up to knock whoever it was off balance. You dove to the forest floor, arrows still flew, one lodging in your thigh - the other grazing your arm, head knocking against the rocks. Pain shot through your body, sending white spots through your vision - but you gritted your teeth and rolled, righting yourself up to a crouch.

It all happened in seconds. Your right wrist, your dominant wrist, was broken - and you reached for your dagger with your left. You felt Ella’s distinct magic - a shield of wind coming to surround the three of you, and heard the sound of Edde’s bowstring pulling taught, and your own magic acting of its own accord. Sentient, almost. Maybe it was your subconscious guiding it.

The rest passed in a blur, all you knew was fifteen bodies were left by the end of it. Five with arrows through their skulls, others with blue faces - like someone had ripped the air from their lungs, the rest strangled by branches and vines. Looks like the last three had gotten their wits about them and fled. The three of you fought together before, and had spent a magic-less decade together with the Wolf-Tribe. You knew what you were doing. Still, you had gotten lucky. They caught you by surprise.

Edde was scouting the area ahead, Ella looking at your wounds anxiously. Neither of you could heal, none of your magic lent to that.

“It’s fine,” you insisted. It was - surface wounds in all honesty. The biggest risk now was infection. As soon as you got to a healer, you’d be fine. “We can turn back-”

“Going back will add an extra three hours,” Edde said as she entered, a handful of herbs in her hand. She chewed them, before packing them onto the wound on your arm, and ripping part of her shirt. “Crude, but it’ll keep infection away for now.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You winced, trying not to sound like a whining child. If you made it to the next town, someone could easily send a messenger to Orynth with the information. Plus, there were sentries posted there. But … the threat was closer to Orynth, and you did have a moral obligation to inform them of any dangers present. Ella gave you a sympathetic look. You’d given them the run down about the status of your relationship in the beginning of your trip, and they knew you well enough to pick up that you didn’t want to speak about them further.

Edde had a forced grin on her face, “I’m the oldest - and I say we’re going home.”

You appreciated her attempt at humor, and sighed. Neither of them suggested shifting and going ahead - it might have been smart but the three of you were stronger together. Leaving one of them alone with you, injured, would be a risk - having one of you alone would be another risk, and you weren’t taking any of those.

Battered, and bruised, your cousins helped you back to the castle, each of your arms propped over one of their shoulders. Edde had slung you over her shoulder for part of it, but when you sensed her strength waning you insisted on walking. The three of you had worse in the past, you could walk on an injured leg. The pounding in your head was more obnoxious anyway.

Fenrys saw you first. Thankfully. You didn’t want to see Rowan or Aelin yet.

The male told the two of them to stay in place, actually said ‘don’t fucking move,’ and you didn’t argue as he swept you in his arms, mouthing a ‘sorry’ over his shoulder. They both shrugged, sending a knowing glance to each other.

“Is there any chance you won’t tell them?” You mumbled.

“Trouble in paradise?” He teased, his voice strained. You snarled at him, and he snorted. “You know I have to.”

Even if he didn’t have to, he would. He barked an order at a passing sentry, and you kept your mouth clamped shut as he slipped between the folds of the world, your stomach churning.

The poor messenger sent to the Queen and King was shaking. Rowan stiffened. He knew this male to be level headed, calm, and stoic. But here he was - shaking like a leaf, like a soldier after his first blood drawn.

“Y/n,” he started, “is in the healers-”

Aelin shoved him to the side and sprinted out the door. Rowan didn’t wait for him to finish either and took off after her. Their footsteps sprinted down the halls, silent on the stone as they ran faster than they ever had. They cleared through the hallways with ease, hands wrapping around the corners to propel themselves forward.

“We need to stop the bleeding.” One of the healers said, in a firm no-nonsense tone, and you yelped as she began undoing the half-assed bandages, giving an appreciative nod at the herbs. Your eyes shut closed, focusing on anything but the lashing pain coming from your thigh. At least the arrow was lodged well enough that keeping the piece inside stopped any bleeding.

The door flung open. Rowan and Aelin stood there - pure panic and wrath coming from each of them. Rowan eyed both healers, with startling intensity. You fought back the words on the tip of your tongue - to tell them to leave, to get out of there.

“Leave.” Rowan ordered both of the healers instead. You opened your mouth to protest, but he fixed you with a look and you shut it again. Testing him right now - at least in front of the other females, might not be a wise idea.

His predatory attention stayed on you as he made his way across the room. Aelin, however, kept an eye on the women, watching until the door closed firmly behind them, before rushing over to your side.

Rowan managed to stay cool, but Aelin cursed under her breath as she took in your wounds. A broken wrist, a deceptively deep gash on your arm, part of an arrow stuck out of your thigh. You’d cut the rest off to make travel back a bit easier.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you said bitterly. Rowan ignored you - giving instructions to Aelin instead. Who, surprisingly, listened without questioning - fetching whatever items he ordered.

“Tell me what happened.” He ordered, and you paused, tilting your head. He was focused on your wound, magic starting to swirl over your skin. “Now,” he didn’t look up at you.

You let out a low exhale, but told him what happened, recalling every detail you could.

“Does anything else hurt?” Aelin asked as Rowan finished up.

“No,” you said quietly. Your head did, a bit, from impact - but you didn’t want them to think you’re weak, or complaining. The other ones were more serious, but healed almost as if nothing had happened, only scars in their place. You’d be sore for a few days, but that should be all.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Aelin held out a hand for you. You reached to take it, but Rowan cut in - sweeping you up into his arms instead. You stiffened in his hold, but he only tightened, holding you close to him.

They were both silent on the walk back, not that it mattered - you drifted into sleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

Aedion took in their report with a grim face, before sending out scouts to locate the survivors. Ones who managed to survive the three of you. Your cousins headed back out with them to show the way. He had instructed them to bring them in alive, if possible.

He’d let them rot in the dungeons, let them fester until Aelin and Rowan got their turn. They wouldn’t make it out of there alive, he knew that for certain.

Rowan had tossed and turned all night. Over the last week, he had no idea where you were or when you were coming back. He could’ve reached out to someone in town - one of your other family members, but he didn’t want to look like a fool. Like an idiot who didn’t bother to ask. Like what he was.

Aelin was right that they were busier than usual, and had been for the last few months. But, they had a free day this weekend - and you knew that, but still chose to leave. They’d cleared that night for you, to get back and spend time with you. When they got there - he could hear you packing, and bitter anger started simmering inside of him. He thought you were running away at the first sign of trouble.

First, you said they never had time for you, and when they did have free time - you left. It pissed him off. If he was being objective, he could see where you were coming from. He’d sworn to himself he’d make it up to you, when things calmed down. Gods, you’d moved in - at his and Aelin’s insistence - so they could spend more time together.

You were younger, and hadn’t settled yet. Maybe he was an idiot - still thinking in years and decades while you were thinking in weeks and months. Three months to him was nothing. But … you didn’t have the full grasp on immortality yet.

Regardless, you were back now - and safe. There’s no gods-damned way he’d let you leave that bed anytime soon. Not until you were completely healed and whole. He propped himself up on one arm, Aelin dozed fitfully next to you, one arm slung over your waist, her front pressing into your back, wrapping herself around you like she might shield you from the world. He brushed a few strands from your face, frowning at the small abrasion on your temple. He’d missed that, but it was mostly healed now - just a light pink scratch in its wake.

In the morning, he’d say his apologies when you woke. You needed sleep now.

“Y/n,” Aelin called, brushing her thumb against your cheek. You let out a slow breath, but didn’t open your eyes. Your heartbeat was still strong, breaths still even.

“Let her sleep it off,” Rowan advised, already pulling a shirt over his head. They’d cleared their schedule as much as possible - only one meeting they wouldn’t be able to miss. He’d already arranged for sentries to be posted at their doorway, with orders to let nobody but them, Fenrys, or Aedion through. Two hours, and they’d be right back at your side.

“Are you sure?” She asked, glancing up at the clock. It was nearly eight in the morning, and you’d knocked out around eight last night. In all honesty, if you’d woken up right then she would’ve said fuck it to the meeting. Even though the meeting had been called because of what happened yesterday. Her blood began to boil again. Aedion had assured her they were searching for the ones that had done this to you. And bringing them back - alive. But, given your cousins were on the hunt she couldn’t say what state they would be in. Fae can be especially ruthless where their family was concerned, and the three of you were close.

Aedion stood in the door, partially blocked by Rowan’s figure as she ran a hand over your hair, smoothing through some of the tangled strands. She was surprised you’d even let her help you take a bath. Maybe you were too exhausted to protest. Aelin would’ve preferred for you to yell - to scream, anything besides the quiet silence you’d returned with.

“Edde and Ella are guiding them.” She knew those names - your cousins. “I made them swear to bring them back alive.” Aelin almost laughed that he’d made the two females promise.

“Let me know as soon as they return.” Rowan instructed, and slammed the door in his face.

“That was rude,” she said absentmindedly.

“He can handle it.” Rowan countered, stopping at the edge of the bed. She glanced up at him, but his expression was unreadable. Aelin reached out and squeezed his hand. They were both keeping a thin lid on their anger.

“Yes,” he sighed, dragging her back to the present. “Her body needs rest.”

Aelin pressed her lips to your forehead, running a thumb over your cheek. “We’ll be back soon, love,” she murmured - as if you might hear, and tucked the blankets tightly around you. A thought had a fire roaring in the corner. You needed to stay warm. It was still early autumn, but a chill had set in overnight, the temperatures dipping to just above freezing. Clouds had rolled in overnight, putting an end to the sunny few weeks they had. A wicked storm was brewing outside. Not uncommon for this time of year, but it felt like a bad omen.

Rowan could tell Aelin was forcing herself not to sprint back to the room. They’d made a tentative plan - check on you, then grab a healer to come do a more thorough check. Something they should’ve done last night, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone else near you in that vulnerable state. He’d barely kept his cool with Aedion in the doorway. Only knowledge of your friendship with the male and his blood oath to their Queen kept him from ripping his head off for being too close.

Aelin pushed the door open ahead of him, spotting your form still sleeping on their bed, in the exact position they’d left you in. Something was wrong. You should’ve woken by now - or at least moved. You always tossed and turned in your sleep. But … you had been rather still last night. His pace picked up, overtaking Aelin as he yanked the covers back.

“Y/n.” He called, running a hand down your arm. Cold, your skin was cold. The room is warm - a fire still burning in the corner. Panic rose inside of him - your heart was still beating, breaths still even. He shook your shoulder lightly. He called your name again - louder. Aelin did as well. No response. Nothing.

Aelin had darted for the door, he vaguely heard her shouting something at one of the guards in the hallway, the sound of other footsteps pounding down the hallway, but he couldn’t take his gaze away from you. Your lips, pale and cracked slightly.

“Wake up sweetheart,” he tried keeping his voice gentle this time. Nothing. He shook you again. “Wake up,” his chest tightened, throat constricting.

“Rowan,” Aelin’s voice vaguely registered, and he felt two hands cover his, holding them still. Aelin’s face came into his view, everything else blurred out around it. “Don’t shake her.” A pure command, rolling from his Queen. He didn’t bother masking any of the emotions in his face, he couldn’t - not now.

He called your name again instead, Aelin slowly pushed his hands away from you. They hung limply at his side. His magic had checked over you at least three times and he couldn’t find anything. Why hadn’t he gotten a healer last night? Why weren’t you waking up? He should’ve asked about the cut on your head. Or have woken you up during the night to check on you. How many hours had he spent staring at you?

He let out a low snarl as a healer stood in the doorway, turning to block her view of your body.

“She needs her help,” Aelin said - gentle but firm. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the healer and took a few steps away. The woman wasted no time rushing towards you. Another healer came in behind her. And another. He tensed at all of the new people - all surrounding you. Touching you.

“Rowan.” Aelin snapped, and he met her eyes. “I don’t like it either. She needs help.”

When was the last time Aelin had been the voice of reason? Perhaps she was more in touch with her human side.

“Reign it in or leave,” one of the healers - a female with a no-nonsense tone and stature barked. He pulled his power back in, unaware he’d let it reel from him. His eyes never left you, as he stood with his back to the wall. Centuries of self-control went into keeping himself in place. One wrong move and -

“Rowan,” he heard Aelin snarl. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from you to look at her. Keep it together. They’re helping.

He took a few deep breaths.

“We need water and clean towels.” The healer in charge announced. One of the younger ones went to move, but she held up a hand and sent a knowing glance to Aelin. Rowan had been a live fuse next to her.

“Rowan, go get them.” She gave the order, but not pulling on the bond. She’d already had to do that once, to get him to stop trying to shake you awake. His eyes narrowed at her, but he listened. He needed something to keep himself from murdering everything within a foot of you. A basic command, to make him feel useful - to serve in the way Fae males needed.

She did wonder how she was the reasonable one in this situation. Not that she was feeling very reasonable. One threatening move from the healers … and she wouldn’t be responsible for what happened to them. The three of them were very aware of how on edge the two were. The one in charge was Fae, the other two humans - and seemed to be taking cues from her. Only focusing on reigning in Rowan kept her from losing her calm.

This kind of fear … only when she’d almost lost Rowan those years ago - when he took the arrow for her, had she felt something similar to this. That’s when she realized he was her… Gods.

No, no, no, a voice inside of her head screamed at her as she dropped to her knees, fingers digging into the carpet. Why now? When she was … The healers hadn’t turned to look at her. Nobody could see the war or anguish in her mind. Rowan returned, abruptly shoving the water and towels into one of their arms before he was at her side, arm wrapped over her shoulders.

“I know fireheart,” he murmured. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know. A hand gripped her chin, and dark green iris’s met her own. “It’ll be fine,” he said with such conviction she believed wholeheartedly. It had to be. She wouldn’t accept any other alternative.

You were in a murky fog, voices blurring over, shapes coming in and out of your vision. You spun in a circle - but it was all consuming. Was this your mind? Had it been scrambled somehow? Last you remembered, you were being tucked into bed by … you couldn’t put a finger on who. Then darkness. A sleep so heavy it pulled you under within seconds.

Turquoise eyes ringed in gold. You focused on them, trying to pull yourself out of this abyss - towards the colors you recognized so easily. Who did they belong to? You couldn’t remember. The fog covered them again. Gone. You deflated. Would they come back?

Fenrys frowned from the doorway. Rowan was pacing, the carpet looked worn where he walked back and forth. Everyone was on edge in the castle. In Orynth really. The scouting party sent word earlier that they’d arrive with the three remaining combatants tomorrow. When he told Rowan - a steely glint he recognized came over the male's eyes. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad for them, they’d deserve everything coming their way - and more. They knew who they were attacking. It wasn’t a secret you were Rowan and Aelins partner.

In all honesty, he’s surprised those were the only injuries the three of you sustained. Well, you were the only injured party. Eighteen against three. For humans, the odds would seem astronomical - and likely whoever it was had underestimated the fact that they were going up against well trained Fae warriors. Given how sweet and innocent you look, they probably thought you were an easy target. But, you’d seen the thick of the fighting in Orynth and survived ten years in Erilea with the Wolf-Tribe.

The healers had given you ten days. Ten days before they feared there might be some kind of irreparable brain damage.

More than anything, he wanted for you to wake - to be healthy and whole. Mainly because you were his friend. But, based on his conversation with Aelin the other night … there was more at stake. Once she told him, he realized the blood oath tugged a different kind of loyalty towards you as well.

“Fenrys,” he heard her. He was still in Wolf form by their door, standing guard. Something he did without having to be asked. He blinked three times, using the old code from years ago; ‘are you alright?’

Two blinks, ‘no.’ She pressed her back against the wall, glancing up and down the corridor, before slowly lowering herself to the ground. He hadn’t seen his Queen look this lost in years. She had something to say - something she needed to, and he patiently waited for her to speak.

“I hadn’t felt like this since Rowan took the arrow for me, and that’s when I realized …” Her head fell into her palms. He knew exactly what she meant. Fenrys shifted into human form, taking a seat beside her. “Is it even possible? Is this some sort of cruel joke? Is this my punishment?”

She was bearing her heart, throwing it out on a platter.

“It’s possible.” He answered her first question. The others, he didn’t know how to respond but … he tried. “Having a mate is never a punishment.”

“But .. Rowan.” He could hear the question; ‘is Rowan hers too?’

He leaned his head back against the wall, kicking his legs out in front of him. “Based on his … behavior. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.”

“Isn’t this typical for Fae?”

The protectiveness, the desire to protect those they consider theirs, when they’re protective and vulnerable. But, he’s known Rowan for decades, and he’s only ever acted this way with Aelin. “It is, but he’s acting the same way he does with you.”

Tension left her body in a giant wave. “What do I do? Do you think he knows?”

Fenrys stilled. Whitethorn would know - he’d at least have a vague idea. He settled on, “he probably knows.”

Aelin looked at him, waiting for him to answer her first question. “When have you ever let anyone tell you what to do?” He teased her. She rolled her eyes, and he could’ve cheered at the normal gesture. Something besides misery and pain.

“I was asking for advice, asshole.”

Fenrys forced himself to focus back on the present. The healer looked like she was about at his limits with Rowan. She shot Fenrys a pleading glance. He really did admire her patience.

“I’ll stay with her.” He heard Aedion from behind him. Backup, that was good. Rowan turned slowly, eyeing both of them with a predator's glance. Finally, he nodded at Aedion - giving his permission. If you were awake to see this, you’d probably rip him a new one. Giving permission for anyone else to be around you. If - when, you woke, you’d be in for a whole different world of territorial nonsense.

Fenrys decided to take some initiative, and taunted Rowan. “You’re getting rusty, cooped up in here,” and shot him a shit-eating grin he knew would provoke a reaction. Sure enough, Rowan stormed out the door, jerking his chin for him to follow. Aedion shot him a sympathetic glance, and he elbowed the male harshly in the ribs. Although he told Aelin her husband probably knows, he’s not going to be the one to bring it up to him. That’s a journey they’ll have to take for themselves. For now, he’ll do his best to taunt some of the rage out of him - maybe make him more tolerable for the rest of them to be around.

One thing Fenrys knows he’s good at, the best at, is pissing his royal Highness off.

“Just come back.” A male said to you. The fog cleared slightly, and a blurry face peered down at you. A male with turquoise and gold eyes. Everything else blurred in and out, but the colors stayed. You could nearly feel the pain inside of them. “I know you’re mad at them, but they love you. They’ve been losing their minds, we all have.” You can’t remember who you’re mad at, or why.

“Edde and Ella are hunting them down. They’ll be back tomorrow.”

The names sparked something in you. A vague splinter of memory you tried to hold on to. Like water, it slipped through your fingers. You tried to speak - to scream, but your voice disappeared in the fog. The eyes withdrew from your view.

“Can she hear anything?” Aelin asked - her voice still tight.

“We don’t know.” The healer dismissed herself.

She was tired of hearing that. We don’t know. We’re not certain. We can’t tell.

Day seven. Three more days, the healers had given you three more days until they feared the damage was irreparable.

But … they didn’t know how strong you were, not like she did. You’d survived ten years in hiding - you’d survived that last battle, the ambush - three against eighteen, survived dealing with her and Rowan’s bullshit. She refused to accept this kind of ending, refused to lose her mate - even if you didn’t know it yet.

She imagined all of the concerns you might have, and all of the ways she would tell you you’re wrong. When you woke, she wondered if the bond would snap for you immediately. Probably not. She hasn’t found a good chance to approach Rowan about it - but she thinks he knows. And that he’s aware she does. Very little gets by him. She told Fenrys because she had to speak to someone, but saying it to Rowan felt too real.

Aelin wouldn’t lose you. But knowing and having loved you, no matter how shitty she was at it, was better than never knowing you at all.

She squeezed your hand. “Come back,” she pleaded, “please.”

Her thumb gently traced your cheekbone. Cold. Over her shoulder, the fire was still going strong. There’s so many blankets surrounding you, she feared you might suffocate if she added another. Neither she or Rowan had slept well in the last week. They slept in shifts, always wanting one of them to be awake in case anything changed - in case you woke. The others ran the castle, letting the two of them get away with making an occasional appearance.

They’d somehow managed to keep what happened underwraps. And they would - until they got their answers. Tomorrow, their new guests would arrive. Along with the rest of her court. She hated that she’d have to divide her attention away from you - to share her attention with anyone else.

The ever changing scent hit the door, followed by a gentle knock. She tore her attention away from you, heavy legs carrying her to the door.

Lysandra knew better than to try and come in without invitation. Even though the shifter was one of her closest friends, she still battled against her instincts to tell her to go the fuck away.

Worry was evident all over the shifter’s face as she glanced at your form, surrounded by a mountain of pillows and blankets. Aelin couldn’t stop the small snarl beginning in her throat. Too long. She was looking too long. Quickly, Lysandra drew her attention back to her, and she shot her an apologetic grimace.

“Any change?”

Aelin shook her head, tears building in the corners of her eyes. She let Lysandra take her in her arms, hold her close and tight.

“She’ll come back.” She didn’t sound too convinced. Aelin abruptly pulled back.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she snapped, and then winced, opening her mouth again.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Lysandra said quickly.

“No. I’m being unreasonable.” Aelin ran her hands down her face, looking back at you. She could still hear your heartbeat. Strong. Lysandra’s eyes dug into her. Her friend was always too perceptive. “Don’t say it,” she pleaded without looking at her. Of course she knows.

“Is he…”

“I think so,” Aelin interrupted her before she could say the actual word. Mate. Even thinking it brought pain - launching right through her chest, ripping it in half. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright.” Lys’s tone said she very much believes she should talk about it. She’d tell her exactly where she could shove her beliefs if she pushed any further. “You need to go beat the shit out of someone.” Her friend said instead.

Aelin slowly turned her head over her shoulder, raising one brow, “are you volunteering?”

“I’ll find you a volunteer,” she winked at her, before heading out the door.

“Get Aedion,” she shouted after her.

Aelin flexed her hands. Maybe getting out some of the rage would be good. Fenrys and her cousin had alternated taking the brunt of her and Rowan’s pent up frustration and rage. She highly suspected they didn’t trust anyone else to take them on and survive the encounter. She looked back through the open doorway. You’d come back, she knew it.

“It’s been ten days.” You heard a voice. Ten days, you’d heard that over and over again and knew it related to you.

You had ten days to ‘come back,’ you’d figured out that’s what you needed to do.

“Tell me how,” you’d screamed into nothingness. “I want to, help me” But you were lost, wandering around in this blurry half-reality. Voices and faces came in and out, words coming in fragments, sometimes in sentences, but nothing concrete.

“We’ve done everything we can. It’s time to consider if…”

Cries and screams; you’re wrong, she’ll come back, get the fuck out. Doors slammed.

Two faces swarmed above you, clearer than before. Turquoise ringed with gold. Green. A name. They kept repeating a name over and over again.

“Please, love,” a feminine pleaded.

“We need you,” the male one added.

“Help me,” you begged, “help me. help me. help me.”

Twelve days. The healers were still working with you - keeping your muscles from atrophying, pushing nutrient dense tonics down your throat, checking your vitals, using magic to test for other things.

Brain activity, you still had that - but they couldn’t tell how much. Or how much of you would be left when you returned.

The head healer sat down next to her, catching her attention.

“What?” Aelin tried to keep her voice gentle, but had a feeling she failed miserably. To her credit, the woman didn’t look ruffled.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return, your Majesty.”

The woman left before Aelin could ask any more questions.

“The only way she’ll come back now is if she wants to. She needs a reason to return.”

You wanted it, now you needed to find a reason. You paced, or at least you thought you did, in this mental prison.

Isn’t wanting it reason enough? There’s something to return to. Names fluttered through your mind. You’d repeated them to yourself over and over again, unwilling to let them go.

Edde. Ella. Fenrys. Aedion. Aelin. Rowan.

The last two felt the strongest. You didn’t know who they were, but knew they needed you. If you disappeared completely, it would hurt them. Would hurt all of them.

You glanced down at your arms, spotting the fresh white scar slashing one of them, and another smaller scar on your thigh. Others littered your body in various places. You’ve fought before, but not like this. Pitting your mind and will against whatever abyss this is.

If it’s an abyss … maybe you need to build a ladder to climb out. You imagined strands of turquoise, gold, and green swirling in front of you, forming a link. As you reached out, they disappeared on touch. Frustration wouldn’t help you now. You would do this. You wouldn’t accept any other option.

Fenrys leaned back against the wall in the dungeon, watching Rowan work before him. Lorcan stood to his left. He wasn’t surprised the male had shown up. He wouldn’t let Elide go anywhere alone, not since there’d just been an attack. Or in general. He wasn’t phased by anything Rowan was doing before them. Or what Aelin had done earlier.

They’d gotten their answers days ago, now it was vengeance.

“She’s their mate.” Lorcan said under his breath, so only he could hear. Not a question. Fenrys didn’t comment. Rowan was enacting the kind of wrath only a mated male could. The three males had already begged for death, several times. He didn’t feel pity, or any inclination towards mercy, but if he did he wouldn’t dare interrupt. Only a fool would.

Part of him wondered if Rowan was making up for time he didn’t get to spend with Cairn. He wasn’t stupid enough to ask the question. Besides the attack on you, they’d learned several other vital bits of information from the males. At first, they’d made the mistake of bragging. Of what they planned to do to you - speaking to each other. Others might’ve called it stupid to keep them together, but the demi-Fae guards posted could hear every one of their ‘whispers,’ and the things they’d reported made him sick and furious.

They were on day thirteen. The healers said ten. Rowan and Aelin wouldn’t give up. Others had started thinking in if’s, but they refused.

Lorcan nudged him, jerking his chin towards the door. He took one more glance at Rowan, still occupied, and followed.

“What is it?” He crossed his arms as they left earshot. Lorcan had a … look on his face. Strange, considering the bastard usually never showed any kind of emotion. Worried? He wasn’t particularly close to you, and had only met you on a few occasions.

“Do you think she’ll wake?”

“Yes.” He replied instantly. “There’s no other option.”

Lorcan let out a slow breath. “If they lose her …”

“I know.”

They might lose their Queen and King too. Everyone had thought of it, even if nobody dared to voice it.

It wasn’t improving as quickly as you’d hoped it would. But - you could feel it. It was a physical thing, living and sentient almost. You let your fingers run over one of them, colors swirled together and shined. It was warm to the touch, and slid easily over your fingertips. You wrapped your hand around it, and it held firm. You reached for the next. It held.

With the next one, you brought your hand up, your foot settling into the bottom ledge. It was working. You refocused your breaths and tilted your chin up. Endless mist covered your vision, only seeing where your hand landed next.

Trust, you needed to trust that you could pull yourself out. Trust someone would be there to catch you.

Aelin knew she was sleep-deprived, and figured the rustling from the room was a hallucination. She’d heard it several times while slipping out the door, only to rush back in and find you in the same position.

Day twenty. Twenty days of hell, of waiting. There wasn’t anything she could fix, she could only hope and trust you were doing what you could. Gods, she spoke to you as much as she could. Aelin read books, talked about everything and nothing in hopes you would hear. There was only one subject she’d refused to approach, refused to speak aloud. Would that be the key? Could that be the reason you needed? The one that the healer had mentioned. She hadn’t told Rowan about the conversation … she swallowed harshly, and pulled her husband aside. Maybe now was the time to do it.

Rowan read the look in her eyes and kicked everyone out of the room.

“The healer told me that it’s … that she needs …”

“She told me too,” Rowan interrupted her rambling. He gave her a tight smile, and pulled her into his chest. His chin rested on top of her head, and she leaned in to hear her heartbeat. “Are we going to acknowledge it?”

She leaned her head back enough to meet his eyes, and took a breath before she said the thing haunting her mind for the last twenty days. “That we have another mate?”

Rowan nodded. She could see the relief flooding over his features, and imagined the same was showing on hers. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

“I know.” She huffed out a laugh. You had two mates waiting for you, when you get back. Two who will burn the entire world down to get you back here if they had to. “We’ll get our mate back.”

Mate. You blinked as you heard the word. So soft you almost missed it. Aelin and Rowan.

You reached another hand, and could see the next ring, and the next. The world cleared around you.

Soft cloth and fur covered you, you twitched your fingers - you could feel it. It was real. It had to be.

Your eyes opened, and you shut them quickly. Too bright.

A few seconds later, you squinted and slowly let yourself adjust.

Gods, how many blankets did one person need? Your entire body was heavy and slow, but you managed to wiggle out from under the cloth mountain, making it to the edge of the bed. Had you been alone this entire time? Had you imagined Aelin and Rowan?

Maybe a stranger had found you and brought you back. But … the room was familiar. Maybe this was another dream, a new reality your mind trapped you in.

You let your feet hit the soft carpeted floor, pressing yourself up to stand. You felt surprisingly steady and took a few tentative steps.

It was sunny outside. Gods, you needed to feel the sun on your skin - even if it’s fake, even if this isn’t real.

Your hand gripped the doorknob, slowly opening the door to the balcony. A chilly wind hit you and you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, ignoring the cold biting at your toes and skin as you took a step out. Based on the sun, it’s about mid morning - at least in this dream world. You wandered towards the railing, letting your hands travel over the wood - worn with time but still strong.

Orynth, you recognized the city. Maybe this could be real. But if it was real … wouldn’t Aelin or Rowan be here? Or had they just shoved you in here out of obligation. Maybe the word mate was a figment of your imagination as well. Your mind telling you what you want to hear. Footsteps filled your ears and you whirled around, bracing your hands on the railing behind you.

Rowan stilled. He could’ve sworn he heard a door open. But … lately his mind had been playing tricks on him. Him and Aelin both. He pressed a kiss to the top of Aelin’s head. Now that they’d actually said it out loud, it felt like there was a lot more to lose.

Twenty days. There wasn’t any change - but at least there wasn’t any deterioration. He wouldn’t give up hope on you, he couldn’t. Gods, he couldn’t lose you. Fuck.

He took a step back, running a hand over his face. They’d been out of the room for maybe ten minutes, but he still felt like he needed to have eyes on you at all times, lest he miss something. Even if it’s just a twitch of your fingers. Rowan would give anything for that - for any kind of movement. Your eyes had twitched behind your eyelids at some points, and he knew you were dreaming or seeing something. It gave him hope.

“Let’s go back in,” he murmured, and Aelin led the way back towards the door. She cracked it open and froze, breaths coming heavier, before she shoved it back open, turning to him with pure alarm on her face. He pushed past her.

Gone. The bed was empty. Impossible. Nobody could get in here - they’d been right there. Right outside.

The balcony door was cracked open. Aelin spotted it a second before him, and he’d never seen her move faster. He was right on her heels. Pure terror and dread filled him. Has someone taken you? They could cover a lot of ground in ten minutes. Why the hell had he left you alone?

He barely stopped himself from crashing into Aelin.

You were there. Hands braced against the wood railing, eyes wide in confusion. Awake and standing. Your brows furrowed as you saw them, shoulders tightening.

“Not real,” you murmured to yourself. His heart dropped to his stomach. You looked vaguely like a cornered kitten. They would have to be very careful, considering how close you are to the ledge. Subtly, he let a shield of wind surround them, one that would push you back if you somehow fell past over the edge.

“It’s real,” Aelin whispered, taking a few steps towards you. He fought the urge to rush over there and grab you, to tug you away from danger. You panicked and confused. He should’ve been there when you woke, to see your pretty eyes open again. To tell you how much you mean to him. How he’s thought about you every second. How he never should’ve let you leave on those terms.

You didn’t move towards them, but didn’t try and make more space, and Aelin took that as a good thing. She slowly walked towards you, and he followed a few steps behind.

Aelin stopped a few feet away, and held out her hand.

Ten seconds passed.

Your gaze switched between her hand, Aelin’s face, his. He held his breath.

Ten more seconds.

You took her hand with a cautious smile and tentative hope on your features.

“It’s real,” he repeated Aelin’s words from earlier. He watched your fingers squeeze, and you took another step forwards, closer. Aelin’s other hand came up, brushing against your cheek. Rowan watched as you melted into her touch, eyes closing as you let out a little sigh.

His knees hit the floor, tears openly streaming down his face.

#rowaelin x reader #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #rowan whitethorn x y/n #rowan whitethorn x reader #aelin galathynius x y/n #aelin galathynius x reader #throne of glass fic #throne of glass x reader

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witch-hazels-musings · 11 months

Text

Chivalry

citation: *song lyrics - Just for Now, Michael Crean

Knight!Diluc x fm reader | anthology (Albedo, Kaeya, Jean - coming soon)

Diluc

He knew every assignment wouldn’t be enjoyable. As much as he’d prefer to be wandering the plains of Teyvat searching for those who would do his Kingdom harm, it wasn’t possible. Still, out of all the knights, out of all the assignments, why did it have to be this one?

Diluc sighed and did his best not to roll his eyes as he watched the Princess he was sworn to serve finish her discussion with a foreign dignitary. As the eldest of daughters, she was tasked to handle foreign affairs as well as the kingdoms resources while her younger sister and brother were able to be more free in their day to day. The older brother, the Prince in line for the throne was not well liked which made Diluc assume his sister would be the same. She wasn’t.

Still, Diluc found most of his time was standing off in the corner while meeting after boring meeting was held in the castle. He’d once climbed the coldest mountain in the land and, honestly, that sounded far more enjoyable than listening to another Fontainian talk down to the person whose patience knew no bottom.

“I understand you are frustrated by the swiftness of our response,” you said, hand moving to rest against the ambassadors arm. Diluc noted how his face flushed at the contact. “I cannot guarantee we will solve each problem, but rest assured I will not let a day go by without checking in and assessing how we can continue our support.” you bowed slightly and smiled.

ugh, the tediousness of talking to diplomats, Diluc frowned at it all.

Once the ambassador left, you wandered back to your seat to gather the notes, forms, and other documents you’d ultimately review until passing out in your room. Dark circles were starting to appear under your eyes from all the sleepless nights. He made his way to you, picking up the stack of books before you could.

“Is your schedule free?” He asked, twisting slightly away from as you tried to grab the items he picked up. You were stubborn, but so was he.

“Yes,” you said and sighed, “but not for long. The Favonius knights have requested more arms, and the masons require stone for the eastern wall. I didn’t get to these yesterday, so I’d like to attend to them before dinner.” Settling the items in your arms, you did your best to push the hair that continued to brush against your cheek away with puffs of air. It wasn’t working.

“Do you not think it is better to rest?” If his superiors were around, they would shame him for speaking so directly. ‘Royalty is to be tended to like a fragile flower, otherwise they will be tarnished,’ he could hear his mentor recite all the while forcing the knights in training to hold 40 lbs barrels over their head.

You looked into his eyes before moving on to appease him. “You always look after me, Sir Ragnvindr. I’m alright,” you smiled but he could see the exhaustion in your expression. A fragile flower, yeah right. “Anyway, I’m sure you’d much rather be beyond the castle walls.” You reached for the books he was holding, “I know being my guard isn’t very exciting, so please don’t let yourself be trapped for my sake. I can manage to make it back to my room without incident.”

Your hand touched his on accident. Quickly, you pulled back, apologized, then tried again. With a roll of his eyes, he scooped the items in your arms, adding them to his.

“S-Sir Ragnvindr!” You protested as he made his way to the door. He was much faster due to his long legs. Diluc couldn’t hide his smirk as he heard you rushing after him. It must have been hard to keep up in a dress as decorated as yours. “Please, it’s too much --” he stopped in front of the door only to feel you bump into him. When he twisted to look, he noticed you cupping your mouth and nose. He swore he saw a dab of color on your cheeks. “Sir, I cannot ask you to --”

“And yet I can ask you to carry all of this?” He cut you off and watched the implication of his words settle in your mind. Diluc wondered if you disliked the rules and expectations of royalty as much as he did. After all, before he was a knight he was a nobleman - he understood the pressure of this world better than most.

Deflated, defeated, you backed down. “If you insist.” He could tell you hated being doted on. In every interaction he’d seen between you and an attendant, you were always respectful, helpful, and often insisted upon doing the task yourself. At the end of the day, who could deny the eldest princess her request? Well, other than him --- “But as soon as we get back I can --”

You were cut off by a voice down the hall. If it was possible for the walls to have ears in this castle.

Diluc watched as you prepared yourself, stepped into the hallway and greeted the stranger. They were one of the Prince’s scribes, and a rather annoying one to boot. Diluc had a bitter taste in his mouth every time he showed his face. There was just something about the way he looked at you ...

“I was informed you were free,” he said with his head lifted as if to look down on you.

“That is the case, but ...”

“Do come with me then. I have work for you to attend to since it seems you cannot get them done without a watchful eye,” he reached for your wrist and Diluc moved before realizing it. With one step, he was in between the both of you but his cold gaze was seen only by one. The man’s hand retreated so quickly it was like Diluc’s proximity had burned him.

“The Princess has other priorities at this moment.”

“How dare --”

“As the Princess’s guard, I am to ensure she can fulfil her duty to the kingdom. Do you not think the Ambassador of Fontaine would be surprised to find his request delayed yet again because the Princess was pulled to another task?” Diluc stared the man down, commitment unwavering. He heard you start to say something so he stepped further in front of you.

“How da- I -- I’ll be speaking to your superior,” the man spat before turning on his heels and loudly walked back the way he came. Diluc didn’t move until he was out of sight.

“Sir Ragnvindr, you didn’t have to go that far,” you expressed as he turned to face you. Your head had dropped, your eyes looked to the floor while your fingers pinched their neighbors. “I will write a letter to Mrs. Gunnhildr explaining the situation.”

Diluc wasn’t sure why you were looking after him, he was capable of standing up for himself and dealing with whatever punishment might come his way. Besides, it was bound to be far less painful than watching you spend any amount of time with that man.

Wait ... what?

“Don’t fret over it. Let’s go,” Diluc quickly passed by you, his head shaking to remove his strange thoughts. He heard you catch up to him. From the corner of his eyes he could see you were still unsettled by what had happened.

“I um - I do want to thank you.”

“For?”

“For standing up for me. I - um - As you know it’s hard for me to say no,” you sent him an appeasing, sad smile. “Though I do feel guilty. Perhaps if I -- ah! Sir--”

Diluc put his hand against your back and pushed you forward just enough so you couldn’t turn around. “Don’t make me carry you too -” The words fell from his mouth so fast he had to snap his lips closed to not say anymore.

What in Teyvat was coming over him. You riled him up so much-

You let out a hearty laugh and his heart skipped a beat. “Haha! That would be a sight to see,” you covered your mouth but he wished you wouldn’t. “Sir Ragnvindr carrying the Princess through the halls of the castle. Can you imagine?”

He could imagine. Though the sight wouldn’t be pretty, nor proper, since the only way he’d see that happening is if he tossed you over his shoulder. Nevertheless, he was glad you were laughing at the idea rather than being appalled. Diluc put his hand back on the items he was carrying now that he knew you weren’t going to rush back down the hall.

For a moment he listened to the sound of your footsteps, to the soft giggles echoing in the hall. Why was the weight of his armor suddenly so noticeable?

“You can refer to me by my first name,” Diluc said as your laughter started to fade.

“Oh, but Sir Ragnvindr is so natural to me.” You tapped your chin before turning to look at him as you walked, “Sir Diluc --”

“Just Diluc is fine,”

You paused, unsure of what to say. Eventually, you turned to look down the hall, hands returning to hold onto each other. He wasn’t sure what was going on in your mind but, honestly, he wouldn’t have been prepared even if he did.

“Diluc ...” the sound of his name on your tongue nearly made him fall over. Instinctually, he clenched his jaw over and over again. “Um, actually, if it’s alright with you, I think I’ll stick with Sir. Ragnvindr for now ...” you explained in a panic.

Diluc didn’t dare look at you. What expression would he have it he met your gaze? So, he gave a curt nod and a quick, “Alright,” and the two of you made your way down the hall in silence.

Every once in a while you’d try to push him away. Though he wasn’t sure if it was because you needed a moment alone or if his wistful gaze toward the window drew too much attention. Out of the two, he’d much prefer you the latter, especially since his other stare was directed at you.

Weeks went by and he settled into a nice routine. It was difficult when he first arrived, but you asked him on several occasions if there was anything you could do to make his stay more comfortable. Even the smallest things; you did your best to get him what he asked.

Diluc didn’t want for much, so your offers were often left unanswered; however, he did notice a steady supply of grape juice in the kitchen when he was sure there hadn’t been before. He only mentioned it once.

At times he'd forget himself. Forget that he needed to hold an expression of disinterest. Forget to pull himself back when he was starting to soften each time his eyes landed on you, each time you stood close by, each time you turned to search for him.

You found him and he could breathe again.

He was forgetting how very high the wall was between the two of you and every day he spent in your shadow, it became blurrier and blurrier.

“I’m going to win!” You shouted, hair wiping around your face as you pushed forward. The horse you were riding picked up its pace with a flick of the reigns, pushing you past Diluc. How did he end up racing you again?

You cackled as you passed by and he couldn’t help but be swept up by the noise. With a deep, “hya!” he squeezed his thighs and tapped his horses belly, urging it to increase its speed. It did, and soon he was rushing past you and laughing at the sound of your fading protests.

When the path began to taper out, Diluc slowed his horse bit by bit until it was at a standstill. He patted its neck and praised it for its hard work while it raised and lowered its head, breathing heavily. Twisting so he could see behind him, he found you making your way toward him and your voice began to cut through the thicket of trees.

“---er! --eater!!” You reigned your horse in, coming to a soft canter until stopping beside him. Panting, you repeated yourself, “cheater.”

“I did no such thing,”

“You did!” Patting the neck of your horse, you moved up beside him, punching him in the leg when you were close enough.

“Hey-”

“Cheater--” You pointed at him, making him laugh. Carefully, he took your hand his his and moved it back toward you.

“Did you forget I’m also a Calvary Captain?” You scrunched your face in protest but quickly relaxed into realization, “Hah, you did!”

“Shut up--” Diluc laughed, louder than he had in so long. His hand pressed into his stomach and his eyes began to water. “Stop it --” you pleaded, the notes of laughter laced in your request. “You hardly ever talk about yourself. Sorry for not remembering something you told me almost a year ago.” You turned your head away from him, moved your hands to fix the hair that had fallen free from its holding. He found himself looking a little too long at the back of your neck.

“I don’t mean poke fun,” there was a stick in your hair but you didn’t seem to notice it. “Here,” with expert skill, he dismounted his horse. In a matter of seconds he had the reigns looped around a low hanging branch and had made his way over to you, his hand resting against the horses neck to let it know he was there. The horse bumped his head and he smiled. “Allow me to help,” he said, offering you his hand.

“Don’t need it,” you replied, fixing your clothes. You were wearing a pair of form fitting pants and a dark green top that pressing against you underneath a warm, cream vest. It was one of the only times he’d seen you not dolled up in what your maids forced you to wear every morning. He liked it.

Ignoring his hand, you began to dismount but, as he had expected, it’d been a while since you last rode so you weren’t as graceful as he was. Your hand on the saddle slipped but he was there to catch you.

“Got you,” he reassured you with an arm wrapped around your back, a hand gripping the waist of your pants before pulling you toward him. Your body collided into his chest. The heat of contact, the wave of your perfume, shampoo, crashed into him causing him to stumble backward. He’d caught whiffs before, hints and hypothesized about what it would be like. He never anticipated becoming overcome by it so intensely. Diluc held you while your toes scraped the ground, arms coiled around his neck for support.

Let her go -- he told himself but couldn’t do it.

“S-Sir Ragnvindr ...” your voice was shaky. He set you down and took several steps back, bowing.

“Are you alright?” he asked, tone even, professional.

“Mmhm,” he glanced at you. His jaw clenched at the sight of your discomfort. You wouldn’t make eye contact with him, began to wring your hands like you did when you were uneasy. He wondered if his teeth would break by how hard he bit down. Without saying anything, Diluc grabbed the reigns of your horse and brought it over to his. “Um, that ride made me hungry,” you began so he looked back to you, “those trees provide good shade, if you’d like to eat with me? I brought enough for the both of us.”

“Alright,” he agreed without protest, grabbing the pack off his horse and brining it to the place you pointed to. You quickly laid out the blanket, taking up space near the tree. He was glad you did, it would be much harder for anything to attack you with it at your back. Diluc offered the basket to you which you took and began to put several items on a plate. Soon, you offered one to him.

“I tried to bring things you’d like,” Diluc looked at the plate. He wasn’t planning on eating anything but when he saw several of his favorite items, he changed his mind.

“I thought you didn’t remember things about me?” He teased, a rare occurrence.

You pursed your lips into a pout before answering, “I can remember some things.”

“I see.” He popped one of the finger foods into his mouth. The taste wasn’t exactly the way he imagined but it was still good. “Thank you for requesting these, Princess.”

“Y-You’re welcome,” you replied, making your own plate. “but - um - I made them. So, if they aren’t very good you don’t have to eat them.”

Diluc looked at you with awe, “you made these?” you nodded, “when did you find the time?”

Shrugging, you took a bite of your own food. “I had a spare moment. Though it was hard to keep it a surprise when you’re always around.” You stole a peek at him, “Are they good?”

Diluc felt his lips curl into a smile as he looked at the food on his plate. Now that he gave them a careful eye, he could see they were done by novice hands, “Very,” he told you and ate another.

The two of you enjoyed the rest of the picnic in quiet peace. Diluc leaned back against another tree, let his body stretch out on the blanket while you maintained your trained posture. Legs bent to your side, back straight. The wind tussled your hair, making it difficult for you to review the paperwork you brought. Of course you’d still be working, even outside of the confines of the castle.

Soon, a soft hum drifted on the breeze. Peeking through half-closed eyes, he watched you sing to yourself. He’d seen you do it times before but, just as you did then, you stopped. “Sorry,” you appologized.

It was so comfortable, so relaxed that he couldn’t help but close his eyes. The horses were close by that if they sensed anything he could hear their agitation. The woods had been cleared prior to this excursion anyway, he made sure of that - perhaps that’s when you found the time to make him lunch.

Funny, while he was scouting thinking of you, you were thinking of him. The thought made his chest tight.

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s not proper.”

Who told you that? He wondered. “I’m the only one here.”

“Somehow that doesn’t help,” you chuckled and he swore your cheeks changed color but maybe that was the light passing through the shifting leaves above, “um, do you have any requests?”

You’d never asked him before. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Your favorite one then?”

“Okay.” The world grew quiet. As if it were settling to listen to your song. When you began he lifted his arms, folding them behind his head like a pillow, eyes closing again.

Take me And I will fix you for the night Hold those breaking lights Dreaming past those eyes

feel me breathe me to the sky ...

The song was gentle, sad. He’d never heard it before so he paid careful attention to the words.

So scream Your voice it can't be heard To no one else but you So sing as loud as rain And run until you break

Diluc’s brow furrowed at the sound of your trembling voice, at the motion of your hand as it brushed over your eyes. You tried to keep it in but didn't make it. Your hands covered your face as you cried; cried in the wind, cried under the sunshine sky, cried in front of the man who realized, in this moment, he never wanted to see you this way.

And yes Just for now Just for these small hours You can fall beneath the ground You can break...

...without the pain

You cried, bent over in the shade of the tree and all Diluc could do was watch and wonder why.

A few days later he learned the truth. Your brother had convinced the king to accept a proposal for your hand without consulting you. Somehow this was still endorsed, still expected. You were forced to accept it but Diluc couldn’t.

He rushed through the halls practically burning the tapestries that lined them. He didn’t even wait to knock on the door to your inner chamber, he just opened it, freezing when he found you sitting on the couch as if this were any other day.

It wasn’t any other day to him.

He wanted to fight, wanted to yell, wanted to free you from your station. He swore to protect you, to shield you. So how could he let this happen? Diluc was in turmoil - every inch of him was struggling; strangled by the expectations of his duty and his devoted heart.

When you heard him enter, you looked up from the paperwork on the coffee table, eyes puffy, swollen - how much had you cried today?

“I wasn’t expecting you, Sir Ragnvindr,” you explained, but the tightness in your throat told him you were suffering. How terrible was this suitor? What archaic laws shackled you to him and not ...

Diluc made his way toward you.

“I’m sorry but I’d like some time a-alone,” your voice cracked. He didn’t listen. With ease, he knelt on one knee before you. His eyes searched your face until your red-tinted eyes landed on him. “P-please,” you tried to smile, tried to pretend but he was okay if you didn't. He rested his arm on his knee and touched your fingers. Biting your lip, you looked at him and shook your head. Your breathing became unsteady, tears pooled in your eyes. “I’m alright,” you lied. With every tear-drop you lied. A quite sob escaped your throat so you covered your face with your hands and said the one thing you shouldn’t have, “Diluc --”

Diluc, going against everything he was taught, everything he swore to uphold, to commit to, opened himself and took you against him. His arms wrapped delicately around you, his hand found the back of your head, fingers weaving in between the strands of your perfectly brushed hair.

“I’ll fix it,” he vowed, knowing he couldn’t.

The following weeks dragged by. Preparations for your engagement were planned. Even though you were in the room when the decisions were made, you gave no opinion on them. Not the flowers, not the dress, not the food which you had little interest in lately. It seemed all you could do was devote yourself to your work and nothing else.

Diluc lay awake at night thinking about how to solve this problem. What could he do to break off the engagement. Surely he could take drastic actions - what was a life of imprisonment if you could be free? His step-brother told him to be patient, be rational, but his heart refused to let him. He was spiraling, and jealousy was right in the middle of it all.

Agitated, he lifted himself from his bed and made his way to the door that led to your chambers. On the other side you were sleeping, safe, untouched by anyone. He pressed his forehead against the harsh wood, gripped the doorknob with so much strength he worried it would bend to his will. He wanted to see you, wanted to hold you - to keep you - but you weren’t his. Would never be his.

Shaking, he pried himself away, threw on a shirt, and made his way down the hall to cool off.

On the other side of the door, you sat with your knees to your chest, head resting against the wood with eyes flooded in tears as you silently cried in the color of the rising sun.

The day of your suitor arrival had finally come. You did your best to smile, to hold yourself high. You’d practice these skills for so many years but Diluc could tell you were struggling. As you rose from your chair to greet the man who’d soon be your husband, Diluc took a step closer to you hoping to ease your anxiety.

“Your majesty,” he bowed, low and proper. His smile was unsettling, his eyes darted around the room until they landed on you and the flash of excitement Diluc saw in them made him drive his claymore deeper into the ground. “Ah, and my beautiful fiancé,” he took several steps toward you so you extended your hand as far as it could go to create space. Diluc was enraged at how familiar he was; grabbing your hand and pressing his lips to it. Rubbing your arm without a care. The man flashed his eyes to Diluc but Diluc didn’t turn away.

“Welcome to the Royal Capital, Prince Calmin Velena. I’m sure you are tired from your journey. Please do take --”

“I am eager to hear of the wedding plans and celebrations, your majesty,” the man interrupted you, his hand still holding yours as he pulled you toward him and the king. Diluc had to restrain himself from cutting that hand off. “Am I to be boarded next to my sweet Princess? I do wish to spend as much time with her as possible,” he glanced back at you and, instinctually, you tried to retreat toward Diluc.

“Prince Calmin, do understand that while you are in our kingdom, there are certain, etiquettes, that must be followed. You will have your own room in our guest quarters. They are lavishly furnished as you will find.” The King gestured to an attendant who appeared suddenly before the group. With a scoff, the prince released you allowing you to go back to your original spot. Diluc watched how your hand shook as you hid it behind your back.

You can’t protect her if you kill a prince, he reminded himself.

“Yes of course, then I will retire for now. Until then,” he turned and blew you a kiss before following the attendant out of the grand hall. At which time you collapsed into your chair.

“Daughter --” The King rose from his seat, moving toward you but before he could continue, your brother got in the way.

“Father, don’t mind her, we have much to discuss.” The King looked at you and you shot him a desperate look. A pleading, ‘please’ to which he closed his eyes and followed after your brothers persistent pushing.

When they left, you tried to stand but found your legs unsteady. Diluc noticed, offering you his hand, never taking it away.

“I feel unwell,” you whispered while other attendants moved about the room.

“Let’s away for now,” with ease, he pulled his cape around you, blocking you from the eyes of the would-be onlookers. You tucked yourself under his arm, brushing against his hips every once in a while.

Would this be all he ever had? Fleeting, accidental touches while that rat had the rest of you. The thought made his chest burn, blood boil.

Diluc looked at you, vowing to ensure nothing but his presence could get close.

Every interaction he saw the two of you have made him furious. Prince Calmin was disrespectful to you. He flirted with others in front of you, talked down to you as if you were nothing, second guessed your decisions and even tried to take over your duties. The amount of times you had to quell the fires of the ambassadors because of his stupidity -- it was giving Diluc a headache.

Complaints were passed to the King but your brother always managed to stop them. Somewhere in the back of Diluc’s mind he suspected foul-play. Why was this man being pushed so hard when - even if he hated to admit it - there were other, better suitors out there. Just what was your brother playing at?

Diluc did his best to investigate, asked his most trusted to assist him when he couldn’t. The day’s to your wedding were drawing closer so he didn’t dare leave your side. Not while that snake continued to slither his way into places he wasn’t wanted.

Several nights before the wedding, Diluc heard your voice on the other side of the shared door. You sounded upset. When he went to investigate, he found Prince Calmin pushing his way inside your room. It took all of his strength not to break every bone in his body but - luckily - the prince backed down, running away as fast as he could, and you were able to quell the rage in him by reassuring him you weren't hurt.

Even still, Diluc spent the rest of that night in front of your door.

What nightmares would await him in the next few days. What nightmares would befall you that he couldn’t stop. He needed a solution, fast.

The day before the wedding came, and while others were celebrating in high spirits, you did your best to keep your mask up. Even though you smiled and acted pleasant, people were noticing that you didn’t stand in the middle of the room like brides often do, didn’t raise your glass to the toasts wishing you well, didn’t react when your fiancé touched you.

You were like a statue. A commodity. And your faithful knight was forced to watch.

“Hey there,” a familiar voice broke his concentration. His brother, Kaeya, had slipped into the festivities without an invitation, as customary.

Diluc stood with his arms crossed in the dark shadows of the grand hall. Eyes locked on your ‘would be husband’ - searching for the slightest movement that would allow him to end his life.

If he hurt you, would the king pardon the knight sworn to protect the princess? He clenched his jaw.

“Did you find anything?” Diluc asked, desperate. Kaeya could sense it too and let out a sigh.

“Just tell her you love her.”

“Kaeya -”

“Perhaps a kings heart can be swayed by the profession of true lov-”

“Did you find anything?” Diluc barked, causing Kaeya to throw his hands up.

“Alright, here,” Kaeya offered a roll of papers to Diluc who snatched them faster than lightning. “You’re senses are always spot on ya know - well, except for where it counts.”

Diluc read the papers over and over again. When he was done, he looked at Kaeya.

“I’m good, what can I say?” Kaeya shrugged but Diluc was already gone, “I’ll take my thank you in a bottle of wine. Do you hear me??” Kaeya shouted, throwing his hands in the air when he got no reply.

Diluc’s heart pounded as he pushed through the crowd. Nothing was set in stone yet, this was it. The chance to save the love of his life.

“My king!” He shouted over the crowd, through the music bouncing around the room. He picked up the pace, running. “King!”

The royal family and its intruder looked toward him. You sat up in your chair - the first sign of life you’d had all evening. The crown on your head slipped but you didn’t fix it.

“What is the meaning of this?” Your brother stood, the scraping of his chair putting a stall on the noise in the chamber. “How dare you interrupt us!”

“I apologize king,” Diluc knelt, bowed his head and lifted himself up again before extending the rolled up parchment toward the King. “I will take whatever punishment you decide fitting for my interruption, but first, read this.” Diluc held out the documents but when the Prince tried to snatch them away, Diluc grabbed his wrist and shoved him back.

“Sir Ragnvindr!” The King stood and the knights in his charge moved out from the shadows.

“Wait!” You shouted while your brother tried to scramble for the document. Unfortunately, you had a hard time getting any closer as your fiancé yanked you back toward him.

The parties’ attention turned to the commotion at the royal table. Diluc held his ground even as the threat of drawn weapons drew closer. “I have entrusted you with the safety of my daughter and yet you slander this celebration?”

“Her safety is my highest priority which is why you must read this!” The prince grabbed the documents before the King could and Diluc felt his heart drop in his chest.

“What rubbish. Have I not tried to warn you father, this knight has means to harm my precious sister. He must be dealt with -- away with him!” Diluc refrained from drawing his sword, if he did he would look even more like the enemy.

“Your majesty, please,” Diluc bowed to hide the fear in his eyes but also show he meant no harm. Please -- please hear him -- Hands touched Diluc’s shoulders and began to pull him back. He could hear your shouts and the quieting demands of your soon to be husband.

I failed

“Is this true?”

“Be still.” The King demanded and the room stilled. Diluc’s head shot up, his heart flipping as the king reached for the parchment. The prince did his best to plead, to explain that it was nothing but when the King didn't back down, he reluctantly handed it over. Diluc’s heart pounded, he felt his hands burn as he looked on only to find you still bound by the hands of that man.

Read faster, be begged.

“Yes, Majesty,” Diluc confirmed. “Take notice of the seal on the last page.” The King flipped to the last page, grimacing at what he saw. When he snapped his head to Prince Calmin the fear in the man’s eyes was clear.

“Unhand my daughter. Seize him!”

“W-What?” the prince stuttered, backing up with you in his grip.

Your brother reached for the king's arm but was shoved off. “Father what are you doing!?”

“Be silent, child.” The King moved toward Prince Calmin who grabbed a knife hidden in his clothes and held it out, while his other hand held tightly onto your hair.

“Back away! G-Got it?? I-I was promised -- you promised me!” Calmin screamed at the prince who was cowering in his chair. The commotion grew as the kings guard closed in but all Diluc saw was the fear in your eyes, and how your trembling hand extend to him.

“Let her go,” Diluc reached for the table and tossed it out of the way. The thick wood and metal bindings kept it in place as it slid down the steps narrowly avoiding several patrons as it went. He didn’t care about them, he didn’t care about anyone, he only cared about - “I won’t say it again.”

Diluc’s claymore appeared in his hand, ablaze. The Prince forcefully moved you in between him and the fire but Diluc knew enough about his vision to control every microscopic flame.

“Get off her!” In an instant, the room was filled with a flash of light. You covered your face as blue and green flames whipped past you, smacking directly into your captor. He screamed, releasing you, shoving you. As you stumbled forward Diluc caught you so you wouldn't fall.

“What have you done?! You’ll pa-pay for this ---” Calmin screamed, toppling over in pain as flames clung to his skin. Diluc held you against him so you couldn’t see and hoped the sound of his cries wouldn’t linger in your memory forever.

The king's guard shackled and carried Calmin away. They hauled off the prince as well, who in a state of bumbling cries revealed he had plotted against the kingdom for riches, and a power greater than visions. As long as he got the princess to marry this 'prince'. It was through this plot the king learned of an uprising to the east, spurred on the by hands of the northern archon. If they had been successful, the kingdoms resources would have been wiped out.

You slid your arms around Diluc, unwilling to let go and placed his hand on your back. he’d thank Kaeya profusely for saving more than he could ever imagine.

As the party goers were escorted out of the hall, and the energy in the room died down, Diluc stewarded you to the balcony for air.

“You’re shaking,” he commented, removing his cape and draping it over your shoulders.

“How could he do this ...” you mumbled, “my own brother.”

“But, y-you saved me --”

“Power and corruption are one of many slivers of the darkness that plagues this world. I never wished for you to be exposed to them.” Diluc rubbed your arms, called on his vision to warm you as best as he could. He might have saved you from a sham of a marriage but he failed everywhere else. “I am beside myself for what has happened to you,” he lifted your chin, looked at you but wished he could do more.

This proposal was one of many you'd get. How was he going to survive the next one?

“Did I?”

You began to speak but the sound of footsteps interrupted you. Diluc took several steps back and bowed.

“My daughter, how are you?”

“I’m alright,” you extended your hand toward the King and he pulled you close. Diluc kept his gaze to the ground.

“You are unharmed?”

“Yes,” the King breathed a sigh of relief. He took note of the color wrapped around you, turning his attention to the knight at your side.

“And you, Sir Ragnvindr?”

“I am fine, King,” he bowed again, missing the expression you sent to him.

“Good. Then, if you can spare us a moment I’d like to converse with my daughter in private.”

“Of course,” Diluc excused himself through the balcony door but made sure to keep you in his line of sight.

For several days after, Diluc couldn’t get close to you. He was frustrated, annoyed that his duties kept pulling him away. He rarely fought assignments, but this constant distance was making him insubordinate.

Finally, he was allowed to return to the castle but no matter where he looked he couldn’t find you. Every room he searched was empty, even your chambers had looked unused for days. The pain in his chest began to burn his throat.

Where were you - what happened to you - why couldn’t he find you

A figure moved in his peripherals, he spun toward it --

“Ah, there you are.” The Kings voice shattered his focus. Within seconds, Diluc was kneeling. “Oh, well. Always do dutiful. Please rise, my boy,” the King chuckled and Diluc did as told.

“Your majesty. How can I be of service?”

The King made his way to Diluc who’s head had stayed lowered since the King called on him. There was an uncomfortable silence blanketing the scene, he did his best not to fidget.

“Diluc Ragnvindr,” hearing his full name, Diluc lifted his eyes but kept his head lowered, “You have sworn to protect my eldest daughter, is that true?”

“Y-Yes your majesty.”

“Does that also include her heart?”

Diluc was hesitant, but he straightened to his full height, coming into direct eye contact with the King. “Sir?”

“I have watched you care for her, help her, protect her, and though there are suitors who do the same there are none whom she looks at the way she does you.”

Diluc could hardly breathe.

“Would you protect my daughters heart the same way you have protected her life?”

“Yes.” Diluc spoke with conviction. Unsure if what he was vowing too was the one thing his heart yearned for. As stupid he was to believe it, he let himself.

“Then,” the King took Diluc’s hand in his, one resting on the top and the other cupping the bottom, “You have my blessing. Though I should hardly have the authority to give it.”

“... I ...”

“Go. She’s waiting on the balcony.”

Diluc looked toward the doorway. He swallowed, swore his heart was going to break out of his chest and kill him. He loved you. He wasn’t supposed to - told himself he wouldn’t and yet

he loved you

“E-Excuse me,” Diluc bowed, slipped free of the Kings embrace and moved toward the one thing he had wanted but was never allowed.

There you were, standing with your hands on the marble railing. Your back too him, hair fluttering in the wind. The gown you wore was beautiful. Long trains of white with thick red fabric billowing out behind you.

Diluc called out your name and, slowly, you turned toward him. He didn’t move, you didn’t move.

“Did you see the king?” You asked and when he nodded you smiled with tears rolling down your cheeks. Diluc walked toward you as if he were in a dream. “What’s your decision? Could you ever love the princess you swore fealty to--”

Suddenly, he moved faster than he ever had. His hands cupped your face as he kissed you. He’d never known such a feeling as your lips. Never thought warm tears would feel so invigorating against his hands.

He had you

He finally had you

“Marry me,” he professed above your lips.

“Tomorrow?” You teased but he didn’t protest. If he were allowed, he’d marry you this instant if it meant you could spend one second more as his wife.

Laughing, with love rushing through his veins, he hoisted you into the air and let you fall against him as you cupped his face and kissed him in the mid-day sun.

“Wherever you go, whatever you do,” he said in between kisses, “I will follow you. I am yours --”

“And you are mine,” you vowed.

@sarahslolitaportfolio (these are gonna be long soooo i’m making it a series lol)

#hazels works #genshin impact #genshin impact x fm reader #x fm reader #x female reader #genshin x female reader #genshin impact x female reader #diluc x fem!reader #genshin diluc x fem!reader

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