#this was only a year in the making don’t mind me

[indecisivemuch]

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore. 

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off. 

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own. 

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be. 

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near. 

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him. 

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.” 

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand. 

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word. 

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you. 

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters. 

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years. 

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand. 

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention. 

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts. 

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you. 

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you. 

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him. 

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying. 

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to. 

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.  

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on. 

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love, 

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do, 

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago. 

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before. 

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility. 

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you. 

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?” 

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew. 

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.” 

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly. 

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner. 

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two. 

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints. 

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that. 

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment. 

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.” 

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

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

masterlist

join my Luke Castellan taglist (or to remove yourself from)

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

not be able communicate by words means… constantly be misunderstood. misinterpreted. not have any way show own perspective, your side of story. your story always written talked about interpreted read thru other people.

someone did something wrong you. someone hurt you. someone say wrong thing…

someone make up malicious thing about you. maybe that you rude ungrateful bad temper behavior problem. it now become truth it now become you because there no way you correct them.

you can’t educate them. you can’t explain it to them. nevermind that, for example, you severely disabled n having symptoms that impact quality of life, or have symptoms that dare inconvenience people - can only watch as people around you speak “for” you not with your interest in mind but of their own selfishness - that people who can communicate by word say you only do that because you lazy, you selfish, want attention, on purpose, just want to for no reason, faking, inherent personality flaw.

not just big things. more often it those small things that build up every day, happen tens n hundreds of times each day, every day, every week, every month, every year… more often it those small things that add up that break you.

imagine everything bad, incorrect, & bad and incorrect thing said about you in your life. n now imagine you not able defend yourself, explain yourself, or even say those wrong not true.

n any attempt of yours to maybe protest, not enough, people not understand, or downright not listened to, made fun of. at first you shake head make noise meaning no all calm. after while of it not work you get frustrate n it start showing. you get impatient n snappy, why none of you understand, is any of you even trying. but people around you with privilege of able communicate n defend self thus never have experience of not have that, find it such basic of skill that they no longer see it as acquired skill but instead see as innate, born in, natural, cannot imagine person not have it just like can’t imagine living person not breathing—they only see their perspective n only see their interaction n not the many, hundreds n thousands, of previous communication where no one understood you (or even tried to). so they mock you (sometimes they the one who on purpose provoke you to see your reaction like you monkey in cage for their entertainment), geez big reaction why can’t you be patient. n you get label, impatient, rude, explosive, anger issues.

you protest in only way you can without words. you do it by sounds n noises n movement. you raise voice you scream you smash thing around you you hit yourself in frustration you hit other people who don’t understand you because you frustrated at their incompetence n how much they failing you. because. show me another way person can communicate without words. show me way that one can continue do after tens n thousands of misinterpretations n miscommunications n malicious interactions, n still remain calmly, “appropriately.”

you communicate in only way you can with only emotion you can feel at this point: anger, frustration, helpless. be misunderstood, even smallest innocent one, become trauma become trigger. miscommunication alone can set it off, make you see red n see billion of previous miscommunication where everyone failed you n left you to fend for self. then the backhanded jab that sometimes follow, that make thing exponentially worse.

you communicate in only way you can with only emotion left you can feel that consume you. loud sounds, screaming, get physical. it not earn you be understood. it only earn you this: be called impatient, irrational, explosive, land mine, rude, ungrateful, annoying…

“behavior issues.”

and that’s another misinterpretation of you you can’t defend yourself against. cycle repeats.

n other verbal people only listen to other verbal people. so these descriptions of you become “your truths”.

n the true you left there. to rot.

a lot people with no functional communication (either because no ability, or because circumstances) labeled as have behavior issues. yeah, no fucking shit. try it for a while. anyone would “have behavioral issues” in these circumstances.

no one seem to care. so okay fuck yeah am difficult kid, have behavioral issues, make your life miserable. yeah am terrible person, have inherent personality flaw of no fault but my own. except now do it on purpose, make it true now, put ability to control own truth in own hand. because you all seem want me be that so bad. so now you get it. don’t complain now, you all asked for it really really nicely.

but deep down. at most basic. hidden beneath. really just. want be understood. want be helped. want people to learn my communication.

“many behavior is communication” yes, those kind of behaviors should be respected n valued n listened, but try behavior your way out of correcting n explaining everything just said in post to person who just don’t seem to get it

without rely on good grace of nice people around you who keep on play guess games n give out guesses in words you can nod or shake head to. now, that’s cheating.

people not nice to people who *have no choice* but to *only* rely on behaviors & vocal noises to communicate

n, even if every single person nice. behaviors n vocal noises alone, not enough.

this written with full time experience in mind

[lovrsm]

“ꜱʟᴜᴛ!”

sum: Ferraris golden boy moves over to RedBull Racing Team.

Daughter of the CEO of Red Bull, you’ve grown to love racing, and in the way making new friends. Even if you felt like your world was falling apart, even when you denied it, he was the only one you needed. And there was absolutely nothing that could change his mind about your beautiful self, the way he loves you.

word count:idk, prb 2k

pairing: rb!charles leclerc x horner!reader

warnings: name calling, alcohol, smut f! receiving, first time writing real horny shit!

a/n: sorry for the long intro, I swear it’s worth it😔✋ LOOOL, I WROTE THIS LIKE A YEAR AGOO, and I rlly wanted to clear up my drafts but this is too good to not come out. Yet idk if I have any mistakes, if I do let me know!! Also, checo acting as a dad (#IloveCheco)

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

“and I break down, then he’s pullin’ me in In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman”

Clink, clink, that’s what our champagne glasses sounded like together.

“Congratulations, what a wonderful year. It’s been a pleasure being with all of you.” Sergio, Checo Perez, made a brief goodbye to your team.

He was leaving Red Bull. Everyone here loved him, and loves him, including yourself. He became quickly your family after seeing him every day for more than 3 years.

“We will miss you” your dad palms his back, making Checo break a smile.

“It isn’t the end yet, you know that boss.” He laughed.

His reasons? Family, everything for him, he couldn’t bare leaving them anymore alone, so he decided after, several years, to leave formula 1. After helping Max to win his championships, he is a fucking legend.

“Well, I won’t leave you alone, I will still drag you everywhere, you know? Even after you leave.” Max and Checo have developed a very special bond, even if social media said otherwise.

“We, wont leave you alone, you still owe me those therapy sessions” I winked at him, he became a very big emotional support for me, believe it or not, he’s got some great advice to give.

“Lovely dinner” I took a picture of all of us with my camera, a goodbye dinner for Checo, and tomorrow, all of the world would see this on the newspaper.

-

“I really don’t know what to do, do you know how many drivers have reached us out in the last 2 hours? I mean, I have a few options but they keep giving me more reasons and… I just don’t know.” My dad was stressed, typing in his computer as if his life depended on it.

“It’s going to be alright, okey? You don’t necessarily need to worry about it right now, we still have a championship to win, you know?” I gave him a cup of tea, just so he could relax a bit.

When something is about work, everything else doesn’t matter. At all.

“We’ll watch your options, alright? I can help you with anything you want” I smiled at him.

“When did you became such a great business woman?”

“You’re my father, of course I’m hardworking.”

-

“Red Bull did it again, Max Verstappen and Sergio Perez, world champion and sub-champion!”

Screams from Max and Checo blasted my ears, P1 and P2, again. Absolutely no mistakes. The internet going crazy. And somehow it all became quiet.

“Who will get that Red Bull seat next year? Will he be a fit to Sergio Perez place?”

Everyone went outside to celebrate, while I stayed so I could hear the TV and media.

what do people want?

“Ferrari didn’t have a great year, let’s hope they both get a better car”

“I agree! Great drivers, such a shame Ferrari has been getting worse every year. What a waste of talent.” The other interviewer said.

Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz appeared in the screen. Both with an obvious forced smile plastered in their faces.

Charles, my secret crush ever since… forever. Was I obvious? Not a single soul knew, well, except him.

-

Charles Leclerc signed in RedBull that was the only thing appearing on my feed right now . Red bull? Bullshit, you mean? What kind of a big lie is that?

Internet was filled with Charles leaving Ferrari for RedBull.

In what twisted universe does that even happen?

I later learned, I am living in that twisted world, and I discovered the great news in social media, and not my own team.

“What do you mean Charles Leclerc, dad? Why wasn’t I even informed about this. Wait, hold on, when did it even crossed your mind?!” I was dignified.

Following around the kitchen.

“I didn’t have to, oh, I do think I need to tell you this, he’s coming to dinner tonight so wear something nice.”

Wear something nice.

Thanks dad, as always, you’re so, so great.

Night time came sooner than expected, if my dad hosts a dinner, even if there’s a million, or just one person coming over, he likes to be extra.

-

Almost time, 8:00 and it is 7:50, all that was missing was the dress. It was placed on my bed. Showing all of it’s beauty.

Navy blue, our color. It was my dream dress.

Light, silky and fancy dress.

I walked downstairs, watching people running and arranging everything, doing just the final touches.

I’ve come to learn, that people arrive late, or just in time. Never earlier.

“Ah, what a beautiful young woman I have here!” Geri, my father’s wife came to greet me.

“You look amazing, I knew that dress would be perfect for you!”

“Geri, you are amazing, seriously. Thank you, and look at you! We both look gorgeous.” I smiled at her and we linked arms, she and I were walking towards the garden, where would be the dinner.

Some big, round, wooden tables were set in the middle. Each seat would have a name, decorated with a white flower in the middle of the plate.

It was easy to find my place. I was at the biggest one of all, where the most important people of this night would be seated.

Lucky for me, his name was right next to my plate.

In a matter of seconds, people started to arrive, old friends, and new faces passed through those doors.

This will be a great night.

“Funny to find you here, it’s been some time since I last saw you…” I rolled my eyes, I (sadly) recognized that voice anywhere.

“Go away Mike.” I grabbed my wine glass and took a big sip out of it. “C’mon princess, where are your manners?” He got too close to me.

“Hey y/n! Your dad was looking for you, like right now.” Max Verstappen here to save my day.

“Oooh that’s unfortunate, I’m so so so sorry Mike, hope to see you later!” I waved him off and quickly moved towards Max who then friendly linked his arm with mine.

“I owe you one.” I sighed. “You owe me much more than 1, little one.” I laughed at him.

We got close to my father, who now had a microphone at his hand.

“Hello everyone, thank you for coming here and be with us tonight. A toast for Checo here!” He announced and a light was shining on Checo, standing from his seat.

“It has been a wonderful year, sadly it has to end. And I know I’m not the first to tell you that an incredible young talent will be joining us for next season.”

There he was. Navy suit with our logo on him. His hair was messy yet perfectly placed. He showed his dimples and I’m sure I heard someone behind me moan at his sight.

My heart rate was increasing slowly but surely.

“y/n, you’re going to squeeze all my blood from my arm. Stop.” Max whispered in my ear.

Shit. I basically dug my nails into his arm due to my tiny crush.

“Yeah, It’s amazing to know that I’m to race with RedBull next year. I hope we can achieve everything we’ve dreamed of. Looking forward to race with my lifetime partner, Max here.”

Now the light was on Max and me. I discreetly let go of max so that he could have the spotlight. As Max waved I looked back at Charles.

The dimples in his face showed even more, he was looking at me too.

“I can’t wait to work with these wonderful people, and I hope we have a great year to remember, thank you and enjoy this night!” He raised his glass and so did all.

“Well, I hope we don’t have any inchidents” Max laughed at his own joke. Dad joke I must say.

“Well If you don’t push me off the track I think we’ll be just fine” his voice gave me chills. I felt his chest on my back.

I wasn’t strong enough to turn around.

“Oh, shoot, you hear that? I think P is calling me!”

“No, Max-” I tried to stop him.

Around Charles, I barely have control over myself.

“Uh-huh, yeah that’s P, she wants to go to the bathroom, and she needs food, ok have a great night bye!” He rushed to god knows where.

“You really don’t want to be with me, do you?” He whispered on my ear. Feeling the heat of his breath.

“Why wouldn’t I? You are such a lovely company, mr Leclerc.” I gathered the strength and turned around, and his beautiful green eyes shined at me, making me blush.

“Look at you, could you get any more beautiful?”

He lowered so he could whisper again. “I’ve missed you” I looked around real quick, thankfully Max took everyone’s attention on the other side of the place.

“Not here, Charles.” I whimpered.

“Yes here, I can finally be with you, do you think I would waste any more time pretending to not love you? If you do, let me tell you, you are completely wrong.”

He kept whispering, his hands slowly finding his way to my hips. And mine to his collarbone.

“It’s not even 9pm, Leclerc, this party hasn’t even started” I fighted against my own will to drag him upstairs.

“You know I’ll wait, just for you.” He winked at me, before slowly letting me go and walking away.

“You’re not coming, mon coeur?” Charles turned around to look at me. “If you insist.” I happily walked by his side.

We walked and talked for a few minutes before Mike magically appeared before us.

“Oh not even 5 seconds and you are already like a slut with the new driver” He looked at me with a disgusted face.

“Excuse her? Don’t tall to her like that. Do we even know you?” Charles used a very cold tone on him. And Mike started to stumble on his word.

“Uhm, no, she does, like I was something to her-”

“Was, that’s a key word, pal. Don’t you ever talk to her, no, don’t you ever talk to any woman that way do you understand?”

Now, I can defend myself just fine, but that right there soaked my pants in an unexplainable way.

“Get out of our sight, man.” And he crawled away.

“That was hot.” I whispered and he blushed. “Your mother did raise a gentleman.” I smiled at him and he gave me a cheek kiss.

-

Lost on the moonlit pool, drinking my… 11th (?) glass of wine at 1 in the morning while everyone was still dancing, was weird.

My feet swinging as I drink the last drop of my glass.

I went on a side quest myself just to get distracted for a bit. All the noise was going to hurt my ears if I stayed any longer.

“Here you are, you got lost?” He sat down at my side. Didn’t have to look, his thick accent gave him away immediately.

I took a long breath and rested my head on his shoulder . “Yes, Charles, I’m going to get lost in my own house.” I felt him move beside me. He then had his feet in the pool, just as I did.

I smiled to myself.

“Has anyone told you just how beautiful you look today?”

“You have, more than once.”

“I couldn’t let that slip, you do look beautiful with that dress. It suits you just perfectly.”

He paused.

“But I bet you’d look much better without it.”

I nervously chuckled at his comment.

“You haven’t talked to me in ages, you came back being a driver for my father, and now you want to have sex? Why don’t you already make me your wife?!” I dramatically fell into his arms

“Ages? I talked to you last week!” He showed his teeth to me in a smile. “That was a long time ago! Besides, you never told me about you and RedBull.” I sit straight up again.

“I needed your dad to love me one way or another. How else am I going to get him to approve of our marriage?” He joked.

“You are unbelievable Leclerc.” I stood up, and grabbed my high-heels on my hand, walking back to the party barefoot.

I surrounded part of the pool, my dad wanted to add a bar right beside it, and it was freshly cemented.

He quickly copied my moves, but instead, he went on a straight line to me, and in a step he covered his feet in cement, falling down and thankfully placing his hands before getting worse.

“Shit!” I ran back to help him. I stupidly placed my hand in the cement, the other helping Charles to get up.

“Look, we made a masterpiece! Your handprints and mine in wet cement.”

“And your feet.” I laughed

“And my feet… I really need to wash this off before it gets dry.” I grabbed his hand and he followed my lead.

If my dad sees that I’m getting his new driver to my room…

We rushed through the multitude of people on the garden.

“Ooh we’re going to your bedroom, can’t remember what happened last time there…” he whispered shouted as we were running up the stairs.

I jokingly rolled my eyes at him. We were giggling like children. He kept making dirty jokes and as much as I tried to control myself I’d end up giggling much more.

We got there quicker than I thought. With my clean hand I closed the door and he was already in my bathroom washing his hands, and feet with water. I ran to his side and did the same with my left hand.

“I’m done” I announced and got out of the bathroom. Deciding to do a touch up for my makeup, thankfully nothing was much out of place, but my lipstick faded.

I slowly applied it looking in the mirror, and through it I saw a curious Charles looking at me. “Why do you even apply lipstick?” He slowly walked towards me.

I took my sweet time spreading the color on my lips.

“Cause we are going back, party is not over.”

“But we don’t need to.” He grabbed me by the waist and turned me around to look at him and he swiftly placed me on the desk. A smirk plastered on his face, as he slowly got on his knees.

“Charles…”

He got to his knees, not breaking eye contact with me.

“You know that if you say no, I won’t do anything. But I’m not hearing those words, am I?” He lifted my dress planted wet kisses on my inner thighs, getting closer to my sweet spot. “You’re so fucking wet”.

“They will know we’re gone” I nervously whispered. He looked into my eyes and stopped, his hot breath making me squirm. “That isn’t a no.” He stood his ground.

And I’m not saying “do it anyway”, but we both know he is going to.

I didn’t even have a chance to think about the cons, his tongue was already doing its job.My legs were closing due to the pleasure, but his strong arms kept them wide open while he drew circles with his thumbs.

“Charles…” he hummed in response, sending me shivers all the way up. He kept licking my folds and as I looked down, he had his shiny green eyes looking at me. A hint of darkness in them that made me moan just at sight.

His head between my legs was surely what heaven looked like.

I curved my back and my hand gripping his hair so he could get closer. He groaned and sucked even harder.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy, I missed this.” His hand moved quickly into me, curling his two fingers finding my g spot. “Fuck, Charles!” I screamed his name while cumming all over him, his tongue taking all off of me, as he rose without slowly moving his fingers again. My hips rocking back and forth as he arose, keeping his hand busy. “Too bad that pretty mouth of yours can’t do much right now. I really would love to feel it sucking my dick.” I hummed imagining it and getting even closer to my second climax.

“I'll take care of you, just so my princess can remember who she belongs with.” His lips were on my neck, whispering sweet nothing between kisses and soft biting. My moans filled the whole room along with the sound of his fingers working on her center.

Charles, Charles, Charles…

Each time his name left your mouth his cock got even harder, to the point where it hurt. In a short motion his pants down and without any warning he thrusted into you. You both let out a pornographic scream. If the music wasn’t loud everyone would have heard you two. The sound of your slaps were evident, heat rising, the feeling of his beard in your neck was all too much. Curses along with moans were the only thing louder. He did a final thrust and immediately pulled out, jerking off and finishing in his hand.

“You just washed your hands.” I joked breathlessly, he messed up with my head real bad. “Couldn’t resist” he smiled, gave me a peck and disappeared into the bathroom. I melted on that spot.

“Come on mon coeur.” What I loved about Charles was that he always cared. we got into the bathroom and I washed my hands, in the reflection of the mirror his eyes were already in mine.

“What?” I asked as the blood rushed into my cheeks. “Nothing.” He gently smiled, and his eyes shined to me in a different shade of green.

-

Taglist

@delicatepeanutsublime @ironspdy @architect-2015 @buendiabebeta @dreamergirlatpaddock @lercvlie

[breannasfluff]

Samantha Manson,

My teacher says that we must continue our correspondence. While she will not read our letters, she is trying to stretch the assignment longer. I suspect she is drinking in the evenings to deal with her life choices rather than creating lesson plans. 

People treat me as special because I am special. That’s all there is to it. You are a fool if you don’t embrace the rights life has given you.

Amity Park? That sounds like a backwater in the countryside. What is your exercise, running away from cows? Not that cows are bad creatures, mind you. It’s only that I heard the hillbillies go cow-tipping for recreation. That seems like an activity you could do. 

Painted nails would never ruin my image, only enhance it. 

Ah, name-calling, the most childish insult in the book. Some of us have more experience in nine years than others do in 20. Just look at Gotham’s vigilantes!

Sincerely,

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

~~~

Damian-stick-up-his-rich-butt-Wayne,

If no one is reading these then I don’t have to hold back.

Okay, listen here you brat: teachers are underpaid and have to put up with little monsters like you. No wonder your poor teacher is drinking; I’m not even legal and talking to you makes me want to start. 

Hate to burst your bubble, buddy, but people only pretend to care about you because of your money. You lose that and what’s left? Some snobby little rich boy clinging to his daddy’s coattails because he has no personality outside his money and position. 

You’re so right, Damian! All my life I thought I lived in a fairly normal Midwest town, but you’ve shown me the error of my ways! I’m just a little country gal out here collecting eggs and chewing on wheat. Ugh. You probably poach endangered animals on vacation and wear baby fox pelts when the temperature dips below 60. 

I bet you are too chicken to paint your nails to say ROBIN SUCKS in purple glitter for the next formal event you attend. 

Gotham’s vigilantes? Don’t even get me started on Nightwing! He’s the worst of the group. If you look up “trying too hard” in the dictionary, his photo is there. He doesn’t even take his job seriously! Why else would he move to a different city? Couldn’t compete with Batman and just had to be in the spotlight. It’s like those pop stars that go solo and fall flat on their face. 

Man, how embarrassing. I think I actually feel sorry you have to claim that guy as one of your heroes. He does have a nice ass though, so it’s not a complete dumpster fire.

Also, stop calling me Samantha.

It’s Sam.

Sam

Find the rest here

[luveline]

hey love! first of all: i have to admit i started watching criminal minds for the first time earlier this year only bc of your spencer fics! can we get more stripper!reader and spencer? love your writing!!!

thank you!! It’s a slow routine. You begin in a crouch in your underwear, just like at the club. Chest to your knees, arms twisted with the backs of your hands touching. But, unlike at the club, this underwear is comfortable. There’s nobody watching, and you won’t make any tips. You don’t have a pole nor a stage. 

You run through the routine but forgo any pole tricks. You stretch for long, slow minutes, dancing from one space to another. The music in your head isn’t anything you’d play at home, but it works to keep time. You end on your knees again. 

It’s not fun. 

You stretch toward your phone and pick it up. Spencer’s texted you twice in the ten minutes you weren’t on it. 

Hi gorgeous, the first begins, do you want to sleep over? I can make you dinner. 

The second, Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever called you gorgeous before, is that weird? Please come over and pretend I didn’t say that if it was weird

A third pops up while you’re reading. Can I come get you? 

You text him back with pleasure. He’s the only guy in your life who talks to you just to talk, without thinking he could fuck you if he says enough right things, even though he has fucked you. Hi babe you can call me anything it’s not weird, I’ll come over! Not working this week, maybe I can stay two days(?) let me know so I can pack enough clothes 

You can stay all week, if you want to. I miss you 

You imagine him holding his phone, his cheeks pink with blush. 

I miss you too, you text back. 

Just bring what you want to and we can work it out later

Working it out later could mean anything with Spencer. He’s silly enough to try and put you in his clothes, and generous enough to take you shopping if it saves the time it takes to drive you home. 

You’ve packed a bag of clothes and shower things when your phone rings. Spencer’s contact photo covers the whole screen, the two of you together with your face cut out, his smile wide. You were both a teeny bit tipsy. 

“Hello?” you answer, bringing the phone to your ear. 

“Hi!” He sounds nervous. “I’m outside. Am I gonna get towed?” 

“Not if you stay in the car. I’m on my way down right now.” 

“Okay, see you in a second,” he says. 

He never looks comfortable behind a steering wheel. You aren’t sure why he doesn’t sell his car, maybe because it’s dirt cheap to maintain. He never seems happy to be driving is all. 

He smiles when you approach his door, which is better. He rolls down the window. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. You bend at the knees to see him better. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“I had a weird feeling about you, like you weren’t alright.” 

You lean down further. “I’m okay.” 

He grins. You’re waiting for a kiss he doesn’t give, finding yourself a subject for his staring, completely still as his gaze follows around your face. He makes no move to kiss you, and for a moment insecurity blossoms. 

“Well, you look okay. Are you getting in? It’s cold,” he says, nodding toward the passenger side.

“No help with my bags?” you ask, closing the door when he tries to open it. “Kidding.” 

You round the hood and climb inside. Then Spencer kisses you, polite but emphatic, one on your lips and another just under your jaw as he squeezes your shoulder. You feed into them lovingly.

“Maybe you can stay at my place forever? That way I can stop missing you all the time,” he says, pulling away slowly. 

“And when the mystery is gone?” you ask. 

“I don’t want mystery with you.” 

Spencer takes your bag from your lap and shoves it into the back seat. You drop the smaller one on your shoes. 

“Do you wanna get pizza or something?” he asks. 

You hold your jaw where he’d kissed you. “Sure,” you say, tingles of his kiss lingering under your hand. 

“Or Chinese? What do you want?” 

You want more kisses, but you love that he always gives you options. “Pizza for sure. Curly fries, too. Hold my hand?” 

Spencer takes it with gusto over the gearstick, and whatever felt like it was missing earlier fills itself in. “Wait,” you say softly, before he can take the car out of park, “just…” You grab his side and drag him toward you for a hug. Holding hands wasn’t gonna be enough —Spencer doesn’t know it yet, but you love him, love how safe he makes you feel, love how fun he makes your life. You can be yourself with him, no matter who that really is.

Spencer holds you, his hand across your shoulder blade rubbing soft lines. 

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 700

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this is just a short prologue to show how things end (yay happy endings!), but the two have a lot of trauma to go through before they reach endgame. i love kinich's character and design so i'm excited for this! interaction is highly appreciated :)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

Kinich thinks he’s loved you since forever.

He has no way of proving that, of course; those years are long gone, and even if he had the opportunity to ask, he’s not sure his younger self would have a comprehensible answer. He can only see now that he’s come so far, when the memories are too murky to make sense of but the warmth remains—when he thinks of your smile and feels something akin to the weightlessness of grappling and flying through the trees.

He says “forever” because he really has no idea when it started—the realization came far after the feeling. He’d been before school age when he met you for the first time, and it’s been over a decade since then.

“Kinich!”

Your call interrupts his thoughts, and his gaze is drawn skyward—you’re standing somewhere far above him, on one of the walkways lining the cliffs of the Scions of the Canopy. You’re waving so wildly and ridiculously that it almost makes him smile.

“Are you coming down?” he calls through cupped hands, well-acquainted with this kind of long-distance communication. Sound tends to echo well between the cliffs here, and he’s sure you heard him when you offer an enthusiastic thumbs-up in return. 

“Yup! I bought a few things, so I was hoping you could help me carry them home!”

Kinich rolls his eyes teasingly. “Somehow I doubt that you have enough Mora left to afford my services.”

You pout in reply. Ajaw decides to appear then, a malicious puff of smoke over Kinich’s shoulder. “Of course not! You better not be making fun of me, letting some mortal treat you like a servant! The Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, won’t take this kind of disrespect—”

Ignoring his wordy introduction, you call down to Kinich again. “I’m coming down! Think fast!”

“—Don’t make me lau—wait, what?!”

Even Ajaw yelps in surprise as you take a running leap off the walkway, freefalling fast down the plane of the cliff. If he were any younger, Kinich might’ve had a heart attack. But you’ve been pushing your luck with him for years, and it comes as instinct when Kinich grapples up, deftly catching you in his arms with a light ‘oof’.

You’re holding a few boxes in your arms, he notices, and you smile. 

“I bought some Puff Pops for us to share later. I was thinking we can do some climbing, or there’s this cave I’ve been meaning to explore.”

His heart does a sort of flip that cannot be attributed to the way you fly through the sky. It’s all so much: the sensation of your warmth pressed against him, the scent of the wind rushing past, and the laughter of his tribe members below. Their eyes shine as they watch the two of you pass above them, chuckling at the familiar sight. 

And really, he can’t remember ever being this happy. When he thinks of how much it took to reach this point, the heartbreak and trauma aren’t the first things to come to mind. Instead, it’s you. The way you held him, the way you cried for him, the way you chased him. Always laughing, always in love.

Too lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice your curious stare for a moment. You poke at his cheek, and he startles, nearly dropping you both.

“Is something wrong?” you ask shyly, suddenly self-conscious of the box in your hands. “We don’t have to do any of that. Really, if you have a high-value job or something, I understand.”

Ajaw decides to butt-in again, reddened with rage. “Yes, all of that sucks! I mean, seriously, don’t you have anything better to do—”

“No, it’s great,” Kinich murmurs in reply, flicking Ajaw away with a strong hand—the Saurian’s roar dissipates with the wind. He holds you tighter against his chest. There’s nothing worth more to him than you. “That all sounds really, really amazing.”

As the two of you burst through the trees, laughing the whole way, he thinks that it doesn’t really matter when he started to love you. All that matters is that he doesn’t stop.

Kinich thinks he’ll love you forever.

[gay-dorito-dust]

How do you think Ford’d act when the reader, when taking notice of his horrid sleep habits and kinda-worse sleeping areas, decides to clean up his room to make it more comfortable for him? Like a new mattress, getting rid of cobwebs and trash, sweeping, etc. He just stumbles into his room to find it nice and tidy and just passes out on the nice, not 30-year-old mattress.

I just want this man to sleep :-[

Ford probably wasn’t thinking about how well kept his room was for a place that hadn’t been touched in the past thirty years, especially not when his mind was foggy and in desperate need of sleep after staying up past midnight. However as his head hits the pillows, he couldn’t help but notice how nicer it was and how well it supported and comforted his aching and agin body perfectly.

Yet before he could fully question it, his body succumb to a long, deep and well deserved sleep.

Ford doesn’t being his questioning until the next morning as he found Stan making breakfast for the twins, you, Ford and himself. ‘Stanley did you keep my room clean and well kept?’ Stan only looked at him, confused. ‘No, why would I? I gain nothing from doing such a thing, besides that sounds like something y/n did. So why not ask them?’

Ford didn’t have to wait long to ask you as you came into the kitchen, almost as though you were summoned the moment your name left Stanley’s lips, all the while the man himself smiled from his place at the stove. ‘What a coincidence, we were just talking about you doll face…or much rather he was.’ Stanley teased as he looked over at Ford while pointing his spatula at him, Ford felt as though he was pushed under a spotlight the moment your eyes moved to him, he felt a little exposed.

‘Oh yeah? What about?’ You asked.

Ford gave his brother a glare before it softened when looking at you. ‘My dear, have you perhaps been keeping my room clean and well kept for me?’

You smiled. ‘Yeah I have, the room had been left untouched for thirty years Ford! It’s not exactly going to make for an adequate sleep with that old mattress.’ You shrugged your shoulders, feeling a little sheepish in your own actions but happy at the same time form seeing how well rested Ford looked. ‘So I decided to give it a complete make over. I hope you don’t mind.’ You finished as you saw Ford looking at you softly.

‘I don’t mind at all my dear, I just don’t think you should be cleaning up after me.’ He reassures you, while his mind overthought of the abundance of embarrassing things you could’ve found during your complete clean out of his old room, praying that you didn’t see the failed sketches he had of you carelessly tossed into the overfilled bin. You waved him off. ‘It’s fine you’re a very busy man Ford and besides I found it almost therapeutic in a way.’ You tell him as you walked past him to the kettle to make yourself a drink before looking over at him from your shoulder. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘More peacefully and soundly than i have in long long time. Thank you my dear.’ Ford says softly as he gently moves you to the side, much to your surprise, as he decides to show his appreciation for you by making you your morning drink for you. ‘However I do believe I should return the favour, so sit yourself down at the table and I’ll take care of the rest.’ Before you could say anything in rebuttal, to tell Ford that you didn’t mind making your own morning drink, Stanley points his spatula at you then at the table.

‘You. Sit. Now. Ford is as stubborn as a mule dollface, so I would just let him do this if I were you.’ He tells you playfully as Ford looks at him with another halfhearted glare as he makes your drink the way you liked it, while as Stanley only smirked at his brother’s eagerness to pay your kindness forward. For you were the first person in thirty years to show Ford kindness, patience and concern for his sleep schedule, so needless to say he was determined to show that he cared for you just as equally.

[yutarot]

IN PERFECT SYNC [j.jh smau]

eighteen — it was me. wc: 2.0k

you still.

the timing, the fucking timing.

your finger hovers over the accept button, the green light reflecting off your thumb as if its warning you off from the consequences of pressing it.

you couldn’t possibly accept it, i mean, after that conversation the other day, jaehyun drenched through at your doorstep as you implied your clear distaste towards him, you would just feel weak answering the call.

you didn’t need to know why he was calling. right?

so you decline.

it feels good for a total of 13 minutes. until he calls again. and again.

maybe it’s urgent, you reason with yourself. maybe he needs me.

but nothing in this world could ever make jeong jaehyun need you, you were confident of that after hearing all those rumours two years ago.

he never needed you. he never wanted you.

so why now?

fuck it.

the next call, you pick up.

he’s silent, but you can hear him breathing softly on the other end of the phone. and you’re sure that he can hear the same from yours.

after a few moments, he speaks.

“yn..” he says slowly, as if he’s testing out the word on his lips for the first time. but you know it’s not the first, and now your curious of his carefulness. “we need to talk.”

you sigh, but it’s not in annoyance. you’re not sure what it’s in, but it’s definitely not happiness either. it’s somewhere.. in between.

“did something happen?” you ask, quiet, almost a whisper.

you don’t need to see his face to know he’s saying no, that he’s saying there’s something else. his silence speaks the words for him.

so you continue. “i’ll be over in 10. this better be worth my time, jeong.”

he clears his throat, “thank you.” as he hangs up. leaving you wondering what the hell he wants you for.

and why the hell you’re agreeing to it.

you knock on his door, one, two, three times. it’s a little signature thing you and jaehyun used to do in highschool, he knew you were nervous to answer the door to strangers, so he came up with the idea of knocking 3 times, in even beats, everytime you were at eachothers door. all so you knew that it was him. all so that you would feel safe.

you move the thoughts aside when he opens the door.

this isn’t like the other day, this is different. he looks at you for a moment, a small hint of a smile tracing his lips before its gone as quick as it came, vanished into the cold darkness of the night behind you.

“yutas out.” he starts, “come in.”

slowly, you creep into his dorm. it looks exactly the same as when he started. it looks exactly the same as the night you confronted him about the rumours, the night you cried at him until your throat was sore.

you sit on the couch in the middle of the room, jaehyun sitting on the coffee table in front of you, leaning his elbows onto his knees as he looks to the floor.

“why did you want me here, jaehyun?” you ask.

he looks up, face unreadable.

he’s silent again. still.

all you can hear is your heart, speed gaining and gaining and-

“it was me.”

it stops. not only your heart, but seemingly time around you too.

you’re finding it hard to distinguish between the rush of blood to your head and the anguish you feel from hearing those three words out loud. from no one’s lips except the man you hate the most. the man you least expected to mutter them.

it.

was.

me.

they keep replaying over and over in your mind.

it.

was.

me.

you can’t stop it, like a broken record, a carousel that refuses to halt.

like a lie that spiralled too far.

“you’re lying.” you spurt.

it.

was.

me.

he gulps, shaking his head side to side in small, reluctant movements. in disagreement.

“i know how this looks.” he replies. “but yn, please-“

it.

was.

me.

“no.” you interrupt him, standing to your feet.

he stands with you. “please.”

the words stop playing in your head as you watch him. his eyes pleading with you, a face you have never seen him wear.

“please, yn.”

you sit again. he sits with you.

“fine.” you reply.

“it’s been eating away at me, yn. its been eating away at me since the scores were announced.”

your eyebrows furrow. you thought he was just telling you he had been sending you the messages, a sick cruel means of messing with you.

“what?”

“i sabotaged my own team.”

now, you’re silent.

he continues. “i’m a horrible person yn, i should never have done this to my team, i should have never done this to you.”

“…why?” you murmur.

“your mother.”

you look up, expecting some sick, disgusting ‘ur mom’ joke, but he laughs in exhale.

“no, no, no, not like that.” he says, “i’m serious.” he pauses to look at you, “you never told me the reason you started ballet was to continue your mothers dream, why did you never tell me that?”

“why should i?”

“because it changes everything, yn!”

his outburst shocks you, and he mutters an apology before continuing, speaking quietly.

“look,” he’s barely above a whisper. “i already found it hard enough to pretend i hated you. i couldn’t let myself beat you, i couldn’t take that away from you, yn, no matter how much you may hate me. i can’t hate you the way you do, me.”

you’re confused. so if he really did sabotage his team, that means he really is..

Y..

and that means that every single message he sent was true.

“but how…?” you whisper, confusion lining your face.

his head cocks to the side. you continue.

“how could you… mean any of that.. after what you did?”

his face goes stone cold. he looks back to the ground.

you quickly take it back, regretting your decision to bring that up. “never mind, forget i asked, im leav-“

“it’s not true.” he’s still staring at the rug below your feet. you can hear the clock on his wall, ticking away, and counting each and every thought as it speeds past your mind.

“wha-“

“none of it. none of it is true, yn.” he looks up at you, his face of pleading is gone, replaced by a stern expression.

jaehyun has rehearsed this moment in his head over and over, ever since you were 18. ever since he was falsely accused of using you.

he stands up, looking down at you and he speaks.

“i never spoke shit about you to any of the girls i slept with, yn. i never told them you were annoying, that you were ugly or that i was just keeping you around to make myself look better. i never thought any of that.”

you struggle to breathe, to absorb everything he’s telling you.

“yn, it wasn’t like that. i told one girl about you.”

“oh great, that helps, thanks jaehyun.” you say sarcastically.

but he interrupts you.

“no. i told her how sweet you are. how pretty and perfect you are. about how every time i would leave the room without my phone, you would take it and fill my camera roll with cute little photos of yourself. i told her about how i kept every single one, in fear that if i was to ever lose you, i would have a lifetime supply of you, stored away in my pocket.”

you blink.

“i never wanted to get rid of you, yn. i wanted you for myself. the only problem was, she wanted me for herself. so she created the rumour that i said all those horrible things about you, spread by other girls who wanted me like she did, in hopes that you would hear about it and leave me. and you did. and i don’t blame you one bit.”

“but…” you can’t process it, not yet. you can’t believe the words hes telling you. this whole time you had been so set on how you felt, you’d been so set on how much you hated him. “why didn’t you tell me the truth.”

“i didn’t want you to find out.”

your eyebrows fold in confusion and he explains.

“i was 18, i was stupid and afraid that having a crush on my bestfriend was a horrible idea. so i couldn’t let you find out. i decided that letting you hate me would be the easier option. well, for you. for me though, it’s was hell. well, i mean, i have all those selfies of you in my camera roll still, that helped a little.” he laughs, but you don’t find it funny.

jaehyun, the man you’ve hated for two years, the man you loved for many more. here he was, telling you how much you mean to him, to the point where he chose your happiness over his own.

“oh my god…” you whine, “how did i not realise.”

“what?” he asks, concerned.

“yuno. thats what Y stands for.”

he laughs, and it’s warm. for the first time in 2 years, you feel comforted, excited by what the future brings.

after talking for the next hour, you discover that jaehyun really didn’t realise it was giselle he slept with, thinking it was just some random ncu girl.

you no longer have reason to hate jaehyun and the guilt you feel overwhelms you. jaehyun realises that you have alot to take in, and he doesn’t expect an apology, but you can’t leave him without giving one. not after all the hatred you have given him.

he walks you to his door.

“goodnight yn, thank you for hearing me out.”

“hey jae,” his eyes light up at the nickname, just like the other night, except this time, the light lingers. “i’m sorry, for everything.”

“no, don’t be, it was my fault. i was the one who let you believe it was true. i was the one who let you hate me.”

you smile, “then.. thank you.”

“goodnight, yn.”

“goodnight, jae.”

he goes to shut the door, but you remember something.

you rememeber one message.

a message from Y.

a message from jaehyun.

“i’m over you.” you repeat the message as if you’re asking a question.

his eyes widen for a split second before settling back to his normal, cold image.

“i meant it.” he says, “im over you.”

you nod, slowly, giving him a small smile and twisting on your heel and out the door.

he shuts it gently behind you.

he’s over you.

his words come back, spinning over and over again in your mind.

it was me.

one word sticks out to you. one word slap-bang, directly in the middle.

one word that changes everything, yet nothing at the same time.

one word.

‘was.’

mlist — next

notes; my GOSH it’s been so difficult hiding this from u guys in the replies hating so much on jaehyun 😞😞 i really hope you enjoyed this chapter (if you’ve read the tags then you know what’s coming) thank you for getting this far, and i hope you look forward to what’s next!

taglist — open; @https-yeonjun @chenlesfavorite @therealbobbyshloby @f6llsun @jkslvsnella @nanaxwi @cloudmrk @neocrashed @vernonburger @vividwritess @taeeflwrr @mmjhh1998 @cyjzzl @stareaa @minkyuncutie @mrkleelvr @dudekiss3r @nattan127 @slayhaechan @jaeveil @tynlvr @mslora @nosungluv @grassbutneo @dokyriu @girlz4jaem @axo-l0tl @yyangj3lly @solvrse @m1ng1swife @gentlepeach @xiuriii @soobinbunnie5 @tocupid @apolloxxivmin @ctrlstar @gyuguys @tokitosun @i-kai @flamingi @mrkleelvr @en-dream @queenrachelpink @ssweetreveries @swanyvess @flaminghotyourmom @hyuck-me @cryingforjae @hizhu @starfilledgaze

[neiptune]

i don't want you like a best friend

cw: 4.2k wc, female reader, soulmate au, friends to lovers, tendo may be the only person in the world without a mark and it's quite hard to convince him that, most times, the universe doesn't know shit

“Holy shit, this is the best thing I ever tasted”.

“Don’t lie”.

“I’m not!”.

Tendo narrows his eyes, unimpressed.

“You said that about the last five bonbons”.

“Listen, the one with port and cinnamon was great n’all but this is a cookie dough brown butter bonbon. I’m blown away. I want to sleep with this one. I want to buy it dinner and then take it to bed”.

That’s when Satori laughs, loud and boisterous as he still allows himself to be around you. It makes you smile, seeing him happy.

“Tell me the secret to crafting these”.

“Again?”, he snorts, “I already explained the process a million times”.

“Wanna hear it again. I like how you talk about it”.

“Okay, weirdo”, there’s fondness and a silent invitation in the way he pushes the little box of his latest experiments towards you.

It’s soothing, comforting, listening to instructions you’re already familiar with. Tendo goes over how important it is to choose flavors that are fun and still be attentive enough to make sure the chocolate stands on its own: flavoring components should never completely ride over it. He skillfully exercises subtlety when coming up with new combinations, always keeps the interior so creamy and smooth the treat ends up melting in a delicious puddle on one’s tongue. The outer layer should never be too thick, chalky or cakey: that’s why he prefers to form most of the chocolates with his hands instead of using a mold.

There’s creativity involved in what he does but there’s also science. It requires a lot of patience, most of his work is made of tedious steps repeated over and over again within specific time limits and a perfectly calculated temperature. It fits him, you believe: Tendo’s always been diligent and persevering, no matter what the world threw at him.

He puts a lot of work in his boxes too, especially the ones he has to ship. They’re all triple-insulated, double-stuffed and always perfectly packed. A cute, colorful thank you card always goes hand in hand with each purchase, if he receives orders for a birthday or a special gift he’d even write a personal note as an addition. As a foreigner, it hasn't been easy to establish himself as a reliable chocolatier in a city like Paris, but he now has a pretty loyal clientele and the shop is basically never empty.

“That one’s my favorite”, Satori’s eyes zero on the bite-sized bonbon you’ve picked from the box.

You hum, appreciating the way the chocolate melts in your mouth. It’s not as good as the previous one but you recognize the artistry with which the flavors fuse with each other, chocolate ganache with clementine and hazelnuts, just a hint of lemon zest.

“They’re all incredible, ‘Tori. You’re very talented”. Tendo smiles.

“Thank you”, he mutters, grateful, “now, can we talk about it?”.

“There’s nothing to talk about”, you dangle your legs from the counter of the little production kitchen in the back of his boutique shop, closed for the day. It’s incredibly tidy, smells of soap and citrus.

“You impulsively booked a flight across the world because of a guy”.

Ouch.

“I flew across the world to visit my best friend”, you scowl, “thought he’d be happy to see me”.

“I’m fucking ecstatic, ma chérie”, it’s probably the happiest he’s been in years, “but we need to talk about it. Tell me what’s on your mind?”.

He can see the bags under your eyes, the usual brightness missing from your smile, playful vibration to your jokes absent. He knows you’re hurting and while he’d be thrilled to keep you in Paris for as long as you wish, Tendo has to know what’s broken before he even attempts to mend it. His gaze falls on a specific portion of skin of your wrist and a sigh slips past his lips.

“He broke up with me”, you articulate slowly, “said we weren’t compatible. Said it’s safer to abandon the delusional ideas that drew us close to each other and do things how they’re supposed to be done. According to the plan”, there’s a grimace on your face that pairs well with how you spit out the last words.

“Did you show him?”.

“No, you know I don’t do that anymore. He didn’t see mine and I never wanted to see his. He agreed to that”.

“Right”.

“And then, I don’t know, he did what everyone always does. Changed his mind”.

Satori sighs. Truthfully, he’s always been a little sad about your mark being permanently covered with thick foundation, concealer or whatever else. It’s been years. He misses seeing the little crooked triangle on your wrist.

“Well, maybe…”, he starts but is soon interrupted by a loud scoff.

“Don’t”.

“But they’re not wrong. The universe has it all layed out for you, maybe it’s time you stop being so stubborn”.

“I don’t care about the universe, Satori. The universe is not going to take away that choice from me, it should belong to me. I don’t want to be destined to someone, I want to be chosen by them”.

He deflates in the plastic chair he’s sitting on. Can’t really argue with that logic.

Ever since middle school, when your mark first appeared, you never wanted to succumb to the whole the cosmos has already decided who the perfect person for me is bullshit. You simply can’t accept giving up the freedom of falling in love with whoever you wish to pursue, regardless of the universe agreeing or not. That’s why you never really cared about matching marks and all that jazz, always dated those who seemed not to care either. But after a number of failed relationships, it became painfully obvious that deep down, everyone always believes marks are the real deal. It’s why you decided you never wanted to see the mark of the next guys you’d date, and certainly didn’t want to show yours anymore. Sometimes it’s even hard to remember it’s still there, underneath stubborn layers of concealer. You hated it your whole life.

“You’re right. It’s your life, you should live it however you see fit”, they’re idiots for giving up on someone like you in the name of a dumb sign or whatever anyway.

“I thought you’d understand this more than anyone, you’ve always hidden your mark too. I don’t even know what it looks like and it’s okay! It’s yours! Shouldn’t belong to anyone else’s prying eyes”, you pick another chocolate truffle from the special box he’s sorted for you. It’s red velvet flavored.

Tendo insisted on calling his shop like that, rouge velours, deaf to the literal translation not being entirely correct. The french need to associate the word gâteau to it, it has to be a red velvet cake. But he didn’t care, adamant in going with just red velvet.

It was a joke you had blurted out at the end of high school, sitting on the curb outside your favorite konbini on the way home, another summer evening made of snacks shared underneath the street lamps. Satori said he wanted to move to France and learn how to make handmade chocolates, open a shop and everything. You suggested it should’ve been called red velvet, would’ve paired well with his hair. It never crossed your mind that he would take your suggestion seriously.

Frankly, Tendo’s not changed much since high school. He’s a little taller, broader in the shoulders, prefers a buzz cut. He’s still cheerful, less loud if you’re not around, enjoys singing made up tunes to himself while he works, occasionally takes part in volleyball games when neighbors or friends from the gym invite him. More than anything, he’s still the kindest, most generous friend one could have.

You used to be a little jealous of Ushijima, never one to accept easily to be downgraded in the best friends ranking system. As a teenager, it was hard to acknowledge that Satori’s heart is simply big enough to fit everyone he cares about in there. Not many people realized how much of an honor that was anyway, so there was plenty of space.

He still calls Ushijima to check up on him and the fact that they declared to be best friends during a television show didn’t leave a sour taste in your mouth as it would’ve back then. Wakatoshi is a nice guy, it definitely grew on you and it now gives you comfort knowing that Satori gets to throw the blanket of his affection over more than one person’s shoulders.

Not a day goes by without missing him, different time zones making it even more complicated to keep up with each other. Yet, he’s always the one willing to stay up late to talk to you, insists that while you work in the morning, he enjoys crafting chocolates in the middle of the night. That hardly matters, since you know he has to wake up early to open the shop.

“Hard to hide something you don’t have”, he grins from where he’s sitting, in front of you. Your dangling legs come to a halt.

“What?”.

“I don’t have a mark”, Satori shrugs, “not a big deal”.

“That’s impossible”.

“You’ve seen me naked”.

“Because you didn’t lock the damn bathroom door!”, your face heats up at the memory belonging to so many years ago. He snickers.

“Well, if I had a mark you’d know!”.

You pause, incredulous.

“Did you check your nails? Maybe it was in your hair and you shaved it off. Everyone has a mark!”.

“I don’t have it”, he knows, he’s checked every inch of his body for too long before giving up, “don’t act so shocked, it makes perfect sense”.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”.

Satori shrugs, a timid smile on his lips.

“I’m damaged goods. I wouldn’t expect to be the right fit for anyone, the universe decided to spare me and a potential unfortunate match the embarrassment”.

To him, it’s perfectly normal that there’s no one right for him out there. Or rather, that he’s not the right person for anyone. Who would want that, anyway? The guy who’s always been too weird to be looked at normally. The guy who always stands out the wrong way. If the universe has decided to be merciful enough to spare him the disappointment flashing over someone’s face upon discovering that he’s their soulmate, the only thing Tendo should feel is gratitude. 

“Don’t say shit like that ever again, Satori. Damaged goods? What the hell? You’re the best person I know!”, you almost throw the chocolate box at his head, “anyone would be lucky to have you as their soulmate. Anyone. I’m certain you’re the perfect match for a lot of people but I find it very hard to believe they’d deserve you anyway”.

You’re his best friend, you’re supposed to say all that. Yet, kept silent by that fiery glare of yours, Tendo can’t help but feel his chest warm up.

He didn’t necessarily have a crush on you in high school, that’s what he told himself anyway. When you started going out with Eita, part of him was relieved you went for someone normal. His teammate fell into the right category: Semi was attractive, had good grades, knew his way around girls. It was a good reminder of what Tendo wanted for you, of what you deserved. He cared deeply about your happiness and would’ve went to impossible lengths to shield you from all the bad there was in the world. That still hasn’t changed. Your best friend was what he was always destined to be and it was more than what he could’ve asked for, anyway.

And so it wouldn’t have been right to fantasize, to admit to himself that for the first time ever since he was a kid, Tendo wished to be the opposite of what he was. He dreamed of a different childhood, school days filled with friends, practice bursting with laughter instead of whispers, not a reason in the world to direct him curious or grossed out stares. He wished he was handsome, charismatic, funny in a way that made girls laugh in sincere amusement instead of discomfort. He wanted so badly to be everything he was not, for you.

When he admitted to himself that he loved you, deeply, ferociously, in a way that would’ve scared off any other human being, high school was over and so was his volleyball dream. Another fantasy coming to an end. Satori announced he wanted to move to Paris, expecting life, distance, a different time zone, your boyfriends, to make the friendship too heavy of a task to keep up with.

And yet, you stayed by his side. Most importantly, you wanted him to stay by yours. Tendo has never been much used to the feeling of being wanted, his presence wasn’t exactly desired by other people throughout his life. But you and Paris both taught him that maybe he does have something to give, something people can be willing to accept. So what if that something isn’t romantic love? He’s already luckier than he ever imagined he would get. He’s going to be okay, as long as you’re his friend. He’ll manage.

“Satori”, you snap him back to reality, “I mean it. Fuck the universe”.

Honestly, the only thing he’s mad at the universe for is making you so deeply unhappy. Tendo’s not sure he can forgive the cosmos for failing you so many times.

“Yeah”, he agrees lightly, “fuck the universe”.

Maybe Tendo had a point when he referred to your little vacation as ‘impulsive’, given that you never really travelled outside of Japan before. Yet, what initially was an easy escape from your disappointing reality and a wonderful excuse to finally visit your best friend, soon turned into a delightful adventure.

You reciprocated Satori’s hospitality by being as useful as possible: you’d keep his place tidy and clean, get groceries, cook dinner. He’d insist on ordering out, would try to snatch the vacuum cleaner from your hand, sometimes Tendo would come home later than usual with his hands filled with groceries just so that you didn’t feel like you needed to refill the fridge. But you liked being there and you loved taking care of him, especially since he vehemently refused to go back to sleeping in his bed and offering you the couch instead.

On his rare free days, Satori gladly gives you a tour of the city and his favorite places. When he’s working, you’d explore Paris on your own, the little map he drew by hand safely nestled in your pocket. Yes, you obviously have a phone, but the map makes each stroll all the more special.

Being with him and feeling genuinely appreciated, in a city so wonderful and far away from home, made you realize that perhaps the universe got it all wrong. Maybe there’s no one out there with a mark similar to yours. Maybe you’re not a match for romantic love in the first place. You’re already lucky enough as it is, with a friend so wonderful you can share lovely dinners with over episodes of silly tv shows, in a tiny apartment filled with affection and laughter. It’s the best you’ve felt in years and the idea of leaving has never felt as dreadful.

But everyone has to get back to their life eventually: there’s your job, bills, rent, you haven’t visited your parents in a while. All these things you’re having a real hard time caring about as Tendo offers another glass of wine, the bottle you’re sharing practically empty resting by his feet.

It’s your last night in Paris and he insisted on cooking for once, a full course dinner paired with an expensive Clos de la Roche. Notes of woods and cherries dance on your tongue when you take another sip and you shut your eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. How did you end up on his bedroom’s floor anyway? Was it him who suggested sitting on the carpet with your backs pressed against his bed? No, you’re almost certain it was you. Satori tries to be less weird as a grown up, by his own admission: he leaves odd suggestions and ideas to other people, too busy trying to fit in now.

You find yourself observing his profile as he torpidly blinks, his own gaze focused on the hands holding his glass. The line of his jaw, the perfect curve of his nose. You think he’s pretty, spiky hair no longer there to tear away one’s attention from his features.

“Did you date a lot, here?”, you ask, genuinely curious. He turns to look at you, amused.

“A lot? When did I ever date a lot?”, Tendo chuckles to himself but you recognize the hurt simmering underneath the humor. It hurts you, too.

“Well, did you date?”, your impatience feels surprising but there’s no time to dwell upon unfamiliar feelings, not as Satori hums with a lethargic nod.

“Yeah, a few times”.

“They didn’t ask about your mark?”.

Tendo’s lips twitch as he remembers how ecstatic the women he went out with were upon finding out that not only his mark didn’t match theirs, he didn’t even have one to begin with. He was the safest option they could ever date, no risk of forever.

“It’s easier to date someone you know you’re not gonna end up with”, he shrugs, “they felt more comfortable, it was fun and momentary, thus risk-free”.

You click your tongue in disapproval and Tendo cocks his head, confused by your scowl.

“They, they, they. I always hated this about you, you’re always focusing on what other people think. I want to know, how did you feel?”.

Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s the fact that you’re about to become a fugitive presence in his life once more, but for once Satori feels like huffing out his frustration.

“Like shit”, he admits with a sly smile, “I could fall for just about anyone and I’ll always know they’re not my person. I won’t ever have a person and it makes me feel like shit”.

You’re not sure why tears are suddenly pricking the corners of your eyes. Maybe it’s because it’s really hard to remember the last time Satori allowed himself to be vulnerable around you. It always felt like he talked more to Wakatoshi, man to man or whatever. You never felt like you could be fully there for him and now it’s almost too late again, only a few hours before you fly off to the other side of the world.

“I hate them”, you murmur, “it’s just cruel. You’re not supposed to be anyone’s temporary fixing”.

“I’m not ever going to be anything but that”.

“No, Satori-”, in the process of positioning yourself better in order to face him, you kick the not entirely empty glass previously resting by your leg. It’s gonna leave a stain but you’ll find a way to take care of it before you leave, this is more urgent. This requires you taking your friend’s face into your hands, to bring it closer to your determined gaze. “That’s not true. The universe doesn’t know shit, okay? I know you. You don’t need a fucking mark. In fact, you know what? I’m happy you don’t have one. Thank god. I-”, he gently puts his hands over yours and leans over to tenderly kiss your forehead. Your train of thought derails as he fixes you with an amused, fond stare.

“It’s okay. Really”, Tendo lowers your hands and then leaves them cold, head falling to the side, cheek pressed to the orange duvet cover of his bed. You’re pouting, looking more beautiful than ever underneath the dim lights of his room, and so he can’t hold his tongue.

“You know, I find it incredible that you haven’t been able to find your person yet, universe or not. How’s it possible that someone as wonderful as you is being dumped by complete idiots just because they believe in some stupid pre-decided romantic assignation?”.

You mirror his position and rest your head on the softness of his bed. Despite being still on the floor, it almost feels as if you’re lying next to each other.

“They don’t believe I’m wonderful. I guess I’m just momentary, too”.

He scoffs. Deep down, Tendo also believes everyone should be granted the freedom to pursue their desired relationship, especially you. Don’t they know how lucky they are? You ignore destiny to give those dumbasses a chance and they leave before they even get to realize what they’re missing out upon.

“I think marks are bullshit”, Satori gently takes your hand and traces your fingers with his own slowly, eyes still boring into yours, “in a world with no marks, they’d be on their knees thanking their lucky star you showed interest in them at all”.

You hum, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Before Tendo interrupted your little motivational speech, you were about to tell him why it makes you happy that he doesn’t have a mark after all. Looking at him now, it’s all the more clear. It’s horrible and selfish and childish but, this way, you will never have to go through it: you’ll never have to find out that the one person who’s always been by your side, the one person who knows you better than you know yourself and still manages to love you, also isn’t the one.

Tendo is the greatest person you know, the only one you’d trust with your life. His heart is your favorite part of him: always stayed big enough to fit in all those who asked for access, kindness embedded so deep within him he never let the world’s cruelty affect it. Satori never stored an ounce of that nastiness people loved oh so much throwing at him, it let it become an armor instead. Steel made of insults, cruel jokes, mockery. It breaks your heart that he still wears it. It would break your heart to discover that someone like him isn’t destined to be yours after all, that the universe wouldn’t be benevolent enough to assign the best friend you ever had as your soulmate.

“You don’t mean that”.

You blink, slowly, actually fighting to keep your eyes open.

“What?”.

“What you just said. You’re drunk”, he chuckles quietly and, horrifyingly, you realize your mouth decided to voice those thoughts out loud.

The shock lasts a few seconds. Tendo is no longer fiddling with your fingers but your hand is still in his and the more you look into those crimson irises, the less uncomfortable you feel about what you just said. Is it the wine or is it just right?

“You think I wouldn’t be happy if the universe assigned you as my soulmate?”.

“I think you wouldn’t hate it”, Tendo softly ponders, “but that’d be far from ideal”.

“Hey, you don’t get to decide that. Me and the universe would be agreeing for once”.

Satori swears his heart skips a bit. All those years, all that badly harbored hope, the entirety of his restraint crumbling pathetically after a few drops of expensive wine. You don’t mean that, you can’t mean that.

“You could look at me like that?”, the question is supposed to underline how ridiculous the idea is, but he realizes he just sounds wishful.

“I know you think it’d be hard but it really isn’t”, you laugh softly. You’re looking at him like that right now. As you abstendmindedly play with his fingers, thumb gently rubbing circles on the skin of his wrist, you appreciate the pink dusting his cheeks, the slightly furrowed brows, the sweetness of his questioning gaze.

Tendo exhales slowly. Neither of you is resting their head on his bed anymore, too captivated by each other. “I’m not sure I’d survive the discovery of you of all people, not being the one I’d be destined to stand with for the rest of my life. Because what a waste would be, for that person to be someone else”, it’s nothing but a whisper, raw honesty doing something funny to his stomach as it slips past his lips for the first time. There’s no one but you, honestly. He knows there’ll never be anyone else. The universe has planned love for those around him and an eternal curse for his heart.

“A terrible waste”, you agree and the hand not busy interlacing your fingers with his, suddenly closes around the soft fabric of his hoodie to bring him closer. Satori doesn’t dare move, let alone breathe, effectively paralyzed by the idea of indulging something you’ll regret the second it happens.

Except you don’t. When you kiss him, tentative at first, all the pieces fall right into place. Your lips curl into a small, knowing smile as the world slows down. Then finally, finally, he kisses you back. It’s deeper, a hand pressing to your cheek, it’s corrodingly tender and you feel yourself melting into his touch, into the genuine reverence he holds for you.

Tendo feels something unravel from within, the tangles and knots of hurt, uncertainty, combust and disappear into thin ashes. He’s too lost in the moment, too drunk on how close you’re holding him as your tongue brushes against his own, to pay any attention to the itchy feeling over the skin of his wrist. Right where your thumb is pressing, a crooked triangle appears at last.

[girliism]

you don’t when it happened but you knew you felt it. patrick falling out of love with you, after twelve long years of marriage. but what had caused it? was it when you gave birth to your son? did he now find your body unattractive? couldn’t have been that, he made sure to tell you how beautiful you were, he worshiped you now no less than he did before, even giving you a daughter two years later. was it when you asked him to retire after he lost the us opening? “pat, maybe it’s time-” patrick stood up abruptly. “no. i’m not retiring, not yet, i still have one good season left in me.” or maybe it was when he started to rekindle with his recently divorced old girlfriend. “tashi said she’d coach me.” patrick said. you didn’t know how to feel as you watched him dry himself off. tashi the gorgeous ex girlfriend that he had weird history with. “oh… tashi.” patrick gave you that look he often gave your son when he was unimpressed with his goofing around during practice. “it’s not like that.” no, it was before that, when him forgetting little things like to kiss you goodbye when he left in the morning, or how he stopped sending you a good night message when he wouldn’t be home in time, turned into him forgetting your wedding anniversary.

“my parents have the kids tonight so it’ll be just us.” you laying on the massage table next to your best friend. the whole day was spent getting your hair and nails done, your body fully waxed and now massaged. “are you gonna do the steak and potatoes or the alfredo?” you hummed thinking. “probably the steak, i just bought this wine that’ll be perfect for it.” so you spent hours making steak just how he liked it, roasting potatoes so they were that perfectly crispy but not burnt. you put on a new dress and wore that perfume he loved, only to wait hours for him to get home. it was 1 am. you scraped your fork back and forth on your empty plate as you stared at the clock. 1:01 am. 29 minutes late patrick stumbled in. drunk. “where were you?” your voice was soft as you watched patrick trip over his own feet. “shit! fucking scared me.” patrick laughed, taking in your appearance. “why are you so dressed up?” you stared blankly at him. “do you what today is?” there’s no way he could have forgotten. right? “saturday.” “the date, patrick, what’s the date.” you were practically begging him to remember. patrick closed his eyes for a second trying to get his half drunk mind to remember. “it’s uh. fuck, the 15th it’s the 15th.” “of may patrick!” you yell at him, trying to hide the fact you were about to cry. you could tell when he finally understood. patrick’s head fell and a deep sigh left him. “shit, baby i’m so sorry” you turned away from him. “the guys, they wanted to get drinks after practice and i lost track of time.” patrick whispered, wrapping his arms around your waist dropping kisses on your shoulder. but he didn’t just forget cause he was out with friends. you thought back on the whole day, how no flowers greeted you when you woke up like usual, or how he didn’t call you to tell you something random that happened at your wedding that you surely forgot but he didn’t cause that day was on repeat in his mind. “there’s food on the table.” you walked away from him, wiping the tears that were falling fast.

the sound of padded feet running down the hall snaps you back to the present as you tear your eyes away from your wedding ring. “mommy, can we make pizza now.” your daughter plopped her little body next to you on the bed. sometimes you wonder if your genes even put up a fight as you stare down at the little girl who looked exactly like her father. “yeah, go grab your brother and i’ll meet you down stairs.” you tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, watching her running out the room. it was friday, and the kids have been begging for a family pizza making night and patrick finally had an off day. “have you seen my watch, the gold one?” patrick rushes around the room dressed oddly nice. “where are you going?” patrick freezes in the hall. “to uh meet with tashi, she wants us to look over some prints for a campaign.” tashi. “but, tonight we’re supposed to be making pizza, it’s literally all the kids have been asking me about.” you followed patrick to the front door. “i’m really sorry honey, but these prints they have to go out at a certain time and tashi she wants us to look over them together.” it was like that now a days, if tashi called patrick came running. “but daddy, it’s pizza night.” your daughter pouted, dressed up in a little chef outfit. “i know, princess and daddy is very sorry, wait for me a bedtime, i’ll read to you tonight.” your daughter nod saying goodbye before running back into the kitchen. “i want be long.” “ok, i love yo-” the door was slammed.

patrick wasn’t back by bedtime. “he probably just got caught up baby, he’ll read to you next time.” you had to explain to your daughter. you got a sick wave of deja vu siting there at the dinner table. waiting, waiting, and waiting. when patrick got home the house was dark and the stairs creaked as he crept up them. “how was it.” patrick jumped a little, not expecting to see you just sitting there. “fine.” patrick cleared his throat walking into the walk in closet. you smelt it in the air when he walked past. her perfume. it wasn’t faint either, it was as if he rolled around in it. “you smell like her.” patrick let out a sigh walking right past to the bathroom. “we hugged goodbye.” he was hiding something, you could see it in his desperation to get away from you. “did you fuck her?” time froze for a second, the only sounds being the breathing coming from you and patrick. “what?” “did you fuck her, did you have sex with tashi.” you weren’t backing off. “wh-why would i do that? you, you’re crazy.” you weren’t. “answer the question patrick.” tears welled up in your eyes, voice cracking, but you refused to cry. “just fucking answer me.” your voice was loud but still low enough not to wake the kids. patrick squeezed his eyes shut, pinching his nose bridge in annoyance. “i’m not gonna answer such a stupid fucking question.” you huffed. “fine, then do you still love me?” please just say yes and tell me in being paranoid. you thought, picking at the skin of your finger nail. patrick turned to face for the first time since he got back. “of course i do.” the tears you were holding back finally slip when patrick places his hands on your cheeks. you felt that the sliver band that usually rest on his ring finger wasn’t there. you pulled his hand from your cheek stroking over the empty spot. “love.” patrick whispered. “wait wait, please i can explain. it was just this one time, it ment nothing, i love you, please, i do i love you.” the fear of losing you was setting in and patrick’s eyes were started getting watery. you sighed, teary eyed and red nosed. “i really wish you didn’t sound like you were trying to convince yourself of that.” patrick looked at you with wet eyes. “baby.” you pulled your hands out of his and walked out of the room.

(why i’m sad like i didn’t just write this.)

[beomiracles]

⌞ 𝐒𝟐 𝐄𝐏 𝟒 ⌝

DREAM RECALL ⸝⸝ His fingers grasp your chin and reality slowly seeps back into your clouded mind. He was a complete stranger, you didn’t even know his name. It somehow excited you. It was the thrill your mundane life lacked, it was what your husband failed to provide you with. But this man, this stranger, he was ready to give you everything and more as his eyes hungirly roam your body, hands moving along your sides before sliding down your thighs to push your dress up. ⸝⸝

wc: 3.2k

pairings taehyun x fem!reader warnings infidelity, age-gap, strangers to ???, Taehyun is 22 & reader is referred to be around her mid-thirties, reader is slightly insecure, semi-public sex, unprotected + creampie, vaginal fingering, marking, kissing, hm hm hm let me know if I missed something !!

#serene speaks ✎... hii hii !! this is heavily inspired by one scene from the show 'Good Girls' eheh, because I'm rewatching it right now !! like I love Rio and Beth you don't get it. anyway, I'm not claiming this plot/idea as my own in any way shape or form, but you do not have to have seen the show to read this :3 this is horribly proofread on my part but my dear Izzy looked through it for me so fear not !!

The glass is cold beneath your fingers, the rim resting against your lips, waiting on you to take another sip. You do. The liquor burns your throat, it adds to the light buzz, the tingle of your body. — Chatter surrounds you, it’s everywhere but you can’t seem to pick up on it. The bar is beyond crowded, and so is your small table, placed in an ocean of others. Some guests are merely tipsy, others are on the verge of passing out. 

Your gaze shifts to the man in front of you, your husband. He keeps on talking and talking, somehow overpowering the murmur around you. His monotone voice makes you tick, the small wedge between his bushy eyebrows, the insistent moving of his lips, the pools of nothing swirling behind his eyes. Not a single comprehensive thought roamed that brain of his. 

You knew that he was cheating. You’d be a fool not to. The lipstick on his fingers, some smudging on the collar of his white shirt. His uneven hair and flushed cheeks, not to mention the constant talking, a distraction, as if he was still trying to cover for himself. — He must think you’re stupid. But you’re not. You’ve known for a while now. You just haven’t decided on how to pursue, decided on a suitable approach. 

Divorce was always an option, but what about your kids? They love their daddy. — You take another sip, swishing the alcohol on your tongue before swallowing. Perhaps you’d guilt trip him... — “Babe, are you listening?” He still called you that, it was despicable, you weren’t in high school anymore. You blink, painting on a small smile, the same smile you’d been wearing for the past ten years. 

“Sorry, you said something about your upcoming sales?” 

His face lights up, like a kid on Christmas, eager to tell you about things he thought you had no clue of, things he didn’t think you’d understand. He belittled you, almost everyday, and you were sick of it. — He begins rambling once more, he’s bound to be occupied for another five minutes, so you let your eyes wander. They scan the crowded bar, people leaning over the countertop to get their order across. 

Then suddenly, he leans back, easily parting himself from the rest, if only for a split second. The black shirt clung to his chest, sleeves rolled up to expose his near delectable forearms. He was young, at least ten years your junior. But he’d caught your eye the whole night. His gaze meets yours, dark eyes twinkling under the dim lights as he sends you a near unnoticeable smirk, just the faint tug of his lips, nothing else. His attention momentarily shifts over to your obnoxious man of a husband, but you don’t stray from him. 

“..And so if we put the Honda for sale, I’m sure it’ll attract far more…Babe?” Your husband leans forward, blocking the view of the stranger before you. Internally groaning, your wide eyes quickly snap back to him, “sorry darling, my mind’s all over the place.” Your husband nods, and his hand reaches for yours, you notice that he isn’t wearing his wedding ring. “Should we go home?” He asks the question like any other in the world, but it lacks any kind of sincerity. 

Brushing past him, your attention returns to the guy by the bar, he was talking to someone, but his eyes would shift to your table ever so often, an almost knowing look on his face. “Yes”, you bring the cold glass to your lips once more, downing the beverage in one go, “I’ll just go freshen up.” 

Without waiting for a response, you rise, swinging your small bag over your shoulder as you push your chair in. Your husband looks confused, though he quickly nods, murmuring something about waiting out in the car. But you pay the man you’d devoted fifteen years of your life to, little mind, instead you head for the bathrooms with long and determined strides. 

The room is small, cramped, and as the door shuts behind you with an awkward squeak, you lean onto the sink, gripping its edges tightly as you regard your reflection in the dirty mirror. With a shaky exhale you place your bag down on the cool surface, unzipping it as you reach for your lipstick, carefully reapplying the gloss across your lips. Resisting the urge to splash cold water all over your heated face, you run a hand through your hair. 

You think about your husband, and for a moment guilt gnaws at the corners of your mind. But the longer you picture his face, the lies, the betrayal. — The better you feel about yourself. 

You swallow, your throat suddenly feels dry, and a small bead of sweat forms on your forehead. Fingers drumming against the white porcelain, you count the seconds in your head, your mouth moving silently. — Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven..

Click. 

The door glides open, and a tall shadow slinks inside. He closes the door behind him, hands digging into the pockets of his black jeans as he watches you expectantly. Through the reflection of the mirror, everything is okay, but as you turn around, coming face to face with him for the first time tonight, your breath gets stuck in your throat. Fuck, he was really young, 21? 22? 

You bite the inside of your cheek, briefly hesitating. But he didn’t. He watches you with the same expression he had been all night, unmoving to the untrained eye, but you could clearly catch the glint in his gaze, the desire radiating off of him. You wouldn’t back down now. — So you take a step forward, one is enough to put you against him, chests brushing one another. 

He doesn’t say anything when you reach a hand out, fingers clasping around the lock of the door behind him as you seal the two of you away from the rest of the world. — Your soft exhale fans across his face, the smirk on his lips spreading, exposing sharp teeth. Part of you wants to break the silence, another part of you wants it to go on forever. 

You’re frozen, because in truth, you hadn’t planned for anything further than this. But he doesn’t seem to mind, an almost gentle look playing on his features as he draws closer, large hands finding their way to the back of your thighs as he runs them along your clothed skin. — Your dress is long, reaching all the way to your knees, certainly not what the twenty-something girls wore, but he didn’t seem to mind that either as he carefully bunches the fabric up. 

He takes a step forward and you take one back, you don’t even realize how far you’ve gotten until your now exposed skin hits the cold porcelain and you emit a small gasp. The sound rings out in the silent room, echoing off its walls almost melodically. — He huffs, and in one swift move, he hikes you up onto the cool sink. 

The determination of his movements make your panties dampen in a way they hadn’t for years. In all honesty you couldn’t even remember the last time you and your husband had sex, it might have been sometime before your youngest was born.. You tried to shake the uncomfortable thoughts away but it seemed impossible. Your hands roam his shoulders and the fine outline of his toned chest, he was everything your husband wasn’t. 

And you…You were everything they weren’t, the twenty-something girls. Would he even like you? — Sure beauty was subjective but would he hesitate when he saw the stretch marks on your belly? The dip of your hips, the plush of your thighs, your body worn out after birthing four children. Would he be disgusted? Would he back out? 

His fingers grasp your chin and reality slowly seeps back into your clouded mind. He was a complete stranger, you didn’t even know his name. It somehow excited you. It was the thrill your mundane life lacked, it was what your husband failed to provide you with. But this man, this stranger, he was ready to give you everything and more as his eyes hungirly roam your body, hands moving along your sides before sliding down your thighs to push your dress up. 

You shiver. Whether that was from the fresh air hitting your now naked skin or the anticipation swirling in the pits of your stomach, you didn’t know. His gaze searches yours as his fingers brush the lining of your panties, as if looking for doubt, but he only finds lust, and he smirks. — Your husband rarely touches you, and especially not like this, not intimately. You often thought that you might have been the problem, but as the man before you leans in to press a tender kiss to the skin of your shoulder, you find that it’s not. 

A small part of you wants to ask his name, his age, anything, even the slightest bit of information about him. But the unknown felt good, ignorance really was bliss. It was better this way, you tell yourself. Less strings attached, and it wasn’t like you were ever going to see this man again. You were doing something for yourself, for you. 

He dips a tentative hand beneath the soft cotton of your underwear, fingers experimentally swiping across your soaked cunt as he parts your folds. He has yet to pull away, to change his mind, and you internally sigh out in relief. — Your head falls forward, hands gripping his broad shoulders as you exhale against his neck. 

You catch him softly humming and mere moments later, the pad of his thumb presses against your throbbing clit and a small moan rolls off your tongue. You could barely remember the last time you’d even touched yourself. With four children and a cheating husband who stayed out late, alone time was near sacred. You were pretty damn sure it showed. 

The way he was touching you felt good, way too good, and you resist the urge to squeeze your thighs around his arm. — Just as his lips trace the shell of your ear does he push a finger deep into your core, drawing a breathless gasp from you as he curls said finger, almost immediately brushing past a part of you that had been kept stowed away for so long. 

The buzzing sensation the alcohol had left you with was nothing compared to the fire currently taking to life within you. And all you could think was: why hadn’t you done this sooner? Why had you denied yourself of the pleasure your husband has so liberally been granting himself for the past year. 

Your husband…

He was waiting for you in the car. Time was not on your side, and any other day, you would have been freaked out. Not today. Today your mind is set on one thing alone. — Feverish hands claw at his shirt as you urge him on, the second finger he’d added wasn’t enough, you needed more, and a lot of it. He complies almost immediately, a small grin splayed across his face as he yanks your panties down your legs. You wondered if he let the twenty-something girls boss him around like this too. 

Your neck feels damp, covered in his wet kisses, rough enough to where they’d surely discolor your skin. The idea of your husband seeing it was thrilling. But before you get to ponder said scenario further, he’s got you on your feet once more, spinning your around to face the mirror. Immediately you shy away from your reflection in the glass. The thought of seeing yourself like this, bent over the sink of a public bathroom in a random bar like some cheap fuck.. The idea was far from enticing. 

His hand is on your lower back as he guides you down, the other one trailing along your arm before reaching your neck. Fingers splayed across your throat, he encourages your head back up and your eyes flutter at the action. — And when they open, you find him already watching you through the reflection, lips pulled into the same smirk he’d been wearing the whole night. 

Suddenly, it felt okay again. 

The sound of his zipper being undone sends a small spark of excitement through your already anticipating body. — Leaning forward, he presses a warm kiss to your shoulder blade, firm chest meeting the slight arch of your back and the head of his cock nudges your nearly pleading cunt. 

Your fingers grip the porcelain tight, knuckles fading to match its pale color, making the wedding ring on your hand a stark contrast. You exhale, gaze flickering up to meet his through the reflection. Dark hair falls down onto his forehead, shielding his face from view until he looks up. — With a soft grunt, the hand previously on your back now resting against the curve of your waist, he pushes himself inside with one swift thrust. 

The feeling is familiar yet completely foreign and you gasp at the stretch, your cunt clenching around him almost immediately. He gives a small sigh, head falling to the crook of your neck once more as his hand travels from your throat and down your chest, getting a handful of your tits as he squeezes them through the light blouse you wore. 

He moves slowly at first, taking his time as he gauges your every reaction. From the twitch of your lips to the sickeningly sweet moans that he managed to draw. — But you both quickly realize that it’s far from enough. And it’s not long until his hips are snapping against yours with a force strong enough to make your eyes roll back. 

To be touched like this. To be craved like this. It was like a part of you, once long forgotten, had been awakened all over again. Your life before your scumbag of a husband, your life before the lies, the cheating, the must’s and the do’s. — It was your life before soccer practice with the kids every tuesday, it was life before turning in at 10pm each night, it was life before slaving away in the kitchen as you scrambled to feed your family. 

This. This was your life. Only you and this mere stranger, a mere stranger who made you feel like yourself again. — His cock buried deep within your throbbing cunt, twitching with your every persistent clench of arousal. Biting down on your bottom lip, you try to muffle the noises of pleasure waiting on your tongue, the thin walls of the small bathroom would surely give you away. 

Your knees feel weak, legs wobbling with each thrust of his, and if it hadn't been for his arm snaked around your waist, you would’ve been on the floor moments ago. — Your eyes get caught on him, his large frame towering over you from behind, broad shoulders spreading out above yours; biceps flexing through the material of his dark shirt. His breath is hot against your neck, coming out in heavy pants and faint grunts as his lips nip at your sweaty skin.  

You didn’t know his name. But he still made you feel things you hadn’t felt in forever. He made you feel sexy. Desirable. Like there was more to you than the sad house-wife who obliviously lets her husband cheat on her. 

When you finish on his cock, it doesn’t feel at all like it had with your husband, with the man you had devoted your life to. No, it felt better. Like this was how it was supposed to have been all along. It feels euphoric, like you’re floating, nothing was real and nothing mattered. Then suddenly, you want to kiss him. — Craning your neck slightly, a trembling hand unlatching from the sink as your fingers entangle in his dark hair, you pull his face to meet yours. 

Was this a bad idea? Was kissing taking it too far? Were you about to cross a boundary you couldn’t revert back from. It didn’t matter, you didn’t care, and neither did he. 

His lips are soft as they move eagerly against your own. It’s not like the quick pecks you and your husband shares before he leaves for work, before he leaves for someone else. Your kisses with your husband are solemn, melancholy, and almost chore-like. This was anything but. It felt like your first kiss all over. Hot but tentative, clumsy but absolutely perfect. 

He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating on your tongue and you resist a small moan. Then he tries to pull back, but you don’t want him to, he can’t. Your fingers in his hair keeps him close, and with a soft hum he complies. Hips jerking forward one last time before his warm release shot up into your spent cunt. It felt like something you definitely shouldn’t be doing. Perhaps that was why you did it. 

You finally felt in control. 

As he pulls out, tucking himself back into his dark jeans, you realize that you had yet to speak a word to each other. The silence had been a minimal obstacle just moments prior but now…You wonder if you should break it. But what would you say to him? “Thank you?” You almost scoffed. 

His large hands on your legs startle you from your thoughts and it takes you a second to realize that he’s pulling your panties back on. The garment is beyond drenched as it sticks to you uncomfortably. — He’s close, so close that you can feel his warm breath caress your flushed cheeks. He exhales, eyes finding yours in the dim light of the small bathroom. Then he smiles, it’s not the previous smirk that had originally drawn you in, but a genuine smile. 

“Taehyun.” 

His voice is low, the name effortlessly rolling off his tongue and you blink dumbfoundedly at him before realizing that he’d just introduced himself. Feeling your face redden even further, you clear your throat before following his lead and doing the same. — Taehyun leads you out of the restrooms, ignoring the glances sent by the multiple people in line as his hand rests on your lower back. 

The cold air causes goosebumps to ripple across your skin the moment you step out onto the parking lot. Taking a small step back, Taehyun’s eyes roam the multitude of cars lined up, you do the same, eventually finding the familiar one amongst the crowd. After glancing back and forth awkwardly, you finally bid farewell to him, barely managing to catch the subtle wink he shot you. 

The car door slams shut and with a heavy sigh you slump against the leather seat, finally feeling the evening’s events catch up to you. — “What took you so long?” The annoyingly monotone voice of your husband rings out into the thick air and you’re thankful for the darkness of the night as you roll your eyes. “Long line”, you mumble. 

Your husband hums as the engine comes to life. “And who was that?” He adds, sending a small nod in the direction of Taehyun’s figure, leaning against the brick wall of the bar as he takes slow drags from a cigarette. — You shrug, feigning ignorance as you rub your thighs together, the dampness between them an evident memory of what had taken place just minutes earlier. 

“A friend of a friend”, you sigh, letting your gaze wander out the window as you pull out of the parking lot. “Yeah?” Your husband mutters, “what’s his name?” — You smile, shrugging the question off as you settle back into your seat. 

“I haven't got a clue.” 

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[damn-stark]

Chapter 21 Icarus

Chapter 21 of Moonlight

A/N- Someone makes a special appearance in this chapter!

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, violence and blood, ANGST!!, fluff, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 449-452

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

As if kept apart for years with just distorted words repeating in his mind, and only able to cling onto the ghost of your scent to try and keep your memory alive, when night falls and you’re laying in bed, Aemond holds onto your waist with a tight grip as if he faltered even a bit you would slip from existence. He buries his face in your lap and occasionally you feel wet kisses pressed against your flesh.

His demand to be clinging when you returned from scouting is not something that bothers you, you quite enjoy him not being able to be without you. You find solace in the warmth of his hand when you navigate through corridors, and feel giddy when you catch his lingering stares that burrow deep within you as if he’s trying to grasp the fact that you’re by his side.

It’s all so sweet and you love it when Aemond is sweet. Yet you can’t help but start to wonder why he hardly let you out of his sight since you returned from scouting.

“Is something wrong?” You finally break the peaceful silence and stroke his hair.

Aemond remains as he is for a moment before he just slightly tilts his head up to look at you between the strands of his hair that stick to his face. “Does there have to be something wrong for me to be this way with you? It’s not uncommon for us to lie like this.”

“I know,” you say softly as you gently tuck his hair behind his ear. “It’s just…I don’t know…I feel like something’s wrong with you. Are you okay?”

Aemond holds onto your gaze and tries to brush you off, but those three words seem to cause him to fight an inner conflict that makes his eye soften and then harden before a swift conclusion brings tears to his eye, causing your eyebrows to immediately furrow out concern while your breath hitches out of surprise because he’s being so expressive.

“Aemond?” You whisper and slide your hand down to cradle his cheek.

Said man slowly pulls his hands off your waist to grab your hand on his cheek and press a lingering kiss on the heel of your hand, making you grow even more concerned.

“Can I just look at you for a moment?” He asks and your eyebrows knit together before you lean toward him and probe.

“Aemond what is it?” You have to keep probing before your concern kills you, but your dearest husband just sighs deeply and continues with silence while he makes your hands slip off his face as he sits up with his head hanging low.

You want to keep pressing him with words, but you use a more desperate plea by brushing his hair back with your hands before you grab his face and find his gaze to plead that way. Desperately and deeply concerned.

Albeit Aemond presses his forehead against yours and draws in a deep breath with his eye closed.

“My love,” you coo, and he keeps quiet for a moment longer before he pulls back to face you and finally speak about what's troubling him so.

“You are…” he trails off in a whisper and his gaze slowly slides off you.

“Aemond,” you whisper.

Said man’s gaze slowly drifts to the corner of the room and remains in the shadows before he blinks and looks back at you with a more determined gaze.

“You are to remain out of war councils,” he speaks in a voice slowly lacing with a coldness so you know that this is no jest. “You are to stop dueling and scouting. And most importantly you will not under any circumstance take part in any battle be it in the sky, on the sea, or the ground.”

Your concern falls as you’re struck with disbelief. “This,” you stammer. “This is some jest.” You shake your head. “It has to be because—it’s not funny, Aemond.”

He clenches his jaw and averts his gaze as he shakes his head. “No, it is not some jest. It’s how things will be from now on.”

Your eyes widen with that same disbelief still running its course within you as it doesn’t fully hit you just yet that what he speaks of is real.

“You…” you trail off to slide off the bed. Aemond quickly mirrors you and follows after you as you stride away from the bed. When he captures your arm you turn around with a look of hurt painted on your face—“Am I not good enough? I can try harder, I can. Just…don’t make me stop.”

Aemond’s gaze softens again and he grabs you with both hands now.

“No,” he rebuttals right away. “It’s not that. You are great, but—”

“Is it what Ser Criston said in the corridor?” You cut him off in a sudden burst of anger. “Because if it is, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just some low-life knight who doesn’t know anything about Targaryens.”

Aemond shakes his head and swallows thickly before he interjects to finally give reason to his decision. “It’s a decision I made myself because I don’t think it’s safe for you to be out there while you’re with child. It’s a war, not some game. I can’t put you at risk. I won’t.”

A flicker of hurt passes through you, threatening you towards using sorrow to argue back, but the anger and frustration burst through, drowning out the sadness that built up at his words since he knows that being cast aside is something that wounds you deeply.

“You,” you mutter before you yank your arms out of his grasp and push him back over and over again with each word that leaves past your lips. “It’s always you. You. You. You! What about me?!” You bark and push him back one more time before you stand up straight with your chest puffed out, your lips parted as you heave, and your gaze spewing rage and disbelief that still lingers within you. “What about what I want, huh?! What about what I want, Aemond!”

“I just want to protect you!” He counters back but not in the same anger you display, he just feels frustrated because you’re not understanding. “I’m protecting you, don’t you see that?!”

“I can protect myself!” You hit your chest. “You've seen that! You can’t make me stand idly by your side! I will not be gawked at! I can fight,” you cry. “I can do it! I am something, I am someone! I have,” you exhale. “I have proved it. I have.” You nod gently as you lose that rage and agony returns.

“I won’t lose you,” Aemond’s voice breaks whilst his gaze is pointed at you as he’s feeling nothing but determination to defend his decision even if you keep arguing. “I won’t. I cannot lose you!”

You take a moment to catch your breath and process the agony behind his own words. When you have somewhat calmed down you step toward him and look at him softly. “You won’t lose me. I’m here. I will always be here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Aemond drops his head and draws in a deep breath. “You won’t. That’s right,” he whispers before he brings his head up and looks at you with a narrowed look. “I already told you. You will not take part in any fighting of any kind, or any war councils. You will remain Princess Regent, but that’s all you’ll be, no more Blood Dragon or Fire Demon. I’m sure you can do a lot of Regent duties even from here.”

You nod gently and slowly lower your gaze to try and find your thoughts on the ground. Anywhere really. Yet all that you can come across is more disbelief that leaves you saying only one single word that holds no meaning. “Alright.”

You then shove past him and as you grab your robe he questions your actions that you hardly give any thought to. “Where are you going?”

You stride to the doors and give your answer to the moist air. “The Godswood. Can I do that?”

Aemond calls out your name to retort your sassy remark, but you just leave your quarters in a huff. When you’re in the corridor you take a torch from the wall and pace down the corridors like a ghost haunting the castle with your mind still focused on your argument, and don’t snap out of your stupor until you’re outside with your feet in the cold lakes shore.

The cold water forces you to take in your surroundings and wonder what changed and why so suddenly.

Is it really because of what he mentioned? Or is it something else? Something far more complicated like him not thinking you’re good enough.

Why?

You don’t—you can’t just sit by with a plastered smile watching as the world goes on living around you like you’re some caged bird. You have to be more than that right?

Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re forever destined just to be unremarked and not amount to a thing. Just a forgotten name with a forgettable face.

Is that all you are to this world? To everyone you cherish?

You are more than that…

Cregan would think so. But would he have done the same thing as Aemond? You have to wonder as you look across the lake with just the stars as your company, unbeknownst to the fact that on a small hill that overlooks the Gods Eye, the soul you think of has you in his mind and wonders when he’ll have to stop depending on just his memories to see you again. He wonders how you are after the death of your beloved brother, and if you’re okay; that one is heavy in his mind because there’s only so much he hears about you and it's never what he truly desires to know. And it’s not like you can send each other letters anymore.

Even if you are so close to one another during this tragic war, it still feels like the same distance between Winterfell and King’s Landing stands between you since letters can’t be exchanged, and neither of you can see face to face even if you are so close.

Memories are all you have, and it’s why you realize that Cregan wouldn’t be much different than Aemond. Cregan is protective too, more stubbornly so. Which is why it’s not like you can go to him either, you would be stuck in the same predicament.

And the same goes for your mother, so there’s truly nowhere you belong now—

Maybe at the bottom of that lake…

Nevertheless, because of the silence that surrounds you at night, it’s easy to catch the sound of footsteps approaching, and recognize that they’re lighter than Aemond’s would be, so it’s not him. It can only be a select few, so you turn around and your curiosity is answered when you see Alys approaching.

“It’s late, why are you not abed?” You break through the sound of crickets singing in the distance.

“I wonder the same thing about you,” she redirects and then falls by your side before she continues. “Troubles with your husband?”

You draw in a sharp breath and turn around before you exhale slowly and walk over to a large rock to sit on it. “Tell me why you’re still here Alys. You’re a witch, I imagine it’s easy finding ways to leave these wetlands.”

Alys mingles by the lake for a moment before she turns around and drags her feet toward you to sit on a lower rock next to you. “This is my home,” she puts it simply. “Where would I go?”

You glance across the lake with a longing look and sigh deeply before sharing the first place that comes to mind. A place you haven’t dreamt of going to in some time. “Yi-Ti. I heard it's beautiful there, full of wonderful and bad people alike. It’s somewhere far, where you can be something...”

Alys steals a look at you before she sits up and keeps her eyes on the horizon. “Have you considered it? You have a dragon and money that a lot of people only dream about. I imagine it would be easy for you too.”

You swallow back the lump that grows in your throat and nod slowly as you look up at the endless sky now. “I could go to King’s Landing and take my son and leave to never return. It would be easy, I could be something there that I’m not allowed to be here.”

Alys nods gently in comprehension. “But it would be selfish,” she says words that go against her nod, words that cut you deeply. “Leaving it all behind because of what? A disagreement.”

You scoff as you drop your head. “No,” you mutter. “It’s…you wouldn’t get it.”

“Perhaps so. Then leave.”

You don’t know her so you can’t take apart her words and understand if she’s leading you on or being serious. Thus you slowly raise your head to look at her, catching her gaze already on you with nothing but sincerity. She’s serious, she’s pushing you to do what you want and that slight pressure is what makes you falter. Just enough for her to pick you apart.

“Why is it that you’re so dedicated to your Prince?” She asks and looks with a slight smirk playing on her lips. “Your dragon is not chained and you’re not chained, you may leave whenever you desire. Yet even with your mother on that throne you still stick by him, why?”

It’s simple. The answer is quick to come to mind and slip past your tongue. “Because he loves me selfishly. All of me, the dark part of me. Because loving him is consuming in the best way possible. Because he understands the inner workings of my conflicted soul and to let him go…would be like losing a part of my soul.”

Alys sighs deeply and doesn't fret to speak boldly. “And what about the Wolf of the North?”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief, and there in the depths of your chest, where your heart used to be is a faint jolt. Be it nerves or some reconnection to what you thought was lost, you don’t know. All you know is that you feel it.

“He,” you whisper with no control of your words, it’s easy to speak to her. Even if you don’t know her you know for some reason that nothing you say will be spread like a disease. “He has this way that he looks at me…like no matter how dark, how far, or how many people may be swarming him he only has eyes for me. He will always find me. He looks at me like he’s found salivation, hope. Loving him is exciting,” your words come easy, and a faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “Maybe it was because it was a secret, but…I don’t believe that to be true.” You sigh shakily and drop your head once again.

Alys hums and gently hits the side of her thigh before she quips. “I don’t envy you. Loving two people sounds exhausting.”

You shake your head to contradict her and try to say it’s the farthest thing from the truth, but you don’t want her to ask you to pick one so you stay quiet. Not because it’s hard, it’s easy. You truly, honestly, and deeply love them both.

You do. It’s selfish, yes, but it’s true.

“You can’t leave,” Alys returns your conversation to what you were initially speaking of before she sidetracked you. “Not to Yi-Ti, and not to King’s Landing. Not yet.”

You drag your leg up to prop your elbow on your knee and rest your chin on your hand as you look at her with confusion. “Why is that?” You probe. “At least in King’s Landing, I can be with my son.”

Alys draws out deeply and slowly meets your gaze. “Because then all of that wisdom that I let you see will be for nothing…”

You blink slowly in disbelief and sit up as your face goes hard. “What do you mean?” You ask in a threatening manner.

“Just that. I let you see the truth about your father and your mother's plan. It was me,” she reveals, and it clicks. That’s why she was so familiar. That’s why it feels like you know her, because of that vision in the fire that she gave you.

“Why?” You deadpan without blaming her for anything. You’re honestly thankful that she let you see the truth.

“Because you would have died otherwise,” she shares, making you scoff—“And that can’t happen yet. I needed you to go down a different path in life.”

“You know,” you interject and get up to look at the stars with an inkling of frustration. “I am getting sick of people telling me I am going to die, and trying to save me from it.”

Alys follows you to your feet and takes a step forward to grab your attention and make sure you’re meeting her eyes and not lost in the stars as she reaches deep within her to share what you need to hear. So you know that you don’t need to exhaust yourself to prove yourself. So you can see clearly what you are, what people like Aemond and your mother see, but you don’t. She wants you to know who you have been all along.

“Listen to me, I know how you feel. I have lived a long time, I have gone through the trials you are facing in life, and it’s why I’m telling you that you need to stop thinking that you’re lesser than you are. It’s not true. I saw it, everyone that resides in this castle saw it, and you know it.”

Your eyes water and for the first time since Jacaerys died those tears break out and roll down your cheeks. “How do you know?” Your voice quivers.

Alys’ eyes dig deeper in your watery gaze to connect deeper with you so you know that every word that is going to come out of her is the truth. “I know because there’s already whispers about you traveling throughout the Kingdoms. They whisper about the Fire Demon born to the Queen. The Fire Demon who damned the Triarchy. Fear is gripping onto them because of you. Because of what you are and what you were gifted with. The Princess who rose from the ashes. A warrior and so much more.”

The corner of your lips twitch to a smirk, but that pride that starts to rummage within you doesn’t get a secure hold of you yet. Disbelief and confusion still linger.

“That’s who you are,” she presses confidently. “But not all you will be.”

You tilt your head up as you start to grow smug.

“You need only keep walking down that path, if you steer away because of your own doubt and insecurity you will lose and everything that you fear will come true.”

Self-doubt whispers in your ear to not trust her, it sinks its claws deep in your flesh and wants to sabotage you. It threatens to. “How do you know? How do you know I won’t steer? Hope?” Your doubt speaks for you, making Alys raise her head and scoff.

“Hope is folly. Hope doesn’t make change, we do.” She speaks with confidence laced in every single word, reassuring you, and fighting off that doubt that gripped onto you until you don’t even feel it linger. You trust her completely and get rid of that doubt you carried about yourself and that tormented you after your argument with Aemond.

Alys sees that with a glimmer in your eyes and her own smugness only heightens. And it’s also because you choose to trust her blindly that she steps back and points to the Godswood in the distance. “Come, I need you to see something.”

She walks ahead while you linger behind and look back at the lake with a flicker of longing to see those grey eyes that paid your mind a visit.

Yet you don’t linger behind too long, you catch up to Alys and she leads you right to the base of the Weirwood tree where you’re face to face with the weeping face, and hear it again. The whispers from before. And like the other times, they are incoherent, but louder and louder, urging you to reach for the white-wooded tree. Yet no matter how inclined you are to come in touch with the dripping sap your eyes are the only thing you keep on the tree.

That is until Alys’ cold hand wraps around yours and she lifts it for you.

“Are you sure?” You ask as you drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes, and all she does is hum her response before she connects the tip of your fingers to the crimson sap that falls down the white bark.

Right away the whispering is silenced and a soft humming fills your ears with a melody you recognize as a haunting one from the book of songs and ballads Aemond gifted you. It slowly grows louder and goosebumps slowly grow along your skin while the red sap that runs down the bark grows thicker and flows down faster, covering your hand completely before it drops on the ground.

You follow the substance down with your eyes and there reflected on the surface of the thick sap is a pair of eyes that are not yours. This pair of eyes are sharper, they carry a venom in the blue of their eyes.

You want to identify who it is. You want to narrow your gaze to see if the answer will become clear, but then the gaze turns away and disappears from the puddle of red sap. You quickly look up to try and catch who it is you saw, but suddenly you’re transported to a battlefield stained with splotches of thick blood, littered with bodies both cut up and burnt and lively with bodies still alive and fighting. Night is turned to evening, and the sun is a raging red with all the smoke that pollutes the sky.

The pair of eyes you saw reflected in that puddle of sap now has a womanly body with gold-silver hair gathered in a long braid. She carries the Valyrian sword, Blackfyre, in one hand that’s stained with blood, and carries another object in the other, but that’s something you don’t see, all you know is that it’s leaking blood and that you grow insatiably curious to the point that you follow the woman in a stomping stride.

However, when you reach a large boulder right in the center of the battlefield and catch up to the woman, she slowly starts to peer back, but you can't stop storming forward. You can’t stop. There’s a certain ferocity that fuels your blood, one so hot that you burn but don’t hurt. The burning is delicious and enthralling. When you get to the point that you go through the woman you were following, the woman that was guiding you to that boulder in the middle of the bloody battlefield, you can see in a pool of blood around your feet that who you see looking back at you now is yourself.

You can see yourself clearly in that pool of blood, donning a black chainmail gown with a gold chest plate slathered in blood. Meanwhile, your head is covered with gold chainmail, and over your face are blood-soaked chains that fall down your face like a bleeding veil, and don’t hide the venom in your eyes that matches the woman you can now identify as Queen Visenya Targaryen. She was the one guiding you here, through the thick of the battle, and now you took her place. Now you hold the blood-soaked sword and…a head.

It’s you. All you. It’s your future. It’s not something that’s said, but it is something you know for certain. This is you. You stand on the battlefield and you climb up the boulder dragging the tip of Blackfyre against the stone. When you reach the top you stand over a battlefield that’s a lot thicker and bloody, filled with large men with grey beards, and others that all fight under the same banner as you; the banner that belongs to your mother, the Queen.

Once again nothing is outright spoken to you, but you know the context deep within and you grow proud, just like you grow proud of the head you carry. Albeit unlike the knowledge just given to you, this time you can’t identify the head you carry. They have manly features so you know they’re a man, young too, with blond-silver hair, and one brown eye that stares off at the ground because the other has an arrow punctured through it. Which only feeds your curiosity, but you don’t grow ravenous to put a name to the face, you grow enthusiastic and malicious as you tilt your head up and face the army of men.

“The Daring is dead!” Your voice booms, and when the attention of your men is given to you, you throw your hand up to show off the head like a trophy and all the men cry out cheers.

“BLOOD DRAGON!”

“BLOOD DRAGON!” Is scattered around the field and more goosebumps grow along your skin.

“FOR—“ you cut yourself off as a large shadow is cast over you, and when you roll your head back to look up, you catch a small dragon torpedoing to you with its mouth open. Yet even if you see the dark she-dragon filling her mouth with fire as she comes at you, you don't run because you know Astraea is behind you and flying directly toward the threat to protect you. And you especially don’t try to take cover or shield yourself from the fire because you know you won’t burn. You welcome the rain of fire with a wicked smile.

Nevertheless, as the dragon fire bathes you, suddenly the hot blazing flames are not what hits you. Suddenly you’re smacked with a sharp and bitter coldness that forces you to turn your face away to shield your eyes.

After the breeze passes you slowly drop your hand, open your eyes, and get greeted with a fresh blanket of snow in every perimeter your eyes can see. When you fulfill your need to lift your head, you’re now hit with a wave of emotions that is not laced with venom; all the emotions are warm and blissful which make your heart swoon rather than race with malicious excitement because what you see is joy.

There’s no question about it. You’re overfilled with joy as you see a young man with dark brown curly hair wearing thick and warm winter clothes, and a thick grey fur cloak clasped over his back.

“Mother,” a soft voice speaks and you can’t help but gasp at the sound of his voice that you know deep in your bones does not belong to Aerion. This young man is different, younger than your Aerion, but he is still your…son. Your youngest boy. You know that, you feel that deep inside you. He calls out to you from where he stands in front of a large Weirwood tree in a familiar Godswood up North.

“My boy,” you whisper softly and he drops his clasped hands before slowly turning to you, causing your breath to catch in your throat when you meet his big soldem grey eyes.

“You…” he trails off and flashes you a charming smile. “Look at you.”

Tears fill your eyes and before you know it you march over to him and the first you do is grab his face. “Look at you,” you redirect and caress his cheeks, making him drop his head to hide his timid smile.

“<Please stop crying>,” he whispers in High Valyrian. “<We’ll meet again. When our time comes.>”

He lifts his head and his eyebrows furrow as his gaze grows just as serious as a man you know.

“<You look like your father>,” you comment as you study his face.

The young man scoffs and grabs your hands you keep on his face. “<Listen>,” he says and makes you find his gaze.

“<Let me look at you>,” you plead, making a warm smile melt that ice-cold expression. “<How can I see you again? How can I be certain that our paths will cross?>”

The same serious expression returns to his features as he gives you an answer. “<You must go home, mother. You will come across a crossroads again. You’ll know it when you get there, and when you do, you need to go home…back to her. That’s where you belong, she’s never forsaken you. Neither of them ever did.>”

You nod even if deep inside you don’t know if you mean it. How can you with the shattered heart that she took part in breaking?

“<After that you must deliver them to victory. Lead them. Be the great fire, for Winter is coming, Mother, and we need to light the way for The Prince that was Promised.>”

He then points his finger to the side and as you follow the direction he points to you don’t come across the thick of the forest that fills the Godswood, you see an endless dryland horizon that is cast by a blazing sun and there sitting in the midst of the drylands is a woman sat with no clothes, she’s nude, and giving her back to you.

Yet even if her back is to you, making her unidentifiable there’s a sense of familiarity—no, that’s wrong, you have seen her before in another vision. You know her. And this time she carries with her three hatchlings; a black, a green, and a cream-colored hatchling that all cling to her.

There she is, The Prince that was Promised. And then she isn’t. All of sudden you’re back in the cover of night at the Godswood of Harrenhal, feeling an emptiness, and a deep aching longing to be returned to your youngest son.

“Let me see him again,” you break the silence and spin around, coming face to face with Alys. “Please. One more time.”

Alys shakes her head stiffly. “No. You will meet again.”

You swallow back the lump that grows in your throat and even if you want to argue you just keep your head down and accept it, letting a silence seep in.

“You know what you must do. You know your place now,” Alys interjects as she reaches over and grabs your shoulder to make you slowly find her gaze.

“I’m a woman. How can I lead anyone?” You place doubt in yourself and your place.

“I already told you why you can lead. You know who you are at this point of our story,” she reassures you as she holds your gaze intently. “Don’t underestimate faith, Princess. They see you, the Princess unscathed by fire, and they see all their prayers answered.”

Without speaking a word you ask with your eyes alone if she’s sure, and without saying a word in return she looks at you with a hint of smugness mingling in her smirk.

You hold her gaze as you draw out a deep breath and push out all the lingering doubt with it to mirror her smirk in the darkness of the Godswood.

——

*4 MONTHS LATER*

It’s been four months of being in the Riverlands, at Harrenhal, which has not turned out to be so bad with Alys becoming your best friend. You’ve been inseparable since that night at the Godswood, much to Aemond’s dismay. And the only thing you can say since those four months is how much you hate about being away from Aerion for so long.

It’s been four months since you’ve seen his little face and his little smile, and it’s been four long months since you’ve heard a single word of him. All you know is that he’s 9 months old now and probably spoiled rotten by your mother. Vanessa hasn’t been able to send anything on any matter, nor can you send a raven asking for an update because of the tension between the fractions. You’re left in the dark with only Alys’ reassuring word as an offer.

She says you’ll see Aerion soon, and you believe her. You wish she could say more, you want to know more, but she can only tell you so much because she says that knowing too much of the future is a burden you don’t want. And you don’t argue about it either, you know Helaena, and you know how her dreams weigh down on her. And with everything already going on, you don’t want to carry that on your shoulders, so you don’t bother to ask about the future, it’s already changed you as it is.

You can’t say it hasn’t, because it has. It’s changed your fight. Once you fought for your own selfish desire to stay alive; and yes even now that instinct still resides within you, but there’s also something else that lives within you; a need to fight for something grander.

You must light the way and so you shall. That’s what you’re meant to do. That guarantees that the future of your house, your bloodline, and that of your family's bloodline, flourishes. That guarantees the birth of the Prince that was Promised. But how can you leave Aemond?

You could leave on top of Astraea any time you wanted, Aemond can’t chain her and he wouldn’t follow you to the Red Keep, but…you can’t find the need to leave him. You can’t part from him, and you can’t fathom the thought even if he’s changed as well.

Being at Harrenhal seems to have made Aemond paranoid, and more protective, and has him lost in thought a lot of the time which only leaves him more erratic. He’s more violent and prone to bursts of anger. Have you made it easier? You can’t say you have. You admit it. You’re still upset about what he forbade you from doing, of keeping you like a caged bird unable to be part of any war councils. You’re not riddled with those insecurities that once took a hold of you before, but he still has you trapped and estranged from anyone who wanders too close. You’re like his shadow, or some tapestry only good to admire. That’s what you are to him. All he lets you be to everyone accompanying you.

Yet that’s why it’s easier to hide in the shadows with Alys. No one bothers you there, only each other.

“You were right,” you tell her as you come to a stop on the balcony that overlooks that massive grande hall and see Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne preparing to leave with the army of men, but without Aemond and you.

It seems last night they had an argument about what it is that needs to be done. Food is starting to run short, horses and men are dying to sickness and hunger, and forging parties have to go past burnt fields and burnt towns alike to try and get what is needed.

Yet no matter how many forging parties leave, none return. And those Western men, well, Cregan and the Northman have really made a name for themselves when they joined forces with the Rivermen because they demolished the Western army. They took heavy losses, but at the end of the battle that the men call the Fishfeed, banners for the Queen are all that were seen.

You wish you could see the glory, but the best you could do was hear about the glory through the mouths of people who weren’t there, and Alys who paints a much more gloomy picture. Yet it’s through those words that you can say the Battle by the Lakeshore impacted your stance at Harrenhal; the glory that Aemond wanted to take from Daemon did not even grow twice the size, it was just a sad attempt that failed miserably.

And even then he refuses to leave, you can assume that’s why Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are taking the army. There’s no need for you to be here anymore so you can only imagine they’re going to join the Hightower army now. If the Rivermen and the Northmen allow them to that is.

“You should bid your farewells,” Alys suggests as she stands by you and watches over the same scene below.

“Should I really?” You quip and press your hand on your swollen belly as you drift your gaze to focus solely on Aemond. And even if tension lies between you that has turned you both distant, you still look at him like he’s the brightest star in a sky littered with smaller and duller stars. You admire the way he stands so poised and has his jaw clenched, flexing his sharp features. You admire the way he silently damns the men with his pointed glare. And you smile softly like you do when you admire the brightest star; the morning and evening star.

“You know how much I detest Ser Criston,” you grumble to Alys. “I’m actually thrilled he’s finally leaving.”

“What of Ser Gwayne?” She then brings up. “He’s quite charming.”

You drift your gaze to her and slowly but surely realize she’s right so you push yourself away from the balcony and turn away, at that moment missing the way Aemond lifts his gaze and catches the way your gown twirls as you turn away. When you’re in the corridors and know that no soldiers are lurking in the shadows you interject. “Will it bode them well to leave?”

Alys’ gaze falls on you and she responds but with a question. “What do you think?”

You draw out a deep breath and share your running thoughts. “With the Northmen and Rivermen now standing triumphant, I’ll say they will be walking into a field of fire they won’t be able to evade.”

Alys stays quiet so you continue sharing your piece of mind. “If I had been at that council I would have advised them to do as Daemon did, take the host around the enemy and evade a fight to be able to join forces with the Hightower army. Lands there aren’t destroyed, there’s food and more horses for the taking.”

Alys turns her head as you do and you catch a proud smirk on her face, showing that she praises your response.

“Alas, you were not there. Don’t worry yourself of their struggles anymore,” she says as you both continue to look ahead.

Once you reach the great hall where Ser Criston, Ser Gwayne, and Aemond are, they all stop what they’re doing to give you their attention.

“I have come to bid my farewells,” you tell the pair of men ready to march. “Good luck in your battles to come, Ser Criston. I hope we see each other again,” you lie straight through your teeth and offer him a sweet smile before you glance at Alys to flash her sly smirk.

In return, she offers you a slight nod that you alone catch before you slide your eyes back to the knight and lift your hand to offer it to Ser Criston Cole.

The second the knight catches what you seek from him, his eyes find Aemond to speechlessly ask for an excuse to not do what you want from him and what will make him bow to you, but Aemond only backs up your request by lifting his chin and expecting the Knight to go ahead.

And thus, the Knight lowers his head from its ever so prideful hold, letting his gaze fall on your face for a second, and in doing so making you lift your nose in the air to show off your power over him because no matter if he’s a forced to be reckoned with and a legendary swordsman, all that amounts to nothing compared to you. You will always be above him in every way, and he hates that you are, he hates knowing it, and he hates seeing it on your face as you look down on him with the thick gold circlet around your head gleaming against the ray of sun that shines over you at that moment. As if the gods themselves approved of you’re holier than thou status in this world.

Then again, nothing outshines the wicked mischievousness that plays in your eyes as his gaze falls on your hand decorated with expensive rings. When he takes your hand he does so with the most delicate touch, not because he thinks you’re delicate, but because it’s eating at his pride. That’s why he's hesitant and slow as he bends down and presses his lips on your knuckles. All while you lower your head, making the chains attached to your circlet lightly clink against each other whilst your eyes show off the smugness you can’t show off with a smirk.

Once Ser Criston has done his part he pulls his hand away and stands to his given height. Yet you’re not done tormenting him yet. You proceed to step forward and press a light kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Princess,” he’s forced to say.

You pull away and offer him a teasing smile you manage to play off as sincere.

“Farewell, Ser,” you offer him one last time before you roll your eyes away and face Ser Gwayne with an actual sweet smile. “Good luck to you Ser. I hope you see many victories.”

Ser Gwayne offers you a warm smile and he willingly takes your hand to press a kiss on your knuckles before you offer him a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Please tell Daeron we send our greetings,” you tell him before you go. “And that we’re looking forward to joining forces with him and Tessarion soon.”

“I will,” he assures you and presses his hand on your belly. “You take care, and learn a new song so I may hear it when we reunite.”

You flash him a grin and nod in agreement before you reach over to give his arm a squeeze and then step away. After you offer both men one last look you then turn with the intention to leave, but first steal a glance at Aemond, catching his gaze on you so you let your own gaze linger on him.

“Come find me at the Godswood later,” you break the silence that was between you. “Okay?”

A flicker of relief and shock flickers in his gaze as he’s not hesitant to nod in agreement, letting you offer him a genuine and sweet smile that he doesn’t take for advantage. He cherishes the smile you offer him, the smile now rare to see directed at him. A smile so captivating he can’t help but admire you and almost leave it all behind to follow your lead at that moment as you finally walk away.

Yet even if his body turns towards you as you get further and further away, he doesn’t follow after you, he stays put and keeps in mind your invitation to go find you later.

“Has there been a sighting of Sunfyre?” You ask Alys as you make your way to the Godswood while the men that occupied the castle slowly file out. “The Golden Dragon?” You clarify.

“No, not beside the time he flew away from Rook’s Rest.” She says news you already knew but still welcome to let an idea form in your mind.

“He lived by miracle, which is great, but we’ll have to kill him,” you mention your idea. “Or his rider. Whichever it is, we can't let them reunite. The Blacks may have the numbers, but a dragon with a dragonrider is still a threat. And with the crown having the people against them, regaining Sunfyre is an advantage we can’t have.”

“What do you suppose you can do from here?” Alys remarks, making you slowly look at her with an annoyed look before you scoff and retort.

“You want me to leave you alone?”

Alys tilts her head and her lips turn to a slight smile. “I could never forget you for as long as I live.”

“Memories don’t make you laugh. I make you laugh, me,” you quip and she scoffs before she leans towards you and bumps into your side.

“I already told you…”

“We’ll never be out of each other's lives,” you finish for her since she’s already assured you of that piece of the future. “I know, but…”

“You can’t avoid your mother forever,” she adds for you, making you drop your gaze as you keep walking—“it’s not possible with the state of things.”

“I can’t leave Aemond,” you mutter and look back at her with a conflicted gaze. “He needs me too. I need him.”

“What of your son?” She counters with a comment that makes you go quiet and sorrowful all the way to the Godswood, and when you’re sitting on a boulder a few feet away from the Weirwood tree.

You can't seem to break the solemn silence that Alys cast over you as all that occupies your mind is guilt for the little one who hasn’t felt his mother’s warmth in 4 months because you can’t stop being petty, and have all your attention centered on your husband.

Aerion deserves better than that. He deserves a mother who’s there for all his needs, for all his firsts as he nears one years old, but instead, you’re here still trapped and foolishly dedicated to a man you have a strain with. You’re being selfish and meanwhile, he’s growing up without you.

“Here.”

You lift your eyes off your hands and look up to see Ser Jason approaching you with a beautifully decorated cord in his hand—“So when you miss your son you have this to remember him by when you’re apart,” he continues sharing as he comes to a stop in front of you and shows off a beautiful cord decorated with beads, shells, and an orange pearl.

“I just know how much you long to see him again, and well I thought it would be nice,” he begins to ramble nervously. “My own mother made one for me so I could remember her when I was away. Of course, I was young but it was reassuring.”

You blink repeatedly as your cheeks begin to burn out of heartwarming disbelief. “Oh,” you gasp and carefully take the cord. “Thank you, Ser. How sweet,” you coo and gently brush your thumb over the enchanting orange pearl. “How beautiful. Are you sure? This pearl…it looks rare.”

Ser Jason nods rapidly and then takes a seat next to you. “Yes, I’m sure, and it is rare, but who better to have it than you?”

A smile creeps on your lips. “Thank you, Ser, you’re sweet. And,” you pause and swallow thickly, feeling that smile fall all too fast. “I’m sorry for having you stay here,” you finally address the guilt that you carry about him. “I know it’s not ideal, it's always so gloomy here, and resources are running scarce.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he lets the word slip, making you giggle which in turn causes him to catch what slipped out of his mouth—“Forgive me that’s no way to speak. Sorry.”

You shake your head. “Do not worry, Ser. It’s alright.”

Ser Jason keeps his eyes on you for a second longer as he quietly scolds you for not really correcting him the way you should, but since you don’t add on the matter he leaves it be and instead continues with what he was going to say. “I’m your sworn protector, my place is by your side even in the darkest of days.”

Your eyes soften and a smile slowly reappears on your face.

Yet like before the smile is all too short-lived when suddenly a booming voice rips through the Godswood. “YOU!”

Your eyes snap up and there stomping over is Aemond with rage twisting his face and keeping his focus locked on the man sitting next to you.

“Who do you think you are?!” He barks out. “Leave her alone!”

You stand to your feet and as you reach out to try and stop his blinding rage, Alys grabs your arm and pulls you towards her whilst Aemond reaches Ser Jason and rips him off his seat to drag him back against a wall.

“Aemond!” You bellow out. “Stop it!”

Said man wraps his hands around Ser Jason’s throat and slams his head against the stone wall, making your eyes widen with horror and confusion as to what brought this on. Ser Jason was only being nice, he wasn’t even touching you, he was just sitting next to you. That’s all!

“Aemond, leave him alone!” You try to get him away from your sworn protector, but it’s like he can’t even hear you, like once again he’s lost in a completely different world than yours.

“You’re nothing more than a bastard,” you hear Aemond sneer at your sworn protector. “You are nothing. You will never be anything, do you hear me? Do you?!”

Ser Jason manages to bring his hands up and tries to pull Aemond’s hands away, but your husband only tightens his hold, making the knight start to gasp for air.

“Do you think I’d let you get away with it?! Do you think I would let you hurt her?! Kill her?!” He keeps exclaiming and once again slams him against the wall so hard Ser Jason groans at the impact. “She’s mine,” Aemond growls. “I won’t let you hurt her!”

“Aemond!” You cry out and rip away from Alys to run over and try to pull Aemond off Ser Jason, but when Aemond feels your hands wrap around his hand he doesn’t even turn his rageful glare toward you. It’s locked on the man before him so he doesn’t see that it’s you, he just swings his arm back so hard that you lose balance and hit the floor on your side, feeling a flash of fear when you’re on the cold ground.

“Alys,” your whisper trembles and it’s at that moment when your voice hits his ears that Aemond snaps out of his blinding rage and finally sees you frozen on the ground, whilst the woman you called for rushes to your side and is quick with her efforts to help you.

“Here let’s get you up,” she insists in a hushed tone as she grabs your arm to help you to your feet. When she starts to be overbearing and examines your side, your fear slowly fades away and you’re left with a stinging pain on your side and palms.

Even then you try to play it off as you’re in disbelief as to what just happened. “I’m fine,” you try to assure her. “I think I just scraped my side.”

Alys doesn’t see any blood coming out from your sides, nor does she notice any coming out from between your legs so she then grabs your hands and yanks them towards her, noticing at that moment that your palms are the only ones that are bleeding.

“Not fine,” she quips.

You pull your hands away from her grasp and insist otherwise. “I am fine, just tend to Ser Jason. Please,” you press with both your words and your eyes.

Alys seems hesitant, but when she glances back at the man behind her standing in horrified disbelief as to what he caused, she gets the hint of what you want to do and does as you said.

However, even when she walks away with Ser Jason, you fail to face Aemond. Your mind is running wildly, bouncing from thought to thought and feeling to feeling as it’s all in shambles not knowing what to do or what to think next.

All that’s clear is that Aemond hurt you. He might have not meant it, but he hurt you. He did. And it might not hurt, it may not scar like when he accidentally slashed your cheek, but the scrapes sting and you remember the short-lived fear that you had because of the twins you’re carrying.

“I…” Aemond trails off and you hear him stepping toward you. “Are you okay?”

Those words. Those damn words always work to bring out your emotions and this time it’s no different. Yet rather than feeling cared for when he asks, you instead feel…anger. Anger that only heightens when you finally look up and meet his gaze filled to the brink with tears, worry, and guilt.

“I…” he trails off again and once again he steps towards you, but this time without stopping. He reaches you and his eyes wander your body for any blood. “I didn’t see you. I didn’t know…I,” his words quiver and he finds your gaze, finding nothing more than anger in your eyes. There’s no warmth that lets him feel reassured, that lets him know you’re truly unaffected by the accident. All your anger is accumulated in your eyes at this very moment and it all stares right back at him in the face. There's not even angry words that escape you that help him work this out, which actually tells him a lot more than words ever could.

At this moment, as you glare at him, and he looks at you, he sees a decision. He sees the path that you both walked down hand in hand coming to a crossroads and breaking you apart by your choice alone. If it was up to him he would always choose to walk down the same path hand in hand, but he sees as clear as day that you’re drifting down a different path.

“I’m returning to Aerion,” is all that your anger lets you say, and it’s all that you actually want and need to say to express your resolve.

There’s no more confusion or disbelief. Only anger and resolve. Where there was once hesitance to leave Aemond, now there’s an urgency to leave. Which is why you swiftly spin around and storm away toward your quarters to try and get the belongings you can carry. You’ll have Ser Jason bring the rest by horse. You just can’t and won’t stay. No matter how much he starts pleading and spewing out apologies.

“You cannot go, your place is here with me,” Aemond says after you, but you don’t respond, you just pick up your pace.

“Are you listening?” Aemond calls out in response to your silence. “Where will you go?!”

“To my mother,” you snap back, making him lunge forward to grab your arm and turn you around to face him.

“You will be a traitor,” he sneers with his anger returning but faltering all in the same while.

“Then kill me. You can’t burn me, so you will have to kill me, Aemond,” you counter spitefully before you tilt your head and become bold. “Because I am a traitor. Before I found out my mother lied I was sending her letters about the plans you and your Green council made.” You snicker and feel a smirk twitch on your lips. While Aemond blinks in disbelief and lets you go as he tries to search in your eyes if you’re lying just to have him let you go, but all he sees is sincerity. You’re speaking the truth and when he realizes that his lips part and a breath escapes him.

And even if the sadness in his eye makes you falter, and aches your own soul, you don’t let it take over. You can’t stay a moment longer, this is not your place anymore. Not after what he did, so after a deep breath you slip away from his hold and return to your raging path.

Once you reach your chambers you don’t hear him after you so it’s easy to collect your immediate belongings and stuff them in a bag. He’s not trying to stop you like before, he’s not snatching your things out of your hands so it’s all easy.

However, as surprised and relieved as you are that there’s no fight. It was too easy indeed because the moment you turn around with the intention to walk out, the door is slammed shut and you hear a key turn before you hear something blocking the door. And since only one person was after you trying to stop you from leaving, you realize your revelation didn’t affect Aemond the way you wanted it to. He didn’t care in the grand scheme of things.

“Aemond,” you call out with confusion and drop the bag to run to the door and try to open it, but it’s locked and you’re met by an overpowering force. “Aemond?” You call out again desperately.

“I…had an inkling you were never loyal to our side. Not until you found out the truth,” his voice travels through the wooden door. “You always detested Aegon, and I always knew you had a blinding loyalty toward your mother, so as shocking as it is to hear you admit it, I expected it.”

You try to open the door again but when you’re met by the same force you tap the door with your palms. “Then just let me go. Aemond, please.”

Something presses against the surface on the other side before he speaks softer. “That was in the past, It doesn’t bother me all that much. What bothers me…what I cannot stand is you leaving, because if you leave and something…happens when I’m not there to help you I’ll lose you…” he trails off and a thump hits the door. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Aemond,” you whimper and drop your forehead against the door. “Please, my love. Please don’t lock me in here.”

“I will leave men here to make sure that nothing happens to you and make sure that you stay here. They will also guarantee that the witch brings you food and cleans what it is that needs cleaning while I’m out okay?” He says through the door. “I’ll return soon.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Where are you going?” You query.

Silence follows for a moment before he responds. “We’re surrounded by traitors. It’s time they pay the price, and once word reaches Rhaenyra of what is happening, Daemon will come to meet me so I stop burning their allies' lands. That’s when I’ll finally rid this world of my uncle's existence. We can win after that.”

“Aemond,” you cry out as you shake your head against the door. “Please, please don’t do this. Please.”

You hear him sigh before he speaks quietly. “I love you. There’s no one I love or could ever love more than you. It’s why I’m doing this. It’s for your own good.”

Tears slip out of your eyes while your chest clenches as you start to realize that nothing you say will change his mind. All the pleading will amount to nothing at this moment in time because he believes that what he’s saying is right. He believes that he is doing right by you.

But he’s only hurt you more, doesn’t he see that? Doesn’t he hear it in your desperate pleas?

“Aemond,” you whimper.

Said man doesn’t respond with words, his shadow lingers under the door frame before it departs as you hear his footsteps recede.

“Aemond?!” You call out louder and pull your head away from the door. “Aemond?!” You cry out with tears streaming down your cheeks. “Aemond! Let me out! Let me out! Please! Let me out damn it!”

Yet no amount of shouts or desperation changes his mind. He leaves you trapped in your chambers. He leaves you alone in Harrenhal as he mounts Vhagar and ascends the skies without you.

.

.

.

.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

[corpium]

In which Harry takes a wrong turn chasing down Bellatrix in the Ministry, and typical tomarry time travel ensues. Only in this fic, Voldemort follows Harry back into the past.

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

Voldemort surveys the wreckage of the Time Room with a strange mix of dismay and disappointment. Potter’s nowhere in sight, and neither is the prophecy. Rogers is present, though, his head aging and deaging cyclically.

Voldemort eyes him curiously for a split-second, but he has no time to study this odd phenomena now. He summons a pinch of time sand from amidst the shattered remains of the time turners and enchants it, then summons Rogers’ panicking form over to him.

“Be still,” he orders, then, with a flick of his wand, sends the sand spinning around Rogers’ face. It sinks into the Death Eater’s skin, and at last the transformation stops, leaving Rogers as the adult he should be.

“My Lord!” the man gasps. “Thank you, thank you, I—”

“Enough,” Voldemort hisses. “Where is Potter?”

Rogers pales. “He—he—Bellatrix—they were fighting and he just—he vanished, I don’t know—”

Voldemort grabs Rogers by the jaw, yanking him close, digging his nails into the man’s skin. “Lord Voldemort does not have time for pathetic stammering. Show me.” He doesn’t bother securing the Death Eater's permission before diving into the man’s mind.

Voldemort pushes Rogers away once he’s finished, letting him fall to the floor. Voldemort observes the room, casting several charms to detect traces of magic. Despite a moment of dismay at the possible loss of Bella, he’s tempted to believe Potter has vaporized himself by messing about with such turbulent magic. The boy's disappearance would certainly make Voldemort's circumstances easier, but he had so wanted to demonstrate his superiority before his followers.

“My Lord,” comes Lucius’s voice from behind him, and Voldemort turns to find Lucius dropping into a kneel in the Time Room’s doorway. “The Aurors have been alerted to our presence.” Lucius keeps his head down, so he misses the quick look of perplexity that crosses Voldemort’s face.

“Did you do something to your hair, Lucius?” Voldemort whispers. From another, the question would sound flippant, teasing perhaps. From him, it sounds terrifying, and rightfully so. Something in the universe has gone terribly wrong.

Lucius looks up haltingly. “No, my Lord.”

Voldemort stares. “You are telling me that your hair has always been brown and curly,” he says lightly.

“Yes, my Lord.” Lucius’ voice shakes.

Voldemort directs his gaze to Rogers, who has copied Lucius’ kneel. “Rogers? Is that so?”

Rogers’ gaze darts between Voldemort and Lucius, trying and failing to hide his bewilderment. “Y-yes, my Lord,” says Rogers. “As long as I have known him.”

Salazar preserve him. “Your parentage, Malfoy. Tell me.’

“…Abraxas Malfoy and Miranda Percell,” Lucius stammers.  

Miranda Percell. Voldemort only vaguely recalls the name from his schoolboy days.

He turns his back on Lucius and Rogers to observe the Time Room. “Guard the room,” he tells them. “Let no one in at any cost.” He steps inside, repairs the door, and casts a variety of locking and secrecy charms on it, effectively sealing himself inside indefinitely.

He’s going to need as much time as possible if he’s to figure out how to stop this madness.

Potter’s rewriting history.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The Department of Mysteries Division of Time only sees true time travelers once every decade or so, and thank Merlin for that, because they are usually major divas who think that the world revolves around their personal (and frankly, incredibly overinflated) tragedies.

Greg had only just handled the most recent time traveler a month ago (maaaaybe unofficially, but who could blame him? The paperwork alone would have had him working overtime for years if he'd have had kept the incident entirely above board), so he’s quite looking forward to a quiet, uninterrupted decade of intellectual exploration and experimentation. At last, some damn peace around here. Now the real work can be done--and he can get home on time! His Kneazle might finally stop tearing up his furniture in retaliation for his tardiness.

So when a new time traveler arrives with a bang that sends Greg’s equipment flying mid-setup (thankfully contained within its own wards, but still entirely disrupted), Greg curses violently. And only ten minutes before the end of his shift, too! He should really assign himself some new hours.

“Merlin’s tits! Goddamnit shit balls! Circe herself better hold me back, the next time traveler who thinks their inane crisis is my problem is going to—is going to…” He stumbles on his words. His newest traveler, a handsome man with aristocratic, dark-haired features and remarkably vivid burgundy eyes, is holding a wand to Greg’s throat.

“Do you often receive time travelers in this department?” the man asks him quietly, casual as can be, as if he isn’t holding Greg at wandpoint.

“Not usually, no,” Greg answers hesitantly, internally cursing his foul luck. This one probably came from some post-apocalyptic hellscape he’s trying to prevent, given how quickly he’s turned to violence. In Greg’s experience, this type is far too mercurial to be trusted.

“Recently, then?” asks the man, arching an elegant eyebrow.

“Maybe,” answers Greg. There’s no way this man could be from the same future as last month’s traveler. That would be impossible.... Right? “Why?” Greg asks, ideas churning. What if it is possible? Why, if the two travelers are so connected as to cross time and all its variables to reach each other, figuring out the how of it could be the breakthrough of the century—nay, the millennia!

“I’m looking for a boy. About sixteen years of—”

“Goes by Harry?” Greg asks quickly, excitement making his hands twitch. “Lightning bolt scar on his forehead?”

The man smiles dazzlingly, and for a moment, Greg forgets that there’s still a wand at his throat. “That’s the one,” says the man, looking an odd mix of ecstatic and relieved.

“You must be the godfather,” says Greg, flipping open his notebook. “You must tell me everything. This is entirely unprecedented in the world of transtemporal migration. When—”

The man holds up a hand. “I’ll happily tell you everything, but first, I need to see the boy—Harry. I need to make sure he’s okay. Surely you understand?” The man says it so earnestly that Greg nearly scoffs. Time travelers and their Merlin bedamned emotions. The traveler clearly won’t tell Greg anything useful until his silly sentimentality has been satisfied.

“Fine,” Greg says with a put-upon sigh. “Let’s get your new identity sorted out first; then I’ll take you to him.” Greg summons his book of spare identities. “I’ve already set the boy up as the son of two Muggleborns, so I suppose it would be a bit much to set you up as the same.” He turns a page. “How do you feel about being a halfblood?” Greg looks up to see the time traveler watching him intently. His gaze, unblinking and still, is rather unnerving actually. “Say, aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Greg asks.

“Many would certainly hope so,” says the traveler. “You’ve provided more than enough assistance, Greg. I’ll take it from here." And before Greg can realize what's happening, the traveler murmurs, "Obliviate.”

***********

This was born from an amazing Discord chat from months and months ago, the screenshots of which are... somewhere lost on my hard drive, hopefully (curse you, OneDrive and your stupid storage!). Idk how far I'll get on this fic because it's kinda my brain empty but I must write backburner for when I get stuck on other stuff, but I think it'll be fun. Pretty lighthearted, too. Well. I say lighthearted. Which means it will start lighthearted and then devolve into angsty angst with a heavy side of comic relief, probably.

Who knows lol. We'll see!

[lxvsiick]

CRUSH ON HIS TUTOR | KIM WOONHAK X READER

PAIRING: younger! tutee! kim woonhak x two years older! tutor! fem! reader

SUMMARY: Woonhak has a cute crush on his two years older tutor, Y/n.

GENRE: fluff, crush, imagine

WORDCOUNT: 1.4k

A/N: just a cute short imagine about woonhak having a crush on someone who is older -- i’m still on campus and i really want to go home ( ￣＾￣) i am writing notes but at the same time thinking about story ideas so at one point i wrote down my story idea into my notes 🧍🏻‍♀️welp, enjoy!

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Laughter echoed around the small dorm room as Leehan and the rest of the group were in the middle of a chaotic video game session. The air was light, filled with jokes and playful banter, but Woonhak barely noticed any of it.

He was sitting on the couch, controller in hand, staring blankly at the screen. His thoughts, however, were nowhere near the game. They were on her—Y/n, his tutor, and Leehan’s friend. His mind kept replaying little moments with her: the way her lips quirked up when she caught him making a mistake during their study sessions, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating.

"Why do I keep thinking about her?" he wondered, frustrated at how easily she occupied his thoughts. "She’s two years older... She probably doesn’t even think of me that way."

“Yo, Woonbaby!” Jaehyun called out, waving a hand in front of his face. “You alive over there?”

He blinked, startled, and realized all five of his friends were now staring at him. He hadn't said a word in the last ten minutes, and clearly, they’d noticed.

“Seriously, man,” Riwoo laughed, “you’ve been completely zoned out. What’s up?”

“Did you even hear anything we said?” Leehan added, raising an eyebrow as he smirked.

The tips of Woonhak's ears turned red. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to shrug off the attention. “I—I’m fine. Just... thinking about stuff.”

“Ohhh, thinking about stuff?” Taesan said with a teasing grin. “Does this stuff happen to be a girl?”

The room immediately erupted in laughter and catcalls. Woonhak's face heated up even more as he tried to wave them off, but his friends weren’t having it.

“Look at him! His ears are red!” Riwoo pointed out, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Come on, dude, who is it?”

“Yeah, spill it,” Taesan chimed in. “You got a crush or something?”

“No, I don’t!” Woonhak blurted, his voice a bit higher than usual. He knew denying it only made them more suspicious, but he couldn’t help it. His flustered reaction only fueled their teasing.

Leehan leaned back, smirking knowingly. “You know, Y/n mentioned something the other day. She said you’ve been spacing out a lot during your tutoring sessions.”

At the mention of her name, Woonhak stiffened. “She—she said that?” he stammered, his heart racing.

“Oh yeah,” Leehan continued, clearly enjoying the situation. “She said she’ll ask you a question and you’ll just sit there, staring at your notes like you’ve never seen them before.”

His friends burst into laughter again, and Woonhak wanted to sink into the couch and disappear. He could feel his face burning as he tried to play it cool. “That’s—she’s exaggerating...”

Jaehyun wasn’t letting it go, though. “Yeah? Then why’re you turning red just hearing her name?”

Before he could stop himself, Woonhak blurted out, “Did she say anything else about me?”

That made the room go silent for a split second, and then all hell broke loose.

“Aha! So there is someone!” Sungho shouted triumphantly, slapping Jaehyun on the back. “I knew it!”

Leehan grinned, crossing his arms as he gave Woonhak a teasing look. “So you’re interested in what she thinks, huh?”

“I’m not—I mean—” Woonhak sputtered, feeling more flustered by the second. His mind was racing with possibilities, wondering if Y/n had noticed him the way he’d started to notice her. He thought about the way she’d laugh softly when she caught him spacing out during their tutoring sessions, how she’d patiently explain things again even though she must have been annoyed.

“Dude, you’re so obvious,” Riwoo teased. “You’ve got it bad for her, huh?”

Woonhak threw his hands up in defeat. “Okay, fine, whatever. Yes, maybe I’ve been... thinking about her. A little.”

The room exploded into cheers and shouts of “I knew it!” and “Finally!” Woonhak sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to live this down anytime soon.

But underneath all the teasing, a small part of him wondered—What did she think of him?

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of pages and the distant hum of air conditioning. Woonhak sat across from Y/n, his books spread out in front of him, but his attention was far from the math problem she was explaining. Instead, his gaze kept drifting back to her—how her lips moved as she spoke, the way her hair fell over her shoulder, and how effortlessly confident she always seemed.

“Are you even listening?” Y/n asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts.

Woonhak blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a word. She was now waving a hand in front of his face, her brows furrowed in slight concern.

“Uh, yeah—sorry,” he stammered, sitting up straighter and pretending to refocus on his notes. “I’m listening.”

She wasn’t convinced. Leaning back in her chair, Y/n crossed her arms and gave him a knowing look. “You’ve been spacing out a lot today. What’s on your mind?”

His heart raced at her question. What’s on my mind? You. Always you. But there was no way he was going to admit that. Instead, he quickly waved it off, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing, just... tired, I guess.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not buying it but deciding to drop the subject. “Alright, fine. Let’s move on to the next topic.”

As she began flipping through her textbook, Woonhak felt a surge of boldness. His mind raced with possibilities. Maybe now was the time. They were alone—or at least he thought they were. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go for it.

“Hey,” he started, his voice a bit too casual, “just out of curiosity... what do you think about younger guys?”

Y/n paused, her pen hovering over the page. Slowly, she looked up, her eyes narrowing in amusement as she caught on to his line of questioning. “Younger guys?” she repeated, a teasing smile forming on her lips.

He nodded, trying to appear nonchalant, though his heart was pounding. “Yeah, like... would you ever date someone younger?”

Her smile widened, clearly enjoying his attempt at subtlety. “Hmm,” she said, tapping her chin as though giving it serious thought. “I don’t mind younger guys—younger guys who can pass their exams, that is.”

Woonhak felt a spark of hope. His confidence surged, and before he could think twice, the words were out of his mouth. “Okay, so... if I ace my next exam, will you go on a date with me?”

The question hung in the air between them, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. Y/n blinked in surprise, and then, to his relief, she giggled softly, shaking her head.

“You’re cute,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Alright, Woonhak. You ace your exam, and I’ll go on a date with you.”

His heart leaped. He couldn’t believe it. A date. With her. He tried to play it cool, but his grin betrayed him. “Deal. I’ll study harder than ever.”

Just as he was about to bask in his newfound confidence, a chorus of whispers and stifled laughter erupted from behind a nearby shelf. Before he could react, five familiar faces popped out from behind the bookshelves—his group of friends, who had clearly been eavesdropping the entire time.

“Whoa, Woonbaby! I didn’t know you had it in you!” Jaehyun teased, clapping him on the back.

“Did you really just ask her out right here in the library?” Taesan added, grinning from ear to ear.

Woonhak's face turned bright red as his friends swarmed around the table, throwing in playful jabs and comments. “Shut up, guys!” he hissed, trying to wave them away. “Go away, you weren’t supposed to hear that!”

But they weren’t about to let it go. “Woonhakie's got a date! He’s in love!” Riwoo sang in a mocking tone, while Sungho pretended to swoon dramatically.

Meanwhile, Y/n watched the scene unfold with an amused expression, trying—and failing—to hide her laughter. She looked at Woonhak with a teasing smile, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club.”

Mortified, Woonhak buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this...”

Leehan leaned in, smirking. “You’re really going to have to ace that exam now, Woonhakie. No pressure.”

Still blushing, Woonhak groaned. “Can you guys just leave?”

His friends finally relented, walking away while still snickering among themselves. Woonhak let out a sigh of relief, but the embarrassment still burned on his face.

Y/n, clearly entertained by the whole situation, leaned forward and gave him an encouraging smile. “You’ll be fine. Just focus on passing, okay?”

He nodded, still flustered but more determined than ever. “Yeah... I’ll do my best.”

And as they returned to studying, Woonhak couldn’t help but feel that, despite his friends’ teasing, the day had turned out pretty well.

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[rafaelsilvasource]

Husbands (we love typing that as much as you love reading it) T.K. (Ronen Rubinstein) and Carlos (Rafael L. Silva) are coming into the fifth and final season of 9-1-1: Lone Star (premiering Monday, September 23 on Fox) already dealing with the unsolved murder of the latter’s father. But there’s more drama to come.

Carlos’ obsession with that investigation is going to put their marriage to the test. T.K.’s half-brother, Jonah, is coming to Austin (which is sure to affect Rob Lowe‘s Owen as well). Below, co-showrunner Rashad Raisani previews that and more that’s ahead for the fan-favorite couple.

Carlos is investigating his father’s death. What can you preview about that investigation? That’s also going to involve Campbell (Parker Young), right?

The way we’ve been talking about Campbell and Carlos is that they’re like two brothers, the big brother and the little brother. Carlos comes along, and in Campbell’s mind, he got kind of a free pass because of who his dad, Gabriel Reyes, was, the legend, and to go to the front of the line and become a Texas Ranger. The first episode is about these two brothers both fighting for daddy’s love and daddy being Chief Bridges, their boss. But what’s gonna happen is they learn to respect each other and they’re gonna discover that they’re so much better when they work as a team and they really complement each other brilliantly, not just as investigators, but as characters and frankly to me, as actors. I think just they have a wonderful dynamic that only gets richer as the season goes forward.

Carlos’s father’s murder is a thing that Carlos is not giving that up. It is the central driving force in Carlos’ life. And there’s no way we’re going to end the series without giving that poor guy some answers. So there will be some answers at the end of the day on that.

The season description says that T.K. and Carlos’ marriage is put to the test because Carlos becomes obsessed with solving his father’s murder. What can you tease about how we see that play out and how tough things are gonna get in the middle of that for them? I do have faith that they’re gonna be okay by the end.

A big part for me about their marriage was I really wanted to treat it like a real marriage, and by that, I mean that even though these guys are so wonderful to each other and they’re so handsome, life isn’t perfect no matter who you are and everybody has real struggles that affect even great relationships. And the true strength of a relationship isn’t the absence of challenges and problems, it’s how you grapple with them and encounter them and if they make your relationship stronger or weaker.

And so for Carlos, this burden of his dad’s murder is going to sit there and take up a lot of oxygen in the room and T.K., who is an incredibly supportive husband, is gonna try and be patient and graceful and allow Carlos to have that space. But at a certain point, he’s got to advocate for them to have a future together, and that’s part of what you were talking about with Jonah. I like to think that little boy, in some ways, represents the future of their relationship and Gabriel’s murder represents the past of their relationship, and there’s gonna be a tension between those two things and that’s gonna be their central dynamic this year, is that one person is struggling to get answers in the past and the other person is struggling to move on and build a future, which I think is a very relatable human experience.

All of this makes me think about kids, and that has been a bit of an issue for them in the past. How does that come into play?

I think that’s another pressure point because Carlos was very upfront with T.K. about, “Hey, I’m not ready to have kids and I don’t know if I ever will be,” and then now that his dad’s been murdered, in his headspace, that’s the last thing that he’s got the bandwidth or the emotional energy to deal with. But like I said, T.K. is feeling like life is happening right now, like we don’t get moments back, and especially as a first responder, they see that you can’t take anything for granted. And circumstances are going to align that are going to [lead to] a situation where T.K. is like, I know that you were uncomfortable with taking this next step as a father, but I feel like it’s something powerful that I need to do, and to make that a crisis point for them as well.

I hope that the audience can see the argument from both of their points of view and just go, “S**t, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I would do either.” That’s what I hope because I feel like people have real problems that aren’t so simple as to say, well, he’s right, he’s wrong, whatever. We just wanted to put them through that.

[yurinabluu]

🔹2. Honey-comb icecream

synopsis- Break-up of the it couple of the university was surely shocking for everyone but yu jimin didn't care. She knew it was right to do as she was in love with somebody else. Precisely her ex's bestfriend.

[A moment from the past when Ryujin and Jimin were dating]

“Do you like the taste? This place is particularly renowned for it’s ice-cream. I tried the raspberry one with Y/N few months ago and loved it so much. Though Y/N liked the honey-comb more. I had a bite and trust me when I say how bad it was. God knows how she likes it so much.”

Ryujin chuckled lowly and took a bite from her ice-cream.

While Ryujin was busy in talking about something, Jimin couldn’t help but motion her orbs onto the woman who had stolen her heart without even her realizing the moment it happened. She had convinced her broken heart that you did not feel the same about her , which led her to accept Ryujin’s proposal.

She thought this would help her to move on but boy how wrong she was. You were so pretty , so kind and so gentle. How can she ever move on from you?

Jimin was not a fool. She knew about her popularity. She was aware how everyone in the university adored her. Everyone except you she assumed. Nobody knows how many times she had prayed that she was wrong. Maybe you felt something for her. She did not mind if it was friendship or anything less . She just wanted to be near you and admire you for the amazing woman you were.

“I want to try another flavor.”

Ryujin looked up at Jimin before replying,

“Yeah? Tell me the flavor . I’ll go and buy for you.”

“The honey-comb one”

Ryujin looked at Jimin for a second before nodding and head towards the counter. Jimin gave her a small smile before her eyes moved back to you again. However, the smile which was gracing her beautiful face got replaced with a frown when she noticed a girl standing close to you which was more than enough to disrupt Jimin’s whole self.

She hated this feeling. She felt her gut wrench and stomach churn in a way she had never experienced before. It was an unfamiliar painful feeling and Jimin despised it. She never wished to feel like this again.

[Present time]

“Jimmy, are you fine?”

Minjeong asked her , her eyes mirroring the worry in her other two friend’s, Aeri and NingNing eyes.

Jimin’s eyes were fixed on you, particularly on your arm which was being held by Yunjin, the famous cheerleader. Yunjin was one of your admirers except for the fact that she was hell bent to make you hers. Everyone knew of her liking towards you and the efforts she has been putting in since freshman years to please you, which only resulted in earning a polite rejection from you.

Jimin knew you would reject her again like you have been doing since before , not to her but to everyone who’d dared to confess their feelings to you.

But the similar feeling always haunts her every time something like this happened.

“Do you think Y/N will accept Yunjin this time?”

“Maybe. I mean Yunjin has been trying for so long.”

“Really? I don’t think so.”

“Wanna bet?”

Having enough of the chatters, Jimin got up from her seat and left the cafeteria immediately. Jimin was a strong and resilient woman but she was nothing but powerless when it came to you.

Your eyes wandered on the screen in-front you while your hands were busy in jotting down the notes Mr. Lee was displaying. You had an important test coming up soon and needless to say you were lacking behind a lot due to volleyball practices. You loved the sport more than anything else but this test was important and covered an important part of your grade. Not to forget, the project which was going to be announced today held the similar importance. God it was extremely stressful but it something which was needed to be done.

“I just hope my partner will be useful. I cannot do all the work alone.”

You muttered under your breath when you noticed a presence beside you.

“Hey!”

You looked up at the source of voice when you felt your breath stop at the sight. Jimin stood beside you with her laptop and essentials in her hand, adorned in a white sleeve-less tee with a matching sky blue jeans , looking at you with a small smile. You were speechless. You never had a proper conversation with her before. You had no idea on what to say.

“Uhm hey..”

You mumbled nervously before Jimin sat down beside you making you even more surprised. You noticed her putting the materials down on the table gracefully before her eyes met your wide ones again. She let out a small laugh before speaking to you,

“We are partners….. y’know for the project.”

“Oh!”

You were cooked. Undoubtedly. You don’t know about God’s favorite child but you swore you definitely were the least. Before you could speak anything, Mr. Lee’s voice filled the classroom.

“Now that your partners are announced, I need you all to prepare a thorough and detailed presentation on the topic you like. Make sure to counter all the expected areas of the topic you choose along with your partners and discuss each other’s findings daily for at least an hour for a month before concluding it. Strategize your schedule for a month accordingly and remember this project is important for your grade. So better take it seriously.”

You cursed internally thinking about how you were going to survive a month being that close to Jimin. You just hoped that you won’t do anything stupid. Making Jimin uncomfortable was the least thing you ever want to do. And God knows how you were going to explain this to Ryujin. You cannot imagine what was going to happen during this whole month but things will definitely be taking a turn.

For good or for bad… only God knows that.

“So I was saying…” , Jimin looked at you giving you all her attention. You released a breath you did not realize you were holding before speaking,

“Should we exchange numbers?”

Jimin raised a brow at you in surprise which made you even more nervous if it was even possible.

“I mean since we are now partners, sorry project partners and Mr. Lee said we need to discuss our findings daily. So to decide the timings we need to chat and of course we cannot do that without having each other’s number. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It did not mean that. Trust me I am-”

Placing her hand on your shoulder, Jimin gave you a light comforting squeeze while having a teasing smile on her lips.

“I did not know you could get nervous Y/N.”

Jimin spoke making you look away from her with blood rushing in your face, making your ears and cheeks turn red. She laughed looking at your flushed self before handing her phone to you and asking you to hand over yours to her. Jimin returned your phone back to you after saving her number making you do the same.

“Let’s have a good month together Y/N.”

A genuine smile graced your lips mirroring hers before you spoke,

“Sure Jimin.”

_________________________________________

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