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gotham-daydreams · 1 month

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Not Now (PT. 1)

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Mild General Yandere(ish) Behavior, Mild Arguing, Awkward Tension(?)]

(Sorry, forgive and forget isn't an option anymore. Sort of proofread and lightly edited. If you thought the 2nd chapter was long, you're in for a little treat. A little more focus on Dick this time with some sprinkles of the others, and a bit of Tim in the beginning. Meeting some of the reader's friends now. The 2nd part is longer... and sort of where the 'real' stuff happens, but this part of the chapter is still important imo. Take your time reading this, and remember to take breaks!)

Tags: @bigcandlesmolbrain, @d4mi3nn , @mindscape123, @143637-hrrm, @lilyalone, @ceramic-raven , @bruhfan-3 , @i-thirsty-boi , @yandere-enthusiast , @1mawh0re , @vanessa-boo , @agent-nobody-knows , @myeagleexpert , @waitingforanarchicaddiction , @mottysith , @simpingfor-wakasa , @imjustheretogetalif , @toast-on-dandelioms , @instantmiraclekryptonite , @luvr0cksadie , @littlefeather345 , @generosityheart , @emmbny , @sereinitysmind , @love-zami , @angstylittleb1tch , @kiiyoooo , @andrasia , @aenishas , @gyarukitti , @ash1 , @samohxt2-0 , @books-are-everything , @kurai-hono-blog , @veryrascalbiscuitbagel , @lavender-moony

@vikkus-main, @ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhha, @iloveanimeandkpop7, @spacecerealbowl,

If you aren't tagged then I'm sorry! I may have missed you, or tumblr was being weird and it wouldn't work :']

Chapter 3 of this post. Chapter 2. Part 2. [Series Masterlist]

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The night was young when everything went to chaos.

The streets were empty for a change, with no one daring to step outside. With those who once roamed them making an effort to quickly step inside, and wait out the rest of the night. Deciding to be more careful, and not tempt fate one too many times for once.

There was something different about tonight, that much everyone knew, but what exactly was going on was anyone's guess. Something was in the air that made it thicker, and harder to breathe. The atmosphere felt different, and weighed down on the city's residents. No civilian or thug was safe from the sudden change and the effects it had on Gotham. Not to mention that the vigilantes — the people who dared to protect Gotham during its darkest hours — seemed more focused than usual.

Not in the way where they were more focused on targeting crime in Gotham, and getting rid of her more corrupted and infectious roots, but in some… other way. Like they were focusing on one particular thing, and ignoring everything else in the process.

What that thing is, no one knew, but most were wary and cautious enough to not get in the way. Unwilling to find out what would happen if they got caught in the crossfire of whatever was happening.

However, this is still Gotham. Where some saw danger, others saw opportunity. So they tried to start something, thinking they could sneak right past the heroes of the city, and fly under their radar more easily compared to previous nights because of how focused they seemed to be on something else.

Yet, just as the fire began to lit, it was snuffed out.

A heavy stomp stopped the flames from even daring to light, killing it before it could even think to rise. The stomp itself coming down much more swiftly and heavier than before, digging the thugs it hit into the ground. They, the vigilantes who dared to protect Gotham and their citizens night after night, were harsher that way. More brutal than the city had ever seen them before, and that was quick to kill off some sparks that were trying to light. They were quicker, faster, and hit a whole lot harder. As if just wanting to get things over with, and quickly move on.

It was almost like they were rushing, and whoever thought that wouldn't be entirely wrong.

They just wanted to put all of their time and energy into finding you, but still had half a mind to take care of the crime in Gotham. Since, they'd have to deal with it anyway if they wanted things to go as smoothly as possible. Not to mention the off chance that some thugs could be messing with you, and so they'd get to swoop in and save you if they ever ran into such an altercation. Though, they didn't want to run around and just hope for that chance, so they also chose certain places and people to interrogate and search for. Taking out any and all thugs as well as minor criminals along the way.

As if anyone in their way was doomed from the day they were born, and dared to step foot in Gotham. As if they were cursed the very moment they dared to live in this damned city at all.

Nevertheless, some went after your teachers while others went to search through places you had been to for one reason or another. Whether it was for a performance or otherwise, it didn't matter. The fact that you had been there before was the only detail they cared about.

Finding you, and any information about you came first. Everything else was secondary.

That's why Tim was more focused on trying to find more… personal information about you. From your email, to where you lived, and who your friends are — he wanted to know everything. Even if he already had your phone number, you weren't responding or picking up whatsoever. Which wasn't exactly helping him calm down.

If only he could track your phone somehow-

["You have any new information yet?"]

Jason suddenly spoke up, making Tim scoff and narrow his eyes at the computer screen he was looking at, as if it was Jason's face.

How annoying.

"You've asked that question several times in the last fifteen minutes."

["And? Do you have any new information, or what?”]

Tim could only roll his eyes, having been scrolling through so many social media posts and pages, that he had lost count of exactly how many he had gone through or looked at. All he knew was that the total amount was quickly approaching triple digits.

Anything mentioning you caught his interest, and eventually he had found your public account — which, as expected, just held dates for your performances and when a new album or song of yours would be coming out. There were also a few previews of songs you would be playing at the time, had written, or both, and as much as Tim would like to listen to them all, he couldn't. Not right now anyway. He had to focus, for you.

… Though he'd keep it in mind for later.

"Besides more places where Y/n has performed, and when? No. Who could've guessed."

Jason scoffs, which almost made Tim smile a little but he quickly wiped it off his face, focusing again.

["Guys, let's not fight, alright? Just focus on finding Y/n."]

Dick suddenly spoke as well, the sounds of a fight slowly dying down could faintly be heard in the background.

["I'm not trying to start a fight, but y'know what would help with finding Y/n? Some fucking new information."]

["Language!" Dick sighs before continuing, "Look, just calm down-"]

["I am calm."]

["-and focus. We'll find them."]

Jason clicks his tongue, clearly getting upset.

Tim couldn't say much, seeing as he's already a bit upset himself, but that wasn't really saying much either. All of them were getting progressively frustrated and annoyed, but it was the source of those feelings that were different for each and every one of them. You were a big part of it, of course, but their anger wasn't directed towards you — not for Tim, anyway. Never.

Rather, it's the factors that surrounded you, and maybe their hate and guilt towards themselves, and what they've missed in your life — is what really drove them to try as hard as they are now. They all want to see you, but they have their own separate reasons despite how similar they may seem.

["How the hell can you be so sure? They could be getting killed, or being tortured right now. We need to find them as soon as possible- and you'll never guess what we need for that to happen."]

Tim could practically hear the eye roll in Jason's voice.

["We're all trying to find Y/n as fast as we can! Have a little faith, they can fight-"]

["You don't actually believe that, right?"]

["..."]

Dick's silence spoke volumes, but some of them understood it better than others, because they feel the same way. Fighting in tournaments and in controlled environments is different than fighting out in the streets, and in Gotham no less. No amount of trophies or medals could change their minds on that. Nothing could.

["See? Even you don't believe it."]

[Dick sighs, "Look, let's just keep looking while Babs and Tim grab more information, alright? We have to be patient."]

["That's reeeal rich coming from the guy who rushed out of the fucking Manor, the very second he heard Alfred didn't know where Y/n was. Weren't you the first one to start looking for them in the city?"]

["Y/n isn't going to be dead in the next few minutes, Jason-"]

["You don't fucking know that."]

Again, a brief silence passes as Dick just sighs again.

["Grayson does have a point, Todd."]

Damian spoke up, causing Tim to roll his eyes almost instinctively. Just remembering that he was technically working with the youngest Wayne, made his mood worsen. Though he just pushed his annoyance to the side, and continued his search.

If it were up to him, he wouldn't be working with half of the family, but that's the thing — he didn't have a choice. None of them really did. Finding you was just that important to them. You, in general, had become that important to them, and in just a few mere hours no less. Even if it left a few of them biting their tongues, and hiding their clear distaste for having to work with certain people. Still, they tried to work together to the best of their ability.

Tim just took a breath, still listening in on the conversation as he scrolls through even more websites and pages. A collection of photos and announcements leading him down a rabbit hole of posts, and finding some accounts that Tim was beginning to think belonged to your friends with how often they commented, the things they'd say, and how you'd respond. Even if the majority of those comments were on older posts, it was still something. So, he dug deeper.

Eventually, he came to the conclusion that your personal account was private. Since, he found one of the accounts he thought belonged to one of your friend's, and they mentioned an account Tim couldn't access. Of course, he hacked it and got in, but there still wasn't anything of use from what he could see. The occasional pictures were nice, even if they didn't show your face too often, but they didn't give him any information he could use to locate you. Hell, even the account itself didn't have a set location listed, and nor did your email. With the only thing he could gather from posts you privated being that you were still in Gotham, at the very least.

However it did seem like you not only didn't post too often, but were careful about what you posted even on your private account. Not to mention who you posted about as well, and how you worded things. As if you knew someone would be looking through your posts someday, and try to find you. As if you knew Tim would be looking through your page, and try to find you by the little bits of information he thought you'd accidentally leave behind. However, all he found was mostly inconclusive with his current objective. The most he could gather was that you either lived in an apartment, were staying with a friend, or settling at various hotels and such just to have a roof over your head. Though not much else.

Sighing, he kept looking.

Just where are you?

["Oh yeah? How so, demon spawn?"]

["Jason-!"]

["L/n knows how to fight, they can surely take care of themself for a few minutes." Damian states. Cutting off Dick, and ignoring the name Jason used to refer to him.]

["Oh, so you believe that?" Jason scoffs.]

["I haven't been given a reason to think otherwise."]

["Right. Okay. So let's say that Y/n isn't dead for a second here. Do you know how many enemies they could potentially have? Or just how many people want them dead? They're known as a Wayne kid, and a musician too, apparently. Anyone could be after their head, or want to squeeze some money out of them for all we know. How are they supposed to fight against threats like that?"]

["And you think they aren't prepared for that? With how much time has passed, I doubt they'd still remain ignorant to such risks. Especially with the career they've chosen as well." Damian scoffs, as if frustrated and offended on your behalf, "No wonder L/n left."]

["Damian!" Dick exclaims, the youngest Robin's words clearly uncalled for.]

["What? You don't truly believe they just ‘ran away’. Do you, Grayson? Even Father doesn't believe such nonsense."]

Tim could only remain silent, but he had suspected as much as well. He didn't particularly enjoy agreeing with Damian, but for a change, it seemed that they were on the same page.

After all, the more Tim looked, and the deeper his research went, the possibility of you having left, instead of ran away, was turning into a clear certainty. Not to mention that various details he noticed in different posts, seemed to indicate that you had no intentions of coming back home, further proving that thought to be true.

It wasn't really even through posts you made either, but instead posts your friends had made. Various pictures and videos shared on their accounts showing the pieces of your life that the family had missed out on. Showing Tim what he had missed out on.

From parties and celebrations that were held for your accomplishments and your friend's, to events you attended with them instead of someone from your family. To smaller things such as various study sessions that were held, sleepovers and all the fun activities you did with your friends, to sneaky photos taken of you practicing, and how nervous you used to be behind stage — only to later show how confident and comfortable you had grown in more recent pictures.

He saw your life and nearly every part of it he had missed through someone else's eyes. Through the camera lens that captured how much fun you had, or just how happy you were during the time the photo was taken, or how calm you looked as you set up your instrument and prepared to play it, and how focused you became when you did. Videos that showed you getting into the zone, and displaying your amazing skill and talent that Tim never saw up until now. That the rest of the family never knew about until recently, just because they couldn't put a few seconds to the side to even try and give your music a listen. Just because they never made time for you, and now they were finally paying the price for it. Finally realizing what they had truly lost, and why the occasional, soft melodies that would play at night had stopped entirely.

They had pushed you away, and you left. That was the true reality of the situation.

Yet the others didn't seem to believe it, or maybe refused to. Seeing as no one dared to say anything else for a few moments.

["... Bruce?" Dick hesitantly spoke up, he clearly didn't want to think about it. Let alone consider it.]

A heavy sigh could be heard before Bruce said anything.

["It's a possibility." His cold, calculated voice pierced through the air. It was less clear, but he didn't seem too fond of the idea either.]

["'Possibility'? Father, you can't be serious-" Damian tries to speak up, only to get cut off.]

["Exactly! Yeah! It's only a possibility, and we won't know for sure unless we find them." Stephanie pitches in, clearly trying to stay a little positive despite the situation.]

["Right…" Dick took a breath, "Well, what do you think, Tim?"]

"..."

Tim's silence said everything, and besides, he was much too focused on a particular thing he managed to find to really be paying attention anyway.

["... Tim?"]

["To think that Drake would be the only other sensible person here. Unbelievable."]

["Look- we don't know for sure, okay? But anyway, how did the interrogation go? Find out anything?"]

The rest of the conversation fell into the background. Tim would roll his eyes, but again, something else had caught his attention, seeing as he found a rather peculiar post.

On one of your friends' accounts, there was a post that showed you and two other people. All of you were wearing formal clothes, and stepping out of a theater that Tim recognized. The person taking the selfie had an arm wrapped around your shoulders, and he noted that they were the owner of the account. The other person was hugging your arm, and did bunny ears behind your head. All of you were smiling, and you looked so… happy..

Tim shook his head, and just focused on the individual hugging your arm. He didn't recognize them, not completely anyway, but noticed how their account was tagged in the post, and how it was an account he hadn't looked into yet. So, he went to their page and scrolled through their various posts. A particular detail already catching his interest as he scrolled down.

This person seemed to spend a lot of time with you…

Not that your other friends didn't, but this person seemed to have more posts with you in them, compared to the other accounts Tim has looked through thus far. There were many photos of you both hanging out, with some other personal posts sprinkled in here and there — but Tim isn't here for that. He's looking for you, so of course he ignored posts that didn't involve you.

Most of the photos showed you both hanging out and doing various activities together. With Tim's heart squeezing the more he saw, and further began to realize just how much of your life he had missed. Though he pushed it all to the side, just as he has been doing this entire time.

He could feel terrible about all the nights you spent away from home, and how no one noticed, later. He could feel guilty about all the time he's wasted not being with you when given the chance after he found you.

Only then, once you were safe again, once you were home, would he allow himself to feel the full weight of all he hadn't done. Though only when you were home, would he let himself fully see and realize just how little of an impact he had on your life. How he may as well have just been nothing but a figment of your imagination with how often he was present, along with everyone else.

Though, for that, he had to find you first, and he will, so he kept looking.

Eventually, he did stumble across a curious post. One that not only confirmed his suspicions, but also gave the most important piece of information Tim could've found right now.

It was another photo taken without your knowledge, seeing as your back was facing the camera, and a bit of your friend's face could be shown. You were moving some boxes into a building, and your friend seemed to be covering their mouth with their other hand — as if they had been laughing and were trying to cover it up. The caption of the post said how you lost a bet, and now had to move in most of the boxes yourself, but how they'd help you if they saw you genuinely struggling. Only to put in parentheses how viewers of the post shouldn't tell you that.

However, what caught his interest was the text on the image itself, and what parts of the building were shown.

['First day of moving in!!! Already making my bestie hate me by having them do all of the work♡ They're the best! Look at them go ♡♡'] The text in the photo read, with the building itself having a number, among various other details to suggest that it was an apartment building.

Tim felt his heart leap to his throat. No way, had he really…? No. No, he couldn't get his hopes up, but he searched for the building by using the other photos your friend had taken that eventually got him a street name and number. It didn't even take him a minute to find the exact building that perfectly mirrored the one in your friend's photo.

He tried to not work himself up too much, as he didn't waste any time finding the building's security system, and hacking into it. He didn't want to get his hopes up, only to end up disappointed. He didn't want to think about certain things or make up assumptions, only for them to turn up untrue. Yet, his heart rate increased as his hands began to shake despite his efforts.

No way, he thought. No way.

Getting into the system was a breeze, but Tim could hardly focus on that as he immediately looked through the building's security footage. He matched the dates of both the post and footage, and found you bringing in boxes, just as the photo had shown.

He watched you go into the elevator and took note of what floor you went up to, and eventually what apartment you walked into as well once you got there. Tim even observed as you took a second to yourself, sighing before going back down, and doing the process all over again — and even how you had to use the stairs at one point. Seeing as your friend had the bright idea to 'race' you, and see who could get most of the remaining boxes to the apartment in the least amount of time. It was a close tie, and your friend had won, but that's besides the point.

Tim went through other footage just to make sure he had the right information, and knew for certain that you lived in this particular apartment with your friend. For all he knew, you could've just offered to help them move in that day, so he had to be sure. He had to be certain. He couldn't afford to be wrong this time around.

Yet with all the footage he was able to review, and all the dates getting closer and closer to the current day, he was able to confirm it. He saw you walk in and out of that exact apartment on that exact floor, and leave and enter that exact building multiple times. With the amount of time that's passed, it made sense — even if Tim couldn't figure out where you had stayed between the few weeks you had presumably left the Manor and when you moved in with your friend, but that hardly mattered now. What did matter is that he found out where you live, and now had your address.

He almost couldn't believe it, staring at the document where he has been listing all of the information he's gathered from this search.

Having just finished writing down your address, it all felt so unreal.

He's done it. He's finally done it.

"Holy shit." Tim cursed under his breath, disbelief clear in his voice.

["Language, Tim."]

Bruce's voice suddenly sounded, causing Tim to jump before he quickly tried to settle down.

"Right, sorry." He apologized, placing a hand over his racing heart. God, that scared him more than it should've.

["Did you find anything?"]

Someone tsked at the question – while Tim just looked at his screen, still processing all that's happened, and suddenly feeling unsure.

Should he just keep this to himself, so that he could go after you? The others didn't know where you live… they didn't have to know yet. This was a golden opportunity — should he really be giving this up?

["With how long it's been? And all he's been able to find out? We'll be lucky if he even knows if Y/n is dating or not."]

["Jason, c'mon.." Dick tried to pitch in, dragging on.]

["What? I'm just saying-"]

"I know where Y/n lives." He found himself blurting out, Jason's words irritating him more than they would've. More than they should've.

["... Really? Where are they, Tim?" Dick didn't waste a moment to ask.]

["Yeah, just spill already so we can go get them."]

["Send me their location."]

["Send me the info too!"]

Tim could only sigh, rubbing his temple as he tried to collect his thoughts. Of course he just had to run his mouth before thinking things over. Of course he had to let that little comment get to him. Of course he just had to allow it to get to him so much that it made him give up the most important piece of information he had found out tonight.

Of course. Just great.

["Guys, I don't think it's a good idea for all of you to just go and see Y/n."]

Barbara finally spoke up, voice calm and collected.

["Why? I mean, I get that seeing the whole family all at once might be a little overwhelming… but I don't see why a few of us can't go." Dick questioned.]

["Because it's been months since they've last seen any of us? There's a reason why they haven't gone back to the Manor, and still haven't picked up your or Tim's calls."]

["... You're not saying-"]

["I'm just suggesting that maybe only one of you should go to kind of… test out the waters. We can't be sure of anything, and the best way to see how we should go about things is to know how Y/n feels about us first."]

["But we need to bring them home, they're not safe out here." Jason pointed out, already not liking the idea.]

["I know, but we can't just show up and expect them to comply because we're family. For all we know, they might-"]

["Okay! Um, I think we get it now." Stephanie interrupted, the idea already bothering her.]

["Fine, then I'll go." Jason proposed, sounding like he was just finishing up taking out a few thugs, if the faint noises in the background were anything to go by.]

"And why's that? I already have the location, so I'll go." Tim pointed out, already gathering his stuff, preparing to leave as quickly as he could.

["Because if they try anything, I'll be able to stop them. What're you going to do with your scrawny, lanky arms?"]

"They won't fight me, Jason." Tim sighed, as if that was obvious, "and besides, I thought you didn't think they could fight anyway?"

["I don't, but anyone could take you down without even trying."]

["Jay! Ugh," Dick groans, "Look, I'll go, okay?"]

["Oh yeah? And why should you go instead of me?"]

["Because at least I won't scare them off, and if anything happens then I can handle it too."]

["I'm going." Bruce stepped in, speaking as if the decision was already made.]

["If Father is going, then so am I." Damian chipped in.]

["The last person Y/n needs to see right now is definitely you, demon spawn." Jason scoffed.]

["You'll just scare them before you even get a word in, Bruce!" Dick tried to reason.]

["Hey, um, what if I go instead? At least I won't intimidate them or push them to come with us too hard." Stephanie suggested.]

Tim sighed, "Look, I can go and reason with them. Again, I already have the location so it makes sense-"

["No." Bruce said flatly.]

"But why!?"

["Father already said that he and I are going to see L/n," Damian stated, as if it was obvious, with a small scoff. Adding on, "Todd may also have a point."]

"So?! I already have the information, and I already said that Y/n won't fight me!"

["We can't say for sure what they will and won't do," Dick said, trying to deescalate the situation, "like Babs said, it's been a while. We don't know how they'll react or how they feel about us."]

["Is this you just trying to seem reasonable, so you can go see them first?" Jason asked, unconvinced.]

["What?! Of course not-!"]

["You're not really convincing anyone here, Dick…" Stephanie pointed out.]

The back and forth went on for a while. None of them could come to an agreement, as they all want to see you. They all want to be the first to actually meet you, and to experience what they all have found out about you first hand. Even if certain individuals were more guilty of that than others, the point still remained.

They just want to see you so much, could you really blame any of them?

Barbara sighed at the chaos, the arguments and defenses just getting more and more ridiculous. Eventually, just boiling down to certain people trying to prove that they want to see you more compared to others, and therefore should be the first to see you.

They all miss you, or desperately want to see the idea of you that they had created in their heads, but that wasn't a valid reason for why they should go and see you either. Especially considering how important this meeting would be. Since it would change and determine a lot of things, depending on how well or awful it went.

"Guys, look, just- whoever's the closest to the location should go." Barbara suggested with another sigh, which thankfully caused the constant arguing to stop for now.

["Fine, alright then." Tim agreed, albeit reluctantly.]

Barbara could only be a little thankful for the cooperation, but slowly grew confused at the silence that followed.

"Tim?" She asked, only to get another sigh as a response.

["It's Dick."]

["What? Really?!" Dick exclaimed, clearly happy at this turn of events.]

["Yes." Tim confirmed with a small groan, the frown evident in his voice.]

"Well, that settles it. Dick, you're going. Tim, send him the address. The right address, okay? We don't need more arguments or complications on this." Barbara says, "Don't push them too hard. The last thing we need is for their opinion of us to get worse, Dick."

["I know, I know. It'll be fine! I've got this!" Dick still sounded a little too happy, before suddenly going quiet.]

Barbara could only hope for the best at this rate.

["Did he seriously just turn off his comm link, and leave?" Jason asked as his voice rose, clearly upset.]

["Seems like it. Can't say I'm surprised since he sounded reallly happy to be able to see Y/n." Stephanie confirmed, sighing softly.]

["This is going to go poorly." Damian grimaced with another scoff.]

["Yeah, well, we can only hope he doesn't mess up too badly."]

["Let's try to think a little realistically, Tim." Jason said.]

Barbara just let out a huff as she looked at the screens in front of her. A little hope never killed anyone, but really, she didn't have a good feeling about this.

Maybe Dick really wasn't the best choice.

—

You were still calmly sitting in your apartment, messing around with the instrument in your hands. Since you've been switching between the ones you have every now and again, trying to find a particular melody you were looking for, but hadn't found just yet. You didn't have easy access to as many instruments as you did a few months ago, but you learned to work with what you had. Having taken home the very first instrument you bought yourself, and a few more of your favorites that could fit in the apartment that you managed to get your hands on for a decent price.

Sure, you did have other places you could go to that allowed you to play the other instruments you didn't have, but you liked to play at home if you could help it. There was just something about being in a comfortable space while composing a song or melody, that just felt nice. You truly felt at home, a feeling you didn't realize you missed until you left the manor and finally had a space that you could truly call your own. A feeling you didn't want to let go of, if you could help it.

Your life was still busy but it was beginning to slow down. You dedicated more time to things you actually enjoyed, but also made an effort to take care of yourself and hold onto good habits you had developed over the years. Though you were still trying to let go of some bad ones, you were making progress.

You felt… happy here. At peace, even.

You were surrounded by people that saw you and even recognized you, and were beginning to see that you had a family of your very own all along.

Unlike the family you were adopted into, your friends showed their care and support — and if anything, made sure you wouldn't forget it. With you showing the same care and support back, and your efforts being recognized instead of pushed to the side. Being reciprocated instead of leaving you with nothing, and making you feel more alone and unwanted than words could describe.

Sure, it wasn't perfect, and you've had your fair share of arguments and times where you needed space, but that was okay. You didn't need perfection, and you didn't need constant happiness. You just needed love and care, and that's what you found. Among other things you didn't ask for or necessarily need, but appreciated deeply regardless.

You felt like you had finally found what you've been searching for, and nothing could make you happier.

Yet, somewhere in your heart, you knew it couldn't last forever, and as if hearing your worries, an abrupt knock echoed throughout the apartment.

You paused what you were doing, humming curiously to yourself as you turned to look at the front door from your position on the couch. Who could that be at this hour? It certainly wasn't your roommate, seeing as they were sound asleep in their room, and you could still hear their snores despite being in the living room. So who else could it be?

Maybe it was Ms. Harry again, seeing as she had a bit of an odd tendency to knock on the wrong door sometimes. After all, she was old, and her memory was slowly getting worse, but she was always quick to fix her mistakes. So you just shrugged and turned away, convinced that it was another one of those nights where she just so happened to mistakenly knock on your door. So you let it be, knowing that she'd correct herself on her own and move along.

However, another set of knocks sounded.

They were a little louder this time, as if the person on the other side of the door really did want to be noticed. Which made you pause and look back at the door, taking a brief glance at the clock.

It was getting late, and not many people were out and about during this time of night. Not the people on your floor, anyway. Though, you still tried to think of anyone who could be at the door right now.

Besides your roommate, not many of your friends lived particularly close. With the amount of them that would not only be up at this time of night, but would also personally come to bother you without sending a text or anything, being even smaller. The more you think about it, the shorter the list of potential people got, and you don't know if that should make you more confused or worried. Maybe a bit of both, but you weren't sure.

More knocks sounded. Again, they were louder compared to the last set, if only by a little.

Well, whoever was at your door was being rather persistent, so you decided to at least check it out.

Reluctantly, you set the instrument you had been fiddling with for the past hour to the side. Sighing softly as you got up from your spot on the couch, and quietly approached the door.

Moving about as silently as you could was an odd habit you couldn't shake, and while your friends have joked and commented about it, you suppose it was just another remnant of your life in the manor. A life you were still trying to gradually leave behind.

Regardless, you made your way to the door, and yet here — right at the foot of it, an odd feeling began to blossom in your chest. You couldn't make sense of it, but as you reached for the knob, you found yourself stopping. It didn't feel like a good idea to open the door, and though you couldn't figure out why, you just took a small breath and pushed the feeling to the side.

Clearly, you were having a weird night, but just to humor yourself, you decided to 'comply' with whatever this feeling was, and check who was at the door by looking through the peephole instead.

It was only then did you understand.

You took a few silent steps back, putting your hand over your mouth as you kept your eyes on the door. Tingles of unease slowly crawling down your spine, and your heart began to beat against your chest harshly. You don't know if what you saw was real, but you didn't want to check again. Once felt like enough, especially since your legs felt like they were sinking into the floor.

How… how did they know where you live?

You took a breath, trying to calm your nerves as you took a few more steps away from the door. You have no idea what's going on, but all you know was that you don't want Dick knowing where you live. He might know the floor and building, but you refuse to give him the exact room if you could help it. So, you quickly moved to your room and got ready, a quick plan forming in your head.

Changing was easy, and so was gathering the stuff you thought you'd need for this. Not exactly too worried about the shoes you put on or anything like that, as your heart leapt from your chest to your throat when more knocks came, basically pounding against the door.

Fuck. He was getting impatient.

Picking up the pace, you made any last minute adjustments you could to your appearance, before quickly deciding that you looked good enough to be outside. Rushing to a window, you didn't waste any time opening it, grabbing onto a pipe that was exposed on the side of the building, closing the window, and sliding down the pipe until you reached the ground. Thanking your past self for having done that enough times to be used to it.

Knowing for a fact that you heard more knocks on your way down, you hurriedly rushed back into the apartment building and basically ran to the elevator. Thanking the gods that it had opened when you first called it, you rushed inside and hit the button for your floor. Hurriedly tapping on the button that closed the elevator doors as they slowly shut, as if that would make them move faster somehow.

As the elevator rose, you prayed that it wouldn't stop and that it'd go straight up to your floor, not knowing if you could afford to risk losing time like that. Especially when the thought of a certain vigilante breaking down your door because you didn't answer it, popped into your head.

Your hands were sweaty, your heart was racing, and you could hardly stand still as you waited for the elevator to reach your floor. Staring at the counter above the elevator buttons as if that'd make the numbers go up faster, and occasionally glancing at the doors as if they'd open at any moment. Questions and possibilities rushed through your head, but you hardly had any time to think about any of them as a small ding sounded, and the doors finally opened. Ignoring how the small sound made you jump a bit, you tried not to look too nervous as you stared at the hallway in front of you.

Oh god, you were really doing this.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you stepped out of the elevator and took a breath. Trying to calm down your heart a bit as you gathered your composure, and acted as normally as you could manage. Walking forward, you rounded the corner, and there he was in all of his tainted glory.

"Di- I- I mean, Nightwing?" You call out, trying to grab the vigilante's attention before he did anything rash — and you seem to have caught him at just the right moment. As he seemed just about ready to bust open the lock to your door, and break into your apartment. Which, he thankfully pulls away as he whips around to look at you, clearly surprised.

You were almost too grateful to have caught him just in time.

"What are you doing here?" You took a few steps forward, but nothing more. Not wanting your efforts to go to waste right away, even if you knew it was only a matter of time when it came to these guys.

"Oh! Y/n- hi! I didn't, um, I didn't see you there." Dick greets with a smile, acting oddly nervous, which makes you raise a brow. "How long have you been, uh, standing there?" He asks, probably trying to see if you saw how he was about to break into your apartment. You both know you did, but you could play dumb for now.

"Um, I just got back so… not long, I guess? Why?" You tilt your head to the side, taking note of how Dick seemed to visibly relax.

Was he always so… tense?

"No reason! I was just wondering, but, uh," He glances to the side before looking back at you, and taking in your appearance. He took in every little detail he could, and wow… you really were different from what he was expecting, but in the best way possible.

Your voice was different than he remembered, and everything about you was just so… fitting, even if he's never seen it before. Even if he didn't remember having seen the style of clothes you wore on you before, or seeing the accessories you had on your person either. You really look like you've grown up now and have become an adult, with your own sense of style and fashion. Having all these little ways to show how you've grown, and become more comfortable with yourself.

Dick couldn't help but love it as much as it hurt him.

"It's good to see you." He couldn't help but blurt out, smiling softly. Though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

You only fiddled with your sleeves, averting your eyes for a moment as you purse your lips into a thin line. The way he looks at you made you feel uncomfortable to say the least, and his whole demeanor was nothing you have seen from him before. Not directed towards you, anyway, and you couldn’t help but struggle trying to remember the last time he smiled at you in person. All you could remember was seeing his back turned towards you as he walked away, a flash of a pathetic smile showing on his face briefly before he continued walking forward. Never looking back...

Maybe you've just grown too familiar seeing his smile in photographs and painted pictures, instead of in person.

Yet, how he looks you over now — and seems to take in every detail he manages to find — isn't exactly making this the most comfortable situation to be in. You feel exposed, and rub your arm before stopping yourself. You couldn't afford to show signs of weakness or vulnerability. Not with him. Not while he was in the suit.

Taking in a short breath, you gave a small nod. Managing to look back at Dick, and push down your nerves. The last thing you want was for him to notice how you truly feel, and point it out, or feel some kind of obligation to do something about it. The last thing you need was for him to stick around for longer than he has to.

"Yeah, um, anyway- that didn't really answer my question…?" You hesitantly point out, unsure if you should've mentioned anything at all, but feeling the need to do so. Even if you rather not be in this position, you prefer this over him breaking down your door.

"Did something happen? I- I don't know how much help I can give since… y'know- I'm not a crime-fighting vigilante in latex, but I can see what I can do?" You try to joke a little, mostly for yourself and to further ease your nerves as a few small chuckles escape you. Yet it doesn't help as much as you would've liked.

Did they always scare you this much?

"Oh, no! No, no, no- nothing happened! I just wanted to, um, come see you, is all!" Dick admits, and even if that may have been enough reasoning for him, it wasn't for you. It just doesn't make sense, and maybe that was the years of being put off to the side — or almost outright ignored — talking, but you couldn't imagine him just randomly popping out of nowhere, just because he wants to see you. There has to be a reason, even if you don't know what that reason would be.

"By going to my friend's apartment…? That doesn't really make a lot of sense.. um, Nightwing."

"Oh. Uh, you don't live here?" It was so weird seeing someone like Dick be so openly nervous. Was he always like this? You couldn't really tell, but if there was something going on he wasn't hiding it very well. It was almost like he was trying to not mess up or something, but you don't know why.

"No… but I do visit often? I mean, that is why I'm here and everything-" A few nervous chuckles escape you as you scratch the back of your neck, once again averting your gaze. "If you want, we could talk over a cup of coffee? I know a good place nearby, and even if I'm sure you can't exactly dine-in or anything, I could just take it to-go or something." You hesitantly offer, getting the feeling that Dick wouldn't leave easily, and still thinking that if there really is something going on — you could give him a chance to talk about it, at the very least.

"Sure! Yeah! But, uh. Is that really a good idea? It could be dangerous, and I think it's for the best if we stay inside or go to your place instead." Dick suggests, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion.

"My place?"

"Yeah, I mean I would offer mine but Bludhaven isn't exactly close, y'know?" He snickers. Yet it only made you pause. The smallest bits of a bad feeling beginning to form in your stomach.

"I- I don't think that's a good idea…"

"But it's better than hanging around outside or something, right? This is Gotham, after all." You didn't like how Dick says that. Saying it like you didn't already know. Like you were ignorant of how bad the city you live in was, despite having experienced it first hand on multiple occasions.

"I know, but there has to be some other place we can talk, then just my place."

"Well, there is the-"

"No." You immediately shot it down, already feeling like you knew what he was going to say, "Not there. Let's- let me just grab the coffee first, and we can figure it out from there, alright?" You didn't want to deal with more than you have to, and you weren't going to go back. Not now. Not ever, if you could help it.

"Oh, sure! I'll just tag along," Dick said simply, almost as if it was obvious, as he smiles, approaching you casually.

"I-" You pause before just sucking in a breath and giving a small nod, a weak smile displaying itself on your face, "-yeah, sure. That- that works." Even if you don't want Dick to follow you, it is better than having him just stand at your door, anyway. Though you still aren't exactly comfortable with the idea, you didn't have many options.

"Great! I'll meet you outside!" Dick grins before leaving through the window at the end of the hall.

Now by yourself for a while, you exhaled deeply, not even realizing how long you've been holding your breath.

You aren't sure if you could do this, but you don't feel like you have much of a choice anymore as you just try to steady and calm down your racing heart.

Making your way back to the elevator, you try to not think too much about what's going on as you step back inside, and push the correct button, waiting for it to descend.

Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and despite how you try to ignore it – you could feel that something was wrong. Though you just chalked it up to how you aren't used to Dick talking with you, or smiling towards you – or really anything at all when it came to him. You tried to, anyway, but you were slowly beginning to doubt it.

There was something in his smile, and the way that he spoke that just felt strange to you. Even if you haven't had many conversations or interactions with him, you could still catch how different he seemed tonight. Though you weren't entirely sure. After all, you didn't know much about his personality or usual antics, just as he didn't know much about you as a whole.

On any other occasion you'd try to let it go, but doing so didn't feel right this time. It feels stupid, and almost as if you'd put yourself in more danger by trying to, so for now you'd just keep it in mind. Even if nothing came of it, at least you were being cautious, right?

You aren't sure, not entirely anyway. Since it was always hard to tell what is and isn't a good decision with Dick and the others, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as the elevator doors open once again.

All you could do was just hope that this would end as quickly as it started. For both your and Dick's sake, but mostly for your own.

Nevertheless, you step out of the elevator and make your way out of the building. There, you saw Dick leaning against a lamppost, before looking at you. The smile he gave only made the pit in your stomach grow bigger, but you tried to return the gesture the best you could.

Neither smile reached either of your eyes.

"So, you know where it is?"

"Yeah- it isn't too far from here. Just a few blocks away, it's not that far of a walk."

"Great! You don't mind leading, then?"

"No, um. I can lead."

"Perfect, let's get going then." Dick says, his smile growing a little bigger as he makes his way over, and stops beside you, waiting for you to lead the way.

You just gave a nod, taking a nervous step forward as you both began to walk. You knew the directions by heart at this point, and so you just let your own feet guide you along the streets of Gotham. With Dick following right along, humming under his breath.

An awkward silence fell over both of you.

You try to not think about it too much, knowing that the detail would only further bother you, and make you feel more nervous than you already are. So you drew your attention elsewhere, and focused on the city itself instead.

Not many people were walking about, which immediately struck you as odd since Gotham was always so lively despite how dangerous it is. Even if more people were out during the day, there were still lots of people who were out at night for one reason or another. Granted, most of them are dangerous, everyone knows that, but some just simply went about their business. The city was dangerous, but that didn't stop people from going about their lives. Even if it did make it easier for thugs and the like to hide within the crowds.

Still, the change was noticeable. Gotham wasn't exactly known to be quiet, let alone this inactive. It felt strange, and when you glance over to Dick, you couldn't help but feel a little surprised that he didn't seem all that bothered by the change. If anything, you were almost getting the impression that he hadn't noticed it at all.

So, you just keep looking ahead, and focusing on other things. Deciding to not comment on anything if Dick wasn't.

Yet you still couldn’t shake it.

The absence of sirens in the air and occasional gunshots didn't sit right with you, and even the amount of people driving by wasn't as much as it'd usually be. The city didn't feel busy, let alone as alive as it would've been on any other night, and it's bothering you. It's like some sort of silent evacuation is going on, or a lock down of some kind that not everyone was informed of. There were more whispers than there were shouts, and a kind of awkward peace, instead of striking violence and chaos.

You couldn't believe it, was this Gotham's first real quiet night?

CRACK.

Perhaps you spoke too soon.

A sickening crack sounded from somewhere within the city, the noise so loud and sudden that it immediately caught your attention, as you looked in the direction of where you heard it come from. You could've sworn you heard a scream that followed right after, only for it to swiftly get cut off.

It was only then did you really take a look around, and notice how the people you passed by looked equally tense and nervous. An unsaid, but shared feeling of tension and anxiety hung in the air, and now that you noticed it — you couldn't ignore it.

What didn't help was when you saw someone in an alleyway cocking their gun, only for them to swiftly get roped into the darkness, causing them to drop their weapon in the process. A sickening pop sounded, and then deafening silence followed. The only evidence that anyone had ever stood in that particular spot, was the gun the thug had dropped.

Through the shadows of the alleyway, and faint light from the moon, you could almost make out a figure in the darkness. Yet just as they turned to look at you, your eyes darted away.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Are… are you sure there isn't anything going on? It seems oddly… quiet, tonight." You point out hesitantly, small tingles dancing down your spine, and they were far from pleasant.

"Hm? Oh, well, I guess you could say something is happening, but the others are taking care of it." Dick reassures as he waves his hand dismissively. "Though that's why I think it'd be better if we talked inside. The last thing I want is for someone to eavesdrop on our conversation, and for you to get caught in the crossfire of everything." Yet you couldn't help but feel like it was a little too late for that.

Being associated with Dick, and the others — let alone being someone that they'd actually turn to for assistance or anything — already made someone prone to being caught in any crossfire that dealt with their vigilante work. Even if the person didn't get caught in between things by some miracle, it would be hard to ignore the newly painted target on their back. Being known for having a connection to Batman, and anyone he had taken under his wing one way or another, had its problems, and you already had to deal with your own fair share of trouble just for being known as another kid who got adopted by Bruce Wayne.

You wouldn't be surprised if you suddenly had to deal with more trouble just from this conversation alone, since word traveled around fast in Gotham, but you didn't want to think about that right now. You'd just deal with that when the time came, if it ever did.

Still, you didn't fully believe Dick. Your feelings of the situation becoming more messy, and unclear as you try to piece things together. You couldn't tell if what was going on was something to worry about, or stress over. Since Dick was acting so dismissively about it, and yet the effect it's having on Gotham was unmistakable. Is it big enough to cause the city to go quiet, but not dangerous enough to worry about? Or is it something else entirely?

You took a breath. Maybe it's best if you just think about it later. You already have enough on your plate as it is, and the biggest thing you have to worry about right now is Dick. All you have to do is find out what he wants, and handle things from there. That's it. That's all you have to do.

So, you nod hesitantly. Still not looking at Dick as you said, "Right. Okay. That… that makes sense, I guess," but your voice betrays you despite your best efforts as it wavered slightly. Still, you make sure to add, "but I still don't think it's the best to talk at my place."

Dick only gave a nod, saying, "Alright," and nothing else.

Your body refused to relax after that.

You still couldn’t shake the odd feeling you were getting from Dick, even if you couldn't exactly pinpoint what's wrong or where this feeling is coming from. The distant sounds of snaps, cracks, pops, and cut off shouts and screams in the distance didn't help much with that either. Especially when they weren't far, and sounded like they were only a few blocks away from you, with the distance slowly growing shorter each and every time a new sound echoed across Gotham. Especially when you realized that the snaps and cracks were the sounds of bones breaking, and the pops were joints getting dislocated. Which caused various memories to pop into your head that you tried to shove away.

Small beads of sweat began to roll down your neck. Your hands feel clammy, and you try to steady your breathing once you realize it was wavering again. You try to fix any outward reaction you notice you were displaying before Dick could catch on, fiddling with your sleeves as you try to reassure yourself.

You're going to be okay.

CRACK!

You're going to be fine.

SNAP!

You're going to make it through this.

POP!

You could tough it out.

"AAAHHH-!" CRUNCH.

This would all be over soon.

So, you try to ignore how the pit in your stomach continues to grow with each second that passes. How each sound causes you to tense, and sometimes jump the smallest bit, but you try to ignore that too.

You glance over to Dick once again, only to catch him immediately turning to face forward. The detail made you pause and furrow your brows, had he been looking at you?

You shove the thought to the side and face forward again as well. A weight of some kind begins to form in your chest, yet you still try to push on and keep walking.

Seconds turn into minutes, and it's only now that you fully realized how long this short walk felt. The sidewalks stretched on, and the streets never seemed to end. The traffic lights felt like distant glimpses of life and civilization that one would catch in fog, with the small amount of cars on the road not helping with that feeling. Dark clouds begin to form overhead, and cover the inky black sky. With the full moon looking down at you. Its sight pinned on you, staring in silence.

Maybe that's why you were so relieved when the diner finally came into view, and you found yourself holding back a sigh of relief. You had to stop yourself from running over, and rushing inside so that you didn't have to walk beside Dick anymore. Further reminding yourself of how awkward this whole experience has been for you thus far. Which didn't help with how you are feeling at all.

"How do you like your coffee?" You decide to ask, seeing as the diner was only a few steps away at this point.

"What?" Dick asks, seemingly snapping out of whatever trance he was in. With your question bringing him back to reality.

"Um, how do you like your coffee? Since, y'know. That's what we're here for?" You repeat, giving Dick a confused glance.

A look of realization flashed across Dick's face as a small 'ohh' left him. "Right, yeah. Uh," he stumbles at first before saying his preference, with you just nodding along.

"Okay, I'll just go inside and order so… you can just wait out here?" You said, unsure as you glance at the diner, only to look back at Dick.

"Yeah, I can do that." He agrees with a simple nod and small thumbs up. Making you nod as well as you took a breath.

"Right, okay. I'll just, um, head inside then." You exhale sharply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "It shouldn't take too long." You stop once you're in front of the door to the diner. Folding your hands into fists, squeezing your fingers and digging your nails into your palms, before releasing, letting your fingers relax, before repeating the process a few more times.

"Got it." Dick nods again, and you return the gesture as you open the door and step inside. Once again holding yourself back from letting out a sigh of relief, as you made your way over to the counter. A weight of some kind being lifted from your shoulders the moment the smell of food, and freshly brewed coffee hits you.

It's only when you reach the counter and see your friend did you finally sigh deeply, and heavily. You rest your arms against the counter and let your head hang low, a feeling of exhaust and fatigue slowly eating away at you. Not being in the immediate vicinity of Dick definitely made you feel exceptionally better, especially now that there’s a wall between you and him.

"Y'know, lots of people have been comin' in and sighing just like that, tonight." The waitress points out as she makes her way over to you. Her comment causing you to lift your head, and look at her. She gave you a little smile, amused by your antics, but you could see the little worry that hid behind her eyes.

"Really?" You ask, allowing yourself to relax a little, now that you were in the presence of a friend. You didn't see Jessica outside of the diner much, but that was never a problem since you've been a regular for a while now. You had met when you first began coming to the diner late at night for coffee since you couldn't sleep, coming around just when the place was about to close. It was only after a few more nights passed that you both began to talk, and really connect. You like to consider her one of your closest friends because of all she's done for you, and not just because she knows how to make your coffee just the way you like it.

"Yeah, it's kinda weird but there's seems to be somethin' going on tonight. So I guess it makes sense." Jessica says with a shrug, "Anyway, you want the usual, I'm assuming?"

You perk up at that, "Wait, you think something's going on too?" You couldn't help but ask, though made sure to also say, "Oh, and that'd be great. But I'll… um, take it to go this time, and I'll have another coffee for my…" you glance over your shoulder and look at Dick. He had his back turned to the window, and looked to be talking to someone with what you assumed to be his comm link.

You turn back to Jessica, a crooked smile on your face, "My acquaintance…?"

"I can't think of anyone who doesn't. Everyone can tell that something ain't right about tonight. Hell, even Jim looked bothered when he came in. I swore he was shakin' like a leaf, and looked like something was out to get him too." Jessica replies, writing down your order on her notepad mindlessly, already knowing it by heart.

"Jim? Like the commissioner?"

"Nope, I'm talkin' about the guy who came in from Metropolis."

"Oh." You said, before slowly nodding as you thought about it, "I guess that makes sense. Though, I didn't think that guy had a single nervous bone in his body, to be honest."

"Well, y'know what they say; Gotham changes people. It can even make people like him, who're barely present with the rest of us, get a little shaken up every now and again." Jessica hums, looking at what she has written down for a moment.

"Right… yeah."

Jessica sighs softly, looking at you with unsaid care and concern before speaking up again, "Anyway, does your…" she drags out the 'r' as she glances behind you, before looking back at you. Waving her pen in the air as she gestures towards the window, "'acquaintance' want anything else?"

"No, um. Just the coffee will do." You rub the back of your neck, making sure to mention how Dick said he likes his coffee. Jessica only gave a nod as she wrote it down.

"Alright, but I gotta ask. Is that guy bothering you?" Jessica asks as she starts to brew the coffee, shooting you a certain look, "I can get William to have a chat with 'im if he's causing you trouble. He won't like it, but he'll do it, y'know."

The question catches you off guard, but you quickly shake your head, and try to adjust the smile on your face to look less obvious. As much as you don't want to be in this situation, you at least want to hear Dick out. If there's even the smallest chance that he really does need something from you — you want to help. You don't want to be the reason why whatever is going on is prolonged any further, or if a solution they have is delayed.

Despite everything they've done to you, and the little they've given you throughout all of your life, you want to do this one last thing for them. That's all.

You could afford to do this one last time, you thought as much anyway.

"I'm fine, he- he isn't bothering me… I promise." You try to reassure your friend, mustering the most convincing smile you could as you watch her work. She clearly knew what she was doing, since it looked as if it came so naturally to her, and you wouldn't be surprised if it did, with all she's told you in the past.

"Well, alright. But if he does anything you can always shoot me a text or give me a call. I can't do much myself, but I know people."

You huff at her words, an easy smile making its way up your face as your shoulders relaxed, "I know. Thanks, Jess."

"Don't mention it. After all, I've gotta look out for the person who gives the best tips." She snickers, a smile of her own beginning to show itself. You can't help but laugh lightly as you just shake your head, and look away.

The soft tune of old melodies plays in the background, filling the space of the diner and washing away any awkwardness that may have been present otherwise. Some jazz begins to play, and you couldn’t help but tap your foot along with the rhythm, the voice of the singer taking all of your worries, and whisking them away.

The other customers are quiet for the most part, but seem at ease for the time being. The outside world almost seemed so far away despite being just past the windows, but there was some peace to be had with that. The street lights gave off a homey feeling with their soft orange hues spilling into the diner, the quiet from the outside only making this place feel more safe, in a strange way.

"So it's just for the money, huh? And here I thought you genuinely cared about me." You chuckle, fiddling with your fingers mindlessly.

"Of course I do. But I'd like to see you work in customer service and living off of tips," Jessica chuckles as well, "Maybe then you'd see how that's just me appreciating you more, hon'."

You just shake your head, "Right, whatever you say."

"I'm being serious, Y/n. Even the boss appreciates you, and your wonderful donations." Jessica snickers, beginning to pour the coffee into two cups.

"You make it sound like he runs a charity, and I'm a big donor."

"Of course he does! Except, y'know. It isn't your typical charity, and we gotta work our asses off to ‘give back to the people’. With your money making up about… hm, seventy-five percent of my paycheck?"

"Jess!"

"No, no. You're right, it's more like eighty-three. Maybe even eighty-five at a push." She laughs, giggling at the expression you make as you huff, before laughing a bit yourself.

You both continue to joke lightly, laughs and giggles being shared as Jessica makes your order, and you patiently wait. A light, soft sort of smile resting on your face, and you almost forget what had made you so tense in the first place. Which was one of the reasons you love this diner so much — it felt like a home away from home, even if it was only a few blocks away from your apartment. Jessica just added onto that comfortable vibe you got from this place, and your mind always felt so quiet when you're here.

It almost made everything feel like it'd be okay, and that as long as you remain inside, nothing bad could happen to you.

Unfortunately, it was only that. A feeling, and nothing more. Your current situation only made that detail all the more apparent.

"Welp, here you go. They're both hot and ready, so be careful, okay?" She smiles down at you before snickering, "Though you don't gotta tell the guy that if you don't want to."

You're confused for a moment, not entirely sure who Jessica was talking about until it suddenly hit you. Right, Dick.

You laugh along, but it wasn't as genuine as it was before, and died down much quicker. As if scared that he'd hear both of you from past the window now. The thought alone made you suddenly hyper-aware of his presence outside. "Right, yeah.."

Grabbing the two cups, you slide them towards yourself and stare down at them for a moment, finding yourself hesitating again. You don't know why you were taking so many pauses, but this whole thing just didn't feel right to you. Though you couldn't exactly pinpoint why, you knew the reason was different than why you were so awkward around Dick, and reluctant to talk to him.

"... Are you sure that guy isn't bothering you?" Jessica asks again, leaning against the counter as she places a hand over one of yours. You couldn't meet her eyes, knowing that if you did it'd just make things harder for yourself. So you look off to the side, unsure.

"Yeah!… He's just.. yeah." Was all you could really say. You don't want to say anything that would make Jessica worry more, but most importantly, you don't want to make it harder for yourself to leave. You got this far, would it really be alright if you leave now? If you took back the words you said, and just went back home? Probably not.

You hear Jessica sigh, causing your heart to feel heavier in your chest. "Look, I get it if you don't want me to get someone to handle him, but if you don't want to stick around, and don't want him to see- I can let you out the back." She offers, giving your hand a small squeeze. Trying to reassure you, and give you something to work with.

You perk up at her offer, looking back up at her in slight surprise, "Really?" You ask. The sense of hope and relief that washed over you didn't make you feel any better, and only furthered the conflict going on in your mind.

"Yeah. Especially if it'll get you away from that weirdo." She chuckles with a slight smirk, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You think about it for a moment, just looking at Jessica as countless thoughts rush through your head. Why did this have to be so complicated? Why are you making this so hard for yourself? The choice is so simple, so easy, and yet you just couldn't take it, but why?

You look back at Dick, and make eye contact.

You both stand there, staring at each other for a while, and the music playing in the diner suddenly didn't feel so comforting anymore. Your shoulders lost their weightlessness, and gravity seemed eager to try and pull you down to the floor.

Dick is the first to look away, presumably resuming his conversation with whoever he's been talking to this entire time, but you didn't. You don't.

Turmoil and conflict is clear in your eyes. You could see it through your faint reflection in the glass of the window that separates you and Dick. Which, from that alone, you begin to feel worse.

Even if you did leave, would that change anything? Would you be able to actually leave Dick? Or would he catch on? They already know where you live, and even if you managed to fool Dick momentarily, you doubt that he believes your little lie now if he is talking to the others. Yet if you went back to him, what would happen? Where would you both end up going?

You look back down at the two coffees, and sigh. Either way, you’re faced with uncertainty. If you left now, there's no telling if you'd actually be able to get away. Yet if you went back to Dick, you couldn't even imagine what would happen next. It felt like you were stuck in a lose-lose situation; having to pick between two different types of poison, and deal with whatever consequences that came with the kind you chose.

Holding the cups a little tighter, you think it over for another moment before shaking your head. Taking in a breath, and letting yourself calm down a bit.

"I think I'll be okay, but thanks for the offer, Jess." You gave her a little, appreciative smile, "I'll just message or call you if anything happens, like you said." Jessica didn't seem entirely sure of your decision, but nods anyway.

"Well, if you're sure, then alright. But the moment shit goes south, you know who to call."

You nod, and give her a small ‘thank you’ as you paid and left. Taking the drinks with you as you did so, the warmth of the diner slowly leaving you, and now being replaced with the cold breeze of the night.

"Sorry that took so long, I would've told you otherwise if I had known." You apologize as you turn to Dick, flinching at his close proximity. Since, you didn't realize just how close he had been standing to the door until now.

"It's no big deal! Besides, it didn't take that long." Dick said, dismissing your apology as he kept up that smile of his. You only nod, handing him his coffee, which he gladly took.

"If you say so.." You glance off to the side again, remaining quiet for a moment before looking back at Dick, "You were talking to the others, I assume?" You decide to ask, not exactly sure if you should've said anything, but you didn't see the harm in doing so at the moment.

"Hm? Oh, yeah! I uh, I was." Dick confirms with a small, awkward nod.

"Is… everything okay?"

"Yep! Things are going well. Great, even!"

"Oh. Alright then."

Another beat of silence passed over both of you.

You clutch the cup in your hands, its heat pinching and nibbling at your skin through the sleeve. You took a glance inside the diner, and noticed that while Jessica is doing her job, she's still shooting looks and glances your way past the window. She furrows her brows as you both made eye contact, and you could tell what she was going to do just from that alone.

You shake your head, and play it off as if you were just pushing a thought away once you look back at Dick, shoulders rising and almost locking into place as you try to stop your smile from dropping. Holding it at just the right height, and making sure it didn't look too crooked.

"So, um. How about we walk and talk? Just so that we're doing something instead of just standing around- y'know?" You suggest, a wry chuckle escaping you as your eyes wander off again.

"Sure, yeah! We can do that," Dick nods along, and you give a curt nod in return.

"Great!" You begin to walk off, only to be stopped by Dick as he grabs your sleeve, causing you to flinch a little bit. Whipping your head around to look back at him, your heart stopping for a moment as something flashed in your eyes, before it quickly disappeared.

For a split second, you look at Dick as if he was about to kill you, or something similar to that. Like he was going to hurt you in some unimaginable way by just trying to grab your attention.

Though Dick just pushed that little detail to the side, he couldn't help but keep it in mind. He didn't want to think about what it could mean, but couldn't forget it either. Since no matter how quick it was, or how short it lasted, just seeing that expression on your face and directed towards him — it hurt worse than any injury he could possibly receive in any shape or form.

He didn't want to believe what seemed to be the undeniable truth.

So, instead, he tucked it away in the back of his mind. Still managing some kind of smile as he looks at you, hiding behind a face of confusion.

"Isn't your place back that way?" Dick asks, gesturing behind him with a tilt of his head. He notices how you swallowed — taking note of how nervous and on edge you seem to be. He's known since he first saw you, but he didn't think anything of it. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want it to mean anything.

So he ignores it. Pushing it away until he can't see it anymore, despite it being so clear and right in front of his face.

He prays to every god he knows, and hopes to every heaven he's aware of — blind and ignorant to the fact that they have long since shut him out. The light and grace they'd give, forever out of his reach.

His little wishes couldn't help him now. Not when they never helped you.

"I-" You couldn't help but sigh, shaking your head and gathering your thoughts, before speaking again, "I already said that I don't think that it's a good idea to talk there, Dick. And I don't think it's smart to have this conversation here either- so let's just walk as we try to figure this out. Please?" Your weak smile begins to strain as you take a step back, grabbing Dick's hand and tugging him toward you. You hope he'll listen, if only this one time.

Dick looks to the side, unsure as he weighs his options before looking back at you, and suddenly he's hit with all the convincing he needed.

You look at him pleadingly, almost silently begging for him to comply and just come along with you. The moon, albeit partially covered thanks to the dark clouds passing overhead, lit up your eyes in such a way that further emphasized the emotions you were feeling, but left unsaid. How the internal conflict and struggle you were experiencing, made the color in your irises shine that much brighter, and how such a little thing took Dick's breath away.

Suddenly, for a moment, he realizes how soft your hand was in his, despite the fabric of his glove in between them. Even if it is just for that split second, he can't help but… love it. Love you. So how can he say no? How could he say no when he's slowly beginning to see all of these little things about you in a different way? When his guilt was slowly shifting to something else? Something worth trying for?

How can he deny such a little request from his little sibling? Especially when you look at him like that? He can't. So he didn't. Unable to stop the soft but partially happy smile that grew on his face.

You found it uncanny and misplaced, but he found it fitting and refreshing in a way. A way he hadn't felt before — not in a while, anyway.

"Sure, alright. Let's get going then!" Dick replies after a second of silence had passed, holding onto your hand and walking beside you when you began to move again.

You didn't say anything this time, just nodding as you focused on walking away from the diner.

Yet, Dick couldn't help but look back at the establishment. Curious as to why you wanted to move on from it so quickly, and wanted to see if he could catch anything in particular that might've caused it. Not that Dick was complaining by any means, but he couldn't help his own curiosity.

It was then that Dick and the waitress from inside the diner made eye contact. Causing Dick to narrow his eyes, and the waitress doing the same back with a certain look in her eyes.

He didn't like it, and even if the impression he's getting was far off the mark, he didn't care enough to change it.

Yet, when you and Dick pass the diner, your phone suddenly vibrates.

Oblivious to how Dick's gaze lingered on the diner for a little while longer — or how he was even looking back at all — you fish your phone out of your pocket once you shake Dick’s hand off mindlessly, not thinking too much about the action as you check your notifications.

There, you saw that Jessica had left you a message.

['Be careful with that one. I'd watch your back if I were you, hon.']

You were confused to say the least, but before you could think to respond, Dick turned back to you and suddenly spoke. Smile ever present, eyes trained on you.

"So, where are we going?"

"Oh- um, I'm not entirely sure." You admit, pocketing your phone quickly without much thought. Hoping Dick didn't see what the text said, but you didn't count on it. Not much slipped past him or the others in any given situation, not unless it was something dealing with you. Though, with his attention on you now? You couldn't be too sure of what he would and wouldn't notice. Not anymore.

After all, just knowing that he could see you now, and is actually talking with you, along with the fact that you've been in his space for over a minute was… a new experience. You didn't think you'd get this far — you never have before, and so this was all new territory for you. All you knew, and could gather from how things were going thus far, was that slipping away wouldn't be as easy as it was before. Not with his eyes trained on you like they were now.

"Well, that's fine but we still shouldn't stay out for long. It isn't safe." Dick pointed out again, causing you to sigh and nod your head.

"I know, but I still-" you cut yourself off, and took a quick breath before continuing, "it doesn't feel right going back to my place. Besides, not many people are out tonight… and as weird as that is- at least not many people will be around to eavesdrop on our conversation, if we did talk out here." You said, shrugging your shoulders, and taking a slow but small sip of your coffee. It burned your tongue, but at least it gave you something else to think about.

"That doesn't exactly make Gotham any less dangerous, and besides- those who are walking around, and are still out and about, could be from a worse crowd. You should know that, Y/n." Again, you didn't appreciate how he spoke to you like that. Talking as if you were ignorant to that possibility, or just generally unaware that Gotham was a bad place filled with even worse people.

"I do, I'm just saying-" you try to defend yourself, looking at Dick before immediately looking away. You don't like how he looked at you, and how much taller it made him appear, "Gotham isn't just filled with criminals, and besides… most people look like they're rushing to get home anyway." You comment, noticing how a group of people — presumably friends or roommates, maybe even 'coworkers' to a certain degree — rushed inside what appeared to be an apartment building. Along with how a family quickly got inside of their house, ushering their kids inside before hurriedly closing the door behind them.

"It's like some kind of apocalypse is going on…" You mutter, narrowing your eyes at the sight, before just focusing your attention back on the sidewalk ahead of you. You didn't recall getting a memo of any kind, or an alert if something like that was really going on. Though, your best bet to figuring anything out was unfortunately through Dick, by the looks of things.

Dick rubs the back of his neck, a strange feeling of nervousness, and something close to embarrassment, radiating off of him as he chuckled. The strange detail caught your attention, causing you to look at him and notice that his smile had become uneven, before he fixed it when he noticed you were looking.

You couldn't help but raise a brow, silently questioning Dick with your eyes, a small hint of suspicion growing behind your gaze.

Dick just shrugs, fixing himself the very next moment, which only causes you to narrow your eyes. Were they actually causing some kind of apocalypse? Surely not… right?

"Then that's just all the more reason why we should head inside too." Dick said, giving your hand a soft squeeze. Forcing you to acknowledge that you were holding hands once again – but when did he grab it? You don’t remember feeling him hold it again until now… but that wasn’t important, not now anyway, "I don't want anything bad to happen to you, Y/n. I'm just worried."

You grew quiet at that, a mix of emotions beginning to swirl around in your chest before you just shove it to the side. You couldn't tell if he was joking or trying to be genuine….

Though, your heart and mind seemed to agree that he wasn't being serious, and maybe that's why you didn't like how he looked at you.

Taking your hand back once again, you shook your head dismissively, "You're a vigilante, right? One of Gotham's finest, and looking over Bludhaven at that- if anything happens I'm sure you can handle it." Huffing, you add, "Even then, I can handle myself."

Dick's eyes linger on you for a little longer. The hand that had been holding yours twitched, and he kept it there for a second before letting it drop to his side, his smile beginning to die down before he sighed. "Still, I think it'd be better if we tried to avoid something like that all together."

"I think it'd also be better if we could avoid something like that happening at my place."

"It won't, not with me around."

"So now you're confident that nothing will happen?" You laugh lightly, more air escaping you above all else, and disbelief clear in your eyes and tone. "You can't be sure. Someone could follow us there and find out where I live."

You snicker again, not fully believing that you were actually having to tell Dick all of this, "I mean, it might not matter much to you but-"

"It does matter to me. I don't want you to get hurt, or anyone else to come after you." He took another breath, and you bite your tongue. Reframing from mentioning how it was a little too late to be saying that now. "Look, I understand if you don't want to go back to where you're staying, but if that's the case then we can just got to the-"

"No." You speak up before he could even finish. Already knowing what he was going to say, and the mere thought of going back to that place made you feel uneasy. Causing you to clutch your cup with both of your hands, barely registering its heat.

"I didn't even get to say where…" Dick sighs again, just pushing the detail to the side for the moment, "Can you at least tell me why? I don't see why we shouldn't."

"It just-" You didn't want to say it outloud. Not out here. Not with him around, and listening to every word that fell out of your mouth. "I just don't think that's smart either. Again, someone could follow us back there and find out about… you know."

"Well, then someone else could just take you back-"

"Wouldn't that seem suspicious if someone saw, though?"

"Now you're worried about being seen?"

"Like you weren't before-"

"Y/n, please. We can't just stand around here and talk about stuff all night. Either way, we have to go somewhere." Dick tries to reason, adding on, "Look, if you don't want to go to your place or the 'other' place, how about we just-"

"No."

"I didn't even get to finish!"

"I know what you were about to say, and just-" You took a breath of your own, sweat rolling down the back of your neck as your hands began to shake a little bit. Your nerves were getting to you. You could feel it with how your chest became heavier, and how it was getting progressively harder to continue walking — as if your feet were slowly sinking into the cement below you.

"I don't think it'd be the best to go there either." You mutter, looking off to the side.

"Why? I can sort of understand the 'other' place-" he didn't, but in his attempt to get through to you, he said otherwise, "but why not there? Again, we can't just wander around all night and talk out in the open like this, Y/n. You should know better than that." Dick states, furrowing his brows as his gaze remains pinned on you, never once looking away.

You wish he would. By the Gods did you wish he would look away just once. Yet such a blessing had yet to be given, if it would ever come.

With every second that passed, your doubt only grew.

"I just don't see why we can't go to any other places? Somewhere that isn't personal, or technically considered to be personal since it could reveal your identity and such- and I don't think I have to give reasons why someone knowing where I live, or used to live, would be bad too- but… yeah. Just-" You gather your thoughts, looking down at your cup of coffee for a brief moment, "Just somewhere that isn't necessarily connected to either of us, or could reveal potentially personal or sensitive information on one or both of us? Like the park, or some random rooftop…? You guys still have talks up there, right?" You manage to slide in a little joke, but the laugh you gave is more awkward and nervous than anything, so you just clear your throat and continue.

"Or- or just an abandoned building or something? If you still really want us to be inside? Since Gotham has some of those… maybe too many of them- but that's besides the point." You try to suggest, hesitant to even say anything but managing somehow regardless.

You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at Dick – so you missed how his brows creased, and his smile was just barely holding up. His hand twitches again, but he tries to stay mindful of the coffee he's still holding.

"Are you serious?" His tone made you press your lips into a thin line. Your nails begin to dig into the sleeve of your cup. "I get that you're paranoid, but are you serious right now? Y/n, c'mon." An odd warmth began to bloom in your chest at Dick's words. It was far from pleasant, and lit like a match, with the flame itself bursting to life. It started much larger than you were used to, and controlling it was more difficult than you expected.

"I'm just saying…"

"Saying… what? That we either stay out in the open where anything can happen, or a clearly dangerous place where we're most likely going to get jumped? 'Cause if that's what you're saying, then I don't even know what to say, Y/n." Dick really can't believe you right now. Just how long have you been living in Gotham, exactly? Who were you even living with? He couldn't understand what you were thinking suggesting such a thing.

He had a feeling you may have been unaware of the true dangers of Gotham, since he and the others had kept you away from such things – from what he could tell. Not to mention that you didn't have any intention of becoming a vigilante yourself, from what he remembered, but for you to turn out like this? He had no idea you were so oblivious, and if he had before, he never would've let you out of that apartment building. He never should've to begin with, clearly.

"No! Of course that's not what I'm saying!" You couldn't help but yelp in surprise, finally looking at Dick as you held your coffee closer to your chest. You felt offended that he honestly thought you'd think something so stupid, but you didn't know what was worse. How he didn't seem convinced, or how he looked as if he believed himself more than you.

"Then…?" Dick drags on, gesturing for you to give an explanation. Almost daring you to say something that proved him wrong, or went against his point.

You huff harshly, the warmth in your chest beginning to turn hot as you went on to say, "I'm just saying why can't we go anywhere else, that isn't technically connected to you or me in some way?"

"... And your solution to that is to go to a public area, stay out in the open but on the rooftops, or go to one of the abandoned places around Gotham where something bad will definitely happen?" Dick rose a brow, with you restraining yourself from rolling your eyes. Instead, you manage a sigh – smile long gone from your face.

"Those were just examples, Nightwing." You hold back a scoff, clutching your cup a little tighter, "We don't actually have to go to any of those places, or do those things. I was just trying to suggest ideas, not say; 'Hey, we should go to that one place by the bay that's been abandoned for around five years and have our talk there. Since surely nothing will happen, and a gang totally doesn't hang around that area.' Or something like that."

"That's oddly specific," Dick gave you a questionable look before shaking his head, "but still. Those places and areas aren't safe. At least the places I suggested are, and if something happens, then there's security measures in place for that."

"How do you know if my place is secure or not?"

"Are you trying to say that it isn't?"

"No- but it's not like I have a super complicated system or hypersensitive security like- y'know. The other places. So what would make my place so safe?"

Dick sighs, "Fine. Alright, maybe your place isn't our safest bet right now. Even if I feel like I can definitely handle protecting a single apartment." You didn't even bother to say anything, just rolling your eyes and shaking your head instead.

"I don't want anything to happen to my place, Nightwing."

"You really don't think I can't defend one room?"

"I don't live alone, D- Nightwing. I don't just have myself or my things to worry about." You couldn't help but say, scoffing under your breath. However, Dick could only blink, a little confused.

"You… have a roommate?"

"Yeah? Who do you think I was referring to when I said I was visiting a friend?"

"Oh! I thought that was a complete lie. I guess that makes sense, but why would you need a roommate anyway? Does your job not make enough money or-"

"Does that really matter right now?" You gave Dick a pointed look, hoping that he would take the hint and drop the subject, "We're trying to find out what the fuck to do, not delve into my personal life."

"Alright, fine- no need to get all worked up." Dick put his free hand up to show that he wasn't trying to start anything, and was trying to keep this peaceful and civil, "But why don't we just go to one of the other two areas? They're secure, and I'm sure your friend won't get hurt if something ends up happening while we're there."

You open your mouth to say something, only to shut it and look away. You clutch your cup a little tighter.

How could you tell Dick that you just don't want to be in the manor again, and that you didn't want to go back — without actually having to tell him? How do you tell Dick that you don't feel comfortable being in a space where you knew the rest of them would be, and that you'd rather have to just deal with him than anyone else? That you had a bad feeling about going to any of those places with him, and you don't trust him or the others at all?

You'd rather avoid going to the manor if you could help it, and you had more than enough reasons for feeling that way. Though, would Dick understand? Would he accept your reasons, and see why you wanted to go somewhere else? Maybe not, and even if he did understand, there was no guarantee that he would value your personal comfort over your 'safety'. There was no guarantee that he still wouldn't try and get you to agree with him.

You also wanted to avoid going to the clock tower. Seeing as just dealing with Dick was… difficult, to say the least, and if you could barely handle one — you couldn't imagine what it'd be like to handle another. Since there was bound to at least be someone else at the tower, just waiting for you to arrive.

The thought alone made you feel uneasy.

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

[Chapter 3, part 2]

#yandere batfam #platonic yandere batfam #gn reader #yandere dc #platonic yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere batfam x reader #yandere dc x reader #yandere dick grayson #not series

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ceilidho · 3 months

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 7)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

You watch him like a hawk after that.

Not because anything’s changed. In fact, nothing’s changed. Seeing him drag a man by the collar of his shirt, the look in his eyes punishing and severe, has only confirmed the essential imbalance in your relationship. You don’t suffer the same fate as that man being dragged from the bar not because of mercy or leniency or forgiveness, but because the truth hasn’t yet come out. You’re safe because the truth is still hidden, a fact that could change at the drop of a hat.

The thought makes you wary. You watch John in the days after with a scrutiny that borders on the paranoid. Does he already know? Has he left you stewing in ignorance all this time while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive? When he looks at you, does he see the blood on your hands? Does he know that he’s looking at a murderer? Does he know that your sins weigh on you like heavy stones dragging you down into the earth?

Every time the porch steps creak, your heart turns to stone and betrayal rushes up your throat like acid, and it burns.

Then the door opens and John walks in. His face lights up when his eyes fall on you. “Hi darlin’.”

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath and slump into his embrace.

You’re waiting for it to happen. Even when he pulls you into his chest at night, a big arm settled around your waist and his palm spread wide over your belly, you tense and wait for the truth to come out. But all he does is sigh and fall asleep, tucking you closer into his chest. You stare at the wall until the grooves between the wooden boards start to expand, the darkness encompassing every inch of the wall before bleeding down to the floorboards and up to the ceiling. Then you wake up and it’s the next day.

The truth is imminent. It shines its light on the darkened path before it and stalks forward. You cower in the shadows waiting for it to find you, hopeful that it won’t. Sure that it will.

There’s never a good moment to pack your bags and leave, and the longer you stay—as the days turn into a week since you first disembarked from the train and wandered into a town soaked in russet and red—the harder it seems to get a moment of peace. Though John wasn’t exaggerating when he said that a sheriff’s job never stops, you hadn’t thought that it would involve so much.

Between chores and John and the townsfolk, you can’t get a moment to yourself. The closest you come to it is when Kate leaves you to your thoughts while she helps the customers. Even then, she still comes by every now and again to offer you a tea or brandy ball to suck on.

You resent the idea that you need to be babysat, but he isn’t exactly wrong either. You’re not too stubborn to admit that. Under Kate’s watchful eye, you aren’t scurrying off anywhere. Instead, you help out around the shop where you can, offering to stock the shelves and sweep the floors. On occasion, you even get on your hands and knees in front of the shop to pull up the weeds, but that draws more attention than you’re comfortable with. They simply aren’t as concerned with weeds out here.

Most of your time is spent loitering around town waiting for John to take you home. Sometimes you join him for the day, trailing along after him when he goes out to collect the taxes or you accompany him when he has to attend trials and hearings in the court house, where you sit quietly in the public gallery and watch in rapt attention as the magistrate conducts the court proceedings, but there are days where that’s simply not possible.

“You’re gonna spend the day with Laswell, alright?” John tells you, pinching your chin to tilt your head up.

He loves that little gesture, you’ve realized. Loves to touch you and guide you with a hand on your back or chin or arm, a hand brushing down the side of your waist to pull you in, gripping you by the nape of your neck just to hold. Even now, in broad daylight and in front of the window to the general store where anyone could look out and see the two of you, he keeps his thumb there, reluctant to let you go. The thought makes your neck go hot.

“When will you be back?” you ask.

“Later this afternoon—before dusk, so don’t go worrying about heading home without me. I have to see to something a few towns over.”

“Oh…what do they need you for?”

John frowns. “You’ve got an awful lot of questions today.”

“Never mind. Have a safe trip.” You don’t know why his reluctance to tell you anything frustrates you so, especially when he has good reason to, but even you can hear the way your voice grows petulant.

His thumb squeezes against your chin, holding your head in place when you try to turn away. “I’m overseeing a hanging. Couple of men were found guilty of murder.” He studies you so intensely that he can practically see in your eyes the way your stomach turns at that. “See, I thought that might upset you. This is why I didn’t wanna tell you, darlin’.”

“It’s fine,” you say, swallowing. “I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, brushing his thumb up your chin until it tugs at your bottom lip, watching the way it snaps back into place when he releases it.

He makes every moment feel like a last goodbye and a homecoming. You almost can’t meet his eyes under the intensity of his stare, but you also can’t look away. Not with how he looks at you like some precious thing.

You expect it before it happens, but when he dips his head to plant a soft kiss on your lips, you go breathless for a moment. His beard is bristly against your skin, just south of coarse. The kiss turns into another, even more tender than the first. You resent the way you lean forward when he pulls away, chasing after him.

“You be good for Miss Kate, okay?” he says, waiting for your reassurance.

“I will,” you rasp, mortified at how easily he unravels you and how plainly you let it show. John grins when he hears the tremble in your voice.

Then he leaves, riding off towards where the horizon dips below the visible and you watch until he disappears completely, falling away with it. Kate beckons you inside after that, and it’s just hot enough out that you gather up the skirt of your dress and follow after her, climbing up the steps to the general store.

Kate is a tough nut to crack. She’s kind and never rebuffs your questions when you make conversation, but she also isn’t exactly forthcoming with personal information. She seems more than happy to let the conversation lapse into silence. When there isn’t a customer to serve, she’ll take out a leather-bound notebook and write, going so deep into her own thoughts that you sometimes need to call her name a couple times before she’ll respond.

“Kate,” you say again, waiting for her to finally blink and look up, which she does with only the faintest glimmer of impatience in her eyes. “Care to join me on a walk? I need to stretch my legs and…well, I don’t know my way around just yet.”

She snaps her book shut, winding a bit of string around it before placing it back beneath the counter. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of town if you care for a bite as well. I could do with something to eat.”

It’s not as much of a walk as you might have expected. You learn along the way that Kate has lived in town for several years, taking the shop over from her predecessor, a former employer prone to drinking and prone to expiring from that very same vice. She speaks of him with familiarity and affection for the dead, but none of the longing and misery that you’ve come to expect from someone grieving a loss.

“You came far just to find a husband,” she remarks when the two of you are seated at a windowside booth in the restaurant. She spreads a cloth over her lap and you follow her lead.

You bite your lip. “I’ve heard good things about the frontier.”

Kate looks amused by that. “Now who’s been lying to you?”

You laugh, half genuine and half to keep the atmosphere light. You don’t tell her that no one lied to you about going out west because no one had said those words to you in the first place. There hadn’t been enough time for a conversation after the event, only enough time to unlock the study door and wash your hands of the blood in the sink downstairs before fleeing the manor with only your purse and cardigan, the feather duster still lying on the floor upstairs. You hadn’t even bothered going home.

There’s no telling what your aunt and uncle must have thought. You try not to think about that because there’s no going back now. You had the luxury of a single cry on the train as it chugged away from the station and the day slipped into night, but nothing more than that and nothing since.

You tuck into your food when the waitress comes back with your meal.

“John said you were a schoolteacher before this?” Kate says, pulling you back into the conversation.

It makes you nervous to lie too much about a subject you hardly know, so you smile and nod instead of responding.

“You must be quite the polymath,” she continues, eyes downcast, not allowing you a good read on her. “Arithmetic, writing, history—goodness knows the skills one needs nowadays with the leaps and bounds in education. Thank goodness for the Common School reformers, giving women the opportunity to develop young minds.”

“Yes,” you croak, then clear your throat. “I certainly did my best to…educate the children.”

Comical, given that you’d dropped out of school at the age of fourteen to work in a factory sewing buttons onto shirts.

“And was the profession enjoyable? I know John mentioned you were keener on starting a family than continuing on as an instructor, but was it an informative experience?”

“Oh yes, it was. I enjoyed it. Immensely.”

“It must have been nice to work in a profession with such little turmoil.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better,” you agree, your smile tight now, wavering only a bit at the corners.

Kate stares at you for a beat too long. It makes your stomach hurt and you fight against the urge to wilt under her stare. You can’t imagine you’ve said something wrong with how little you’ve said, but her stare makes your skin crawl.

Finally, she smiles, the skin around her eyes creasing. “Well, that’s just lovely to hear.”

You put the conversation out of your mind on the walk back, sure that you must have imagined the flicker in her eyes.

John comes back earlier than you expected. You swear your heart jolts in your chest when you hear the sound of a horse whinnying outside the shop out of nowhere and a man’s low, rough voice responding back, soothing it. You hear the sound of dismount, boots hitting the ground hard, and then come up the steps, each step making the spurs on the back of his boots rattle.

When he opens the door, his eyebrows jump up at the sight of you already there waiting. Your eagerness should embarrass you, and it does, but there’s not much you can do about it, and there’s even less you can do about the way you melt when he says, “There you are, darlin’. Time to go home.”

Precious is the world where home has come to mean something tender and soft, even as much as you’ve pushed against it. You still hold fast against the notion, steeling yourself when John helps you up onto Buttercup and follows suit, riding home at almost a gallop. You hear his laughter on the wind when you yelp and nearly slide off, his arm around you the only thing holding you in place.

“It’d be easier to ride if I had pants,” you complain when you dismount, hands pressed to his shoulders when he helps you down. “How do women even ride sidesaddle on their own?”

“Plenty of women do, darlin’. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“We can get you pants if you need them so badly,” John says, looking up to the sky like Lord help me suffer this woman. “But that means I’ll be teaching you how to ride Buttercup on your own. Think you can handle that?”

You balk at the thought. “…Let me think about it.”

He snorts. “You do that.”

He leaves you to your thoughts when he takes the horses out to the paddock for a bit.

You sit out on the porch and watch the sunset while the horses run around the pen, soaking in the last hour of daylight. Overhead, clouds as big as mountains pass, heavy like an oil painting. Off in the distance, you can see thick clouds blotting out the sky entirely, the belly of them split open and letting out a downpour of biblical proportions. You only grow a bit nervous when you notice the wall of rain moving closer to your house with the wind, inching forward more every minute.

It’s not long before John notices it too. He whistles for the horses and waits until they trot back over to the gate, fixing the lead to their mantles again and leading them one by one back into the stable. A light drizzle begins to pour. It churns up the dust and dirt when it hits the ground, scenting the air with the fragrant smell of earth.

You head over to the stable as John brings in the last horse, hovering by the door while you watch him run his hand down Buttercup’s muzzle, whispering softly to her. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, his attention focused solely on her.

It gives you a chance to admire him from the back. Thick thighs in indigo jeans that seem almost painted on. Shirt tucked into his jeans, stretched taut at the shoulders; dark droplets of rain drying already. The dusting of hair on the back of his neck. You can see the fine lines on his forehead and in the corner of his eye from the side angle and it reminds you again that he’s older and more weathered than you, settled into his age rather than floundering in it.

“It’s raining,” you say, just to have something to say. You shrink under his gaze when he turns towards you, faint amusement in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

You cringe at that, aware that he knows. He’s the one that brought the horses in after all. There’s just something in you that feels compelled to open your mouth when he’s around. An impulse that makes you cheep like a bird.

“Looks like a bad one,” you mutter instead of shutting your mouth, instead of hightailing it back to the house and shutting all the windows to keep the rain from coming in. Useless girl.

“Probably rain all night,” John says, squinting out at the sky through the open door. It’s darker now, a storm brewing.

“Is there…is there anything we have to do? To get ready?” You don’t know why you say we like this is a partnership, but it comes unbidden and you know if he told you to hurry back and take in the porch chairs, you would.

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll close up the stables and seal the windows—storm probably won’t hit for another hour or two. After dinner, we’ll turn in early.”

With a final stroke down Buttercup’s jaw, he steps away and moves towards you. You feel rooted in place again at his approach; the thought of taking a step back never even occurs to you. When he finally reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate to reel you in by your hips, drawing you into a deep, wet kiss that he breaks only when you whimper into his mouth.

“You feelin’ better about being out here?” he asks, low and intimately. “Looked like you had a good time with Laswell.”

“She’s nice,” you say, deflecting from the other question.

John hums his agreement, readjusting his hold on your waist until every inch of him is pressed against you. Your breasts are flattened to his chest, belly pressed to his; every hard inch of him, solid as an oak.

“C’mon, honey, talk to me,” he murmurs. “Have I been treating you right? You still have any reservations about marrying me?”

“Bit late for reservations, isn’t it?”

He clucks his tongue. “‘Course it ain’t. Won’t change anything, but I still wanna know.”

It’s hard not to consider the possibility of being honest with him for a change when his gaze borders on the devout. No one in the history of time has ever looked at you like this, like you hung up the moon and stars. The thought chokes you up. In all the years of your life, has one other person looked at you and asked if everything was to your liking? John’s love borders on reverence, straddles the narrow divide between the telluric and the celestial, the earthly and the divine.

It’s dizzying. And you’re not built for subterfuge. Not built to lie to the one man that, despite everything, despite taking you from your former life by force, has offered you a new one on a silver platter.

You wet your lips, conscious of how dry your mouth suddenly is. John’s eyes follow the glide of your tongue over your lip.

And then you lie. “None whatsoever. I’m happy here.”

Maybe it’s a half-lie. After he shuts the stable doors and barricades them to keep the doors from swinging open in the midst of the storm, you wind up back on the porch watching the dark clouds up in the sky slowly approach, John at your back this time.

John tilts your head up into another kiss. You don’t know when you made the conscious decision to let him think you amenable to this relationship, but you cling to that thought desperately when his tongue licks into your mouth velvety smooth.

The roof extends out over the porch, keeping the two of you dry, but you can hear the sound of raindrops pelting the slate shingles.

“You’ll see, honey,” he says against your lips, the words rumbling through you, buzzing under your skin and making it tingle. “‘M gonna make you so happy. Never gonna even think of leaving me.”

The words dissolve on your tongue. Swallowed down dry. With his arm hooked around your waist and hand tilting your head up, there’s no way you could think of anything else except wanting more.

It’s hard to talk when he has you up against the railing, your dress pulled up and his fingers spreading apart your lower lips. It’s not the first time he’s touched you there, but it’s the longest he has, at least without the barrier of your underwear. His fingers spread your labia delicately, middle finger running up the wet seam. He hums into the back of your head while he does and presses a kiss into your hair.

“Always so soft and wet here, darlin’,” John murmurs, stroking his fingers up your inner lips and petting the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been aching for it? Been waiting for you to give me the word.”

Waiting, he says, while tucking a finger into your sex, curling it up into you and chuckling under his breath when your hands clamp tighter on the railing and your back arches. Just a single finger feels like more than you can handle. John has thick fingers; thick fingers with calluses that you can feel on the delicate flesh between your legs. It plugs you up tight, more so when your core clenches involuntarily around his finger. His chuckle descends into a groan, then a sigh.

He pulls his finger out against the squeeze of your internal muscles, ignoring the way you whisper, “No, please” under your breath.

You only stop pleading for more when he swirls his finger around your pearl again, lavishing it with attention. “Aching? I’m not—”

“You are, darlin’,” he breathes, and now you feel him pull you from the railing, stepping back to take a seat on the porch swing. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you across it instead of with your back to his chest like he did in the bath the other day.

“Anyone could come by—” you hiss, fluffing the skirt of your dress out around your thighs when he tries to push it back up to get his hands back on your nethers.

“You tense up when you’re nervous, honey,” John cuts you off, forcing his hand back up your dress until he pushes his finger back into your quim, delighted to find it hotter and wetter, practically dripping onto his lap. “See, there you go. Just relax. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’. We’ll take care of that nasty ache.”

You pant through each pulse of his finger. You don’t even think about looking up to meet his eyes, not when he stares down at you with obvious adoration and devotion, the emotion splayed across his face. He looks entranced at the sight of you coming apart on his fingers, a flush high on his cheeks.

“No one’s gonna come by. Not this far out. ‘Sides, they know to keep their distance. Newlyweds need their space, right, darlin’?”

Supposing he’s right and no one comes out this way. Isn’t it still unseemly to do this out in the open? So far from your marriage bed? John seems incapable of relegating his affections to that space, unconcerned with propriety or modesty. You wonder with a spark of fear if he’d even budge if someone were to come trotting up the walkway on horseback or if he’d just wave them off and send them on their way. You don’t think he’s the kind of man to want an audience, thank the Lord, but he seems entirely unphased by even the idea of being intruded upon.

You melt when he shushes your worries, feeling you tense against him, and sinks his fingers in deeper, now another. Don’t fret, he murmurs against your temple, sighing softly. I’ve got you, honey. Ain’t going nowhere.

You aren’t, are you, you think wildly. The land around here goes on forever and the train whistles by only twice a week if you’re lucky. Then townsfolk know you by face and a false name, but that would be enough for them to grow concerned if they were to spot you heading for the train with your suitcases packed, and with John or one of his deputies always in town, there’s little chance you’d be able to board without one of them interfering.

Still though, it’s better than the alternative. For over a week now you’ve been on high alert, waiting for an arrest warrant to be slipped onto John’s desk with your likeness drawn on it, and for him to come collect you stone-faced and furious. It could still come.

He keeps you tucked into his arms and nestled close, shushing you when you hiccup and pinch your lips together to keep quiet. He lets you have that, unphased by the way you try to hide it, only tutting when you try to fight it, curling his fingers up inside you and rubbing a spot inside of you that makes it hard to breathe.

“I could just take it, but you’re gonna give it to me, darlin’,” John says.

And you do. Messily, noisily. Burying your face in his neck and sobbing it out, humiliation wrung out of you, squeezing out every drop. He smells like musk and old sweat, amber warm. Liquid gold. You press your nose into the skin of his neck and draw in a breath so deep that you go lightheaded.

John keeps his fingers tucked in you until you stop shaking, talking you through it even though you hardly hear a word. How could you over the rush in your head, the blood in your ears? When you open your eyes and look around, the sky is swollen and dark, the wall of rain

“C’mon, honey,” he says, pulling his fingers out and placing his hand low on your belly. “Let’s go inside.”

You sit across from him at dinner, eating under candlelight. The weight of his gaze for once isn’t stifling.

The rain only starts in earnest when he’s pulled the quilt over the two of you and pulled you into his arms. The rain pelting the windowpane dulls to a low roar when you turn over and snuggle deeper into John’s chest, pulling the blanket over your head. Tomorrow, the grass will be greener than the day before. You can feel it in your bones.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x you #john price x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #john price

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astraystayyh · 9 months

Text

Volcano

pairing : han x reader. enemies to lovers. slow burn.

summary : you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. It's rotten work. Not to me, not if it's you."

cw : depiction of a panic attack, minor injury, both reader and han say mean shit to each other, cursing, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 13.2k

a.n: highly recommend listening to "Let the light in" by Lana when Han starts playing it in the fic hehe feedback is highly appreciated as always <3

skz quotes series masterlist.

You remember being seven years old, sitting on the floor of your bedroom, while your mom brushed your hair. It was a late July night, a cold breeze swaying your white curtains, akin to the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. Your eyes were slightly puffy, delicate red veins protruding the white of them. You had just finished watching a Disney movie- the Lion King; heavy sobs escaping your lips when Mufasa died.

There were still faint hiccups coursing through you, a slight shake in your hands as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Your mom brought you to her chest, her chin resting on your small shoulder blade. "You’re sensitive, my sweet girl" she had uttered, rubbing your arms soothingly.

It was the first time someone described you as such. You didn’t know what ‘sensitive’ entailed exactly, but it contained the word ‘sense’, so you assumed it was something good, a quality to be proud of you. You could sense, maybe more than others, maybe too deeply. That’s why you cried when you didn’t get a good grade, or when your friends left you alone in the park.

But you didn't mind back then. What was your heart made for if not to feel?

You should’ve paid more attention to the way your mom spoke, to the bittersweetness lingering in her tone. As if she knew exactly what it entailed to be sensitive- to have your heart overflow with delicate feelings for the rest of your life, with no safe destination to guard them in.

☄༄

You’ve forgotten the last time you cried in.

The tears are lodged inside your throat- you can clearly feel them, an uncomfortable weight sitting on your vocal cords, rendering them impossible to use.

You used to cry, freely, so much that you lost count of how much it happened. But you realized that every tear that escaped your eyes, made you vulnerable, weaker, in the hands of the people around you. Every tear that washed over you, only rendered you more transparent for everyone to peer at how they wounded your soul.

So, you conditioned yourself to stop feeling as deeply, or at least to stop showing it. The sadness, the hurt, the anger were all stored within you; but your face remained placid, not betraying how you truly felt. You were like a pond, tranquil at the surface, raging from within.

But on days like this one, you miss the person you were. When the implications of being sensitive still haven’t weighed down on you. When you could get rid of your feelings in the essence of your tears. When you didn’t yet feel bad for feeling.

Chan's eyes are on you, as you type furiously on your laptop. Your vision is so blurry that you can no longer see your lit screen. But you’re afraid that if you pause then Chan would ask if you were okay, and you hated that question. Because you never truly knew the answer to it. Yes, you were okay. But you haven’t cried in six months and your friend didn’t greet you back this morning and you suddenly feel very small in a very large library.

"Hey," Chan taps your hand with his pen and you suck in a slight breath, before raising your head to meet his eyes. "Are you-" he starts but you’re quick to cut him off, knowing exactly where this was headed. "Did you answer question five? I’m stuck on what formula to use."

Chan raises a brow at you, and you blink repeatedly. His eyes travel to your feet tapping furiously against the floor, and he understands.

"I'm still at number four," he finally says and you nod in relief. You’ve been close friends for a year and Chan has come to know you- he’s dropping the subject.

"Oh, and are you coming to the party tonight?" Chan asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s hosting it and there is hope twinkling in his eyes. You feel bad because you’re about to crush it.

"No, need to revise more for the upcoming test."

"Of course, you’ll still be buried in your books," a sarcastic voice quips up, and you stiffen inwardly. Han- one-third of 3racha, Chan’s self-made producing group, and the bane of your existence. You never liked who you were around Han, he brought out the worst in you. Made all your insecurities roar forward, plastered across your body in neon red.

He was friends with Chan, long before you came into the picture, back into their high school days when Han skipped a class and ended up in the same one as Chan’s. A genius, as everyone around you liked to call him. And they were right- excelling came easily to Han, in everything he ever did. Even tapping into each one of your tender nooks and crannies.

He knew how to expertly push your buttons, how to make his tone sound mocking, and taunting, but only to you. Because you were sensitive, and he knew it, finding it almost amusing to toy with you.

You decide to stay silent because nothing good ever comes out of talking back to him. So, you bite your tongue, turning back to look at your screen. But Han’s elbow grazes your arm, as he leans a bit further into your face. "Come on, live a little, y/n. You’re missing out on the college experience," he makes a big show of opening his arms wide, a single red pen spinning between his fingers. "Quit being stuck up for one night." And it spins, and it spins, and it spins and something ugly inside you crumbles.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t born with a golden spoon shoved down my throat and I actually have to work for my future."

Han’s eyes widen at the raw animosity in your voice, before narrowing down promptly. He’s leaning onto your face again, and his tone is low and cold when he speaks again. "What did you just say to me?"

"Is it so hard to grasp that not everyone is as privileged as you? We can’t all afford to get wasted every fucking night and call it a life."

You’re being mean. This is the rudest you’ve ever been to someone else. You know that your reaction is disproportionate to what he said. But it isn’t just about this instant. It’s an amalgam of every moment Han made you feel small in, because you don’t go out as much as him, because you don’t understand as quickly as him. Taunts thrown your way under the guise of teasing, but you know better.

Still, guilt eats at you as your eyes lock with Chan’s. You should’ve stayed silent, as you’ve been diligently doing for the past year.

"How do you stand being her friend Chan? Is it out of pity?" Han muses, a pout pulling at his lips. You stare ahead as Han tsks lightly, before tapping your cheek with his pen, bringing your face back to him. "I think it is. Because isn’t she so fucking boring?"

Being near Han always makes you hyper-aware of things you never noticed before. Like how a breath has to travel from the depths of your body so you’d be able to release it, and how excruciatingly long it takes for you to draw in a new one. Because Han’s words are never harmless, no, they settle on the confines of your lungs, crushing down any bit of oxygen willing to leave you.

You've had enough.

"When you’re eighty, on your deathbed, and all alone. I hope you know that there is no one around to blame but yourself."

"Don’t cross the line, yn," Chan finally speaks and you scoff, as you get up to grab your things.

"What fucking line, Chan? So, he can insult me all day but as soon as I do it there is a line? Why are you taking his side?"

Chan stays silent and you chuckle dryly. "Of course, you are. You’re only friends with me out of pity after all."

"That’s not true-"

"Well, you didn’t deny it, did you Chan?"

"Yn, I-"

"Save it."

Han’s eyes are glossy as you take one final glance at him. But your heart’s bleeding too much for you to care about his minor cut.

☄༄

For how much time can a conversation haunt someone? Seventeen days, for your case. And you're still counting.

You have nit-picked your fight with Han in the library so much that it's driving you insane. His voice is drilled into your head- the coldness of it as he reeled back from the shock of your words, and then, the pure venom dripping from his tone, as he attacked you where it hurt the most. Chan.

Han chose his words carefully, stitched up the sentence perfectly to hurt you, to stick to your flesh like burnt skin, one that you peeled over and over, each time it threatened to scar.

You haven't talked to Chan in seventeen days. He tried to stop you; on your way out of class, in the line of your campus cafeteria, on the doorsteps of your dorm. But you always fleet away. His eyes were also imprinted into your brain- the disappointment in them when you clapped back at Han.

What about him? You wanted to yell. Why are you only disappointed in me?

But the tears in your pillow have dried. Then fallen again. Then dried once more. And you found the answer to question five. And you miss Chan, terribly so.

That's why you're pacing around his dorm, at 10 pm, when it's also terribly cold outside. Your fingers have gone numb from the ministrations of the wind, but you don't move from your place. You know that the chances of seeing Han- the second person you’ve been avoiding like the plague- would be higher here. But you didn't care anymore.

Your thumb hovers over the call button and you bite your lip harshly. Would Chan pick up? Would he hang up? Was he really your friend out of pity?

"Yn?" a voice calls out, and you startle, turning around to see who it is. Changbin, carrying two bags of groceries in his hand. He's Chan’s friend as well, the final member of 3racha. You like Changbin. He's always being very kind to you. You've grown much closer to him than to Han in the past few months; not that the latter has ever wanted a friendship with you. From the day you met and his eyes narrowed promptly each time you talked. You should’ve known from the start.

"Why are you out here in the cold?" Changbin asks gently, stepping cautiously towards you.

"Chan," you say simply and he nods, understanding what you mean.

"He's not here now, but he'll come home soon. Let's go inside, okay?" he smiles tentatively at you and you hum in reply.

Changbin opens the door and you follow inside. You help him take out the groceries silently, stacking them in their fridge and shelves. Lots of protein powder, and chicken packets. You'd laugh about it if you weren't so sad.

"Chan misses you," Changbin speaks up suddenly, and your heartbeat quickens at his words.

"I miss him too."

"Then you'll be okay."

You try to remember Changbin’s reassuring smile when Chan finally opens the door to the dorm, an hour later. He finds you sitting on the stool in the kitchen. His eyes light up once they settle on you.

And you unravel at the sight.

You're crying, sobs rippling from you as he brings you to his chest. He's patting your head and whispering that it's okay. And you know his shirt is all crumpled from clutching it in your hands. But he doesn't mind. He only hugs you tighter.

"I'm sorry, yn. So, so, sorry. I should've stopped him before, I just... You two are my best friends and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire by talking and-"

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm the one who should apologize for ghosting you."

"I understand why you did it. I fucked up but I missed you so much. Can we please never do this again?”

“Yes please,” you giggle, but the sound withers as the door opens once again.

"What is she doing here?" a cold voice breaks you and Chan apart, as your eyes land on Han. His gaze sucks the breath out of you, and the warmth in your heart fizzles out. Your hold on Chan’s shirt tightens and he takes an unconscious step in front of your body. Han doesn't miss the protective gesture.

"Get out, yn."

"You don't get to kick my friends out of my house," Chan is angry. And you regret ever coming here.

"Last I checked it's my house too." Han doesn't even bother looking at you. He's holding Chan’s gaze as if they're silently communicating. "You know damn well what she said why-" he takes a deep breath, running a hand angrily through his hair. "Fuck this. If she's not leaving then I am."

And with that he storms out, slamming the door behind him. You flinch at the sound.

Chan’s eyebrows are knitted as he stares at where Han stood seconds ago as if trying to conjure him up once again. You never wanted to strain their friendship. You knew how much Han cared for Chan, even if he didn't bear the same sentiment for you.

"Chan, I’ll leave. Call Han and tell him I'm gone."

"You don't have to."

"I know," you reassure, placing your hand on his forearm. "We'll talk more later, okay? It's cold and he has nowhere to go. Just call him, please."

"Fine," Chan concedes. "Call me when you get home, alright?" his eyes finally soften and you squeeze his hand in reply, before heading out as well.

The walk from Chan’s dorm to yours is fairly short, but tonight, it seems like kilometers are separating you from the safety of your bed. There is a heavy weight crushing your bones, most of it being guilt at what just transpired between Chan and Han.

That's what comes with being sensitive- you bear the weight of your feelings and the one of those surrounding you.

Were you out of place with what you said to Han? Yes. Was it eating you inside to see the consequences of your words? Yes. But he was also to blame, you repeated in your head. He was also to blame. Please. You plead, you don't know to whom, maybe to the voice in your head to stop being so mean. 'But none of this would've happened if you weren't so sensitive. So easy to bruise' the voice mocks and you stumble on your feet.

It happens so suddenly it takes you off guard- the way the breath is knocked out of you. You pause, chest heaving as you bend down slightly. Your hand is on your heart as you try to breathe again, but it's shaking so much. Your legs give out under you, and you plop down on the floor, eyes tightly shut. You can't breathe. You can't breathe. You're going to pass out.

"Yn, what-" A hand rests on your shoulder but you shake it off. You don't want to be touched. Not by him.

"Let me help-" Han speaks again, and you scramble away from him, as best as you can anyway. You end up kneeling on the ground once again, your back to him. "Get-get away."

"I know you're mad but you aren't okay and I know how horrib-"

"You aren't helping!" you shout through tears, as your heart threatens to spill out of your throat. "You’ve hurt me e-enough already."

You don't remember how you got home that night, how you managed to open the door or cross the road leading to your dorm. But you remember Han leaving you on the cold ground, just like you wanted. You remember the ache in your bones as you laid on your bed; the burning desire to stop feeling for a night, to cut your chest open and tear off your bleeding heart.

☄༄

One month later

If there's one thing you've always complained to Chan about, it's the fact that his building had an elevator in it, unlike yours.

Today, you’ve come to regret this fact. Tremendously.

You’ve been avoiding going to Chan’s dorm for the past weeks since the last thing you wanted was to see Han. But, he insisted on you coming over, reassuring you that it would only be him and Changbin at home since Han supposedly had other plans.

Well, Chan was wrong. Because Han just walked into the elevator you are in, mere moments before its doors closed.

Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes lock on yours. He looks like he wants to say something but he decides against it, opting for sighing loudly instead, before pressing the button leading to the fourth floor, rather harshly.

Your need to flee has never been this strong.

You watch anxiously as the numbers slowly go up. 1… 2… 3… Then a loud voice startles you and the elevator starts to shake in place. The door is suddenly opened and you are met with a cement wall, blocking your exit.

"What the fuck?" Han groans as you press the emergency button repeatedly, hoping that the elevator will resume its course and this nightmare will be forgotten.

It doesn’t.

"You’re going to break the goddamn button," Han pushes your hand away and you stumble away from him.

"Can you shut up? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit."

"Does it look like I’m happy to be here?" Han scoffs, as a ringtone plays in the elevator, cutting you off before you could respond.

"Hey guys, this happens from time to time, so no need to worry. Is everyone alright?" Someone speaks and you assume it's the worker charged with the maintenance of the elevator.

"Yes," you both reply at the same time.

"Great. We’ve contacted the mechanics but they said there’s a lot of traffic, so it might take a bit longer for them to get here."

"How long?" Han asks the question that’s on your mind as well.

"Two hours, at most, for you to get out."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you groan, as hot tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. This is the last thing you needed today- to be stuck in a cramped-up space with the one person who sucks the oxygen out of any room you’re in.

"Thanks, man," Han sighs and you turn your back to him, facing the wall. You’ve had a horrible day, scratch that, a horrible week. Hanging out with Chan and Changbin was the one thing you were looking forward to, only for the worst possible scenario to happen- being stuck in the same place with Han. You feel an urgent need to sob but you can’t cry in front of him. Not when he’s all claws and your skin is tender.

"Wait, are you claustrophobic?" He suddenly asks, seemingly inches away from your body.

"As if you’d fucking care," you scoff, before heading to a corner of the elevator and settling down.

"I'm not a monster, you know," he mutters in an almost sad tone, one that forces you to look up at him. His hands are deep into his pockets, eyebrows knitted as he gazes down at you. "Do you really think I’m that much of an asshole?"

"Yes," you reply instantly, before staring forward again. The hurt that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t tug at your heartstrings, but it does, ever so faintly, like the last wave that grazes your feet as you get out of the ocean. "I’m not claustrophobic," you add after a while and Han finally sits on the opposite side from you.

It’s hot and stuffy in the elevator, and it’s quiet, too quiet for your liking. You’ve never really liked silence for too long, it made the small voice in your head only grow bolder, louder, impossible to ignore.

Thirty-five excruciatingly long minutes go by and the tension only grows more suffocating. It’s simmering, barely beneath the surface, waiting for the person who will finally make it explode.

It’s Han.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Come on, we have nothing else to do.”

“Have you tried being silent?”

"Yn," he says sternly and you begrudgingly concede. "Fine. Ask me."

You imagine him smirking slightly, the way he does each time he manages to push you over the edge.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“We’re not doing this right now,” you shake your head, tone adamant.

"When’s a better time for it? We’re literally never in the same place."

“And whose fault that is?” You smile too sarcastically and he frowns. “So, I’m the only one to blame?”

“Can’t you see how full of yourself you are? Fuck, Han, this is exactly what I hate about you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“You’re so immature, you never sit back to think of how your words might impact someone.”

"What words yn? I was teasing you!" his voice grows louder and so does yours. "You were hurting me!" you yell, chest heaving. There is something utterly terrifying in this confession- to let someone know how easy it was for them to get to you.

"But I didn’t mean to," he drags a hand through his hair, exasperated. "It's not my fault you felt that way."

An ironic chuckle leaves your lips, as you point at him. "See, you're doing it again! You're blaming me for my reaction instead of evaluating how your actions might have caused it."

"Look, yn," he scrambles to you until there are only a few centimeters separating your bodies. "I really wanna fix this, okay? Can we stop screaming?"

"Why are you so hellbent on fixing it?" you question, as you lean further away from him. He notices and takes a step back, giving you space.

"Because although I don't care about you, I care about Chan. And this is hurting him. So, I want to be civil with you."

The mention of Chan feels like a cold bucket of water dousing the fire within you. You know he’s struggling to be in the middle of two people he loves. He doesn’t deserve that.

"Fine," you sigh softly. “You talk. I’ll listen.”

"I didn't... I didn't know that my words would hurt you. In truth, it looked like you weren't affected at all. That's why I kept pushing you because… God Yn you're so perfect it maddens me."

Your eyebrows knit together at his words- the last thing you expected to stumble out of his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

"You never get sad, never get angry. Your emotions are always in check. You're always smiling, always laughing. Have everything figured out from how you want to be now to where you want to be in the future. And you know yourself, you never step out of order. And this is selfish and stupid but it irked me. Because I am the opposite of you. I'm a mess and too human it terrifies me, so I wanted to see if you had a breaking point. But each time I taunted you, you remained placid. So, I kept pushing to see if you'd break one day because, selfishly enough, that would make me feel better about how broken I am."

"Han, you're so stupid. Aren't you a literal genius? You excel in everything you do and you have fun on top of it, every single night. Don't you realize how lucky you are?"

"Do you really believe I find joy in being wasted and not even remembering what happened that night? I do that because I'm in my mind most of the days and it isn't the best place to be in. So, I like to forget."

“Why do you think I always bury myself in my studies? Because it's safe and it makes me forget too. Did you really think I didn’t feel? I feel too much and that’s the problem.”

Han remains silent as you curse under your breath. "Do you even realize how selfish this is? To test a human's breaking point? All because what? I didn't shove my struggles down your nose? Would you go around and do this to everyone who looked fine to you?"

"I know, I know, I was just in a bad place, and this isn't an excuse but I... I felt as if you were just showing me everything that was wrong with me."

"That is how I felt around you," you chuckle bitterly and he hangs his head low. He’s much quieter when he speaks again. “I guess we’re more similar than I thought.”

"Doesn't excuse what you did. You targeted me and made me feel insane because no one was hearing the hostility in your tone like I did."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really am. I never thought it'd get this bad and I deserve every name you called me."

"You do." You close your eyes, as Han’s words wash over you. There is so much more you want to say, so much you want to spit out in his face because of his selfish coping mechanism. But you also want peace, for Chan’s sake. So, you try to bury your resentment, just like you do with every other feeling. One day it’ll turn into indifference. You’ll make sure of it.

You bite your lip, before clearing your throat. Your tone is softer when you speak again. "I'm sorry for what I told you in the library. About you dying alone and whatnot. That wasn't nice of me."

"You really hit the nail with that one," Han chuckles quietly, and guilt floods your heart at the expression on his face. "And I'm sorry for calling you boring. You aren't. And for everything I said before that."

"Okay. It's okay." You reassure, a tiny smile drawn on your lips.

He nods before a sly grin grows on his face. "Should we hug it out?" he teases, cocking an eyebrow at you and you stare pointedly at him. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, ma'am."

An hour later, the mechanics finally manage to get the elevator going, which in turn allows you both to get out. Han opens the door to the dorm, and you find Chan lying on the couch, scrolling down his phone.

"Han? I thought you would..." he starts before trailing off as he looks up. "Yn? Where were you, I’ve been calling you for the past two hours."

"I didn't have signal."

"Why where were-" Chan goes to question before stopping once again. He hurriedly stands up and walks toward you.

"You... Are standing next to one another."

"We are," Han replies, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"And you aren't... Fighting?" his statement comes out more like a question, which makes both you and Han chuckle.

"We aren't."

"We talked it out, in the elevator which we were both just stuck in," you add and Chan’s eyes grow wide, as a breathtaking smile breaks out on his face.

"Oh my god. Finally. We'll talk about the elevator bit later but it's been so hard trying not to be in the same place as the both of you."

"We know. We're sorry," you both pout in sync and Chan shakes his head, before opening his arms wide. You giggle, before walking to him and sinking into his embrace. Han follows you shortly after, and your eyes meet behind Chan’s back. He shoots you a tiny thumbs up.

Is this how a dandelion feels, you wonder, when someone blows on it in the hopes it'll grant their selfish wishes. Only to be tossed away afterward, lifeless.

You drown out the thought before smiling back at Han. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

☄༄

Befriending two-thirds of 3racha holds within it a lot of privileges. The first one is listening to unreleased music, the second is having exclusive insight into their upcoming performances.

Their gigs don't happen as often as they'd like, because they're still students who unfortunately have lots of assignments. But when a window of free time materializes, they unveil their latest productions at vibrant parties, dimly lit bars, or even the occasional club. Which attracts a lot of people, some even coming from neighboring towns to listen to them play.

Everyone can recognize raw talent, even if rap doesn't happen to be their favorite genre.

This is how you know that they'll be performing Heyday, their latest creation, at Seungmin’s party. You've met him in passing, and Chan insisted that you'd come. Not that you needed much convincing anyway, you fell in love with this song the minute you heard it.

There is an exhilarating energy in Seungmin’s mansion, a palpable anticipation preceding 3racha’s performance, as you all gaze at the makeshift stage. The place is packed, bodies pressed tightly to one another. You feel slightly uncomfortable but you swallow it down. You're here to support Chan first and foremost, you can leave if things become too much for you.

The introductory chords materialize abruptly, and 3racha takes the stage. Chan is clad in a white shirt with huge gaps on his sides, revealing glimpses of his chest each time he bends down. Changbin, on the opposite end of the spectrum, is wearing a tightly fitted black shirt, hugging each muscle of his to perfection. Han, the last one to walk in, sports a loose black shirt, with a low neckline. His nails are painted to match the color of his attire, you notice.

The song kicks off with Changbin's incendiary rap as deafening cheers ring all around you. You make sure to scream on top of your lungs too, as Changbin’s loud voice commands the attention of everyone in the room. You’ve always held a penchant for his rap style- how powerful he sounds, and how addicted you quickly become to hearing him on stage. You remember once telling him that any song that starts with his rapping is a successful hit. He playfully nudged your shoulder but his appreciative smile was hard to miss.

Chan’s part is next and you try to rap along, as best as you can anyway due to your fleeting memory. It sounds mostly like gibberish but you don’t mind, especially when your eyes meet Chan’s and he grins at you, before morphing into the mesmerizing stage persona that's peculiar to him. You clearly remember the first time you witnessed him on stage, and how enthralled you were by the sheer power he exuded. His destiny was intertwined with music, no one could deny that.

A bed squeaking sound comes next, followed by the knocking on the door and you giggle against your will. That was Han’s ingenious touch, as Chan had shared when you'd raised a quizzical brow at him while listening. “Is this based on a real-life experience?” You asked, a knowing smirk etched upon your features, and he pretended to zip his mouth, earlobes turning a vibrant shade of crimson.

Han finally starts rapping in his inimitable style, exuding an effortless, laid-back aura. Your gazes meet at the "let's go play" line, and he tilts his head quizzically at you as he utters his confused "huh?". You raise one eyebrow at him prompting a sly smirk from him, before redirecting his attention to the opposite side of the stage. Yet, your eyes remain on him throughout his entire part.

The boys step off the stage, and you watch from the corner of the room with a wide grin as a swarm of people surrounds them. Congratulations and praise fill the air, and you can tell that 3racha thrives on this moment- it's what they live for, what makes their souls rise up from the ashes.

Chan catches your eye, and you applaud enthusiastically, letting out a happy giggle. He blows you a kiss, and you playfully pretend to catch it, eliciting a small shake of his head. Changbin, who's standing near him, catches the exchange and winks at you from a distance, to which you respond with two thumbs up.

Even though you're a bit far from them, you're certain the boys can sense the pride radiating from you in waves. There's something truly magical about humans existing in their element, particularly people you care about.

Your gaze shifts to Han, and your smile falters slightly. He's also glowing, but signs of discomfort are starting to creep onto his face. You recognize them fairly well, as you've felt them too at times when emotions become overwhelming. So, after a brief internal debate, you decide to act and begin making your way toward him, pushing through the crowd despite the rising complaints behind you.

They fall on deaf ears.

You grab Han's forearm, pulling him with you through the sea of bodies toward the bathroom. He doesn't fight, following diligently behind you. You open the door and pull him inside, pausing as you realize you don't have a specific plan for bringing him here. This is also the first time you've been alone together since the elevator conversation.

"Thank you," Han whispers, and you nod, your eyes softening. "I'm okay, I love performing, I just needed a breather," he quickly adds, as if feeling guilty for being overwhelmed.

"That's completely understandable. You are running on a lot of adrenaline, and the room is so crowded," you say with a smile, turning to the mirror to touch up your makeup.

Han remains silent for a while as you powder your face, before reapplying your cherry lip gloss. You can hear him taking in deep breaths, and you avoid looking at him, worried he might feel embarrassed.

"What did you think of the performance?" he finally asks, and you raise your head slightly. You lock eyes with him through the mirror, as he leans against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. His black t-shirt falls a bit, revealing more of his bare skin, and your eyes trail down for a moment.

"It was really good. I think this song might be my favorite of all yours."

"Really?" Han grins, his words filled with an excitement that warms your heart despite yourself. He's just received heaps of compliments from hundreds of people, yet your words still seem to affect him deeply.

"Yes. I loved your rap, how it started in a laid-back manner, and then you cleared your throat and picked up the pace. It added a unique edge to the song."

"Thank you, really," his smile is genuine, and you giggle softly, shaking your head.

"What's funny?" he asks, walking up to you. You're still facing the mirror, and he's now only inches away from you.

"I didn't imagine you'd appreciate my compliment this much."

"It feels sincere," he shrugs and you nod, finally turning around and leaning against the sink.

"It is sincere."

"Good."

You hold his gaze, eyes only trailing down to go across his face. He looks far different from how he did on stage. Shier, more eager for praise.

"You have..." he steps up until the scent of his cologne tickles your nose. His hand raises ever so slowly to your face, and you hold your breath, as he picks up something from your cheek. His hands are warm.

"An eyelash fell. Make a wish."

A surprised chuckle escapes your lips. "You wish on fallen lashes?"

"You wish on everything when you need hope." his voice is low, a timber so foreign to your ears it sends shivers down your spine. So, you close your eyes, wishing for your heart to quit beating so fast.

"Done," you whisper and he blows the single lash away, his gaze still on you.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I had to support Chan and Changbin." It slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and Han slightly recoils from your words.

"Right, them. Yeah. Of course," he finally backs away, and oxygen fills your lungs once again. "I'm good now. Should we go out?"

"After you," you nod tightly and he walks ahead first, his perfume trailing after him and pulling you into a dizzying dance.

☄༄

The party Seungmin hosted was your last time having fun for a while. Your preparation for midterm exams began soon after, and you found yourself swarmed with assignments left and right. Thankfully, you and Chan were going through it at the same time, which meant you met at the library each day, revising silently near one another.

Except this time, you were joined by Han.

Goosebumps ran across your skin as he pulled the chair next to you, not the good kind of shivers. You were reminded of the fight you had right here, three months ago. Which still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't hate Han anymore. He's actually funny, and you enjoy listening to his ramblings when you go over to Chan's dorm. He's also really different in his home, much quieter, and softer. Much more like you.

But you're also human, and there is still a part of your brain sending off warning signals at his presence. Maybe because the hurt was never buried properly. You just brushed it off under the carpet after your elevator conversation. Most of it was spent shouting anyway.

"Hey," he greets and you just nod in reply. You can feel his gaze linger on you a bit after that, and a pang of guilt twists in your heart. "Hi," you finally reply, but you tune out his response. Why is it that you're sensitive to everyone's emotions but your own?

Twenty minutes go by, then forty, and you can no longer take the uncomfortable feeling clinging to your skin. So, you excuse yourself, hurriedly stepping out of the library.

Han follows you; you can tell it’s him because someone's chair scraped loudly against the floor as soon as you stood up, and that couldn't be Chan because he is always careful with the silence in the library. So, you put on your headphones and walk faster.

This is childish, surely it is, but you can't control your emotions. You've apologized and so did he, you talk from time to time and you even held his arm and took him to a quiet bathroom. So where is all this bitterness coming from?

"Dammit, yn, how are you so fast?" Han grabs your arm pausing you. He's panting slightly and you just blankly stare as he takes in a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks and you nod, turning around to walk away. He stops you again.

"I made you uncomfortable, didn't I?" he asks quietly, and you sigh, rubbing your forehead wearily.

"You didn't do anything, I just... Being in that library reminded me of certain things."

"I know. Me too. Can we please talk?"

"We are talking," you raise your brows and he stares pointedly at you. "Come on you know what I mean."

"Fine," you giggle, "we can talk."

"I didn't apologize properly to you in the elevator. Truth is, I did it because Chan was mad at me and I couldn't stand it anymore."

The bitterness- you understand where it comes from now.

"But I am sorry. Truly sorry. I was selfish and I hurt you and this will sound like a joke, but I hate hurting people. I really do. I was just too wrapped up in my problems that I didn't realize how it would affect you and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I also shouldn't have tried to kick you out that day, but dying alone is my biggest fear, and seeing you in my home made me want to lose my mind because I couldn't get what you said out of my head, but it was so cold outside and again I shouldn't have told you to go out and I am so sorry-"

"Han, breathe," you smile, cutting him off and Han sucks in a deep breath, chest slightly heaving from talking uninterrupted for a minute straight.

"I'm sorry I just wanted to apologize, properly this time. I'm doing it because I'm guilty, not because of Chan. Nothing excuses my behavior, I know. And I wish I could turn back in time and actually get to know you because you're really cool and very nice, but I can't. All I can do is apologize. So I'm sorry, Yn. I really am."

"I appreciate it," you smile, and Han exhales a little from relief. "I didn't know that was your biggest fear, but even if it wasn't, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have said something so mean. So, I'm sorry for it too. But I'm not apologizing for being mad, you deserved that."

"I did, I did, I know." He's quick to agree. "I don't want us to be awkward around one another. I'm not telling you that you have to be my best friend but, we can be friends, right? But you also don't have to. It's enough if you forgive me and... You know what? Never mind forget I said anything, I'm just nervous and-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" he repeats.

"We can be friends. I accept your truthful apology."

"Actually?"

"Yes."

"Like we can start over?" he grins and you chuckle at the excitement in his face. "Yes."

"Can we hug it out?"

"Too soon," you pout and he nods, a faint blush dusting his cheek.

"Right. Should we go back to the library? I saw that you were stuck on a question. I can help you."

"You won't make any comments?"

"No. Pinky promise." he outstretches his pinky towards you and you muse over it for a bit, before wrapping your finger around his. You grin at Han- your first genuine smile since he's known you. His hold on your pinky falters.

"Okay. I'm in."

.☄༄

Five weeks later- 1:13 a.m.

You were still slightly cautious near Han as if you were both threading along an invisible line. You could talk, but not too much, afraid any old animosity would shine through. And you could stay together, but not too long, in case it gets awkward and you wouldn't know what to do. So, you never mixed, just like water and oil, each of you knowing their place, away from the other.

But you still didn't want to miss out on outings with your friends. So, when Chan invites you for a movie night with Han, and Changbin, you don't say no.

The night runs smoothly, the warm beer you had easing your nerves bit by bit. It was also easier to forget that you once hated Han when he brought tears to your eyes from laughing so hard.

2:56 a.m.

An unbearable heat suddenly envelopes you, your very blood boiling from within. You hesitantly look down, to find your entire body bathed in red, as if your skin had melted away, exposing you to the scorching heat embracing your tender flesh.

You are in the heart of a volcano, with lava bubbling dangerously below. Hanging by a frail thread, you dangle over the edge of death.

And then, you plummet.

You startle awake, your heart pounding in your chest, your hand clutching it tightly. Cold sweat clings to your skin, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're safe, far from the inside of the volcano that had threatened to consume you.

You glance at your phone- 3:43 a.m. You read. It's only been a mere hour since you went to sleep. You don't think you could drift back into slumber.

Dragging a hand tiredly across your face, you walk into the pitch-black kitchen. You pour yourself a glass of water, hoping that the icy drink will cool you down. You are safe.

"What are you-" you startle, dropping the glass and spinning around, hand pressed to your heart.

"Han, fuck, you scared me," you sigh, tugging at your hair slightly and he's quick to your side, a string of hushed apologies tumbling from his lips.

"I'm sorry, here let me clean it up," he kneels and you follow suit, grabbing his hands and gently pushing them away. "No, I dropped it, let me clean," you reassure, but your hands are trembling as you pick up the shards of glass, any bit of logic clouded by your racing thoughts.

Your heartbeat's ringing loudly in your ears, you barely register the glass cutting your skin until an uncharacteristic warmth oozes from your hand. Blood.

"Shit," you curse lowly and Han illuminates the place with his phone flashlight. "Did you cut yourself?" he asks and you shake your head, walking over to the sink.

"It's nothing, don't worry."

"Yn, let me see," he's standing behind you, the ghost of his breath grazing your exposed neck.

"Han, really it's-" he cuts you off, grabbing your forearm and walking you over to the couch. He finally turns on the lights before crouching down in front of you.

"Show me?" he asks gently and you're too tired to fight him. You open your palm tentatively, taking a look at your cut for the first time as well. It's not too deep, it won't require stitches. But it's also not shallow, blood oozing from it at a steady rhythm.

Han simply frowns upon gazing at your wound, before walking over to his room. You don't move from your spot, gaze lost into the space before you. What would happen if you never woke up? Would you feel your flesh burning? Bones melting as the searing lava-

"Here," he gently holds your wrist, as his eyes meet yours. "This will hurt a bit. Hold my arm as tight as you want and tell me if it becomes too much, okay?"

"Okay," you simply nod.

He dabs up your cut with a cotton pad soaked in alcohol. You hiss softly, as the liquid burns your open skin. Han abruptly stops at the sound. "Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to I just-"

"It's okay," you smile reassuringly, "I can handle it."

Han nods, resuming his treatment. He's even softer this time, if that is even possible. He's careful when he rubs a soothing gel on your cut, before wrapping your palm in a gauze. He can't find a pair of scissors so he cuts it with his teeth, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. You account the warmth you're suddenly feeling to the aftermath of your nightmare.

"Why are you even up?" he finally asks as he settles next to you on the couch, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"Nightmare."

"You’re okay?" he asks gently and he sounds truly concerned for your well-being. You aren't used to this. To Han acting like a friend to you. But it feels nice to be cared for, so you don't mind him blurring the lines tonight.

"I'm still a little bit scared," you admit sheepishly and Han's eyes soften under the dim moonlight.

"It passed. You're okay now."

"Am I?" you drag a hand tiredly across your face and Han frowns, inching closer to you.

"Is it a recurring dream?"

"Mm. It tires me out."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I just want to forget." 'Help me forget' you want to add, but you decide against it. "Why were you up, anyway?"

"I got inspiration for lyrics so I had to write it down."

"Can you share some with me?" you ask, tone a tad too hopeful. Han catches it and smiles warmly at you.

"Sure. This is probably going to be in the chorus..." he pulls out his phone, heading to his notes app. "This is what I have so far... I let my frustrated screams out hoping that they’d be washed away in the rain. I send it off with a smiling face, down to the last drops left on my fingertips." he pauses, scrolling down a bit more. "I also wrote this; I think it'll be nice in a verse... I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

"You're such a talented lyricist Han," you whisper in awe, and Han’s cheeks warm up at your words, reminiscent of a setting sun. "But I also wish it was as easy as this. To let out all the emotions you bottle inside and for them to wash away with the rain." You bite your lip, as Han’s words echo in your head. "I think... I think that's why I get this nightmare. I don't free my emotions anymore, and they show up in my dreams to torment me."

You don't know where these bouts of honesty are coming from. Maybe because you're too weary to keep up a happy facade. Or maybe because you know that the person who wrote these lyrics must understand exactly how you feel.

"Well... It's raining." Han whispers after a while and you look at him, confusion plastered across your features.

"And?"

"Should we test it out?"

"Test what?"

"Screaming under the rain," he says as if it's the most evident thing in the world.

"What? That's insane, Han we will get sick and..." You pause, as the words dissolve in your mouth like the seafoam meeting the shore. "You know what? Let's do it!"

"Really?" he asks incredulously, a huge grin on his face.

"Yes!"

"Okay, let's go!"

You both abruptly stand up, still only clad in your pajamas. You quickly slip your shoes on before running outside. The rain envelops you in a cold hug as soon as you step outside, rain droplets trickling down your clothes. You don't mind, you have lots of bottled-up feelings to free.

"This needs music," Han smiles as he takes out his phone, putting his playlist on shuffle. 'Let The Light In' starts playing, and you shoot him a thumbs-up.

"It fits the rainy mood," you grin and he nods, squinting his eyes to be able to look at you.

"I think if we scream here, we'll scare the neighbors."

"I know!" you chuckle, wiping away the rain droplets on your forehead. "Where should we go?"

"The empty parking lot!" Han shouts so you'll hear him over the growing rain and you nod. He takes off running and you chase after him. You're both completely drenched once you're a bit far away from the house. But you don't care. Not when there is pure adrenaline rushing through you.

You finally stop, loud giggles escaping your mouth at the thrill of what you're doing. "You should start!" you yell excitedly and Han nods, taking in deep steadying breaths.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

"On the count of three! One... Two... Three!" and Han shouts at the top of his lungs, his screams getting lost in the rain. An incredulous smile breaks out on his face as you giggle loudly, the sound of it ringing out in the downpour.

"You looked insane!"

"I feel insane!" He yells honestly and a fit of laughter takes over you both. You hold his arm to steady yourself.

"You should try it now!" Han urges and you nod, willing yourself to calm down.

"Okay, will you count down for me?"

"Yes," he assures and you clap excitedly. Han can't help but smile at the excitement on your face.

"One... Two... Three!" And you shout, continuous screams spilling from the depths of your soul. Han wasn't wrong- your pain, your fear, your anger are all dripping along the rain droplets, from your bruised heart to the tip of your fingers.

You've never felt this free before.

The two of you don't notice the passage of time, the rain acting as a cathartic release to all your pent-up emotions. It was as if your pain intertwined with each rain droplet, and you were letting go of everything that had held you down. Each scream acted as a break from the burdens of the past, and the worries of the future.

As you finally stopped, panting and soaked to the bone, you looked at each other with raw exhilaration in your eyes.

"So, how was it?" Han yells over the rain and you break out in a relieved smile. "I don't think I’ve ever been this happy my entire life," you beam at him and the sight makes the rain feel less colder to Han.

He watches, a small smile on his face as you twirl around, face looking up toward the sky, a deluge of rain grazing your cheeks like a lover's tender touch. The smile doesn't leave your face as you spin around, happy chuckles leaving your mouth from time to time.

You look... free. As if there was an invisible weight on your shoulders that the rain washed away. A heavy burden that you carried within you, like a secret secret. He likes the sound of that. Maybe that's what he'll name his song.

Han slightly shakes his head as he watches you skip around, clothes completely soaked. You are now standing a bit far away, right beside a street lamp.

Ooh, let the light in

Its light shines on you alone.

Time seems to slow down, as Han’s steps falter. You're smiling, not at him, but at the universe. A happiness so raw filling you that it needs to come out, even if no one's watching.

You're spinning around, delighted giggles spilling from you like the most mesmerizing chorus. Something is building up inside Han, begging for a release. It refuses to come out in a scream- violently. It's tender and soft. He thinks that if you held his hand right now, you'd be able to free it.

Look at us, you and I back at it again

Is it possible to feel something other than an emotion? Because right now, weirdly, all he feels is you.

Cause I love to love to love to love you

I hate to hate to hate to hate you

Your eyes land on Han and there is pure joy dancing in your pupils. He's glad you no longer despise him. He doesn't think he can stomach it anymore.

Cause I want to want to want to want you

You run to him, holding his hand before twirling him around.

I need to need to need to need you

Han can't believe he ever thought you weren't human enough. You are a mosaic of every feeling that makes one human. There are lyrics writing themselves in his head and they're all about you.

Ooh, let the light in

You clasp both his hands, before crossing them over. And then you're both spinning around until the world around you blurs. All he sees is you, and the light surrounding you alone.

Ooh, turn your light on

He thinks he might, if the light is you.

5:22 a.m

"There is a heater in my room, you should come," Han offers as you dry your hair with the blue towel he just handed you.

"It's okay I’ll stay here," you point to the couch but he shakes his head adamantly. "You'll die from hypothermia. Do you know how mad Chan will be if I let you pass away?" he whispers in fear, a hand clutching his heart.

"So dramatic," you giggle, before following him into his room. He goes on his bed first before tapping the spot beside him. You sigh before lying next to him, snuggling further into the hoodie he gave you to change.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, as your teeth clink together.

"It's okay."

"You shouldn't have gone out with just a t-shirt."

"I didn't exactly plan on this, you know," you smile sarcastically and Han chuckles before tapping your shoulder softly.

"Come closer."

You debate for a second before complying, the cold tuning out all the rational thoughts in your head.

Your arm brushes against his and you can't breathe once again. But it's a different type of deprivation. Han always seems to steal the oxygen from your lungs, but for once, you don't mind. Red embers are burning within you and their flames keep you alive. You press your chest to his back, as your forehead rests on his shoulder. Maybe he'll turn you to ashes. Will you rise from them?

"You're so cold," his hand reaches behind to rub your arms soothingly, an earnest attempt to warm you up.

"I’ll be fine, go to sleep. Don't worry about me."

"I can't control it."

In the dark room, Han can't see you curling your hand into a tight fist at his words.

"If you stay quiet then I’ll sleep," you say after a while and Han giggles softly.

"That's the goal. You need to rest."

"You should sleep too."

"I will."

"Okay. Good night, Han."

"Good night, Yn."

You think he's fallen asleep when you speak up again. "Hey, Han."

"Yes, Yn?" He replies instantly, voice slightly hoarse.

"Can you repeat that lyric to me, about the flowers blooming again?" You ask quietly, and you feel him nodding against your chest.

"I’m sure it’ll get better... Just like the earth hardens after the rain and flowers bloom again."

His warm voice vibrates within your body. "That's a nice lyric."

"I hope you'll dream of it instead."

☄༄

Against Han’s strong belief, he's the one who fell sick after your rain-soaked outing.

You knew of it from Chan, who texted you saying that Han caught a nasty cold, and then got food poisoning, which meant he couldn't be there for their highly anticipated meeting—after their electrifying Heyday performance, a record label expressed strong interest in signing them.

"Can you come over and stay with Han?" Chan implores as soon as he answers your call.

“That bad?” You ask, a pout pulling at your lips.

"I don't want to leave him alone. He's been really sick for the past week now, and… it's partly your fault"

"I can’t believe you’re guilt-tripping me into coming," you chuckle even though you know he is right. Han wouldn’t have gotten out in the rain if it wasn’t for you.

"I'm sorry it’s just I don't think he's been good, apart from the illness. And I’m worried, and I don’t know I thought maybe you could talk to him. He reminds me of you, in his sadness, so you might understand what's wrong more than me."

You think it over for a second before rising up from your bed.

"I'm coming"

As soon as you step inside their dorm, Chan pulls you for a side hug, placing a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thank you so much,” he whispers, clearly grateful that you agreed to come. It worries you even more for Han.

“No problem. You can go, I’ll be with him.”

“Thank you, Yn” Changbin smiles before hastily pulling Chan outside the door. You wave them both goodbye.

You cautiously crack open the door to Han’s room, to find it completely engulfed in darkness. The stream of light from the door falls upon Han, who squints his eyes, trying to see who disrupted his fragile peace.

"Hi," you speak softly, finding it a bit odd to raise your voice in such a still room. Han attempts to sit up, before doubling over, hand tightly clutched around his stomach.

You rush to his side, kneeling beside his bed. It's the only lit-up part of the room.

"Still hurts?" you ask, your hand moving in soothing circles on his back. He nods, eyes squeezed shut, and you feel your heart crack at the sight.

"Have you taken any medicine?"

"A few hours ago. I need to eat something before I can take more, but I can't get up to the kitchen."

"Why didn't you tell the boys?"

"Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't. I'll make you something to eat. Okay? Try to sleep meanwhile."

"You don't have to," Han shakes his head, his eyes finally meeting yours.

"I know," you smile softly, before exiting the room.

Minutes later, you're back in the room, a bowl of sliced fruit in your hands.

"Do you guys live off protein powder and frozen chicken?" you ask, earning a quiet laugh from Han as he lays his back against the headboard.

"We do. Please save me," he jokes and you laugh, shaking your head. "Good thing I grabbed some fruit before leaving."

"Thank you," he grins, eyes slightly squinting closed.

"Here," you grab a strawberry, bringing it to his lips. His eyebrows raise up in surprise, a sheen layer of sweat coating them. "What? Look at how tightly you're clutching the comforter," you point to his hands and Han sighs, before parting his lips slightly.

His mouth brushes against your fingertips, igniting a cascade of emotions in you. You'll think about what it means later.

You grab a green grape next, feeding it to him gently. A drop of water trickles down the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it away with the back of your finger.

"I can- I can do it," Han mumbles, voice wavering like an unpredictable storm. His trembling hands reach for the bowl, but they struggle to hold it right.

"Han, it's okay, I don't mind," you try to keep your voice gentle, sensing that there is an impending doom awaiting just below the surface.

"No, I- I need to do it. Just let me-" A tear falls into the fruit bowl. "Let me do it, please. I can- I can do it, I’m not useless, I…"

The floodgate opens.

A stream of tears escapes Han's eyes as he looks down at the bowl between his hands. He's crying, eyes tightly shut and the small whimpers escaping his lips feel like a dagger piercing your heart.

"You're sick. Let me take care of you."

"It's horrible horrible work." His voice cracks as his eyes finally lock on yours, and you can tell that his anguish isn't about his illness. These are the words of the shadows threatening to swallow him whole. You have to fight them off with the light.

"I will do it."

As Han lays on his bed, the sound of you washing the dishes resonating from the kitchen, your voice bounces off the dark walls in his head. You didn't try to convince him that it was easy work, you told him you'll do it, even if it's horrible. You'll do it because you want to, not because you can, not because it's accessible. The thought sends a warmth in his chest. It's faint, like a flickering candle trying its best to withstand the wind. But it's there. He holds on to it. He'll shield it with his cupped hands so it wouldn't fizzle out.

"Hannie, you’re okay?" you peer into the room. Hannie- the candle's flame grows higher.

"Mm," he hums, too weak to turn and look at you.

"You're shivering," you remark, and he tightens the blanket around his body. "It'll pass."

You stay silent, and he thinks you've left the room. But then he feels the left side of the bed dip, with you climbing tentatively on it.

"This worked last time when I was cold," you smile softly at him, before bringing his head to your chest and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He feels frail and fragile in your embrace. You hug him tighter to you.

"Warming up?" you ask and he nods against your chest. He's burning.

"Try to sleep," you urge quietly, your hand moving to pat his back. "It will pass."

"What if it doesn't?" Han asks faintly. Please don't let the candle die, he wants to plead.

"There is always light at the end of the tunnel."

"What if the tunnel is closed?"

"Then you go back to the start and find a new one," you respond.

"Can I find it later? I'm so tired tonight." His voice is drowsy, sleep already clinging to his achy bones.

"Just rest for now. You did well," you scratch his back lightly, as he nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

There was never a candle to begin with- you were the light.

☄༄

Had someone told you five months ago that you'd be lying on Han's bed, watching "Howl's Moving Castle" at 2 a.m., you would've thought they were utterly delusional.

Yet, here you are now.

A lot of things had changed since your rainy outing with Han, as if the universe had shifted into alignment, two stars in the sky finally colliding and making way for something new. You saw him under a different light, understanding that no one picks up a dandelion unless they desperately need the solace it provides.

You've grown to care for him, in the course of the past two months. And funnily enough, you've started to like who you were next to him- just yourself, with no pressure of making conversation, or catering to his expectations of you.

He saw you at your worst anyway, and so did you, there was no use in filtering things anymore.

You've been there through the entire process of writing, composing, and producing Secret Secret- the song whose lyrics had captured your heart. You didn't expect him to ask you to be there with him, he just shot you a text, three days after you came over to his house. 'Wanna be there while I work on the song? I know you liked the lyrics.' It was an offer you couldn't pass up on.

You weren't, in your opinion, much help. Han was gifted in the music realm and song-making flowed naturally from him. But he noticed how interested you were in music, so he called you over each time he worked on the song, even asking for your input at times.

That's why, when the song was finally done and released on 3racha's Spotify account, you decided to celebrate by baking him a cake. You may have dropped an eggshell in the batter (you recovered it later on), and the icing's color turned out less vibrant than what you hoped for. But you managed to adorn it with a garden of little flowers, and with store-bought icing, you wrote the words "after the rain flowers will bloom again."

You showed up to the dorm and Changbin pointed you to Han's room, where he had apparently been holed up all day. You shot him a grateful smile, before pushing the door open with your foot.

"What are you doing here?" Han asked, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

"Surprise!" you grinned, pushing the cake his way. "Congrats on making Secret Secret."

"Are you serious?" he chuckled, jumping out of his bed. He peered at the cake, eyes softening as he gazed down at the design.

"You drew a little garden..." he whispered in awe and you nodded, a faint blush creeping up your face.

"I'm glad you recognized what it was. I'm not the best baker," you admit a bit shyly but he shook his head. "It's perfect. I can't believe you did this to celebrate our baby!"

"Your baby," you corrected, although the use of 'our' warmed up your chest, weirdly enough.

"You were here with me every step of the way. She's ours."

"It's a she?" you giggled, and he smiled proudly.

"Mm. Do you accept being her mother?" he mused; hands clasped in front of his heart like he was praying you'd say yes.

"It would be my greatest honor," you nodded solemnly, and he let out a breathy chuckle, grabbing the cake from your hands and setting it on his bed.

"Should we hug it out?" he teased, arms stretched wide but you merely stared at him, unimpressed.

"Come on," he whined, "you can't reject me for the third time. And, in front of our child. On her birthday!" his tone grew louder and you couldn't help but giggle at his mock outrage.

"Try harder."

"Our child won't know what a loving parent relationship is and then she'll seek out unhealthy love from the ones around her and-" you cut him off by finally wrapping your arms around him.

You've always known that being near Han left you breathless, but this time, it felt as though he was breathing life into you. You close your eyes instinctively, as his hold tightens on you. He smells immensely nice, like pinewood and soap. You should've hugged him sooner.

"Thank you," he said quietly, forehead pressed against your shoulder blade.

"You did well," you whisper back.

"We did. She's our child, remember?" he reprimanded and you laughed faintly.

"Yeah, ours."

Hours later, the movie's credits finally roll down, and the finished cake sits idly by Han's desk.

"I should go," you rub your eyes tiredly, and Han stares at you as if you are out of your mind.

"At this hour? Do you want our kid to lose her mom?"

"Han," you drawl, hitting his head with the pillow next to you. "You can't hold me hostage."

"I can, as your husband."

"Since when are we married?"

"Since you agreed to be Secret's mother." Another playful hit to his face.

"Stop attacking my face, how will I get laid then?"

"So, you are cheating on me?" you ask, feigning outrage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry baby you're the only one I want." You falter at the nickname before hitting him even harder, matching the tempo of your quickening heartbeat.

"You're crazy," he laughs, grabbing your wrists and pinning you onto the bed. He's hovering over you, eyes hooded with a tender intensity as he gazes down at you.

"Will you stay, please?"

"The couch is uncomfortable," you reply, avoiding his eyes. He lets go of one wrist before holding your chin gently, urging you to look at him.

"You can sleep here. We've done it before."

"You were freezing both times. That's why I did it."

"I'm very cold tonight," he pouts, eliciting a surprised chuckle from you.

"Are you now?"

"Very much so."

"Fine. Only because I don't want you to die from hypothermia."

"Thank you!" he grins excitedly, finally letting go of your wrist. You bring a hand to your flushed cheeks, as he tosses a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in your direction.

"Get changed! There is a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

You make sure to groan theatrically, before heading into the bathroom, where you splash your face repeatedly with water. You aren't used to this- being a blushy mess, because of Han, nonetheless. It was dizzying you, how things took the complete opposite turn between you and him.

At least, back then you weren't alone in your hate, you couldn't stand being alone in your affection.

So, you'd stop this, whatever feeling that's coursing through you. Tomorrow, you will firmly close the door on the blooming feelings within you. But tonight, you’d both lay on the same bed, arms brushing against one another. It's completely dark and quiet, but there is an entire symphony playing within you.

"Thank you for today," he whispers, turning around and tucking his arm under his head, this way he's facing you.

You mirror his actions, and your fingertips brush against one another. You can't see him but you can feel him. He's everywhere, wrapping around all your senses.

"Thank you for making this song. It's very comforting to me."

"Why is that?" he questions, inching closer to you, you can feel his minty breath fan all over your face.

"I’ve always felt like I carried too many emotions within me. Like a volcano, bubbling over until the day I explode. I never liked feeling this way, so I tried to hide it," you confess softly.

"Like a secret secret."

"Like a secret secret," you repeat, glad that he understands.

"You don't have to hide with me," he says after a few silent beats, and you swallow nervously.

"I know." you lick your lips as the music inside you grows louder. "Still cold?"

"A little."

"Come closer," you beckon, and he complies instantly, wrapping his arm behind your back and drawing your chest close to his. Your legs entangle with one another, as your face lays on the crook of his neck. It's intimate, far more than any time you've done it before. You don't want to sink in his hold in fear of never resurfacing again.

"Good?" he asks, voice tinged with a newfound raspiness.

"Mm," you hum, and he releases a relieved sigh.

You've once read that everything in this universe sings. Every atom's vibration creates a sound, contributing to a grand celestial chorus. It's an unscientific, but lovely thought, to wonder who our hearts sing for.

Right now, it's for Han.

☄༄

The music echoes through your being, an ever-present melody that refuses to fade into silence. Even with no audience to enjoy it.

Han always found his way back to your side, no matter how many times you've tried to distance yourself from him. And you couldn't bring yourself to refuse him, because you were friends, first and foremost. And friends don't abandon one another just because a mere glance at them sprouts a blush across your cheeks.

That's how you find yourself on your way to Han's dorm, for the third time that week. Watching movies together has become your little tradition, for the past few months, and sometimes even Chan joins in. Although he mostly enjoys shooting you a knowing smile, to which you flip him off.

Your phone rings and Han's name illuminates your screen. You smile against your will.

"Can't wait to see me this much?" you singsong and Han's chuckle rings through the phone. It's rich and deep, causing you to tighten your hold on the device.

"Yes. And can you please go to the store? I'm out of snacks."

"What do I get out of it?" you muse, changing directions to the nearest convenience store.

"Snacks."

"Asshole," you giggle on your way to cross the road.

"And my eternal gratitude of course."

"Right, because I can't-" Loud tires screech right beside you and you startle, letting out a loud yelp as you drop your phone.

A hand on top of your heart, you bend down to pick up your fallen device, as the driver gets out of the car that grazed your body, mere inches away from hitting you.

"Are you okay, miss? I'm sorry I didn't see you." The middle-aged man is quick to your side, and you glance at the small kid in his car, willing yourself to calm down for their sake.

"I'm fine. Just a bit startled. Drive more slowly, there is a kid with you."

"I know, I'm sorry," he drags a hand through his stressed features and you couldn't help but feel sympathy for him. "It's okay, don't worry about it. Just pay more attention to the road, okay?"

"Thank you so much. Thank you," he clasps his hand in gratitude before getting back to his car and you wave him off, your heart still wildly beating in your chest.

You head into the convenience store, picking up the snacks you know Han loves before paying for them. But as soon as you step back outside, you spot a disheveled Han crossing the road, sprinting toward the store. His pace quickens upon spotting you.

"What are you..." your question is cut short as his arms wrap around you, pulling you to his chest instantly. You can feel the frantic rhythm of his heart, and you're confused as he pulls away, hands cradling your cheeks and turning your face left and right.

"You're alright, nothing happened to you, right? You’re okay?" he inquires urgently and you let out a confused giggle, as you grab his arm to steady him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I heard the tires screech and you yelled and then you didn't pick up when I called and I thought-" his voice cracks. "I thought something happened to you."

"No, no. I'm okay. Nothing happened, I promise." you reassure, as he brings you to his chest once again, his hand smoothing the top of your hair.

"I was so scared," he kisses your temple, as his thumping heart resounds within your chest. "So terrified that something would happen to you. I thought I'd lose my mind."

"You don't mean that," you shake your head slowly, peeling yourself away from him.

"Can you really not see how much I care about you? How I crave being near you?" his voice raises a slight octave. The music in you picks up.

"How long do I have to pretend to be cold to have you nearby? For god's sake, I'm never cold around you, yn. When I see you, I ignite." He takes in a deep breath, pressing his forehead onto your shoulder. "And I... I couldn't have lived with myself if something happened to you. I... You drive me crazy, Yn. When we became friends it felt like I was stepping inside a home for the first time, and yet I already knew each turn in it."

He grabs your arms, shaking you slightly as his chest heaves up and down. "My darkness recognizes yours and my light is you and you- you think I wouldn't care if anything happened to you?"

He shakes his head as tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. Has his music always been this loud, were you just not listening properly?

"I'm scared because we didn't start well and I understand if a part of your heart still resents me, I do. But I don't think I can pretend anymore. Not with you," his voice softens as his gaze locks on yours.

"Were you pretending too?" He asks, hope dripping from his tone. "Do you feel it too?"

A split second goes by. A candle flickering somewhere. A dandelion plucked from the ground. The shadow of a cloud passing over the sun- and you pick.

"I feel it too. So much that my heart feels like it’s singing for you, Han."

"I'll sing for it in return," he whispers, before crashing his lips onto yours. His hand slides up the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You drop the bags of groceries as you cradle his cheeks, feeling them warm up beneath your touch. You can't believe you've ever disliked your heart for feeling too much, not when the lovely emotions flowing in your heart threaten to burst it at the seams, submerging you in a warmth you've never known before- Han.

Two months later

You have 3 new messages from: hannie

"kept this song a secret from you baby but i wrote it for you so you can't be mad"

"i don't know if you remember but you’ve once told me that you are a volcano. as if that’s something that’s supposed to put me off. well, some people dedicate their lives to studying volcanos. and i would dedicate mine to learning you."

"Volcano.mp3."

Light.

3K notes · View notes

truetogaia · 1 year

Text

come awnnn ya'll knew I had to write a longer one..

pairing: fiancé!miguel o'hara x fem!reader

genre: smut, 18+

synopsis: Miguel wakes up to a... hard... problem, one only you can help solve..

warnings: just pure smut with a lil plot, p in v, unprotected sex, depictions, mature n explicit themes, no pull out sorry lolz, size kink, morning sex, vulgar language, breeding kink,

word count: 950!

requests: open !

NOT PROOFREAD! I Miguel masterlist

His buff arms crept around your middle, wrapping securely around you as your head rested on his broad chest. Mornings like these were rare, ones where you could just relish in the loving embrace of your boyfriend, and soon to be husband. The newly acquired ring weighed heavy on your finger as you reached a hand up to tuck some loose hair behind his ear. The material of it shimmered in the gentle light of the setting sun, casting reflections onto a white wall just in front of you.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest, synced with his breaths, lulled you into a state of drowsiness. He had been asleep for quite a while now. You glanced at the clock on his wrist, careful not to move too much despite the tight hold he had on you. It was exactly 8:43. And as if he could sense it, he began stirring, throwing you on the floor in the process. You landed on the wooden floor with a loud thud, wincing as your tailbone took the hit.

Miguel shot up, looking around frantically for the source of the sound. His gaze landed on you, sprawled out on the floor as you tried to process what had just happened. A soft chuckle left your lips, which soon turned into a fit of giggles. Your fiance looked at you with a puzzled expression, one eyebrow quirked in response to your strange antics.

“What are you doing?” His deep, raspy morning voice sent a slight shiver up your spine, making you abruptly stop your giggling.

“Well, you woke up and I… found myself down here..” You said, smiling sweetly at him. He began removing the blanket from his body to get up, stopping suddenly as he realized. You peeked up at him, wondering why he had suddenly frozen.

“Hey, sweets, I've got a little problem, fear I'm gonna need your help..” You hummed, getting up as you rubbed your tailbone slightly. It stung, but it was bearable. Your eyes finally landed on said problem, raising your eyebrows slightly at his huge bulge.

“Morning boner? Really? At your grown age?” You teased, earning a light scoff from the man. He narrowed his eyes at you, before shooting up to catch you in a hug before pulling you down with him towards the messy bed.

“Come on, you love me.. So help me out, yeah?” You giggled, nodding as you gently pulled away from his embrace. Your legs straddled his hips, struggling to wrap all the way around due to the difference in size.. And muscle.

Now he had his large, rough hand planted on your love handles, pressing your soft hips down onto him with ease. His cock pumped in and out of you at a pace which had you blabbering incoherent nonsense, body slumping forward to rest against his chest. Miguel tried his best to stay as quiet as he could to relish in your sounds, but the way you were squeezing his cock just right sidetracked him.

Soft moans spilled from your plump, kiss-swollen lips as his own attached to the sensitive skin of your neck. He placed gentle, sloppy kisses along the curve of it, paying extra attention to your sensitive areas as if it would drown out the blissful pleasure of his length dragging in and out of your squelching heat.

Your hands tirelessly gripped at his larger forearms, nails digging into the skin in sync with his relentless thrusts. You were still sat atop him, legs aching from the stretch the width of his brawny hips offered.

“There sweetheart.. I thought I was the one.. who- fuck.. who was supposed to receive help.” He tutted, voice deep and dripping with.. adoration? love? lust? All of the above? He didn’t really know what to feel, all he knew was that he loved the feeling of his soon-to-be wife’s smaller body enveloping his.

“Y..yeah.. you’re just.. too big, couldn’t move properly..” You said between broken moans. He chuckled, gently grabbing your arms, hands sliding down your forearms to hold your hands. He leaned forward, catching your lips in a lazy kiss.

“Fuck.. can’t wait to marry you.. To have a family” he muttered in between sloppy kisses, tongue dancing with yours as he fucked into you from below.

“Mhmn.. Y’know, some people create families before they get married..” Your soft voice felt like clouds in his ears, and his hands found their place on your hips again, a groan escaping his mouth at your words.

“Yeah? You wanna have kids now? Want me to fill you?” He smirked as you nodded desperately, feeling your hot cunt clamp down on him and throb around him. “may as well give you what you want, no? Early wedding gift..” His hips stuttered, cock twitching inside of you as you ran your hands down his chest, mouth agape. With one final thrust, he came deep inside your womb, painting your gummy walls white as you spasmed on top of him, reaching your own high.

“There we go, now we wait” His voice was raspy as you laid on his chest, catching your breath. He smoothed a hand down your spine, resting it in the small of your back. You giggled lightly, the bedroom now filled with the smell of sex.

“Come on, let's take a shower, we stink!” You said, grabbing his hand to pull him with you. You smiled as you got up, hissing slightly from the ache in your legs. You heard a chuckle erupt from your fiance's mouth, turning around to scold him. “You owe me big time, mister.”

“Is a baby not enough?”

#miguel x you #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut

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engstlersslut · 18 days

Text

Take It Out On Me│ E. Engstler

pairing: emily engstler x reader genre: fluff, smut warnings: 18+ material word count: 1.8k summary: with the stress of the season weighing on her, emily has been in a mood and you let her take her frustration out on you

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

✦•〰〰〰〰〰〰•★•〰〰〰〰〰〰•✦

With back-to-back losses for the Mystics and the lack of playing time, to say Emily had been frustrated would be an understatement. She'd come home from practice every day, exhausted and even more moody than the day before. Slamming cabinets and doors, sluggishly moving through her evening routines, being short during conversations, setting things down with more force than necessary. It was evident in her actions and every breath she took. Nothing you said or could say seemed to improve her mood. At a loss, you tried to just give her some space, but when that didn't seem to help either, you decided to try and talk to her about it again.

"Em?" You spoke softly from where you were cuddled into her side on the couch. "Are you okay?"

She had been quiet since she returned home from another long day of practice. Dinner was eaten in a tense silence and after that, you both settled in the living room to watch TV before bed, still not speaking much.

"I'm fine, babe." She responded, trying to hold back a heavy sigh and failing.

"Are you sure?" You pried gently, attempting to coax her into letting you in on her feelings.

"Yes. Now could you stop asking and just watch the show?" She snapped at you, causing you to release a sigh of your own.

"I'm sorry." She apologized, shaking her head and adjusting her position to lean forward, elbows resting on her knees. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

"It's fine."

"It's not fine." She argued. "You didn't deserve that."

"You're frustrated. I get it." You empathized, running a gentle hand down her back. "I just want you to talk to me."

"I'm just frustrated as hell." She huffed. "We've lost every game so far and I'm busting my ass every day at practice only to be a benchwarmer. I'm trying to be a supportive teammate, and I really am proud of the hard work everyone is putting in despite all of the setbacks, but it sucks."

"I know." You nodded.

"I'm trying my best to stay level-headed, but I just have so much pent-up stress and I need to blow off some steam. I just don't know how."

"Take it out on me, then."

"What?" She turned her head to look back at you where you rested against the couch.

"Take it out on me. Use me to let out some of that stress and frustration." You shrugged as if it was no big deal, which to you it wasn't.

"How?"

"How do you think?" You gave your best seductive smirk as you stood from the couch and stripped off your shirt. Tossing it at your dumbfounded girlfriend, you began to slowly step backwards towards the direction of your shared bedroom. "Only if you're up for it."

"Don't start something you can't handle." She spoke, the look in her eyes darkening as she, too, stood from where she sat.

"Who says I can't?" You cocked your head in challenge, a teasing glint in your eyes as she stepped closer.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" She asked as you now stood chest-to-chest. One of her tattooed hands trailed up to wrap around your neck, applying light pressure. "Because I can't promise I'll be gentle."

"Do your worst."

Those three words were all she needed to hear before her lips crashed down on yours eliciting a breathy moan from you. Her tongue immediately found its way into your mouth at the given opportunity, initiating a battle for dominance, which she easily won. After a few moments of roughly, yet passionately, making out, she pulled away.

"Go to the bedroom and strip." She whispered, lips brushing yours as she spoke. "I want you on the bed and naked when I get in there." Nodding, you pulled out of her embrace and turned to make your way to the room.

You weren't sure how long you waited in anticipation, but it felt like ages before she finally appeared, a cup of water in hand. Her eyes held a predatory gaze as she made her way around to her side of the bed, keeping her eyes on you as she placed the cup on the nightstand. Without a word, she turned around, finally breaking the intense eye contact, and disappeared again. She quickly emerged from your walk-in closet holding a black box. Setting it to the side, she grabbed your ankles and pulled you to the end of the bed.

"Fuck," She let out breathlessly as she dropped to her knees at the foot of the bed, examining the wetness between your thighs. "The things you do to me."

You let out a quiet gasp as she ran her thumb along your slit gently, collecting some of your arousal before putting her thumb in her mouth and releasing moan at the taste.

"Look at how wet you are, baby." She said as she swiped her index finger through your folds and raised it to show you.

Grabbing her hand, you brought it to your mouth to taste yourself. You held her gaze as you sucked on her finger, moaning as you did so. With a low groan rising from her throat, she yanked her hand away and moved to throw your legs over her shoulders. With a death grip on your thighs, she dove in, devouring you.

Her pace was fast and sloppy but so, so good. Her tongue teased your entrance while her nose nudged your clit. She had you seeing stars in no time. She'd barely started yet you were already teetering on the edge of your first orgasm of the night. Moving her mouth back up to suck on your swollen clit, she lifted her hand and sunk two of her long fingers in without any warning. The loud moan you let out had her smirking against you.

"That's it, baby." She cooed up at you. "Be loud for me. Let everyone know how good I make you feel." Her words encouraged another loud moan from you. "Good girl."

"I-I'm close, Em." You panted through your moans, back arching off the bed. "Please don't stop."

She didn't say anything in response but she didn't need to. Her actions said it all when she fastened her pace, bending and twisting her fingers, effortlessly finding that soft, spongy spot inside of you that sent you over the edge. Hand flying down to hold her head in place as she sucked your clit back into her mouth, you let out a sound that bordered on a scream as the bubble that had formed in you finally burst. She slowed her pace to help you ride out your high before finally coming to a stop and pulling away.

You felt your body melt into the mattress as you came down, chest heaving with every deep breath you took. Your eyes drifted to Emily as you lay there, body already spent, watching as she finally stripped down out of her own clothes.

"Like what you see, ma?" She smirked at you with a wink, grabbing the black box she had set aside.

"Always." You smiled back at her flirty remark, watching her movements intently as she pulled out her strap and vibrator.

"What's your color?" She asked as inserted her vibrator and put on the strap.

"Green." You replied.

"Good."

Climbing onto the bed and settling between your thighs, she leaned forward to connect her lips with yours. Distracting you with a fierce and passionate kiss, she turned on the vibrator and slowly sank into you. As the last inch pushed in, you broke the kiss and threw your head back against the pillows. With the combination of the vibrations and the fullness that you felt, you were already reeling from the pleasure.

You moaned in unison as she began to thrust into you, pace quickly turning brutal. Leaning down until her chest met yours, she attached her lips to yours again before making her way down. She stopped once her lips met your neck, biting, kissing, and sucking, surely leaving marks.

"Baby," You moaned, hand tangling in her hair that was falling out of her ponytail. "I-I think I'm gonna come."

"Hold it." She ordered.

"I c-can't." You whimpered, unshed tears blurring your vision.

"Yes, you can." She grunted, hips slamming into yours harder. "Be a good girl and hold it for me. I'm almost there."

Your body writhed beneath her as you both panted and moaned at the intense feelings. Your hands scraped down her back, legs locking around her waist.

"Em, please." You begged, after a few more harsh thrusts. "I can't hold it anymore."

"Okay." She panted. "Come for me." That was all she needed to say as you arched up into her, hands gripping her biceps. Loud moans filled the room as you both let go.

Emily pulled out soft and slow as your body fell limp against the bed. She soon joined you after removing her strap and vibrator. Your chests rose and fell in unison as you both tried to catch your breath. The room was comfortably quiet as you lay there, hands finding each other before intertwining.

After a few minutes of basking in the aftermath of the events that had taken place, Emily got up and walked into the bathroom that was connected to your bedroom. You could hear her moving around and then the sound of water running. After about ten minutes, she returned and scooped you up into her arms.

"What are you doing?" You asked head resting on her shoulder.

"I drew us a bath."

She set you down in the warm water before climbing in behind you and pulling your back to rest against her chest. Her hands ran through your hair gently and as she relaxed with you in her arms.

"Was I too rough?" She asked, a content sigh leaving her lips and the remaining tenseness in her muscles melted away.

"No," You replied. "You were perfect." She hummed in response.

"Thank you." She spoke softly, eyes shut and head leaned back to rest of the edge of the bathtub.

"For what?"

"For supporting me. For always finding ways to make me feel better. For loving me."

"You don't have to thank me for any of those things, babe." You shook your head as best as you could with her hands still tangled in your hair. "That's what I'm here for. I would do absolutely anything for you, whether you asked me to or not."

"I know, but I feel like I don't express my gratitude enough. You put up with a lot from me and I am beyond grateful for you." She leaned down, peppering kisses along your neck and shoulders. "I really got lucky with you."

"I think I'm the lucky one here." You smiled at her loving words and gestures. "You are an amazing human being and an even more amazing girlfriend. I love you so much it hurts."

"Well, I love you more." She nipped at your ear playfully.

"Doubtful." You replied.

"Is that a challenge?" She chuckled as she flicked water at the side of your face. "If so, I'm prepared to win."

"I wouldn't expect any less." You giggled at her antics.

"Good." She smiled before crashing her lips onto yours.

✦•〰〰〰〰〰〰•★•〰〰〰〰〰〰•✦

a/n: this is my longest fic yet. also, it's my first time writing smut EVER (or at least attempting to), so bear with me.

#emily engstler #emily engstler smut #emily engstler x reader #emily engstler imagine #washington mystics #wnba #wnba basketball #isa.writes

734 notes · View notes

01zfan · 30 days

Text

miss you more | s. es

ex baby-daddy!eunseok x reader | 6.6k words

another baby daddy riize fic. i do NAWT condone having a baby with a man you’re not married to.

contains: sex without a condom (they’re absolute messes DON’T BE LIKE THEM)

you don’t know how you ended up in front of eunseok’s place. even if you were the one behind the wheel, the one shifting the gears, and the one rolling red stop signs you don’t know how you ended up there. you looked out your driver side window to look at the house you used to call your home across the street. atleast you were in your right mind enough to not park directly in front. but you also knew this was just as bad, in a parked car with the lights off across the street like a stalker.

you knew you could’ve gone home. you could’ve put your car back in drive and come back in the morning to pick up your daughter, pretending like this never happened. but you knew yourself better than that, and you knew that the failed date you went on still weighed heavy on your shoulders.

you turned towards your phone, hoping that something on your device would distract you. but when you opened your phone you saw your lockscreen—your happy little daughter trying to hold a pumpkin the size of her body as you and eunseok helped. you thought about how content you were that day, how you felt like you were truly a happy little family again. you even had a heart to heart with eunseok, talking about how you were too young and just starting your career when you met him. your life was barely on track by the time your daughter came and although you wouldn’t trade her for the world you both humored the idea of meeting later in life. you felt a pang in your chest as you remembered looking down to your daughter who held tightly onto eunseok’s hand while she held her tiny pumpkin in the other.

the person you went on the date with noticed your wandering mind, it was obvious in the way he cleared his throat after you stared at the picture for a little too long.

trying to comprehend your relationship with eunseok was difficult. when you were with him you thought about all the shortcomings in your relationship—the lack of communication, hiding your feelings, keeping things bottled up until they exploded. neither of you were able to save your relationship before it was too late, and it could be argued that you two were better apart. but when you weren’t with him, the only thing you could think about was trying to make it work.

you looked at the man sitting across from you at the dinner table and you imagined it was eunseok. maybe it was the familiarity, maybe you shouldn’t have made the mistake of seeing him before going on your date. because now the only thing you could think about was him, if he was going on dates in secret and if he was thinking of you too. you thought about your daughter, how much you wished you were with her instead of pretending the fancy food on your plate was good.

you knew the moment you started thinking about your family that the date was already over. it would be another endeavor in your long list of failures, all you could think about as you sat in your car was how you gave up a day you had with your daughter for this. you deleted your message history with the man, staring at your most recent text conversations. eunseok sat at the very top, his unread message appearing in the form of a tiny blue dot next to his picture-less icon. you clicked on the message thread, revealing a series of pictures of your daughter and little updates through the night.

eunseok: she likes strawberries alot.

eunseok: playing zelda and animal crossing on the big tv.

eunseok: she’s better than me at zelda now.

eunseok: she told me mommy is going on a date?

eunseok: i hope it goes well.

eunseok: she ate all of her food.

you don’t know why you felt guilty reading the last message. eunseok didn’t have the right to know, and you knew that. you had simply told your daughter in passing that you were going on a date night with your friends, knowing that she would repeat whatever you told her to her father. you typed your reply over and over again, trying to figure out what approach to take.

lol i was going out with some of my friends from wo|

that’s none of your busin|

the date went we|

are you awake?

your mind came up with a million things to say, but none of them felt right. it felt like all of them were attempts at sounding casual. you threw your phone into the passenger seat beside you, and you rolled your neck to try and relieve some of the tension. you let out a sigh and turned your keys in the ignition, letting your car come to life around you.

you pulled out from the parking lot and headed down the road trying to go home. it started off with one wrong turn, your mind confused on where to go from the restaurant. when you had the chance to go back the way you came you felt something take control, and you continued heading down the same road. you took another turn, you even waited at the red light with an unexplainable energy as you tapped the steering wheel. the tension in your neck was gone too as you headed further down the road.

you knew you didn’t have the right to act confused when you finally turned down eunseok’s road.

you let your head rest against the steering wheel when you parked across the street. each time the thought of leaving your car invaded your thoughts, you gently shook your head, feeling the worn leather of the steering wheel cover against your forehead.

“don’t do it.” you said to yourself.

you looked back at the house again, looking at the window that your daughter was sleeping in. you knew that on the other side of the house you couldn’t see, was the window to the room you used to sleep in. you started thinking about eunseok in that bed by himself, drowning in the california king that was too big even for the two of you. you started thinking about if he thought of you before going to bed everyday, if he thought about you tonight and where you were going in your pretty dress.

“don’t do it.” you repeated.

saying it a second time was unnecessary. you said it purely for effect, trying to seem like your better senses were trying to put up a fight. you were already taking your key out of the ignition before you finished your sentence. you had taken your first step out of the car when you repeated the phrase again. you cleared the road quickly, hearing your heels click on the paved road with each step. by the time you made it to the sidewalk you had accepted your fate. you were still weary, slowly making your way across the lawn to the stoop.

when you made it to the small set of stairs you looked to the door in front of you. the last chance you had to go back in your car before you undid all of your hard work. you knew you were being recorded by the ring camera beside the door. you could simply lie if eunseok ever brought it up. you could just say you considered coming to get your daughter before realizing how late it was. eunseok most likely wouldn’t believe you, and you would most likely lie some more trying to tell a convincing story. but your gaze went from the ring camera to the potted plant that stood tall beside you. you looked even lower to the painted rocks that circled the bottom. you let the ring camera catch you crouch down to your heels. the same hand that drove you here picked out the discolored rock that felt hollow.

you held the rock in your hand, feeling the three engraved letters side by side. you held it away from your shadow, letting the moon illuminate the letters. you laughed to yourself for a moment before bringing your other hand to it, feeling for the split in the middle. it was too easy to slide the fake rock open, and to grab the key to the front door out of it.

you stepped through the door, turning the knob so it closed quietly behind you. you took off your heels at the door, hanging your jacket on the coat rack. you felt like an intruder, walking through the house on the balls of your feet trying to be as stealthy as possible. you lurched past your daughters toys in the living room down the hallway to eunseok’s room.

“don’t do it.” you said one more time putting your hand on the doorknob.

you pushed open the door to eunseok’s room slowly. you cursed at the creaky hinges, only letting it fully open when you saw that eunseok’s bed was empty. you didn’t hear him in the bathroom, so you pulled away from the door. you turned around, looking at the pink door of your daughter’s room. you ran your hand over the paint, remembering the day you spent painting it outside. it was the same day you painted the rocks outside. for some reason you believed eunseok would’ve thrown out the rocks you painted, or atleast replace them with new ones. but everything was the same as you left it all those years ago.

when you silently opened the door, you saw your daughter take up a majority of the bed. her stretched limbs forced eunseok to the edge—his arm was slung over the side, and he was so close to falling that his hand touched the ground. eunseok was on his stomach and your daughter was on her back, both of their snores filled the room. for a moment pain flashed across your chest, you missed seeing this more than you thought. your own flesh and blood laid next to your shared history that was so suffocating it took your breath away. it was overwhelming and calming, as painful as it was peaceful.

part of you wanted to stand there for the rest of the night, just watching the two sleep side by side. you were still for a moment, letting your mind replace all the bad memories with the good as you worked up the courage to get closer to eunseok.

all of your steps towards eunseok were careful, walking on the flat part of your foot to not cause the floorboards to creak. you had your eyes trained on your sleeping daughter, making sure she didn’t open her eyes while you crouched close to eunseok’s body.

when you reached your hand in the space between your chest and eunseok’s shoulder, you hesitated. you were frozen looking at eunseok and his cheek pressed into the mattress and his mussed black hair. you hadn’t seen eunseok like this in god knows how long. after you called things off, eunseok put his stoic resolve back up. he put on a mask for you, a facade of furrowed eyebrows and emotionless stares. you had been deprived of eunseok’s softness you almost forgot it existed. now you crouched next to your ex beside the flower lamp on your daughters dresser resisting the urge to run a finger over his soft parted lips or his smooth skin. you almost didn’t want to wake eunseok up, afraid that you would once again have the gentleness taken away from you. you didn’t know you could miss the view of someone you claimed to hate so much.

something inside of you wanted eunseok to know you saw him like this, serene in middle of the night just like when you were together. maybe he would even talk to you in the same raspy voice he always used to talk to you in. maybe if you woke him up fast enough you would be able to experience the eunseok you loved before his mind fully woke up to make him robotic towards you again. so you finished reaching across the space, gently touching his shoulder before you let your hand fully cover the area.

you shook eunseok gently at first. his body was limp underneath your hand, moving whichever way you applied force. you looked past eunseok to your daughter, who had at some point moved on her side to sleep like you. you drew in a breath, applying more pressure behind your hand trying to rouse him. finally he did something, letting out a sigh before shrugging his shoulders.

“go back to sleep baby,” eunseok swallowed and turned his head, facing away from you. “we can play zelda in the morning, i promise.” he mumbled.

even if his voice was barely audible, you still clenched your teeth in worry. your daughter was by no means a light sleeper, but all it could take is mentioning one of her favorite things to have her head shoot up in the middle of her sleep. eunseok ignored you trying to wake him up, you had to lean in close to the back of his head.

“eunseok,” you shook him a little harder “it’s me.” you whispered.

as if you yelled straight into his ear, eunseok shot up from the bed. you were spooked, almost letting out a sound when he turned to you with wide eyes.

“what are you doing here?” he sounded lost as he looked around your daughters dark room. “is something wrong?” he asked.

“no i just.” you looked over eunseok’s shoulder to look at your daughter. she was still snoring, but had turned to face her father. if she woke up now she would never go back to sleep. “i need to talk to you.” you whispered.

eunseok looked at the flower-shaped clock hanging on the wall behind you. he squinted his eyes trying to make sure he was reading the time right.

“at two in the morning?” he asked, voice still raspy.

in that moment you realized it was a mistake coming. nothing good as ever happened between you and eunseok after midnight. but you also realized it was too late to go back, and a small voice in your brain convinced you that you weren’t sleeping in your own bed tonight. so you nodded your head again as eunseok carefully move off the bed to not wake your daughter.

eunseok motioned for you to walk toward shis room but he still led the way. he didn’t care to walk on his tiptoes or avoid the creaky parts of the floor as he rubbed his face.

you looked back to your daughter once more before closing the door behind you. she moved to the center of the bed, taking up the little amount of space eunseok was occupying. you slowly pulled the door closed until you heard it click behind you. when you turned back into the hallway you saw eunseok past the opening in his door, looking at you through the space. he was no longer tired and he didn’t have his eyes squinted in confusion anymore. he held eye contact with you from his room, almost like he was daring you to come in. the implications made your bare feet timid in the hallway, lingering behind each creak on the floorboards as you crossed the threshold into his room.

as if you had never been in the room before, you waited by the doorframe as eunseok closed the door shut beside you. he gave you a second to collect your thoughts, leaning against the closed door as he looked down at you. you tried matching his calm, leaning against the wall until the light switch poked your back. when eunseok crossed his arms you breathed in deeply.

“what are you doing here?” he asked.

you didn’t have an answer. all you could do was cross your arms against your chest and avoid his gaze.

“i don’t know.” you answered.

you could hear eunseok let out a dry laugh from beside you. even in the darkness of his room you could make out the framed photo of you two that sat at his work desk. he followed your gaze and cleared his throat when he saw what you were looking at.

“did you enjoy your date?” eunseok asked.

“that’s none of your concern.” you quipped.

eunseok pushed off of the door, and your eyes followed his back as he walked towards his bed.

“i’ll take that as a no.” he said quietly.

when he turned around to face you, you took a step forward.

“i’m seeing him again.” you lied.

the smug look on eunseok’s face didn’t fade away as he crossed his arms again. you saw him lean against your former side the bed, head tilted as he caught onto your lie.

“oh i’m sure.” he said.

you felt the familiar rage blossom in your chest. suddenly you felt regret, reaching behind you for the doorknob.

“this was a mistake.” you seethe.

before you can turn the doorknob, eunseok takes a step towards you. when you turn the doorknob he takes another step. he clears the space between you two, and continues coming closer until you have to look up at him. eunseok moves his hand to clasp over yours on the doorknob. the warmth of his hand coaxes you to let go of the doorknob, and he brings his other hand to hold yours. you can already feel the heat across your cheeks, and you can see the blush dust across eunseok’s face the longer he looks down at you.

you don’t know why eunseok humors you even though you’re no longer together. you don’t know why he takes his time teasing you. you came to him in the middle of the night in a tight short dress after a failed date. he could’ve taken you in the hallway or the couch in the living room, god knows you deserved it. but he was gentle with you, bringing his hand to brush underneath your chin to keep your head tilted up at him.

“you don’t know why you’re here?” eunseok asked again.

you silently shook your head, knowing he’d show you why. he looked at your lips, and eunseok pressed his leg between yours. the movement made your dress ride up. you remembered that eunseok bought you this dress when he let go of your hand to reach for the zipper. he still remembered that he had to hold the fabric straight to get the zipper to work, and he pulled it down in one smooth motion. you got up from the wall to aid him, and you didn’t protest when the dress became loose on your skin. you only continued to look up at eunseok, feeling your eyes become glassy as the fabric pooled to your feet.

“you still don’t know?” he asked quietly.

eunseok brought his fingers to run over the trim of your bra, letting out a sigh when you tilted your head back in approval. you didn’t have to answer eunseok for him to know your response. he only laughed, teasingly bending down past your lips to kiss your shoulder.

when eunseok moved to your neck you brought your hands to his shoulder. you kept him there, letting your legs bend slightly to rest some of your weight on his leg. he was strong underneath you, the flexing muscle in his thigh made you want to grind against him. before you could do anything else, eunseok worked his kisses up to your ear then completely pulled away.

“let’s go to the bed.” he said.

you complied immediately, making your way to your old side of the bed as eunseok walked around.

both of your stood next to the bed, staring at the other. you waited for his instruction, but eunseok stared at you waiting for your next move. it made you swallow your nerves, and you reached behind you to undo the clasp on your bra. eunseok watched you fully clothed on the other side, completely still as you moved to your underwear. eunseok watched you push your underwear past your knees, until you could step out of them.

as you brought your arms to cross against your chest, eunseok let you watch as he pulled his shirt over his head. you looked at his toned stomach, how he ran his hand down his body before getting to the waistband of his sweats. you moved from foot to foot, trying to not make it obvious how much of a mess you were already becoming. it felt like the first time again, both of you trying to remember what your bodies looked like now. you had stretch marks like tiger stripes now, and eunseok had grown into his body. you no longer felt like the young adult you were when you first met him as eunseok pulled down his sweats to reveal his white briefs. as he reached for the waistband he motioned to the bed, silently telling you to get on first.

you pressed your hands into the foam and crawled to eunseok’s side. you sat back on your legs, perched and ready to listen. eunseok grabbed your hand that was balled up at your sides, kissing your palm after spreading out your fingers. you wanted to press your hand into his toned stomach and travel down until you could squeeze his length over the fabric of his underwear, but you let eunseok kiss every single one of your knuckles as he kept burning eye contact with you. when he let your hand fall back to the bed he reached into the top drawer of the night stand. when your mind caught quickly on you shifted on your knees.

“i’m not seeing anyone.” you said quickly.

“what about your date?” eunseok asked.

you shook your head, hoping that eunseok wouldn’t make you say it out loud. the smug smile that blossomed across his face was enough of a response.

“so no condom?” he teased.

eunseok eyed you carefully as he put the foil packet back down on his dresser. he watched you shrug your shoulders and look away, focusing on fluffing his pillows. he sits back on his haunches as he watched you get comfortable laying on your side. it’s been too long since he’s seen you like this, naked and getting ready for him. seeing the line of your body settle on his sheets makes eunseok want to tell you how much he changed. how he’s not the same twenty-year old who broke your heart by hiding his feelings. he wants to tell you that he’s a responsible adult now, and that his therapist tells him every session he’s making real progress.

when you settle onto the mattress you turn to face him. eunseok notices how you fail to hold eye contact with him longer than a second before turning away. your hand that was rubbing up and down your body goes to fraying thread on the sheets, and your eyes dart away to focus on the wall behind eunseok.

“hurry before i change my mind.” you were anything but convincing. your words had no bite as you patiently waited for eunseok to fall into his place beside you. “you should be thanking me. god knows when’s the last time you had sex.” you said.

even if you tried to seem threatening, eunseok saw your body seize in anticipation when he shifted on the bed. he took his time, going to his back first to fully take off his underwear. he enjoyed seeing you trying to take quick peaks over your shoulder to look at his bare body and hearing your nails scratch the sheets to try and collect yourself.

eunseok put his hand on the side of your knee when he shifted his body again. he ran his hands up slowly, his touch light as a feather to try and make bumps erupt across your skin. eunseok scooted his body closer to yours, his arm that was between his body and the mattress fell into place underneath your neck.

the two of you went into your old routine, muscle memory of your past together in bed guided your movements. you both told yourselves your bodies were acting on their own accord. that was the excuse echoing around in both of your heads as you scooted your body back to meet eunseok’s and why he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder blade. you gasped from the feeling, and suddenly the familiarity between you two filled the room. the closeness of your bodies was nearly blinding, you put your hand over eunseok’s that had found it’s place on your ass.

eunseok foolishly thought that this position would protect him, that not being able to see your face would help him have emotionless sex with you. but feeling your fingers seamlessly intertwine with his made his heart pound against your back. each time he tried to slightly pull back you only followed him, chasing after the warmth of him against you. he thought fast to distract you before you could point it out, he reluctantly separated his hand from yours to lift your leg, making it come over his. the change made you lean forward to put your hand on the mattress to stabilize yourself. eunseok leaned forward, and wrapped his arm that was under you underneath your chest to bring you close.

“the last time i had sex?” when your leg was locked over eunseok’s he used his fingers to swipe at your folds. you preened your ass backwards, making a sound of embarrassment at how wet you were. “it was when i came over to help you with your tv, remember?” he whispered.

eunseok let the memories flood over you as both of your bodies shivered. it was months ago, you needed help putting together and setting up the brand new television you got for christmas. you were never much of the handyman, and eunseok wanted an excuse to come over to your new place. so while she was at daycare eunseok was invited over, and just like now one thing led to another until you were on top of eunseok. he remembers trying to kiss your knees that were bruised from being pressed to the ground and you told him to go away. he also remembers after the fact you used the excuse that you were lonely due to the holiday season. but now it was summer and you were moaning for him like you always used to. when eunseok pressed his lips to the side of your face you didn’t tell him to go away, you only turned your head to give him better access.

“you said you hated me then.” eunseok said.

eunseok pushed two fingers into your heat and a satisfied smile spread across his face when your lips parted. he sees you nod your head, trying to form a coherent sentence.

“i do.” you respond.

you can barely get through your sentence without your voice pitching upwards. eunseok feels you attempt to push your hips back to meet hie fingers.

“you still hate me?” eunseok slips in a third finger to try and change your mind. “after all these years?” he asks.

“i do.” you say, shaking your head.

eunseok talks your mixed signals as a sign he’s doing something right. maybe by the third time you come to him like this he will get you to say no, maybe even have you initiate the kiss first. he uses it as motivation to keep pumping his fingers into your heat, and bringing you closer by the hand that’s on your chest.

when you try wedging your hand between your bodies to find eunseok’s dick, he moves out of the way. he shakes his head in the crook of your neck. he imagines the look of frustration on your face, the one that’s seared into the back of his eyelids as he lifts your leg. you fall forward once again from the new angle and eunseok lets you.

“fuck me please, eunseok.” you whine into the sheets.

you use the rest of your strength to push your body back to its side and you moved eunseok’s hand down to your chest. he can feel your heart jumping in its cage as you continue whining for him. his chest swells when he feels your desperate hand reach down again to grab his dick. he lets you and looks down to guide his dick to your hand. when you hold him it’s his turn to whine. he forgot what it was like to be touched by you that he has half a mind to ask you to just jerk him off. maybe he’ll turn you around, just so he can see your eyes blow out with lust as he finishes. but just like always does he keeps his thoughts to himself and lets you decide what you want. when you pull his fingers out of your hole he leans forward, letting his hard dick press against your ass.

both of you are so desperate your movements become rushed. eunseok ruts his dick into your ass from the haste, and you clench your hand around his dick. you pump his length a few times, just wanting to hear the man behind you sigh contently trying to hold back his moans. you continue to do it, letting the slick sounds of his precum between your hands fill the room until his sighs turn to quiet whines.

“turn around.” eunseok kisses your shoulder, pressing his lips into your skin to muffle his words “look at me.” he begs.

you ignore him, even though you both know you can hear him. you both know that the position you’re in currently is too intimate for people who claim to hate eachother. you both know that eye contact is dangerous, that it would only bring back feelings you both put so much energy into denying. so eunseok lets you ignore him and plays off his pleads by lightly biting your skin. you moan from the pain that lights your body like a fire, and eunseok puts his hand over yours to guide his dick the rest of the way.

“ready?” eunseok asks.

eunseok says it just as quiet as his previous plead. when you nod and whimper out a yes he feels his heart drop. he knows it was an act of self preservation, but he wished to see your face. he had to settle for his imagination and your sounds when he pushed his tip past your entrance, pushing every inch inside you you until his hips kissed yours. you sucked him in and kept his dick in place, fitting around him like a glove. there was no better feeling in the world, nothing tasted better than the salt from your skin that stayed on eunseok’s lips. he put his hand on your ass to spread you out enough to draw his hips back. he heard you fist the sheets and he felt you grab his hand on your chest to steady yourself. he slid back in just as slow, cursing each time your walls seized around him.

it had been too long. eunseok was actively abandoning all of his instincts feeling you around him. he felt himself caring less and less about not wearing a condom the closer he got.

“i’m gonna cum if you keep clenching around me like that” he grunted into your shoulder.

eunseok moved his hand on your ass to press his hand deep into your lower stomach, causing you to push your hips further back. he swore he could feel himself inside of your stomach, and the sound that ripped from your throat made him believe you felt it too. the new angle let eunseok push his hips further into you. you could no longer hold your head upright as you let it fall into the pillows to muffle your sounds. even now you held back, trying to keep some shred of your dignity.

eunseok lifted his head to try and look down at you. he could see your eyes closed from the pleasure, and the thin layer of sweat that glistened across your face. the tiny beads and your supple skin caught in the moonlight. eunseok bent down to kiss your cheek, trying to entice you to turn your head again. for the second time, eunseok could tell you were ignoring him. he forgot what you were trying to protect yourself from as he felt your walls seize around him again. it was getting sporadic, and your breaths were turning into quick huffs. when your hand tightened over his eunseok used his leg to raise yours even more. his hand on your stomach found your clit quickly, rubbing circles that complimented his thrusting. you finally turned your head from the mattress, you even turned a little further to look eunseok in the eyes.

“i’m so close, seok.” you whispered.

eunseok saw you close your eyes and catch your bottom lip between your teeth, another telltale sign of you trying to focus. you dragged his hand that gripped your chest to your neck. you looked down at you trying so desperately to take the tenderness from this moment. if eunseok squeezed his hand around your neck like you wanted, it would be easy for you both to claim this was simply just a horny mistake, a borderline hate-fuck. he made that mistake the first time, hand around your neck as he told you how much he hated you. he looked into your eyes when he said it, trying to revel in the way your eyes flashed in pain between the moments of bliss. he didn’t mean it then but he definitely didn’t mean it now—like he said before he has changed.

so instead of pressing his fingers into the veins on the side of your neck he traveled up to your chin, turning your head so you were forced to look at him. you were shocked, eyes so wide and your face so close to his eunseok could see himself in the reflection of your pupils. he placed a kiss right on your lips, not pulling back until he felt your lips move against his. he sees himself in your eyes again, and he sees his spit glistening on your lips. he feels himself inside of you, and he feels your warmth cover his entire being.

“i think i was made for you.”

eunseok meant to say it quietly just for himself as a silent realization, but the way you nod makes him believe it to be true. eunseok feels you get your strength back as you push your hips backwards to meet his hard and deep thrusts.

“you still are.” you moaned.

he tells himself that you are just talking to fill the void of silence. eunseok also tells himself that you can’t bring yourself to ignore him for the third time this night when you’re looking him right in eyes. regardless, eunseok can also feel himself getting closer as you clench repeatedly around his twitching dick.

“oh my god.” you moan.

eunseok pulls your body closer when he feels you shudder against him. you start driving your hips back without rhythm, trying anything you can to keep the stimulation going. eunseok still looks down at you as you cum, and he smiles at the irony of you trying so hard to keep eye contact. you give into closing your eyes when he slips a finger into your mouth, and he can feel the vibration of your moans around his digit.

when you start getting weaker, and settling into eunseok’s hold he pulls his hand from your clit to pull out. when you open your eyes again they’re glassy. they’re no longer half lidded as you grab eunseok’s wrist, stopping him from pulling out.

both of you look down at your hand. you look almost as shocked as eunseok, like something came over you to stop him from pulling out. eunseok takes it in stride, pushing back into you with a force that has you moaning around his finger. you turns your head even further to face him. he kisses the apple of your cheek and then your lips, smiling against your pout.

“you want another baby?” eunseok moved down from your cheek to your jaw. “you really wouldn’t be able to get rid of me then.” he whispered once he made it to your ear.

before you could say anything back, eunseok latched onto the skin right below your ear, sucking and pressing his teeth in the area below your jaw. the stimulation made your lower half sink further down onto the mattress, until you were relying fully on eunseok’s strength to keep your body up. memories flood back to eunseok, but the way he still remembers how you sound and respond to everything makes him think he never forgot in the first place. both of your bodies move simultaneously, when he pulls away from your neck you tilt your head to give him access to the other side. you preen your neck towards him, whimpering quietly when he lingers above the spot.

“oh my god.” you start shaking and eunseok feels your nails dig into his skin. “too much.” you whimper.

eunseok turns your head back around to press let his face rest against yours. you still suck around his fingers, and he can feel you turn your head to kiss whatever parts of his face you can reach. you still clamp around him, your cum adds to the lewd sounds that fill the room.

“can i cum inside?” eunseok asks.

eunseok closes his eyes and focuses on everything about you. he hold back until he feels your head nod against his.

“please.” you bring your hand behind you to run through his hair. “i miss you so much” you whimper around his fingers.

“i miss you more.” eunseok whispers.

he doesn’t hold back anymore as he empties into you. he turns to the crook of your neck, sucking harshly at your skin to relieve even more of the tension. when his hips still you take the lead, plating your hand onto the mattress to give your hips more stability. eunseok grips your ass, kneading the flesh desperately to try and ground himself. he pulls away from your skin to whimper into your ear.

you two can no longer speak, only communicating through the hushed sounds of euphoria. eunseok brings both of his hands to wrap around you, bringing your body as close to his as possible. you can no longer push your hips back from the new angle and that’s exactly what eunseok wants. he forces you both to stay still, to feel all of it—the way his dick pulses inside of you as he cums deep inside of you. even when eunseok gives you all he has, you both stay in that position. you both settle deeper into the bed, catching your breath as your skin doesn’t break contact.

neither of you want to be the first to speak or to force the other one to come back to reality. so you two remain silent as eunseok pulls out. you don’t say a word when eunseok turns your body around to face him, or when he pulls the covers over your sweaty bodies. he returns the favor by saying nothing when your nestle into his chest and you guide his arm to wrap around your body.

#01zfan: eunseok #eunseok smut #riize smut

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 2 months

Text

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ

Summary: Despite a night of heat and blood spent with the na-Baron, reality emerges to remind you of the nature of your union with the Harkonnen heir.

It inspires hesitance and jealousy in you, but he's proving to be difficult to resist.

Warnings: 18+ content, MDI. AFAB, Jealous reader. Death threats as foreplay? (Sounds wilder than it is). Oral (m!receiving), throatf*cking, some mild degradation, pain kink (m and f), rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, blood, canon typical violence, death.

Notes: 23.6k words. Not proofread. Feyd has black cum, fully inspired of course by @valeskafics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎

An airy, bubbly sounds breaks through the dark, distorted fuzz. A soft heat prickles at your fingertips and rests down on your limbs with a soothing weight and fills your skull with a placid stuffing. It's peaceful. Guarded underneath a silky pressure that drapes over your body, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth that distantly reminds your sluggish mind of sunbathing underneath the golden cast of the Caladan sun. The tranquility of it all has sleep luring you close again, urging that you welcome it, but infuriatingly, you can sense consciousness beginning to nudge at the edges of your slumber. You're unable to repress the flare of irritation that courses through you, and in a scramble to figure out what's disturbed you, your mind sharpens to try and focus on your surroundings.

You're still too tired to bother opening your eyes, but one of your hands absentmindedly reaches out, slipping across something smooth and lightly chilled. A bed, a faraway thought quietly supplies. It's enough to have last night rushing and fliting across your eyes. Playing glimpses of writhing limbs and low sighs. The scent of him had transferred onto your skin during your time down in the bathhouse and you could smell it heavy on the sheets, crisp, raw and warm with cleansing oils; heady from the salt of sweat and sex.

The memories of last night threaten to pull you back under, tingling over your skin and rising over you like the glide of hands, mingling with the tempting swadle of sleep. That light, breathy chortle sounds out again, dancing across the air in a way that's horrendously human. It's then that your brain becomes alert to the divots weighed down into the plush support of the bed, encircling your body and shifting with moving, living weight. You jerk back from underneath the cover of your blankets, scrambling up to create distance between you and the strangers in your room and the sound of chiming, delighted laughter trails after you. It isn't until your spine nudges against the harsh chill of the headboard that you get a look at them. The intense flash of pure black eyes, the glint of grinning, obsidian teeth. The women perch along the edges of your bed, stretched and seated like lithe statues dressed in contoured, dark garb.

Even with your heart fluttering frantic and surprised within the cage of your chest, you feel no ill intent from them, just plain, genuine curiosity. Their heads are tilted as they watch you, calmly roving their blank gazes over you like you're some sort of strange creature splayed open on an operating table for study. But you're beginning to feel that initial sense of shock thaw, giving way to your own curiosity and even a shred of annoyance. Mostly for yourself for allowing several people to creep within your quarters while you were at your most vulnerable.

"Who are you?" You ask, allowing yourself to relax from against your tense position along the headboard. None of the three say a word yet, but the one to the left of you lets her grin stretch wider, and something feral passes through the expression. It's a violent gleam. Though it's difficult to tell if that violence is in regard to you, or if it just happens to be a part of her nature. But it's the one in the center, more demure in her features and her eyes much sharper, nearly sleepy in their hold, that speaks first.

"We just came to see you. " She all but coos, her voice close to a low, breathy whisper.

"We heard you were a pretty thing," says the other, marked with a solid, vertical stripe along her forehead. She dares to slink a little bit closer, stalking forward on her palms with the silky, calculated movements of a hunter.

Your body urges you to move out from her scope, to slip from the bed so that you would be able to create distance between you and the women. But this suddenly feels like some sort of test. A competition of wills. You rise without second thought, straightening your posture and pinning your gaze onto hers; unflinching, even when she comes close enough for you to feel the heat of her radiating across your skin. You don't allow yourself to so much as glance away from her, even as the dark slate of her eyes twinkle with a wild type of mirth. The other women creep closer as well like a pack of wild dogs sniffing out if a cornered animal might be wounded enough to become prey. It unnerves you, even though you can sense no weapons on their bodies, but agitation still bubbles and sears within your chest. Compulsively, you can feel the influence of the Voice thrumming on the tip of your tongue, itching at the back of your throat with the desire to be released. It would be easy to assert yourself, to command them to back away with an order that could not be resisted. But using the Voice would come with its own possible consequences this early on, and so with a great amount of self-restraint, you swallow it down.

Seemingly satisfied with what she has seen, she backs away from you and the others follow to perch along the far edges of the bed without removing their eyes from your form.

"We wanted to see our Master's newest pet, " the one on your left discloses softly, reaching forward to take a piece of your hair within the gentle grasp of her fingertips. She inspects it with a curious tilt of her chin, admiring the low glint of the dim light reflecting in the color.

The urge to bat her hand away from you is snuffed out as quickly as it had risen, catching onto her words with a startling quickness, zeroing in on the usage of "master." The term "pet" doesn't slip your mind either. Neither does the implication that you all apparently belong to the same entity. It's pathetic, but the revelation makes your heart stall for a moment too long, skipping a lengthy beat right within the cradle of your chest. The sense of fondness in you dies out like a smoldering ember draining of its warmth and heat until it's left cold and ashen, and only the sting of betrayal remains.

"The na-Baron," you supply. Though the remark is mostly just a thought spoken aloud. His title is suddenly like glass slipping from your mouth, sharp and unforgiving. They don't respond with words, but the unanimous sighs that leave them at the utterance of his designation are breathy and nearly euphoric, like merely the mention of him brought them close to pleasure. The sight of it made your skin crawl, out of disgust or jealously, you can't tell with the emotions so similar. But even without a verbal reply, their reactions are more than enough to provide a proper answer. These women are the na-Baron's concubines. You don't know why the realization floods your body with a charge of venom and scathing resentment. Their position as his pleasure slaves does nothing to your status as his fiancé - as his wife. It's completely normal for men in high positions of power to indulge in the services of permanent paramours. It doesn't pose a threat to you or your intended marriage with the na-Baron in the slightest. So it makes no sense that something acidic and biting coats your tongue, joined with the rise of an urge that threatens to be almost violent.

You trample down that inclination with a swiftness, burying it deep to pretend that it had never existed, even while the presence of the three of them sitting so near burns at you like an acid. It isn't fair to have this reaction towards these women. Women, who like you, are only obeying their duties (even if they happen to take satisfaction in it). It makes less sense because Lady Jessica, a concubine herself, had warned you of the possibility of the na-Baron taking on inferior wives. Hedonism is something that bleeds heavily, not just in Harkonnen society, but in men. This disclosure should bear no shock. It should not prompt jealousy or hurt in you, but it does. And in your internal conflict, your mind latches onto the possibility that he had taken to their comfort after your time in the bathhouse. That after his use of you, he used their bodies to bring him pleasure like you had meant nothing.

"Master is so harsh sometimes; he often breaks his pets," the one to your left divulges softy. She tilts her head like a curious feline, and he lips peel back in a jovial grin. "I do hope that he doesn't break you."

Once again, the urge to use the Voice weighs heavy in your mouth, searing like poison and fire, clawing against your chest and the hollow of your throat with a fervor. Your eyes sweep over the three of them, heavy with your intent while heat burns in your veins.

"Get out." The sharp cut of your voice carries through the dark void of the room with a sense of finality. But your tone isn't carried by the Voice. It's completely human and bare in your resolve. You'll give them the dignity of leaving on their own accord, if only this once.

They give you unruffled smiles in response, undisturbed by your command, but one by one they begin to slink themselves from the expanse of your bed to cross over to the door. They giggle amongst themselves as they go, crowded close to each other like a procession of gossips, murmuring lowly in their delight as they slip through the threshold. The door slips close with a pronounced, airy hiss before the space falls into a heavy silence that hangs over you like a threat. The urge to slip your eyes closed and fall into a deep slumber does not greet you again. It's hard to do something so vulnerable when it feels as though you're in a tomb. You aren't sure how long you remain like that for, tucked away on your bed with anger brewing in your gut. And the hours that tick by are torturously long, extended by the slow rotation of the planet, dragging the remainder of the night by in a slow glide. It makes you feel as though you might be going insane, losing touch with reality with every second longer in the shadows. But you aren't so sure if you want the dawn to come either, with it bearing the promise of a wedding.

The promises that he had made earlier, the saccharine pledges of his devotion have turned sour. Tainted. Gone bitter like the flavor of his polluted blood that had stained your lips earlier. But it's the self-disgust that hurts the most. You had let yourself be seduced so easily by pretty words and a handsome face. You had let yourself believe that you were the only one. That a man as indulgent as him would only have eyes for you.

You aren't truly sure what hour it is when a swarm of servants enter your chambers, sweeping through the dim dark of the room like gliding spirits from an ancient folktale. Gathering you from your bed like delicate phantoms - harbingers of ill will. But you allow them to do what they need with you. Like a prisoner trapped within your own body, you let them clean and pamper you, dousing your body with enticing oils and perfumes, anointing the soft skin over your womb with a dark paste in an old superstitious right meant to induce fertility, smearing the black across you with the glide of their fingers to leave four lines behind. It made your skin prickle and crawl at the prospect of it.

Each of them moved diligently, quietly. Not so much as whispering a word to you once. Their blank, pallid faces were all unknown to you, and their presence had made you wonder of where your own handmaidens had gone. What the Harkonnen may have done to them in your absence. Fear pinched your gut and sunk in it heavily like led. Deep down you know what happened to them. What terrible fate had befallen them the moment that you had allowed them to be escorted away from you. It nudged at the back of your mind like a cold, deathly hand. Unforgiving and harsh. It left you to be as still as a doll has the Harkonnen servants had guided you into the delicate, embroidered material of your wedding garment. A glorified death shroud. It disgusts you to look at it. The union of the Caladan saltwater pearls and the softly beaded volcanic rock that had been sewed into the pale, sweeping fabric made you sick. The symbolism is not lost on you. As heavy-handed as it is, meant to imply the bonding of your respective houses. But the sight of the blackened beads feels more like a stain on your dress than an enhancement. And when they had secured the embellished lace veil upon your head, draping it over your face, you had been thankful for the scarce bit of security it provided.

But you know now that the sheer cast it offers is not enough to save you. Suddenly, you feel as though you're the one standing in the midst of an arena. Whether you're the victor or the victim, you aren't sure. But hundreds of eyes stare at you like you're a spectacle. Socialites, distant relatives to the Harkonnen family, and members of Minor Houses alike are all gathered to gawk and witness. You aren't sure how many guests are here in total, but the number is overwhelming as they observe you; probing, searching, evaluating, the amount of them so great that the crowd nearly presses up against the distant, colossal walls of the ceremonial chamber. And you're certain that a Bene Gesserit Sister must be hidden here somewhere amongst the masses, intent to monitor your union to the na-Baron. It makes you feel judged; like you've been sliced open, and your organs have been laid bare. The sheer vastness of the hall, the sleek divots designed into the walls make you feel as though you've been sucked into the textured, inky gut of a titanic beast.

But even worse is the sight of a familiar person posted at the top of the vast platform, dressed in dark, traditional garb, silently waiting for you to begin your descent down the aisle like a sinister idol awaiting its sacrifice. It's nerve-wracking, and the urge to turn and flee rises up, strong and acidic. The low, gentle baritone of the ceremonial music projecting from the strange alien instruments does little to soothe you. You can practically feel the pulse of it reverberating across your sinew and bones, and it's as though the power of the music alone compels you forward. Dragging you towards your fate like you're being forced along by a leash around your throat. You have to squeeze your fingers together in an effort to anchor yourself, hoping that the gesture will not be too obvious.

You can feel the gentle tug of your servants' hands on the flowing skirt of your gown and veil, keeping them from becoming soiled along the obsidian tiles, following you like compliant dolls. Their presence burns into the back of your mind, searing you with guilt and self-loathing. They serve as a harsh reminder, a cold possible reality for you. Your handmaidens should be in their place, but they aren't. It burns at your gut, cruel and condemning, and doubled with the heavy weight of the na-Baron's fixed gaze, the pressure of it all threatens to make your knees buckle. His sharp eyes on you has nausea pooling in your gut, oily and thick, and it shocks you to think that just last night you had delighted underneath that stare. He had made you feel like you were something to be coveted; salvation incarnated in human form. But now you feel tricked. Soiled. And you're left to wonder if it had not been reverence at all, but possession. An over bloated sense of ownership and entitlement that you had foolishly mistook for desire and genuine affection.

It makes you want to lash out. At him. At yourself. The way that he looks at you now is so confusing. His expression is neutral, placid, nearly guarded. But you swear that you can see the hint of something flicker underneath the surface. Something that nearly bears resemblance to impatience. Like he was eagerly awaiting your arrival on equal ground. It has a glimmer of hope simmering in your chest and you're careful to snuff it out without even bothering to entertain it. It's a useless feeling here.

You try your best not to meet Feyd-Rautha's gaze as you near in your approach, training your vision straight ahead to study the lurking figure of the Minister in an effort to distract yourself; towering and bathed in dark robes with their face concealed by the smooth shroud of a sort of reflective face covering. But it backfires completely and the look of them only serves to put you even closer on edge. They seem like a haunting pillar of death. A foreboding psychopomp meant to usher the weak into the afterlife and bind them to the underworld. It seems you'll be one of those souls today.

The pedestal that the Minister stands before bears a matching set of rings, both dark and simple in their design, and you catch the subtle impressions of geometric patterns etched into the steel. But what truly garners your attention are the twin daggers that accompany them, and they only seem to solidify your intangible death. The wink of their smoky blades underneath the subdued lights glares out like a warning, beckoning you closer and commanding that you shy away all at once.

But you move forward, treading up the steps with a forced resolve. The servants depart from you once you have ascended, leaving you to face Feyd-Rautha alone as they disappear to the far points of the stage and vanish into the heavy shadows. The small hint of confidence that you've managed to gather wavers for a moment when you catch the baleful observation of the Baron in your peripheral vision. Unable to ignore him from his place along the far end of the platform. His cold eyes following your every motion like he's waiting for you to waver or slip; gaze intent like a starved creature hoping for its prey to make a mistake and rush directly into the path of its snapping jaws. Given no other options you have to stare forward and meet the attention of the na-Baron. You hate the way that your body flushes with a simmering heat when he looks at you, instinctively longing for the feel of him even though it's only felt his touch for one night.

It's pathetic the way that you pine for him like some sort of frail, naive girl, but it's difficult to hide away from your own emotions when something as simple as his stare pulls you and pins you down with dark weight and smoke. The gravity that he watches you with should concern you, cause you to recoil underneath it. It's all hunger and want glittering inside of them, projecting the hint of danger. But like a glutton for punishment, you feel a piece of yourself thrilled by the attention, even though you try to trample it down.

You nearly flinch when the sharp, booming voice of the Minister reverberates across the room, cutting and baritone with a clipped roll of the Harkonnen tongue. You swear you can see a damp flicker of amusement flit across Feyd-Rautha's expression in response, but it's gone as quickly as you had seen it. You're unable to focus on the subtle irritation that courses through you at his mirth, too overstimulated in your struggle to understand the Minister. But you draw a complete blank when you realize that it's the general language and not the battle dialect that you had been able to obtain back on Caladan with the slim amount filmbooks and old texts that were provided. It leaves you horrifyingly lost, and you can't figure out a single word that's been uttered thus far. It's like you've been caught inside a nightmare, surrounded by the attention of thousands that you don't recognize, left astray as words uttered in a language that you do not know is enunciated with a clipped finality that will seal your fate for a lifetime. Your heart flutters restlessly in your chest, striking heavily like it wishes to break free and beckon you into the sweet embrace of death.

It surprises you when the na-Baron moves closer, a subtle shift that most might not be able to notice but you can practically feel him draw nearer with the brush of his body heat dipping past your respective garments and gliding over your skin. It urges you to give him your concentration, fastening your focus onto him until the conformed chaos around you dims into a low thrum.

"I will guide you." He reassures you, voice firm and certain in its graveled edge. And you're glad for the verbal communication or else you might have grown nervous as he runs his fingertips across the slim hilt of a dagger before taking it in his grip. Your tongue is thick and heavy against the roof of your mouth when he lifts the blade, and your heartbeat pulses throughout the veins of your throat as you silently observe, transfixed when he deftly flips the weapon over on the edges of his fingertips to offer you the hilt. Something passes between you two as you gaze at each other; a request, the offer of permission, the desire for acceptance.

Hesitance quivers inside of you for just a moment, nearly strengthened by the panicked instinct to pick up your skirts and run. But instead, you find yourself reaching forward with hardly any more thought and taking the chilled grip of the blade into the clutch of your hand. The heft of it strikes you, the subtle ridges crafted into the handle threaten to dig into your palm but your grasp on it remains deceptively strong, almost as if your nerves aren't frayed and split from your anxieties. The craftsmanship of the weapon is unquestionably Harkonnen, designed with the elegant, streamline edges and a recurve style - a favorite amongst the house it seems. Despite being a ceremonial dagger, its weight is well balanced. Even between the grip and the blade, and the feel of it in your palm is familiar despite the differences in technique in comparison with Atreides weapons.

With the security of having it in your grasp, you nearly feel as though you might manage to survive the ritual, even if just barely. But the confidence in you wavers just slightly as you watch the na-Baron pick up the opposing dagger. It has the memory of his violence in the arena flashing in your mind. His skill with a blade, the precision with how he wields them. It would be so easy for him to drive the dagger forward and to sink it into your stomach, to gut you open with the flick of his wrist and bear your reddened belly for the masses. And as senseless as that train of thought is, it does have you tensing underneath the probing scrutiny of the gathered crowd. But you don't catch so much as a glimmer of that feral brutality in his eyes, the controlled edge of savagery that had dipped over his posture when he had sauntered and slaughtered within the confines of the colosseum. His expression is still controlled, dare you say, peaceful even.

"There will be pain." He says, and as terrifying as those words are, the tone with which they are spoken with is done without a hint of ire or sadism. It's not said to instill fear or frighten you; it's said to prepare you. To give you time to brace for what's to come.

The Minister's voice thunders throughout the room once more as their hands spread wide in a sweeping flourish, gesturing to you and the na-Baron in a welcoming, encouraging manner. It's then that Feyd-Rautha extends his empty left hand to you, upturned and splayed open for you to accept, and his gaze unwavering. "You have to cut; just deep enough for it to bleed. But only the palm is necessary." His explanation dips over you with the sting of chilled slivers, threatening to make you shudder. When you had seen the blades earlier, you entertained the idea of something of this nature, as violent as the Harkonnen seem to be with nearly every inch of their culture soaked in blood. You were just hoping that it wouldn't have made its way here as well. But it should have been expected that a ritual as serious as marriage - the joining of two souls - would require such a powerful, symbolic offering. There is truly no way around this. You have no other option but to honor the exchange, even though the thought of it has your stomach prickling and turning with dread.

It's shocking. Now that you're well and able to raise a knife to the na-Baron, you should find yourself pleased with the very notion to inflict pain on him, but you find yourself wavering instead. As though you're disturbed by the very idea of it, even though you had sunk your teeth into him just hours earlier and drew blood. But the air had been thick with excitement then, heady and sultry with the scent of salt and arousal, and the way that he had commanded you to had been too tempting to ignore. If you draw blood now, there will be no turning back for you. The pact will be sealed. Irreversible. Binding you both together by name. By house and flesh.

But now you're just being hopeful. Idiotic, even. You've always been promised to become Harkonnen by title. You've been promised to the na-Baron long before either of you have even been born; a meticulous web weaved by the Bene Gesserit. - forces far out of your control. Even if you turned heel now and ran, at best you would be captured and humiliated before being forced into a union with the na-Baron. At worst, you would permanently mar the potential of a reconciliation with both houses and tip them into another war. But wickedly, if you're being completely honest with yourself, you don't want to flee. The sting of betrayal and hurt is piercing in your chest, tight, restricting and threatening to claw at your lungs as you breathe, but you still have no desire to hide from your duties. From him.

And the need to claim him hangs over you like something violent and starving. The urge to stake your mark on him - a warning to others who may dare to look at him. Almost blindly you reach forward, slipping the hold of your hand underneath his, securing it in place as you lift the sharp edge of the dagger towards the delicate, exposed skin of his palm. Your eyes meet as you raise the blade, and it almost surprises you when you see nothing but eager resolve staring back at you, like he can't wait for you to cut into him. It has last night playing across your mind; the sensation of skin breaking underneath your teeth, the taste of him in your mouth, the thrum of his covetous groans trembling underneath your tongue. It's enough to drive the blade forward and you press the lethal point of it against his flesh until the weight of it presses it down and a dark liquid wells up to the surface, almost pitch black and glinting with a barely there burgundy hue.

You're unable to take your eyes away from him as you drag the blade along his skin, splitting it open underneath the glide of the sharpened steel. You swear you can see something near rapturous pass through his controlled expression as you slice his palm, and you hate the low simmer of heat the rolls throughout your body in response. It has you retracting the blade before you those smoldering feelings could light into something deeper, but that narrow wound must have been satisfactory enough because the na-Baron appears pleased with the look of it. You follow the subtle instruction he had implied with the nod of his head to return the dagger to its place on the pedestal. The scrap of the steel against the smooth stone rings out clearly across the ceremonial chambers, even with the strange music still thrumming in the background. But it's difficult to focus on all of that when Feyd lifts his arm over one of the wedding bands and balls his hand into a fist to force the flow of blood, sanctifying the jewelry with the drops of his blackened blood.

It's over sooner than you expect, and he lowers his arm once after only a few moments and shifts his attention on you expectantly for you to lift your own hand, and in some mindless sort of compulsion you find yourself presenting your open palm to him without hardly a trace of hesitance in your body.

His gaze is evaluating again. Heavy like he's waiting to see if you'll flinch as he secures your wrist in a light grip and raises the blade up towards your hand and it glints in a muted silver. But the urge to cower or escape doesn't greet you like you expect it to. You're calm. Content even. And there's some perverse little part of you that eagerly waits for the sharp edge to meet your flesh. He must notice the yearning glimmer in your eyes through the cover of your veil, because you see recognition flicker across his features, just as heavy and wanting. Like the prospect of you welcoming the bite of the blade pleases him, and in turn it has the hint of desire you had felt earlier back with a vengeance; greedy and starved.

He finally presses the edge of the dagger against the tender flesh of your palm, but you don't so much as flinch. Something prickling flutters inside of your stomach, but it's hard to tell if its nerves or a damning hint of excitement. Once again, your eyes have found each other, your focus securely fixed as he pins the sharpened end of the blade along your hand and drags it to slice. White-hot heat licks across your flesh, stinging as your skin gives and parts around the lethal steel with a rich red trailing in its wake. Your lips part in a short gasp - a weak attempt to center yourself around the flare of pain and surprise, but the steady, warm weight of his grip around your wrist serves to keep you concentrated. And with the dark hold of his stare on you it pulls every ounce of your attention onto him until the burning throb shooting across your palm fades into a weak sting. Relief rushes back over you like a breath of air when he lifts the weapon from your flesh, and you're entirely transfixed as he lifts the blade to his mouth and smears the bead of blood across the plush curve of his lips; the red a contrast between the stark shade of his skin. Only then does he place the dagger beside its twin. It strikes you that he hadn't asked you to take this step earlier while your own blade was still stained with drops of black, and it leaves you feeling lost, stuck in uncertainty and surprise until the realization quickly dawns on you that this may not even be an official part of the ritual. That he might have taken it upon himself to anoint his mouth with the red from your veins. It reminds you again of the way that his own had tasted on your tongue, thick and faintly acerbic. It's like he's trying to return the favor. To anoint himself in your blood as you had done with his.

The sight of him smeared with red has you transfixed, and it if it wasn't for the damp heat slipping down your palm you would have forgotten the next step entirely. You tear yourself from your daze with a ragged breath and turn your head to watch as you raise your arm above the pedestal to line your maimed flesh above the larger ring. It's a surprise to yourself when you don't hesitate to curl your fingers into a tight fist, clenching your palm to christen the band with a few generous drops of your blood. The distinction between the blackened steel and the rich crimson is nearly beautiful in a crude sort of way. Fitting for a Harkonnen wedding.

The na-Baron raises his wounded hand in the air, instantly drawing your attention to where he keeps it suspended before you; palm upturned once more as he passes you an expectant look, and his voice rumbles out in a gentle command. "Give me your hand. "

Hesitation nearly raises its head again, weighing down your limbs and begging that they remain still. But that other part of you acts without little contemplation, pulling your arm up in an offering. You watch silently with your breath trapped and stagnant in your lungs as he plucks up the ring smeared with his own blood up from its place on the pedestal; slick with black and glittering with the damp. The steel is chilled when he slips it around the width of your ring finger, but the fresh coat of the darkened liquid is still hot with the warmth of his body. It smears over your skin as he guides the wedding band until its snug along your knuckle, staining you with the vigorous liquid that had just flowed through his body. The pressure of it around you is so foreign. Strange. And your muddled mind can hardly comprehend that you're even wearing it at all.

It makes you feel as though you're acting on instinct alone when you shift to grab the remaining piece of jewelry from its place beside you. Taking it between unsteady fingertips. Your mouth is dry and hollow, making you hyperaware of the frantic pulse of your heartbeat fluttering within your chest. The intensity of the na-Baron's stare is stifling, like he could suffocate you with the weight of it alone. But you don't allow yourself to concentrate on the strength of his gaze. You look to his hand instead, lifted and patiently waiting. It's enough to give you the incentive to move forward, reaching out the slip the ring around the bare finger to mar it with a fresh coat of red.

It could be your imagination, but the music reverberating across the thick atmosphere seems to spike, pulsing and beating like the breath and heart of a living being. You can sense it underneath your feet, nearly becoming overwhelming with the pressure of the crowds' eyes boring into you eagerly. And when the Minister leans over towards you both, your soul feels as though it might evict itself from your body and leave its vessel behind. You force yourself remain firm and motionless, focusing on the comforting weight of the na-Baron's hand underneath your own, the soothing warmth radiating from it and seeping into your flesh. It's like a dream as you watch Feyd-Rutha - your husband, lace his fingers through yours, sealing you in a pact made from blood.

The Minister's voice rises high, hurtling close to some sort of finality in its climb and they sweep their arms into the air with another flourish. It's then that Feyd-Rautha steps even closer to you with a gaze that strips you bare and leaves you a little breathless; thrumming like a live wire as his presence pours over you like a simmering liquid. You have no desire to move away from him when he lifts his free hand to direct the cast of your veil from your face, gliding it across the crown of your head with the tug of his fingertips, exposing you to him and leaving you vulnerable. You can see the way that his vision roves over your face, marking each of your features like he's studying you, hunting for a shred of reluctance or fear. Everything else becomes muted, dull in comparison to the pale blue of his eyes and the pull of them draws you in. Causing the buzz of the music to dampen; the weight of the betrayal you've felt fading into an afterthought underneath the brush of his lips over yours.

Anticipation pulses in your veins as he angles his head when he draws near, nudging the edge of your jaw to keep you secure as his mouth presses against yours in a bruising kiss that tastes of blood; metallic and sharp. All of your attention seems to siphon down in this exact moment, settling into your skin to hone in on the press of his body against yours. It's embarrassing how easily you give into him once the taste of him is on your mouth, melting with the flavor of your blood. It should horrify you. Make you stumble away from him on weakened legs with terror in your gut, but the hint of his tongue brushing along your bottom lip only serves to pour something molten directly into your bloodstream, and you have to pointedly remind yourself that you're in public during your wedding no less. But Feyd seems to have no shame, or the desire to conform to public decency because the way that he licks into your mouth is anything but chaste.

It threatens to make your mind fall completely blank and you distantly register the climbing timbre of the Minister's voice as it strikes across the atmosphere with a firm sense of finality in a declaration. You're nearly certain that the masses have erupted into a thunderous, celebratory cry of your name and the na-Baron's, but it might as well as fall on deaf ears with how the light tug of teeth on your lips melts your brain into mush. So it's nearly jarring when he pulls away from you, breaking the kiss just as quickly as it had begun to turn and face the crowd with pride in his stance. In a sort of daze, you follow his lead with the impression of his lips still tingling on your mouth and the tumultuous chanting of the guests roaring in your ears. He raises your joined hands high in the air, brandishing them in a sign of triumph much like he had flaunted his gore-soaked blade in the arena, in a confident proclamation of your successful union.

But the rhythmic chorus of your name has mutated and shifted into a title that's jarring to hear:

na-Baroness.

The festive cries of your new title ring in your ears well after they have died out. It rattles within the recesses of your skull, burying deep as you presented yourself before the guests, accepting tokens of good will and gifts bestowed on you from Harkonnen aristocrats and nobles as blessings upon your marriage. Everything from lavish, exotic jewels to a pair of hunting dogs, all of which you had accepted with a smile on your face despite being horridly overwhelmed, crowded by strangers who had flocked near as though they were long time acquaintances. The masses attentions follow you well into dinner where you're held under both intrigue and scrutiny alike as you all satiated yourself with a banquet's worth of imported meats and fruits. You could feel the prickle of their eyes on you, roving over your flesh with the heat of indignation and outrage. You could see it clearly reflecting in many of their gazes even though they left their words unsaid. Atreides scum. That's what they desired to say.

Realistically, you had always suspected that you wouldn't be received by open arms with the entirety of the masses. Not with the centuries of bad blood and horror built between your respective houses, it was to be anticipated that the majority wouldn't be very receptive to your introduction to the Harkonnen name. Marriage will not be enough to unwrite all of the upheaval and carnage; all of the souls lost between both sides. Enemies, regardless of your new status and husband, are to be expected. But the raw, flaying weight behind their fleeting glances still manages to dig at you, burying underneath your skin like an irritating sliver of wood. It all serves as a deadly reminder as to how truly isolated you are here. Left adrift with no familiar faces to console you.

You try to distract yourself with the feast spread out in front of you, analyzing the abundance of off-world produce and rich meats like it's all the most fascinating thing that you've encountered. But you're hyperaware of the gentle chiming of glasses and the delicate scrape of silverware cutting across dark porcelain. Every sound and sensation seems to be amplified by the man stationed on the lower section of the dining hall, crowded alongside other wealthy guests as they enjoy the banquet. The distance between you is so vast that his pallid features aren't fully discernable, but you're still able to get a decent view of him from your place at the high table, and the intensity of his frigid stare is almost like a physical thing, slipping over your skin in a way that's grating.

You're just barely able to recognize him as a general among one of the Baron's military units. He had taken your hand earlier, kissed your knuckles in a show of respect. But you're unable to see even a hint of that acclaim now. He watches you in between the lulls of his conversations like he means to skin you alive, not even bothering to hide his bold contempt. It has caution unfurling inside of you, turning bitter and restless from the weight of his suspicious glances, and the sight of the steak knife that he utilizes in his hand does not ease your discomfort.

Truly your only sense of repose is the warmth projecting from the na-Baron as he sits at your side, but even then, the sensation of it is woefully dull. Dampened by the considerable amount of distance placed between your chairs. And even with that sense of betrayal still simmering lowly under the surface, you can't ignore the fact that you wish he was closer. But you're not afforded the luxury of openly showing your need for comfort. If you're going to survive these cold, brutal walls then you're going to have to keep your emotions and suspicions close to your chest.

But that doesn't mean that you can't allow yourself a distraction. Without little thought you reach for the goblet plentiful with a muted red spirit, careful not to use your injured hand as you take it by its delicate stem to lift the chalice to your lips, swallowing down a large gulp. A part of you had been bracing for a harsh burn, or the flavoring of something odd or exotic, but the taste that washes over your mouth is almost jarringly familiar. Saturating your tongue with the notes of something fruity, earthy and subtly sweet. The profile of it is unmistakable, and as soon as the flavor flows down your mouth it transports you back home. Placing you on rich, damp soil with rolling hills sweeping as far as they eye can see. Each one lined with rows of vineyards, fruitful with sweeping vines and plump, grapes that glitter in glints of silver and gold from the morning dew. For a moment you think that you could sob. Whether those be tears of joy or from the bittersweet sorrow of nostalgia, you aren't sure.

"I take it you like it."

The sound of Feyd-Rautha's throaty accented lilt breaks through your swarming thoughts, causing your head to swivel around to look at him. The expression that crosses your face is lost, if not a little incredulous as you observe him. He glances down at the chalice in your hand, sparing a slight nod with the implication. "I wasn't sure which one would please you more. You Atreides have an excessive variety of wine."

"You did this?" You ask, lips parting somewhat dumbly in your disbelief.

He doesn't answer you immediately. Instead, he looks off the table of guests at the bottom of the platform, eyes sweeping across them as though he's searching for something. "Our beverages can be potent for off-worlder's. I thought it'd be best to find something more agreeable for your soft palate." And there it is again. A subtle inflection in his voice that indicates that he might be trying to joke, but the neutral state of his face doesn't help discern if that theory is accurate or not. But it's difficult to stick and ponder about it for long with that dreadful hint of fondness creeping back in again. A smile threatens to lift at your mouth, and you find yourself struggling to ward off its influence as affection blooms inside of your chest like a sun's gentle warmth.

"Thank you," you say; nearly murmur in your soft awe. He does not respond verbally, with his lips already occupied by swallowing a gulp of his own drink, but he does spare you a nod. You eye his cup curiously, something playful rising up. The feeling is unexpected but not entirely unwelcome, and you find yourself leaning into it. "Is that one of your notorious beverages?" You don't wait for him to answer before you hold your unbandaged hand out in a silent request. "May I?"

He observes you like he's a little fascinated, and now you're certain that there's an amused glimmer burning in the dark of them. "Be my guest," he replies easily, and passes you the chalice. The liquid inside is dark, but the reflection of the dim lights above reveals faint undertones of amber in its hue. When you lift it up closer to your nose, no fragrance rises up to greet you. It's completely scentless, and it gives you no bases to prepare for what it may taste like. But 'potent' had been the word that the na-Baron had used, and it leaves you a little intimidated, but also entirely intrigued. Without much more thought, you nudge the chilled goblet against your lips and tilt it back to sample a generous sip. The first thing that strikes you is the heavy bitterness of it. It's nearly overwhelming on your tongue, full-bodied and acrid. And you're given hardly any time to adjust to it when the sharp bite of alcohol burns down your throat and settles in the pit of your stomach like something smoldering. You have to make the conscious effort to fight of the urge to wince, struggling to save face as Feyd watches you, but you're sure that he can see the influence of grimace tugging at your features.

" Is it too much for you, wife?" He asks, and his lips pull back just enough to show you the dark glint of his teeth.

The sound of the title leaving his mouth nearly makes your mind go blank. Of course, you realize that you're married now. The throbbing sting of the wound on your palm will not let you forget. But to hear it so freely acknowledged by his own accord is something else entirely. Truthfully, you aren't sure how to feel about it, if the delicate fluttering inside of your chest is out of nervousness or excitement. Once again, you're left confused by your own emotions. Torn between your internal conflicts as you struggle to come to terms with what you may desire, but the gravity of it all is too much to deal with, and almost desperately you cling onto the light taunt. Allowing it to rouse an impish competitive drive in you, and you're entirely unable to repress the smile on your face despite the dark, bitter taste still coating your tongue. "Not at all," you lie, leaning back in your seat. "In fact, I think I'll keep it for myself."

Something flickers in Feyd's gaze, and he suddenly leans into your space, stopping short just as you feel the heat of him waft over the swell of your cheeks. You expect to hear some sort of light goading or a sardonic jest, but when the low rasp of his voice sounds out, it's nothing of the sort. "You have eyes on you."

His words douse over you like a chill, even though the admittance isn't a revelation in the slightest. You can still feel the prickle of their judgement on your skin, searing with their hatred. From your peripheral vision you can still catch the way that the General still openly glares, clearly unrestrained in his loathing towards the Atreides' - and by proxy, you. But it strikes you more how the na-Baron candidly brings it to your attention, instead of ignoring it all together. That he would even bother or care enough. The way that he stares at you now is evaluating, like he's trying to figure out what thoughts may be surging through your head. How the admission might affect you. "I know," you answer, completely assured in your response. "It's fine. It's to be expected."

You see something pass through his eyes. It's dark and heavy, nearly cold but undiscernible and now you're the one struggling to perceive what kind of musings and notions he may be entertaining. It doesn't help that despite the concerning layer of resolve glittering in his stare, his overall expression remains decidedly placid. Something about it is terrifying. It makes him a blank slate. An impenetrable wall, and you can only try to guess what might be going on behind it. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that there's something vaguely chastising about his admiration of you, and you aren't sure how to feel about it. It has your hackles rising. The compulsion to defend yourself. But he's rising from his seat before you can utter so much as word. The sound of the legs skirting across the stone tiles cuts across the atmosphere in a hoarse groan, causing the active chatter to fall silent and everyone to swivel their attention onto the na-Baron like a pack of dogs focusing on a whistle.

The way that he moves is calm and practiced, and he hardly spares anyone so much as a glance as he picks up the steak knife situated alongside his plate. He takes it in his wounded hand without a single flinch before he moves around the around the high table, passing by the Baron without any acknowledgement and steadily saunters down the short row of steps to approach the banquet down below. You're lost to heed him from your place, practically glued to your seat with uncertainty and dread in your gut. You're unable to see his face from your position, but it's clear just who he has his concentration fixed on, and the blade of the knife glints like a warning.

But there's no possible way that Feyd-Ruatha truly means to kill anyone at this table. They all must be of importance to be seated here in the presence of the Baron, during his favorite nephews wedding no less. These people are part of alliances, important figures in Harkonnen society, indispensable in terms of noble and military connections. It leaves you as a collective to watch with a sense of awe and trepidation as Feyd approaches the table, forcing you to observe with batted breath in anticipation of what's to come. You dare to spare a cursory glance to the Baron in an attempt to gauge his reaction, but his own expression is just as steely and blank as his nephews. If he feels even an ounce of outrage or fury at the implication of the blade wielded in Feyd's hand, then he doesn't speak on it. If anything, he might possibly be intrigued.

The hush that's fallen over the guests is suffocating. Nearly everything that the na-Baron does can be likened to observing a great cataclysm - seeing fire and ash bleeding over the earth and searing the soil black. He's lethal and magnetizing all at once, splitting your consciousness into two separate directions. While morality screams at you to look away, fascination forces you to bear witness.

The General has to lean his body back to properly look upon Feyd as he nears him, and the ragged wrinkles in his face only deepen as he watches with a confused furrow fixed between his naked brows. You can see the older man's lips part in the beginnings of a question but not so much as a low breath gets to pass through them before Feyd's arm shoots out, barely a traceable blur as he grabs ahold of the General's skull to expose the vulnerable stretch of his throat. In that exact, fleeting moment you feel your heart skip a beat and ice turns your veins frigid and solid. You hardly track the movement of the blade. You see the glint of it, quick and silver, and then it's almost as if the wound simply materializes across the stretch of the General's neck, blossoming like a dark line before blackened blood flows from it in heavy streams.

Wet, harsh gurgles tear from his mouth as his chest rises and falls in heaving, choppy gasps in a failing effort to pull in oxygen. You could see the light die out from his eyes. Snuffed and dimmed like a weak flame on an old wick. All of the guests are left to stare in a state of shock as the General's body shudders in a final, seizing death rattle and his spine gives out. His head lolls and the rest of his body relents to the weight, rolling forward from its place on his chair and the front of his skull meets the harsh stone tabletop with a sickening, pronounced crack, rattling the silverware and glasses within the vicinity.

You fear that you might float away from your body, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely centered is the chilled sensation of the chalice in still held in your grip, the support of your seat underneath you. The death had been delivered so causally that it was difficult to register it. It plays behind your eyelids like a twisted dream, and the sound of the General's feeble, strained gasps echoing across the chamber drives your horror in deeper. It's gruesome how swiftly and carelessly he had been dispatched. Not even his rank amongst the Harkonnen military was enough to save his neck from the na-Baron's ire. You've seen Feyd kill before. His prowess in the arena, and the blood that he had skillfully shed. But this is entirely different. This had been someone important, with a voice and power within the Harkonnen military and still he was practically given a public execution because he had managed to gain the irritation of the na-Baron.

"Would anyone else like to pass glances at my wife?" Feyd inquires, much too stoic for someone who has just taken a life. And the analyzing stare that he sweeps over the guests table is just as cutting as the blade that he grips. "You should only feel so fortunate to look at her."

They all keep their heads lowered, eyes wide and fixed on the table in an effort not to meet his gaze; like he's an animal that might lunge if they do. A guard dog at the ready to tear flesh and break bone. But perhaps that's what truly concerns you. Even loyal dogs can have a tendency to bite. Static and cold flushes through you at his words, and you're absolutely flooded with a barrage of emotions; most of which you struggle to grapple with and recognize. They all pass too quickly. Rushing in a frantic pass before you can understand the textures and sway of them, but you're able to catch onto weak glimmers of them, conflicting responses of both a burning appreciation and an acerbic type of caution. It leaves you confused on which side to take. Which emotion you should give in to. You've heard of passion like this before. The consuming nature of it. The way that it can eviscerate the objects of its desire, ravage them until there is nothing but useless scraps left.

"Look at your na-Baroness," Feyd-Rutha commands suddenly. His voice is soft, but the stillness behind it offers no leeway for rebellion. "Ask for her forgiveness."

The order leaves you breathless and frozen even while it's not intended for you. The gravity offhandedly enforced behind it, the subtle edge of his voice giving no other option but to comply. You feel like a ghost as the socialites and nobles situated around the long table tear their eyes from the banquet. They're all reluctant in their movements, some rigid out of fear and others from outrage. Regardless, the weight of their eyes all move to you, fixing onto your form, shinning with the hint of unshed tears - tears of rage and terror alike. And like a collection of puppets their mouths open simultaneously, heads tilted in a show of contrition as multiple pleas spill from their many mouths, distorted and layered with their voices. You are only able to catch snippets of each one. But every plea is shaky and desperate in their humble whispers of mercy. Fearful like they expect for you to dismiss them and usher them to their deaths. The way that they look at you is too much. It sears at your skin and threatens to make your lungs burst within the safety of your chest, but you force yourself to hold their attention. Not allowing yourself the reprieve of looking away.

"You're all forgiven," you answer. The words are like sandpaper as they exit your mouth, scratching along your throat to tear out a gasp. The relief that comes over them is visible. Their shoulders relaxing from their tension, and they allow themselves to remove their focus from you. But even while you weren't the soul with your life on the line, the reprieve that they feel does not pass onto you; you're still wound up tight and breathless.

"It seems my nephew is already quite taken with you," the Baron muses aloud. It bade you turn your head to look at him from over the space that divides you, leaving you vulnerable to his gaze now that your husband has vacated his seat. His leer is cold and saturated with a sadistic mirth, making your muscles tense underneath his scrutiny in a brace for what might come from his mouth. "Tread lightly with Feyd. His attentions are a fickle thing, and I would hate to see you fall once the fire burns out."

But the pitiless smile on the Baron's lips is anything but worried or compassionate, and the pale, cold flash of his teeth glitters dully like a snarl. One of a ruthless sort of hope; counting the days in the anticipation of your supposed undoing. The image of it bleaches itself along the back of your mind, burning and heavy throughout the remainder of the feast, which had turned tense and awkward in the wake of the General's death. You hardly recall leaving the dining hall. Your brain had been spun tightly in a sort of haze, induced by the metallic scent of blood that had firmly wedged a place for itself into your nose. You do your best to combat the recent memories of it, still fresh and raw like the wound that's been sliced into your palm but the impression of it is too recent to ignore.

You hardly realize ever leaving the dining hall. It's as though you've blinked and materialized within the confines of a dim, unfamiliar chamber. The suddenness of it all is jarring and unforgiving. And the weight of your duty tonight hangs down on you like relentless weight. The responsibility to consummate, and to hopefully conceive an heir. It's all so heavy and bitter, searing at your tongue. And the muffled, strong blasts of the celebratory fireworks outside can practically be felt along your fingertips, reverberating alongside your racing heart. But it's the weight of the na-Baron's warmth pressing along your back that keeps you from floating away, grounding and soothing even while you stare at the lethal menagerie of blades that are mounted on the western wall. Trophies, a closer inspection reveals. Mementos taken to mark felled enemies no doubt. And there are so many. Daggers and swords. Knives taken from Sardaukar soldiers and Fremen warriors. Even a Crysknife, crafted from the fang of a great sandworm. That one in particular, you had marveled at from its place mounted high on the obsidian wall. It must be longer than your forearm, and nearly just as thick, shinning in ombre shades of tan and cinnamon. The colors of sweeping dunes. You could hardly imagine how massive a beast must be to hold a tooth of such a size within its maw, what great calamities it could invoke with the simple opening of its jaw.

But what truly catches your eyes is the glint of a familiar weapon. The dark ridges designed into the grip, the sleek, sharp edges of the blade. An Atreides dagger. The sight of it alone is enough to halt the rush of breath into your lungs, and one cursory glance along the wall has you counting at least seven more like it. The sight of them alone threaten to make you sick, stomach rolling with nausea as you traced your eyes over every single one, and your palms begin to sweat with the realization that these were only the ones that he had chosen to keep. The ones that he deems worthy enough to display. It has more of that pungent sense of betrayal welling up inside of you, rooting in deep and longing to still your heart. They serve as more deadly reminders of the perilous nature of your relationship with the na-Baron. That it's founded on death and rivalry.

But the gentle glide of his hands along your waist doesn't feel like rivalry. It's venerating; worshipful. It makes you long to lean into the supporting expanse of his chest while your principles tell you to rip yourself away from him.

"They died with honor." His voice breaks you from your transfixed survey with the pronounced sharpness of lightning striking across the earth. A chill douses over your skin when he chooses to step away from you, making you feel hauntingly bare and exposed in his absence. You have to turn your head to track him as he silently steps around you, nearly blinding into the shadows, lurking within the darkened corner of the room, and your body falls motionless when you find him staring at you with the locked practice of a predator. Already your body is confused, split between shying away from him and longing to step closer. It has you fixed firmly in place, wedged between a dreadful limbo with reason and instinct telling you two very different things, and you aren't sure which one to obey. But the silver glimmer of your soldiers' blades presented in your peripheral vision shriek at you to be disgusted. To remain resolute in your reservations and to keep away from him.

"Is that why you keep them?" You queried, even though a part of you insists that you to be silent. It's dangerous - stupid asking questions if you aren't fully prepared for the answer. You swallow the saliva that has pooled in the back of your throat from your nervousness, trying to center yourself around the outrage that burns within your chest like a white, righteous fire. His dark eyes search over you curiously, glittering like an animals would from the pale, nebulous lights casted from the distant corners of the ceiling.

"A warriors death deserves to be remembered. In the blood. The blade." His response is unexpected. You were bracing for something callous and detached. And perhaps, to an extent it is a bit disconnected. But not out of ignorance. It comes from a place of respect, as twisted, and perhaps sadistic as it is. Like he believes he's doing them a service by displaying their weapons, keeping the memory of their deaths alive and immortalized. You aren't sure what to do with his reasoning. You know that he can see you wavering, but instead of backing away from you he draws closer, shifting forward with a calculated saunter in his shoulders. "Does it make you fear me again?"

It makes you freeze still. Such a simple question but it has your mind falling flat and silent. The world around the both of you is quiet until all you could hear is the steady thrum of your blood rushing in your ears. Truthfully, you don't know how to respond. If you even want to. You're conflicted within the safety of your own mind, the only place that you should be free to flee to in your distress. But now you find no safety, find no reprieve or salvation in your thoughts. They're fractured down the middle, frayed between the pull of your emotions. Precariously dangling between what you want and what you stand for, and which ever one you choose may break you apart and ravage you from the inside out.

"I'm not sure," you answer. And as soon as it spills from your lips it leaves you hopeless and adrift.

He doesn't seem to be angered or affected by the revelation. His face is placid, undisturbed by even the insinuation of a single thought or reaction. It would be less unsettling if he simply lashed out or yelled. That at least, would give you some kind of footing to know what might be going on inside his head, but he remains uncomfortably silent, depriving you of a single glimpse. He nods his head, such a minute gesture that's hardly more than a tilt of his chin, and his vision flits down to the corner of the room for a moment, less than a second but it still offers you a small instance of respite before the dark of his eyes pins themselves back onto you. He seems to be considering something. What you aren't sure, but it sets you on edge as he begins to walk towards you, eating up the space that divides you with decided footsteps.

When he stops, there's only a few scant inches between you and him, and the weight of his presence nearly suffocates you, but you're unable to look away. Captivated by his gravity like a helpless, damned planet caught within the relentless, devouring field of a black hole. And in that precise moment, you entertain the thought that maybe this is where he expresses his anger or annoyance. But he remains unstirred, relaxed, controlled. It makes you nervous when he shifts even closer into your space and leans near enough that you could feel his warmth roll over you. And like a traitor your body thrums underneath the subtle heat, eager to bask in his presence and soak in the feel of him. But you hold yourself back.

The way that he regards you is intense. Heavy and stripping in its curiosity. But the desire held in it is still smoldering and thick, undisturbed by your unsure admittance. And that's truly what disturbs you. The unshaken fervor of his loyalty. The passion for you that he seems to feel despite having known you for such little time. It's concerning. Deeply troubling. You've seen lust and zealousness like this in others, and intensity always proves to turn volatile and die out in its vigor until cold indifference takes the place of fire and want. And maybe that is the root of all your anxiety and reluctance. The fear that this might just be the influence of a passing fancy. The high of something new. That once it passes and the wounds on your palms heal and mend into thin scars that the na-Baron might toss you away in the favor of his concubines. That you'll be another forgotten trophy pinned upon his wall. A brood mare dressed in ivory and pearls with the purpose of extending his bloodline and nothing more; the golden womb meant to birth his heir. It would be such a humiliating, gutting thing to discover that his loyalty was only ever fleeting. Purely driven by his desire and urges, and in the absence of his lust, his apparent reverence for you might give way and shift into a knife pointed at the tender stretch of your throat.

You know that the na-Baron has a sense of honor. But the laws for his personal brand of morality are uncertain. You aren't sure where his infatuation with you stems from. If it's truly pure (or as pure as it can be in terms of how he experiences emotions) in its adoration or if it only grows from a place of ownership; the promise that you've belonged to him since long before your - or even his conception. So it's difficult to know where his loyalty truly lies with you. The breadth of it and how deeply it may truly run. If it really is as unshakable and certain as it seems. Long before even being sent to Giedi Prime you had been warned that he had taken his own mother's life. The reasoning behind the matricide was undisclosed to you, but it hangs over you like a venomous cloud. It makes you reluctant to give into that depraved sort of temptation. If he was willing to strike his own mother down, what would keep him from snuffing out your last breath once your purpose is fulfilled?

You pivot to fully face him as a small rush of resolve flickers through you. It's dull and hesitant, but it's enough to inspire a challenge in you. You can tell that he notices the shift, whether it openly shows on your face or if he's just become well adept at reading you in your short time together, you aren't certain, but you see the intrigue light up in his appraising stare. It's still an effort to nudge the words from your throat, and you're thankful that you voice doesn't shake when you speak. "You told me last night that you would bring me the heads of a thousand men if it pleases me. What about three women?"

It shocks you to hear it and the question nearly burns on its way out, but you don't have time to dwell on it. You need answers, and the way that surprise and what might be a horrific reflection of delight flickers across his expression is a good enough hint as to what type of twisted thoughts are cavorting around in his head.

"You've met my darlings," he observes openly. You loathe the nasty streak of jealousy that cuts through you, but the muted sense of wonder in his voice is telling. He had no idea that his concubines had even visited you at all. He doesn't seem to be angered by the revelation. Neither by fact that they had taken it upon themselves to sneak into your quarters in the middle of the night, or that you had asked if he would be willing to take their lives. You aren't sure how to feel about it. Perplexed, perhaps. You'd figure that someone who refers to his concubines as his darlings would be at least a little protective over them. The smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips is frustrating. The urge to slap someone has never been so strong before. "Do they make you jealous, wife?"

"Of course not," you scoff. It sounds like a lie, even to you. And it feels like one as well. Heavy and loose on your tongue; rolling off of it like foreign words.

He looks unconvinced but makes no move to deny you. Instead, he tilts his head in a curious gesture, roving the dark glimmer of his eyes over you like he's searching for something. A weakness in your armor.

"Is that truly what you desire?" He asks, and his bare brows raise to further perpetuate his inquiry. You don't answer verbally. You keep your mouth fixed shut, letting your silence do the talking while you remain unwavering in your stare. The lazy amusement that permeates from him prods at your growing annoyance and restlessness. "Shall I bring you their heads or their hearts?"

His response makes every part of you lock still. Your mind falls blank and the blood pumping through your vein's halts in its flow before a torrent of emotions bursts through you like a chaotic deluge. In your mad, jumbled bewilderment you rove your vision over him, searching for the faintest suggestion that it may have been a joke or a lie. But the amusement that he had displayed earlier is gone. Replaced by a confidence and tranquility that should be unsettling. It's sickening, the satisfaction that surges across your chest at his easy compliance. A disgusting contentment, all because he would be willing to slay the women that he's probably garnered for years with just a simple command from you.

"You would truly kill them for me?" Confusion is bare on your face as you regard him. "How can I trust you if you'll slaughter those who have been loyal to you for so long? Would you do the same to me? " You nod your head in the direction of the blades mounted on the wall, glinting and lethal like deadly omens. " Will you cut me down like my fellow Atreides once I've fulfilled my use?"

Now he's the one who looks mystified. If not a little irritated, and the suggestion of a snarl on his lips reveals as much. "Are you toying with me?"

The raw confusion in his voice makes you freeze. When he draws closer to you the oxygen in your lungs seems to vanish; the mere weight of his presence wafting over you siphons the air from your body. It's striking how offended he seems. Like the very notion of your doubt is a transgression against him. It nearly makes you feel guilty for your mistrust, but you grab ahold of your resolve before it can flutter from your grasp. "I just need to make sure that we have a proper understanding of each other," you explain honestly, voice soft and open. Your chest heaves from the effort of breathing, drawing in the scent of the perfumed fragrances on his skin; subtle notes of leather and the traces of something crisp and musky. You want nothing more than to tilt into him. To sprawl in him and transfer his scent onto your own body.

You're nearly enthralled as he moves even closer, like he's been caught within the same trance that's begun to sink over you. It makes you feel like you've been pulled into a private, hushed pocket of time, and for a moment you think that he might kiss you. His lips brush over you faintly. Just enough for the soft pout of them to whisper of your own, teasing and light.

"Pick a blade."

The low glide of his breath over your mouth distracts you, and for a second you don't even register what he's said. It isn't until he steps back from you that the daze lifts from your mind, allowing lucidity to seep back into your stupor. Your confusion must be clearly etched on your face, and the expectant way that he watches you nearly makes you feel stupid. But by some small fortune, you just barely manage to latch onto enough context to collect what he's implying. It's with great reluctance that you pull your eyes from his to cast your sight along the wall, tracing along the various weapons that embellish it with a growing sense of foreboding and intrigue alike. You assume that you might have misheard him, and it has you passing hasty glance back in his direction. But the direct look that you receive in response affirms that the instruction had been true. Dread rises up with the thought that he may mean to fight you. To challenge you to combat as some odd means to rectify whatever uncertainty has fallen between you. That presumption loses its footing when he doesn't even so much as lean in the direction of the wall to retrieve a weapon.

He's completely still as he observes you. Unmoving like a predator waiting for its prey to flinch. Staring at you with the same intensity that he had in the arena; honing in on his opponents with a casual but precise ferocity. It makes you wonder if he means to lunge at you as soon as you step forward. And that warped half of you craves to find out. It has you moving in the direction of the wall, observing him closely as you do. He's doesn't move, though his focus on you doesn't waver or pause; it trails after you dutifully. But there's an almost starved quality to the way he beholds you. Like he's anticipating the moment that your fingertips brush over your chosen blade.

You aren't sure what causes the shift. Perhaps it's heavy, eager way that he's watching you, or maybe it's the demented mixture of alarm and hunger twisting in your gut, but the cold tension in the atmosphere melts into something simmering and dark. The air is still thick and heavy around you. Only it's for an entirely different reason now, and the dull chill of fear in your vein's dips low in your gut where it distorts into a questionable, smoldering heat. You do your best to steer yourself from the temptation thrumming inside of you, desperate to exact some kind of clarity back onto yourself but it's frustratingly difficult to ignore the haze that threatens to intoxicate you. And the dark, sinister quality of his gaze doesn't help you in your endeavor to maintain control of the situation, and more embarrassingly, yourself.

You use your peripheral vision entirely to choose your weapon; far too enraptured by the na-Baron's unwavering gaze as you reach up to smooth your fingertips over the handle. So many different emotions flicker in his eyes, each one just as consuming as the last. It makes you feel so defenseless and unguarded, but paradoxically, the restrained hunger in his gaze also sets you alight with a confidence that you've rarely felt before. Without second thought you pluck the dagger from its place along the wall, relishing in the familiar weight of the grip in your hand; the union of lightly textured steel and smoothed wood. It's the same kind of weapon that you've wielded a thousand times. Only in practice, but the familiarity of it offers you a sense of security. Lethal almost, even though you're sure that if Feyd truly dares you to a fight you might not make it out of the exchange alive.

Though you still can't feel so much as an inkling of a threat coming from him. He's entirely devoid of malicious intent, even while he stares you down with all the controlled ferocity of a wolf. You can still see a challenge glimmering in his eyes, goading you to do something. What you aren't sure, but the implication of it nudges at you like a buried instinct rising to the surface for the first time. You let it guide you towards him, even while your pulse hums in your throat, wild with the near frantic rhythm of your heart. It's unnerving how fixed his gaze is on you, locked onto your form as you approach him like you might be the only other being left alive and he can't wait to have you pinned between his teeth.

But you're the one with the blade.

And as false and dangerous as that sense of security is, you allow it to press your feet forward until you're standing directly in front of him. Close enough that if you reached your hand out you could touch him; feel the warmth of him underneath your palm. But even with the protection of holding a blade, you still don't have the strength to slip your fingertips over him. The resolve that you've just hardly managed to build might crumble and wash away if you do, leaving you vulnerable and susceptible to whatever roguish, sinister alure he might use against you. But then he makes the move for you, firmly grasping your wrist in a tight grip.

That challenging glimmer is strongly burning in his eyes like he's waiting to see you flinch back or to try and tear your arm from his clutch. And when you make no effort to, a smirk lifts at the corners of his lips like he's pleased or amused. Or both. It's smug and arrogant, and it has annoyance flaring inside of you, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as he guides the knife to his chest and hitches the point of the blade there like he means for you to drive it into him; past the protection of bone and muscle to pierce his heart.

It has your body falling stock-still as every ounce of your concentration narrows down to a fine point to train on him, the deadly glint of the weapon and lethal ardor in his eyes. You watch his mouth parting open, listening intently to the low rasp that nearly purrs from his chest. "What will you do, Atreides? Will you seek retribution for your fallen brethren? Strike me down before I can bleed the life from your body?"

But the last remark doesn't sound like a direct threat. It's said with a tone that's entirely too sardonic. Like he means to mock you for your concerns and anxieties. Like you're foolish for having reservations about your union. About him. The sound of his taunting is enough to have scorn prickling at your fingertips and face, burning in the pit of your stomach like boiling water. Almost blindly you press the blade forward, digging the sharpness of it into the barrier of the thick leather of his vest. You expect him to stop the drive of your arm. To seize it tight to halt the force of it, but he makes absolutely no moves to. Not even when the fatal tip of the knife breaks past the material of his garb, no doubt splitting skin underneath its edge. But his hold on you doesn't flinch or wince out in pain. You see a hint of euphoria pass through his eyes again. The same elation that you had spotted when you had cut his palm open at the alter; the pleasure that had burned in him when he commanded you to sink your teeth into his flesh last night.

Like just the faintest traces of pain and the very thought of you piercing his body with a blade is nudging him towards the emergence of some sort of high. It's disgusting how something so simple can mutate the heat in your body from righteous anger to a treacherous kind of ardor. The sane half of you loathes how easily he can shift the indignation and reluctance inside if you and direct it into lust with so little effort. It's shameful. Revolting even. But the way that he looks at you when he bears his flesh to you is nearly debilitating. There's always a kind of wonder in his gaze. It's starved, greedy and formidable, but there's also a kind of open vulnerability to it. It makes you just as gluttonous and wanting, and it's difficult to see past that as much as you should.

All you want now is to see that hungry glint smoldering in his eyes again. It's dangerous, the push and pull of power that you feel when he's underneath your fingertips, searching for the sting of your teeth with bated breath. Almost mindlessly, you seek out more of his want and it has you dragging the point of the blade upward. He watches you with an open curiosity, but the grip he still has on your wrist doesn't strengthen to impede the path you've set with the knife. He allows it. The anticipation emanating from the both of you is electric and smoky, like the aftermath of a lightning strike that leaves the earth hot and glowing with embers and warm smoke.

It's suffocating; devouring the stubborn scraps of your reluctance until it's little more than an afterthought. Weak, shadowy phantoms in the deep, recesses of your mind that bend and fade underneath the weight of your desire for him. It guides you to drag the point of the knife up until it slips past the edge of his clothing and meets skin, dragging along the slope of his throat. His eyes visibly cloud over when he feels the scrape of it along his flesh; half lidded and longing when you firmly fix the point of it along the edge of his chin. Applying enough pressure for a divot to form around the press of the blade.

You still can't fully comprehend that he would allow you to place him such an unguarded position. It should annoy you that he doesn't fully view you as a threat. But then it strikes you that he might. He might see you as a danger, a risk to his life and still he bears his throat to you. Even with his features schooled and betraying nothing, you can see the eagerness in his eyes clearly; gluttonous and fervid. You've toed close enough to him to see the gorgeous blue shade of them. Pale and delicate despite the cunning and control always present in them, but now they're tinged with lust. It has you angling you face towards his, fueled and nearly drunk on a rise of confidence to teasingly glide your lips along the cut of his jaw. It's difficult to make out his expression from being so close, but you can practically feel the tension wafting from him.

"I could," you finally answer. You voice is hardly more than a whisper, murmuring lowly across his skin to tease. "But that would be mercy. I should keep you alive. Choke the life from you slowly." The threat should be spat out with venom, and hatred, but it's spoken too lightly for that. Delivered with the same care as a sweet confession or a proclamation of affection. Your chest brushes along his with your inhale, pulling in the scent of him to pool heavy in your lungs. Dangerously, it makes your head nearly cloud over, but you manage to keep ahold of your sense of control just enough to drag your lips over his. Hinting at what could be a kiss. But instead of pressing them against his, you press the edge of the blade deeper into the tender skin beneath his jaw and you're rewarded with an eager, almost wanton spark in his eyes. "Would you let me?"

"If it pleases you," he answers calmly. But something passes through his expression. It's evaluating, curious, but something amused blends with it once he finds what he's searching for. "But would that truly please you, Atreides?"

It all seems to strike you at once. Each word knocking through you like a nail being beaten in by a hammer. It's not the admittance alone that surprises you. It's the resolution behind it. The lack of hesitation. The submission a complete opposite of how he had been last night; the attention he had commanded when he ordered that you beg for him. But this was said so easily. As though it were a simple fact. A truth that he was revealing. It has the walls that you've meticulously built up throughout the years, cultivated by rivalry and shared hate, fracturing down the center and threatening to crumble from the fissures and cracks. As an Atreides it should shame you. How compliant you have become under the influence of your enemy. Not only a Harkonnen, but the heir to the Baron title and Giedi Prime. That should be more than enough to strengthen your reservations, but it seems to be slipping from you by the second.

But it's his question that truly rings through you, rattling throughout your brain and searing at your subconscious; would it truly please you, Atreides?

It should please you. The prospect of driving a blade into his chest and carving out his life should fill you with retribution. It should be a balm on the wounds left behind from your shared ancestors' strife. The rivalry, the slaughter, the assassinations plotted throughout the years. The open confidence - the arrogance he holds that you won't strike him down has something molten and venomous burning in your veins. You can see it in his face, flickering in his eyes like a healthy fire. He doesn't think that you have nerve to kill him. Even more damning is that he's right. The blade in your hands feels burning and acidic against your palm, itching like a rash from the mere thought of raising it against him with the intent to kill. It's completely ridiculous how you can't even stand the possibility of harming him. A man you've only just met. A man that's committed countless atrocities - taken lives all in the name of his House's hellish thirst for power. He's slaughtered in your name as well. Four souls have already been taken under the banner of your union and it's only been two days.

But the realization rattles through you violently and sets your teeth on edge. You don't want to kill him. You can't. The betrayal of it tastes like vinegar and ash. The urge in you to lift the blade against him settles into little more than an afterthought. The ghost of it is only a soft impression against your muscles, even while the hatred that's been instilled in you since a child lurks within the recesses of your mind, trying desperately to win out against the twisted sense of affection that lives and breathes within the cradle of your chest. All the while his gaze scans over you, flickering over the conflicting emotions that must show on your face; openly revealing your internal struggles.

You hate how much you admire them. The pale shade of his eyes. A soft, light blue. Much too delicate for someone so violent and callous. Sometimes it hurts to look at them. Each time you do it tears a part of you away and dumps you on the grounds of a familiar planet, where the sea meets the rocky shores in frothing, bubbling waves. The ocean stretches forever there, shifting and fluctuating underneath the influence of the air and the moon. A large expanse of rolling, changing blue; perfuming the air with salt and brine; stretching deep across the planet's face until the cerulean water's expand beyond the suns reach and bleed into a dark void. But that sense of familiarity runs so much further than that. Physically, you've only just met the na-Baron. But there's a piece of you, something buried and cardinal that's known him forever. Your psyche - a fragment of your soul or mind has always been aware of him. It's visited him at night while your conscious slept, catching glimpses of a shocking brutality and cunning. It's bridged lightyears together to admire the smoky caress of his voice, to feel the pale ripple of his muscles underneath your hands. You've seen flashes of his violence in your mind before. The silver wink of his blade slicing through the flesh of his enemies and the trace of obsidian snarl stretched across his face. You had never shied away from him in your dreams, and that treacherous half of you begs that you don't shy away from him now and it has you parting your lips to form a question:

"Will you kneel for me?"

It's almost like time halts in this moment, punctuated by the constant thunderous blasts of the otherworldly fireworks outside; thrumming along your bones and sinking deep with from the consuming way the Feyd evaluates you. He makes you feel as though you've been laid bare and found wanting. Reduced down to your most basic components: nerves, flesh, and soul. It has your body singing like you've been lit on fire and strung up for examination. But even that isn't right. It's too intimate, the way that he looks at you. Like you're both an ancient deity incarnated and an enemy that he must overcome and strike down in a splatter of violence. It's familiar and vulnerable. Covetous and scathing. You can taste it on your tongue. Metallic like the blood that you had spilled earlier in your union, musky like the flavor of his sweat. You want more of it.

Still it shocks you when he bends his knees and lowers himself to the floor without daring to tear his eyes away from yours; gazing upon you with an intensity that seems to settle bone deep and melt in with the marrow. He's entirely calm and collected, but he watches you like he's awaiting an instruction. Like you could order him to wage a war in your name and he'd enact it out with the dedication of solider, of an acolyte. It makes you feel empowered, bold and yet entirely too weak; naked. You struggle to stomach the equal rushes of strength and vulnerability that it inspires in you. You aren't sure if you want to quail away from it or if you want to fully bask in it.

So the next move you make is completely mindless, done out of some sort of instinct rather than deliberately made. You let the grip around the dagger grow weak as you begin to lower yourself, descending until your knees press against the harsh chill of the floor from the underneath the cover of your delicate skirt. You think you catch the suggestion of uncertainty pass through his stare as you settle in front of him, but it's gone before you can fully notice it, vanishing entirely when you lean close enough to him to feel the tip of his nose ghost along yours. It's like treason to yourself when you sit the blade down alongside the both of you, allowing it settle on the floor on neutral ground. The steel chimes softly when it meets the stone, and you can practically hear the sharpness of it.

It's close enough to him that he could easily reach out and take it into his own dexterous hand. He could drive it into your body before you could even manage to blink. But his attention hasn't so much as flinched from its place on you. The captivated, fervent way he regards you gives you the incentive to move shift even closer, filling out the narrow gap that separates your bodies. You fully release the blade then, dragging your fingertips across the hilt one last time as you lean into him. Just enough that your lips caress his while your eyes meet his, staring into that consuming, starved shade of blue. But you don't find the urge to hide from it. The urge to bare yourself to it rises up high; needy and certain.

"Let us be equals then," you propose, and your voice is soft yet stable in your hope.

The hint of a smile might perk at the corners of his mouth, and you can see amusement flicker in his scrutiny of you. But you're unable to catch even a shred of scorn or repulsion. The mirth he expresses is genuine and blends into a curiosity that makes him look deceptively sweet, even with the vulpine darkness that always lurks within the corners of his eyes.

"Equals." It sounds like both a strong agreement and a dawning realization coming from him. Like he's sounding out a word that's never been said before. Now the hint of delight that you had earlier truly shows across his face, baring his blackened teeth from his sharp smile. "Does this mean that I'll go without the pleasure of having your knife to my throat?"

That sentimental burst of devotion and joy blooms throughout your chest, candid and clement in its warmth, nearly nudging out a small puff of laughter from your lungs. It sizzles underneath your skin like a low electrical current, fueling you with equal parts excitement and longing and the urge to kiss him tingles across your lips, urging you to press forward to taste him. But you don't give into the desire yet. Instead you remain fixed in place, but you allow yourself to slip your hands along his shoulders, savoring the stability of his warmth and strength under your palms.

"I'll consider it. If you ask me nicely." The lighthearted tease comes out easily enough, like you're both old lovers, breathing in each other's air like it's where it belongs. Untainted from the brutality of the universe and the separate world's that raised you; unaffected by the hatred that you should feel for each other.

Now he's the one that leans in closer and the impression of his presence hums over your skin, stuffing your head full of cotton and fuzz that's saturated with the scent of him, all fresh musk and resin. It nearly makes you miss the light, metallic drag of a blade scraping across the floor. You catch the shine of it in your peripheral vison, and the subtle thrum of concern that it invokes in you is punctuated by the heavy, relentless ring of the strange fireworks outside. But he doesn't make any moves to stab you or turn the weapon against your skin in an effort to mar you. He holds it like he means for you to take it, flipping it in his fingers in a way that's reminiscent of when he had offered you the ceremonial blade at the altar. You can see the request in his eyes, unwavering and wanting.

"This is me asking," he answers.

His request is hardly "nice." It isn't embellished with a plea, or soft in its desire. Like everything he does, it's spoken with an air of certainty and security. It makes you want to taunt him. To refuse him all together and demand that he asks you properly, but the command doesn't rise to the tip of your tongue. It stays stuck inside your chest, losing its vigor until it dissipates into nothing, replaced by the need to just feel him. It has you reaching out for the blade, and your fingertips brush against the rigid shape of his wedding ring when you do. It's heated from the warmth of him, and as farfetched as it is, some part of you entertains the idea of it burning into your skin and leaving a visible mark behind. Something more noticeable than the stinging cut along your palm; the cut that would heal and fade into a faint sliver across your skin. You want it to be obvious. A clear declaration of your union, like the gnarly laceration you had cut into his shoulder with just the weight of your teeth.

The reminder of his wound nudges at you, and the need to see it claws at the back of your mind with hungry, desperate talons. You're like a woman possessed when you lift the Atreides dagger to his stomach, and instead of driving into his gut like you would an enemy, you only nudge the tip of it between the lapels of his leather vest and into the material of the dark garb underneath. It nearly shocks you how easily it slices through the layers of his attire, parting the fabric around its lethal edge like heated butter to reveal the defined contours of his body underneath.

You don't miss the lust the burns in his eyes when the sharp rip of tearing cloth sounds across the heavy atmosphere, when he no doubt feels the sharp sting of the blade dragging over his skin. The weapon leaves a delicate trail of red, raised flesh in its wake, a gorgeous contrast to the near white shade of his complexion. The sight of it douses hot liquid over your body, settling between your thighs and murmuring against your fingertips. But the sensation of it is only amplified when the blade rises up and over his chest and he tips his head back to allow it to cut through the collar of his garb that's secure against his throat. The remaining strip of fabric gives underneath the dagger with a pronounced pop. The subtle snap of the last pieces of thread giving from the weight of your hand has you drawing in a deep breath, but it does little to ground you with the downright ravenous way that he's staring at you. Like he wants to take you apart piece by piece and eat you down to the bone.

It's nearly horrendous how badly you want him to do just that. To take you into his mouth and lap at you with tongue and teeth until your body is writhing in a twist of agony and ecstasy. But the need to see the mark - your mark gives you enough strength to repress that urge. It guides your free hand upward to grip ahold of his shredded attire to lift it back. And there it is again, the sickening sense of desire and satisfaction when you see the torn cut of your teeth in his skin, tender and rosy around the edges, clearly marking the junction of his shoulder. You feel the need to chastise him for the lack of a bandage, but something tells you that it'll fall on deaf ears. The unbothered look you get in response to your berating glare is confirmation enough.

You glide your thumb near it, not close enough to irritate the damage, but enough to inspect the wound. It doesn't seem to be infected, just a little red from the recent injury and that's enough to give you some kind of comfort. Satisfaction builds inside of you, and it's quickly joined by the burn of something possessive and starved; entranced by the deep mark left by your teeth; a permanent signature in his flesh. When you brush your fingertips along the blunt, angry impression again, it's completely unintentional. An apology is already bubbling up to your throat but the way that Feyd nearly shudders beneath your hand causes the words to disappear - snuffed out and dead. It was so light that you wouldn't have caught the full body thrum that wracked across his muscle and skin if you hadn't been so transfixed on him.

You can see it in his eyes, somehow bright and dark all at once, smoldering and zealous in his lust, and it reminds you of how he basks in the sting and ache of pain. Like a glutton you seek out his pleasure, and even with reasoning and reluctance looming in the back of your mind, you find yourself bearing pressure down on the wound with the pad of your thumb. The look of it, red and raw against his skin, the way that he leans into your touch even though the weight of it is setting his nerves on fire makes you feel as though you've been dipped into a flammable liquid and coming alight by sparks and embers. It's a reminder that he's yours. Wholly, completely. It doesn't matter who may look upon his body, sleek and flawless without a single cut or scar - all except for the ones that have been made by you. If anyone was to gaze at him, they'd know that you had been the one to touch him and leave your mark.

In that moment you decide that he needs more, and the violent, craving look that he gives you tells you that he wants the same. It has you dropping the dagger, leaving it to clatter noisily against the floor as you clamor onto his lap, gathering up your skirt to aid in your ascent. You just barely feel the weight of his hands raising to grip onto your waist in a hold that's going to leave your flesh tender and sensitive, but you welcome the possibility of it. Like an animal you sweep downward to press your lips against his throat, showing your teeth to the graze and nip them along the sensitive skin there, fueled by the desperation to leave bursts of purple and red behind.

He tilts his jaw back and tears his clothing free from his shoulders to offer more of himself to you, and like something starved and uninhibited you sweep your hands over the bare expanse of his chest and ribs, even when the cut underneath your bandaged palm throbs with traces of a white heat. But it's of little concern to you now. A faded afterthought underneath the lust and wild ardor that clouds over the room like a plume of smoke. You can taste him against your tongue, the subtle salt of his skin and the herbal, earthy notes of the oils that must have placed in his bath before the wedding ceremony. He's already hard underneath you, confined by the material of his pants but it does nothing to hide or impede the length of him. Heavy and firm against the space between your legs, smearing the wetness that's dampened the inside of your thighs and nudging against your clit in a way that nearly has you moaning against his skin.

But a ragged gasp is ripped from your lungs regardless, pulled from you when a chill rushed over your back and the harsh rip of fabric tearing echoes across the cavernous walls of the room. Your fogged over brain just barely manages to register that he's taken ahold of the blade again and has slit the back of your dress open from the tailbone and up to the collar, exposing your body to the tepid air. You hardly get time to adjust to it before he's shoving you from his lap, tugging the scraps of fabric free from your body as you fall like it's presence on your body offends him.

The frigid press of the floor underneath you is jarring, and it leaves you a little muddled and lost while you stare up at the tenebrous expanse of the ceiling. Left disoriented and exposed with the cover of your dress gone to show off the rise and fall of your heaving breasts. And then wandering, determined hands sweep down your hips to guide the tattered pools of fabric down your legs. You just barely have the articulation to help him in pulling the ruined dress from your body, but he manages just fine on his own. It tears your shoes off in his near wild scramble to get you naked, ripping them from their places as he guides the fabric around the heels of your feet before tossing it somewhere in the distance.

And then he's rushing over you like a creature from an old fable, like a monster that comes in the night to seek out foolish maidens, securing a place for himself between the welcoming cradle of your thighs. Looming over you with his hands posted on either side of your head, keeping you secured and trapped within the confines of his body. His eyes are glittering again, flickering underneath the erratic glimpses of light that slip in through the narrow widows, projected by the fireworks that shriek and rupture across the dark sky. It makes him look feral and otherworldly, like the beings depicted in old religions, a dark spirit or a demon sent to torment and tempt you specifically. To tip you into the throes of your basest wants and desires.

"So eager to claim me, little Atreides," he murmurs, leaning close enough for you to feel the hint of his mouth against yours. One of his hands lifts from its place on the floor to coast along the length of your leg. Sweeping fire and ice across your skin with the heat of his bandaged palm and the subtle warmth of his wedding ring when it grips into the crook of your knee. He guides it upward to cinch it over the back of his waist, locking you against him. The pressure of his body pins you, keeping you secured in your spot on the floor as his eyes flicker along your face. Once you're held in place, unable to move, having no desire to, does the hand on your leg leave. But it isn't free from you for long. Before you can even realize it, the press of it is firm and wrapped around your throat, nearly suffocating in its warmth and weight, but you delight in the sensation of it regardless. It threatens to make your head go fuzzy and light, but his grip doesn't tighten enough to fully nudge you to that point. It keeps you stuck between the edge, dangling and wanting while that molten desire settles at the base of your spine. "So have you made your decision?"

The question leaves you confused, and slow-moving nature of your thoughts - saturated and bogged down like they've been dipped in melted sugar and wax, does absolutely nothing to aid you. That dark type of amusement flickers across his expression, but whatever intent you have to scold him evaporates from you like scalding water and vapors when he places a kiss to your lips, snapping the tender flesh between the rows of his teeth harshly enough for iron to blossom across your tongue, drinking down the breathy moan that leaves you.

"Head," he intones softly, dipping his voice into a low rasp. He licks at the shape of your mouth, no doubt scooping the taste of your blood onto his palate before he slinks downward to drag his nose along your chest in a teasing glide. You feel the whisper of his voice over your skin before you hear it, sweeping dangerously close to the swell of your left breast, hauntingly close to where you wish he would take into his mouth. "Heart."

He hovers there like he's listening to the wild pulse of the organ thrumming underneath your flesh and bone, relishing in the near frantic sound of it. His tone leaves his query open-ended, but even in your daze you're finally able to catch onto his line of questioning and it sweeps you entirely off guard. It left him so casually that the surprise of it could have made you freeze still if not for the restless drag of his lips across your skin, humming and pleasant against you. They settle along your stomach, nipping and mouthing at the delicate flesh there like he might bite through you and smear his face with red, but the damp glide of his tongue is too soft. Like he's praising you with his mouth. And then that raw, accented lilt rumbles out again. "Perhaps a kidney."

And with that he slips lower, giving you hardly any time to come to terms with the promise of his words; the bloody, gore-soaked request he desires you to make, the three lives that he wants you to strike down with the will of his hand. But the worry and concern in you falls into the foreground, blurring at the edges while your desire and lust continues to rage on and cloud your head with a perfumed fog. When the brush of his nose traces downward, settling just underneath the plush of your abdomen every thought nearly falls flat and quiet, almost knocking your mind into an empty void.

"Or maybe . . . You still need help deciding." He drags the sharp edges of his teeth against the tender expanse of your inner thigh, dangerously close to the sore mark he had left there with his teeth last night, making your nerves spark and the heat between your legs throb. Your hips try to roll in an involuntary search for pleasure but the heavy grip he has on your body keeps you secure and stuck in place, helplessly pinned to the cool tiles. It nearly has a whine bubbling up from the depths of your throat, but when you glance downward to glare at him the expression on his face has you swallowing it down. He looks far too smug from his place between your thighs, with the plush of his lips stretched into smile and a mischievous sort of glint in his eyes. It has a prickle of irritation growing in your chest. The urge to have him underneath you again rises up strong, to have him stare up at you with that frayed sense of self-restraint and hunger. You want to feel him tremble and take him apart with your tongue like he had done to you.

You hardly think before you move. In a blink you're rolling yourself upward, and with the momentum your positions are flipped in a quick blur. The only thing to ground you is the steady weight and warmth of Feyd pinned underneath your hips and the shape of his throat held underneath the grip of your good hand. You can feel the steady pulse and rush of his blood against your skin, rich with the flow passing through his jugular vein. But even with his life centered within the palm of your hand he's as calm as can be, practically lounging along the floor with his arms sprawled on either side of him and an expression of steady contentment on his face.

"I can make that decision perfectly fine on my own," you assure softly. When you dare to flex your fingers along the sides of his throat his eyelids droop low again, nearly giving him a dazed, intoxicated look. It's the same one he had given you when you had pinned the dagger against his throat, threatening to slice but never truly willing. It's enough to send a thrill through you. The fact that you have someone, notorious for their violence and cunning, complacent and amenable from something as simple as your touch. You think that you could get drunk off of power like this. Fueled by the heat of his skin seeping into your thighs and the pale weight of his stare, equally devoted and gauging. Like he's trying to assess if you're a deity worth his worship, if you're willing to accept the tokens he offers in the form of bloodied heads and stolen organs. But you have your own evaluating to do.

It has you leaning downward, squeezing the length of his throat as you do, and you're certain that you catch the mild thrum of a pleased groan scattering across your palm and fingertips. It has a smile nudging at your lips as you look at him. "Will you let me have you?"

"I'm yours to take," he answers promptly, voice soft within its gravely cradle. It's spoken like a vow, a desire, a need. And you need him just as badly.

Without anymore prompting you slink downward to shift between his legs. A part of you mourns the loss of his throat underneath your hand, but those thoughts easily drift to the distant corners of your mind once you're settled in front of his hips. Your attention shamelessly locks on the bulge straining against the confines of his trousers, and you can feel saliva pool in your mouth at the sight of it. As eager as you had been last night, even with all of your desire and want, your inexperience had left you astray in certain aspects. Led you to uncharted territory by your lust, but this was something that you could do and do well. And the longing to see him unwind and quiver underneath your tongue is more than enough incentive to have you unfastening the fixtures of his pants. You work to get the lacings undone as deftly as possible, but even with your determination the leather strips threaten to slip from your shaky fingertips. You're certain that the low, amused huff that he lets out is in response to your uncoordinated eagerness, but he makes no verbal remarks. The only assistance he offers you is when he lifts his hips up just enough to aid you in your effort to tug his pants down from the slope of his hips and ass.

When he springs free from his pants, you can't help but to stare. You had seen him last night, but that had been well after the tryst in the bath, and you had only felt the full length of him when his lower half had been submerged in the inky water. His size had been apparent, even then. But seeing him now, uninhibited by the steaming black liquid of the bathhouse, reveals how daunting his size is. Admittedly, he isn't the largest you've seen or even handled, but that doesn't make it any less intimidating. Though it's still difficult to focus on the uncertainty prickling at you when the urge to take him in your mouth hangs over you and sinks in deep.

The amused glimmer in his eyes is back with a vengeance, burning and dark as he admires you from your place between his thighs. And as much as you'd like to berate him for it, you're completely entranced when his hand slips down the rippled planes of his body. The black band around his wedding finger glints lowly, attracting your attention to it while his fingers enclose around the thick girth of his cock. His chest rises in a deep, controlled breath when he drags his fist over himself, probably relishing in the rough texture of the dark bandages dressed around his hand as it glides along the sensitive skin. He's probably enjoying the sting that the weight of it brings to the slice across his palm too.

He props himself on a single elbow so that he's able to easily watch himself. To watch you as well. You can practically feel his eyes on you while he idly works his fist over his cock in slow, teasing strokes. But it seems like he's taunting you rather than himself. Delighting in the way that you're transfixed on him, like a dog salivating over a bone. When he strokes his hand up his length, twisting his hand in the motion, you watch with frozen lungs as a small rivulet of precum pours from the head of his cock, just as dark as his blood.

Like a heathen, your mouth waters at the sight of it and temptation begs for you to move forward. You can see the open invitation in his eyes, silently encouraging you to take him. And like a slave to your desires, you do. Without any thought, you tilt yourself forward and part your lips to sweep your tongue over the length of him. A contented hum rises from your throat when you catch the veins of his cock, when the taste of him spreads along your mouth; subtle salt and the musk of something earthy. A part of you had feared that he might taste odd or even bad considering the strange coloration, but it's hardly different than any other man you had been with. It might even be considered good in a way that's decidedly organic. It has you stretching your jaw open to slip the crown into your mouth, desperate to feel the weight of him and you hardly give yourself time to adjust before you fill yourself with even more of him. The weight of him nudges along the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate you around his girth, but it doesn't make you panic. It only serves to stuff your skull with a delicious fuzz until all you can feel, and taste is him.

Your saliva is already coated along his cock. It's messy and debauched but it only has a thrum of excitement rushing down your spine in an electrical current and settling over your clit like a smoldering heat. You moan around him, and you blindly reach up to slip your good hand around the girth of him, impatiently nudging his own out of the way in favor of doing it yourself. You're quick to pick up the rhythm he had set for himself, matching it to the motion of your mouth and the glide of your tongue while he rolls his hips to welcome the wet heat.

It's almost absentminded when you glide your other hand along his hip, briefly delighting in the feel of it underneath your palm before you curl your fingers inward to harshly dig your nails into the smooth flesh. You're sure that it's rough enough to leave marks behind. Maybe even enough to break skin and make him bleed, but the way that he throbs in your mouth tells you that he likes it plenty. His hips jerk harshly at the sensation of your nails cutting into him like talons, and the sudden presence of his hand pressing down on the crown of your head nearly makes you gag. Tears threaten to pour past your waterline at the rough thrust, but you force yourself to open your eyes, desperate to witness him even while you blink back the blurred hindrance of tears. And you aren't disappointed.

He looks like a painting. A work of art. The pale shade of his skin is nearly bright against the darkness of the room, and the dim lighting casts faint shadows across the planes of his body, pronouncing the edges of his physique. Magnifying the twitches that seize across his abdomen, making the defined muscles their flex and contract; the curve of his Adam's apple, amplified by the way that his head is tipped back from pleasure; the plush shape of his lips which are parted to release low intakes of air. But your favorite might be the blotches of violet and crimson marked along the column of his neck, branded there by your lips; the angry, permanent impression of your teeth, rosy and red along the junction of his shoulder that claims him as yours.

He had been unblemished before you had touched him. The pale slate of his skin had been unmarred and smooth despite being such a violent fighter - proof of how untouchable he is within the ring or battlefield. Free from a single scar or bruise. But now everywhere you look there's evidence of your presence on his skin; skin that he's eagerly offered to you. To have him so willing and wanting makes you feel as though you've tamed some sort of demigod and imprinted your name on his soul. The thought alone has you moaning around him, twisting your wrist around the length of him as you encircle your lips around the flared head of his cock, drinking down the precum that flows from it in a steady pour. It's almost whorish, the way that it has you clenching around nothing, and your body thrums in a burning, unsatisfied heat from being left dreadfully empty.

But all of that fades into the background, the ache of the cold tiles against your knees, the sting of the irritated cut along your palm, the uncomfortable stretch of your jaw around his girth. It's all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The pain is more than worth it when those low, graveled groans huff from his chest, getting forced out of him by the tight restriction of his ribs each time he drives his cock into the back of your throat, threatening to choke you on your own tears and trapped gasps. You have to concentrate to breath out of your nose, reminding yourself to draw in tight breaths in between his mean strokes. His fingers squeeze at the back of your skull, gripping onto your hair while he drives himself into you deeply enough for your nose to press into the smooth skin of his groin with each thrust.

It should make you angry or hurt to be used this way, like a doll whose only purpose is his pleasure. But there isn't an ounce of scorn or disgust in your body, only want and bliss. Lust smolders within the cradle of your hips, searing deep at the base of your spine while arousal smears down your thighs in a debauched display of ardor. It's a fight to find a sense of coherence through the haze that's ravaged your mind, but you manage to find a shred of it just long enough to will your eyes to open, blinking through the tears. Something molten and smoky douses over you when you lock you gaze with his, meeting the fervent, wild glint in his stare from your place between his legs. It rips a frayed moan from the depths of your burning lungs, pulling even more oxygen from your body and it has you going lightheaded, your skull airy and empty apart from the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into it.

Something passes through his gaze then, and his lips twist up in a way that's animalistic. If it's a nasty smile or a snarl, you aren't sure, but the sadistic amusement in his eyes is telling enough of his mood. "You're quite talented with your tongue. I never would have expected my wife to be such a whore," he remarks cruelly and now you're certain that it's a rueful grin on his face. You do your best to glare up at him from your place on the floor, though you refuse to remove your mouth from him long enough to offer a scathing remark of your own, far too drunk on the weight of him pressing against your throat to let up. But then he's the one shifting, sitting himself up on his haunches to tug you of off him by the grasp on your hair.

Your lips slip from him with a depraved pop, smearing saliva and cum across your mouth as the delicious weight of his girth slips free from your tongue. Even while your body relishes in the blissful pulls of oxygen filling up your deprived lungs, you can't help but to mourn the loss of cock pressing down into your throat, and the downright pathetic whine that leaves you expresses as much. The light brush of embarrassment prickles at you when a mocking, patronizing coo hums from his chest as he guides you to shift between his legs, ushering you up on your knees so that he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Your lashes flutter when the wet drag of his tongue runs along the tender skin there, nipping and sucking with his teeth. "It doesn't matter. You're mine now."

That's the only warning you get before he's shoving you back onto the rigid chill of the floor and filling you up with a single stroke, forcing the sore walls of your cunt to stretch and give around his girth. It punches out the little bit of air that you had managed to gulp down out of you completely, and your jaw drops open in a strangled cry. It splits your brain down the middle, melting you into a puddle while your body seems to rupture between the equal divide of pain and pleasure. You had taken him just last night, but the experience had left you aching and sore. Your only saving grace that keeps the heavy drag of his cock from absolutely tearing you apart is how completely soaked you are, allowing the rough glide of his cock to work into you easily. It has you sobbing, from the flaring heat of your frayed nerves or the decadent liquid rapture that blossoms in the center of your abdomen, you aren't entirely sure, but the relentless pace that he sets doesn't give you time to discern it.

You have no choice but to latch onto him and hang on, sweeping your arms around the width of his body to claw mindlessly at his back, leaving angry scratches along his flesh. The pleased groan you get in response to the sensation of your nails driving across his skin is heavenly; low and rumbling against your throat from hold he still has on you with his teeth. He's only just started, and you already feel as though you're being pulled from your body, being set on fire and turned inside out.

You can hear him moving in and out of you. The sound of his hips smacking against yours and the wet plunge of his cock working into you echoing off of the walls of the chamber. He feels deep, settling so far inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach, punching against your lungs and shoving the breath from your chest with the steady force of his rhythm. His pelvis grinds over your clit with every thrust, liquifying your brain and making your eyes roll back in your skull. You think distantly that you might be drooling; lips smeared and wet with your spit and the salt of his cum, but the ability to think is next to impossible now. The ability to produce a single, coherent thought alludes you completely until you're little more than a weak pile of flesh and bone. Even when your legs lift to wrap themselves around his waist, it isn't a conscious decision. Your body acts on its own, hooking your heels near the base of his spine to keep him close to you, like any amount of unnecessary distance between you might send you to your early death bed.

You're certain that you're moaning his name now, spewing it like a zealot's chant; an endless string of, feyd, feyd, feyd. What you're asking for you don't even know at this point. Stuck between craving your release and wanting to be suspended in ecstasy forever. But it seems your body is set is making the decision for you. It seizes up tight, making your thighs and back pull taut while heat licks at your fingertips and toes. The warning rests heavy on your tongue, waiting to be voiced but your ability to speak as vanished as your impending pleasure ravages your body.

Feyd finally releases his teeth from your throat, soothing the irritated skin with his tongue before he lifts his head up just enough to lap at your mouth, swallowing your wanton, keening gasps. "Go ahead. Take your pleasure, let me feel you."

It's like you needed his permission because as soon as his words leave him in that graveled rasp, your draw up tight, the muscles of your cunt clamping down around him in an unrelenting grip like your body is trying to evict your soul from it. Light bursts behind your eyes much like the fireworks still raging on outside, and for a moment you're suspended in time. Floating freely with nothing but the pressure of your ragged cries and the relentless debilitating heat of your orgasm eating you from the inside out. It has you sobbing again, nearly writhing along the floor while electricity cuts across your limbs and sears at your gut, wringing you of fire and melted euphoria. The bliss ebbs away in steady, sapping pulses that leaves your limbs twitching and weak. But the walls of your cunt are still sensitive and tender, setting your nerves alight and fizzling and it's in your drunken stupor that realize that Feyd hasn't stopped.

He's still driving into you wildly, working his cock into you like a man starved. It has you shaking and nearly thrashing, like your body can't decide if it wants to pull him closer or shift away from him.

"Feyd, I-"

"You can handle it," he assures confidently, like it's a promise. He leans down to press soft kisses along your face, tracing the plush of them over your cheekbones, the rise of your nose, the edge of your jaw; so sweet compared to the way that he plunges his cock into you in deep, almost brutal strokes, like he's trying to carve a place for himself inside of you. His nose nudges along yours, urging you to look at him, and it's the dark, searching glimmer in his eyes that truly grounds you. It forces you to hold his stare, even with the tears pouring down your face and the sting of your overstimulated nerves begging that you close them. But you can handle it. You will. Your body cries for relief but also pleads that he keeps going. That he works you into another bout of fire and rapture, except this time you hope that you both burn together.

It has you rocking your hips against his, settling yourself to meet his pace while your lungs and body longs for a reprieve and ecstasy. You can feel the impression of his smile against your cheek when he nuzzles along your face, the blunt edges of his teeth threatening to scrape along the skin. He has you fully caged underneath him, trapped with the stretch of his body looming over yours, nearly suffocating you with the heat that emanates from his sweat slicked flesh. But you couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else in the universe. Despite the searing heat that he invokes, the simmering bliss that threatens to tear you apart and splice you open at the atoms, you've never felt safer. There's a comfort in the weight of him. In the dangerous way that he carries himself and the brutal edge that's always projected in the dark of his eyes. You should find no solace in someone like him. Someone who's been crafted to be unforgiving and ruthless, but there's a tranquility in him that you've never found in anyone else. His body is a shrine, a temple for you to find reprieve and love in a world so harsh and indifferent. A creature of death that offers you devotion in form of blood and sanctuary.

You've ravaged each other with teeth and blades; bared your throats and blood and neither of you have wavered. You've been reluctant of him, his loyalty, but the urge to truly run has never rose. And he's accepted you just as greedily. Always fervent and sometimes rabid in his want for you. The passion that he holds for you might have concerned some - people with proper sense, maybe - but you feel nothing but the urge to bask in his attentions. To return it tenfold until it suffocates you both and devours you entirely.

You can feel yourself seizing up tight again, bliss sizzles at the tip of your tongue and forces ragged gasps and whines from your chest. Your cunt is gripping him tightly again, squeezing ahold of his cock like it doesn't want him to leave. His pace has faltered just the slightest, not enough to damped or ruin the fire in your gut, but enough to hint that he's nearing his end. The rise and fall of his chest against yours is sharp and almost labored, telling of the low, guttural groans that spill past his lips making him pant along the curve of your jaw. He can't be much farther off than you.

"Feyd, please," you moan, tilting your head enough to nip at shape of his ear. "I wan' you to fill me up. I - fuck - I need it. Please."

That apparently does something for him, because he bears down on you, gripping you by the thighs to hook your legs over his shoulders. The change in the position is hell on your muscles, the strain of it searing along your hips and the slight notches in your spine dig into the flat of the floor painfully. It nearly makes you wish that you had decided to take this to the bed that's only a few paces away from you both, but the way that he drives his cock into you with even more vigor effectively wipes your mind clean. You're truly forced to lay and take it; fingertips slipping across the floor to latch onto the groves in the tiles like it might save you. Somehow he's even deeper now, ravaging your insides with each stroke, and he nudges against the devastating spot inside of you with every plunge, twisting your mind into mush and static.

"Then take it."

His snarl is the last thing you hear before you're abruptly ripped under and pulled down deep like an entire ocean had collapsed over you. The silence is deafening, with each of your senses seeming to black out in favor of honing in on the bliss and euphoria dousing you and sweeping along your entire being. It devours you soul and all, until you're nothing but a writhing, sobbing vessel. Even when the waves slip over you, waning in their effect, it's difficult to see or feel past anything other than the press of his body along yours. But you still have enough concentration in you to notice the choppy, sluggish pace that his hips have shifted into as he tips close to his end. The groan that rumbles from his chest is the only warning you get before a searing warmth floods you from the inside, filling you up and stuffing you full of his release. It has your cunt fluttering around him weakly, desperate to draw him in, even while your body is completely sapped of its strength.

He slips your legs free from their place on his shoulders, taking care to do so slowly as you hiss out from the dull sting. But he still manages to tear a ragged swear from your chest when he all but collapses on top of you. The only thing that keeps you from being completely crushed is that he manages to catch himself on his elbows before he plops his head on your chest with a contented sigh, listening to the wild pulse of your heart.

Your body still thrums from the aftershocks and aches from the marks he had left with his teeth and cock, but the afterglow that dips over you is gentle and balmy. A complete juxtaposition to the feral glide of tongue and the flow of blood that had just taken place. But even under the soft atmosphere, cradling and inviting like a familiar embrace, darker thoughts stir. But to you they don't seem so violent anymore. It's a promise. Entirely giving and pure in its intention, despite the horror that comes with it. It should concern you, how it doesn't seem so daunting anymore. It's less troubling, not as sickening as it was before. But maybe this is what it means to accept his love. To offer yourselves to each other completely. You think that you'll give him a son, but first you need something from him in turn.

You glide your fingertips along his back, lightly tracing the soft impression of his spine in their trail upward. When you whisper his name, your voice is raw and light from the sting of your used throat, but it manages to grab his attention regardless. He lifts his head up from your chest, allowing you to cup the side of his face to sweep your thumb along the subtle ridge of his cheek. His eyes are lidded and soft, but the curiosity and intensity in them still isn't lost as he evaluates you, and his brows raise in a silent question, prompting you to speak.

You expect the words to feel like venom on your tongue when they leave your lips, to burn and sear at your flesh. For betrayal to slice at your chest and tear open a wound, but nothing but a tranquil sense of peace hangs over you as you speak. It feels right.

"I want their heads."

You wait to see surprise flicker across his face. Maybe even a kind of uncertainty, or a clue that his earlier promise had only been a joke or a test. A test that you've now just failed. But you see nothing of the sort. Instead a feral smile breaks across his face. Possibly arrogant, but mostly affectionate in his mirth. His gratification. Like he's reveling in your choice. But it's a good enough answer for you as well. You can see it reflecting in the dark of his eyes. The answer, the promise there that runs deeper than any wedding vows ever could. It reflects an adoration that only violence can. The promise of devotion and protection that he had pledged to you the moment that you'd seen each other in your dreams; the very second that he had slit that general's throat for you; the instant that he had proposed to deliver his lovers' hearts to you on a silver platter. It's a truth that he bares to you willingly - eagerly; and you accept it completely with your soul, and body, and mind.

He would burn the universe down for you.

@moonsoulk, @eloquentdreamer

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd x you #feyd rautha #dune x reader #dune oneshot #dune part 2 #dune 2024 #dune x you

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diejager · 6 months

Note

more eldritch:konig X his darling mermaid, please & thank you

Saccharine and Monstrosity pt.2

Pairing: Eldritch Horror!König x mermaid!reader

Cw: kidnapping, manipulation, DARK FIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, breeding kink, protective König, hunting, oviposition, tentacles, eggpreg, stomach bulge, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, possessive behaviour, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2.6k

You hadn’t seen the sun in a while, neither had you gone hunting, nor seen your parents. You missed the freedom you had, swimming and racing the others mers your age through the coral reefs, that mundane, but fun activity you did once in a while when everyone gathered at the same spot.

“Please, König, I just want to lay in the sun!”

“Nein, the outside world is dangerous, Schatz, ” his tone seemed apologetic, eyes cast down, avoiding your tearful eyes that gleamed beautifully from the bioluminescent plants, “I cannot.”

That was what he always told you, his words repeated on themselves, overlapping in your mind without holding much intent of substance to it. Why would it when all he told you was no? His excuses were getting old, they rarely changed over the few months he kept you in his cave, the little haven you grew to love now became a prison, a pretty cage to keep you locked away from the world you were born into. They always had an aspect in common: danger. He would say that it was too dangerous for you, that there were horrors living around his cave and wandering too closely to the edge you found him, the precipice of light and darkness that he stalked you from. If it wasn’t that, he’d push strongly that you could be taken away from him, caught and eaten by another Eldritch Horror that didn’t have the same obsession and favorability for pretty things like you.

He slowly approached you, arms reaching out towards you to embrace you, his fingers finding the softness of your hips. Kneading the line between your skin and scales, thumb smoothing over your opalescent scales, the smooth surface of it that helped you swim as swiftly as you could. You were a quick, little mouse, able to outrun him if you put enough effort and intention in it to escape his limbs. You shuddered against him, looping your arms around him for comfort that he never kept from you, often reminding you that he loved you and that he would do anything for you —except give you back your freedom.

You sobbed, a heart-wrenching cry slipping out of your pout, your glossy lips pulled down while pearly tears floated upwards, the density of your tears weighing less than the heaviness in his cave, a closed-off ocean of horror he painted over with enthusiasm and comfort. He whispered sweet words to you, smaller tentacles slipping under his hood to cradle your face. They acted as individual fingers, holding your face as if they were hands holding your chin up, curling under your jaw and eyes with the smooth side of his limbs, keeping the suckers away from your pretty face. He touched you so gently, careful to never break your skin or dirty the angelic image he had of you in his sickened mind. He wrapped himself around you, his thicker limbs latching onto you with the intention of never letting go, curling and looping around one another. The messy bundles kept you stuck to him as you whined, crying out the frustration and sadness you felt throughout your situation.

“Hush, don’t cry, mein kleiner Schatzi,” he wiped away your tears, and collected them between the suckers of his arms, watching them gleam with an opalescent shine, much like those of black mollusc shells. They were a spectacle, a beautiful thing coming from his precious mate, “We can go out when it is safe, ja?”

You nodded your little head, closing your eyes and nuzzling against his broad chest, the softness of his scarred skin that easily moulded to fit your shape. It was strange how easily he changed to fit your liking, to answer to your whims despite your protest or your reluctance. You couldn’t hate him, you simply couldn’t after all the things he did for you and how well he cared for you. Perhaps you’d fallen for him, falling so deeply in this hole of unwilling darkness and strange affection —your naivety working against your betterment and with his mind, dark and wretched. Despite your wails and frustrations towards König, he was all you had, all you had known for the past months, so you sought comfort and safety from him, unknowingly falling into his plan.

You let him lead you away from the open entrance, down the wide gate of his - your - room to lay you down, unable to move from the confines of his many arms and the warmth he provided. König was warm, he’d always burned hot compared to the cold waters of the abyss, the swirling vacuum of freezing water that seemed to have no end and the surface that stayed cool despite bathing under the sun for half the day. You thrived on warmth, soaking it up to keep your metabolism going, to be able to function without crashing or slowing down, you needed it and you depended on König to keep you warm.

He pressed down on you, his broad figure looming over your smaller and fragile one, casting a dark shadow with his sole presence. He brushed your hair away, the tip of his tentacle tickling your ear as he murmured temptation, his wide palms leaving your hips to trail down the curve of your navel, teasing the dilated hole of your core, blinking and oozing out slick. He pressed a finger in, listening to you mewl and squirm in his tight hold, your tail twisting and turning before ultimately bucking into his palm when he slid a second one in. He watched your pretty lips part in a gasp, eyes rolling back in pleasure, your lashes fluttering so prettily for him. You felt him everywhere, he was inside of you and all around you, his many arms working as extensions of his presence, teasing you with his little suckers, pulling and biting at you.

“Let me ease your mind,” his mask rose over his nose, tentacles parting like curtains to kiss you. It was all teeth and aggression, his kiss turning into a sign of possession, marking you with his taste and scent. He didn’t have any lips, or lips similar to yours, they were flat, hidden by a moustache of tentacles, thinner and shorter than his other ones, “Help you relax.”

They easily slipped into your mouth as he pumped you, fingers curling into the softer part of your cunt. You mewled, rutting back, walls clamping down on his fingers, their thick and rough textures doing you in with the flick of your swollen nub once he coached it out of its protective sheath. He slipped the straps of your bra down your shoulder, letting the cup sag enough to show your pretty nipples, perky and glistening, tempting him to kiss and bite at them. In his rush, he snapped your bra from the middle by the girth of his tentacles, curling around your tits to knead and play with your little nubs, covering them with a sucker and he pulled, the ride closing around it and pulled. You clamped down on him, your slick sticking to his hand as you burst, eyes rolled back so far that all you could see was the white. König admired you, his eyes gleaming with glee at your climax, helping you ride it out with slow pumps of his fingers. He watched your pupils dilate, steadily coming down from your high with laboured breathing.

“You look so pretty like this,” he smiled under his hood, his eyes creasing in the low light. They roved over your face, over your hooded eyes and your parted mouth, down the slope of your neck and the swell of your breasts, and ending at your cunt, your labia closed around two digits, slick and throbbing. “You drive me crazy, Schatz.”

He was panting, his body riled up with how much his many limbs were swaying, latching onto you and hungrily climbing over you. He mumbled incoherent words, his pretty blues turning a bright red, a bloody crimson that made you feel apprehensive, fear and anxiety spiking in your mind despite the pleasurable buzz. You peered down when you felt something nudge your finger-filled cunt, looking at a particular-looking tentacle. It was harder and slick, the tip cylindrical-like with a long shaft and covered in veins, much like the ones on his arm, bulging and throbbing. You were oblivious to its use, confused about the different shape, but once it moved, the leaky head enthusiastically dipping into you, you panicked.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, the engorged head of his arm pushing into you, guided by a hand, pumping himself to spread the slick and pre that gathered around his cock. You keened, head thrown back when he bottomed out, the veiny girth of his cock throbbing inside of you. His cock rocked into you, pulling out until his tip lingered, and your labia stretched around his thick rod before he rammed in so suddenly. It rocked you as a whole, your smaller figure jerked back with every hard thrust, your cervix feeling the brutality of his strength and devotion. You screamed, writhing in his restrictive hold, cunt battered by a hard, leaky cock with a flared tip, bulbous and smooth.

“Scheiße, you’re tight,” he groaned out through gritted teeth, feeling your walls stretch as wide as you could to welcome him despite his size and girth, your pussy becoming wet and sloppy with the amount of slick you produced. You pulsed around him, still sensitive from your last orgasm, clit and nipples swollen and twitching under his tentacles. He could feel everything, jolts sent down his arms followed by a euphoric sensation that ran through his mind, leaving him pussydrunk, mumbling out praises, “Du fühlst dich so gut an. Scheiße – so süß, so nass.”

You felt like you would burst, ploughed open by König’s cock arm, warm wall milking and sucking him deeper, coaxing him to fill you up with him. Your lover’s pace grew frantic, snapping harshly and deeply as if to leave a lasting presence in your innermost part, to mould your pussy into the shape of his cock and his alone, rendering you impossible to be pleasured by the sheer size difference between him and others of his kind. With a few precisely, but sloppy thrusts, he had you gushing around him, back arching - as much as you could with his strong grip - pussy clamping down on him as he fucked you into the soft algae-covered surface. You blacked out, euphoria filling your hazy mind, slick dripping down the sides of your tail and your nerves were set alight with blinding fires, burning through you so strongly.

König swore lowly, his chest rumbling against yours, his cock throbbed and his arm stuttered, pace growing unsteady as the whole length of his arm pulsed with a load of cum. He gave one last thrust, roughly slamming into your gummy cervix, before a rush of cum shot out of his tip, flooding your womb with hot, white cum. It clung to the wall of your womb like glue, coating your cunt in the same adhesive and warm substance. He groaned, nuzzling his face in your bared neck, falling victim to his wandering mouth, biting and lapping at your shoulder and throat. His whole body shook, laboured breaths kissing your sensitive skin as something travelled through the length of his shaft, small bumps varying in size, from small pearls to big grapes, steadily moving towards the flared head of his cock.

You sobbed when the first egg struggled against the entrance of your womb, breaking through the firmness of your soft entrance. It pained you, the forced pop into your virginal womb that wasn’t made to take in, but push out. Your cries were shushed by König, his reassuring words mixed with his heavy breathing that did little to dampen the pain he put you through. The first egg dropped into your womb, sticking to the walls, and another quickly joined it, plopping down beside it, weighing heavily by every egg, adding to the heaviness inside of you.

“You’re doing so well,” he brushed away your tears, his thumb gently cradling your cheek, groaning and grunting at the rising eggs and his flared tip unravelling to latch onto your whole cervix, “Just a few more, ja? I am almost done.”

His “a few more” were more so dozens than anything, stuffing you until you bloated slightly. You were exhausted, limbs as heavy as your stomach did, eyes fluttering through your hazy sight, dancing on the edge of sleep and consciousness. Perhaps if you closed your eyes, falling asleep in this moment, you’d wake up from this as if it were a nasty dream, finding yourself in your little cave near the surface of the ocean. Perhaps this was all but a nightmare made up by your anxious and paranoid mind from all the stories you’ve heard from your parents and the elders. You were tired after all, sleeping wouldn’t be so bad to regain all the energy you wasted, and you hoped - that if this was your reality - that König would take care of you for doing this to you, for enrapturing you with all his madness and devotion.

You still missed the sun, the warm rays when you laid beneath it, just over a rock, but it was a far memory, further than you were willing to confess. You’d already grown used to his overbearing presence, his lingering eyes and wandering limbs, keeping one wrapped around your waists, your wrist or on your back, you’d gotten used to ignoring him and his dark eyes, bleeding into your world like the blood that stained the waters when he caught a live fish to feed you.

He fit you in his schedule, a routine he practised on a daily basis without a fault. You would wake up with a wail, coming all over his tentacle at least twice before he left you alone for the morning. He would go hunting after making sure that you were comfortable on your little perch, returning an hour or two afterwards with enough food for the whole day and a few shiny trinkets to try to appease your sorrowful heart. They were pretty, shimmering and glinting under the bioluminescent light, similar to the pretty pearls and seashells you would collect. Despite his intentions, it only reminded you of a life long gone, one that you unknowingly and willingly gave up when you took his hand that fateful day, condemning you to a life of darkness and solitude.

Then he’d spend the day with you, caring for your round stomach, rubbing soothing circles on your aching body, gently working the kinks and knots out of you. He provided for you, feeding you, soothing your pains, courting you with gifts and loved you with the entirety of his sickened heart. Your every need was taken care of, your hunger fulfilled, be it shark meat (a rarity for your kind of mermaid), squid or tuna, and your excitement satisfied with his cock, fingers, tentacles or mouth, eager to stuff you full despite your womb being grossly swollen with his progeny. He was fiercely protective, letting you out once in your month-long gestation, giving you the freedom to wander close to the ridge with a long arm wrapped around your waist. He never let you wander too far from him and never without a piece of him attached to you, clinging onto you as if you two were a singular entity —you probably were at this point, his thoughts and words echoing in your mind against your reluctance to accept him.

“Mein kleiner Schatzi,” he called, laying his head on your shoulder, his hood hanging over you. He forced you on his lap, snuggling up to you as he curled - loomed - over you while he shamelessly let his hands rove over your swollen stomach, feeling the grooves and bumps of his eggs, “You are very round. One more month and we will have little Satansbraten.” [Mischievous child]

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @candlewitch-cryptic @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @0-ramen-0 @dreamdiaries777 @under-the-dirt @ajadell @danielle143 @bubbletae7 @mushroompasta @skystreamchan @kaelysia @notspiders @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @lilpothoscuttings @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi

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laneywrld · 2 months

Text

Oh Baby | part two

part two.

word count: 10.8k

Warnings: wee bit angsty (an argument), mentions of sex + pregnancy

The repercussions of Lewis' birthday night are not as sweet.

You don't remember anything after your life-changing orgasm. You vaguely recall Lewis standing bare and walking into the bathroom. Your eyes were low and droopy, and you could only offer him a loving smile that had his cheeks burning.

"M'gonna clean you up for a second, okay."

You only hum, allowing him to spread you open; this time, it's not sexual at all; it's romantic. Oh god, you thought. You should've known the sex with Lewis would make you go mad.

He swipes the warm cloth between your legs, wiping the glistening remainder of your arousal away.

The sight of his cum oozing from your hole has him taking a harsh gulp. He'd have to remind you to take whatever precautions you found necessary in the morning.

If you weren't so burned out and exhausted, the sight of him walking around in the nude with his golden and tatted-on skin display would've had you jumping his bones again.

You can't help but laugh at yourself as he returns from cleaning himself up.

"What you laughing about?" He grins, hovering over you. You smile, looking at him like he's hung the moon and the stars. "Myself."

The two of you look like two love-sick high schoolers, completely enamored with each other.

Lewis lowers and captures your lips in a kiss, slow and sweet. One peck after the other before his weight is on top of you. He rolls off of you with a groan, turning you so that you're face to-face with him on your side.

His hand falls to your bare waist, pulling you against him.

"We need t'sleep."

He sits up, chuckling as you whine from losing his body heat. With one arm, he gently hoists your legs up enough to pull the comforter from underneath your body. He is back in his place instantly, the cover now offering another layer of warmth.

You're trying your hardest to keep your eyes open and stay in this moment because you'll probably never get to experience Lewis like this again, this loving and intimate.

"Going to be right here in the morning; go to sleep, bunny."

Like he had a spell over you, your eyes close for the final time, and you feel his palm cup your face.

Lewis can't help but watch you fall into slumber. His finger prods against your face, tracing your mouth, eyebrows, and nose. He could already remember every detail of your face. If he were a blind man, he thinks he'd have no problem telling you apart from the rest of the world.

He didn't think it was possible to love you more than he already does, but feeling the way his heart reacts wildly to you laying flush against him naked and comfortable has him ready to read his (prewritten) vows to you in the morning.

He doesn't want to sleep; he wants to stay here and take it all in. He's probably moving too fast, but he can't wait to tell your friends, your guys' family, hell, even the world, that you love him.

Hearing those words from you detonated the lengthiest, most robust orgasm from him that he'd ever experienced. He'd never come so much, so hard in his life.

Hearing you say you love him in your angelic whimpers, tears falling out the corner of your eyes, holding onto him so tight, fuck, he's hard again just thinking about it.

"I love you," he whispers into the night, kissing your forehead before turning off the lights.

You awake first in the morning, dazed and confused. You feel a heavy mass weighing you down. You squint, open your eyes, and you see him. Lewis, your best friend, face nuzzled in your neck, his arm thrown over your waist, holding you tight as if you were going to float away from him in your sleep.

"Oh fuck," you groan lowly as last night's events seep back into you like scenes from a movie.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You gently reach for his arm, carefully lifting it off your body. You pull a pillow from your side, pushing it under his neck as you slide away and gently drop his arm.

You were unsure of how to go about this whole situation. Would he remember it when he woke up? The passionate sex? The beautiful night? You two were off-your-face drunk. Would he laugh at the words you shared? Brush it off. You wouldn't blame him, it'd hurt for you to hear, but logically, it'd make sense; he was in a sex stupor, drunk and horny, and that'd lead to all kinds of words coming out in a daze.

There's no telling how long you stood there like a deer caught in headlights before you began pulling his shirt over your frame. You crept into his closet, thanking God for the array of shoes and clothing of your own filling his space. You tugged on a pair of Nike crew socks and a pair of boyshorts, reaching for the pair of black Ugg Tasmans Lewis had gotten.

You stood in his walk-in closet, staring at yourself in the full mirror, and sighed.

What the fuck were you supposed to do? You were sure you crossed the line this time and abandoned boundaries that were needed in order to keep your feelings at bay. You knew you couldn't keep putting yourself through the same demise.

You didn't know how you would handle the situation when it approached, but in the meantime, you knew you needed to get away from Lewis. You needed to leave his home and be far away from him before you did or said something to ruin your guys' friendship for good.

You creep from the closet quickly, not sparing a glance at the man on the bed; as you grip the handle to his bedroom door, he speaks up from behind you.

He is sat up, back against his headboard, watching you try to leave, "Just going to leave?"

You turn to him awkwardly, hand dropping from the handle, "I-uh, didn't know what you'd want, wasn't sure how to go about-"

"You're not a fucking booty call, Y/n," he says it like you're the most ridiculous person alive like he can't fathom the words coming from your mouth; because he can't.

"Just going to leave me after fucking me? Without a word, while I'm still asleep, that was your plan?"

Your mouth plops open and closed like a fish, searching for the words you stammer out incoherent excuses. Lord, he's got such a dirty mouth.

"Get back in the bed." He cuts you off.

Like a dog to a bone, you stride over to the bed, kicking off your slippers, and you're beside him again.

You're staring at the door, and he is staring at you. The covers hang low over his body, only just covering what had you going crazy last night.

You clear your throat, waiting for him to put you out of your misery. Get it over with, you thought to yourself as you braced for impact.

"Last night was fun," He hummed.

You let out a stifled laugh, finally turning to look at him. His face was still covered in morning haze, and his voice was extra raspy and groggy. He smiles as you, eyes low and droopy.

"I want to address what we-"

You thought you'd be able to take it. You aren't that fucking strong.

"Yeah, no, it's fine." you laugh awkwardly. "I understand. I feel the same way." You don't, but you continue anyway. "We were drunk and in a mad sex stupor, I'm not holding it against you."

"I don't-"

"It was a mistake," you rambled on.

Lewis' mouth plops shut, and he can't tell if his mouth has been dry from his sleep or if the words you're speaking to him have done it.

"You didn't want it?" He question abruptly, putting an end to your nervous break.

"I mean, of course, I wanted it; I initiated it. I was just drunk and turned on; no need to make it a big deal is what I'm saying; we're both off the hook."

Lewis stands from the bed, his bare body on full display. He wants to tell you to shut up and stop downplaying the night he spent with you. He wants you to say to him that you're lying, but you don't, and it's making him angrier as the second goes on.

There are so many sentences he wants to respond to, but he can only grapple with one at a time. You're talking too much, and he's talking too little.

"I was just going to make it easier for you. Usually, you prefer if girls leave, right? That's what you said."

He has said that, but why the fuck would he be talking about you. Why the fuck would other girls include you.

He looks like a wild man, and you look like his blubbering bunny.

"Why do you say shit like that?" He shouts.

His loud tone takes you aback, and your head cranes to watch him incredulously. "What are you talking about?" You fire back.

"You say stupid shit like that all of the time like I'm some kind of fucking manwhore."

You scoff, standing up from the mattress as well. At this point, you are glaring at each other from across the bed.

"You think I don't get enough of it, huh? Do you think I don't get sick of hearing you guys laugh at me? I can't help-"

"I'm not picking at you, Lew, I didn't-"

"But you look at me like that. That's how you feel?"

He wants to know if that is the reason his words went in one ear and out the other.

"Oh please, I've always told you how I feel. If I viewed you as some slut I would've said it." You wave your hand; this had to have been the stupidest argument ever, Lew knew your character, and he knew how much you admired him and his; he'd have to be a fool to think that you'd ever demean him.

"It's not about what you say! It's what you do!"

"Exactly!" you holler back. "I don't fucking laugh at you, Lew! I don't fucking kiki with the rest of the friends when they point out your new fucking flavor of the month! I defend you. You can't control it. You can't help it! You said it yourself it's in your fucking blood to fuck everything with two legs. Like having an itch, you can't scratch. I don't fucking judge you. It's just who you are." You snap. And you hate getting mad because it makes you go on and on.

"Don't even know my character enough to believe I would say some shit about you; supposed to be my best friend, and you can't even properly gauge who I am." It comes out as an angry sneer, and you're right back to slipping on your shoes.

Lewis pulls on a pair of sweats, clamoring over to you; his hand grasps your wrist before you harshly pull it away.

"Last night," he shouts, "I'm not defiling your character; you said it last night."

"Lew, last night." you laugh, you genuinely cackle. "This is because I joked that you ran rabid after leaving Nicole? You did! I was there with you, do you not fucking remember, every night someone new! Just because you slowed down doesn't mean it ever stopped."

"You called me a fucking slut, y/n! Like a fucking bitch, I wouldn't date you, Lew; you're a manwhore." He mocks.

"You called yourself that; I said if the condom fits! You're upset because I said you made it easy for me not to want to be with you? If your ego is bruised, just say that!"

And you're missing the point he is bruised yes, but because he wants you to want him and you don't. Lewis is mad that you don't want to be with him. He is hurt and bothered by the fact that you can brush off the night you spent together like it's nothing.

And you're right; Lewis knows you're right, and he's just trying to find any reason to be mad at you. Of course, you wouldn't return his feelings; when you had them, he gave his affection to other women.

But hearing the person he loves call him out for it doesn't hurt any less. He feels like an idiot now, starting an argument over a situation that wasn't even relevant. He should be telling you he loves you, but now he's gotten you fired up and knows you're hard to diffuse.

You mutter curse words under your breath, frustrated, as your shaking hands keep you from slipping on your shoes. You were never a good angry person, so you'd rather avoid conflict completely. But when your frustrations began ticking inside of you, it was only a matter of time before you finally blew.

"All of this because I answered a fucking question you asked me last night, drunk ass motherfucker! I should've never fucking told you; look where the fuck that's got us, arguing over a relationship that never even happened that we're not even fucking in, so fucking stupid! The fuck do I look like trying to keep a man who doesn't wanna be kept? I'm supposed to wait around and pine after you? No fucking way, I've had my fair share of men like you." You're not saying these words directly to Lewis; he can hear them as you get increasingly frustrated. "Fucking idiot. Calling me out my name because your feelings are hurt; if it was such a fucking issue, you would've addressed it last night. Really you should have fucking addressed everyone else."

Finally, you spin around when the slipper is on, not expecting him to be so close. You jab a finger in his chest, looking up at him. "Yeah, you've pissed me off; this is not because you think I called you a manwhore. You know you sleep around. We all know it; I never said it was a bad thing. What are you really mad at, huh, Lewis? Say it!"

He says nothing, but his brain screams the words over and over: I love you.

You let out a bitter laugh, and you're relatively calm for how fired up you had been seconds ago. "Your anger is misdirected, and I'm not going to take it. So when you figure out what's got you so pissy, talk to me because I'm not here for you to yell at."

You're leaving his room in an instant. He can hear your footfall declining down his stairs and the way you snatch your keys from the hook. You don't slam his door, but from his window, he watches as you angrily march to your car, slamming your door and reversing from his driveway way too fast. It has his heart dropping as you nearly ram into another car.

He sighs as you pull down the street and disappear from his sight. "Fuck!" He roars, his fist shooting into his wall. He lets out a deep breath, his hand coming to rub over his face. Fuck.

He feels choked up and tingly as his eyes water. The two of you had never fought this bad, which says a lot, especially for how long you've been friends. He's never called you out of your name, and today he called you a bitch. You were far from a bitch, you were his sweet bunny.

You just wanted to make sure he was comfortable and that you stayed within the bounds. How were you to know that he didn't want you to leave?

You're a mess as you drive home, tears streaming down your face. Surprised you even made it there safely.

When you're home and starting your shower, you see all of the evidence Lewis left behind on your skin, and it breaks you down into a fit of tears. You wish you had never crossed the lines because you were sure the two of you wouldn't return from this.

Lewis has yet to contact you. It's been two weeks since that day. You tried to go about life as normal, but it was hard when you had spent every waking day talking to Lewis. You hadn't seen Roscoe since Lewis' birthday either, and that tore an entirely new part of your heart. Roscoe was like your child; he was with you when Lewis had to be on the road, so essentially, you spent an abundance of time with your four-legged friend.

You could reach out to him, but you'd be dammed if you put your pride to the side to alleviate your best friend's superiority complex.

He yelled at you, calling you out of your name first. Call it childish, but it wasn't your job to apologize first. Of course, you planned on apologizing for your own actions, for calling him an idiot, because you truly regretted it, and it has been hanging heavy over your head ever since then. But he had to give in first.

You haven't gone out with your friends as a group since then either, opting to go on your regular outing with one or two of them at a time. You've seen in Miles' story that Lewis has been out with them many times. You try not to cry as you see Lewis in the background of a video chatting up another girl in Daniel's close friends. After the initial gloom, you felt infuriated.

Here you were giving him grace, withholding time with your friends so as not to make him uncomfortable and to give him time to come to his own senses and the whole time, he's out committing the same crime that made him blow up at you. Here you were suffering because after all of these years, he still didn't show you the same grace he shows others when it comes to communicating. Why does he shut down when it comes to you but is so vocal and mature with his feelings to other people. Two things were obvious, you weren't kids anymore, and he wasn't to be coddled by you anymore. And secondly, you were done making deluded excuses for this man. He'd take accountability when it came to you.

Lewis awakes with his head pounding; he is in a random hotel, a random woman atop his chest in deep slumber. He sneaks from the bed, searching for his phone and tugging on his clothes.

He was drunk off his ass and chatting her up because she looked like you, and in the end, when they made it back to her room, he couldn't get hard without thinking about you, and by that time, he was over it, not wanting to do anything with the woman at all. You really fucked him up.

When Lewis arrives home, he is barely sober. He pours food into Roscoe's bowl, rubbing his head.

Roscoe has been feeling the impact of your departure, too. Could Lewis even say you left him? He sighs as Roscoe whines, nudging your walking shoes left by the front door. "I know, boy. I miss her too."

Lewis didn't know why he couldn't just call you and tell you he was sorry. You left the ball in his court, so obviously, you were open to having a mature conversation with him. But as the days went on and he still hadn't called, he began to realize that perhaps he had waited too long, and it was doing more damage than good.

He stumbles up to his room, stripping from his clothes and plopping onto his bead, Roscoe is up and beside him in an instant, snuggling into his side. Like routine, his hand reaches over to his nightstand, rustling through the stack of papers until he finds one of the many letters you'd gifted him for his birthday.

Lewis always kept your letters, especially when he was far away and traveling; nothing made him happier as a kid than his dad arriving with handwritten messages for him when you couldn't make it to his races. Your birthday gift, though, was a collection of unsent letters you'd had for years, dating back to as early as high school. He reread them all, scanning every word like they were the bible. He never told you this, but he kept them in a folder that traveled everywhere with him when he had to be gone for longer periods of time.

The letter he rereads now has been attached to him since the day you left, which was from your second year in high school.

Hello Lewis,

I won't be able to make it to your race next week. Get this, I'm on punishment at sixteen years old! You're always getting me in trouble, and you're not even here :( Do you remember Henry Glasgow? Let's just say he's finally gotten what he deserved. No matter what anyone says, your work is paying off, and you're doing great! I saw you on the TV the other day, and boy, did you look great out there. Mum recorded it for me, so I rewatch it so many times a day like a weirdo. I miss you tons, Lew, but I'm so very happy that you were able to get out of this forsaken city. Don't worry; I'm still defending your honor while you're away; let Henry's nose be proof of that. I've made a friend since you've gone away, her name's Whitney but I call her whit whit just like you're my lewlew; I can't wait for you to meet her. She's very bold and different from what we're used to, but she's a sweetheart. I love her to pieces, but I love you wholly, so she's not really doing much to heal how much I miss you, Lew. This is the longest we've been away from each other, and although we talk on the telly every day, I would like to be with you again. But nevertheless, I am so very proud of you, and I support you full send. I know you can be the greatest you already are if you ask me. But I can't wait until the world knows your name. Just promise you won't leave me behind when it does, yeah? Keep moving fast; Pops likes to brag about you everywhere we go, and I love to hear anyone hype you up like you deserve; plus, I bet twenty bucks on you to win next week, and my allowance is already gone, so make me some money. I can only give you the same words of encouragement you've heard a million times, I am truly my father's daughter. You're a cheetah, Lew: move silently and let your actions do the talking. Make quick decisions, but move even quicker. I know it's hard, but don't ever let what they say get to you; you've got a greater mission to accomplish. There are people out there who admire you and have faith in you. Let me be proof of that. Always remember that what you can't say, I will.

Love you more than you'll ever know, Lew.

p.s tell Nico that unless he wants me to go broke, he needs to push it a little harder.

From Bunny. <3

One day of no contact became a week, and a week became a month; soon, he was in the Middle East racing in the first grand prix of the season two months later, and he still hadn't heard from you. He was racing terribly, and he couldn't even blame it on the car. On the track, he wasn't focused; he could only think about you. And that had put him into the wall (literally) more times than he could count. He had let the best person in the world slip from his grasp, and his mind couldn't grasp that.

His friends knew something was up between the two of you and for the first time ever they decided not to meddle, and he appreciated it just as he was sure you did too. That didn't mean that he didn't ask about you.

Every call home to his mum he asks about you. He sits on the phone with your dad listening to updates on your life. They never question anything between you and him so he assumes you haven't disclosed your argument to anyone. But they know, they always know.

He could tell you were taking every step in order to ensure that you wouldn't run into him. When your family came out to see him you were miracously always busy with work. When your friends invited you out you were never feeling well.

He felt bad that you felt you had to sacrifice your enjoyment just to not be around him.

He revels in the glimpses he gets of you on your friends story, chuckles at the constant pictures Daniel posts of you that you obviously wouldn't have agreed to. He knows you probably threatened to kill him everytime. He likes every picture.

He nearly cries as he watches you from a fan account, bouncing Nicholas up and down as he places on podium in one of his own races.

Your dad's birthday was next week, and he knew you weren't going to miss it. He also knew he wasn't going to skip out on your father, so he mentally prepared himself to be a man and get his shit together. There was no way you could avoid him when you were stuck with him for a week.

You, Miles, and Nicholas had been out and about all day exploring the town before you finally decided to head back to the villa. When you three initially left, everyone else was bunkering down for a post-flight nap.

When you opened the door, you froze in your tracks as you saw Lewis hugging your dad in greeting. You don't know why you figured he wouldn't show, but when he wasn't on the flight with the rest of you guys, it had your hopes high.

Everyone's head swivels toward the front door as you emerge, he makes eye contact with you and even goes as far to offer you a smile. You don't return it. Nicholas rushes pass you to hug his brother jostling the many bags in your arm as he passes by.

Lewis hugs him, but his eyes once again fleet back to you.

You suck your teeth, looking away from him and waltzing up the stairs and towards the back of the house where you had claimed your room.

You hardly had the time or the energy to worry about Lewis. You were tired, and the Brazilian heat had you going through it. You kick your bedroom door closed and drop your bags onto your bed.

All you had to do was get through a week of being in his presence. You had your friends and family here with you. It wouldn't be too hard to stay away from him. You shower and then get dressed right in time for dinner.

The sun was still out by the time you descended the stairs; everyone had been lounging around in the living room waiting for you to finish.

Lewis feels like a starved bear as the dress sways against your thighs. Like always, you look beautiful.

"And the princess has arrived!" Your cousin shouts, "Girl, hurry your ass up, we've been waiting on you. I'm hungry." The room erupts in laughter as you pause on the stairs and shoot her the middle finger.

"Doesn't the princess deserve a grand entrance?"

Your head immediately turns to Lewis as if you can feel his stare on you. He sits, legs spread open, hands folded in his lap, and looks at you like he had had the night of his birthday. Like he wants to devour you.

You shake the memory from your head as everyone heads out of the door and piles into the three sprinters out front.

"Aw, twins!" Whit coos, pointing between you and Lewis, "So in sync."

You let out the fakest laugh he's ever heard, wiping the smile clean from his face, "Ah ha ha, let's go."

When it's your time to pass through the door, you feel a presence behind you, and you know it's Lewis as his signature cologne wafts through your nostrils. As you descend down the front steps, you feel his hand come up to rest against your lower back.

A part of you wants to tell him to back up and that you don't need his assistance, but the soft spot you'll always have for him has you accepting his graces.

You freeze, watching as two of the three vehicles pull off, fuck.

So much for being able to avoid him.

You can still feel him hot on your trail as you waddle to the last sprinter. You're helped up by the driver, offering him a sweet smile. Ironically enough, the last two seats are side by side in the back row.

You groan internally, slipping into the seat by the window. Lewis follows after you, slipping between you and Miles.

"So what? This is the kid's bus?" You joke, leaning over the seat in front of you to tug on your cousin's braids. "Be happy it is." She grins, pulling a bottle of Clase Azul from the floor. Everyone erupts into cheers as she passes the bottle around. She hands it to you first, but you quickly pass it on to Lewis. You hadn't drunk alcohol since that night, and when you tried, the smell of it physically made you sick. You were convinced that the stress of that night had made your brain repel your favorite pastime.

"Girl." Whitney gasped, "You're not drinking?"

"Hell no, I gag just thinking about that shit."

It's been so long since Lewis last heard your voice and seen you so carefree he wants to shout out his praises as you start a conversation within the van.

Your leg is flush against his, your thigh rubbing against his own with every jostle you take down the bumpy roads.

You don't speak to Lewis throughout the entire ride. When he speaks, you tune into your phone or manage another conversation with those around you. Though it does bring you an unwanted sense of comfort to hear his childlike giggles again. You'd missed them just as much as you missed him.

This time, when the doors open, they are opened on your side, and you cheerfully hop out, wrapping your arms around your girls and skidding to the dock where you can see a great portion of your family and friends already loaded onto the yacht.

You loved celebrating; it was no secret you were the life of the party anywhere you went, which is why you were always so grand when it came to spending time with the people you loved. Life is beautiful, as your father would say; you might as well live like it.

Lewis and the guys exit behind you all, he watches you scamper off with that stunning smile on your face waving to the family members and friends you hadn't saw yet.

An hour goes on of everyone mixing and mingling; your family is technically Lewis' as well, so it's no surprise when he is pulled into hugs and smooches left and right. It makes it easy to avoid him every time you sense him getting closer. You see him catching up with your grandparents, aunt, uncles, and cousins.

He is close to your entire family, which made it even more annoying for you to be asked about Lewis in damn near every conversation. You were never nasty about it because, after all, you two shared the same relationships, so you simply smiled and directed your family toward him with every inquiry. You didn't expect his relationship with your family to end just because you two weren't...you two?

And then another wave of questioning is aiding in your irritated mood, we're the two of you even best friends anymore. Best friends don't go months without speaking to each other.

Lewis can't help but watch your every move. It's obvious to everyone that there is a lingering tension between you two. There has never been a moment where the two of you weren't connected at the hip. So, the safe distance you're keeping between the two of you is making questions arise. He is standing off to the side, his mind running; he's never once felt like an outsider in your life more than now. His feelings were hurt because, for the first time, he was getting updates about you from others rather than being the one dishing the facts out. He's used to knowing everything when it comes to you, and now it feels like he's chapters behind in a book everyone else is close to finishing.

"I know my daughter." Your dad speaks up from behind Lewis as he watches him watch you. Lewis turns his head, catching sight of your father before walking and leaning his back onto the railing beside him. "And I know you just as well; why are you two acting like divorcée?"

"What's happened, my boy?"

Lewis shakes his head, eyes downcast to the glass in his hand. He couldn't tell your father that he'd spent the night of his birthday making love to you and having the most romantic twilight he'd ever experienced. He couldn't tell him that he spewed out his true feelings in the midst of it and fucked shit up the next morning.

"We haven't talked in months," Lewis admits.

Your dad leans away from Lewis, eyes set in disbelief. "Months?"

Lewis only nods, looking straight ahead at you. You're standing with his father infront of a group, his arm thrown over your shoulder, yours wrapped around his waist, his father is obviously a wee bit tipsy as he laughs boisterously, you're supporting his frame throwing in side comments to whatever story his father was telling.

"Do you want to talk to her?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why are you not?" He inquires like it's all so simple.

"Because it's your daughter," he scoffs. "And when she's mad, she's mad. It's not that easy."

You father laughs, "She is her mother's daughter." He corrects. "You know her, eventually she always puts her pride to the side. She's waiting for you to talk to her first. Have you tried."

"No, sir."

He lets out a boisterous laugh that has a sheepish smile skittering onto Lewis' face.

"You're too old to still be scared of my baby. My best advice is this: you lot know each other better than anyone in the world and love each other more than anyone in the world. If you think she's willing to give that up and vice versa, you're both idiots."

Lewis nods. They stand in contemplative silence as the older man's hand comes up to clap against his shoulder, where he holds onto Lewis as they sip from their glasses.

"You know," Lewis lights up, "that's where she gets that shit from; she called me an idiot when we argued."

"And were you being an idiot?" He queries.

"Well, Yes, sir."

"Okay then." He walks away not sparing so much as another word to Lewis and he is once again left alone.

You were relieved when dinner started, only to approach the table and see name cards posted in front of every seat. Just your luck. Right next to your seat, the postcard next to you reads Sir Lewis.

This time, you physically couldn't control your reaction as you threw your hands on your hips, your eyes searching for someone to switch with. Just as you reached over to swap Lewis' and Anthony's place cards, the group approached, and everyone stared at you with inquisitive eyes as you slowly dropped them back into place.

You smiled, sliding into your designated seat, eyes straight ahead as your father and Lewis slipped into their own.

Lewis side-eyes you as he sees that it was his name you tried to swap. You were always so petty.

You feel his stare on you and give him your back to face as you focus on your father who stands tapping his wine glass with a knife.

Like always your father begins to give a speech. You loved listening to him speak, even if he was lecturing you, he always managed to engrain some life lesson into your memory.

"Welcome, family and friends. I want to first start off by saying I appreciate you all for coming; if you're here today, you're either family or a friend, so in the end, that makes you all family. No matter when or how I met you, you have touched a special place in my heart, and you've made this life of mine beautiful. We've all become connected somewhere along the line, and now, hopefully, we're stuck with each other for the rest of our lives. As each year goes on and I grow older with it, I am reminded of just how meaningful it is to carry relationships on with you from one year to the next. We've done that." He laughs.

"Most of us have been in each other's lives since the beginning, Anthony has been my best friend since we were nine." He chuckled tilting his glass at Lewis' dad. Anthony raises his own right back at him.

"We've done everything together, damn near walked through each part of our lives together. He had a son, and months later, I had my daughter. Bam!" he laughs, and the table laughs with him. You smile at the mention of your father and his best friend; they were truly a pair like no other.

"Our friendship continues on through our children; we pass on our camaraderie; through our kids, we get more kids." He motions around to your friends. "And our family is even bigger. I've got my family, I've got my wife's family, Anthony's family, our children's family, and we're all now family. We've got each other for life! We're proof of that; we stick together and treat each other right, and if we don't, we always find our way back together again and start over because that's what a family does. Every year, you guys show up for me, and I show up for you. And I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday than with you. Life is beautiful and even more beautiful when you're spending it with the right people. So I thank you for being the right people."

There are no dry eyes after his speech. You reach over to hug him when he sits, pressing your lips to his cheek. "I love you, Dad."

Chatter emerges as everyone marvels at your dad's words. To your left, Lewis is quite emotional. His dad's arm comes up to pull his son into his side, and for the first time today, you watch him with no shame. He looks like a kid again in his dad's arms as he gets emotional, and your heart breaks.

It's not in your character to be mean to Lewis. You know this, which is why you haven't even bothered being a bitch to him, even though a part of you desperately craves to hurt his feelings like yours has been for the last two months. You pull your phone from your purse, and before you unlock it, his reflection glares at you from your blank screen. He isn't facing you but staring blankly ahead, and your resolve crumbles slightly.

He looks like little Lew, face set in a frown and tuned out to the world around him. You think back to all of the times he'd get into his own head, bothered about why the other kids didn't talk to him and why they were nasty to him when they did. How many times he's nestled into you the same way when he felt his heart take a hit.

He's always been a softie. Wearing his heart on his sleeve, it was one of the things you admired about him so much. His ability to let people see him fully. You were never good at that. If you were, you could gaurantee that you and Lewis wouldn't even be in this situation to begin with.

You are sure that you can hear your heart beating rapidly as you reach down and grasp onto his hand. You pretend to scroll mindlessly through your phone when you hear his breath hitch. Lewis struggles to keep his resolve as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He could cry again right now.

Your dad was right; he'd always been right. You think back to the times when you were younger when you would tell him why you and Lewis were sitting so far apart.

"Baby," he would lift your head with a gentle smile, "You know how many times Anthony got on my damn nerves or we had a quarrel, even with your mother. Just have to talk it out, right? That's the kind of friendship you don't let slip away, no matter what. And if he's mad at you, you fight for him. If you're mad at him, you fight for him. Don't ever let something ruin it when you could fix it before it gets bad."

When the food comes out, your stomach flips, sushi lines the table, and your insides feel like they're being shaken. You snatch your hand from Lewis' and toss it over your mouth as the fish is placed in front of you.

"Baby, you love sushi." Your dad says, pushing your plate away from you.

"I don't know what-" You don't finish your sentence rushing away from the table in a put together manner, you hurry to the other side of the boat where you make it just in time to empty your stomach. Nothing comes out as you dry heave over the water. A hand comes to rub at your back and your hair is being held back.

"Hey, you okay?" It's Lewis and his tone is full of concern as his hand constanly moves in caring circles.

You jump away from his comforting hands, throwing a glare in his direction.

"What do you want?" you hiss, preparing to step down from the altitude of the railing.

He holds out his hand ready to help you down and you almost reach for it before huffing and turning baack around folding your arms over the railing. If the sushi wasn't going to have you throwing up Lewis prescence surly would. You felt overwhelmed as he speaks up from behind you.

"Wow."

"Wow, what, Lewis?"

"So I'm Lewis now?"

"Is that not your name?" You snap back.

You feel his body heat behind you, this time closer.

"Not to you, you know that though."

"Nicknames are for friends."

"Shut up." He smacks his teeth.

"No!" you argue, turning around your chest bumps into his, "You shut up!"

you both childishly bicker back and forth.

“What are you being mean to me for, huh? Don't say that."

"I've got a right to be mean to you."

"I don't got time for your nasty ass attitude right now." He says.

"Good. The fuck." you ramble, turning around, "nobody asked you to follow me."

"I followed you because you're still my best friend, stubborn ass."

"Couldn't tell." You rebutted.

"See, I'm trying to talk to you, y/n. Why say something like that? Stop acting like-." He groans.

"Like what, like a bitch?" You look at him over your shoulder, watching his face drop. "That's what I thought."

"I wasn't about to call you a bitch."

Yeah, again, you think.

You stand in silence for a while, listening to the sound of the water sloshing against the boat.

"Your dad has a knick for speeches." He announces, "Always targeting us, huh?"

"That's my dad for you."

"I-, you're still my best friend, that will never change. No matter how long we go without talking to each other."

"I know." It comes out as a sigh and you let out a groan, dropping your head into your folded arms.

"Why didn't you call me?" You ask, "I waited for you to call."

"I was scared, I knew I fucked up, and I think us having sex created a weird dynamic with it. I kinda felt like a booty call or something, I don't know; you trying to leave triggered something in me, made me feel like it wasn't..."

He lets out a sigh, and you know he has that hard thinking face on. "meaningful what we did together." He finally concludes.

"I thought that's what you would've wanted, I'm sorry."

"For other people, yes. But not my best friend."

And there are those two words again, like two blades slicing you in half, best friend, that's all you'd ever be.

Lewis was your best friend, nothing less, nothing more. This is all it'd ever be, and that thought alone, although valid, had you knuckling at your eyes.

"You okay, bunny?"

You can't help the sad smile that appears or the way your heart flutters at the nickname; no matter the situation, you'll always be his bunny.

You slump back against his chest as you step back from the railing. "I'm fucking dying," you whine, and he laughs at your dramatics.

"You're not dying, love." He chuckles. He stands flush behind you, one arm coming around to dangle off your shoulder, the other holding your hand at your side. "How are you going to tell me?" You huff, and it seems as if nothing ever happened between you two as he turns you around and holds you close; he throws both of his arms over your shoulder, wrapping you into his tight embrace, and your face is crammed in his neck, breathing in his scent.

And in that moment, you both could've sworn fireworks erupt in the sky as your hearts beat against each other's chest. It feels like the missing piece in your lives from the last two months has been returned, and the machine is running excellently.

"Because I know you, what's wrong, huh? Got a tummy ache." He coos. And his soft, caring tone has your stomach doing flips.

You don't know how long you stand there in his embrace before you finally wrap your arms around his torso.

"I'm still mad at you." You declare.

"I know."

"I still want an apology."

"I'm sorry."

You feel your nausea ease away as you sway to the beat of his heart against your chest.

This is the first moment of relief Lewis has felt in two months, his heart is not in a panicked state and his mind is even better off.

"I'm sorry for calling you an idiot. It's been bothering me since I said it." You announce, "I don't think you're an idiot. I still think you're the smartest person in the world."

Your eyes water as you apologize, and Lewis hears the sniffle you let out. You remember how much it hurt your heart to see Lewis struggle to catch on in school as a kid, the words the teachers would spit at him, and how he'd let it get to him. You never wanted to make him feel the same way.

"I don't want you to think of me like the rest of them."

Lewis grasps your shoulders, inching you away softly, "I'd never look at you that way," he declares. "I was being an idiot, I know how you meant it, bunny. I should be apologizing for what I said to you. I don't think you were being a bitch; I've never in my life thought about you that way or even remotely considered calling you out of your name. I was just mad."

His hands come up to cup your face, and his thumbs swipe away the wetness underneath your eyes. He sighs, pulling you back into him. "I don't ever wanna not talk to you again, fucked me up."

"But you never called me."

"Didn't think you wanted me to, didn't know what to do, you'd never been that mad at me before, was scared." He admitted.

"I thought you were finally done with me."

"Never that."

"Are we okay?" You examine.

"We're always going to be more than okay. It feels right with me still, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay then, we're back like it never happened." He assured.

And he thinks he can stay like this forever, you in his arms as the sunsets on the boat. He can't think of anything more peaceful than watching the sky change colors and the warm hues making your skin glow in the softest way as he revels in the comfort of your warm body and beating heart.

He wants to unleash his feelings right then and there, "I love you."

"I love you more."

You both speak honestly, wishing that the other would return the same affection. Your parents watch on from above.

"Wouldn't know if it hit them over the head." Your mom shakes her head sipping her wine.

"So in their face." Anthony exhales, throwing his hand up, "Mhmm, mhm, mhm."

"Those are our kids, damn idiots." Your dad finishes, but unlike his counterparts, he wears a knowing smile on his face.

"There are a few things we need to clarify before we move on from this." You announce before you rejoin your family and friends.

"What's that?"

"That was a one-time thing for the sake of our friendship; no more sex, no more mentioning it; it never happened."

Lewis freezes in his spot, his arm falling from your shoulder as you take another step. You, too, freeze, turning around to take him in.

He is standing, his eyes furrowed like he's in deep thought.

That would be an easy rule for him to follow if he wasn't struggling as you speak to think about anything other than you every day and how great you felt around him.

"What?" You question.

"I-" he coughs, "I can do that."

"Don't make it weird." You warn, eyeing him.

"Was the best sex I've ever had in my life, though." He admits with a smirk. You push him away as he tries to wrap his arm around you again.

"Goodbye, Lewis." You laughed, walking ahead of him.

He happily stays behind you, watching the way your bottom moves in the dress, and once again, he feels the same burning desire. He could get by without mentioning it if you wanted, but he was absolutely and completely sure you ruined him for anyone else.

Ever since he could remember, his passionate moments never ensued without you flickering through his mind at least once to jump-start him. But actually having you, God he was sure he'd never see another woman again.

As you rejoin everyone else at the front of the boat, you once again see everyone spread out, and you realize just how long you'd been marveling at Lewis' presence as you notice the appearance of the moon.

You gasp as you see a serving bowl full of mango calling your name as you pass by the treat table. You pick it up with ease, stuffing your mouth as you approach your friends who, like always, have banded together in their own little world.

You make eye contact with Whitney, who is looking at you in pure wonder. You shoot her your own look of inquisition. When you take the empty seat beside her, she is still eyeing you like you have two heads.

"Girl, what?" you whisper, your mouth full of mango.

She shakes her head at you, turning and muttering under her breath. You slap her bare thigh, "what?" you whisper shout.

"We'll talk about it later." She declares, throwing back two shots back to back.

"Whit," you whine, "you know I hate when you do that."

"Yeah, but trust me, later is better."

You sigh, turning away from her and getting back to eating your fruit as Lewis approaches the group and takes the seat beside Mori. "Someone’s happy." Miles teases.

You look up at him, and sure enough, there is a shit-eating grin covering his face. "More than happy."

Whit is still mumbling to herself as you stare back at Lewis, when you look at her she is digging through her bag, "No, there's just now way."

Sure enough, as soon as you make your way back to the villa, Whitney is dragging you away from the rest of the group and into your bedroom. Lewis shoots you a questioning look as she yanks you from your seat. You can only shrug at him as you trip over your own two feet.

She opens the door to your connecting bathroom, waving her arms for you to enter dramatically after you just stand there and stare at her.

"Ouu, girl." You warn, walking past her, "I need you to start using some words."

When you step foot into the bathroom, she pushes something into your palm.

You angle your head down, realizing that what lies in your hand is a pregnancy test. You throw it at her in shock. "Eww bitch."

"It's not used, dummy." Whit catches it.

You gasp, reaching for her hands, "Oh my god! Are you pregnant?" You whisper shout, excitement seeping through.

"No!" She shouts back in a whisper closing your bathroom door. Your hands are cupped in front of your chest like an exicited child. She turns to face you again only this time she's adorning the most serious look she's ever given you.

"I think you are, though."

Your hands drop down to your sides, one going to your hip that pokes out as you scoff.

"Whit." It's all you say.

"Y/n. Please just take it, ease my mind."

"What even makes you think I could be pregant whit." You huff pulling the stick from her waiting hand.

She sits on the side of the bathtub as you lift your dress and plop down onto the toilet.

"You've been feeling out of it for a while; at first, I thought it was the heat, but you've been having nausea and headaches long before this trip. The smell of alcohol makes you sick, and you're a fucking alcoholic, c'mon now-"

"I am not a fucking alcoholic-"

"The sushi! You fucking love sushi. Out of everything to eat, an entire fucking serving bowl of mangoes, so many fucking mangoes, Y/n!"

As she continues, you begin to feel nerves bubble in your gut as you tinkle onto the test.

Your heart drops to your ass as you put the pieces together.

You haven't had a period in two months, which didn't raise any alarms before; irregularity was common for you. But now that you think about it, you have been unusually sick in the mornings and around certain foods and smells. You have been craving some things more than usual, and your scale shows a tiny bit of weight gain.

Two months ago you had sex with Lewis. With no condom, and he came inside of you. He most definitely fucked his cum back into you. The memory has you clutching your chest with a gasp that made Whit reach out to catch you just in case you toppled over.

"Oh my fucking god." you gasp, pulling the stick from beneath you and tossing it onto the sink. You wipe yourself and then stand to wash your hands.

"Oh fuck." you panic, and your hands are coming up to grasp your head.

"On the bright side, if it's positive, you're a mommy. You've always wanted to be a mom!" Whit cheers softly.

You turn to her with quickness. "Yes, Whit! When I'm fucking married and settled down, not when I fucking-"

The alarm tone from Whit's phone has you shutting up mid-sentence.

"I set the alarm when you peed," she whispered meekly.

She motions for you to pick up the test, and you wanna tell her to get out when you see the excitement covering her face.

You reach behind you, hand tapping blindly against the counter until the stick is in your hand.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose.

When you open your eyes, you see the result clear as day, which has you clutching your pearls.

"I'm going to pass out, I can't breathe."

"Let me see!" Whit all but shouts, jumping up, but you're already reaching for the door handle.

"Where are you going?" She shrieks as you swing the door open, leaving her behind.

"I need to tell Lewis."

"Oh boo," she pouts, "I understand he's your best friend and all, but at least tell me first, I'm the one who brought the test."

You turn to her with watery eyes and a look that tells her all she needs to know.

"Lewis is the baby's father?" She whisper shouts, jumping back like you've thrown cold water in her face.

"What the fuck? When did you sleep with fucking Lewis?" She ponders aloud. "Oh my god, is this why you two haven't been you two?"

"Whit," you groan. "I promise, I don't have the mental capacity to unpack all of this with you right now. There's a fucking baby growing inside of me, my best friend's baby and I don't know what to do with myself."

"Yeah," she nods sympathetically, "I'm sorry, yeah. You talk to Lewis and when you're ready I'll be here for you to lean on." She pulls you into a hig before grasping you by the shoulders.

"Whatever you decide just remeber it's your choice, okay? You call the shots Y/n. You know I'll support you either way, and you know Lewis, he'll understand."

You sniffle, wiping your cheeks with the back of your palm.

"Get yourself together, mama, I'm going to send him in, okay?"

You nod and rush over to your closet. You pull a pair of sweats on and then pull off your dress and toss on an oversized hoodie.

There is a knock on your door before it gently creaks open. Lewis pokes his head through with a gentle smile.

"Hey, everything okay? Whit told me to meet you in here, I didn't know if she wanted to strangle me or hug me, but she said it was urgent."

You shove the pregnancy test into the pocket of your hoodie, stepping out of the closet.

He enters the room, gently closing the door. He approaches you with his arms already open, seeing the teary expression.

"Lewis, can you actually sit down for me. I have to talk to you about something."

He's not sure what he expects to come from your mouth, but it wasn't what he heard.

"I'm pregnant. It's yours."

You surely weren't expecting him to look so relieved. "Why are you looking so-"

"Are you sure?"

You scoff, crossing your arms, "Yes, I'm sure it's yours, you dick. I don't sleep around-"

"What, no! Are you positive that you're pregnant?"

"Oh." You halt, and you pull the test from your hoodie, watching as he approaches you. He takes it from your hands, looking at it with sparkling eyes, "Wow."

"Wow?" You question, "Lewis, I'm pregnant with your child. Freak out a little."

"Why," he asks, "Are you freaking out? How do you feel?" His eyes are no longer on the test in his hands but staring intently into yours.

"Yes, I am freaking out, there is a fetus in my womb."

"Yeah, yeah." He breathes. "Whew, talk to me. What do you want?"

"I- I want to." You shake your head, pushing past him to sit on your bed. He follows after kneeling in front of you and placing the test beside you.

"I am with whatever you want, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but."

"But nothing," Lewis states. "If you want to keep our baby, you keep it. I know you've always wanted a family."

"Exactly," you sigh, "a family."

"Bunny, we're already a family. I'll be there you know I will."

"What about everyone else? What will they say?"

"I don't care about other people or what they have to say. I only care about you and what you want."

"I want to keep it, and I understand if it's not something you want. Won't hold it against you; you didn't ask for-"

"You're losing me. I'm not just going to let you raise our kid on your own. I want people to know it's my child."

"Lewis, they're going to-"

"Once again, I don't care what people think."

"Oh my god, I'm going to be prancing around all jolly and happy carrying your child, and when people ask, I'll just say, oh yeah, Lewis and I had very erotic sex, and now I'm carrying his illegitimate child."

"Don't call my child illegitimate. What the fuck?" He smacks his teeth.

"My child," you state, mushing his head back.

His hands reach up and rest on each of your thighs. "Our child."

"Still illegitimate," you sigh. "What if I find a man who'll marry me pregnant? Does that still-"

"I'm the Dad." Lewis asserts, he knows you're joking, but the idea of another man marrying you, let alone claiming his child, has him ready to kill a man who doesn't even exist. Besides, he would marry you in a heartbeat.

This is all too real for you at the moment, and you find yourself letting out another whine, "My job, I have a job, Lew."

"You and I both know that I make more money than I can spend." He assures you, his hands now rubbing up and down your legs.

He looks like an excited puppy waiting at your feet.

"Lew, that's not realistic."

"Why not?" He scoffs.

"Because what if one day you start hating me and them I'm left alone with-"

"That could never happen, bunny, that'll never happen."

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. I've never had a baby before."

He laughs, pulling himself up onto the bed beside you and cupping your hands in his. "We'll figure it out together. Gonna be the best parents in the world."

"Our parents are going to die." You laugh.

"Your mom probably overheard the others chatting about how we'd probably end up having a family one day."

"My dad still thinks we're going to marry each other one day. Ew, he's going to know I had sex with you." You cringe.

"Don't say it like you didn't enjoy it." He feigns offense.

"We know who enjoyed it more, Sir."

"I'm not denying it, don't call me that." His arm reaches back and pulls one of your pillows onto his lap.

"You horny fuck." You cackle, watching the sheepish look blanket his expression.

"I can't help it; you're calling me sir; you're carrying my child. That's two kinks in one."

"Lewis!" you shriek, whacking him with your own pillow.

"You do realize having sex has brought a lot of sexual tension to the surface, or is that just me?"

You could talk about things with Lewis that would make other people uncomfortable without there being any problems at all.

"It was very charged." You agree, looking back at him as he leans back, his elbows holding him up.

"Just charged? I gave you my all, Girl." He flicks your head.

"Don't hit me, I'm with child." You joke, and he lets out a genuine laugh, his head falling back. "If I'm being honest, it was the best sex I've ever had, too."

He smirked at you, shrugging his shoulders like it's no big deal. "Yeah, get told that a lot, so."

You snatch the pillow from his lap launching it at his face as you laugh with him, "I bet. I always thought if we were to have kids they'd be best friends like us, now we're having a kid together."

Lewis always hoped that he had kids with you, so in a way this was a dream come true, he was one step closer to having you in every way he wanted. He had an inkling now that the possibility of the two of you being together was becoming more realistic than it'd ever been.

You were agreeing to bring a life into this world with him, and he knows he's said it a million times, but this time he was absolutely sure, there was nothing and he means nothing that could ever make his love for you fade. He'd never stop loving you, if anything this announcement has made his desires increase tenfold.

And he could only hope it'd possibly open your eyes to your own, there was no way a person could speak to another like that if it wasn't real. There was no way you could be so open to bringing a child into this world with him if you didn't treasure him too.

Case in point, Lewis was done waiting on the sidelines.

I luv luv luv y'all.

so here's part two!

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

#black reader #L #lewis hamilton #formula 1 #formula one #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lewis ham #lewis hamilton imagine

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punkshort · 3 months

Text

saturday

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader (established relationship)

Summary: Your sister, Cassie, gives birth, and Joel has a question for your father.

Warnings: no outbreak, modern day but Joel is 40, language, fluff, flirting, soft!joel, explicit smut (18+MDNI), (somewhat - reader is on BC) unprotected piv sex, oral sex (f receiving), size kink?, alcohol use, reader's sister (obviously) gives birth but there's no description of the event

WC: 6.6K

Series Masterlist

dividers by @saradika-graphics

2:38am

You blinked a few times, making certain you were reading the time correctly. Sleep still weighed you down and you were having a hard time comprehending what woke you up in the first place. Then you heard it again and your heart jumped into your throat.

Someone was at your apartment door, you were sure of it. You could hear quiet scratching on the other side and when you sat up in bed to look across your apartment, you could see the unmistakable shadows of two legs under the crack in the door.

"Oh, my god," you mumbled, throwing the sheets off and grabbing your phone. Where was the baseball bat Joel gave you? What the hell did you do with it?

"Closet," you whispered to yourself, taking a few steps towards the coat closet when the door cracked open and you froze. You were in the middle of your apartment in just a tank top and underwear, clutching your stupid phone. This is how women are always killed in horror movies, you thought.

A familiar man's broad fame tripped over his own feet as he entered, and when you heard him curse quietly under his breath, relief flooded your veins which was quickly followed by annoyance. Reaching over to the floor lamp next to your couch, you flicked the switch, making him yelp and wince.

"What the hell are you doing, Joel?!"

He blinked rapidly and looked around the room before his eyes landed on you and a lazy grin spread across his lips. His hair was a mess and you could smell the alcohol and cigarettes from ten feet away. You wrinkled your nose but you couldn't help the goofy smile you always got whenever you saw him.

"You stink."

"Hey, baby," he croaked, his voice raspy from having far too much fun that evening. He stumbled towards you and you noticed dark spots staining his navy T-shirt that you hoped was just spilled beer.

"You scared the shit outta me. I almost called the cops!" you said, holding up your phone. "What are you doing?"

"Came t'see you," he slurred, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. Now that he was standing in the light, you could see the pink dusting his cheeks underneath his heavy lidded eyes.

"You're very drunk," you told him, and he just hummed in response before burying his face in your neck. "Had fun with Tommy and the guys I take it?"

"Mhm," he mumbled, his lips sucking messily at your shoulder. "Wanted t'see you. Missed you. Fuck, you smell so good."

You giggled when his facial hair ticked your neck. "You came to see me because you can't drive home and my apartment is within walking distance of all the bars."

He pulled away and gave you a feigned look of hurt. "No. Thought 'bout you all night. Talked 'bout you all night," he said, leaning into the crook of your neck. His hands slid down from your waist to cup your ass and he groaned. "I like these," he murmured into your skin, his fingertips tugging playfully at the edge of your underwear.

And even though your body was responding to his touch, warmth blooming between your legs, your curiosity won. "What did you talk about?" you asked, biting on your lower lip when he pulled you closer, pressing you against his erection through his jeans.

"How fuckin' happy you make me. How I wanna spend my life with you. How sexy you are," he said lowly, gripping your jaw and giving you a sloppy kiss.

"Oh, wow, spend your life with me? You really are drunk," you giggled after you pulled away. "Let me make you something to eat."

You managed to wiggle out of his grasp and walk towards the kitchen area, flicking on lights as you went and opening the fridge. "Leftover pizza okay?" you asked, pulling out the cardboard box and flipping the top open before grabbing some foil to lay down in your toaster oven.

"What'dya mean? I ain't that drunk. 'Course I wanna spend my life with you," he said, leaning up against your counter, watching you work.

You turned the dial on the toaster oven and popped in two slices of leftover takeout pizza before turning around to face him. "We met four months ago and you want to spend your life with me?"

His eyes suddenly appeared clearer when he looked at you. "Yeah. 'Course I do."

You gave him a look before pulling a plate down from your cupboard.

"What? You don't believe me?"

You put the plate down and shook your head.

"It doesn't matter," you told him, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him down for a kiss, but he pulled back before you could make contact.

"I mean it," he told you, sounding serious. "Already got the ring."

Your eyes bugged out of your head and your eyebrows shot straight up. "What?!"

"I'm just kiddin'," he said immediately when he saw your reaction, something flickering across his face for a split second before the toaster oven beeped and distracted you. You pulled your arms away, turning around to check his food when you felt his arms wrap around your waist from behind.

"I'm only hungry for one thing," he whispered in your ear, the ring comment suddenly long forgotten. You leaned back into his chest, pulling his pizza out of the oven while he nipped at your earlobe.

"Why don't you eat some actual food," you offered, turning around in his arms with a playful smirk. "And then you can have me for dessert?"

A wide smile stretched across his face and he nodded. "Deal."

"Fuck, Joel," you whined, his face buried between your legs, your fingers tangled in his curls as he dragged another orgasm to the surface. You were confident at this point you've never wanted anybody the way you wanted him. You kept waiting for that honeymoon period to end, but somehow each time with him was just more intense than the last.

Your head fell back against your cupboard while you cried out his name, your thighs clutching his head as a rush of white hot heat flooded your body, little whimpers slipping past your lips until he finally pulled away. Your legs dropped shakily onto the counter as you struggled to catch your breath. He watched you try to recover with a pleased smirk on his face, wiping away your slick with the back of his hand. You gazed at him, your mouth open and panting for air, your eyes half closed and filled with need.

"Fuck me, Joel," you gasped, slipping down from the counter, your underwear lost somewhere on the floor. He groaned and crashed his mouth over yours, giving you a taste of yourself while his hands greedily reached down to lift you up, carrying you towards your bed.

"Shit," he muttered when he stumbled a bit, and you weren't sure if it was his excitement or the alcohol to blame but you giggled nonetheless.

He dropped you unceremoniously onto your bed before he got to work stripping himself of his clothes. He seemed to be struggling with his belt but when you kneeled on the mattress and pulled your tank top off, his fingers magically began to work faster at the leather. He hopped on one foot, kicking his jeans off in a hurry and making you laugh before he stood up straight against the edge of your bed and cupped your face with both his hands, pulling you in for a kiss and stealing all the air from your lungs.

He broke away but kept his nose pressed against yours, your face still held delicately in his large hands as he whispered, "need y'so bad, baby."

Your eyes drifted down between your bodies and you raised an eyebrow at his painful looking erection pressed up against your stomach. "You don't say," you teased, and he smirked before giving you one more soft kiss on the lips. He dropped his hands to your shoulders and gave you a gentle shove, indicating he wanted you to lay down, but you bit your lip and shook your head before twisting around, propping yourself up on all fours and looking back at him over your shoulder. "Like this," you told him, and a low groan rumbled deep within his chest as he stared down at you.

"You tryin' to kill me?" he asked, bringing his palms up to glide smoothly over your ass, giving one cheek a little squeeze. "I ain't gonna last long like this."

"You weren't gonna last long, anyway. Not with all the beer you drank tonight," you replied with a grin.

He chuckled and spread his legs a little wider before bending his knees and lining himself up with your entrance. When you felt the familiar fat tip of his cock notched against you, you sucked in a deep breath. Joel was normally a lot to take, but from this angle, you knew it would be even more intense.

He pushed inside with a grunt, giving you time to adjust when he heard your sharp gasp before sliding all the way inside and bottoming out with a low groan. Looking down at your ass flush with his hips, he knew he was a goner. The muscles in his stomach were already twitching and tensing and he barely even moved yet.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you pressed your mouth into your shoulder, stifling your whimpers while your body slowly relaxed around his girth.

"Y'okay, baby?" he murmured, his fingers flexing around your hips the only movement he allowed himself to make, patiently waiting for you to get comfortable.

"Mhm," you whined, then rolled your head to the side and arched your back a little, stretching yourself around him. "Just so big. So fucking big, fuck," you gasped when you felt him pulse inside you from the compliment.

"Don't talk like that, c'mon," he groaned, closing his eyes. Baseball. Tommy. Hanging drywall. Do not fucking come.

You looked at him over your shoulder, a lazy smile twitching at your lips when you saw his closed eyes and the pained expression on his face. Something about being able to pull him apart like this made you feel powerful, so you decided to have a little fun. You began to slowly move your hips, keeping your eyes on him as you rocked back and forth. His fingertips dug into your waist and his eyes flew open.

"W-wait-"

You sunk your teeth into your lower lip and moved a little faster, watching as his eyebrows pinched together and his breathing became erratic. "Why?" you asked innocently, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

"Stop, baby. Fuck, I'm-" he hissed and tried to pull out but you pushed yourself back on him further before he could move. "I'm gonna come, it's too soon," he whined, his face contorted in embarrassment.

"Joel, look at me," you commanded, slowing to a stop so he could focus. His chest was heaving and his fingertips were most definitely leaving bruises in your skin as he tried to fight off his climax. "You already made me come twice in the past thirty minutes. Now I want you to fuck me exactly like you want to and I don't care if you come in ten seconds or ten minutes. Can you do that for me?"

His eyes darkened a bit and the corner of his mouth turned up into half a smirk.

"Yes," he murmured, finally allowing his gaze to drop to your ass and you saw him swallow before taking a deep breath. In an instant his hips started snapping into you, almost making you fall forward but you quickly braced yourself. Your mouth hung open, hardly able to make a sound when your entire focus was on the way he managed to reach the furthest depths of you with each devastating stroke. One of his hands gripped your shoulder, the other still planted firmly on your waist as he slammed you back against his hips with each thrust, your skin smacking together so loudly you barely heard him grunting each time he knocked the wind out of you.

The hand he had placed on your hip slid to your lower back and he gently pressed his palm down, his pace still merciless when he whispered "can'ya arch your back a little more, baby?"

You could hardly form a coherent thought let alone sentence, so you did as you were asked without answering. Based on the loud groan you heard, he was pleased.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," he chanted, breathing heavily behind you as you did your best to hold yourself up against his ruthless pace, but you could feel your legs getting weak. He suddenly fell forward and wrapped his arms around your ribs, yanking you up with a yelp so your back was flush against his chest and his mouth was pressed against the shell of your ear.

Your hands tried to grab his weakly, looking for some part of him to hold onto when he moaned into your hair and his body stilled momentarily, his hips stuttering as he flooded you with his release. Neither of you moved as you each fought to catch your breath, your head falling back against his shoulder. His heavy breathing was loud against your ear, then his chest eventually slowed down and his heartbeat returned to normal. Your legs began to tremble so he tightened his hold around you, holding you even tighter against him.

"I got you," he whispered, leaning forward so you could relax tiredly into your mattress. He pulled out with a soft grunt before collapsing next to you, stretching his arms wide. You crawled into his embrace and buried your face against his chest with a contented sigh.

"Too much?" he asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse as he drew invisible circles on your shoulder with his thumb. You shook your head and closed your eyes. "You're so fuckin' perfect, y'know that? How'd I get so lucky?" he asked softly, and you smiled. "You feed me 'n then you fuck me. What else could a man want?" he joked, and you giggled in his arms.

"Don't forget you went down on me in between those two things. You're pretty damn perfect, too."

He hummed and pulled your comforter over you both, making sure you were all tucked in and warm.

"I love you, baby."

"I love you, too," you whispered sleepily.

9:13am

Your phone rang shrilly on your nightstand, startling you both out of your deep sleep in surprise.

"Oh, Jesus, fuck," Joel mumbled, his hands immediately coming up to clutch his head. You sat up, holding the comforter against your chest as you groggily reached for your phone, knocking over a framed picture of you and Joel in the process. When it clattered loudly to the floor, he groaned.

"What?" you snapped angrily when you answered your phone, not even looking to see who was calling.

"Buck! It's happening!"

Your heart skipped a beat and you gasped, making Joel drop his hands from his face to look at you curiously.

"Now?!"

"Yes, now!" your sister, Cassie, replied on the other end. "We're on our way to St. Dave's. Mom and Dad are already on the way."

"Oh my god!" you yelled, throwing the comforter off yourself and running to your closet completely naked. Joel sat up and gawked as you used one hand to pull out fresh clothes, tossing them on the bed frantically and although he could tell it was an emergency, he couldn't stop staring at your perfect fucking body.

"W-where do I go? The emergency room or labor and delivery?"

Joel threw his legs over the side of the bed and tried to shake away his massive hangover before standing up slowly and hunting down his clothes.

"Okay, okay. I'll be there in like," you looked at your clock quickly, "twenty minutes."

You hung up and threw your phone on your bed before grabbing your underwear and pulling them on, much to Joel's dismay.

"Cassie's in labor!" you said, rushing past him in just your bra and underwear.

"I gathered," he said with a yawn. "You got any Motrin? The hospital's got a coffee spot, right? Starbucks or somethin'?"

You popped your head out of the bathroom and handed him the bottle of medicine. "You're coming with me?"

"Yeah, 'course I am," he said, popping two pills and swallowing them dry. "Unless you don't -"

"No!" you said hurriedly, disappearing back in the bathroom. "I want you to! I just thought you'd have to go home to Sarah."

"She's at a friend's house the whole weekend. It's why Tommy dragged me out in the first place. Said I never spend time with him when we work together all damn day," he muttered under his breath before sniffing his shirt from the night before and making a face. "This smells like the floor of a bar."

"You have some spare clothes here, remember? In the third drawer," you told him as you dried your face and started to brush your hair into a ponytail. He went to your closet and opened the dresser, smiling when he saw the entire drawer was devoted to just his things before picking out a fresh outfit and a stick of deodorant, hoping it would be enough because there was no way he would have time for a shower.

"Do I still stink?" he asked worriedly when you walked by, shrugging on a shirt. You stopped and sniffed him, then grinned.

"You smell like sex."

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Well, in that case, I'm ready to go."

"At least brush your teeth, you animal," you teased, shoving him towards the bathroom with a laugh. He stumbled into your small bathroom and found the spare toothbrush you bought for him. As he quickly brushed his teeth, he ran his fingers through his messy hair, trying to tame the bedhead to no avail. After he rinsed, he wet both his hands and ran his fingers through his hair a few times, slicking his curls back to make himself look more presentable.

When he was satisfied, he met you out in your kitchen, your face buried in your phone as you furiously texted your family. You glanced up at him and did a double take when you saw his hair.

"Oh, I like that look," you said lowly, reaching out a small hand to gently touch his wet hair, and he grinned. "It's not fair. If I were hungover as shit, I would look like road kill, and here you are looking more handsome than ever," you told him, pecking a kiss to his lips before grabbing your bag and heading to the door.

"You must've seen some real pretty roadkill if you think that," he told you, following you out the door and draping an arm around your shoulders as you headed to the elevator. "Want me to drive?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind," you said, handing him your car keys before tapping away on your phone again. "My mom's telling me where we should park."

Joel courteously dropped you off at the hospital entrance while he parked your car, giving you the opportunity to find your parents quicker. You saw your dad waiting for you by the front desk, his head tilted down towards his phone.

"Dad!" you called out, and he looked up at you with a smile. Slipping his phone in his pocket, he bent down and enveloped you in a big bear hug. Your dad, Paul, was a big guy and might come off intimidating to most who didn't know him, but at the heart of it all he was a huge softie.

"How's she doing?" you asked, pulling away while he stabbed the button for the elevator.

"She's doin' alright. Little nervous but she's ready."

When you noticed the elevator about to reach the lobby, you glanced behind you. "Wait! Joel's parking the car," you said, and his eyebrows rose a bit in surprise.

"Oh, didn't realize Joel's here," he replied, glancing at his watch, and you immediately felt the heat creeping up your neck.

"He was out with his friends and brother last night. He had too much to drink and couldn't drive so he walked to my place," you told him, which wasn't exactly a lie. When you saw Joel walking through the lobby, his hands shoved in his pockets and his hair slicked back, you felt the same flutter in your stomach you felt every time you saw him and you prayed it would never go away.

Joel's gaze landed on you first and then your dad's, giving you both warm smiles as he approached.

"Hey Paul, early congratulations are in order," he said, shaking your dad's hand just as the elevator dinged behind you.

"Thanks, Joel," he replied, clapping him on the back and following you into the elevator. "Heard you had a fun night last night."

Joel's eyes went wide and the blood drained from his face as his gaze darted back and forth between you both.

"The bar. With Tommy and them," you reminded him, and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Oh, yeah. Too much fun. Feelin' it today," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Tommy met a girl, though. Got her number, if I recall, so maybe that'll get him off my back. Can't drink the way I used to."

"A girl? That's great. Maybe y'all can double date or somethin'," your dad said, stepping through the open elevator doors when you reached labor and delivery. "Now she's only allowed two visitors plus Josh, so why don't you go back and we'll swap out after a while. It's room 663."

"Okay," you said, turning to Joel. "I'll be back soon, I just want to check on her-"

"Take your time," he told you, kissing the top of your head. "I'll get us some coffee and somethin' to eat."

You smiled in relief and hurried past the swinging doors, eager to see your sister.

12:26pm

The strong, over-caffeinated coffee Joel drank managed to quell his nasty hangover. You had swapped out with your dad once already, gratefully accepting the breakfast he bought while you updated him on your sister's status. From what he gathered, her water broke but she wasn't dilated enough yet. It had been quite a few years, but Joel remembered when Sarah was born and how long it took. When his ex went into labor, they both thought they had to rush to get to the hospital, assuming the baby would arrive quickly but it ended up taking a day and a half before Sarah was actually born.

"You don't have to stay, you know," you told him after a few hours. "I know this is boring and there's nothing to do. I'm sure you have things to do at home-"

"I wanna be with you," he said, cutting you off. "If I went home I'd just be sittin' around wonderin' what you're doin', so I think I'll stay if that's alright by you."

You gave him a shy smile and looked away, and goddamnit you looked so beautiful every time he made you blush.

The double doors swung open and your dad emerged, holding out his arms to his sides with a smile.

"Still the same," he announced, and both your faces fell. "Tag, you're it," he teased, tapping you on the shoulder before you stood up.

"I'll be back in a while," you told Joel, stretching your arms a bit. "But seriously, if you want to go home it's totally fine. You can take my car and my parents can take me back."

"I told you, I ain't goin' anywhere," he said firmly, "now go be with you sister, she needs you."

You smiled and blew him a quick kiss before pushing past the doors. He looked over at Paul, who was scrolling on his phone, and took a deep breath.

It was now or never, and he might as well do it while your dad was in a good mood.

"Hey, Paul, can I talk to you 'bout somethin'?"

Paul looked up and clicked the button on the side of his phone, the screen going dark.

"Sure. What's on your mind, Joel?"

Joel knew Paul long before he even knew you. He met your parents when he was hired to build their house, which took a very long time and was a lot of hard work, but he loved being able to bring to life what someone could only dream about. He always got along well with your parents, so much so that they invited him to their Christmas party, which was when he met you and his life changed forever.

And even though he knew your father well and he had no reason to be nervous, he still felt butterflies in his stomach as he thought about what he wanted to say.

"Well, it's 'bout your daughter," he began, his fingers fidgeting anxiously in his lap as he struggled to maintain eye contact.

"Bucky? Everythin' okay?" Paul asked, suddenly looking concerned. Joel quickly shook his head.

"She's great. Nothin' bad. We're... great," he stammered, taking another deep breath. "I love her very much. I'd do anythin' for her, I hope y'know that," he said, hoping his voice didn't tremble like he thought it did. "We're plannin' on movin' in together when her lease is up in a few months, I think she told you," Joel said, looking up at Paul questioningly. He nodded slowly, his brow beginning to furrow a bit.

"Yeah, she told us. We think that's great, Joel. You know we love havin' you part of the family," he told him, and Joel felt a bit of relief when he saw his opening.

"That's exactly what I wanted to talk 'bout, actually," he said, and Paul tilted his head to the side, confused. "'Bout bein' part of the family, that is. I-I'd like to ask her to marry me - with your blessing, of course," Joel said hurriedly, "and not straight away. I was thinkin' when she moved in I might ask her then. I know it's soon, I know we've only been datin' a few months, but Paul, I gotta be honest with you, she's the one for me," Joel said, the words tumbling out now as he watched Paul's eyes go soft. "I've never been more sure 'bout anythin' in my life. And I promise I'll take care of her, I'll love her and give her whatever she needs. I'll never do wrong by her, you got my word-"

"Joel," Paul chuckled, waving his hands in the air. "Joel, that's enough. You don't gotta sell yourself to me. I know you're a good man, I see how happy you make my daughter, I ain't blind. 'Course you have our blessing. Christ, nothin' would make us happier."

"Really?" he breathed as a smile stretched across his face, his hands trembling now in his lap.

"Yes, really. The hell you so nervous for?"

"Well, figured you'd be upset 'bout her last engagement and how we haven't known each other long," Joel admitted, running a shaky hand through his hair.

Paul shook his head and made a face. "That last guy never even had the guts to ask me. I had a feelin' it wouldn't last, but I had hoped my little girl would be the one to end it on her terms. But it all worked out, anyway. She met you," he said, grabbing Joel's shoulder and giving it a firm shake. "You might've only known her for a few months but I've known you years and I know the type of man you are. I see the way you look at each other. Reminds me of when I met Martha," Paul said, his eyes growing misty. "When you know, you know."

Joel smiled and blinked back tears of his own. "Yeah, you're right. When you know, you know."

Paul leaned forward and pulled Joel into a tight hug, squeezing the air from his lungs in the process but he didn't care. He had your father's blessing, that was the first hurdle. Now all he had to do was find enough courage to ask you to marry him one day.

5:48pm

"You havin' fun, babygirl?" Joel asked into his phone as he paced the halls of the hospital.

"So much fun, Dad. It's supposed to be warm out tonight so we're all gonna sleep outside in tents and have a campfire."

"Now why are you excited to sleep outside with your friends but when I wanna go camping you always say no?" he said, smirking when he heard her groan.

"Because I'm still within walking distance of indoor plumbing," she shot back, making him chuckle softly.

"Yeah, well, y'got me there," he conceded, his eyes flicking up when he noticed you walk through the doors, scanning the lobby looking for him. He held up his hand and when you saw him, your mouth stretched out into a tired smile.

"How's Cassie?"

"Nothin' new but I think I might be gettin' an update here in a second," he said, eyeing you as you hurried up to him. "You call me if you need anythin' at all, alright?"

"I will."

"Okay, love you," he said right as you caught up to him.

"Love you too, Dad."

He dropped the phone from his ear and slid it back into his pocket. "How's she doin'?"

"She's getting ready to push!" you said excitedly, grabbing his arm as you bounced on the balls of your feet. "I was just giving them a few minutes of privacy but she said she wants me to hold one of her hands. The doctors said you and Dad can wait outside the room if you want," you told him, pulling him back down the hall towards your father, who was already waiting with a nervous look on his face.

"How're you holdin' up?" Joel asked Paul, who looked paler the closer he got. You let go of his arm and he followed you down the hospital corridor, making sure to stay out of the way of the passing medical staff.

"I'm 'bout to be a grandpa, Joel. I'm feelin' every emotion there is right now," Paul said with a nervous laugh.

Even though his hangover was still a very fresh memory, he still said, "why don't we get a drink later on and celebrate? Help take the edge of a bit."

Paul clapped Joel's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze and making him wince, but Paul didn't notice. His eyes were fixed on a door at the end of the hall. "That sounds like a plan, son."

Joel choked up for a moment at the term of endearment but quickly swallowed it down. This was about Cassie and Josh, not him. But still, the fact Paul felt comfortable calling him son during such a pivotal moment in his life touched him.

"Okay, I'll come out and let you know how it goes," you said, turning around to face the two of them. It melted Joel's heart, the way you were so happy and excited for your sister.

"Alright Bucky, you take care of our girl," your dad said, planting a kiss on the top of your head. You turned to Joel and he shot you a wink.

"Go on, now," he told you with a smile, and you gave him a quick kiss on his cheek before disappearing inside the room.

It took nearly one more hour, but after hearing a lot of screaming and crying from your sister, there was a brief silence before the telltale sound of a newborn's cries filtered through the door. Joel's eyes widened when he looked at Paul, who immediately began to tear up. Joel grinned and patted him on the back but he was quickly yanked into a bear hug so tight he wondered how he didn't fracture a rib.

"Congrats," Joel said, his voice a little pained, but Paul didn't notice. He was far too excited as tears of joy spilled down his cheeks.

Josh stumbled through the door wearing a disposable apron and cap, looking shellshocked as he yanked off a blue mask. Paul grabbed him and pulled him into a fierce hug, making his eyes bug out of his head even more and Joel had to stifle a chuckle.

"It's a girl," Josh said, a smile stretching across his face now. Paul laughed and wiped away his tears while Joel shook Josh's hand and congratulated him. "They're both doing great. Cassie's great. The baby's great. Perfect. Oh my god, I'm a dad," he said, suddenly bending over, his hands gripping his knees as he breathed deeply.

Paul laughed and rushed into the room, leaving just Joel and Josh in the hallway.

"You alright?" he asked Josh, putting a hand on his shoulder to help steady him.

"Yeah. It just kinda hit me all at once, y'know?" he said weakly, falling limply into a chair. "How'd you do it, man? Weren't you freaking out?"

"Oh, yeah. I still freak out," Joel admitted, sitting down next to Josh. "Havin' a girl is hard. They are unpredictable and independent but also so amazing and strong."

"You got any advice for being a girl-dad?" he asked, half joking.

Joel grinned and leaned his head against the wall as he scratched his chin and thought about it.

"Encourage her. Let her be herself. Let her paint your nails and make mistakes. Play tea parties with her and listen to her. Don't lie to her. Do your best. Show her love. Make sure she sees how you and Cassie love each other. Treat her with respect, but don't assume anythin'. Wear the tiara. Wear the boa. Just... be there. Because a father's love for his daughter is special. Look at Paul," Joel said, stretching his arm out towards the closed door. "He hasn't left this building all day. He raised two beautiful, smart, well rounded women who he would go to war for but also lets them be themselves. Lets them make their own choices and doesn't hold 'em back. Just... love her, man," Joel said, tilting his head in Josh's direction. He had been quietly listening to everything he said, absorbing every word before taking a deep breath.

"Thanks, Joel," Josh said with tears in his eyes. "I mean it. Thanks."

Joel slapped him on the back with a wide smile.

"No problem. Now get in there and help your wife."

Josh stood up and looked down at Joel. "Aren't you coming?"

Joel stood and followed Josh inside the crowded room, which was currently being vacated by the hospital staff so everyone could bond with the new family member.

But what Joel wasn't expecting to see was you holding the newborn in your arms, seated in a chair next to Cassie's bed as you gazed down lovingly at your niece.

Something tugged inside Joel's chest when he saw you. Something foolish and primal and earth-shattering. You looked up at him and smiled.

"Look, Joel. Meet Anna," you said, your gaze finding hers once again, and Joel looked at you, praying his face didn't give away what he was feeling in that moment.

"She's gorgeous," he whispered to Cassie, then went to stand behind your chair so he could admire Anna's sleeping face.

Paul was snapping pictures while Martha was on her phone talking to extended family, letting them know the good news. Josh pressed a kiss against Cassie's lips and murmured what a great job she did, but all Joel could see was you and Anna. You looked so at ease as you cradled her in your arms, like you were made for it and he felt his throat close up.

You finally handed her back to her mother but made sure to press a quick kiss against her forehead first.

"We should probably let you guys get to know each other," you said, giving Cassie a half hug.

"Thank you so much, Bucket," Cassie said softly, looking down at her baby. "I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for being here, Joel," she added, and he smiled.

"'Course I'd be here. You're like family to me," he said sincerely, and she gave him a tired smile.

You blew Cassie a kiss and gave your parents a hug before grabbing his hand and leading him out the door.

"Well that was an unexpected way to spend a Saturday," you said, wrapping your arm around his bicep as he lead you to the elevator.

A flurry of thoughts swam through his head as he walked you through the parking garage to your car, but he kept them all to himself. It was an eventful day, you were right. You just had no idea how much.

"Did you want to stay the night?" you asked him when he parked your car, and he felt the butterflies swirl in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to spend every second with you, but he made a promise.

"Yeah, but I mighta made plans," he confessed, and you gave him a look as you stepped out of the passenger side of your car. "Told your dad I'd take him for a drink to celebrate," he told you, and you rolled your eyes.

"After last night? You're willing to drink again so soon?" you teased as he walked you into the lobby of your building.

"Just one drink. Then I'll be back, and this time I won't sneak up on you," he murmured, pressing a slow kiss against your soft lips.

"Better not, or else I might not be so nice this time," you whispered against his lips, making him groan.

"You were real nice," he said lowly, his cock already twitching in his jeans. "Give me a couple hours and I'll return the favor."

"Is that a promise, Mr. Miller?" you asked playfully just as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

And maybe it was because he was so tired, or maybe all of the emotions from the day were building up inside him like a dam ready to burst, but the urge to ask you right then and there was overwhelming. He had never felt so strongly about anything in his whole life. But he had to be careful, especially after your reaction to his comment about the ring. He had to be patient, he had to think about the timing. He had to do it right.

"Yes, ma'am," he finally replied, his tone so serious it made you grin.

You stepped backwards onto the empty elevator, holding his gaze and with a mischievous glint in your eye, you winked.

"I'll be waiting."

Then the doors slid shut, leaving him paralyzed. He had to fight the urge to race up the stairwell and meet you at your door, all breathless and needy, but he forced himself to exit your building. As he strolled down the street, heading towards where he parked his truck the night before and silently praying he didn't get a ticket, he thought about the hold you had over him. It was powerful and intense. Alluring and confounding. Debilitating and staggering.

And he absolutely loved it.

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