#like come on...this is just becoming laughable

[solarstranger]

a/n. pleasantly surprised at how quickly i wrote this bit, it practically wrote itself. i love writing about psych/therapy stuff (despite my complex relationship with 'em), and bakugou being the central character in all of this is only the cherry on top <3 i honestly don't know where i'm going with this, but it's been fun so far. (0.8k)

navigation. part 1, (you are here)

thankfully—and to the relief of whatever dignity he had left—that interaction was short-lived.

well, it’s mostly because after you blinked at him for what felt like a torturous eternity and said a shaky hello back, he gave you a curt nod as if he wasn’t the one who just initiated the exchange and bolted it out of there without a single glance back.

that bit haunted him for the next few days, reappearing in his consciousness whenever the topic of therapy or anything remotely close to it was broached. he even snapped at kirishima when the redhead asked how his latest session went during one of their evening patrols together. it was a kneejerk reaction, an entirely out-of-proportion, aggressive response that shocked even him, which says a lot.

he should go ahead and text the guy an apology.

eventually, though, that unfortunate powwow slowly faded into the background of his exceptionally busy mind as the days went on. things got so hectic in the agency that he had to postpone his appointment for the week, which—quite frankly—is an upside to this chaos, because he sure wasn’t pumped about discussing his love life, or the lack thereof, with the jarringly knowing middle-aged lady. being able to definitively avoid you and buy you more time to forget about his stupid social blunder is merely the cherry on top.

okay, maybe the incident didn’t actually slip his mind after all.

“…bakugou-san? are you still with me?”

dazed, bakugou squeezes his eyes shut before fluttering them open, and what greets him is the very same lady against the backdrop of her increasingly familiar office, only this time she’s looking more concerned than perceptive.

right. he’s supposed to be in the middle of a session right now.

“yeah, sorry,” he mumbles, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of irrelevant thoughts and focus on the matters at hand. therapy is expensive, after all. “i’m here.”

that doesn’t seem to placate the woman who instead prods, much to his chagrin. “you seem out of it today. is there something in your mind that you want us to talk about?”

for a second, he debates caving and just telling her the dumb shit that happened two weeks ago, but then backtracks when it dawns on him how ridiculous everything is. what is he, a prepubescent boy? he died and survived a major war, for fuck’s sake. why is he so hung up on seeming awkward for once in his life?

even hearing it in his head is embarrassing enough.

that settles it, then. his lips are and will remain sealed.

but then his gaze refocuses on his therapist, and the sheer ‘unconditional positive regard’ or whatever the crap is called that she’s radiating becomes so palpable that it just spills out of him.

“i fucked up.”

that makes the lady frown—which, if he thinks about it, is understandable, because he rarely opens up about his failures, let alone this blatantly—although she manages to quickly school her expression into a more neutral one. “can i ask you to expound on it?”

at that, bakugou sighs, because it’s either he just tells the laughable truth or actually cite one of his actual mistakes—which he’s not feeling right now, by the way. or he can expertly maneuver the conversation to another topic, but something tells him there’s no getting out of the current subject. maybe today, there is, but it’ll surely loom over their next sessions indefinitely until either of them revisits it.

he should know. it’s happened to him too many times, he’s lost count.

with this realization, he can only sigh again.

“it’s stupid,” he preempts.

“i’d like to hear it regardless,” comes her classic, supportive response.

and so he does it. talk, that is. it starts off a bit rough—he didn’t know how to even begin without flushing like an idiot, but he managed to get the brief anecdote going. he still ended up blushing anyway—the warmth in his cheeks was undeniable—and if she noticed, she gratefully didn’t point it out. by the time he’s finished with the trivial tale, he’s mildly out of breath, having said everything in one continuous burst.

“i told you,” he spits when she doesn’t say anything for a beat. “it’s stupid.”

“i’d normally ask you to reconsider the adjectives you use for yourself and your experiences, but i think you’ve heard enough of that.”

he snorts. damn straight.

the woman then shoots him a smile, and he has to tamp down the reflex to bristle at an impending attempt to placate him. fortunately, it doesn’t come.

what does, instead, is a question.

one that catches him completely off guard.

“did you find her attractive?”

the fuck, is his first, immediate thought.

but then his normally trusty and acute brain seemingly comes to life and promptly supplies a second one that leaves him frozen and utterly dumbfounded.

yes.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[generalsdiary]

Interwoven

Mydei x Phainon

word count: 1.9k

description: back to the future (Chapter 5)

a/n: ty to my beta readers; citrus, rice cake and Sav <2

Chapter 6: Inhale him, exhale stardust

It came in flashes.

The perfect, safe paradise falling apart. It bled through the cracks. One moment Phainon is writing at his messy table, and another, he is kneeling in his cold room in Okhema. His cheeks are wet and his vision is blurry, and before he can get a chance to adjust to the new reality, he is back in Kremnos with the most handsome man on the planet looking at him. Pools of gold he could swim in for days. The best privilege in the world is having his attention focused solely on him. The memory of the times Mydei avoided conversations with Phainon is a sting in his heart—the days Mydei would offer only one-word answers and barely look at him. Instead of lamenting the past, Phainon grounds himself in the present moment, and a lazy smile spreads across his lips.

“Will you say something, or do you plan on looking stupidly in love with me the whole time?” Mydei doesn’t hesitate to ask, gently gripping Phainon’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

Phainon stops breathing, stuck between heartbeats, trapped between breaths. “I’m…” His words are rendered useless as Mydei leans in with a smile Phainon had never seen before, and brushes his nose against his, “M... Mydei.”

“Yes?” the single word answer brushes against Phainon’s lips in the form of a warm breath. His eyelashes flutter, but he offers no restraint to the imminent kiss. If anything, Phainon feels eager to feel it, experience it, taste him.

A moment before Phainon can meet his lips, so close he can nearly feel him—the dream, inconveniently, ends. The first crack of their reality goes unnoticed by Phainon, wrapped up in the blanket of a loving dream. To him, the flash of the new future appears as a pretend nightmare. Any pain that pierced through his temples gets tucked away in the warm duvet covering his body and the rhythmic breathing of Mydei beside him. If sleep hadn’t concealed the truth, would he have done everything the same way?

Castrum Kremnos ruled and led by King Mydeimos and Prince Phainon had already become a home to them. Apart from some odds and ends sticking out, they had no trouble adapting to it again. Coming back was akin to visiting the house of one’s grandparents, nothing could go wrong—like children without responsibility. The stakes of this reality are a laughable joke in comparison to their actual present. For the two, who usually stand, walk and fight in abnormal proximity, a situation where they’re forced to be even closer is embraced with open arms.

The habit of keeping chats of their present hushed while also having to appear in love, although there’s not much pretending to be had there, resurfaces easily. Every fool, except for Mydei, could tell how lovingly Prince Phainon looks at his husband and everyone, except for Phainon, could tell just how much King Mydeimos blushes in the presence of his other half.

With the constant goal being to have private conversations, Mydei expressed his desire to take Phainon somewhere further away, so that they might not have to whisper. 

“This is beautiful, we should do this more often,” Phainon muses, looking around to take in the scenery. A quiet river, the cleanest air filtered by the large trees surrounding them and, of course, the King of Castrum Kremnos. He could not ask for anything more.

Mydei shuffles a bit on the soft grass, “We could… probably not whenever we make it back… But I’m glad I could show you this.”

Phainon has a glint in his eyes, swiftly cooking up an idea to take Mydei’s mind off whatever may be troubling him, “I bet I could eat more peaches from this tree than you.”

His plan proves fruitful the moment Mydei meets Phainon’s eyes with a newfound fervor in them, “I eat more than you.” 

Already in a half squat, Phainon was grabbing as many peaches as he could and shoving them into his shirt, “We will see about that,” He taunted, voice thick with excitement at the premise of another competition.

Mydei groaned, succumbing to the hard-wired desire to indulge Phainon in this little game—to beat his opponent and pluck the baby pink fruit off the fragile branches faster than him. In a mere matter of moments, there were dozens of peaches on the floor around their feet. In the heat of the ongoing competition, a thought of clarity floats over to Mydeimos, “Perhaps… we shouldn’t behave in this way with food. Furthermore, this is the only peach tree here.”

“Chickening out already?” Phainon snickers, bubbling with the desire to tease Mydei.

“How about we both just enjoy a singular peach, and bring the rest back to Kremnos? As much as I love competing with you, surely we can draw a line somewhere?” In favour of ignoring Phainon’s jab, Mydeimos tilts his head.

The tension in Phainon’s back eases. As long as his so-called-husband has his mind out of the gutter, he doesn’t mind dropping the competition and settling with enjoying the presence of his counterpart. With the peaches nicely piled into an organized tower, Phainon grabs one of them, “Yeah, I can indulge in just one. Here’s to us, Mydeimos, may we always remain triumphant,” he extends it towards Mydei’s hand, to bump them as one might glasses. Mydei wordlessly nods and returns the gesture.

Past the soft fuzz of the fruit’s skin, the blend of soft red, warm yellow and hint of green breaks to reveal a bright orange flesh, spilling its juices—a cacophony of sour and sweet dancing on the men’s tongues. Mouths full, they make eye contact past the first bite, gripping the fruit and leaving no room for witty remarks or playful jokes. One may wonder… was there a matrimony ceremony in the past—or perhaps, on a completely different planet—consisting of the very action the two men find themselves in right now.

The situation is unsettling for all lovers, with Mydei being the first one to bend the knee under the severe pressure of the implied kiss across the fruit—by closing his eyes and taking another bite. Phainon holds back the urge to grab Mydei’s hand, entangle their fingers, relish in the warmth of his palm, feel the strong grip they most probably have—he is holding his hand. Phainon is… he is holding his hand. The shock in his blue eyes matches that of Mydei’s amber ones. Since their mouths are full and they’re not being observed, they let the shock go and instead, turn to ignoring the gravity of such an action.

Yet soft times like these are exactly what Mydei wanted out of his life. Simple, gentle moments that they could never get in the present. It is a small part of them, deep inside, the one that wishes to ignore all responsibilities and let go of the hero status, that wishes Caelus would catch them later rather than sooner. After finally swallowing the sweet fruit, Mydei calls out, “Phainon.”

Their eyes meet, and time nearly stops for them. Apart from the trees rustling, the creek flowing over the smooth grey rocks polished by time, and various birds chirping, time reaches its standstill. It is said that birds only sing in the areas that are safe. This picnic is a memory that one should save in a snow globe to keep it safe and sound; secure and eternal under the glass orb. Glass is crafted from the rough particles of sand; it forms the clear, firm material. However, it is fragile. One wrong swing of an arm and the snow globe falls down, plummeting to its doom and dirtying the floor with a strange liquid. All that remain are fake snowflakes and parts of what once used to be a picnic scene.

There it is again—Phainon’s knees ache and the cold from the stone seeps into his legs. This time, he gathers his surroundings a bit better; this truly is his room. The curtains are pulled away, allowing the eternal dawn to shine light onto the messy space. Phainon wipes away the oncoming, cold tears from his warm cheeks. Salt. They taste like salt. He tries to get up, but with no energy to fight left in them, his legs give out. More tears keep coming, and an ache in his chest makes him think he was stabbed. He looks down… alas, there is no wound there. The whole premise gives him a bad feeling; the wrench in his gut confirming something went terribly wrong. Part of his armor is thrown haphazardly around the room, adding to the unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Phainon reaches for his teleslate, the cold metal assuring him with the potential of clarifying information, until the sensation switches to the warmth of Mydei’s hand. 

“Mydeimos,” he gasps, squeezing the large hand in his, “Something happened, I think the reality is falling apart.”

Mydei looks equally disoriented and mimics Phainon’s gesture, “It appears our choices are changing this future… I don’t think this one is stable. I don’t know if it is safe for us to be here.”

“I doubt this has something to do with safety. Just now I was somewhere else—but it wasn’t our present. We should be safe either way, but…” Phainon shifted closer to Mydei. There’s no harm in sitting near his… husband of this future, is what he tells himself. The fear that he will lose Mydei in an unknown timeline is a thought that he buries deep inside him. He can only hope it will never see the light of the eternal dawn.

“Alright, I’ll trust your judgement this time,” Mydei nods, turning towards Phainon, “I don’t doubt your capabilities to protect yourself should it ever come to it,” his eyes fall to the long-forgotten pile of peaches, “I do wonder… What did you see in the new future?”

“Nothing new, nor out of the ordinary... Okhema, my room. I was crying, I didn’t manage to figure out why. And you?” He murmurs his words out hurriedly, and quickly poses a counter question. The last thing he wants is for Mydei to worry. It is not that he minds talking about his tears, rather that he wishes to avoid giving Mydei an excuse to not share his experience.

The worry in Mydei’s eyes confirms Phainon’s initial goal, “You were crying? It was nothing special on my end, I was—“

Surrounded by enemies. Encircled by Titankin; corrupted by the Black Tide, running along the stone tiles overgrown by grass, outside of any light sent by the Worldbearing Titan Kephale. The air’s thick with the scent of rust, a familiar smell, however only one person can bleed here and it is not any of the enemies. An ache overwhelmed his muscles with each hit he swung forward, and his armor grew heavier with every second. It made him wonder how many times he had already died and come back. The abandoned buildings of Castrum Kremnos… a sour sight to meet after holding the hand of the man he is terribly fond of in the rebuilt city.

Well… that is what he wanted to say. The final crack in the glass shattered it completely, and the future of the two loving, ruling husbands fell apart in their hands like water slipping through their fingers. That future is torn away from their grasp, never to be seen again.

Slow mornings, nights filled with the scent of lavender coming in from the balcony, shared meals, discussions over laws and the common folk inquiries. No Flame Chase journey, no impending Black Tide, no war, no internal conflict. Losing all of this… will it ever be worth the price they’ll have to pay?

[il-predestinato]

What Charles was referring to:

Challenge impossible for Carlos Sainz: Don't impede your teammate for one race weekend. 🤦‍♀️

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse, subjugation, some type of sexism, bad politics, chemically induced heat? institutionalized reader, doctors, wack rehabilitation program, ish brainwashing

fem reader

You’d been difficult to tame. Or, he just didn’t have the time to do it properly—too busy at work and too tired when coming home. He’d wanted a sweet Omega, one who did house chores when he was away and had dinner ready for him when he got off.

You’d looked real sweet at the auction—a perfectly beautiful Omega. You weren’t cheap either—everyone had made their bids, but he’d been the one to walk away with the prize in the end. He can’t say he regrets it—he still has a fondness for you even though you’re not what he’d thought he’d purchased.

You just need some behavioral correcting. And so, he put you in an Omega institution.

It had been recommended to him. It’s not so uncommon, he later found out while reading up on the place. Auctioned Omegas tend to end up a little rough around the edges—here, at the institution, they’ll smooth those edges right out.

Sadly, there’s been a rise in unstable Omegas as of late—he reads on their website. It’s a misguided revolution taking place in several auction homes that’s to blame for it—circling modern ideas of liberation, equality, andindependence. It all stems from a place of fear, the website explains in detail—Omegas seek to stand on their own in the world. Cooped up in auction homes, they fear they’ll never see the outside without a mate—and as the years dwindle on and their prospects become slimmer, they start fantasizing about doing it on their own.

He feels sorry for you while reading it. Your attitude makes more sense now, knowing you’ve been fed a bunch of deluded nonsense. He can’t blame you for getting swept up in it—you’re a little younger than him, after all. But the silly idea of a lone Omega isn’t just laughable but dangerous. It was best of him to make sure any such notions were quashed—for your own good—before you end up doing something you might regret. 

And it seemed this place was the place to do it. In fact, many of his fellow Alphas had done the same, and they’d all sung this particular institution’s praises.

Oh, but it’s been hard. You wouldn’t talk to him much or even keep him in good company at home, but still, he misses your presence. The house seems so empty without your little everyday spats to keep him on his toes.

You’ve been away for a whole month now, and he hasn’t even been allowed to visit, not once. It would ruin the process, he was told. But he’s been assured that the caretakers there have been making great progress with you. He should be able to come pick you up as soon as the start of next week.

He remembers having been skeptical about leaving you here as he walks to announce himself at the help desk. The facility is pristine and sterile—very impersonal, just like any other hospital. He wonders if you’ve been scared. After all, it’s most likely your skittish nature that makes you so hostile, joined with misgivings making you confused. It can’t be easy. He hopes the doctors here have helped you sort things out. Maybe you won’t be so frustrated all the time.

He was led to a private room where he could complete some paperwork for your release while waiting for your discharge. He made quick work of it. A door opens, and your doctor comes through, and then, following right behind him, there’s you—his pretty little Omega.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you quite so subdued—not even when you’d been caged at the auction, there’d still been some fight to your spirit. Now, not so much—taking quiet and careful steps with your head hung, looking at your slipper-clad feet.

You pick your face up when you recognize the scent, and then you look at him like you’ve just seen a ghost. Wide-eyed and lock-jawed—your breathing picks up rapidly, and his name drops from your lips like a pained whimper, followed by a sudden burst of tears and a rush toward him. “You came back—” 

You’re on him before he has the time to blink—pressed against him tightly, skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart, with your face buried in the grove of his neck. Your claws are slightly drawn, but in no effort to hurt him—rather, to cling to him. It’s not any normal hug—not that you’d ever given him one before—but even so, you’re swaddledaround his neck with your legs crossed at his back.

He’s taken aback by the behavior—it isn’t like you at all. He remembers your aversion to his touch, how you’d regard him like a plague, snarling each time he’d get too close. This was beyond new.

But you leave him no opening to comment either, too busy rambling in meek little whispers pressed into his skin, “Thank you, thank you, thank you—I knew you’d come back—knew you hadn’t forgotten about me. I’m sorry I was being difficult, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’ve forgiven me, right? You’ll take me home now, right? Please—”

He’d never been in a position to soothe you before—you’d never wanted it. He doesn’t know what else to do but smooth a hand over your hunched and shuddering back, shushing you like he’d seen mothers do with their sobbing children. You didn’t look much different right now.

“Yeah… we’re going home,” he assures you. 

You hug him a little tighter as a sob wreaks through you.

This isn’t exactly what he prepared himself for. He thought you’d be... well, he doesn’t really know... nicer?Perhaps. Agreeable. Not so violent. But not this—this broken little ball of shivering sniffles holding onto him as if the world was about to end.

He swallows thickly, then looks at your doctor—he doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he seems utterly unfazed.

It makes him wonder, a little warily, “What have you done with her?”

The doctor seems more than happy to explain—it’s only customary, after all. He’d paid a lot to have you rehabilitated here.

“Each omega requires special treatment suited to them,” the doctor explains. “Yours was particularly unruly.”

You flinch. He feels your claws dig deeper, but they’re too blunt to draw blood and too weak to hurt anyway. But even so, your sentiments are more than clear—you fear this doctor with your entire being.

“We’ve found that in the case of hostile Omegas, the most effective way to correct their behavior is to keep them isolated and let their own instincts remind them of what they need,” the doctor continues. “Of course, we’ve taken protective measures to ensure she wouldn’t harm herself in said isolation and have fed her accordingly at scheduled times every day.” He smiles. “We can assure you she’s been perfectly safe in the pillow room.”

He lifts the silver suitcase he’d been holding, props it up, and pops the lid, revealing a row of ten syringes—a hot pink fluid within.

“This is our recommended medicine.”

You shudder even more, unrelenting in your grip around him—hanging on so tightly as if you fear someone would come and pry you off him at any moment.

“Give one to her if and when she acts up. More instructions come with the case—please read through them carefully.”

He eyes the syringes with furrowed brows, picking one up to inspect it further. They don’t look like anything he’s read about in the brochure or on the website—perhaps a brand new method for treating Omegas? This is a cutting-edge institution, after all.

He can’t guess what they must do to make you cower like that. The spit-spire he left here a month ago wouldn’t cry over a tiny needle.

“What are they?” he asks.

The doctor’s smile stretches. “Nothing dangerous. All natural hormone components.”

He’s not sure what that entails, and so he quirks a brow while laying the syringe back in its designated mold. “And what does that mean?”

The doctor clasps the case shut and hands it over to him while explaining plainly, “They induce heat.” 

He accepts the case before his ears have the chance to draw back at his words. Now that explains your sudden clinginess—why you’re so frigid.

The doctor adds, “Poor thing’s spent quite a few alone in the pillow room, so I’m sure she’ll be grateful to finally be by her mate’s side again.”

He’s speechless.

Spending heat alone, without any relief, is a form nothing short of torture. If he’d known that was what they were doing to you, he wouldn’t have sent you here in the first place. He very nearly chews the doctor out for using such barbaric methods but thinks better of it. If anything were to be done, it would be through a well-worded and filed complaint and a vow to never do business with them ever again.

Though, coming home with you by his side, still clinging to him… he can’t argue with the results. 

So he doesn’t complain. He just enjoys your new and improved wellness and promises never to use those injections on you himself. Yes, they’d forego their expiration date soon enough, dusting away in the back of his closet. He’d never ever put you through something so horrid. That’s his pledge as your mate.

Oh, but then... the honeymoon phase dissolves. And you return to your old habits of teeth and claws.

It’s never-ending barking with you all over again—you want to leave, you want to be alone, you don’t want him to touch you, you blame him for what you went through at the institution, you hate him for it, and you’ll never ever forgive him.

He doesn’t want to—he swears while holding the syringe to your thigh where he’s strapped you down in bed with ropes and knots—he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t, but you leave him no choice when you act like a wild animal. 

The first time is always the hardest. But he doesn’t leave you alone in a room like they did at the institution—no, he helps you through it. It’s not torture this way. It’s just… well, what can he say? It’s just a little reminder to get you back on your good behavior.

You would rather stay here than get sent back to the pillow room, right?

It’s all too easy the second time around even though it shouldn’t have been. It was only a day of small uproars, nothing all that bad—refusing to greet him at the door, to make dinner, to fix his plate, to wash dishes, to come to bed. He’d allowed you days like that in the past, but this time, he’d felt himself gravitate towards his so-called last resort once again. 

Still, he’d felt a little guilty about it. 

It would be easier to refrain if it didn’t work like a charm.

Now, he goes and finds the briefcase at the drop of a hat. Say something snarky or look at him funny. Give him any opportunity, and he’ll abuse it—even things you don’t even mean to do, like burning the food, shrinking his clothes in the wash, or forgetting to make the bed in the morning. He’s on you with the syringe deep in your flesh before you can even mouth the words “I’m sorry—”

You’re limp and sweat-drenched after a few hours. He spoons you as the spasms continuously ricochet through you—his spent leaking down your thighs. Even after several rounds, the hormones are still brewing up a bad storm within your gut, thundering in your heart as its lightning zips along your limbs. Your head is a rainy cloud—heavy and full yet soft like cotton.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—it was an accident—” you mumble between labored breaths, not entirely sure what error you’d made this time, shivering against his warm chest as he cups your breast in one big hand and your swollen cunt in the other.

“I know, I know it was, baby,” he coos. “But you need to be more mindful—can’t be making so many mistakes all the time.” His lips brush your skin as he purrs, placing small pecks against your cheek and neck. “How can I trust you with my pups if you’re gonna be such a scatterbrain, hm?”

The mention of pups makes something roar more ferociously in your underbelly, and you whimper meekly in return. “I’m sorry—I’ll do better.”

“Good. I’m sure you’ll get there, sweetie.”

The storm within crackles, rumbling with a deepening hunger. Even though you feel battle-worn and ever ready for the sweet escape of sleep, there’s something even needier and heedless that makes your body feel all but set ablaze.

You’ve cum so many times already, but it’s still not enough—it’s never enough. It takes everything in you to make sense of his words—to act civil even when all you want is to jump his bones—make him fuck you until your fever breaks, then allow you rest.

But act in any way out of turn, and he’ll only drag this out. Be sweet, you remind yourself—sugar, syrup, honeycomb—sweet and soft like velvet—no teeth or claws or growling. No matter what, don’t let the animal out of the cage.

“No matter how many lessons it’ll take…” he murmurs. “I’m here to help.”

“Thank you—” you wince while rubbing your thighs together—grinding against his hand in desperation. “Can you… can we—”

He chuckles fondly, feeling you rub your ass back against his crotch wantingly. “Oh? Another round so soon?” 

You bite your lip at his teasing. Far beyond proud to not be begging, “Yes, please—pretty, pretty please—”

The sweet warble in your voice is so pitiful and cute—he can’t help the smile it brings him. “Alright, honey,” he hums while shifting, getting up with a hearty sigh, then leaning over you to give your pleading little pout a kiss. He feeds you his next words with a grin on his face, “Let’s see about that needy pussy of yours.”

He spreads and shimmies himself between your aching thighs, nice and snug against the weeping little thing between them—looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a smug smile that makes you feel like the most hopeless little Omega in the world.

He places another kiss upon your forehead—dwarfing your hand in his big one, braiding your fingers together while the other carries his meaty cock, holding it steady up to your fluttering and glossy slit. 

The size never fails to make you squirm as you look down at it—wondering why you crave it so badly when it only serves to make your body twist and scream from the stretch it gives you.

 “Don’t worry, sweetie,” he soothes the tiny cry that cracks from your throat once he starts easing the length inside the snug comforts of your walls. “Your Alpha’s here to make it all better.”

♡ BNHA – old man Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Daichi, Ushijima ♡ AOT – Erwin

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

[kissktten]

itoshi rin

rin loves his cutesy girlfriend.

you’re just so adorable!! your hand clasping his, tugging him along as you practically bounce with each step you take. rin promised to come with you to the store— so, here he is, trailing behind his petty girlfriend as she smiles so brightly.

it’s almost laughable, really. a tall, stoic soccer player and probably the girliest girl around. and if rin’s being honest, he loves it!

he’s more than happy to kneel down in the middle of the street, slim hands reaching to adjust the cute frills of your socks before redoing the buckles on your adorable little mary janes.

and rin definitely doesn’t mind holding all your bags, shaking his head at you and insisting it’s fine, and that he can hold them, when you try and tell him you can carry them yourself.

rin has also become your backup whenever you’re at stores.

“i had it first!” some lady shouts at you, her ugly nose scrunching as her hands curls into a fist. “give it back!”

you can tell that she’s only so territorial over the dress because she wants to sell it for triple the price on one of those dumb websites.

“i was literally holding it and you tried to snatch it away from me.” you deadpan, looking back at the woman with an unamused expression. like a cute little copy of rin, if you look close enough.

“liar!” she shrieks in that annoyingly loud voice of hers, and her bony hand curls into a fist— is she going to . . . ?

too bad for her, you have a boyfriend that is definitely not going to let his girlfriend get punched over a damn dress.

his hand grabs her wrist, and the glare he sends to her speaks volumes. guess she didn’t need the dress that much anyways, because she’s quick to scramble away— leaving you, and rin, victorious.

when you get home, rin’s feeling almost excited to watch your little fashion show. it’s a tradition the two of you have— after every single shopping trip, you need to put on everything you get and show off a little.

rin loves it. he loves you.

“very cute, baby.” he’d say, a hand lifting up to adjust the frills of your new skirt. “the colour is nice. a new shade of pink?”

he’s become surprisingly good with colours. at the start of your relationship, it didn’t matter to him— pink was pink and white was white. but now, he’s able to notice even the smallest changes of shades. you’ve trained him well !

rin has also just resigned himself to becoming your personal accessory tester.

“awe, you look so handsome!” you coo, fixing one of the many bows you had clipped into his soft hair. “my little princess.”

yes, in this relationship rin is the princess. the pretty princess, actually.

“thank you, lovely.” he hums, hands gently smoothing over the fabric of your pants. you’re staying at home today, so you haven’t changed pyjamas yet— but you still just look so cute!

of course, rin always has to match with you. wearing cute little pyjamas with paw prints everywhere, the light pink all pretty and cute and so very out of place for a man like rin.

masterlist.

note: i’d like to write more of rin x his cutesy pretty girlfriend . . . should iiiiii???

[bandzboy]

some groups could be breaking records, charting everywhere, having everyone and their mama (ah ah) talking about them and mama won't still nominate those groups like lmfao

[kingkaizen]

𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓮𝓻

∘ desc: although things are going great with your boyfriend nanami, sometimes you think he's too nice in bed. who better to ask for some pointers than from nanami's opposite, gojo satoru <3

∘ ft: nanami & gojo

∘ word count: 2.7k

∘ includes: voyeurism, threesome, pussy slaps, spanking, face fucking, edging, dacryphilia, dirty talk

Nanami is the best boyfriend that you’ve ever had.

No matter everything that you’ve been through together in the last three years, nothing has ever made you doubt the amount of love you had for each other. You absolutely adored everything about him. After being friends for years before getting together, it wasn’t hard to fall so deeply in love with the man that he’s become. Being able to come home to him is everything that you’ve ever wanted and more.

But, of course, all relationships come with their issues.

When Nanami received a message from you saying that you had to talk, his heart immediately dropped. What could he have done wrong? Was today a special day that he forgot about? Did he accidentally leave the toilet seat up? What could possibly be it? He rushed home from work, unlocking the front door to see you sitting on the couch.

“Is everything okay?” Nanami questioned, slipping his shoes off and placing them neatly on the floor along with pinning his coat on the rack. “Your text worried me.”

“No, Kento. Everything is fine, I promise, come sit with me.” You gestured to the cushion next to yours, trying to keep him calm. You knew that texting him like that would elicit this concerned reaction, but what you’re about to say could not be said through a simple text message.

“Kento, when I say this to you, I need you to know that I love you so much and you are an amazing boyfriend okay?” Nanami nods his head slightly, eyebrows slowly coming together in complete anticipation of what’s about to come out of your mouth.

“I want you to start being rougher with me in bed.”

Finally coming out and saying it, you felt like a weight being lifted off of your chest. Nanami always treats you like glass, in and out of the bedroom. Although you love how gentle and loving he is with you, you need something more. You can’t help but think back to all of the times that he would come back home from work, irritated about something that happened. How good it would feel for him to take out those emotions on you. But, knowing your sweet boyfriend, that thought would never cross his mind. 

“Am I not satisfying you enough? I thought you enjoyed our intimate moments together…” Nanami responds, his brain thinking back to every single night you’ve spent together in the past. Why hasn’t he seen this before? Knowing that he hasn’t been satisfying you in the way that he thought hurt him much more than he was willing to admit right away.

“No, that’s not it at all. You know that you always make me feel good. I just want to change things up a bit, that’s all.” You placed an encouraging hand on his thigh, prompting him to look up at you. “I know you, Kento, don’t think too much into it. I love every moment that we have together, I just want us to try something different, that’s all.”

Nanami took in all of your words, making a pact to himself that he will change things for the better. He understands what you want, he’s just not sure how to fully give that to you. How he is in bed is exactly the way he is outside of that: sweet, loving, and overall just concerned. He would never forgive himself for hurting you in any capacity, so living up to your request will be a challenge for him. Who better to ask than his complete opposite in every single way?

“She wants you, Nanami Kento, to be rough?” Gojo almost can’t help but laugh at the thought. It’s not laughable because Nanami doesn’t have a rough side to him, Gojo of all people would know how it feels to be on the opposite end of that. The funny part is that he can’t imagine him being rough towards you. Even from an outsider looking into your relationship, anyone could see how he treats you.

“I didn’t tell you this so that you could laugh at me, Satoru, I’m asking for your help.” This request from Nanami also humored Gojo. Finally, after all of these years, Nanami is actually voluntarily asking for his help.

“How exactly do you expect me to help you? Do you need me to demonstrate?” Gojo laughed as he said this, waiting for Nanami to show some sort of disagreement in his face.

That look never came.

“That is actually exactly what I want you to do. I know the type of history that you two have, I’m not an idiot. All of these years since we’ve all been friends before we started dating, I would see the way you would look at each other. I know that there is chemistry there and I wouldn’t be surprised if you have been intimate before.” Nanami looked at Gojo, seriousness etched across his face. “I want you to show me how to treat her the way that she wants to be, I only want her to be happy.” As much as Nanami hates to admit when Gojo is better than him in any sort of way, he knows the truth when it comes to this. He sees how other women have fawned over him, and it must be for good reason.

“I’ll teach you how to fuck her like a slut.”

The sight of two shirtless men is enough to excite anyone. After telling Nanami what was on your mind, this is the last thing that you expected him to do. Of course he brought this up to you before this moment, always wanting to ensure your comfort. It was hard to disagree, you’ve been with Gojo years prior but it was never anything serious. Always flings, Gojo was never the “relationship type”. 

“So gorgeous, my love.” Nanami always admired how ethereal you looked, both in and out the bedroom. He caressed your face, planting soft yet firm kisses on your lips, growing more and more passionate by the second. Gojo was sitting on the chair in the corner of the room, watching with an intense gaze. You would think that having another man watching the two of you would freak you out, but it weirdly turned you on. Gently, as always, Nanami laid you down on the mattress, fingers finding their way to your covered breasts, exposing them to his hungry mouth. After moving the fabric, his lips puckered around your nipple, tongue pushing on the hardened nub as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Kento, I need you so bad.” You whimpered, the impatient side of you coming out already. You know Nanami, you know that it doesn’t take much begging to get what you want. You know how bad he wants you too, he can’t help but fully oblige to every word you say.

“I know honey, I’m going to give it to you.” Nanami had no self control when it came to you. Gojo rolls his eyes in the corner, finally making his presence known.

“Nanami, you can’t let her talk to you like that.” Gojo slowly began to touch his growing bulge through his pants. “It’s like you already forgot everything I told you.” He stood up and walked towards the two of you, Nanami moving to the side. Gojo gently gripped your chin, turning your head to look him dead in his eyes.

“If you want something from him, you’re going to have to earn it.”

You nodded your head, his authoritative tone sending a wave of pleasure throughout your body. Following his discrete directions, you kneeled in front of your boyfriend, fingers playfully toying with the zipper in his pants as you pulled it down along with the rest of it. You kissed his hard length through the last piece of fabric still left on his body, looking up at him through your lashes.

“D-Don’t tease me like that, (y/n)”. Nanami loved this obedient side of you, even if he wasn’t the reason you were acting this way. Before he could even process, Gojo lightly tapped the side of your ass, sending a slight sting throughout your body.

“Tease him like that again and you’re gonna have to make yourself cum. Now say sorry.” Gojo threatened, backing away once again to see how this unfolds. By now, he has fully released himself from the confines of his pants, fingers wrapping around his girth as he slowly began to pleasure himself at the sight.

“I’m sorry.” You looked up at Nanami once more, pulling away the last piece of clothing separating your awaiting mouth from his leaking tip. 

“I’m sorry what?” Gojo sneered.

“I’m sorry sir.” Your pleading voice made Nanami groan, watching as you finally began to wrap your lips around the tip of his cock. You began to put your tongue to work, swirling it around his head while keeping your lips firmly around the top, sucking in. Nanami could tell that you were still in a teasing mood, refusing to go any lower than that. Suddenly, you could feel his hand find its way to the back of your head, forcing you to let more of him in. Nanami would never do something like this normally, his forcefulness with you turning you on tremendously. Gojo laughed, approving of Nanami’s sudden confidence boost. It’s arousing to him too, watching you take all of him so deep in your mouth, gagging on his length as he throws his head back.

“That’s it, take it all.” Nanami grunts, “I love how messy you look, choking on me like that.” He could feel you moan around his length at his words, thighs rubbing together in anticipation of what’s to come. “I know how wet you are already, if you want some help you have to ask for it okay?” 

No matter what, Nanami is still always keeping your needs in mind, noticing how soaked you're starting to become. He removes himself from inside your mouth, allowing you to fully breathe. You look so beautiful, tears threatening to spill from your lash line and saliva coating around your mouth. He helps you back up to your feet, leading your body to lay backwards onto the bed, callused fingers catching any tears that manage to slip. “Tell me what you want.”

Your gaze moved from his eyes over to Gojo. “I want you both. Please sir, just touch me.” You felt pathetic as you begged, your core pulsing with need. You’ve never felt this sensitive before, everything feeling that much more intense given how hungry the two men in your presence are. 

“Aww, what a little slut you are.” Gojo grinned, making his way closer to you. “What do you think Nanami, has she been a good girl for us? Should we give her what she wants?” Gojo’s fingers began to rub on the outside of your panties. “Look at how wet she is for us.” Gojo showed Nanami your slick on his fingers, watching it glisten underneath the lowlight. 

“I think she has been a good girl.” Nanami smiles at you, so proud of how well you’ve been doing for them. “Go ahead, Gojo, you can touch her.”

“Finally.” Gojo quickly moved your panties to the side, the coolness of his touch catching you off guard as he teased the inside of your folds. “You don’t understand how torturous it was watching you without being able to touch you yet.” He makes quick work of finding your clit, slowly rubbing his thumb on your pearl as he watches you begin to writhe underneath. “Don’t forget why you’re here slut. You wanted to be treated like this so bad and now you got it. Beg for it.”

“P-Please Satoru, please touch me. I can’t take it anymore, I need it so bad.” You pleaded, beginning to feel helpless underneath him. Gojo smirked, plunging his slender fingers inside of you unexpectedly. You felt your body arch up in surprise, a gasp leaving your mouth as pleasure began to consume your body.

“So fucking greedy.” Gojo began slowly at first, catching a rhythm. “Look at how she’s drenching my fingers.” Nanami rubs himself at the sight, growing impatient. You’re too far gone to notice, feeling your own orgasm already beginning to slowly creep up in intensity. Before you know it, you're cumming all around his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Gojo quickly pulls his fingers out, not doing anything to help you ride it out. “Who told you that you could cum?” He taps his hand against your pussy repeatedly, watching you moan in a mix of pleasure and pain and you slowly come down from your high. “What a fucking whore.”

“I’m sorry sir, I couldn’t -fuck- I couldn’t help it.” You sob, looking at Nanami. You’ve never seen him look so angry. He didn’t say anything to you, only twirling his finger around, motioning for you to flip over. You quickly follow his que, not wanting to do anything to tick him off further. You can’t fully process that this is happening, your Nanami actually treating you this way.

You fucking loved it.

You felt his familiar touch rub over your ass as you got on all fours, arching your back slightly. He groaned at the sight of your wetness, glistening core almost calling out to him. He rubbed his tip against your folds, feeling your hole try to suck him in. Meanwhile, Gojo is sucking your juice off of his fingers, loving the taste of you.

“Get on with it Nanami, if she wants to be punished so badly then so be it.” Gojo made his way in front of you, rubbing the tip of his cock against your plush lips. “We told you what would happen if you didn’t listen, right? You have to be a bit smarter than that sweetheart.” The syrupy tone of his voice didn’t match his actions as he parted your lips with his head, feeling you wrap your lips against his girth. With that, Nanami finally pushed himself all the way in, moaning in unison along with you. Gojo could feel the vibrations of your moans against him.

Nanami gave you no time to adjust, pounding his entire length into you with such force that caused your mouth to hang open in shock. You felt so good, brain completely fogged over with no thoughts other than the complete monster that Nanami has become. He’s never fucked you like this, usually preferring soft thrusts over the hard pounding that he’s subjecting yourself to now. You suddenly felt a sharp slap on your ass, his large hand rubbing the sting away almost just as quickly as he placed it.

“Don’t ignore Gojo now, honey. I thought a slut like you would love to have two thick cocks filling you up this way?” Nanami questioned, picking up the pace which made it so much harder for you to focus. Gojo wasn’t having that. He placed one hand on each side of your face, holding it in place for him to thrust his hips against you. His cock filled your mouth, spit sloshing everywhere as your face got messier and messier.

“Fuck (y/n), you’re doing so fucking good for us princess.” Gojo moaned, the sounds coming from the room overwhelmed his senses. The bed creaking, you struggling to take Nanami while also pleasuring Gojo, and the sound of Nanami’s balls slapping against your ass sounded like music to his ears. Nanami couldn’t believe how hot this all was, feeling as your walls began to quiver around him.

“You’re gonna cum again baby?” Nanami asked, gripping your hips tighter as he felt himself get even closer. Gojo was already almost there, hips beginning to stutter as he watched you cry out. All you could do is whimper in response, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. Nanami made it there first, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he spilled himself inside of you. Ropes of cum flooded in as he fully pressed himself against you, beads of sweat threatening to drip off his nose. Gojo soon followed, shooting his load into your mouth as you took it all.

“Such a good girl.” Gojo mused, wiping the side of your mouth when he finished. He proceeded to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue. Nanami pulled himself out slowly, watching in delight as his seed slowly dripped out of you. You whimpered at the now empty feeling, your orgasm slowly starting to retreat.

“You’re not going to finish me off?” You angrily turned to Nanami, watching the smirk begin to creep up his face.

“Not unless you beg for it.”

© kingkaizen | do not copy, steal, or duplicate!

[fireinmoonshot]

misunderstanding | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: When you overhear Joaquín talking about you being clingy, you assume he secretly hates that you have been lately. Joaquín sets out to make you realise it was all just a misunderstanding. Warnings: Mentions of food. Word Count: 3.1k A/N: This was requested and I loved the idea so much so I just had to write it. It took me a few days but I've gotten around to it. I love how it turned out as well – it ended up being one of my longer Joaquín fics!

“So, is Joaquin your boyfriend?” Cass Wilson, Sarah’s oldest son, asks.

You’re sitting in the living room at Sarah Wilson’s house with her two sons sitting on either side of you on the couch. You’d offered to babysit them for a bit while Sam and Bucky took Joaquin out for some training and Sarah finished up with her shopping in town. For a while you’d been watching something on TV, but then the boys had gotten bored and started an interrogation instead.

“He is,” you confirm.

AJ, the youngest, nods, as if pleased by your answer. “Are you an Avenger too?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m not an Avenger. I’m just a normal person.”

“That’s a bit boring,” AJ sounds a little disappointed.

It’s then that you hear the sound of a car door closing outside, followed by the sound of laughter – Sam, Bucky and Joaquin are back from training, saving you from a possibly awkward conversation with Cass and AJ. You stand up from the couch. 

“It sounds like your Uncle Sam is back, I’m gonna go open the door for them, okay?”

Your hand is on the door handle, about to open it, when you hear what the men are talking about. It makes your heart drop into your stomach. 

“Yeah, she’s really clingy lately,” Joaquin says, his voice unmistakable. “It’s kinda weird cause she never was before, but after everything happened and I was in hospital for a while, she has been.” 

Your hand falls away from the door handle and as you hear footsteps coming up the stairs, you step backwards away from the door, feet leading you away before you can think too much about it. You walk straight through the living room, ignoring AJ and Cass’ confused voices asking you why you were going in the opposite direction of the front door, and head upstairs, going straight for the bathroom – one place you can trust Joaquin isn’t going to barge in looking for you when he notices you’re not downstairs. 

With a deep breath, you lock the door behind you and put your hands down on the edge of the sink, trying to calm yourself down and slow your heartbeat. Joaquin’s words are on repeat in your mind. She’s really clingy lately. Had you been? You hadn’t really meant to be. It was true that you’ve never been a particularly clingy girlfriend before, but after almost losing him, maybe you had become one of them. 

And Joaquin doesn’t like it.

Joaquin, who is quite possibly the most clingy boyfriend on the planet, doesn’t like having a clingy girlfriend. It’s almost laughable. You stop yourself from actually laughing out loud, which ends up being a good thing when you hear a knock on the bathroom door.

“Angel, you in there?”

Your head snaps towards the door and you stifle a groan. While Joaquin wasn’t going to barge into the bathroom looking for you, it clearly wouldn’t stop him from knocking and sussing out where you were. There are only so many places to hide in this house.

“I’ll be out in a second!” You call, trying to keep your voice steady and not show how much you’re hurt. You don’t want Joaquin to know that you overheard him, but it’s clear to you now more than ever that you can’t be clingy to him anymore. He wants his space or he wouldn’t have been telling Sam and Bucky all about how clingy you are.

When you exit the bathroom, after splashing some water on your face to try and calm yourself down a little more, Joaquin is still out in the hallway, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom and scrolling on his phone. He looks up as soon as he hears the door open, a smile on his face. 

“How did training go?” You ask, trying to be casual about it.

Joaquin puts his phone back in his pocket and walks towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist in greeting. It’s only been two hours since he last saw you but to him, two hours is basically the equivalent to two months. He can’t help but notice the way that you don’t drape your arms over his shoulders like you’d usually do.

“It was good,” he replies. “I kicked Sam’s ass, actually. Bucky was even impressed.”

You give Joaquin a tight lipped smile and extract yourself from his arms. “That’s awesome, baby. I’m proud of you.” You can hear voices downstairs – Sam, Bucky and Sarah, who has obviously returned back from town while you were in the bathroom. “Is that Sarah I hear downstairs? I promised her I’d help her with dinner tonight.”

Before Joaquin can so much as utter another word, you’re walking down the stairs. He watches you, confused, and shakes his head as he follows you downstairs to the kitchen where Sam and Bucky are helping Sarah put away the groceries. 

He really had had a good training session. It was nice to spend some one on one time with Sam and Bucky like that, to learn different things from each of them and watch them sparring together. If he was even a little bit of a better fighter after it, he’d consider that a win. 

The fact that he couldn’t stop talking about you on the way home had probably lost him a few points with Sam and Bucky, though. He couldn’t help it, though – you’re the love of his life and you’d offered to look after Sam’s nephews so they could go out and train. He’s always thinking about marrying you and starting a family with you, so to see you do something like that just made him love you even more. 

Even though he really would have loved to have you come and watch him train. 

When he’d mentioned that to Sam and Bucky though, they’d given him a strange look. 

“You two aren’t one of those couples that can’t ever be separated, are you?” Bucky had asked, looking a little disturbed at the idea. 

Joaquin snorted. “Did you not just notice that I spent two hours away from her so I could go and train with you guys?” 

“Yeah, and talked about her for at least an hour of that,” Sam added.

“It’s no secret that I’m clingy as hell when I’m around her,” Joaquin shrugged as they got out of the car and started walking towards the house. He had a skip in his step just at the thought of you being inside the house. “But to be fair, she’s been really clingy lately. It’s kinda weird cause she never was before, but after everything happened and I was in hospital for a while, she has been.” He paused to smile to himself. “I love it though. She should be clingy with me more often.” 

They’d walked inside then and the first thing Joaquin did was ask the boys where you were. They said you’d just run upstairs, so Joaquin assumed you were in the bathroom and headed straight upstairs to check on you.

Now, as he walks into the kitchen behind you, he doesn’t even think twice about placing his hands on your hips as he stops behind you. He’s glad when you don’t immediately shake him off. You’re standing next to the counter, right by the door, watching as Sam and Bucky argue over which cupboard salt goes in.

Sarah rolls her eyes and snatches the salt from Sam’s hands before putting it in the correct cupboard in an attempt to stop the men from arguing in her kitchen. You laugh a little as you meet Sarah’s eyes and she just sighs and shakes her head.

“You want me to help you and Sarah with dinner too? I don’t mind,” Joaquin says in your ear, his hands still on your hips. He’s completely unaware that you’re fighting your instinct to lean back into his chest and also trying not to pull yourself out of his grip.

“It’s fine, baby,” you say, voice only loud enough for him to hear. “Sarah and I will work better once all of the men are safely out of the kitchen.” It’s a little harsh but it’s true.

Joaquin laughs, the sound making you feel warm and comforted. “Yeah, I’m actually gonna agree with you on that one, angel.” He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before stepping away from you. He doesn’t want to leave, but he can sense that you’re not yourself and until he can get some alone time with you, he doesn’t want to push you. “Guys, lets go show AJ and Cass that new move you taught me and leave the ladies alone for a bit, yeah?”

Somehow, his words actually work and Sam and Bucky leave the room after Joaquin. It’s remarkably more quiet inside now that they’re gone and Sarah lets out a breath of relief.

“I’m actually impressed Joaquin didn’t join in on that and managed to get them outside,” Sarah admits. “That kid can usually talk more than Sam and Bucky combined.”

You chuckle and walk further into the kitchen to help Sarah finish unpacking the groceries that Sam and Bucky hadn’t gotten around to. “Yeah, you’re right about that one.”

Outside, Joaquin is smiling as AJ and Cass freak out over how cool the new move is after Joaquin shows it to them. But in the back of his mind, he’s still worried about you. Something is off – with the way you’d pulled yourself out of his grip upstairs and the way you’d been less affectionate with him downstairs. Has he done something wrong? He can’t think of anything off the top of his head. Everything has been normal with you until now.

“Hey Cass,” Joaquin starts, pulling the older boy to the side as AJ asks Sam and Bucky to show them some more cool moves. “Did something happen with my girlfriend while we were out?”

Cass looks up at Joaquin, confused. “No, we just watched a show and talked. Then she said she was gonna go open the door for you guys and then she came back through and went upstairs really quickly.”

Joaquin thinks. What were they talking about as they were walking towards the house? It hits him, then. He was talking to Sam and Bucky about how you’d been clingy ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital. You had to have overheard him… had he said something that had hurt your feelings? Whatever it was, he needs to fix this right now. 

He doesn’t even bother to tell Sam and Bucky where he’s going, just thanks Cass and heads straight for the house, ignoring Sam as he calls out to ask him where he’s going. There’s only one thing he needs to do right now and it’s not out here.

You’re still in the kitchen, mid-way through washing some of the vegetables that Sarah had gotten to cook dinner with tonight. Sarah is cutting up the ones you’ve already washed. She looks up as Joaquin walks in the room, a little breathless from having basically ran back inside the house. 

“Everything all right, honey?” She asks him. 

“Yeah,” Joaquin nods. “Can I borrow your sous chef for a second though?”

From your spot at the sink, you put the vegetables down and grab the hand towel to dry your hands. You hadn’t expected Joaquin to come back in so soon, letalone to ask to talk to you. But maybe you hadn’t been as successful at hiding your hurt as you thought you were.

“Of course you can,” Sarah says, watching as you walk over to him.

Joaquin reaches down and grabs your hand before tugging you out of the room and up the stairs towards the bedroom that you’ve been sharing while you’re visiting Sarah and the kids. He’s a little surprised that you don’t resist him, but once the bedroom door closes, you drop his hand just like he’d expected you to do since he first took it.

“What’s this about, Joaquin?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

He looks at you for a moment, trying to read your expression but failing. “I owe you an apology, angel. I think I said something earlier that hurt your feelings. That’s why you brushed me off earlier and have been kinda short with me, right?”

Joaquin is more perceptive than you’d thought and there’s no point in trying to deny it when he already somehow knows that he said something that hurt you. 

“You did,” you admit. “I didn’t think you minded that I’ve been clingy with you since your accident, especially because you’re so touchy with me. But I’m sorry, Joaquin. I never meant to make you uncomfortable or make you feel like I don’t give you space.” 

You watch as Joaquin opens his mouth, then closes it again. He furrows his eyebrows and runs a hand through his hair. “Wait, what the heck are you talking about? When did I say that I didn’t like you being clingy or that it makes me uncomfortable?”

“Earlier,” you frown. “When you were coming back inside after you went out with Sam and Bucky. I was at the door and I heard you telling them that I was clingy. That I never used to be but ever since you were in hospital I became that way.” 

Joaquin laughs softly and runs a hand over his face. “Okay, angel. You didn’t hear everything I said, did you? When you ran off upstairs like the boys told me, you left before you finished hearing what I said.” He steps towards you and takes both of your hands in his. “You missed the part where I said I love you being clingy with me. That you should be clingy more often.” 

For a moment you just stare at him, a little confused. “Are you just saying that to try and make me feel better or something?” You ask, apprehensive.

He shakes his head. “You can even go and ask Sam and Bucky if you don’t believe me. They heard me say it,” he says. “I mean, come on, angel. I’m clingy with you, why would I not love it when you’re the same to me? I love it when you touch me, when you put your hands on me or when I hold you and you lean into me. I love that you’ve gotten in the habit of randomly kissing me whenever you see me and texting me in the middle of the day to check in whenever we’re not together. I mean that.”

Much to your dismay, tears start to form in your eyes. The second Joaquin sees them, he drops your hands and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. One of his hands rests on the side of your head, stroking your hair gently.

“Angel, why are you crying?” His voice breaks a little. He can’t help it. Joaquin always gets emotional whenever you do. It’s something deep within him that he can’t control.

“I feel like an idiot,” you mutter into his chest, your hands balling up in the back of his shirt. “I misunderstood what you were saying and I’ve been treating you badly for it ever since you got back without even hearing your side of it. I just assumed.”

Joaquin sniffs, rubbing your back. “You are not an idiot. If I’d heard you saying something like that, I probably would’ve jumped to conclusions as well. Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay?” 

You pull back from the hug a little, but keep your arms around him. You don’t want to let him go, especially when you see the tears sliding down his cheeks. “Joaquin, why are you crying?” Your eyes widen, one of your hands moving to his cheek to wipe away a tear.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Cause you’re crying! And I’m the reason you are.”

“No!” You shake your head. “I’m the reason I’m crying, baby.”

“Yeah, but I’m part of the reason,” he mutters.

You wipe another tear as it falls down his cheek and he does the same for you, gently swiping underneath your eye too. You stare at each other for a moment before both of you begin to laugh. 

“I bet we look ridiculous right now,” you grin up at your boyfriend. “Both of us, standing here in the middle of the room crying our eyes out. It’s a good thing you picked this room for us to have this talk rather than the backyard, for example.”

Joaquin laughs. “Yeah, Sam and Bucky would think we’re going insane.”

You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek, still a little wet from the tears that had been falling down it only moments earlier. “You are not the reason I was crying, Joaquin. I shouldn’t have assumed that you hated it. I should’ve finished listening to what you were saying before I ran off and hurt my own feelings. You’ve never made me cry.”

“I hope I never do,” Joaquin mumbles, tightening his arms around you. “I’m still sorry that something I said hurt your feelings, even if I didn’t mean to, angel. Do you accept my apology for that? I’m not gonna be able to drop it unless you do.”

“Yes, Joaquin. I accept your apology.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “I suppose I should return you to Sarah,” he sighs.

“Not just yet,” you shake your head and move closer to hug him again, resting your face against his chest. His warmth spreads through you, giving you comfort after all the stress of the last hour or so. It’s a good thing Joaquin is a quick thinker because if you’d had to sit and stew on all of this for a bit longer, you would’ve been a bigger mess. “I just want a few more minutes with you now that you’ve told me you like me being clingy.”

Joaquin smiles. “You know I’m not gonna leave you alone for the rest of the night once you and Sarah are done cooking dinner, right? I’m gonna be glued to your side. Sam and Bucky might tease me about it forever but it’ll be worth it.”

“Good,” you hum. “I missed out on some of my favourite kinds of PDA when I was hurting earlier, so we have a little bit to make up for. I want a hand on me at all times. You got that, Torres?” 

He chuckles softly. “I think that can be arranged.” 

[cleo-fox]

Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

*

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

*

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

*

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

*

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

*

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

*

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky. 

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core. 

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature. 

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter. 

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long. 

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss.  He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 21st. tom — gun play / dubcon / masochism.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom can’t hurt you, but you love seeing him try.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, i truly mean it minors stay back from this one. this is as fantasy as it comes. do not do this at home. or anywhere, ever. empty unloaded gun, gunplay, hardcore gun kink, masochist reader, sadist tom, very ooc tom riddle imo, lots of history between these two, angst and tension and emotion.

It doesn't matter how you got here—trapped in a room with Tom Riddle circling you, hands clasped behind him, his brother standing guard like a fucking solider just outside the door—it doesn't matter that your wrists are bound behind your back, rope cutting into your skin, or that you were caught somewhere deep within the manor, searching for information for the Order. It doesn't matter that you grew up with Tom and Mattheo, all those years in the orphanage, loved them both more than you ever loved yourself.

It doesn't fucking matter.

Nothing does—nothing except the man standing in front of you—nothing except the moment his hand reaches behind him, pulling a gun from where it had rested at his waist.

Yeah, uh, yeah—that might matter. Just a little.

"I never took you for someone who'd resort to Muggle weapons," you manage, but your voice is thin, a strained sound under the pulse thundering at your throat. "How refined."

Tom's eyes trace over you, stalling on the rhythm at your neck as though it's tangible before dragging back up to meet your own. He hasn't spoken in minutes, just watching, letting the silence swell, the tension grow with each passing second.

He's building it slowly, deliberately. It's always been a game to him—one he knows you'll lose.

"There's a certain appeal to them." His thumb grazes the trigger, almost absentmindedly. "So much power at the flick of a finger. No skill, no magic. Just finality."

Heat rises up your neck, settling in your cheeks, and all you can do is stare at him. He knows he doesn't need to touch you to break you—he's never had to. Tom's greatest weapon, when it comes to you, has always been his words.

He steps closer, fingers still ghosting over the gun as if he isn't holding all of your fate in his hands. He slows when his shins brush against your knees, and you hate how your pulse jumps, how you feel so small beneath him.

"You're tense," he murmurs, amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Is it the weapon? Or something else?"

You lift your gaze because there's nowhere else to look—dark stone walls close in around you and he occupies every free inch of space between. It's laughable, really, the way your heart aches when you meet his eyes. You know he has to make an example of you, to prove something to the Death Eaters lurking beyond these walls, but despite the fire in his gaze, you can see it—the way he's holding back, just like he's done time and time again, for years.

No matter what he's become, there's still something of the boy you once knew buried beneath the surface. The boy who used to curl into you for warmth, for survival.

Your eyes flicker down to the gun again. You force the words past grit teeth. "Do you need that to feel powerful, Tom?"

There's something chilling in how natural the gun looks in his hand, the way he wields it with the same ease he uses to twist a wand. You’re certain Tom could find ease in anything, especially empty handed.

He's silent for a long moment, until he isn't. "I don't need anything to feel powerful."

The barrel catches the light as he raises it, and your skin tightens in anticipation. You close your eyes briefly as he drags it lazily up your arm, tracing a line of cold fire over your collarbone. Your heart is gone, soaring far away from this room, and a shiver rolls through you—not from fear, but from something you can't name. Something that's always belonged to him—

When the gun reaches your throat, your eyes flutter open, drawn to the sight of metal pressed against your skin.

He tilts his head, studying you. "You think this makes me dangerous?"

He tilts the gun beneath your chin, nudging your head back until your gaze meets his again. You gasp, and your thighs tense involuntarily. His eyes flicker down—he notices.

It's not the gun. It's him. Christ, it's always been him.

"No," you force out against the threat at your throat. "I think you make you dangerous."

Something shifts in Tom's eyes—just for a moment, before it vanishes beneath something more potent—determination.

He moves behind you in a slow circle, fingers brushing through your hair as if in contemplation. It's only a moment before his other hand brings the gun back, cold metal kissing the edge of your shoulder. You tense, feeling the weight of him behind you, his breath ghosting over your neck—and he inhales against your skin as he slides the gun lower, tracing the dip between your breasts, dragging like a threat down to your lap until the barrel presses against your thigh.

At this point, your heart pounds so loud you're certain Mattheo can hear it from outside the door—all you can do is stare at where his hand lingers, your mind racing ahead to the edge of terror and something far more dangerous.

"You seem...unbothered all of a sudden," Tom muses, teasing the gun up your thigh, dragging your skirts along with it. "One might expect the opposite reaction, given where this gun happens to be."

You know it's a game. Of course it's a game—his way of toying with you, forcing a reaction, demanding fear where there's none left. Except instead of fear, there's an unbearable heat curling inside you, your thighs wanting to close around the gun, to push against it, to feel it.

God, you hate that he does this to you.

"You won't hurt me," you manage, though your voice cracks. Your hips shift, just slightly, but enough to feel the cold metal slide higher. "If you wanted to, you would have."

That's the truth of it, isn't it? In the darkest moments, when you face him like this, you know with every beat of your heart that he'd never hurt you. You trust him in the way you shouldn't, in the way no one else in the world could. He could kill anyone else without a second thought, but not you.

That trust is what keeps pulling you back here, again and again, even though you've sworn yourself to the Order, even though you've promised to fight against everything he stands for.

"You always did have a death wish." He says, spitting the syllables at you, the disgust in his tone making your stomach lurch. His grip tightens in your hair. "Is that all it takes to make you pliable? My hands on you, a weapon in the room, and suddenly you're eager? Suddenly you trust me again?"

"You've never been able to kill me." You whisper, trying to sound cocky, sarcastic, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too raw. "And you never will."

"I've never needed to." He murmurs as the gun moves again, pressing firmly against the apex of your thighs, nudging toward your clothed cunt. "You destroy yourself just fine."

You can't think, can't breathe, can't be when his voice wraps around you like this, when he presses the gun against you like it's a fucking present. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every instinct warring against itself. You want to grind against the barrel, to push it deeper between your legs. You want to trap it there, feel it pressed so tightly that you can't move. You want to drag his face to yours, taste his breath, break him.

Yet, you want to pull away and strike him across the face all the same—and that is Tom's power over you.

It's always been this way with him. You hate him—he's horrible and corrupt and so goddamn bad for you but he knows exactly what to say—exactly what to do to make you want to hurt him, to make you want to worship him in the same breath. The intensity of it steals the air from your lungs, makes a groan slip from your lips before you can stop it.

"Tell me, Tom," you grit out, forcing yourself still despite every inch of you wanting to move, wanting to react. "Would your fucking gun be on me like this if I was terrified of it? Would you be pressing it against me like this if it was loaded?"

The insinuation doesn't escape him. Not for a second. You have him pinned and it pisses him off because you fucked up by sneaking in here but there’s not a damn thing he can do to punish you for it that wouldn’t be punishment towards himself as well.

His grip in your hair tightens as the gun drags slowly over your clit, and you keen at the contact, your hips pushing into it.

"Fucking vixen," he pulls your head back roughly, his breath hot against your ear. His voice—the rawness— sends a goddamn thrill through you, makes your whole body jerk. "I have you tied to a chair, a gun at your cunt, and you still have the power to make me doubt myself.”

"That's me, Tom." You laugh, breathless. "Always ruining your fun."

His eyes flash with something—something devastating but it doesn't scare you because you've been here so many fucking times before. It only makes you arch your back, grinding against the gun harder, a soft moan escaping your lips just to spite him.

He watches you—eyes lidded, and something in the way he stares makes you ache.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" A question hissed through a tight jaw, words crawling down your spine, burrowing beneath your skin. "You keep testing me...fighting me...just to end up like this...”

You gasp. "I have to stop you—I—“

He cuts you off by yanking your head toward his until his forehead presses against yours—

"I didn't ask why you came," his nose brushes yours as he speaks. "I asked why you keep coming back. Why do you keep coming back to be...this for me?"

His voice is raw, something you've never heard in a long long time—unguarded—so fucking human. It makes the heat in your belly coil tighter, and your eyes flutter shut against the weight of it. You don't have an answer, not one that makes sense, not one that fits the way he's looking at you now.

"I-I don't know," is all you can offer.

Tom makes a noise in the back of his throat—low, frustrated, a sound that hums between you.

"Yes, you do," he hisses. "Don't get shy on me now."

He shifts the gun again, sliding beneath your panties, the cold metal making contact with your slick slit and you fucking gasp—a sound so loud you're sure Mattheo heard it—along with the rest of the goddamn house, too.

"This isn't about stopping me," Tom says, a whisper of words. "This isn't about taking away my control—not really."

He's right, and the truth of it stings. This isn't about stopping him, not entirely. You hate him for his choices but gods, you fucking crave this—him, his power over you. Every time you've come here, sneaking past the Order's notice, pretending to gather evidence, pretending you're smart enough to catch him in something—you know this is what you wanted. You know it's always been about him. The boy you survived with, the boy you loved—it's about how you've always belonged to him, even though you hate him for it.

It's always been him. Only him.

"Fuck," you gasp again as you feel the gun shifting, pressing harder against your cunt, and your mind is spinning because you can't believe he might—he wouldn't really— "…are you about to—Jesus, Tom..."

He's listening, you know he is. He's waiting for any hint of something that tells him to stop—a flinch, a breath that isn't right, the smallest sound that says you don't want this. But all he hears is you. You, the girl he's known since all you had was eachother, the one who loved him but left, who keeps coming back to him, no matter how much you claim to hate him.

He hears you submit, and it fuels him.

"You are..." he jerks your head again, roughly, forcing you to meet his eyes as the gun nudges against your soaked entrance, "...so unbelievably frustrating."

Oh, the irony. "I'm...not the only—oh gods—"

Your words crumble into nothing, dissolving in your throat as he presses the gun inside you. Cold metal pushing deep, rough ridges working you wide, the pressure burning with something almost unbearable in its fucking intensity.

Your mind hazes with it, and a groan that isn’t yours fills the room as you fight to adjust to the stretch.

"I hate this," he spits, his voice like gravel, raw and jagged with frustration, trembling with restraint. His eyes, wide and wild, stay locked on yours as though he can't tear himself away. "I hate how easy it is with you—I hate how quickly you give in, how you let me do this to you because you know I’d stop if you asked—I hate how I can never look at you without remembering what it feels like to be inside you. I hate how badly I still want that, after all these years, even though you left me. I hate you for making me want this."

Oh god—fucking hell—there's no room in your head for coherence now, no space left to argue, to resist—Tom Riddle has been so many things to you over the years, but openly, unabashedly vulnerable has never truly been one of them. Not until now. You feel it—beneath the brutality, the power—something fragile.

His forehead presses against your temple, the intimacy of it dizzying, disarming. You clench around the cold metal and he pushes it deeper.

He continues. “Admittedly, I hate myself most for wanting you to want this back.”

Your voice cracks around a sob—he’s pumping the gun in and out of you now—lewd sounds filling the room and your head tips back against his shoulder. His free hand slips from your hair and cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, a gesture that almost feels tender though you know better. His version of tenderness is as dangerous as anything else he offers.

You whinge. “T-Tom—oh fuck—I’m always going to let you win. I trust you—“

"Don't," he cuts you off in a groan against your cheek. Pumping the barrel into you, making your back arch off the chair. “You have no reason to. You know better."

You hear the unspoken words in his voice, the ones he can't bring himself to say aloud—I don't deserve it—and it makes your chest ache, makes your throat tighten—makes you want to shake him, wake him up from this nightmare—

"Of course I know better," you whisper through a gasp as he mutters a spell, something swirling over your clit that makes your eyes roll. “Gods—but you’ve never wanted me rational anyways.”

"You're right," he hisses and you hear the pain in it, a man who has everything still simultaneously has nothing and it makes him frustrated—all because of you. "I never wanted you to be rational. I never wanted you to be safe. I never wanted you to be anything other than mine."

You keen as the sensation on your clit intensifies and he pumps the gun quicker, you look down to watch his hand, the way his knuckles tense with the movement and you can almost see the restraint under his skin telling you just how bad he wishes he was pumping into you instead. You can hear your arousal—you feel the shame in it and you should be disgusted by it, by everything this is, but instead, it only makes your heart race faster.

You know there's more he's not saying—that he can't say.

He wants you to be his, but he will never let you be his.

"I hate you. What you've become." The words scrape from your lips between moans, your climax charging fast. "It shouldn't be this...this hard."

"This is why I call you frustrating. How can you hate me and still let me do this to you?" His voice is raw, burning with something you don't fully understand, but you can feel it— he's pushing deeper, grinding the gun against you with every bit of anger he has left. You're on fire, your mind spinning out of control, and the ropes digging into your skin only ground you to the pain, to the pleasure. "I'm defiling you...and yet, you keep coming back.”

"God," you grunt, sweat slicking over your skin because you’re so goddamn close and his words only drag you that much closer. "Jesus f—Tom, please—“

"Please what?" His hand slips back through your hair, eyes jerked to meet his. "You need to be more specific, sweetheart."

There's a bite in the pet name, but you don't care. All you can think of is him, of more, of everything he's doing to you, and it's not enough. It’ll never be fucking enough—

“Please!” Words fail you. “Tom—I—“

He shudders at the sound of your voice, at how helpless you are, at all the power you've given him.

"Words," he snarls, pumping quicker. "I'll give you what you want, but you’ll need to use. your. words."

“Please! I need to cum!” You blurt out. “Tom—Tom! I need to—“

With that, he kisses you to cut you off, teeth sinking into your lower lip with fervour that borders on irrational. Which, of course it is. All of this is beyond fucking irrational. It's not careful or soft or gentle, his lips searing against yours as if he's trying to claim every breath you've ever taken, every inch of space between you. And you—god, you kiss him back just as fiercely while hating yourself for the way you want it, need it, how you crave the bruises his mouth is leaving behind.

Tom groans against your lips and it's the sound of something breaking, something starved for way too long, something desperate to pour out of his blood. His tongue slides over yours, wet and warm, and you feel the ropes biting into your wrists, feel the ache where your arms strain to break free. You realize, with a pulse of helpless longing, that if you weren't tied, you'd be clawing at him—dragging him closer, letting him consume every part of you until there was nothing left.

"Feel that shame?" He whispers as he pulls back, just as you’re about to tip over. "That's your punishment.”

And then—you break, shatter, explode and the sound that escapes you is so fucking raw you don’t even recognize it. Something filled with the shame of wanting someone so goddamn bad you let them fuck you with a weapon—the shame of wanting someone so terrible you’d never be able to explain yourself to anyone with a rational pulse. The sounds come without reason, without thought—just a release of emotion that you had held in for far, far too long.

“That’s it. Let it burn.” He coos, hungrily watching you break. “You will always be mine."

A jagged sound escapes you as you twitch in aftershocks and he finally, however torturously slowly, pulls the gun free. You realize just how empty you feel without it now, how Tom made it feel so fucking intimate even though, in reality, it was the furthest from. He didn’t even touch you.

“You’re just weak. For me.” He says, as though he heard your thoughts. Part of you knows he did. He brings the gun up to your lips, urging you to part them. “Clean your mess. This is Mattheo’s gun.”

You grimace but take it into your mouth anyways, tasting the result of your need—the shame that comes along with it, the self disgust—the list goes on. Tom watches you tease your tongue around it, his throat working in a terribly dry swallow as you hollow your cheeks and suck it clean as he pulls it free.

He shudders, and for a moment his control wavers. But then he shakes his head, and exhales.

"I was meant to be alone, I understand that." He whispers, something abhorrently vulnerable, tucking the gun away before working at undoing the ropes around your wrists. “But you...you were never meant to change me. And I need you, to understand that.”

A lump forms in your throat. You taste the tears wanting to well but you force them away and instead, you nod.

“I know.”

He straightens up again and presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and almost tender—so different from the way he treated you merely moments ago. It's a goodbye—you can feel it in the way his lips linger, reluctant.

“Good girl.” He steps back. "Don't come back here."

[creepyscritches]

I read your post about open enrollment for the ACA and was hoping you might expand on why you believe it would take years to dismantle. I've been terrified that with a Republican house/senate, Trump could just snap his fingers and make it go away within months of taking office. I'd love some reassurance that that's not possible.

Hiya, sure I can share some thoughts on the matter! First, it's very important to understand the ACA is a huuuuuuuuuuuuge system with subject matter experts in dozens of places throughout the process. I'm one of those SMEs, but I am at the end of the process where the revenue is generated, so my insight is limited on the public facing pieces.

What this means is that I am professionally embedded in the ACA in a position that exists purely to show what conditions people are treated for and then generate that data into what's called a "risk score". There's about 6 pages I could write on it, but the takeaway is that the ACA is

1) intricately interwoven with the federal government

2) increasingly profitable, sustainable, and growing (it is STILL a for-profit system if you can believe it)

3) wholeheartedly invested in by the largest insurance companies in the country LARGELY due to the fact that they finally learned the rules of how to make the ACA a thriving center of business

4) since the big issuers are arm+leg invested in the ACA, there is a lot of resistance politically and on an industry level to leave it behind (think of the lobbyists, politicians, corporations that will fight tooth and nail to protect their profit + investment)

The process to calculate a risk score takes roughly 2 years. There is an audit for the concurrent year and then a vigorous retro audit for the prev year - - this is a rolling cycle every year. Medicare has a similar process. These are RVP + RADV audits if you would like the jargon.

Eliminating the ACA abruptly is as internally laughable as us finishing the RADV audit ahead of schedule. If Trump were to blow the ACA into smithereens on day 1, he would be drowning in issuer complaints and an economic health sector that is essentially bleeding out. You cut off the RVP early? We have half of next RADV stuck in the gears now. You cut off the RADV early? No issuer will get their "risk adjusted" payments for services rendered in the prev benefit year (to an extent, again very complex multi-process system).

The ACA is GREAT for the public and should be defended on that basis alone. However, the inner capitalistic nature of the ACA is a powerful armor that has conservatives + liberals defending it on a basis of capital + market growth. It's not sexy, but it makes too much money consistently for the system to be easily dismantled.

Or at least that's what I can tell you from the money center of the ACA. they don't bring us up in political conversation because we are confusing to seasoned professionals, boring to industry outsiders, and consistently we are anathema to the anti-ACA talking points.

I am already preparing for next year's RVP for this window of open enrollment. That RVP process will feed into the RADV in 2026. In 2025, we begin the RADV for 2024. If nothing else, the slow fucking gears of CMS will keep the ACA alive until we finish our work at the end of the process. I highly doubt that will be the only reason the ACA is safeguarded, but it is a powerful type of support to pair with people protecting the ACA for other reasons.

I work every day to show, defend, and educate on how many diagnoses are managed thru my company's ACA plans. My specialty is cancer and I see a lot of it. The revenue drive comes from the Medical Loss Ratio (MLR) rule stating only 20% MAX of profit may go to the issuer + the 80% at a minimum must go back to the customer or be invested in expanding benefits. The more people on the plan using it, the higher that 20% becomes for the issuer and the more impactful that 80% becomes for the next year of benefit growth. It is remarkably profitable once issuers stop seeking out "healthy populations". The ACA is a functional method for issuers to tap into a stable customer base (sick/chronic ill customers) that turns a profit, grows, and builds strong consumer bases in each state.

The industry can never walk away from this overnight - - this is the preferred investment for many big players. Changing the direction of those businesses will be a monumental effort that takes years (at least 2 with the audits). In the meantime, you still have benefits, you still have care, and you still have reason to sign up. Let us deal with the bureaucracy bullshit, go get your care and know you have benefits thru 2025 and we will be working to keep it that way for 2026 and forward. This is a wing of the federal government, it is not a jenga tower like Trump wishes.

[rainrot4me]

Let Me Hear You

Summary: Walking the same path every day while listening to music is your routine. Humming along, Masky makes it his routine to follow you. Until you wander somewhere you shouldn’t…

Characters: Masky x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Stalking, non-con, vaginal fingering, vaginal, Masky's nasty, struggling, you don't give consent/Masky just takes what he wants, choking

Words: 4.2k

You walked this path every day. 

After every shift of work, every weekend, rain or shine you would slip your shoes on and take that dirt path through the woods. The path used to be an old horse trail used by the previous owners of the land, the dirt dry and matted down for miles. The forest surrounding the path was dense, sunlight rarely slipping through the leaves overhead and giving the lush area a nice, shaded feel. The area was thriving, nature untouched besides your constant walks, but you never dared press off the path out of fear of getting lost. Although the dirt made a giant winding loop back to your home, what lay in the middle made you too nervous to find out. 

You could usually complete your walk in under two hours, making your way back to the treeline connected to your backyard and safely back into your house. It was routine, so of course, when you got home from work well past nine PM, you slipped out of your uniform and into athletic clothes and a hoodie. Sliding your screen door open, you flicked your flashlight on, the moon hiding behind dense clouds and offering little light. But this was your comfort, if you didn’t have anything else, at least you would have these two hours to debrief and get at least some exercise in. Despite the cool summer air, you pressed through your ward and to the well-worn path you knew, disappearing into the trees.

What you didn’t know, or rather, what Masky didn’t want you to know, was that this path was also his daily routine. Not for walking, persay, but more for observation. His routine was to hang at the edge of that treeline whenever he wasn’t busy, waiting for your car to sling into your driveway and for you to come strolling out that screen door. You were oblivious to his presence, sauntering on that path as he quietly shifted behind the trees to watch you unwind the further you walked. In a way, it was his way of unwinding, giving himself something to focus on besides the constant pounding in his head. 

Now, he hadn’t sought you out through choice. It was a sort of coincidence that he began to watch you. 

Before you lived in that house, the previous owners were old, rarely trailing past the range of farmland and into the trees. So it made it simple. That widespread land in the center of the round path was a popular spot for the various members of Slender’s band of misfits to visit, hauling whatever recent kill they had made and burying them randomly, difficult to find. Seeing as it was land connected to the house, cops couldn’t just stroll through without some type of warrant, so it made it all the easier just to dump the bodies there and forget about them.

Until you moved in, curious little mind pulling you to the trees and investigating the trail. Masky was there that day, burying some boy, or what was left of him, just out of sight. He didn’t even realize you were there until your foot crunched on a branch, sending him grabbing for his pistol and aiming it through branches straight to your head. You had no clue, headphones lodged in your ears and playing some old songs, leaving you completely vulnerable. Masky was going to shoot, irritation guiding his movements at the thought of being seen. Until you started humming, tune familiar to some Fleetwood Mac song that stirred in the man’s brain, tugging at some long-forgotten memories that he knew were Tim’s. But instead of becoming angry, it was like his body was relaxing, gun slipping back into his jacket pocket and eyes trained sternly on you as you continued walking. 

It was laughable how unaware you were, even still as Masky followed that familiar path, watching you the same way he always had. He chalked it up to being a precautionary measure, watching to make sure you didn’t move further off the path than he wanted you to. But in reality, in the depths of his mind that he wouldn’t tell anyone, he just wanted to hear your voice. 

So, nudging your wired headphones into your ears, you shoved your phone into your pocket, shining your flashlight on the ground below as you walked. You kept the volume low, still able to hear your feet crunch on the weeds as you hummed lowly, swaying the light back and forth. Masky was to your right, hidden in the shadows of the branches as he walked in time with you, straining his ears to relish in your sweet voice. It was his guilty pleasure, getting to hear new and old songs that otherwise he wouldn’t. He recognized it as Name by Goo Goo Dolls, an older song he occasionally heard in bars and stores he passed. Tim was already stirring, pressing against the edges of his consciousness and skewing his thoughts, making the man reach for his cigarettes, popping one into his mouth and flicking the lighter. Masky had to put distance between you two now, wary of the smell of smoke alerting you, giving himself about fifteen yards of space but still keeping time with you.

You slipped your hair behind your ear, hands shoved into your hoodie pockets as you walked. The air was rather cool for a summer night, the clouds overhead making you wonder if there would be a storm tonight. Slipping your phone from your pocket, you flipped to a weather app, scrolling through and surprised by the pop-up showers happening within the hour. You'd have to speed up if you wanted to return home without getting soaked. 

So, shoving your phone back into your pocket, you held your flashlight tight, putting a little pep in your step. Masky was caught off guard, pushing his cigarette box back into his jacket and matching your pace, confused as to why you were hurrying now. He sucked the smoke into his lungs, the pounding in his head sizzling out. You had stopped humming, which irritated him, but he followed in the hopes that you would start again.

Minutes had passed and you recognized the path to be at about the halfway mark. You had an hour left, but the heavy clouds in the sky were already pushing down, thunder rumbling somewhere in the distance. Shit. You wouldn’t make it back in time. Stopping, you had to think, to weigh your options of running the rest of the way or cutting through. You had never been off the path, the entire unknown distance in between making you uneasy. But what could be in there that wasn’t just more trees? This land had been lived on and used, so you had nothing to be afraid of except the possibility of running into a deer. Taking a breath, you held your flashlight up, stepping off the dirt path and into the thick brush of the woods between. 

Masky immediately tensed, heart thumping as he saw you turn off the path and past the trees in the direction of your house. You were gonna cut through. The man had realized your hurry, the rolling storm clouds above telling him it wouldn’t be long until you were both soaked. But he never expected you to take a shortcut, pressing into the dark shadows of the trees and unfamiliar territory. This was bad. It wouldn’t be if he knew you would just pass through, mosy on to your home and out of the rain, but Masky knew better. You see, using that plot of land as a screwed-up burial plot was way too easy and convenient, and it led some creeps to become lazy. Toby was the worst, leaving chopped-up pieces of arms and torsos scattered against the earth, letting nature and curious animals take care of the rest. But that method left evidence, bones and rotted flesh scattered everywhere and easily noticeable. You would see them and become scared, calling the stupid cops and busting them all. He had to deter you. 

Hiking your legs over tall bushes and weeds, you push deeper in, trying your best to keep straight and search for your porch light. The wind was already blowing, leaves upturned and shaking against the breeze. Keeping your eyes trained on the ground, you began to hum again, Leave Out All the Rest by Linkin Park thumping in your eyes, keeping you distracted against the pants you were heaving. Your leisure walk had turned rough, getting more exercise in than you intended. Meanwhile, Masky was gritting his teeth, shoving through the trees as he pressed in front of you, wracking his brain for some way to throw you back onto the path. You were quick, Masky having to work to stay ahead of you and make sure you didn’t run into anything unsightly. 

Your humming was throwing him off, cigarette pressed tight between his lips as he tried to focus more on you instead of your pretty voice. The pre-storm breeze was picking up now, tall grass whipping against his legs and tangling themselves around his boots. Looking forward, he could see fresh dirt dug out into a pit, one of Toby’s lazy mishaps again. Masky didn’t have a choice, he’d have to confront you if he was gonna get you out of here. Swearing, he crossed your path, yards in front of you and shoved off his mask.

You smelled the smoke before you saw him, his lit cigarette wafting in your direction as the breeze blew. You looked up, flashlight shining ahead and barely catching the man mixed in with all the trees. Heart dropping, you stopped, music still pumping in your ears as you stared at the man across from you. In all of your time here, you had never seen a person in these woods. Especially during the night right before a storm. This was bad. Your breath was shaky, catching up from your quick movements but not getting a chance to settle as you began to panic. You didn’t have a weapon, you never needed one, that was a sore mistake now. The man didn’t move, just standing and watching, his build taller and larger than yours, able to easily overpower you. 

Moving slowly, you plucked the headphones from your ears, taking a step back as you shook. “Uhm… Hello..?” You called, voice shaky as the breeze whipped your hair in your face. The man had his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, puffing his cigarette in the breeze and making your nose furl, the scent sour. “Pretty late, huh?” His voice was rough, low and scratchy as he talked, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. You stepped back, nerves begging you to run but deciding it would probably be worse if you did. “Hah, uh, yeah. Just out for a- uhm, a walk. Cutting through so I don’t get rained on…” You laughed awkwardly, fidgeting the flashlight between your hands as you continued to step back slowly, trying not to draw his attention.

“Well, you outta be careful. Buncha fox traps out here. Could take your foot clean off.” He called, taking a step towards you and making your stomach turn, palms beginning to sweat. He flicked the cigarette between his fingers, ashes falling before he put it back in his mouth, puffing smoke. You glanced around the ground, feet suddenly nervous as you shuffled under yourself, hugging yourself tight. “O- Oh really? Didn’t know about that… uh, I’ll be careful. Just gotta make it home before it rains.” You went to turn, pushing for another path away from this strange dude. You noticed he didn’t have any form of light, standing in the darkness as he began to step towards you, panic surging. Stumbling back, you gripped your flashlight, willing yourself to hit him if it came down to it.

But instead, the man stopped in front of you, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it, glancing at you. “Trust me. It’d be better if you just take the path. I can walk with you, make sure you don’t get rained on too bad.” He was pushing, pressing beside you and guiding you back towards the path, not giving you any choice but to follow beside him as he pressed his hand on your back. The rain had already begun to sprinkle through the leaves, cool mist running across the ground as you held your flashlight close, wary of the man as you walked next to him.

Finally seeing the dirt path again, his hand pushed you to follow it again, the familiar crunch of weeds comforting you against the panic you felt internally. The man’s hand never left your back, keeping you next to him as he walked quickly, moreso forcing you to go this way than advising you. You wanted to run, to throw the flashlight at him and get home but he was stern, the brunt look on his face stunning you. So you just kept walking.

Masky had no clue what he was doing. He only meant to scare you, push you in the opposite direction and disappear again. But when you didn’t run, just kept watching, he had no choice but to speak up. He opted to take the mask off, giving you good reason to leave but not scaring you so much you wouldn’t come back. He still wanted you to feel comfortable here, just not off that path. Obviously, that didn’t work. If your survival instincts wouldn’t help you, he would. 

Minutes passed in tense silence, flecks of water sprinkling onto your face and wetting your hair. His hand still pressed, your shoulders tense as you flicked nervously between the path and his face, the unwavering look making you uneasy. “So, uhm. Why’re you out here?” You shook out, filling the cold air as you felt his fingers tense, eyeing you slightly. He was quiet for a second, almost like he was contemplating. “Cleanin' up. Got some hunting equipment back there. Had to get it stable before the storm.” He looked away, continuing on.

Settling in, you let him guide you, figuring that if he tried anything, you would be close enough to neighbors to scream. If he was going to do anything, he would have done it where no one could hear. Either way, you knew after tonight you wouldn’t be walking back in these woods without a knife. The rain was coming down harder now, thick droplets landing on your cheeks and blurring your vision. Your hair was soaked, clothes sticking to your body as you walked, and chills running over you. “Almost there.” The man grunted, tugging at his jacket and pulling it closer to his chest, raindrops running down his face. Nodding, you hummed, slicking your hair back off of your face.

This walk was weird without music, and your routine became skewed. So you decided to hum, picking up where you left off of the Linkin Park song and hitting the notes softly. The man’s hand instantly tensed, fingers curling into your hoodie and catching you off guard, stunting your voice. “Sorry.” You mumbled, sniffling as your nose became stuffy against the cold. He huffed, flattening his hand out again. “It’s fine. Keep singing.” He huffed, gripping the back of your hoodie. Uncomfortable, you began to hum again, pressing the notes quietly as you walked. The man held your top tight, taking deep breaths as he listened to you, teeth gritted. 

Internally, Masky was fighting himself, using all of his willpower not to drag you back to your house and force better noises out. Maybe it was his deprivation, the loneliness from all this time, but he couldn’t stand how nice you sounded next to him. It was always from a distance, but right now, pressed by his side, it was like you were beckoning him. Like some fucked up siren. He huffed a breath, begging himself just to keep walking, just get you home. But as you hit a high note, throat straining against the sound, Masky's breath hitched, fist gripping onto your back. 

You paused, humming stiffled in your throat as you looked at him, feet planting beside his as you stopped. “Are you… alright?” You asked nervously, gripping his jacket sleeve and gazing into his stern face, eyes dark as they looked back at you. “[Y/N]...” 

“How do you…” You gasped, pulling back against his fist wrapped against the back of your hoodie. “You’re a real tease, you know that?” The man huffed, gripping your shoulders and shoving you backwards against a nearby tree, shoulder blades shoving into the bark as rain pelted down your cheeks. You shook your head, panic rising in your chest as you pushed back against his arms, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly. “I don’t… What?” You huffed, tears pricking in your eyes as he grits his teeth, eyes roaming your body under him quickly.

“Of course you don’t. Coming out here every day just to tease. Practically begging me.” The man spat, pressing a knee between your legs and shoving your hips down, forcing a whine out of your throat. You had no clue what was happening, fingers gripping the fabric of his jacket as your hips forcefully ground down against his jeans. “Please… I don’t know what you want. If it’s money-” The man gripped your throat, pressing whines and gasps past your lips and holding you flush against the large tree behind you. “Can’t you see? I don’t want your fucking money, hun.” He grunted, pressing his body close and shoving his clothed bulge against your hip, gripping your hips tightly. 

You were still clueless, adrenaline pumping and kicking your brain into survival mode, too busy wondering if you would survive to realize the man’s intentions. Grunting, he gripped your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “Listen to me very closely, [Y/N].” He spat, grinding his bulge against your hip, moving your hips along with his against his knee, making your eyes shoot down, cheeks growing hot. “I just wanna hear that voice. You can’t imagine how many days I listened to you humming and wanted to turn them into moans. You’re just so… addicting.” 

You couldn’t comprehend what you were hearing, your mind too muddled with the feeling of your clothed cunt throbbing against the man’s leg, his hands rough against your hips. “I don’t understand…” You grunted, pushing back against his shoulders as he leaned in, pressing his lips close to your ears.

“I need to fuck you, hun.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss against your ear as you gasped, flinching against him. Shoving a hand up your shirt, he pushed the cloth up, rubbing his rain-soaked hands against your warm skin. You didn’t know what to think, didn’t even know what to do. This guy overpowered you by a long shot, but as he pressed his hand into your shorts, you couldn’t hold back the whine that sounded. 

“Yeah, yeah, noises just like that, hun.” He smiled, pushing your shorts down to your thighs and groaning at the sight of your panties. Your clothes were soaked now, pressing uncomfortably against your skin as he pressed a finger against your clothed cunt, pushing his thumb between your folds and onto your clit. You gasped, gripping his arm tight as he watched, your eyes trained on his face and hand as they moved. “I don’t-”

“Just don’t hold back that voice, mkay? Let me hear you…” He sighed, shoving your panties down before you could stop him, rubbing his thick fingers between your folds. Slick collected against the digits, your body betraying your racing mind as you decided to give up, fighting obviously useless. 

Masky was electric, fingers moving faster than his mind could cooperate as he pressed against your clit, causing your body to stutter under him. Even if you didn’t know him, he knew you, and he knew that this was what you needed. Rain ran down his face, he rubbed his fingers against your cunt, pressing in and stretching. You couldn’t handle it, mind racing as he slowly fucked you open, body unsure of what it was even supposed to be doing. He shoved deeper, curling up into you until you were moaning out, fingers digging in. You gripped and held his forearm, too sensitive to take it as you spasm against his fingers, words getting caught in your throat. Masky relished in the way you gasped every time his palm hit your clit, fingers pumping up until you were gushing against him, arousal building. With every unforgiving pump of his fingers, you were losing your restraint, mind muddled under his grunts and thick fingers. 

“Can barely hold back, yeah? Go ahead, be as loud as you need to.” You were biting your lip, eyes screwed shut as you fought off your orgasm, refusing to give in to this eager man. Until he leaned in, licking against your neck and pressing his wet hair against your cheek. You shuddered, losing your resolve until you were clenching around his fingers, his palm shoved against your clit and rubbing your orgasm out, chuckling as you cried out, your resistance completely gone. 

He didn’t give you a moment, shoving your panties down to your knees and leaning up, unzipping his jeans. Stuttering, you whined, watching as his length sprung free and pressed against your abdomen. “What are you…” You gasped, vision blurry and goosebumps running against the throbbing still in your cunt. “I already told you, hun.” He hissed, pumping his cock with his wet hand before he was pulling your hips close, feet still planted but knees buckled. He pushed his cock down, pressing the tip against your lips, pushing forward until your lips were wrapping around him, clit spasming. You whined, the man angling your hips until your entrance pressed against the tip, your hands gripping his shoulders tight as he pulled you to him, pressing inside.

You gasped, his thick cock stretching you until you were gritting your teeth, his head nudging against your soft walls. “Don’t hold back, now…” He gasped, chuckling as he began to grind your hips down onto his length, your folds pressed against him with every deep thrust. You couldn’t handle it, stomach tightening with every tug and pushing gasps through your lips. No matter how badly you tried to keep quiet, you just couldn’t, the sensitivity dragging noises from you. He was ecstatic, every moan matching yours as he thrust faster, nails digging into your hips. He stared you in the eyes, dark gaze staring through you as you stared back, jaw hanging open. 

As if by instinct, fingers pressed into your mouth, shoving down into your throat until you were gagging, throat constricting around the digits. He was moaning, your lips wrapped tightly around his fingers as you sucked, your head becoming light due to the lack of oxygen. He would pull back slightly, giving you a moment before shoving his fingers back in, spit building against your lips. You couldn’t handle it, couldn’t comprehend anything but the intense pleasure of his thrusts, fingers muddling your mind. 

Before you knew it, you were clenching around his cock, clit straining against the pressure until you were crying out, choking on his fingers pressed knuckle-deep into your throat. “Fuck, hun…” He groaned, bottoming out against you and gripping your hips tight, relishing in the way your throat squeezed in time with your cunt. You were whining and grunting against him, eyes rolling back until you were coughing, cunt throbbing as spit ran down your chin.

Ripping his fingers from your mouth quickly, he slid your cunt off of his cock, throbbing hard as he fisted himself quickly, pressing the head against your abdomen. You gasped, heaving for breath as you watched, eyes heavy and face soaked with rain. He came against your skin, seed shooting against your stomach as he was rubbing the tip against you, cursing as he stared into your eyes. It was all too much, knees buckling against him as he gripped your waist tight, shoving your hoodie down and pulling your shorts up, your wetness soaking into the fabric. Your eyes lulled closed as he threw you over his shoulder, legs gripped tight as he began to walk through the trees, abandoning the path completely. But you were too delusional to think, mind too frayed to fight against him.

-

When you woke, you were in your bed, clothes still damp and hair still tangled. Cursing, you sat up, cunt sore as thunder roared outside, the hint of sunrise peeking against the trees. You tried to wrack your brain, tried to comprehend what had happened. But when you moved, feeling the crusted semen against your stomach, you decided a shower was the better option.

You still walked that path, just more cautiously now, carrying a knife in your hoodie every time. Cautious, you always made sure to stick to the path, unsure if the ‘fox traps’ existed or not, but not wanting to tempt it. 

You still had your headphones lodged in your ears, keeping the volume at a good level as you walked, making sure to hum just a little louder. Occasionally, catching a whiff of smoke.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part IV)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Angst begins, still lots of fluff, smut (of course), Aegon still being an ass

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

~~

The court was in a frenzy.

The news of their betrothal spread through King’s Landing like wildfire. It was all anyone could talk about for days on end. Some felt vindicated, that the rumors they had been spreading for months had finally come to fruition, while others were skeptical, unsure of what such a sweet young girl saw in the surly one-eyed Prince. 

The gossip was never ending, with many speculating the couple had been consorting inappropriately in private. While many knew of Ixtal’s customs, that they weren’t as strict about their Ladies maidenhood as they were in the rest of Westeros, it didn’t stop the looks of indignation she received from certain members of the court who turned their noses up at the mere possibility she had sullied herself before her marriage.

While Aemond hated the speculation and had to be held back more than once from storming over to a group of tittering Ladies and threatening to take their tongues for daring to speak ill of his betrothed, she found it laughable. She had to remind her betrothed they weren’t exactly wrong. 

Their nights of pleasure together were only all the more exciting and mind blowing knowing they would have each other forever, that they no longer needed to fear what the future held. 

They could finally relax, they would soon be each other’s in the eyes of the Gods and no one could take that away from them. 

Their wedding was spared no expense. Lords and Ladies of great houses from across the realm traveled to the Capitol to witness the union of a Targaryen Prince and the daughter of the most prosperous house in the realm. 

Aemond paid no mind to the fanfare. All he cared about was her. 

He barely got to see her in the weeks leading up to their wedding, with her swept up with the Ladies of the court in dress fittings and as her family arrived at King’s Landing, she was rarely seen without her dear younger sister or mother at her side. 

The King demanded a three day tourney be held to celebrate, with lavish hunts and feasts raving practically each night. Aemond had never seen his father so excited and he knew it had little to do with him and all to do with his dear friend, the Lord of Ixtal, that their families would officially be uniting. 

He rolled his eyes at the whole affair. He just wanted to marry his love. He didn’t want all this attention and unnecessary flourish. 

She would laugh softly everytime he slunk into her chambers at night, her bright eyes alight with mischief, a delighted smile on her face at the annoyance on his.

“Couldn’t stay away?”

“You know I couldn’t.” He crooned, inhaling her scent as he hugged her tightly from behind. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I am.” She answered with a blissful smile. “Are you?”

“I was ready to marry you years ago.” 

She practically swooned, leaning her head back onto his shoulder, her gaze filled with nothing but devotion. She never would have pictured this for herself. She never could have imagined she would be able to marry her best friend, that she would find a love so pure and so beautiful for herself. She didn’t think that kind of love even existed. 

“Everything seems so perfect.” She spoke softly, reveling in his embrace. 

He hummed in agreement, wishing they could go find a Maester now to perform a ceremony and bind themselves together. He didn’t want to wait another minute. He just wanted to be her husband. 

The next morning, the entire Keep was a flurry of activity. Maids scurried in and out of her chambers to prepare her, most desperate to catch a glimpse of the Island girl that would soon become a Targaryen princess. 

She sat nervously at her vanity, her hands fidgeting in her lap. 

Today was the day she would finally marry her best friend. It all seemed too good to be true, as though they had gotten away with some elaborate plan. 

“You look beautiful, my love.” Her mother spoke, her eyes already brimming my tears.

“I’m not even in my dress yet.” She laughed as her mother waved her off, wiping under her eyes as she had been doing all morning. 

To her left, Alicent stood, her demeanor much more reserved than that of her own mother and sister, who could barely contain their excitement. The Queen had yet to crack a smile since she had entered her chambers and had been silently picking out jewelry for her to wear, barely sparing a glance to her soon to be good daughter. 

A nervous lump grew in her throat. She didn’t have the best relationship with Aemond’s mother, even as children, the woman seemed disinterested in speaking more than a few words to her. She at least thought the day she wedded her son she’d try to bridge the gap between them, but it seemed she still had little interest. 

She didn’t seem all that thrilled her son was even getting married. 

The maids around her all gestured for her to stand and move towards the floor length mirror, their excited giggles growing in volume as her dress was brought forward. 

Her breath hitched. It was real. This was happening. 

Her heart was racing as the maids helped her dress, her eyes beginning to sting with the pressure to cry the happiest of tears. 

“I assume you know what is expected of you tonight.” Alicent’s voice broke through the throng of excited chattering, abruptly shattering the positive energy in the room. 

The way Alicent looked at her, so intently, almost judgmentally, made her want to shrink. She swallowed and nodded. 

She felt a hand at her shoulder, her mother’s presence steadily at her side.

“We have already discussed what her duty is tonight.” Her mother answered for her, her voice sounder stiffer than before. 

Her mother had been in King’s Landing barely a day before she figured out what her daughter and her betrothed had been up to for months. Aemond had been horrified when his future good mother blurted out their long held secret. 

She was sure he would be blushing for the rest of his life. Even after her mother laughed heartily and assured them she would never tell a soul, that she held no judgment for them, he still had trouble meeting her eye out of sheer embarrassment. 

With one look at Alicent, the Lady of Ixtal knew she would do whatever she needed to do, say whatever she needed to say, to not let the frigid woman before her try to sink her claws into her daughter. 

She would not ruin her daughter’s big day. 

 Alicent hummed, the sound neither that of satisfaction or disdain, and she remained quiet, though her critical eye never lessened. She had no compliments for the young girl who donned her beautiful, extravagant dress, she had no well wishes for the girl as her eyes brimmed with happy tears.

All Alicent could fixate on was how angry her father was at the turn of events. They had lost a monumental opportunity to gain allies due to the girl in front of her. She had bewitched her son, her uncivilized ways weakening Aemond’s sense of duty and proprietary. She never forgot how her son had stormed into her room, practically demanding a betrothal. It was so unlike him, not at all how he had been raised to act and she knew the Ixtal girl was to blame. 

All she could do was plaster on a fake smile and hope everything her father had worked on for years wasn’t all for naught. 

~~

She was a vision as she stepped out of the carriage, her pulse thrumming in her ears, her hands trembling in anticipation. 

In a matter of minutes, she was going to be married to the love of her life.

“Are you ready?” Her father asked, a soft smile on his face as he stared at his first daughter with barely contained emotion. She nodded eagerly, latching onto his arm, taking in a final deep breath before they stepped inside. 

The crowd of guests were in awe as she passed, though she could not spare a glance to any of the onlookers that seemed to swoon at the sight of her. Her gaze was locked onto the man at the front of the room, meeting his eye effortlessly.

Aemond had been watching the door and nothing else for the past few minutes, anxiously awaiting her arrival. The second she stepped inside, his breath had been stolen from him. 

He felt nervous flutters within him, as if he was once again that little boy who was in love with his best friend before he even knew what it meant to love someone. 

His vision blurred slightly as tears gathered in his eye at the sight of her, so beautiful, so perfect, his wife. 

They couldn’t take their eyes off each other as her father removed the cloak from her shoulders. Aemond felt his breath hitch at the sight of her in her dress, the shape of her body, the delicate silk outlining every curve he had spent many nights memorizing and worshiping. 

As he stood before her, placing the heavy Targaryen cloak over her shoulders, he breathed in her familiar scent, calming every one of his nerves. 

He took her hand, guiding her up the steps of the dais. No one said a word as he kept his hand in hers, the crowd was absolutely enraptured by the sight of them, the Ladies dramatically sharing looks of longing at the couple as neither one of them spared a glance to the Septon that began the service. 

They only had eyes for each other. 

No one could deny the love they shared. As they spoke the words that bound them together, their smiles dazzling, no one could deny this was a marriage of pure love. 

“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

The words left him with ease. He used to dread this moment as a child, hating the idea of being bound to a woman he didn’t know and didn’t care for for the rest of his life, purely out of duty. 

Now, he couldn’t imagine saying the words to any other person but the woman in front of him. The thought of spending the rest of his days with her, his love, brought him nothing but relief and endless happiness, a feeling he never pictured for himself. 

Since he lost his eye, since a piece of him had literally been taken from him, he had always felt slighted, but now, as the Septon announced their union, as he kissed her for the first time as his wife, he felt whole again. 

He was no longer that overlooked second son, he was no longer that scarred and feared man who longed for revenge. 

He was a husband, he was her protector, her friend, her love. He felt he finally had a meaningful purpose, one that meant so much more than the duty his family expected from him. 

The crowd cheered voraciously. It wasn’t often they got to witness a union so blessed by affection. 

Aemond kept his awed gaze on her as they made their way down the aisle, his hand clasped tightly in hers, paying no mind to anyone else around him. 

They could scarcely keep their hands from each other. 

During the feast, Aemond kept his hand on her thigh, his touch thankfully hidden by the long train covering the table. As both of their fathers gave speeches, spouting lovely rhetorics of family and peace, he couldn’t bring himself to listen to a word of it. 

His attention was focused solely on the woman beside him. His wife. 

He felt himself smiling just at the thought of it, that he could finally say the word. 

When the music started and they made their way to the floor to share their first dance, a moment Aemond had been dreading for weeks, he found he couldn’t care less that everyone’s eyes were on him. 

He realized nothing else mattered. Everything he thought would make him feel insecure wasn’t even a thought in his mind. He held her closely, his heart racing as if they were dancing for the first time, as if he was touching her for the first time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.” She spoke with a laugh.

“I have a good reason to smile.” He responded with a smirk as he twirled her. 

The guests couldn’t take their eyes off the couple as they danced. Most felt they were intruding on an intimate moment with how intently they gazed at each other, their love radiating from each of them effortlessly. 

They noticed how the couple sparsely ceased their touch from each other. The Lords present couldn’t help but feel slighted there would be no bedding ceremony. They were sure it would be a spectacle with how the Prince eyed his new wife with a hunger most men couldn’t conceive for their own wives. 

Aemond’s pout as his new wife accepted Helaena’s offer to dance, leaving him to sit by himself, would be fodder for most of the gossip the next morning. 

He watched her with a small smile, looking more at ease than the court had ever seen him, content at the mere sight of her delight as she twirled around with Helaena, their shared laughter ringing out louder than the music playing. 

He took a small sip from his wine, content to not drink much more, knowing he’d rather have a clear head for what the rest of the night held. He would finally take her as his wife, he would lay with her, spill his seed inside her without consequence. 

After tonight, her stomach could swell with his child and no one could say a thing. 

The thought made him desperate to drag her to their new shared chambers. He would be eager to see the end of the feast and lay with her for the rest of the night, but with how happy she was, he wouldn’t do a thing to take her away from it. 

As she twirled with Helaena, her head back, eyes closed, a picture of pure happiness, she suddenly lost her footing. She stumbled slightly, her eyes widening, but sturdy hands on her waist stopped her from falling to the floor. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

She stiffened at the voice in her ear, turning to see Aegon’s smarmy smile. She wanted nothing more than to wrench his hands off her, but she couldn’t make a scene at her own wedding. If she displayed any ounce of discomfort by his hands, she was sure Aemond would forever be tainted as the man who killed his own brother on his wedding night.

“Aegon…” Helaena called out wearily, not wanting her dear friend to be subjected to her brother’s cruel games, though she didn’t have power in her own corner to derail him.

“It’s alright Helaena.” She assured her, giving her a weak smile to the Princess who eyed her worriedly for a moment before retreating back to the head table. 

She cleared her throat and stood stiffly, holding back a grimace as Aegon’s hand slipped around her waist, his other taking hers, his grip tight and domineering, as if he wanted to prove to her how much stronger he was than her.

“You were lucky my grandsire allowed this to happen so quickly.” He spoke blatantly as they began to dance. “I was hoping to expose your big secret to the court.”

She felt her insides twist. Knowing Aegon was aware of her and Aemond’s secret, of their sneaking around, had her wanting to retreat where no one would find her. Even now they were married, Aegon still had the power to destroy her reputation.

She just hoped he ruined his own before he had the chance to tear her down. 

“You think they would listen to the words of a drunken idiot?” 

His smile turned wicked, his disdain for her clear, though there was no denying the lust in his gaze as he looked at her. He didn’t have to like her to fuck her. 

“More than they would listen to a whore who spreads her legs for anyone.”

“You mean my husband?” She retaliated, her patience for him wearing thin. 

Aegon chuckled, though his bitterness was clear. He leaned in close, his nose almost brushing against hers. She jerked back, sending him a vicious scowl, all she could allow herself under the prying eyes that surrounded her. 

“You could have been mine.” He crooned, the wine on his breath making her feel nauseous. “Gods only know why you decided to settle for my twat of a brother. As if he could please you better than I could, as if he could fuck you the way I could. I bet you were the first woman he ever bedded.”

His words made her feel sick to her stomach as she staunchly looked past his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. She didn’t want him to know how much he could get under her skin. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I would rather let the entire brothel of whores you sully yourself with flay every layer of my skin off slowly until I beg for death than ever crawl into bed with you.”

Aegon only smirked joyously.

“The mouth on you.” He admired with a shake of his head. “Such a shame it’s wasted on my brother.”

“Aegon.”

The stern voice of his brother made his eyes widen for a fraction of a second and he quickly schooled his expression, quickly removing his hands from his new good sister, plastering on a smirk so his brother wouldn’t see how successfully he could intimidate him.

She turned, meeting the questioning gaze of her husband. She nodded subtly, silently assuring him she was ok. 

He’d been chatting with her brother but the moment he spotted her in Aegon’s arms, he had abruptly given his well wishes to his new family and was quickly making his way to rescue her from his lecherous brother’s grip.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded eagerly, linking her arm through his, more than eager to say goodbye to the feast and make her way to bed with her new husband. 

“What, no bedding ceremony?” Aegon called out, forcing Aemond to send him a wicked glare. 

“Not if you wish to live, brother.” He spat and turned on his heel, desperate to get his wife far away from his depravity. 

He was more than thankful his good father had appealed to his father about doing away with the bedding ceremony. The Lord of Ixtal cared about his daughter too much to put her through that embarrassment. 

“Did he do anything?” He asked under his breath as they walked away, ignoring the cheers of congratulations from the guests he cared little for.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched in anger, his instincts telling him to turn back and threaten his brother within an inch of his life for daring to speak to his wife in ways that were anything but cordial. 

The moment they stepped out of the grand hall, allowing them a brief moment of privacy in the empty hallway, she pulled her arm from his and took his hands in her own, turning to face him, a soft smile on her face.

“Don’t let him ruin our night. This isn’t about him or anyone else. It’s about us.” 

He let out a long breath and nodded, though it wasn’t an easy feat to let go of the anger that burned hotly at the mere mention of his debauched brother’s attention on his love. 

“Besides, I’m quite eager to get to bed and if my husband chooses to delay any longer, I might begin to rethink this union.” She teased, smiling victoriously as his eye darkened with desire.

Her laughter echoed in the halls as Aemond practically dragged her to their chambers, his quick pace signaling he was equally as eager as she was to lose themselves in bliss.

~~

She lay draped across his bare chest, the sheets pooled at their hips. She hummed in contentment, her limbs aching, her eyes heavy with exhaustion as Aemond gently ran his fingers up and down the length of her arm. 

Any other night, his touch would lull her into much needed sleep, but the excitement that continued to course through her veins stubbornly kept her eyes open. 

She turned her head, looking up at her husband.

Gods, she would never get over saying that.

He looked down, their shared smiles growing as their gazes met. 

Her hand that was placed on his strong chest cheekily began to move lower, making him laugh.

“You can’t possibly be needing more.” He spoke tiredly. They had already gone multiple rounds, he had already pulled a countless number of orgasms from her. 

“I thought I married a dragon.” She teased. “Are you saying you no longer have the stamina to please your wife?” 

Aemond’s gaze darkened, his exhaustion worn out by his desire she could so effortlessly spark. 

“You dare to doubt me, wife?” He crooned, knowing how deeply the word affected her, watching with satisfaction as she practically preened against him, a wickedly delightful thrill coursing through her at the mention of their newly married status. 

She laughed and pushed at his chest, forcing him to lay back onto the pillows below him. He eagerly expected her to crawl atop him and ride him in the deliriously, mind bending way she could, but he was left in a pleasured surprise as she began to press heated kisses across his abdomen, moving lower torturously slowly.

He let out a heavy breath, his body thrumming with anticipation. He hissed as she took him in her mouth, his head falling back, already feeling weak under her touch, sensitive from his previous leg-shaking peaks. 

Her wicked tongue knew exactly what to do to render him a useless fool who couldn’t remember his own name. His hand tangled in her hair that was already a mess from their previous passionate rounds. 

His breath left him in heavy pants as she worked him with her mouth at a quick pace. He knew her well, he knew the determined glint in her eye signaled trouble for him. She went further and further and took him deep in her mouth until the tip of him hit the back of her throat. 

He whined, writhing against the bed, his hand that wasn’t pulling at her hair pathetically fisting the sheets below him in an effort to keep himself tethered to some semblance of control that she was steadily shattering. 

“You are wicked.” He moaned, the delight in his voice causing her lips to curl around him in the guise of a victorious smile. 

His lips were parted with a litany of moans and whines as he watched her, eagerly taking in the sight of her, his cock in her mouth, her eyes alight with desire, greedily taking his pleasure. She sped up the pace of her mouth, delighted at the sound of his loud groan echoing throughout the room. 

His toes began to curl, his weak body, already spent from hours of ecstasy, leaving him powerless under her. 

He called out her name frantically, sounding more debauched than he ever would have imagined he could have. 

“Oh fuck, just like that, darling, don’t stop.” 

She doubled her efforts, eager to see him fall apart. She loved to hear his noises of pleasure, to see him so unrestrained as he let himself fall to the haze of bliss. His back arched, both of his hands grabbing fistfuls of her hair, as if to ensure she wouldn’t leave him wanting, that she stayed worshiping him as she was, as only she could.

“Love,” He warned, feeling his end nearing, feeling the familiar fire beginning to stir within him, one that came before a powerful release. With only a few more flicks of her tongue, he felt himself shatter. 

He cried out, a loud, desperate sound most wouldn’t believe to have come from the surly Prince, as he came. His vision was stolen from him as he had squeezed his eye shut in the moment of climax, though he wouldn’t have denied that she had just extricated his soul from his body, leaving him to lose what was left of his sight. He didn’t doubt she had the ability. 

His chest heaved, his jaw slack, small whines leaving him as she was slow to part from him, her mouth lazily working his spent cock that twitched in overstimulation at her touch. 

He reached for her blindly, his limbs weak as though he had just fought a grueling battle. She grabbed his hand, laughing softly at the sight of him thoroughly exhausted. 

She allowed him to pull her over him, his hands desperate to touch her, to feel her close to him, to prolong the pleasure running through him. 

He kissed her hand, his lips moving up the length of her arm until he reached her neck, smiling at the sound of the contented noise that left her lips as he found the spot that always made her giggle with ticklish delight. 

“One of these days you are going to stop my heart.” He told her, still working to catch breath. 

“I would never do such a thing.” 

He smiled and kissed her firmly, his mind a haze of delirium. He briefly wondered if he was dreaming, for this seemed too perfect to be his life. He kissed her again, as if to confirm that this was real, that the woman that just brought him pleasure like no other was truly before him, that he was lucky enough to now call her his wife. 

“Give me five minutes and I will return the favor.”

~~

Their marriage was nothing short of blissful. Now there was no longer a need to hide, the public was shocked by how affectionate the dragon Prince acted towards his wife. One was seldom seen without the other. 

Maids constantly gossiped about the salacious noises heard from their shared chambers practically all hours of the day. With the noises the new Princess made nightly they couldn’t help but begin to lust over the elusive Prince, or at least wish he could give some tips to their own lovers. They almost fought over who got to service the Prince and his new wife to catch a glimpse of the lovesick expression on the feared one-eyed dragon’s face. 

It had to be seen to be believed. 

They knew it wouldn’t be long until the announcement of a new Targaryen babe was made. 

Aemond hated the attention. He wished he could take his wife across the sea and indulge in their newly wedded bliss in private. 

He had just sneered at yet another passing Lady who practically fawned at the sight of the two of them, when she laughed, tucking her arm tighter in his. 

They had simply been walking in the gardens together and still couldn’t escape the gossiping Ladies of the court who could talk of nothing else but their marriage and ponder about the feared one-eyed Prince’s new found prowess among the Ladies. 

“Do they have nothing better to do?” Aemond muttered in annoyance.

“Our novelty will wear off soon.” She assured him. “They are just not quite used to seeing you so… soft.”

“I am not soft.”

She laughed, the sound causing him to look over at his wife incredulously. The disbelieving look on his face only had her suppressing more laughter, 

“Tell me, dear husband, if I told you my legs were hurting and I couldn’t possibly make it to that bench over there, would you not carry me?”

Aemond regarded her for a moment, an almost imperceptible pout growing on his lips as he contemplated the situation. He knew there was no way he wouldn’t indulge her in anything she asked for. 

“That does not make me soft.” He answered defensively, though he knew he was a lost cause. 

She giggled at the obvious answer as they continued to walk. Aemond looked over at her, eyeing her carefully for a few moments, his brows furrowing.

“Your legs are not hurting are they?” 

Her laughter rang out in the gardens as she leaned in closer to his side. Aemond felt his own smile tugging at his lips and he placed a kiss to the top of her head.

He knew he would endure all of the petty gossip that came his way. He would endure a lot worse just to hear that laugh again. 

He almost couldn’t believe the bliss he was living in. He loved her more than he thought it was possible to love someone. Now that they no longer had to hide their true feelings for each other, now that they were married and could freely show affection without any repercussions, he found himself living in a dreamlike state. 

It felt too good to be true. 

Every day was spent showing the rest of the court just how much she meant to him, how he was hers and she was his and no one else mattered, while late nights were spent tangled in bed, their limbs weak with pleasure, a time just for them and no one else. 

As she got up to pour them another cup of wine they had been drinking before he had dragged her to their bed, she looked over her shoulder at her husband who was looking up at the ceiling tiredly, a content smile on his face.

“Have I finally worn you out?” She teased as she handed him his cup. 

He chuckled softly and took the cup, drinking down much needed swallows of the sweet wine. She crawled back into bed beside him, settling herself in his open arms once again. She pressed teasing kisses across his chest, feeling the hum of soft moans that escaped him. 

He cupped her face and kissed her firmly, the gesture lacking much heat as they were both thoroughly spent from the haze of pleasure they’d been tangled in for hours. 

He pulled away, letting his forehead rest against hers as he took her in, simply admiring his wife with an awe that was certainly not unfamiliar to either of them. 

She noticed a flicker of something she didn’t recognize flash across his face, his eye softening almost imperceptibly. 

“What’s on your mind, Love?” She asked, nuzzling in closer to him as she sensed his sudden anxious energy. 

He stayed quiet for a moment longer, carefully contemplating his next words and if he should divulge the sudden thought in his head to her. 

“What if…” He started softly, his teeth worrying his lip as he feared her reaction. “What if you didn’t drink any moon tea tomorrow?”

Her expression smoothed out in surprise at his request. She couldn’t deny that it was something she had thought of since their wedding, but she had never spoken of her fantasies of silver haired children with her husband. She knew he had complicated feelings for his own family, especially his father, and she never wanted to bring it up in fear of pushing him to something he feared.  

“Is that something you want?” 

“I want everything with you.” He told her sincerely. 

The beaming smile that grew on her lips soothed every ounce of anxiety he had and he breathed out deeply, leaning forward to kiss her once more. 

“You’re going to be a wonderful father.” 

Her whispered words made his insides twist and flutter in ways that left him holding back the flood of emotions he hadn’t expected, her words soothing the deep rooted anxiety he felt at the prospect of starting a family, no matter how badly he wanted it. He had no way to tell her how grateful he was for her, there were no words conceivable to tell her the depth of his love for her. 

So he settled for kissing her, silently thanking the Gods above for bringing him to the woman in his arms. 

~~

Aemond stepped into their shared chambers the same time he always did, his perfect hair slightly disheveled from his time spent training. He stopped in his tracks, the warmth in his expression gone in an instant as he eyed the Maester sitting before her with growing apprehension.

“What’s wrong?” 

She laughed at his blatant worry as he approached her quickly, reaching for her hand. 

“Everything’s fine, Darling.” 

“What happened?” He turned to ask the Maester, all care gone from his voice, leaving nothing but strict power as he demanded an answer. 

“The Princess wasn’t feeling well this morn-”

“Are you alright? Why didn’t you tell me?” He interrupted, turning his attention back to her, his concerned tone back in full force, all traces of the demanding Prince gone as he kneeled before her, his expression wracked with worry. 

She smiled again in amusement and looked to the Maester. 

“Would you mind giving us a moment?” 

The old man nodded respectfully, giving her a warm smile and hastily leaving the room, most likely relieved to gain some distance from the dragon Prince with the feared temper. 

She intertwined her fingers with Aemond’s, taking in a deep breath as she prepared herself to bring him the life changing news. 

“I have been feeling a little off the last few days and I called the Maester to confirm my suspicion.” She explained vaguely, her mischievous smirk remaining as she watched Aemond’s brow furrow deeper in concern. 

“And?”

Deciding to finally let her husband off the hook and spare him his heart that was no doubt racing in anticipation, his dramatic mind probably conjuring horrible conclusions, she guided his hand forward, letting his palm rest flatly on her stomach. 

She watched him carefully, noting the exact moment he realized what she was telling him. His lips parted and his gaze moved from his hand to her face abruptly, his eye shrouded in disbelief, looking at her pleadingly, as if needing confirmation that this was real. 

She let out a laugh and nodded, tears brimming in her eyes at the pure love she saw in Aemond’s. He let out a breathless laugh, the sound of delight one she had never remembered ever hearing from him before. He grabbed her hands, swiftly bringing her to her feet and barely a second later, he was hugging her tightly, his hands gripping onto her desperately.

Her delighted laughter filled the room as he twirled her around, the moment filled with nothing but elation. 

“Thank you.” He whispered from where his head rested in the crook of her neck. 

She smiled, her own emotions rising at the sound of him so touched, so loved. 

He pulled out of the embrace, his gaze immediately falling to her stomach that had yet to show any evidence of the life that grew there. He pictured it swelling, the bump that would grow with their child, the life they had created together and he was sure his heart was moment away from bursting out of sheer love. 

“I can’t believe it.” He breathed out in awe. It had only been about a month since they had made the decision to forgo moontea, he had no idea it would happen for them this quickly. 

“With how often you take me to bed, surely this isn’t a surprise.” 

He looked almost proud at her jest and she shook her head, pulling him in for another embrace that he gladly returned, his arms holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world and if anyone were to ask, Aemond would certainly agree. 

He kissed the top of her head and pulled back, taking her face in his hands as he looked down at her reverently.

“You have given me more than I ever could have imagined I would have.” He told her honestly. “You’ve made me the happiest man to ever live.” 

He kissed her with all the love he could, hoping it would be enough to convey every ounce of adoration he held for her. 

However, their peace didn’t last long. 

Rhaenyra and her sons would soon be arriving at King’s Landing to counter Vaemond Velaryon’s petition for the Driftmark throne.

The moment Aemond heard the news, he became reserved, building that familiar brooding wall around him, portraying that of the feared one-eyed prince the court loved to gossip about. 

The night before they were due to arrive, he had resided in their chambers, wishing to avoid the prying eyes of the court and their whispers about his bastard nephews and the likelihood of there being another duel between them that would result in bloodshed.

He heard the door of their shared chambers open and close, but his gaze remained on the flickering flames in the hearth in front of him. 

“There you are.” Her sweet voice called out, his wife taking her place at his side. “I’ve barely seen you all day.”

“I’ve been here.” He responded softly, his voice lacking its usual warmth that was always present with her. 

She watched him carefully, knowing exactly what was eating away at him, but hesitant to mention it, unsure of how he would react. The mere mention of his nephews was enough to incite his rage. 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” She asked softly.

“No.”

His voice was curt, betraying just how tormented he felt. A flare of pain lashed his scar, the sapphire in place of his eye seemingly burning, as if the thought of that Strong bastard’s imminent arrival alone could cut him like the dagger he wielded that night. 

A tense silence lingered between them, one they both hated. 

With a pained hiss, he tore his eye path off, tossing it to the side carelessly, his sharp features contorted in pain. He leaned his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands as the sapphire in his eye bloomed with pain. 

It wasn’t often the wound still caused him aggravation, but in the moments it did, he always felt like he was that young, helpless boy again. His hands shook slightly as the pain flared so deeply it was all he could do to breathe through it. 

Within seconds he felt gentle hands on his, carefully prying them from his face. He looked up to his wife sitting before him, the concern on her face stirring his emotions he tried desperately to hold back. 

He noticed the vial of ointment in her hands, the one the Maesters gave to him to use whenever his wound became unbearable. He was tense as she cradled his cheek, her thumb caressing the edge of his scar, her eyes taking in the angry looking wound. She had seen him do this for himself a few times but he had never let her do it before. 

She looked at him thoughtfully, posing a silent question to which he nodded slightly, still hesitant to let her touch what was his greatest shame, but the pain was becoming unbearable, he was left out of options. 

She dipped her finger into the ointment and carefully applied it to his eye, her own heart racing as she felt her husband was baring a piece of himself he had been adamant on hiding for so long. 

As her fingers brushed as gently as possible across his wounded eye, the cooling ointment bringing him relief immediately, he finally started to let himself relax, releasing a long breath. 

She reached out with her other hand, laying it over his own that was still clenched into a fist, beginning to trace meaningless shapes over his knuckles. Her touch soothed something in him he didn’t even know could be soothed, the simple gesture enough for him to feel comforted in a way only she could give him. He sighed loudly as he sank into his seat, the rigidity leaving him limb by limb. 

Smiling softly at the sight of him so much calmer than before, she moved to sit next to him once she was finished. Aemond was quick to close the distance between them, moving in closer to her side, taking her hand in his, eager for her touch. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, the look of reverence he sent her stirring her own emotions and she suddenly found herself on the verge of tears. She would never understand what he went through as a child, she would never understand what he felt for his nephews, but she was adamant she would be there for him in the moments he struggled. 

“You never need to thank me for this.” She assured him. 

Another heavy breath escaped him, as if his ire was leaving him with each exhale. His resentment was no match for the love his wife gave him. It would succumb to her each and every time. 

His hand roamed gently over her body, eventually finding its place on her stomach, where it stayed, pulling a small laugh from her.

“You do realize there’s no bump yet.”

Aemond just shrugged, the look of contentment on his face a far cry from the derision that had steadily remained all day. 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s still in there.”

“He?”

He seemed bashful as he looked up at his wife, a slight blush on his cheeks, as if embarrassed to admit the many nights he spent thinking about their child, imagining their son as the perfect mix of them both, of how much he already loved their child. 

“It’s just a feeling.” 

She began to picture it, Aemond cradling their son, his eyes the same vibrant blue of his father’s, his smile wide, his cheeks chubby, every bit of him absolutely perfect. 

Her own smile grew, her vision growing blurry as tears gathered in her eyes at the thought, her hormones that were now on a hair trigger since her pregnancy, coming to a head. 

“Hey,” Aemond called out in concern, reaching up to caress her cheek and she shook her head, letting out a small laugh.

“They’re happy tears.” 

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly. It was easy to forget the turmoil he felt, that he was soon to face the object of his anger, when he was next to his wife, their child growing within her. 

That night, he was ravenous. He had taken her with a fervor he hadn’t felt in weeks. He had been insatiable when he knew of her pregnancy, but he seemed to treat her like glass, as if she were now delicate because of the precious life that grew within her. 

His touches had always been gentle, but urgent, hungry yet loving. 

Tonight, he was starved. He fucked her as if they were newlyweds again, every touch portraying just how desperate he felt for her. 

“Aemond!” She cried out, her hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard as he brought her to yet another blissful orgasm.

He growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck, the enticing nip at her neck making her moan. His steady pace never faltered, his powerful hips crashing against hers as he chased his own end. 

Her cries turned to laughs, delirious with pleasure. 

“I love you.” She breathed out and screamed as his pace became quicker, his thrusts becoming harsher, more frantic as he quickly approached his high. 

“Say it again.” He growled, now hovering over her as he gazed down at the beauty beneath him, his eye and the striking sapphire a sight that left her shivering under his tight grip.

“I love you.” She repeated, hoping he believed every word, hoping he knew just how much she cherished him, how much he meant to her. “You are the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I’ll ever love for the rest of my life.”

His jaw clenched, his eye squeezing shut as the sight of her below him, writhing in pleasure, was just too much to handle. He was powerless against her. 

His thrusts became relentless, the bed shaking beneath them with every one of his brutal strokes. 

He breathed harshly, feeling as though flames were alight in his veins. 

“Again.” He commanded roughly. 

She shivered at the commanding edge of his voice, her toes curling as she felt sparks ignite within her. 

“I love you, more than anything.” 

Her breathless words were his undoing. He shouted a curse and groaned loudly, his arms feeling weak as he practically fell over her, never stopping his movements, his cock thrusting into her almost violently as he came, his body shaking against hers. 

She gasped at the feeling of him spilling inside her, her arms wrapping tighter around him, her head thrown back as she cried out, his name falling from her lips in a chant, as if he were a deity she prayed to for salvation. 

“I love you.” She whispered breathlessly and began to laugh tiredly as he planted kisses over the expanse of her neck, making his way upwards until he met her lips, kissing her soundly, as if she were the very air he breathed. 

“I love you.” He panted in a blissful daze. 

By the next morning, every good feeling Aemond had coveted the night before had dissipated like smoke in the wind. 

He woke early and spared his sleeping wife a kiss to the forehead before heading to the training yard where he spent the rest of the morning, endlessly sparring with Ser Criston and any other worthy opponent available when the knight needed a break from his endless plights. 

Those that dared to step up were left bloody and bruised in a matter of minutes. 

Aemond was wound tightly, his entire being ready to snap as he laid his eye on his nephews for the first time in years. The fury that had been buried deeply within him for years bubbled to the surface with one look at the brown haired bastards. 

The sapphire in place of his eye burned as his glare remained steady on them. 

He preened inwardly as they cowered under his eye. To know they couldn’t meet his gaze brought him more satisfaction than he had expected. He grabbed his sword and gestured to Ser Criston to get into position.

He fought with determination as if he were in actual battle, as if his life was truly threatened and every movement dictated his survival. With every powerful strike of his sword against Criston’s shield, he felt vindicated, as though the years of shame that had come from the bullying he endured from his own brother and nephews stripped off layer by layer with each powerful swing of his weapon. 

His eye drifted to his nephews, a sickly satisfied smirk growing at the sight of their intimidation. 

They held no power over him now. He had made sure of it. 

“Husband.” 

Her voice cut through the haze of victory he had been lavishing in. He turned on his heel, confusion overtaking him as he saw his wife standing in the training yard. He dropped his sword and rushed over to her side. 

“What are you doing down here? Is everything alright?”

She didn’t often make her way down into the training yards and with her current state, he couldn’t help but fret over her every minute of the day he was with her.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t killing yourself before the petition.”

He sighed heavily. He didn’t know if he loved or hated how easily his wife could read him. She took his hand and he let her guide him out of the yard. 

“You’ve been here for hours, I think you’ve earned yourself a break.” 

He opened his mouth to retort, but she stopped him with a knowing look. 

“Based on the looks on your nephews face’s I think you’ve proven everything you needed to prove.”

The smirk that grew on his lips should have worried her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel any concern for the ire he felt for his nephews. It was more than justified, she just hoped it would be enough, that their visit to the Keep wouldn’t result in any more bloodshed. 

Aemond looked back into the training yard, as if hesitant to leave the glory he’d managed to carve out for himself, for the retribution he felt he had finally earned, no matter how slight it was, but her hand in his forced him back to her in an instant. 

“Don’t let them get to you. They hold no power over you.” She told him softly and he let out a long breath, allowing the hatred that had been clouding him all day roll over him like dark thunder clouds making way for the shining sun to warm up the earth after a vicious storm. 

His hand remained steadily in hers, as if needing her like a lifeline in tumultuous waves. She was the only thing that kept him tethered to himself, that kept him from spiraling into his anger. 

She could see how tense he was and if it were any other day, if they didn’t have royal duties to attend to, she would’ve been content to keep him in their chambers and let him use her to both of their delights until he was spent, too exhausted to feel any anger at all. 

She didn’t like to see him in this state. It was so unlike the sweet boy that had been by her side for years. She didn’t like what her nephews had created in him the night he claimed Vhagar. 

~~

The petition unfolded as she expected. While King Viserys’ presence had been a surprise, Vaemond’s demise certainly wasn’t, especially after the accusations he had spouted to Princess Rhaenyra and her sons. 

Aemond had tugged on her arm, instinctively pulling her behind him as Daemon brought his sword down upon the man. 

He had shielded her from the violent display, something she had been grateful for. With the pregnancy hormones swirling within her, she most often felt nauseous around anything that wasn’t plain bread. The sight of Vaemond’s severed head would’ve been enough to put her off eating for the rest of her life. 

As the court reacted in a frenzy to the brutal display, Aemond had placed his hand on her stomach, his eye looking her over carefully, ready to rush her out of the room at the slightest hint of nausea. 

She gripped his hand and nodded to his silent question, assuring him she was ok, that she wasn’t about to spill her guts in front of everyone, though the darkened look in his eye remained. Who it was targeted at, she wasn’t quite sure. 

Neither one of them had been looking forward to the family dinner Viserys was adamant on hosting. It was as if he was completely oblivious to the tension in the family as he forced them in proximity to each other. 

Aemond had barely spoken a word as they readied themselves for dinner. He was tense, his face drawn tightly, as if he expected the worst to unfold, as if he were facing enemies on a battlefield and not a simple dinner with his family. 

“We don’t have to attend.” She told him, wishing she could protect him from the torment he felt in the face of his nephews. 

He didn’t spare a look to her, every inch of him was shrouded in anger, barely contained fury that he couldn’t shake. He didn’t seem like the man she married at that moment. 

“Why wouldn’t I attend?” He asked, as if his torment wasn’t visible, as if she wasn’t aware of the burning anger he couldn’t shake, the vitriol he experienced as a child coming back to the forefront of his mind, reminding him of the slights that he had been faced with. 

“Aemond,” She started softly. “No one expects you to forgive them.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head, his expression filled with bitter irritation. 

“No one expects me to hold any anger at all.” 

She frowned deeply and approached him slowly, eyeing him carefully. She had never felt so out of depth when it came to her husband but she would be damned if she left him to suffer alone.

“We don’t have to go.”

He clenched his jaw, his eye holding a faraway look, signaling he was deep in thought. 

She reached out, cupping his face in his hands, startling him out of his reverie that was filled with nothing but hatred. 

“You just tell me and we’ll leave. I’ll make an excuse and we can go without any question.”

Her words, her ability to show him she was staunchly in his corner, a feeling no one else had ever assured him of, disarmed him completely. There was one thing his nephews would never take from him, the love he felt from his wife stood the test of time, standing strongly against any other force that dared to weaken him. His eye softened, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm, his fingers gently caressing her skin. 

“What have I done to deserve you?” He whispered, his voice cloaked with reverence, as if surprised by the love she held for him. 

She frowned, hating when he spoke as if he didn’t deserve the love she showed him, as if it was some kind of gift he wasn’t worthy of coveting. 

“You read to me my second day here.” She answered simply, reminding him of the beginning of it all, when they were nothing more than two wonderstruck children. 

He exhaled deeply, desperately wanting to hold onto that feeling that always surrounded him when he thought of their childhood together, like warmth embracing him soundly. 

It was a feeling he kept close to him as they walked to the dining hall, though he knew it was futile. The feeling would be gone, shielded in the depths of him in the face of his family.

As they stepped into the hall, Aemond left her side to grab her a drink from the servers, allowing her to step towards Rhaena and Baela, greeting them politely. Rhaena was quick to give her a smile, while Baela only had distrustful eyes to throw in her direction. 

Her name was called and she turned to see Rhaenyra approaching her with a warm smile. 

She smiled and embraced the Princess slightly awkwardly. She had fond memories of the woman growing up, especially in times when she was desperately missing her own mother, but it had been years since she had seen her and knowing her actions on the night Aemond’s eye had been taken had irrevocably changed her view of the woman since.

“It’s good to see you again, Dear.” Rhaenyra smiled warmly at her. “Where is your father, I was hoping to say hello.”

“He’s at Ixtal. He was missing my mother and decided to take a short visit.” 

“You didn’t join him?”

She felt her cheeks heat at the question and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“I would, but I wasn’t exactly in a good state to travel.” She explained and placed her hand on her stomach exaggeratedly. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened and she beamed a smile, laughing happily. 

“That is wonderful news.” The Princess congratulated. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” 

A hand on the small of her back made her look up to see her husband now at her side, his steely eye locked onto his half-sister whose smile faltered at his sudden presence. She cleared her throat, her demeanor now tense as she nodded politely in greeting.

Rhaenyra left their side quickly, leaving her to wonder just how deeply one family could fracture. She couldn’t imagine ever greeting her brothers in that manner. She couldn’t imagine hating the ones she shared blood with. 

Letting out a long breath, knowing she was in for an eventful night, she turned to Aemond, placing her hand on his arm that was stiff, as if he wouldn't allow himself to relax or even take a breath in their presence. 

They all took their seats, the tension in the room strangling as King Viserys was carried in. 

She held back a grimace at the sight of the decrepit King. He was a far cry from the man she had met all those years ago, far from the man who was a dear friend to her father. 

The awkward aura in the room remained steadfast, with most avoiding eye contact with each other. Even Viserys’ heartened speech about family and the uniting of the house of the dragon did little to mend the obvious rift in the family.

Until Rhaenyra stood. She was shocked to hear her speak such lovely words about the Queen and for the Queen to return the sentiment. 

Their apparent truce for the time being broke the tension, though her husband at her side remained tense, his lone eye unflinchingly cold as he regarded his distant family. 

Her eyes kept circling back to him, as if waiting for the moment he would strike. She wondered when the wood of the chair under his white-knuckled grip would splinter. She wondered when the night would take an irredeemable turn.

She didn’t even get to enjoy Helaena’s thinly veiled jab towards Aegon in her toast, she was too worried about her husband to pay attention to the others around her. 

When the music began, signaling the end of the toasts, she leaned back in her seat, giving her husband a small encouraging smile, anticipating that they had made it through the worst the night had to offer. 

Aemond remained stiff as stone, his posture straight and rigid. She noticed his eye darken further, his gaze locked past her and she turned, her brows furrowing slightly as Jacaerys stepped towards her, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Would you care to dance, Princess?” He asked, offering her his hand. 

She stared at his hand for a long second, contemplating her choices. With the entirety of the table watching the exchange, she knew she had little choice but to accept his offer. 

She spared a brief glance to her husband beside her and the fury that blazed in his lone eye would have melted the wall in the great north. With a heavy breath, she gingerly took Jace’s hand and stood from her seat, allowing him to guide her away from the table.

Her husband’s gaze practically burned at her back. 

Aemond watched with barely contained rage as the bastard danced with his wife. His teeth grinded together so harshly it was a wonder they didn’t crack. He briefly contemplated what the repercussions would be if he murdered the Strong bastard where he stood. 

The fire within him was simmering, ready to unleash as he watched another man touch his wife. The smile on the bastard’s face left Aemond wondering whether he should slit his throat, dismember him, or let Vhagar turn him to ash. 

None of the choices seemed punishment enough. 

As Jace twirled her, her eyes briefly met Aemond’s and her stomach twisted at his expression. She knew tonight wouldn’t end peacefully. 

She flinched slightly as Jace quickly spun her back into his arms, causing her to almost crash into his chest, forcing her much closer to him than she felt was necessary. She leaned back to gain some distance, hoping it wasn’t noticeable, hoping her husband hadn’t been able to tell she had been uncomfortable for a mere second.

Jace would be dead and buried before the sun rose if that were the case. 

“I have to admit, I was quite shocked when I heard the news of your wedding.” Jace suddenly spoke, keeping his voice low so only she would hear. 

“What was so shocking?”

“I didn’t expect you to end up with someone like him.”

“Someone like him? You mean my oldest friend?” She questioned, disdain creeping through her tone, her defenses raised, which didn’t allow her the wherewithal to speak in a friendly manner. 

Jace sighed, as if wanting to dispute the simple fact that she and Aemond had been close for years before marriage was even a thought in either of their heads. 

“You two are very different.” He said with a slight shrug. “I pictured you with someone more… warm, romantic even.” 

“I assure you, my prince, my husband is plenty romantic. You do not need to worry yourself about my marriage.” She smiled stiffly. 

Jace, seeming to sense her attitude, remained silent for the remainder of the dance. As the song ended, she politely curtsied and was walking back to the table before he could rise from his bow. 

The tension didn’t dissipate as she took her seat at her husband’s side once more. If anything, the fury radiating from the man beside her only set her more on edge. Aemond leaned into her, making her shoulders tense both in apprehension and desire. 

“If he touches you again, I will break every bone in his body.” Aemond hissed in her ear, smirking delightedly at the shiver she repressed. 

She looked up at him, his fury now morphed into an insatiable hunger only she could tame. She knew she would be in for a long night. 

She was just thankful he seemed to be feeling anything other than murderous rage. 

But it did not last long. 

She had been speaking quietly to Helaena, Aemond’s hand in hers, his thumb caressing over her knuckles a steady comfort when he suddenly pulled away. 

She barely had time to look over at her husband before he was bolting out of his chair. His fist that slammed on the table made her flinch in surprise, her wide eyes looking up at him in confusion.

“Final tribute.” 

Her heart raced wildly in her chest, her gaze wandering around the table, wondering what could have possibly stoked his fury. It wasn’t until she saw the sheepish guilt that permeated with fear on Lucerys’ expression that she began to understand. 

“To the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

She felt her breath hitch in her throat, her wide eyed gaze meeting Alicent’s for a brief moment, his mother looking equally as petrified for what was to unfold. 

“Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

She sent her husband a pleading look, but it was lost on him, his gaze, full of hatred, cemented on his nephews. 

“I dare you to say that again.”

“Why? Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth as Jace landed a punch to Aemond’s cheek. The room erupted in chaos. She could watch with disappointment as her husband pushed his nephew to the ground, as Aegon joined in and shoved Lucerys against the table. 

Helaena stood from her seat and rushed towards her, her face shrouded in fear. She sighed and stood from her seat, wrapping her arm around her friend who seemed disturbed by the rift tearing in her family before her. 

“It’s alright.” She assured her. 

Across the room, Rhaenyra’s eyes bored into hers, pleading, as if she had any control over her husband’s ire. She sent her an apologetic look and bowed her head, wishing Aemond had taken up her offer to avoid the dinner altogether. 

The room came to a standstill, the fighting men separated, a room divided by two factions. 

Aemond glared at his uncle who looked at him as if disappointed, as if he were out of line to enact revenge for the slight against him. 

He grit his teeth and in a quick motion, swallowed the wine left in his cup before turning back to the table. He avoided looking at his wife as he grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him as he stormed out of the room.

Her feet moved quickly to keep up with his quick pace, her heart in her throat as he led them through the halls.

Once they were back in their chambers, her eyes seldom left him, watching every one of his movements carefully, noticing how highly strung he still was, how stiffly he moved as paced for a moment before he finally took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

His anger wouldn’t be leaving him easily. 

“Are you alright?”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, gazing ahead blankly, the burning fury that simmered in his veins leaving him practically trembling, the desire to wreak havoc not yet dissipating. 

Every part of him was wrought with tension, his mind a mess of thoughts, though his anger was the easiest to make sense of. 

“Don’t try to convince me that what I did was wrong.” He spoke bitterly.

“I won’t.” 

His jaw clenched, the events of the last few minutes running through his head on a loop, keeping him in the state of rage that made him shake, that made his hands twitch, wishing he had done more, wishing he could hurt that bastard the way he had been hurt all those years ago.

The thought briefly startled him. It was a thought he used to have frequently, when the rage in his heart was so new he didn’t know what to do with it. It was a thought he hadn’t focused on since being with her. 

The revelation had an unfamiliar upset stirring within him.

“I should sleep in my old chambers tonight.” He muttered tersely. 

The bitter anger burned within him, he felt on the edge of cracking and he would hate himself if he ever took it out on her, his sweet wife. He felt he needed to be far away from her to avoid darkening her with his presence.

“What?”

The sadness in her voice almost broke him. He closed his eye and bowed his head, he couldn’t bear to see the look on her face. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” 

It was quiet for a long moment, his words lingering in the room like an ominous death rattle that signaled the bitter end after a long, torturous fight. 

But she refused to let him sink into his despair. 

He flinched as she stepped before him, catching his gaze. Her hands smoothed out the doublet he wore, roaming upwards to brush the hair off his shoulders and gently caressing his neck as she reached up to hold his jaw affectionately. 

He let out a deep breath, the tension slowly but surely easing from him in waves under her touch. 

“I am not letting you feel this alone.” She told him, her voice soft yet stern, letting him know there was no way he would change her mind about this, that nothing could force her to accept his absence from her side. 

“I don’t seem to recognize myself around them.”

His whispered confession hit her harder than she had expected and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, her own emotions rising to the surface at the sight of him so tormented. 

“You can never undo what they took from you.” She began slowly, her voice wavering slightly. “I’ll never understand what you’ve been through. I wish I could and I’m so sorry I don’t, but you cannot let this consume you.”

His face remained a mask of torment, his derision and anger battling against the exhaustion that permeated his bitterness, that left him feeling weak in the aftermath of his rage. 

She gently guided him to tilt his head upward so she could look at him, so he could see her and the resolution on her face and understand her honesty.

“You are more than your eye. You are more than the rage you feel when you look at them. You are more than them.”

He almost shuddered under her hands, the words striking him with force as though they were dealt with a physical hit. 

“I see you, the real you. The one I fell in love with, my sweet husband, the father of my child.” 

With that, she grabbed his hand to place it over her stomach and his expression changed in an instant, the anger gone as he caressed where his child grew. 

He leaned forward, his forehead falling to rest against her chest, his arms circling her waist. He spread his legs, allowing her to step closer to him, her own arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him tightly. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, the soft motions pulling a soft sound from deep within him, his rigid body falling lax against her. 

As she hugged him tightly she felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. She wished she could pull the agony from him, untangle the strings of rage that wound him so tightly. 

She wished she could’ve gone back in time and held tighter to the wounded boy who hid his despair from her for so long. 

~~

The girls are fightinggg

And the angst is coming xx

~~

Tag List:

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[ctrlsht]

Beneath His Love | Jungkook Two-Shot AU (Part 1)

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: dark romance, psychological thriller, soft yandere

summary: Jeon Jungkook was once just a foreign high school friend until he disappeared without a word after graduation. Years later, he came back, not just to reconnect, but to claim a place in your life as your lover. To everyone else, your relationship is something out of a fairytale, the kind others envy. And for a while, you believed it too until the mask he wore began to slip, revealing a side of him you never saw coming.

warnings: emotional and psychological manipulation, control and possessiveness, obsession, anxiety and mild distress, isolation and coercion, themes of entrapment wc: 14k

Your high school years hold some of your best memories. You were young, maybe a little naïve, but you enjoyed every moment. You met friends who stuck with you through the ups and downs, creating memories that stayed with you.

Some friendships lasted, while others naturally faded over time. But out of all the people from your past, the last person you expected to return was Jeon Jungkook.

“I really want to drive you home, but I thought you might have your car with you.” He glances at you, a slight smile tugging at his lips as he bites his bottom one.

You catch the gesture, a smile of your own creeping up before you glance back at the office building.

He’s a new investor in the company you’re working for, and the funny thing is, you met him in the meeting, with no heads-up that he was the person you’d be negotiating with.

Back in high school, you would’ve called him a lost puppy; out of place, unsure. He had just moved from South Korea with his family, thrown into a world of unfamiliar faces and an unfamiliar language. He tried, really tried, but somehow, nothing ever quite fit.

He wasn’t a natural at blending in, and the harder he pushed, the more obvious it became that he just didn’t belong.

But you did. You were the one who made him feel like he could stay like he was already part of something. You made sure he never had to face the feeling of being lost alone.

“I might get embarrassed for saying this, but... I don’t have a car.” You say it so casually, you can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a laugh. His face lights up almost instantly.

“Well, that’s good news for me, because I can drive you home.” He grins, and you can’t help but to chuckle.

Comparing him now to his high school self? It’s almost unrecognizable. From his new confidence to the way he holds himself, he’s changed. Completely. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy. But then again, you were there at the meeting. 

The one thing that hasn’t changed? The way he feels familiar. Comfortable. Even after all these years apart, that sense of ease with him hasn’t gone anywhere. 

It’s almost laughable to think back on Jungkook who once barely spoke in class, who could barely look anyone in the eye. The same Jungkook who now talks business with the Chief Finance Officer of the country’s biggest infrastructure company; and he’s an investor. An investor. You read the reports. From the looks of it, he’s about to become one of the company’s largest backers. You’re still wrapping your mind around it. What exactly does he do now?

Jungkook left after high school. No warning. No goodbye. Just... gone. You tried searching for him, trying to catch some trace of him online, but even his barely-used social media vanished. After a year of wondering what happened, you eventually gave up. Maybe that was his choice all along.

But you can’t shake the thought: Did you ever really become his friend? Did you make him feel like he belonged, like he had a place? You thought you had, but it’s hard to tell. Maybe it never felt the same to him.

And now, as he stands before you, all those unanswered questions bubble up. So many things you want to ask, but you don’t even know where to begin.

You admit that part of you feels a little hurt, like maybe your friendship meant nothing to him. But that feeling? It’s faded. You were young and confused back then. It doesn’t matter now. You know, deep down, he had his reasons for disappearing. And that’s enough for you.

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N.” He says it casually, but there’s warmth behind the words. You glance at him as he drives, a small smile on his face, his attention fully on the road. You can’t help but notice how much he’s changed. It’s not just his look; it’s everything about him now. The confidence he exudes to the ease in his posture. This isn’t the same Jungkook from high school. He used to shy away from meeting your gaze for more than a few seconds, and now, you can hardly believe he’s the one offering you a ride home. Back in high school, it was you who’d offer to walk him home whenever your other friends couldn’t.

“You too,” you reply, smiling back, still watching him.

He doesn’t speak after that, and you both settle in silence as the car hums along the road. There’s something comforting about the silence. No awkwardness, no tension, just his presence beside you. It feels easy.

After a while, you break the silence. “How have you been?” The words come out before you can second-guess yourself. You didn’t want the quiet to stretch on, and this might be your only chance to check up on him.

“I’m good,” he replies, his tone flat but steady. You expected that. It’s the default answer people give when asked how they’re doing. But you were hoping for something more. Something real.

You don’t push for more. Maybe this is all he’s willing to share. But just as you're about to settle back into your thoughts, his voice breaks through.

“I missed you.”

The words hang in the air. His eyes seem far away, like he’s seeing something just beyond reach. The warmth around him has shifted, and for a moment, the easy atmosphere between you both feels heavier.

“Yeah, me too, Kook,” you say softly, offering a small smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I just wish you’d tell me more about how you’ve been.”

The car rolls up to your apartment building, the conversation trailing off as you prepare to get out. You almost feel like you should’ve said more, but before you can even voice your thoughts, he speaks again.

“Do you have anything to do tomorrow evening?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden question. He smirks, amused by your surprise, but before he can say anything else, you cut him off.

“None. Why?” you ask, trying to play it cool, as if you don’t know the answer.

“I was hoping to take you out for dinner, Y/N. It’s been years, and I know I owe you an apology and an explanation.”

You purse your lips, but you fight the smile, pretending to be annoyed. “Good that you know.”

He chuckles, and without another word, he steps out to open the door for you.

The dinner went exactly as planned. It’s Saturday night, and you’re still in disbelief that you’re sitting across from Jungkook after a decade, the same familiar ease between you both. The bond hasn’t shifted; it feels just like it did back then. Can that really be possible?

You never expected that, in a series of random days, you'd reconnect with your long-lost friend and pick up right where you left off, surprisingly comfortable, like no time had passed at all.

To sum up his story, Jungkook left the country a week after graduation due to family matters. He didn’t get into the details, just mentioned family and wealth, and honestly, you didn’t push for more. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here, now.

“Investing? That’s it?” you asked casually, curious about his line of work as you took a sip of your wine.

“Yeah. Why? You sound like you’re doubting me,” he said, narrowing his eyes playfully as he cut into his steak. You quickly shook your head, laughing.

“No, no— I’m not doubting you. It’s just... how do you just invest in a company? What else do you do?”

His lips twitched as if holding back a laugh before he took a bite of his steak.

“With me, it’s possible.”

It’s amazing how much had changed for him. From his fluent English to how smoothly he communicated, he had a way of speaking now; confident and clear. He knew what to talk about and when to hold back. He even went into detail about his business, explaining how he went from nothing to having it all. Apparently, he’s rich rich.

It still blows your mind. He doesn’t just invest locally, but globally, with major stakes in several countries. One of his biggest investments? A multinational tech company in the USA. You googled his name later, and the results were overwhelming; articles, interviews, and profiles. It hit you then: you had no idea.

“I saw Jungkook recently. He’s freaking rich!” you said during a video call with your high school friends on a random Friday evening.

“Oh my god, you did? I thought you knew, Y/N. He’s always in the business news!” Mina, your entrepreneur friend, exclaimed.

“Yeah, I thought you knew too, since you were close to him,” Chloe added as she applied her makeup.

“I would’ve known if you told me,” you said, sarcastically. They all laughed, including Henry, the only guy in your friend group.

They all knew Jungkook, but they were never really close to him. But you try to get them to hang out with him. It was hard, though. He never seemed to fit in with anyone else. He wasn’t exactly open to making friends outside of you.

You didn’t mind being his only friend, but there were times you wished you could hang out with your whole circle without worrying about leaving him alone. You can’t stomach seeing him being alone.

Your first dinner with him turned into another, and then another, until it reached a point where you were seeing him almost every day. Well, it makes sense. He has back-to-back meetings with the CEO and CFO, all to discuss investment deals and company performance. You were shocked when you found out he’d become one of the company’s major shareholders. But, honestly, you shouldn’t have been surprised. With his global investments, your company was just one of many he had stakes in.

You’ve sat through countless meetings with him, being the Investor Relations Analyst, but what truly catches you off guard is how he shifts between playful and serious. Outside the boardroom, he’s relaxed and fun, but the moment he steps into the business world, he’s a different beast; focused, no-nonsense, and damn good at what he does.

“I still can’t believe how different you are in the boardroom. Your 17-year-old self must be so proud,” you joked one time when he invited you over for dinner at his place. You had to add, his “place” wasn’t just any apartment. It was a goddamn penthouse, bigger than your office floor.

His penthouse is airy, with massive windows letting in all the natural light and giving a breathtaking view of the city below. The furniture is minimal; soft neutrals, a simple sofa, a coffee table, and a few essentials. But none of that matters because you can’t wrap your head around how massive his place is.

It’s your third time visiting, and you still haven’t gotten used to how much wealth he’s surrounded by. Back in high school, you knew he had a solid life, but this, this level of luxury? You never imagined it. Sure, his family’s wealth played a part, but it was his own hustle that built the wealth he’s sitting on now. He mentioned once that part of the reason he went back to Korea was for his family’s business, but he didn’t go into detail.

“You really can’t stop talking about how different I am now, can you?” he teased as he smiled, removing his coat and loosening his tie. Both of you came straight from the meeting, and here you were again, in his penthouse. You shook your head, unable to stop smiling. 

“You’ve definitely changed,” you shrugged playfully as he walked to the kitchen island to prep dinner. 

“I plan to cook kimchi stew. You mentioned that you want me to cook it again.” he said, pulling out the ingredients one by one.

“Ah, you remembered,” you smiled, feeling a bit giddy. “Do you need help?”

He flashed that smile of his, shaking his head. “Nah. You relax. Dinner’s on me.”

“I really do want to help, though,” you said, walking over to him. “You always cook for us.”

He stared at you for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips, before nodding and grabbing the tofu and green onions.

“Alright, fine,” he chuckled. “You can slice these.” He placed them on the counter, then grabbed an apron and slowly slipped it over your head.

Your heart started to race, feeling the warmth of his hands as they adjusted the straps around your back. You barely breathed as he tied the apron, feeling like an electric current shot through you when his hand grazed your skin.

“While you do that, I’ll prepare the kimchi,” he said, turning around with a grin before walking to the fridge.

With his back to you, as he chopped the kimchi, you were frozen. You could feel your heart hammering, and your stomach doing flips, but you couldn’t move an inch. What the hell was happening to you?

There’s this strange flutter in your stomach, something you can’t quite put into words. You don’t move, not until he finally glances back at you. You flash a quick, awkward smile, trying to shake off the odd tension before turning your focus to the tofu, hoping it’ll distract you from the feeling you can't shake.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Henry’s birthday party was in full swing at one of the biggest clubs in the city. Nothing new there. Clubbing was pretty much a tradition whenever you and your friends had extra cash to burn. The last time you went was a work event, which sucked because most of your coworkers were too old to actually enjoy the club. Tonight, though? Different story. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and you were exactly where you wanted to be; wrapped around Chloe’s shoulder, screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs.

Feeling a bit worn out, you drop into a seat, chugging your drink while mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Three messages from Jungkook. One missed call.

Jungkook: Wanna have dinner tonight? We can do it at your place since you’re fussing about me not visiting your place hahaha

Jungkook: Heyyy?

Jungkook: Oh, I didn’t know you were with your friends. Sorry to bother you.

Shit. You checked the timestamps, first message at 7 PM, second at 9 PM, and the last one just fifteen minutes ago. The missed call? Right after the second text.

How did he even know you were out? You clicked on your Instagram story. Viewed. Of course.

You quickly typed out a response, apologizing for not replying sooner.

Jungkook: No worries, Y/N 🙂

That’s when it hit you, almost everyone from high school was here, even the ones who barely talked to Henry. But Jungkook wasn’t. You scanned the crowd before glancing back at your phone, staring at his last message.

Should you feel bad? Maybe. He used to hang out with your group sometimes, but Henry was the one throwing the party. You couldn’t exactly tell him who to invite. Still, a small part of you felt guilty. Jungkook had been a part of your high school life, and it felt weird that he wasn’t here too.

“Y/N, what’s up with you? You’re spacing out,” Mina suddenly appeared beside you.

“Nothing,” you said, forcing a smile.

She peeked at your phone. “Who are you texting?”

“No one, just reading a message from Jungkook,” you answered, locking your screen. “By the way, did Henry invite everyone from high school?”

Mina shrugged. “I guess?” 

“Did he invite Jungkook?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

Mina chimed in, laughing. “Girl, he’s a fucking millionaire. You really think he has time for this?”

Your jaw tightened. “You guys used to hang out with him at least once.”

She raised a brow. “Then ask Henry, not me.” She patted your back before disappearing into the crowd.

You sighed, staring at Jungkook’s last message. Maybe Mina was right. He probably didn’t care about not being invited. He had more important things to do than go clubbing with his former high school classmates. But another part of you wasn’t so sure.

Your phone buzzed again.

Jungkook: You must be having fun, leaving me on read hahaha

Oh, fuck.

You: Hahaha I’m sorry. I’m trying to sober up. What are you doing

Jungkook: You’re drunk already? Who are you going home with?

You: I’m good haha I’m going home with my friends. Let’s have dinner tomorrow.

Jungkook: How are you going home with them if they’re also drunk?

You weren’t drunk, just tipsy. But if Jungkook thought you were drunk, then maybe you’d actually get drunk trying to prove otherwise.

Jungkook: Do you want me to fetch you?

You: It’s okay, Kook. I can manage. My friends aren’t drunk. We’re fine.

No reply. You reread your messages, sipping your whiskey, assuming he’d drop it. But then—

Jungkook: I’ll go there and wait until you’re done so I can drive you home.

Your stomach did a weird flip. You don’t know what or how to feel. There are a lot of thoughts that are running in your head and you don’t know what to entertain first.

It had been almost a year since you started hanging out again, and you weren’t going to lie, you liked the way he looked after you. How he always checked in, insisted on driving you so you wouldn’t have to take the bus, how he cooked for you without you even asking. Hell, you’d eat anything he made, even dishes you normally hated. There was something about his effort, his presence, that made your heart race just a little.

And now, he was coming to pick you up.

But then there was the other part, the part where he’d be stepping into a club full of his old high school classmates who didn’t even think to invite him. It didn’t sit right with you. If he came here, would it remind him of how things used to be? Would it make him feel out of place?

There was no way in hell you were going to make him wait around for you to finish partying in a place he should’ve been invited to in the first place.

You took a deep breath and texted back:

You: Okay.

Then you locked your phone, downed the rest of your drink, and got up to rejoin your friends. Might as well enjoy the last few moments before Jungkook arrived.

“I have to go soon, Henry,” you lied. “Charlie’s home. He might wake up looking for me.” You added, using your nephew as an excuse. 

Henry frowned. “You never said you were babysitting tonight. That sucks. I’ll grab my keys and—”

You cut him off. “No need. Jungkook’s driving me home.”

Henry stopped, then smirked. “Wow. Are you dating him already? You should’ve invited him.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re the birthday boy. That was your job, not mine.”

The moment your friends heard you were leaving, they wasted no time plotting your downfall. Before you could even argue, Henry was in front of you, bottle in hand, while Chloe grabbed your head like a coach hyping up their star player, and Mina? She was already recording.

"One last shot! Well, bottle, for the road!" Henry announced, grinning like a devil.

You groaned, but resistance was pointless. The moment the bottle tilted, the cheers erupted around you. The burn hit instantly, but damn, it felt good. Who knew last-minute drinking could be this satisfying?

It only took Jungkook 15 minutes to get there. As soon as he texted that he’d arrived, you wasted no time saying your goodbyes. You didn’t really want to leave yet, but making him wait for the party to end at 6 a.m. wasn’t an option. It was barely 1 a.m., and the night was just getting started, but you weren’t about to let him stand around outside just for your sake.

Stepping out of the club, the pounding bass faded behind you, but the street was still alive with music, neon lights, and crowds spilling out of bars. It was a Saturday night, prime time for people to party, and leaving early kind of sucked.

You hadn’t even replied to Jungkook’s last message, but it wasn’t hard to spot him. He was leaning against his car, parked right in front of the club, eyes glued to his phone. Just as you were about to call out to him, your phone buzzed. His name lit up the screen.

The moment he heard the ringtone, he looked up, and when his eyes landed on you, his whole face lit up, his smile stretching wide. You laughed, shaking your head. This man.

“Did you miss me that much?” you teased, walking over.

“You weren’t answering my texts,” he shot back, grinning as he slipped his phone into his back pocket.

“I figured I’d just answer you in person,” you said with a chuckle, opening the passenger door. “Let’s go?”

“Wait, you’re actually done for the night?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I sobered up, and I’m not really in the mood to drink anymore, so I might as well head home,” you shrugged before sliding into the car.

“You sure? Henry might be pissed you’re leaving early,” he said, settling into the driver’s seat.

“Nah, trust me, he won’t,” you laughed, clicking your seatbelt.

Jungkook reached behind his seat and pulled out a bottle of water, twisting off the cap before handing it to you.

“Here. Drink some water. Stay hydrated.” He gave you a small smile, and for some reason, it completely threw you off. You should take the water, but your body wouldn’t budge. Your fingers twitched, and your mind screamed at you to move, but all you could do was stare, caught in the moment, caught in him.

And before you could think twice, you leaned in.

His lips met yours, warm and soft, and everything else faded. A little water spilled from the bottle onto your thigh, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the way he felt against you, the way your heart pounded like a drum in your chest.

Your head swayed slightly, the tequila still messing with your balance, but you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or just the way his lips tasted.

Then it hit you.

Your eyes snapped open, and you jerked back, hand flying to your mouth.

“Shit—sorry—”

Before you even finished your sentence, he pulled you towards him, pressing his lips on yours. He pulled you so close, his hand wrapped around your nape, gently holding you in place, and you melted into the kiss, closing your eyes.

His lips moved against yours hungrily, and the realization sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers found their way to his hair, gripping it lightly. 

Jungkook broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he leaned his forehead against yours. His fingers found the back of your head, his touch so gentle that it sent shivers down your spine.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, as you shook your head. 

“I should be the one saying sorry.” You chuckled a little. He smiled, rubbing your cheek gently with his thumb. 

He leaned in, his lips grazing yours before he claimed your lips in a slow, sensual kiss. It was different from the previous ones, more controlled yet passionate. His free hand moved to cup your face, his fingers tracing small circles on your cheek, and you felt your body melt into his touch.

Everything blurred together in a rush, you were in the car, and the next, the city lights flickered past as Jungkook drove in silence. It wasn’t until he pulled into a familiar parking garage that reality sank in.

You were supposed to be heading home, but instead, you found yourself in front of his apartment building. 

Maybe his place was closer to the club. It made sense.

Jungkook parked the car in the underground parking lot of his apartment building, the engine purring to a stop. You were both panting heavily, the atmosphere inside the car was filled with tension. He turned to look at you, his gaze intense and darkened with desire.

"We should go upstairs." He said softly.

As soon as the door slams shut behind them, Jungkook pulls you close, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Your bodies are pressed up against each other, and the heat between you is intense.

He kisses you hungrily, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he backs you up against the wall. Your fingers clutch at his shirt, removing the fabric in your grip as you try to bring him even closer.

Then he breaks the kiss, his breathing heavy as he leans his forehead against yours.

He took a deep breath, his fingers still gripping your hips tightly. His eyes roamed your face, taking in every detail, and his gaze fixed on your eyes.

“I like you, Y/N. Even before.” He said, almost sounding like a whisper, but it sounded so clear. 

With a swift motion, he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. You were surprised at the sudden movement, but he held you tightly. He carried you towards the living room, his lips finding your neck as he continued to press hot kisses on your skin.

His apartment windows stretched across the room, but the city lights outside barely reached in, leaving most of the space cloaked in shadow.

He gently placed you on the couch, his body lingers above yours, arms locking you in.

His lips found yours again, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he couldn't get enough of you. His body pressed against yours, leaving no space between you, and you could feel the heat radiating from him.

Your fingers gripped his biceps, your nails biting into his flesh as you tried to hold back the sounds threatening to escape your lips. His mouth continued to explore your neck, his kisses and gentle bites sending waves of pleasure through you.

Jungkook quickly removed your dress before pushing you back onto the couch and capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Your hands roamed freely along each other's bodies, as he trailed kisses down your neck.

You couldn’t quite piece together the exact steps you took to end up here, but damn, you weren’t complaining. Everything felt perfect, from the way he touched you to the way he spoke to you. And even as your mind wandered, wondering if you'd regret any of it later, you shoved that thought aside. For now, you were savoring every single moment.

You woke up to sunlight streaming through the window, too bright, almost blinding. You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep, only to realize that this wasn’t your room. You didn’t need to check to know exactly where you were. The familiar warmth beside you told you everything you needed to know.

Your gaze lingered on him. Jungkook, still asleep, lying on his stomach. Both of you were tangled under a duvet, skin against skin, the night’s events replaying in your mind. It had been unexpected, but you weren’t regretting it. Not one bit. Out of all the men in your life, he was the one who’d made you feel truly at ease during the most intimate moment.

You couldn’t stop thinking about what he said last night. His words still echoed in your ears.

“I like you, Y/N.”

You reached out, gently brushing his hair, feeling the smooth strands between your fingers. You couldn’t help but feel a little foolish for not noticing how he’d felt before, but now, it didn’t matter. You weren’t going to waste time overanalyzing his feelings.

But damn, if you had known sooner...

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Would you have really done things differently? Probably not. Maybe back in high school, there was nothing there. But now? With how ridiculously handsome and damn near perfect he looked? Hell, you couldn’t deny it.

Life is simple, and so is your relationship with Jungkook.

After that night, there was no overthinking, no awkward tension. You both just went with it. Dating him felt natural, almost effortless. And let’s be real, you weren’t about to let him fuck you if it wasn’t going to lead somewhere.

It still blows your mind how much things have changed in just a year. You reconnected with an old high school friend, found out he’s stupidly rich, and now? You’re dating him. 

You thought dating Jungkook wouldn’t feel much different from being his friend, but damn, you were wrong. In the best way possible.

Every morning, without fail, he texts you a sweet “good morning,” even when he’s miles away on a business trip. He brings you little gifts just because, takes you out on weekly dates, and surprises you with flowers for no reason at all. Even when he’s drowning in work, he always makes time for you, whether it’s at his place or yours. And most especially, he really knows how to make you feel good. He already knows what you love to do and what’s not. He knows when to stop and when to go on. Sometimes, he feels so perfect that you catch yourself wondering if he’s even real.

One morning, after spending the night at his place (which, at this point, is almost every night), you wake up to the soft press of his lips against your skin.

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing your cheek.

You mumble a sleepy, “Morning.”

“I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He peppers kisses along your face, neck, and arms.

You groan a little, still half-asleep, but you knew this was coming. He’s heading to a business conference out of town, just for the day, but it still sucks that he’s leaving on your day off. You had already planned to head back to your own place anyway, clean up, and maybe just exist in your own space for a while.

“Mm-kay,” you mumble, trying to bury yourself back into the sheets. But Jungkook, being Jungkook, doesn’t stop kissing you, making it impossible to stay asleep. You finally cracked an eye open, shooting him an annoyed look, and making him laugh.

“You should wake up now. I made you breakfast. Eat before it gets cold,” he says, dropping a kiss on your forehead before heading toward the door. “Bye, love. I love you.”

Still groggy, you nod. “I love you too. Take care.”

Once he’s gone, you follow through with your plan, breakfast, then heading home.

The second you step inside your apartment, it’s painfully obvious you haven’t been around much. It smells like it’s been abandoned, and the state of it isn’t much better—clothes piled on your bed, untouched documents scattered across the dining table. A mess, but a familiar one.

As much as you love staying with Jungkook, there’s something comforting about being in your own space. No one to answer to, no one to accommodate, just you, doing whatever the hell you want. Jungkook has asked you to move in with him more times than you can count, but you always say no. Not because you don’t love being with him, but because you love having a place that’s yours. A space to retreat to when you just need to be alone.

The only thing you hadn’t planned for today was your friends ambushing you with an invite to go out tonight.

Your friend group never really schedules hangouts; it just sort of happens. You could go weeks, even a month, without a single message, and then, out of nowhere, someone’s in the mood for a drink or dinner, and suddenly, it’s a plan. Not everyone always makes it, of course. Life gets in the way. But when the stars align and most of you are free, you all try your best to show up.

"Come on, Y/N," Mina whined through the phone. "The last time we saw you was four months ago. And don’t even try to make excuses, you literally just said you’re at home."

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the couch. "Mina, I just spent all day cleaning. I’m exhausted."

"Then we’ll just invite ourselves over!" She laughed, knowing exactly how to push your buttons.

"What the hell, no! I’m not letting you guys trash my place after I spent the whole day making it spotless!"

"Then get dressed and come out with us!" she shot back. "Dinner and drinks. We miss you."

She wasn’t wrong. You missed them too. You’d skipped out on a lot of meet-ups lately—not intentionally, but between work and, well, spending nearly all your free time with Jungkook, your social life had definitely taken a hit. The only time you weren’t with him was when you were at the office.

So, after some back and forth, you gave in. You sent Jungkook a quick text letting him know you were heading out with your friends, though he hadn’t responded yet. He was probably still busy with his conference.

Now, almost 9 p.m., you were sitting in a pub downtown, catching up with your friends over drinks. The place was buzzing with weekend energy, and despite the last-minute plans, it felt good to be here.

“Even though I try to convince myself that we still have something left, I just don’t feel it anymore,” Chloe admitted, swirling her drink in her hand. The conversation had taken a turn toward her struggling relationship. Everyone listened intently.

“We’ve both gotten so caught up in our own responsibilities that we barely connect anymore," she continued, her voice even, like she had already made peace with it.

You studied her face, searching for some sign of heartbreak, but she just looked… tired. Maybe even indifferent.

Chloe was a fashion model, and her boyfriend was a marine engineer. Their lives had been moving in different directions for a while now. The long distance, the fading feelings, it had all been dragging on for too long.

“If you’re not happy, why stay?” Mina asked, echoing what everyone was probably thinking. "This has been going on for two years, Chloe. Maybe it’s time to let go. We’re not getting any younger."

The weight of the conversation made you pause.

It got you thinking about Jungkook. About your relationship.

You’d been with him for half a year now, and honestly, things had been good. No major problems, no doubts. Just happiness. Just him.

But how long would it stay that way?

What would your problems even be? What could you possibly fight about? Could your love for him fade the way Chloe’s did for her boyfriend?

The thought unsettled you.

Before you could get lost in it, your phone rang. The table fell silent as everyone glanced at you. You quickly grabbed it, checking the caller ID.

Jungkook.

You excused yourself and stepped outside, pressing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, Kook," you greeted softly, staring down at your feet.

“You’re out?” His voice was calm, but there was something off about it.

"I sent you a message," you said, glancing through the pub’s window at your friends. "I’m with my friends."

“I’m at your place.”

Your breath hitched. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow?"

"The conference ended at seven. I decided to drive back instead of staying overnight." His tone was flat, unreadable.

“Oh.” You fidgeted with the hem of your top.

“I came straight to your apartment, thinking you’d be there,” he added. “But you weren’t.”

You hesitated. "Mina invited us out. It was last minute, but everyone was free, so…"

"I didn’t see your message until I got here."

You weren’t sure where this was going, but before you could say anything, he spoke again.

"Are you heading home soon?" His voice was calm, but you could sense the impatience laced within it.

"I'm… not sure," you admitted, just as Henry stepped outside, lighting a cigarette. 

"Who are you talking to?" Henry asked casually.

"Jungkook," you said, turning your back to him. “I think we’ll end at ten or eleven. Depends on their mood.” You added to Jungkook.

Henry took a drag of his cigarette, chuckling. "Chloe wants to go clubbing after this. We’ll probably be out past eleven."

You shot him an annoyed look. "Move away. I don’t want to inhale your cigarette."

He just laughed, stepping back into the pub.

"I'm not sure what time this will end," you told Jungkook. "If you want, you can rest in my room. I just cleaned everything." You tried to lighten the mood, but he sighed on the other end.

“Y/N, it’s late. You should rest. You’ve had a long day.”

His voice was gentle, but something about it felt off.

"I’ll be home before eleven," you promised. "You should rest too."

“I’ll just pick you up.”

You blinked. "No, it’s fine. Henry said he’d drive me home."

Silence. Then—

“Really?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

You frowned. "What?"

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t sit right with me. The idea of you letting another man drive you home while your boyfriend is literally waiting at your place.”

You sighed, frustration creeping in. "Jungkook, it’s Henry. You know him."

"Okay then," he said, the edge in his voice sharp enough to cut. "I’ll just rest. Bye."

And then he hung up.

You stared at your phone, stunned.

The hell was that?

Jungkook was never the jealous type. He knew Henry. He knew there was nothing between you two. So why was he suddenly acting like this?

Maybe he was just exhausted. After all, he’d driven almost four hours straight after a long business trip.

Still, something about that call left you uneasy.

As soon as you stepped back inside, you grabbed your things and announced, “Jungkook’s at my place. He’s looking for me.”

Your friends exchanged glances, and their curiosity arose.

Mina gently grabbed your wrist, stopping you mid-motion. “Then let him wait. I thought he was out of town for business?”

“He went home right after,” you replied.

Henry took a slow sip of his beer before butting in. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re running off.”

Chloe narrowed her eyes. “Did you two fight?”

You shook your head a little too quickly. “I just really need to go.”

Mina arched a brow, arms crossed. “So, you’re just leaving? Again? You did the same thing last time when you said you were coming over, but surprise, Jungkook had plans, and we never saw you.” 

You flinched at her words because, well… she wasn’t wrong. You had bailed on them before, not intentionally, but it still happened.

“I know, and I apologized,” you said, voice softer now.

Mina scoffed. “Right, and now you’re ditching us again?” 

You hesitated. A part of you wanted to stay, but what was the point if your mind was already elsewhere? Jungkook was at your place, waiting. And the way he sounded earlier… something felt off. You wouldn’t be able to enjoy yourself knowing that.

“I’m sorry. I swear I’ll make it up to you,” you said, rushing to press a quick kiss on their cheeks before grabbing your things.

Henry even offered to drive you home, but you shut that down immediately. No way in hell were you making things worse.

You tried calling Jungkook and then texting, but he didn’t answer. Not even once.

Did he stay? Did he leave? Was he sleeping or ignoring you on purpose?

You had no idea. All you knew was that you needed to get home. Fast.

The moment you step inside your apartment, you don’t need any grand gestures to tell you Jungkook is here. His shoes are neatly tucked in the corner and his coat draped over the couch’s hand rest.

You opened the lights, scanning the room, but you already know where he is. Your bedroom door is closed, and something in the air tells you he’s behind it.

For a moment, you hesitate. Then, without overthinking, you twist the doorknob and step inside.

There he is.

Stretched out on your bed, sound asleep. The bed that fits you just right somehow looks too small with him in it, his presence making the room feel both full and impossibly small. A soft glow from your bedside lamp casts delicate shadows across his face, highlighting his perfect features.

You step closer and notice he’s already changed into the clothes he keeps here, a reminder of how often your space has become his, too. Whenever you choose to stay here, he chooses to stay with you.

You can feel the shift in the air before he even stirs. After watching him sleep for a few quiet moments, he moves, his eyes fluttering open and landing on you almost instantly.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" you ask softly.

He sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before shaking his head. "You’re back? I thought you were staying out longer." His voice is low and laced with sleep, but as he stands to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, you search his expression for any lingering annoyance. He seems calm now, so maybe whatever tension was there before has faded.

"You wanted me to come home, right?" You meet his gaze, trying to read him.

"Yeah, but if you really wanted to stay out, you didn’t have to leave early," he replies easily.

"But you wanted me home," you counter, brows slightly furrowed.

"I did. But I didn’t force you, did I? I told you I’d rest, and I did." His tone is matter-of-fact, like the answer is obvious.

"Then why did you sound so irritated? You didn’t force me, sure, but you acted like you were pissed." You pull back, doing your best to keep your voice steady.

"I'm not irritated. I'm just worried that you were out late and I wasn’t around. That’s it."

And now, his tone says otherwise.

You just stare at him, at the way his frustration lingers in the air, thick and heavy. The whole situation is fucked, and you don’t even know how to respond.

You want to be mad, but you can’t figure out if you even have a reason to be. You want to walk out, slam the door behind you, let him deal with whatever this is on his own. But you don’t move.

You just stand there. Watching. Waiting.

After a moment, he lets out a breath, his shoulders easing. When he meets your eyes again, the tension between you starts to fade.

Without another word, he steps forward, closing the space between you. His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you in as his warmth.

His lips find your neck, brushing against it before pressing soft kisses along your skin, his grip tightens around you.

"Look, I’m sorry, Y/N," he murmurs against your skin. "I’m just tired. And when I got home, all I wanted was to see you, but you weren’t here."

Another kiss. Then another. 

That night was filled with quiet embraces and soft kisses. You let him hold you until sleep takes over, as if the tension from earlier had never existed.

A lingering thought sits at the back of your mind, something unspoken, but you push it aside, choosing to sleep it away.

By the next day, everything falls back into place. No more arguments, no tension, just the usual life of being with him in his space. You had worried that the disagreement might leave a crack, but just like you, he let it go.

You find yourself falling for him even more. Not just for the way he listens, but for how he truly understands you. For the way he always makes sure you're okay, making life with him feel effortless.

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and with every passing moment, your love for him only deepens. It still feels surreal, to have someone like Jungkook; a man who loves you in all the right ways. A man so close to perfect, you struggle to find a single flaw. It sounds almost too good to be true, yet here you are, living it.

But perfection is an illusion. No one is truly flawless. Sometimes, love makes you see only what you want to see, painting over imperfections with rose-colored strokes. Maybe it’s because you love him so much that you’ve convinced yourself he’s perfect. Maybe, without realizing it, you’ve chosen not to notice the flaws.

You take a deep breath, eyes lingering on Chloe’s Instagram story. A picture of her, Mina, and Henry on the hiking trip you had all planned together. A trip you were supposed to be on. It had been set in since last year, but in the end, you stayed behind. Because Jungkook didn’t want you to go.

As much as you hate to admit it, it frustrates you. He had brushed it off as concern, calling it too dangerous, even though the trail was a well-known tourist spot with guides and safety measures in place. You hadn’t even asked for his permission, just informed him of your plans, but he shut it down anyway. And that sucked.

But you didn’t push. The moment you sensed his growing irritation, you backed off, not wanting to turn it into something bigger.

“It’s okay, love. We’ll plan a hiking trip together. I just don’t want you going without me, I’d go insane worrying about you,” Is the only thing he says before he showers you with kisses.

To be fair, he did follow through. A week after your friends went, he took you on your own hiking trip, just the two of you. It wasn’t the same trail, but the effort was there, and you genuinely appreciated it. Still, no matter how much you tried to shake it, a part of you couldn’t ignore the longing in your chest, the part that wished you had gone with them.

It was a Tuesday afternoon in the thick of summer when your phone buzzed with a call from your father. He was asking you to come home for his birthday dinner. Of course, you hadn’t forgotten his special day, but the invitation itself was unexpected.

Your dad never really made a big deal out of his birthday. It was usually just him, your mom, and sometimes the kids—your sister's son and daughter. Sure, you’d been home to celebrate milestone birthdays like his 50th and 55th, but now he was only turning 57, and you were curious why he suddenly wanted you home for dinner.

The train ride would take two hours, but that wasn’t the issue. It was the thought of telling Jungkook. You hadn’t introduced him to your family yet, despite dating for a whole year. You wanted to, of course, but this was not the right time now that Jungkook was out of the country for business.

You really wanted to visit your dad for his birthday, but you weren’t sure if Jungkook would let you. 

Yeah, it sounds kind of messed up, but he’s been getting stricter about where you go, especially if it’s somewhere he’s not with you. They might suggest, "Why not just invite him?" But, of course, he’s out of the country right now, so that’s not even an option.

You thought about not telling him at all, but you knew you’d feel guilty. And if you were being honest, he’d find out eventually, somehow. He always did.

So, you decided to bite the bullet and just let him know you were heading home to celebrate with your dad. You sent a quick message, figuring it was easier than calling, especially since he was probably busy. Plus, you honestly didn’t want to deal with his reaction over the phone.

But, of course, he called you right after the message was sent.

“Yes, Kook?” You answered, nervously biting your nails.

“You said you’re going home for your dad’s birthday?” He asked, his voice laced with uncertainty as you tried to figure out his mood.

“Yeah, he called me out of nowhere for dinner tonight.” You replied, absentmindedly playing with your lips, hoping the casual tone would ease the tension.

“How are you getting there? I’ll be home tomorrow evening.”

“It’s fine. Just a train ride, nothing to worry about.”

You wanted to reassure him in a single breath; that you’d be fine, that it was safe, and if it got late, you could always stay overnight. But for some reason, the words wouldn’t come.

“Can’t you just go over the weekend? We could go together. You have work tomorrow anyway.” His voice held that familiar, persuasive tone, trying to talk you out of it.

“Today’s his birthday, and he asked me to be there.”

You wished you had more energy to push back, to explain how important it was to you, but honestly, if he didn’t want you to go, then whatever.

“Okay.”

His response caught you off guard, almost so much that you didn’t hear it at first.

“What?”

“You can go. It’s your dad’s birthday. I just want you to take care of yourself on the ride, okay?”

You paused, not quite believing what you were hearing. No argument? No complaints? You almost wondered if he was playing some mind game, letting you go without any resistance.

“Love, it’s your father. Of course, I’ll let you go. Sure, I’m worried about your safety, but I don’t want you to miss his birthday.”

You felt a mix of relief and confusion. So, you excitedly planned the trip, knowing you’d make it home to see your dad. You even considered staying over if it got too late, just to catch the first train back in the morning.

It had been years since you last saw your parents, the last visit being when they came to the city for a doctor’s appointment and to check up on you, of course.

Before heading home, you stopped by a few shops to pick out gifts—not just for your dad, but for the whole family. A little something for your mom, your sister, and of course, the biggest gifts went to your niece and nephew. You missed them, and choosing things that reminded you of them felt like a small way to show it.

The train ride was uneventful, quieter than usual, probably because it was just an ordinary weekday. As soon as you arrived, you were met with warm hugs and excited voices. You handed out the gifts—clothes, perfume, and a wristwatch for the adults, and toys for the little ones.

“I don’t even remember the last time I saw you!” your sister, Alice, said as you all gathered around the dining table.

You laughed, reaching for a serving of food. “I know. Last time I saw you, you weren’t this fit. Damn, what are you even taking?” you teased, watching her roll her eyes.

“Y/N, how have you been? How’s work?” your dad asked, cutting into his steak. Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, “I heard you’ve got a boyfriend now.”

Your mom chuckled, clearly amused.

“Work’s been good! Actually, I just got promoted and got a salary increase,” you said with a proud grin.

“Well, duh. That’s because your boyfriend is literally one of the major stakeholders,” Alice said, raising a knowing eyebrow while taking a bite of her food.

She wasn’t wrong. Even though she lived far away, you always kept in touch, and out of everyone, she was the one who knew the most about your relationship.

“Wow, he sounds like a big deal. Why didn’t you bring him?” your mom asked with a smile.

“He’s in France for a business trip,” you replied simply.

Half of the dinner conversation revolved around Jungkook. It felt good to talk about him, to say his name out loud in a space where you didn’t have to think too much about anything else. It reminded you why you loved him, why you chose to be with him. You usually only talked about him with Alice or Chloe. Mina and Henry, on the other hand, weren’t as eager to hear about him.

You knew why. They thought you had changed, that you’d become distant since you started dating Jungkook. And, well… they weren’t entirely wrong. You weren’t as available as you used to be. It wasn’t always because of Jungkook, but if you were being honest, a lot of the time, it was. Either you already had plans with him, or he just didn’t want you to go.

Sometimes, you wondered if that was normal. But every time the thought crossed your mind, you brushed it off before it could linger too long. Overthinking would only stress you out, and honestly, it was easier to just let it go.

As the evening passed, you felt completely at ease surrounded by your family. It had been so long since you’d had the chance to truly relax and catch up with everyone. Alice, living just a few blocks away, always stayed in the town with her husband while you ventured to the city. She had no need to move away, especially since her husband worked while she stayed home with the kids. You were happy for them, but you also missed these moments of simple, unhurried connection.

You were lounging on the couch when Alice walked in from the kitchen, holding her phone. She raised an eyebrow at you as she approached.

“Why aren’t you checking your phone? Jungkook called me, asking about you. He said you’ve been ignoring his calls.”

Oh shit.

Your stomach dropped. You’d completely forgotten about your phone. You scrambled off the couch, rushing to grab your bag from the dining room.

You pulled your phone out, and sure enough, Jungkook’s name flashed on the screen. Without wasting a second, you picked up the call.

“Love,” you said, your voice faltering just a little.

“Where the hell are you?” His voice was harsh, and instantly your heart started pounding.

You blinked, taken aback by his tone. “I’m at my parents’ house,” you said, trying to keep it calm.

“Then why the hell are you not answering your phone? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours! You didn’t even let me know if you made it there safely!” His words were sharp.

You winced at the force in his voice but tried to explain, “I’m sorry, I didn’t have time—”

“And what the fuck was that story you posted? You’re not at your parents’ house.” 

What the fuck?

Your stomach flipped. “What are you talking about? I’m with my parents. You even spoke to my sister, didn’t you?”

“I’m not stupid, Y/N. I know what you’re doing. God knows how you and she planned this to make me think you’re at your parents.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your breath caught in your throat.

Then it hit you. Your Instagram story. It was a story you reposted from Mina six hours ago, with Chloe and Henry. It was a photo from last week, but Mina had just posted it, and you thought it was cute enough to share.

“That was from last week, Jungkook,” you said, your voice ice-cold.

“Oh yeah? And how the hell are you gonna prove that? You’ve ignored me all night!” His voice had grown louder, angrier.

“Are you serious?! If I were doing something behind your back, I wouldn’t leave a damn trace!” you snapped, the frustration bubbling over.

“And when have I ever lied to you, huh?!” Your voice shook with anger. “Even when I know you won’t let me go, I still ask permission from you, like I’m some damn kid! I don’t have to do that, but I still do it because I love you!”

There was a pause, thick with tension, and you could hear his harsh breathing on the other end. After a beat, he spoke again, colder than before.

“Prove it. Prove it to me, Y/N.” He said, provoking you.

You could feel your chest tightening, the anger in you rising. “I’m not proving anything to you, Jeon,” you hissed, the words slipping from your mouth before you could stop them.

You hung up without saying anything else, your fingers shaking as you looked at the screen. Leaning against the wall, you took deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. You couldn’t believe what had just happened. The anger was there, but it was the growing unease that made your heart beat faster.

Before you can even process what just happened, your phone starts ringing again. His name flashes on the screen, but you don’t hesitate; you shut it off and shove it into your bag. 

Alice steps into the kitchen, her eyes scanning your face with concern. “What was that?” she asks, gently rubbing your back.

You straighten up, hands on your hips, exhaling as you stare at the ceiling. Before you can answer, Alice’s phone buzzes in her hand. She holds it up, showing you the screen. Your stomach twists at the familiar number. Unregistered, but you already know exactly who it is.

“Block him, Alice,” you say, your voice firm. Without hesitation, she does.

“What happened? We heard you arguing with him,” she asks, her voice low.

With your frustration, you pull out a chair at the dining table and sink into it, burying your face in your hands. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering anger. “The audacity to call me a liar,” you mutter.

You’ve always listened to him. Let him have a say in your decisions. Let him decide when and where you can go. Let him tell you what’s best. You’ve given him control over so much of your life, and yet he still finds a reason to doubt you.

How messed up is that?

He didn’t even stop to talk things through. Just jumped straight to accusations. No hesitation, no second-guessing; just straight-up assuming the worst.

And the worst part? It’s your dad’s birthday. Instead of enjoying the night with your family, you’re sitting here, fuming over an argument that never should’ve happened in the first place. Over words, you never thought he’d say.

But maybe… maybe this is your fault too.

If you had just let him know when you arrived. If you had updated him like he always asks. If you hadn’t reposted that stupid story from Mina; one that, to him, made it look like you weren’t where you said you’d be.

And the worst thing? He doesn’t even know you actually did see them that day. It was just a quick visit to Mina’s apartment, barely an hour. Not a big deal. Not something worth mentioning.

Still, even if you messed up, does that really justify him doubting you like this? Assuming the worst without even asking?

You know you’re not perfect, but you also know one thing for sure; you would never do what he’s accusing you of. Not in a million years.

You decided to spend the night at your parents’ house. Even Alice stayed, not wanting to leave you alone with your thoughts. Going back to your place, where silence would only make things worse, wasn’t an option. At least here, you had distractions; family, conversation, anything to keep your mind from spiraling.

Before everything with Jungkook happened, you had planned to catch the earliest trip home so you could make it to work. But after that argument, there was no way. The idea of facing a normal day felt impossible. You sent in a sick leave request instead.

Alice slid a glass of beer toward you, watching as you picked it up. “Are you living with him now?” she asked, her tone casual but laced with curiosity.

You rolled your eyes before taking a sip. “I told you not to bring him up.”

“I’m just asking. You always say you barely sleep at your own place.”

She had a point. And she had also convinced you to drink with her, claiming it’d help lighten your mood. You weren’t exactly feeling up for it, but she was persistent, and since you weren’t going to work tomorrow, so you figured, why not?

“I stay at his place a lot, but I still go home whenever I want.”

Alice snorted. “That’s literally just living together, but with extra steps.”

“It’s not if I still have my own apartment.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She smirked, then grabbed her phone, scrolling for a song. As music filled the space, she glanced at you again. “You know, from what you’ve told me, he seems nice. But still… be careful. No matter how long you’ve been with someone, you never really know them.”

She wasn’t wrong.

It had only been two years since you reconnected with Jungkook. It felt like a long time, but was it enough to really know who he was?

Now that you thought about it, there was a lot you didn’t know.

His job? You knew he dealt with big companies, something about stakeholders, but the details were always vague.

His family? He never talked about them.

His past? Barely mentioned.

Even something as big as whether he planned to stay here or go back to Korea, he never really said. And you never pushed, assuming he’d tell you when he was ready.

But still… you couldn’t help but wonder.

You woke up with a headache; not from drinking too much, just from barely sleeping. You had tossed and turned all night, your thoughts refusing to let you rest. And now, after barely two hours of sleep, you were already awake.

Staying in bed was tempting, but lying there only meant giving your mind more time to replay last night’s argument. So, with a deep sigh, you forced yourself up and headed downstairs for breakfast.

Before you even reached the dining hall, you heard voices—loud, cheerful conversation. Strange. It wasn’t just your family. Maybe some neighbors had stopped by, or a distant relative had come for your dad’s birthday.

But no.

Because sitting at the dining table, grinning like he belonged there, was Jungkook.

Your mom’s face lit up when she saw you. “Y/N, you’re finally awake! Look who’s here!” She gestured for you to sit, her excitement completely unbothered by the fact that you had a massive argument with him just hours ago.

Jungkook met your gaze with a warm smile as if nothing had happened.

“He came early this morning to pick you up for work,” your mom continued. “But Alice told him you were taking the day off.”

Your dad chuckled, clapping Jungkook on the back. “Straight from France, Y/N! We thought you were just making excuses not to bring him over, but here he is!”

Jungkook only laughed at that, completely at ease.

You, on the other hand, said nothing. You were still irritated, but you couldn’t deny the shock of seeing him here. He told you he wouldn’t be back until tonight, yet here he was, casually having breakfast with your family like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And they liked him. A lot.

The conversation kept flowing, and from the way everyone talked to him, it was clear they’d already warmed up to him. This wasn’t exactly how you imagined introducing him to your family, but at least you skipped the awkward “Hey, Mom and Dad, this is my boyfriend” speech.

Alice shot you a knowing smirk. “Alright, we’ll get going and let you two talk,” she said, winking as she stood up.

You shot her a glare, but she only grinned.

They excused themselves, leaving just you and Jungkook in the dining hall.

He sat across from you, a cup of coffee in front of him, while you quietly ate your breakfast, letting him stare. You weren’t in the mood to break the silence first.

“You turned off your phone.” His voice was steady, but there was something behind it. Something tight.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “Obviously.”

“You had me worried.” His expression turned serious, waiting for you to respond. But you didn’t. You let the silence stretch between you, taking another bite of your bread.

Jungkook sighed. “Look, Y/N. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to lash out at you last night. I just... I panicked when you didn’t answer my calls or messages. And then I saw your Instagram story with your friends, and I—”

He reached for your hand resting on the table, his fingers wrapping around yours. His eyes softened, pleading.

Damn it.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing slow kisses against your palm, his fingers playing with yours. You stayed quiet, watching him, feeling the warmth of his lips against your skin.

“I know I messed up,” he murmured between kisses. “That’s why I’m here, love. I’m really sorry.”

And just like that, your irritation wavered.

The frustration, the anger, the late-night overthinking. It all started slipping away.

With just a kiss on your palm, your resolve crumbled.

With just the fact that he flew back early to fix things, all the things that had you upset suddenly didn’t feel that heavy anymore.

He slowly let go of your hand, reaching for something beside him. Your breath hitched the moment you saw it, a bouquet of pink carnations, wrapped in soft lime green and peach paper.

Jungkook stood up, moving to sit beside you, placing the bouquet in your hands. You blinked, caught off guard, struggling to find the right words.

“I was supposed to leave later this afternoon,” he admitted, voice low, “but I couldn’t stand leaving things unresolved. And when I couldn’t reach you... I just couldn’t let it happen.”

Being loved by Jeon Jungkook feels damn good.

From the way he puts in effort to how he always finds ways to make you happy. From his care to his unwavering support, being in love with him feels easy; effortless. Of course, you won’t deny that his looks and wealth are nice perks, but those are just extras. What truly matters is how he loves you, how he makes you feel secure in his own way.

So, without hesitation, you let the issue slide.

You never really planned to stay mad at him for long. You just needed a little space, a moment to process everything. But that became impossible the second he flew across countries just to fix things with you. And if you were being honest, the argument happened because you ignored his calls and then reposted Mina’s story without thinking.

You ended up staying at your parents' house until after lunch. Not because you wanted to, but because your parents weren’t ready to let Jungkook go just yet. They really seemed to like him. The way he talked to them so comfortably, how they got his humor, how he charmed them effortlessly. They were practically keeping him hostage with their endless questions and stories.

Not that you based your love life on your parents’ approval, but it was nice to see them get along better than you expected. Jungkook wasn’t hard to like. Maybe back in high school, when he was more reserved, but now? Now, as a grown man with a business mindset, he knew how to win people over.

Well… except for your friends.

To be fair, they barely knew him. Most of their interactions were limited to the quick moments when he’d pick you up after you hung out with them.

Life with him has been good. No major arguments, no real problems. At least, not as long as you kept him updated on your whereabouts. He did the same for you, but you made it a point to let him know what was happening in your life, especially when he wasn’t around.

Because that’s all he really wanted.

For you to check in, to let him know you were okay. You understood that; it was how he made sure you were safe.

But there were moments when you wished he didn’t care so much.

Specifically, when you wanted to hang out with your friends.

That was the only real issue between you. His tendency to limit who you spent time with especially if they weren’t your high school friends.

And when you sensed that pushing too hard would only lead to an argument, you backed down. You let it go.

Because at the end of the day, you knew he just wanted to protect you.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But sometimes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t really make sense.

Hanging out with your friends has always been part of your routine, it’s your way to unwind, to reset. They lift you up in a way no one else can. Of course, Jungkook does too, but it’s different when you’re with them. There’s a freedom to it, a lightness that you don’t get anywhere else.

“Love, please? I can’t miss Chloe’s party. It’s her farewell before she leaves for America.”

You tried to reason with Jungkook, hoping he’d understand. Chloe was chasing her dream, heading off to model for luxury brands, and this was the last time you’d all be together before she left.

“I’m allowing you, but I have to fetch you by midnight. You already know I don’t like it when you sleep somewhere else without me.”

His voice was calm but firm as he drove, one hand resting casually on the wheel. He had just picked you up from work when you decided to bring it up. You figured telling him now would be better than waiting until later.

“Love, this is the last time we’ll all be together. Come on.”

You reached over, resting your hand on his lap as you pleaded softly.

He glanced down for half a second, then back at the road, his expression unreadable.

“I’ve said my conditions, Y/N.”

Final. No room for negotiation.

Frustration simmered inside you. No matter how much you tried to understand him, this part of him never made sense.

Why does he always do this? Why does he insist on controlling when and where you can be with your own friends? People who were in your life long before he was?

You told yourself, again and again, that he was just trying to protect you. But from what?

These were your childhood friends. You had never been in danger with them, not once.

But, like always, you didn’t push. You let him have his way, let him hold the reins like he always did.

The party was at a club, nothing crazy, and afterward, everyone was supposed to crash at a hotel Chloe had booked nearby. She wanted to savor the last moments with you all before she left.

But, as always, you were going to miss out.

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll see you at midnight. I love you.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before pulling away, walking back to his car, and driving off.

You were irritated, but you swallowed it down, not wanting to ruin the night. This was Chloe’s farewell party, the last time you’d all be together before she left and you weren’t about to let your frustration with Jungkook take over.

The party was packed. Chloe had invited everyone. Her high school circle friends, her college buddies, coworkers, even a few relatives. The energy was buzzing, the music loud, the drinks flowing. It was fun… or at least, it should’ve been. If only Jungkook hadn’t already soured your mood.

You did your best to act normal, plastering on smiles, laughing when expected, but Mina wasn’t buying it. She never did.

“You okay, Y/N?” she asked as you stepped outside with her while she had a smoke. You didn’t smoke, never had, but the fresh air seemed like a good idea.

“Yeah, of course!” you answered a little too enthusiastically.

Mina gave you a look before taking a slow drag of her cigarette.

“That’s the fakest answer I’ve ever heard from you,” she said flatly, exhaling a stream of smoke.

You forced out a laugh.

“Even your laugh sounds fake. Gosh, Y/N. Try harder.”

“Fuck you,” you shot back playfully, nudging her with your shoulder.

She smirked but didn’t drop it. “Seriously, what’s up? You haven’t looked okay since you got here. Did something happen?”

You hesitated. You never talked about your issues with Jungkook to your friends. Hell, you barely talked about him at all. It wasn’t just because they had… opinions about him. You just weren’t the type to discuss your relationship with others. When things got tough, you preferred to handle it on your own.

But tonight, you wanted to tell her. Just this once. Just so someone knew how you really felt.

But the words wouldn’t come.

“Just tired,” you said instead. “Had a lot of work to deal with before I left the office.”

Mina gave you a side-eye, clearly not convinced. “Mmm-hmm. That sucks,” she said, but her tone was laced with suspicion.

A beat passed before she asked, “By the way, how’s Jungkook? You never talk about him.”

That caught you off guard. Was she just curious, or did she sense something?

“He’s doing great. He drove me here. He’ll, uh… pick me up later too,” you say, trying to sound casual, trying to make it seem like no big deal.

But it was a big deal. And somehow, without meaning to, you’d just handed Mina the entire fucking truth without actually saying it.

Her brows shot up. “What the hell do you mean? You’re not coming with us after the party?”

You blink, caught completely off guard. You knew you’d have to break it to them eventually, but you hadn’t figured out how yet. And now, thanks to your own damn words, you were trapped.

“Didn’t we talk about this?” Mina pressed, her voice rising. “You said you were coming. Now you’re telling me Jungkook’s picking you up?”

“I—I mean, yeah, but—”

“He didn’t allow you, did he?”

“It’s not like that. I was supposed to come with you guys after the party, but I just… decided it’s not a good idea considering my state,” you say, blurting out whatever excuse comes to mind without even thinking.

Mina scoffs, raising a brow. “Oh, really? And you also decided it was a good idea not to tell us you’re ditching?”

“No! It’s not like—”

Before you can even finish, Henry walks in.

“Hey, what’s taking you two so long? Chloe’s looking for you. She wants to take a picture,” he says, approaching the both of you.

Neither you nor Mina say a word. But while Henry looks between you two in confusion, Mina keeps her gaze locked on you, practically daring you to explain.

“What’s going on?” Henry finally asks, his eyes flicking between the two of you.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” Mina says flatly, tossing her cigarette to the ground and stomping it out.

You ignore the tension tightening around your chest. “Let’s go inside. Chloe’s waiting,” you mumble, turning to leave.

But before you can take five steps, Mina’s voice cuts through the air, laced with sarcasm.

“Make sure to tell her you’re ditching us  again after this, yeah?”

“What do you mean?” Henry asks, still completely clueless.

You glance back, trying to come up with something, anything to say, but your throat tightens. Instead of answering, you turn and walk away.

You swallow hard, holding your breath, forcing back the burn in your eyes. You try not to think. Not about Mina, not about the truth she’s circling, not about the weight pressing down on you.

Just breathe. Keep it together.

You’re almost at your seat when Chloe suddenly appears beside you, her bright smile and glassy eyes making it clear she’s a few drinks in.

“Babe! I was looking for you everywhere!” she exclaims, giggling. “Where’s Henry and Mina?”

“They’re outside,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “They’ll be here in a sec.”

But even in her tipsy state, Chloe picks up on the shift in your energy. Her smile fades, replaced by a concerned frown.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” she asks softly.

The moment the words leave her lips, your eyes start to burn.

Shit.

“I’m okay, Chloe! I just need to go to the restroom for a second,” you rush out, spinning on your heels before she can press any further.

She calls after you, but you don’t stop. You weave through the crowd, head down, feet moving on autopilot. The second you reach the restroom, you lock the door behind you and let everything crash down at once.

It’s harder than you thought.

You want to tell them everything. God, you’re so fucking tired of pretending. But at the same time, you want to protect Jungkook. You know exactly how they’d see him if you told the truth. Maybe they already do. Maybe you’re the one who refuses to acknowledge it.

You press your hands against the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror. The music pounds outside. People are drinking, dancing, and celebrating. And yet, you’re here. Stuck.

You don’t recognize the girl staring back at you.

When did this happen?

How did you get here?

You thought you could handle it—handle the way Jungkook loves you. But now, standing here, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks, you realize something you’ve been pushing away for too long.

You’re suffocating.

The sudden knock at the door jolts you back to reality. Panic kicks in. You swipe at your tears, straighten your clothes, and force a deep breath.

“Just a second!” you call out, turning to the sink to splash cold water on your face. The knocking doesn’t stop. It gets louder, harder—urgent. But whoever’s on the other side isn’t saying a word.

Your hands shake as you dry your face. You pull yourself together as best as you can before unlocking the door, bracing yourself.

The second it swings open, you freeze.

Chloe, Mina, and Henry stand there, staring at you.

Chloe steps forward first, her drunken haze from earlier completely gone. “Y/N, what happened?” she asks, concern heavy in her voice.

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can get a word out, Mina moves in. Without warning, she grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom.

“Hey! Mina, careful!” Henry hisses, but she doesn’t let go.

Her grip is tight, but that’s not what stuns you, it’s the fire in her eyes.

The second you’re outside, away from the pounding music and the haze of the bar, she finally releases you. Then she turns, glaring at you with full force.

“No time for bullshit. Tell us what the fuck is going on,” she demands, arms crossed.

“The fuck, Mina? Can you chill?” Henry groans, rubbing his temples.

Mina whips around to face him. “How the fuck am I supposed to chill when she’s doing this again?! We’ve talked about this before, Henry and it’s so fucking obvious she’s doing it on purpose! For what? Her asshole boyfriend?”

“Mina!” Chloe snaps, but Mina doesn’t back down.

“What? Are you really going to sit here and act like this is okay? This is the last night we have together before you  leave, Chloe, and she’s pulling this shit again!” Her voice rises in frustration.

You barely register the words. Your chest is tight. Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You don’t even realize the tears are falling until you taste salt on your lips.

“Tell me, Y/N. Are you really sick, or is that just another excuse so you don’t have to come with us? Because you’re so obsessed with your boyfriend that you can’t even spare a single fucking night for your best friend?”

It’s too much.

“I wanted to come, okay?!” The words burst out of you. “I almost begged him to let me stay for just one fucking night, but he wouldn’t let me!”

Your voice cracks, and the tears come faster. You can’t stop them. You don’t even try.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry that I let this happen! It’s all my fucking fault because I didn’t want to fight with him! I didn’t want him to be disappointed! I didn’t want to make it an issue!”

As the words spill out, the truth crashes into you like a truck. How fucking pathetic. How small you’ve made yourself for him.

Chloe speaks up, her voice soft but steady. “Why would he be disappointed?”

“I don’t know!” you cry out, frustration pouring out of you. “Because he doesn’t want me to, and if I do, it’s a fucking problem! And I just—” Your voice breaks again. You drag your hands through your hair, gripping it hard like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

“I don’t fucking want that, okay? I know you all think I’m stupid as hell right now, but that’s the fucking truth! Call me obsessed, call me whatever the fuck you want, because it’s true!”

Your heart is racing. Your breath is coming in short, sharp gasps.

“I’m so fucking stupid, but I chose this. And I wanted to apologize for ruining this night, for making this about me when it was supposed to be for Chloe.”

Your back hits the cold wall behind you, and you close your eyes, gripping your hair, willing yourself to disappear.

Silence.

No one says a word.

You don’t have to look up to know they’re all staring at you.

Your head is pounding, your heart’s racing, and regret hits you like a brick wall. You didn’t mean to let it all spill out like that, but fuck, you just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Goddamn it.

Your eyes flick down to your wrist. It’s ten minutes to eleven. You don’t have your phone, but you already know what’s waiting for you: missed calls, unread messages, or worse… he’s already here, looking for you.

“I should go. Jungkook’s probably—” your voice is tired, drained.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’m not letting you walk away again. And I’m sure as hell not letting that asshole control your fucking life.” Mina’s voice is sharp, unwavering.

“No. I’ll figure this out, okay? I'll talk to you—”

“Are you seriously letting him take over your whole fucking life?” She looks at you like she doesn’t even recognize you anymore. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Mina, chill.” Henry grips her arm, but his eyes soften when they land on you. “Y/N, listen. We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you.”

“What are you talking about? I can handle this—”

Chloe pulls you in, arms locking around you in a trembling, desperate hug. She holds on like she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she lets go.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” her voice cracks, and your chest tightens. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, and we didn’t even notice.”

The words cut deep, deeper than you expect. And before you can stop them, the tears come rushing back, spilling over like a dam finally breaking.

“We didn’t know… I’m sorry.”

With just one hug, the weight you’ve been carrying shifts. Crushing, yet somehow lighter at the same time.

With just one hug, the exhaustion seeps into your bones, making you realize how much you’ve been running on empty.

With just one hug, it finally sinks in. This isn’t just overwhelming. It’s unbearable.

“We were supposed to be there for you,” Chloe whispers through her own tears. “But where were we?”

And that’s when it hits you. You’re not alone. You don’t have to be. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe.

But then, regret creeps in.

“What exactly happened?” Henry asks.

You step back from Chloe, swallowing hard. “Nothing really happened.”

“Y/N, please,” Mina sighs, voice weary. “Just stop defending him for once.”

And then, you see him.

A familiar figure standing in the distance, phone in hand, scanning the crowd with a panicked expression.

Jungkook.

The second his eyes land on you, he moves. Fast. Almost running.

Part 2 It's been a year since I last wrote, and I thought I wouldn’t come back and would just be a casual reader. But here I am, writing again anyway, lmao.

[calebsdog]

Throwing up thinking about stray dog Caleb taking tiny kitten Mc under his wing. He's just a puppy himself. He's been on his own for as long as he can remember. No memory of a mother, father, or any siblings. But you're so much smaller. He automatically becomes your loyal protector.

You and Caleb roam the streets. Staying out of sight from humans, taking shelter in discarded boxes when it rains, searching for scraps. Most of your meals come from the dumpster. Caleb wishes he could provide you better but he's still too little to hunt properly.

One day, a group of stray dogs way older than Caleb show up. Their rough, scarred muzzles curl into snarls. They were here to pick a fight. Of course, Caleb gives everything he has, knowing kitty Mc is relying on him. But he was outnumbered and outmatched.

When Caleb simply can't fight any longer and collapses kitty Mc finally has enough of watching from the shadows. You come rushing out of your safe spot behind Caleb. Now you're the one shielding the puppy who has been looking after you all this time. The pathetically tiny kitten uses all the air in her lungs to hiss at the dogs ten times her size.

Caleb barks weakly behind you, pleading with you to retreat. Don't you know how small you are? You were like a cockroach to this vicious pack of dogs. It would be laughably easy for them to rip your vulnerable body to shreds. Caleb tries his best to stand back up, to push you behind his hind legs again. He collapses every time he tries.

But Mc doesn't back down. You have to be strong in Caleb's place this time. This cruel world wouldn't be the same without him.

Just before things get truly bloody, an elderly woman by the name of Josephine comes to your rescue. Smacking the pack of dogs on the head with her broom, shooing them away. She kicks the one's who don't run right in the butt. Tails tucked between their legs, they give up on their fight with the wounded puppy and feisty kitten.

Josephine had no family and was becoming quite lonely at her age. Her heart strings were tugged the moment her eyes landed on the malnourished puppy and kitten nuzzling against each other for solace.

Josephine takes the two of you in the same night you almost died. For the first time in their young lives Mc and Caleb know the warmth of a home. Mc stays stubbornly glued to Caleb's side as he goes through the slow healing process.

Caleb's front right leg never works the same after that night. He used to be such an energetic puppy, carrying your tiny kitten body on his back while he ran. The wind blowing through your fur as he raced through the dark alleyways.

Mc blames herself for Caleb's injury for a long time. He got it protecting you. And now he was paying the price. He was no longer a stray. Yet he still couldn't fetch a ball or run through a park carefree like all the other dogs.

But Caleb wouldn't let you wallow in your guilt. The two of you roughhouse in the safety of Josephine's fenced backyard, never actually hurting each other, rolling around in the soft grass under the embrace of the Sun. Just because he's slow now doesn't mean he can't play with you!

The only time Mc actually hisses at Caleb is when he tries to snatch a treat meant for you out of Josephine's hand.

[blckbrrybasket]

Remmick and His Missy (2)

Faint music floated through the fragrant air, the radio crackling from the living room behind you. Nights like these allowed you to crank the volume of the radio however high you pleased, yet it was never too loud – allowing you to savor the sounds of your cooking. The boiling of the water, spoons clanking against rims, it was a comfort knowing you could create something so special from your hands.

You tossed the minced garlic into the pan of sausage, the sizzle immediately rewarding you as you cooked them together. The peaceful atmosphere slowly shifted though when the hair on the back of your neck stood up. It had become a familiar feeling after Remmick’s first appearance in the woods surrounding your house.

Sure enough, when you looked up to squint through the foggy kitchen window there was an unmoving figure standing in the middle of your field. The only thing you could make out were the two telltale dots of red. Reaching over, you flicked on the outside light to see Remmick staring down your window with an annoyed look.

His face was screwed up as if he had just been personally scorned by something you had said. What could it be now? You knew he was particular in how he liked things, but you truly were clueless this time. Your fingers hooked on the edge of the window, shoving it up as the smell of food curled out into the night air, further souring his expression.

“What the hell are you doing out there?” You called, raising your eyebrows. Remmick sniffed the air once, trying to look through the open window from where he stood. “What're you cooking?” “...Gumbo?” He nodded slowly, “Why you using garlic?” Obviously the recipe called for garlic, but that wasn’t why he was irritated.

Remmick would never admit it, but he was worried that you were perhaps using it to ward off other company that had come ‘round, or worse, him. “Because it tastes good? Are ya done bein’ moody?” Well that was a sigh of relief – aside from your attitude. “Why, don’t you like the smell?” You teased, pushing harder as you grew aware of the situation.

You had heard superstition of certain creatures having a weakness to garlic but it seemed almost laughable that Remmick would have the same problem. “I didn’t expect company tonight,” You drawled, placing your elbow on the counter, chin planted on the palm of your hand.

He shifted on his feet, glancing back at the tree line then to your house. The simmering frustration within him grew at the prospect of being unable to approach you. What was he supposed to do, wait in the field until he could come any closer? That was hilarious.

“I’ll be back.”

“When?” 

“When that smell is gone,” he huffed and turned on his foot, stalking off into the woods. You chuckled as he moodily stormed off back to whatever cave he crawled out of to visit you. “Good talk,” you hummed to yourself, watching him disappear between the tall trees.

If he wasn’t so keen on being mysterious you would have known that the new home he had taken up was right around the corner. You probably also would have known how he counted the hours down until nighttime to see you again. Remmick didn't know when he became so taken with you, but you had begun to occupy his mind more times than not.

The reason he was hell bent on no garlic was simply because he hated being forced away from you. It was sweet in his own cryptic way. And despite not knowing that tidbit of information, you still felt a nagging at your heart when you sat eating alone at your table that night. Maybe the garlic was that necessary to the recipe.