#I remember reading this fic when I was healthy again and I was kind of weirdly impressed it was so lucid? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fatuismooches · 11 months ago

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fabulam diu oblitus - second interlude.

synopsis: The tale of the raven and the sparrow has long been forgotten by most, but some will always remember.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: This is the third part of this fic, please read the first two for maximum enjoyment. The tale of your and Dottore's life seems to be coming to an end. Contains non-sexual nudity (you two cuddle nearly nude) and reader has some insecurities about themselves/their body. Of course, mandatory mention to my moot @kaixserzz and all my lovely anons (you too 🎐 anon <3.)

prelude. first interlude. second interlude. postlude. sequel.

“The butterfly’s life seemed to be going well. They had their dear raven who loved them along with his multiple copies. Friends who spent time with them. But in reality, life was much harder and dimmer for them than they outwardly showed sometimes. In fact, the butterfly found themselves plagued by dreams. They weren’t nightmares, but when they woke up, it certainly felt like one. Or when they did have genuine nightmares, they felt the same unease and wept about their unfortunate situation.”

You woke up under the sun, its heat kissing your skin, leaving you warm and fuzzy. Blearily, you rubbed your eyes and looked around, trying to gauge your location. Judging from the bright sun and soft grass surrounding you, one-of-a-kind fauna that could only be found in certain places, you must be in a forest in Sumeru. You yawned, rubbing your eyes, sitting up. It was then you noticed that Zandik was sleeping peacefully next to you as well. Hehe, you couldn’t believe your eyes. Zandik, slacking off? Especially when he always got mad at you for that? Oh, you were so going to tease him later. You reached out to caress his cheek but-

In the blink of an eye, he was gone, and you were confused. Where did he go…? But that was the least of your worries, as another blink had changed the landscape to one of pitch darkness. Immediately, you got up despite not being able to see anything. And then a voice sounded from somewhere.

“[Name].” After someone said your voice, a bright spotlight was cast on you, the only light in the vast darkness that surrounded you. And that voice… it wasn’t Dottore, but it sounded oddly familiar…

“[Name], oh [Name]. The poor pitiful person who cannot do anything useful for themselves or for others,” the voice continued to echo from above, though you could not see who was speaking. But then, as you took in their words, you realized that it was your voice. Your voice was the one sounding from above. How… what? You wanted to question it but you were more focused on the content of their words.

“What are you talking about? Who- who even are you?” The voice chuckled, a carbon copy of how you would laugh.

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You, who cannot ever hope to be anything more than you are now, forever stuck in that useless body and mentality of yours. You, who-”

“Hey! Ugh, you’re me, are you not? Why are you being so mean?” You replied, frustrated. Was it strange to be having a conversation with yourself as well?

“Indeed, I am you. But I am the truthful part of you. I am the voice that you bury in the back of your mind, the one you try so hard to ignore. But you know that I am right.” You gritted your teeth at your other voice’s words. No, that couldn’t be true. You were far, far better than what this imposter was saying! But before you could refute those statements, they spoke again.

“Just take a look at yourself from before.” And then, another spotlight opened up in front of you. There, basking under the light, was your former self from the Akademiya. Carefree, happy, and healthy, balancing a pencil on your finger as you cheerfully discussed some academics with Zandik. More spotlights flicked on to demonstrate your skilled movements, swiftly handling your weapon in battle. Ah, showing you all the things you couldn’t do anymore. How lovely. And then those lights switched off, and one turned on behind you, making you spin around.

In the spotlight stood a tall mirror, reflecting your current self right back at you. Not just outwardly, but mostly inwardly. Your throat went dry. You were so, so different. Did your illness really change you that much? The bright and lively face from before was a stark comparison to this tired one. The mirror began to reflect your recent memories as well. The ones where the segments had to do multiple tests on you for your health. Or when you needed to be helped with stuff even children could easily manage. Something began to deeply hurt in your chest.

“When you take a look in the mirror, what do you see? I don’t need to spell it out for you, do I?” The voice from above giggled at you. You just wanted to wake up from this nightmare, already on the verge of tears. Please, just let someone wake you up. It seemed that you couldn’t be happy whether in reality or in dreams.

“Okay, you’re right!” You cried. “You’re right… I’m sorry…” You didn’t even know why or who you were apologizing to.

“Ah, so you admit it, do you? Then you must be ready to accept your fate as well.”

“My… fate?”

“Yes, your fate. Do you really think your dear Dottore will stay with you after burdening him so?” That question made your heart freeze.

“I… yes he will! Of course he will! Zandik loves me… he loves me…” Perhaps you were trying to convince yourself more than stating it as a fact.

“Love? You?” A scoff sounded from behind you, the voice being one that was easily recognizable. Dottore. Turning around, you saw your beloved, but you did not feel the wave of comfort you usually did when in the presence of your lover. The mocking tone was one thing but… it was the way he looked at you. Though his mask was on, you could read his expression. And it was certainly not one of love. The feeling of dread was slowly growing more and more larger.

“Zandik…”

“Do not call me that. I am Il Dottore to you. After all, you are nobody special.” Ah. What did you do to deserve this nightmare…? You could hear the echoes of your own laughter in the background, mocking you. What did you expect? That someone on such a high level like Dottore would stay with you? How laughable, yes, how laughable indeed! But the only thing you could do was beg. Dottore began walking away, the darkness cloaking his figure, and you could not help but run, run, run after him, tripping on your feet as you finally closed the distance between him and you. The only energy you had left was to grip onto his hanging white coat.

You clung to his leg, tears streaming down your face as you continued to plead. “Please don’t. Please! Please, I’ll do whatever you want me to. Anything you want. Just please don’t leave me alone,” you sobbed. Dottore was the only thing you had left in this world. What would you do with yourself if he was gone?

The Harbinger only looked down at you with cold, cold, eyes that made your body feel even more frigid. He then opened his mouth to speak, and you knew if you heard what he said, it would break you.

Which is why it was good when your eyes popped open to that familiar ceiling of yours. Not even a second later, you sat up immediately and would have nearly jumped out of bed if it weren’t for a pair of strong arms holding you in place. But, you didn’t register this right away, and you tried to desperately fight the grip on you but it did not let up.

“[Name],” your brain finally processed the voice that had been calling you. “[Name], calm yourself,” the voice was the very definition of calm, the complete opposite of what you were right now, so the soothing tone managed to get through to you. You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing once more, and attempted to relax your shaking body. The hands on your body remained until you had regained some kind of stability before they slid away. Blearily, you opened your eyes once again and lifted your head, blinking repeatedly to see your lover in front of you once again. Ah, so all of that was just a dream? Oh, you were so, so, thankful it wasn’t reality.

“Zandik?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes and adjusting to the light.

“Yes, it’s me. From my office, I could see your heart rate reaching abnormal levels, which is why I came to check on you.” You stole a glance at the machine hooked up to you, and indeed, your heart rate was higher than normal even though you had calmed down a bit. You could only imagine the level it was during the peak of your nightmare.

“Oh…” It was hard for you to form full sentences right now after that terrifying dream.

“What happened?” He didn’t bother asking if you were okay because the answer to that was clear. You wondered to yourself if you should tell him. No, you shouldn’t, it was dumb. And it was just a dream… just a dream that surely would never become reality, so you shouldn’t waste his time with it.

“I had a dream,” you began, and Dottore looked at you expectantly. “But I forgot what happened,” you lied, hoping that he would buy it.

“It did not seem like a peaceful one.”

“Mhm… I’m not sure,” you replied briefly again. You’re not sure he believed you, but he did not further question it. But as you looked at him again, you just had to make sure he was real, and not just a figment of your imagination that would torture you again. So you reached your hands out to cup Dottore’s cheeks, feeling the intact skin under your palms. He looked at you questioningly, until you practically pinched and squished his cheeks, and normally he would have scolded you for such behavior, but you looked like you really did have a terrible dream, so he let it slide. But you still needed extra clarification.

“Are you real, Zandik?” You definitely sounded like you lost it now. But Dottore humored you anyway.

“I am real,” he affirmed.

“Prove it,” you demanded. Dottore looked at you expressionlessly, pausing for a few moments, perhaps contemplating what he should do to prove something so silly, but soon he pulled your hands away from his face and then leaned in to kiss you. His pointy teeth grazed your lips, bordering the line between a bit of pain and pleasure. You lost track of how long he kissed you like that, but you didn’t mind. You knew what he was trying to say. There was no way a fake could kiss you like that. His kisses were entirely real.

The nightmare still remained as a hazy mess in your head, but it gradually slipped away from you as you lost yourself in Dottore’s kisses.

… But that wasn’t the beginning or end of your dreams. They had been plaguing you for a while, and that one just happened to be the worst one yet. You don’t remember when they started, but you remember they started nice. The dreams felt like a warm blanket, cozy and soft, as you were back in the Akademiya from centuries ago. And they ended pleasantly too, but when you woke up, it certainly felt like the opposite. It was more like you were being suffocated, being so plainly reminded of your old life, and how different you were now. And then you wept yourself back to sleep, beginning to dread sleeping. Perhaps that’s why the nice dreams began to turn into actual nightmares. You just couldn’t understand why this was happening to you. But more importantly, you wished that Dottore hadn’t found out.

You had lovely friends, segments who would dote on you, access to pretty much any entertainment since your lover still was a Harbinger after all (despite his budgeting issues with Pantalone), and last but certainly not least, you had the love of your life with you. Your life should feel pretty good, with all of these wonderful things around you.

But it didn’t. And you hated it. So, so much.

So it was only a matter of time before you’d be found out.

—

“And so the butterfly tried their best to hide how they truly felt. To hide the cycle of suffering from their loved ones, not wanting to burden the ravens even more. Although they tried their best, they could not keep up the act any longer.”

It started off as a normal day. You woke up with the same lingering sense of sadness, from the mini nightmare you had, but that was something you were used to. But you could have never expected this to happen.

It was during one of your regular, daily checkups. Some of the clones were there, doing their own thing, while Omega was the one administering the checkup. And you were getting the needle today, so that was nice, you guess.

Oh, when would it end? When would you finally be free? When would your body be able to be strong again? How much longer will you be cursed to live like this?

But after that internal monologue, you didn’t think much of it as Omega’s gloved hands carefully held your arm steady as he injected you with something. Nor did you pay much attention to the segments’ bickering, which was uncharacteristic of you. You usually liked to listen in and give your two cents on their arguments. But you hoped you didn’t seem too out of the ordinary.

However, sometimes when you try too hard, you end up doing the one thing you were trying to avoid.

“[Name]? What is the matter?” Omega asked you, and then you realized all the other segments were staring at you as well.

“Huh? What do you mean?” You sat up a bit taller and smiled, hoping to appear your normal self. But it was then you noticed the growing dampness on your lap. Your heart leaped in your throat, and you brushed your fingers against your face, to be met with wet cheeks.

Oh. You were crying. After trying so hard not to. A part of you wanted to keep the facade up a bit longer, but it hurt too much to keep pretending, and it wouldn’t work anyway. Good thing Omega finished the checkup already. Otherwise, it would have been torture to sit there and cry while he took your vitals.

“[Name]-” Omega was the only one who could speak because the other younger clones were too shocked and unsure to say anything. But when he reached out to you, you swiftly dodged it.

“It’s nothing. It’s nothing, really!” Your voice cracked embarrassingly enough but you couldn’t pay attention to that, busy wiping your tears. Before the segments could do or say anything else, you quickly made a beeline for the door and exited into the endless corridors. If they called your name, you didn’t hear it, as you bit your lip to hide your pitiful sobs.

Hopefully hiding in your bed under the covers would alleviate some of the pain.

—

“When the raven came to check on his darling, the butterfly mourned to their companion: ‘How can you bear to look at me when I’ve been stripped of everything I once was? My wings, eyes, beauty, and soul are no more. How can you love me when I cannot even begin to like myself?’ The flightless butterfly wept as they attempted to hide their body away from the creature, though their wings were already too punctured to move. Still, they were too wrapped up in their hatred and guilt to face him. The creature was at a loss as to how to comfort his lover. How could he show that despite the fact they couldn’t fly anymore, or that their wings had lost their vibrance and become dull, he still loved them? The creature knew he had to do something, and so he decided to take off the fox fur and truly become the raven again, for his beloved’s sake.”

The sensation of being alone in your bed did not last for long, for soon enough there was a knock at your door.

“[Name]?” A muffled voice came beyond the door and you silently groaned. Of course the segments told Prime, and of course he was here now to inquire why you acted like that. And you think you forgot to lock your door too. You hoped that if you remained silent, he would just go away. You were wrong.

“[Name], I’m coming in.” And seconds later you heard the door to your room open and close, and then the footsteps stopped at the side of your bed. Though your face was under the covers, you imagine he was staring down at you.

“I heard what happened,” he began, and then his footsteps echoed throughout the room again as he walked over to the other side of the bed, where you primarily were. The pause after his sentence made you think he expected you to respond, but you didn’t of course. Then, you could feel the bed creak and dip with Dottore’s added weight, and you could feel the brush of his hands against your legs that were covered by the blankets.

“[Name], you can’t keep your head under the blankets forever. You have to come out at some point.” You hated how he was always right because as he spoke you had the desperate need to breathe some fresh air. Ugh. Reluctantly, you lowered the blanket ever so slightly, to only show your tear-stained eyes and your nose. You could feel Dottore’s eyes on you but you avoided looking at him, placing your arm over your eyes.

“[Name].”

“...”

“[Name],” Dottore’s voice had a deeper tone to it now.

“...What?”

“Tell me what is the matter.”

“Nothing is wrong. I-I just felt like crying,” you pathetically defended yourself. You hated showing such weakness in front of Dottore. Yet here you were, crying about your pitiful self while you were sure he had far more important things to attend to. After you spoke, he studied you for a few moments before he replied.

“I have no intention of leaving here until you speak. You may test my patience if you wish, but I will find out what troubles you regardless,” Dottore spoke rather matter-of-factly. You just wanted to shrivel up into nothing at this point. You knew when Dottore says he’ll do something, he’ll make good on it no matter what. And you were right, for countless minutes went by as your lover remained sitting in the same position, turning his gaze to observe your room at times before turning back to you.

Dottore realized that it had been a while since he was in your room. There were just some days when he could not afford the time, so the segments had been taking diligent care of you instead. He looked around your room and noticed some child-like drawings were pinned to the wall. Ah, that must have been you and Zandy. And the Ruin Machine parts scattered on your table. Probably another segment, perhaps Alpha. He makes a silent note to himself to ask you about everything you’ve done in his absence. He obviously wants to be updated on your life still, despite all of his bothersome duties. Dottore looks back at you and sees that you’re wearing a conflicted expression, perhaps wondering how to say what you want to say. That’s alright. Regrator will survive if he doesn’t get his paperwork today. The silence continues before you speak up softly.

“Zandik…” The call of his real name has his attention back on you, and the scholar is prepared to find a proper solution to whatever has you so worked up.

“Do you really love me?”

…Alright, admittedly, that was not one of the things Dottore was ready to refute, and the Harbinger finds himself at a loss of words for a few moments, though he does not let it show on his face. Here he was wondering if maybe you had a bad flare-up of your illness, or if possibly some idiot spoke to you wrongly. But instead, you are questioning his love for you? How… surprising and frankly absurd, but he must get to the bottom of this.

“Where is this coming from?”

“I just…” Your face crumples further, looking even sadder if that was possible. “I just don’t understand…” You remember a conversation you had with Childe. He had said you must be quite exceptional to have the Doctor wrapped around your finger. You could only smile and bite your tongue because, in reality, you were nothing special. At least not anymore. Maybe centuries ago, but certainly not now.

“Understand what?”

“Why you would still love me.” Your statement and crestfallen expression have Dottore’s brain working in an attempt to fully understand this misunderstanding. He could probably fill up a few journals about why you were most dear to him, his pens breaking countless times, about why everything about you far outshone the irrelevant other beings in his world, and why worshipping you instead of even the almighty Archons was something he found far more appealing. But he doesn’t have time for that, no, he needs to make you see how wrong you are as quickly as possible.

“Why would I not love you?” He inquires, hoping to tear down your arguments with reason, that also incorporates his true feelings in it.

“Well, how about my personality? I… I know I’m not the same as I used to be. I might not even be the same person anymore.” Though you generally tried to be as cheerful and happy as you could, just as your old self once was, oftentimes your illness would leave you in a despondent state. And you truly did feel bad, especially when you knew Dottore was taking time out of his busy schedule to be with you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to speak or even touch him. You just wanted to be alone. But Dottore had an answer for you.

“[Name], I am certainly not the same person as I once was, yet you still love me, do you not? It is no different for you. Furthermore, everyone changes. In a few hundred years, I suspect both of us will be changed people once again. Yet I know that I will still be with you, and you with me, despite our changes. So, do not fear change. You may be different, but my perspective on you shall never change regardless of what you may undergo.” Ah. So no matter how much you drifted away, became distant, swallowed by your illness and your own self-loathing, maybe even becoming unrecognizable to yourself, Dottore would still love you. His words sounded sincere enough, and you wavered a bit, but you still had too many thoughts flooding your brain.

“Okay, but what about my intelligence? I can hardly compare to you or even what I used to be in the Akademiya. Isn’t that a part of what you love me for? But I can hardly offer you anything like that now.” The way you spoke made it seem like you were dead set on making him realize that he couldn’t love you anymore, and though he was indeed a bit confused and even upset that you were looking down upon yourself like that, he continued to prove you wrong.

“You were asleep for over four hundred years. It is only perfectly normal that you are not in the same state as then. But I have no doubt you’ll reach that level once again in due time,” Dottore stated as a fact rather than a possibility. “And, you have actually assisted me with your knowledge far more times than you are aware of. I can think of quite a few times where your words have helped me with my research. So, I will have to disagree with you once again, for you are far smarter than you give yourself credit for.” His voice was calm as he spoke, but it seemed to further agitate you as you chewed on your lip.

Even as you brought up more points, he shot them down effortlessly. Though his responses did make you feel somewhat better, you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated with yourself. Why? Why couldn’t you see the things he supposedly did? The all-knowing doctor was here, spending so much time in an attempt to make you feel better, something that no one would ever experience, and yet you still couldn’t understand. By this point, you lay defeated, hand covering your exhausted face. Your constant criticisms seemed to have come to an end as Dottore watched on, scrutinizing you. But you had one last question.

“But me… am I even attractive anymore?” Admittedly, you had trouble looking at yourself sometimes. It was just far too hard to see yourself in a positive light at times. So you had no idea how Dottore could. At these words, there was a delayed response. He remained silent before you felt the bed return to normal, his weight leaving the mattress. Then, you heard the thud of something falling to the floor, and you opened your eyes to Dottore’s unmasked face, red eyes and scars greeting you. But that was not what surprised you. He moved to brush off the black fur that lined his back and the hanging accessories attached to it, the clothing dropping to the floor. And then, he worked at his white overcoat, which pooled at his feet too. You sat up in the bed, watching him with wide and curious eyes.

“What are you doing?” Your question received no answer as Dottore merely continued to remove his clothing. His gloves came off and his blue shirt did too. The only thing remaining on his upper body was his harness. Which was… kind of funny to be honest, even though it wasn’t meant to be.

But it was then you realized you hadn’t seen Zandik nude since all those centuries ago at the Akademiya. And now you were finally taking a good look at his body, which was covered in markings and scarred skin. So his face wasn’t the only part that had scars… You wanted to reach out, to run your hands along him, and it seemed like Dottore expected you to, in fact, even wanted you to, by the look on his face that beckoned you closer. And so you did, pulling the blankets off of you and standing up, as you hesitantly caressed his skin, all while he looked on closely.

“What do you think?” He questioned.

“What do I think?” you repeated. “Well… I still think you’re awfully handsome, of course.” That was a no-brainer, he would always be incredibly attractive to you. Though before you could inquire as to whether these scars still hurt or not, he interrupted you.

“I know,” Dottore smirked. You raised your eyebrows at that response, but he continued. “Because I know everything about you. There’s nothing about you that I do not keep a record of, and I plan to keep it that way. And though I could once again use my words to answer your question, I do believe it will be more effective to answer through actions. And now that I have revealed myself to you, I hope that you will allow me the opportunity to examine you further to show you exactly how I feel. Yes, I need hard evidence if I am to prove my case to you.”

You took in his words for a second. You were honestly very hesitant about revealing your body to Zandik because you feared what he would think, but the way he spoke with such certainty made you feel a bit comforted. So you relented.

“Alright,” you murmured, releasing your grip on him to shed your own clothes. Your clothes from your upper half fell onto the floor, leaving you topless. Dottore’s gaze remained on you intently, but there wasn’t anything sexual about this. He simply wanted to observe your beauty. But your bottom half remained covered.

“Continue.” You crossed your arms and sent him a look.

“I’m only continuing if you do too,” you motioned to how his pants and other things were on as well. “I… want to see all of you too.” You would feel more safe that way, not wanting to feel alone. Dottore chuckled.

“As you wish,” he went along with your request and stripped himself further. You gulped as your gaze raked along the rest of his body. His legs didn’t have as many scars as his upper body, but they were still there. Now, Dottore looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to follow through, and you did. You stripped yourself of your lower garments until both of you were only left in your underwear. As the cold air hit your bare body, you suddenly felt wildly self-conscious again.

“Well,” your throat was dry as you mumbled, “here I am. This is me.” You kept your eyes on the floor, not wanting to see his facial expression. Because you were deathly scared of disappointment. The few seconds of silence that followed made you suck in your breath, your stomach churning at what he could possibly be thinking. How frail and weak you probably looked, along with all the other imperfections you hated about yourself. It was all so noticeable to you, there was no way Dottore would miss it either. This was a horrible idea, and you opened your mouth to speak, to forget it, desperate to hide away from your lover when he spoke one lone word that made you stiffen.

“Beautiful.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You hesitantly met Dottore’s gaze so you could gauge his expression, and as much as you wanted to convince yourself that he was lying because there was no way your pitiful self could reach that level of praise from him, you knew he wasn’t. You’ve known him longer than anyone, so you knew when he was being sincere. And right now, there wasn’t a hint of mocking or falseness in his tone.

You could no longer hold his gaze at that simple but heavily loaded word, but in a few seconds, his bare hands were running around your body. You wanted to shy away from his touch, but Dottore’s grip on you was strong and firm. His fingers fluttered down your arms, your tummy, your back, carefully examining every inch of you while you could only watch on… it seemed as though he had your entire body mapped out and memorized. In fact, it seemed like he was enjoying this, a small hum escaping him as he mentally made notes about you.

“Indeed, quite beautiful, even more than I predicted. Really, it’s rather interesting to see how my hypothesis can fall so short of reality.” His words made your body heat up in embarrassment, but you still couldn’t help but be confused by his words. Surely you weren’t anything that special. But he sure looked at you like you were.

“Would you permit me to have a closer look?”

“I… uh, sure,” you fumbled over your words, still left speechless from that. Zandik then effortlessly picked you up and placed you on the bed, making you squeak from the unexpected movement. He could quite literally see every part of you, as he now hovered over you as you lay on your back, his eyes boring into your figure as he restrained you from trying to squirm away. Your body was stiff and nervous as he hummed, gliding a finger across your body until he reached one particular scar.

“Ah, I remember this one. When I was on the ladder near the bookshelves in the Akademiya’s library and accidentally dropped a book on you.” You blinked once, and then twice at his words. Dottore actually remembered that, just from a mere marking? After you got over your initial surprise, you couldn’t help but let out some giggles at that. You had forgotten how you had gotten some of your scars since you avoided looking at yourself, but that memory was just too good.

“You know you nearly killed me that day? All because I called you ��love’,” you huffed to which Dottore chuckled.

“You called me ‘love’ in public. Of course I would be startled.”

“It was three AM in the library, and there was no one there,” you rolled your eyes, finding some more comfort at how Dottore’s hands would wander over the parts you considered imperfections.

“And this one, it was from when that idiot pushed you over.” The scar he was referring to was when you were on a group expedition with numerous other scholars, and some guy thought it would be a good idea to barrel into you, making you take a pretty nasty fall. Zandik was more pissed off than you. Looking back now, it was pretty funny. You didn’t realize it, but Dottore was doing a good job of distracting you from your thoughts. It just felt… really nice to be genuinely appreciated for who you were, despite the flaws you had, and you began to relax a little bit more.

After some more memories and reminiscing, the room went silent again as the only thing that could be heard was the breathing of you two, your own breaths much calmer than what they were a while ago. Not a single part of your body hadn’t fallen victim to his hands. You were now cuddled into his chest as he held you. You just loved Dottore so much. Though your insecurities still lingered a little bit in the back of your mind, he did help you to feel much better. After all, who else besides you was afforded the words “you’re beautiful” from none other than Il Dottore?

Not to mention how handsome Zandik was. You got to brush your hands all over his body too… Although you were sad he’s been hurt so much, he was still wildly attractive. You wanted to like this more with him… more open. More exposed. You’d still be quite nervous every time, but maybe this could… help you. And you’d get more bonding time with your beloved.

“Zandik… could we start taking baths together?”

“Baths?” Zandik echoed while stroking your hair, then smirked at you. “Could it be that you want to see more of me, dear [Name]? Why, I could never have expected you to be so bold.” You couldn’t help but blush and roll your eyes at his teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, you got me there Zandik,” you huffed, further burying your face into his chest, fingering the straps of his harness. “I just thought it would be nice to do that with you,” you mumbled shyly, to which Zandik only chuckled.

“Of course. I see no reason as to why we can’t.” Dottore felt you smile against his bare skin, but he felt the need to give you a little talk.

“[Name],” he began, his voice a touch more serious than before, and you knew that he was probably going to lecture you a little bit. He tapped his fingers on your neck, a sign that he wanted you to look at him. So very reluctantly, you stopped nuzzling his chest and peeked up at him nervously. He sighed as he held your chin, just in case you tried to look away like you always did.

“I expect you will not hold your tongue around me in the future, yes? Allowing such thoughts to fester will only lead to further misunderstandings down the line. I do not want to see that for you,” he said rather sternly, but you knew it was with good intentions. Still, you hated putting your stupid troubles onto Dottore. It was surely so frivolous compared to what he had to deal with… And of course, it seems like your lover read your mind based on his next words.

“[Name], your words will never be anything less than important to me. You must speak to me whenever something ails you. All this is not good for your health, either.” Then, after a pause, he added a bit more solemnly, unconsciously holding your nude body tighter against his. “You have been completely silent for four hundred years. I want to hear whatever you have to say, regardless of what it may be.” Ah, that was right. He had to deal with you being deathly quiet for that long…

“Alright, I will,” you promised, returning the gesture and holding him tighter (if that was even possible, considering how weak you were).

“Good,” he replied, back to his usual demeanor.

This wouldn’t be the end. There would still be many days when you felt like this all over again. When your negative thoughts got the best of you and tried to consume you whole. In fact, every day could be a struggle, with your illness and mood fluctuating. But that could wait for tomorrow.

Right now, there was only this moment where only the two of you existed, and that was all that mattered.

Bonus:

Dottore had begun to move away from you, and his warmth leaving your body immediately had you protesting and clinging onto him.

“[Name], you have to put your clothes back on now otherwise you’re going to catch a chill.”

“I don’t want to,” you whined, trying to pull his arm back into the bed. He looked at you with amusement.

“Alright,” he gave into your demands, “but only for a little while more. And you must come even closer then.”

You didn’t know if it was possible to get any closer to Zandik than this, but you happily accepted.

—

“Although the raven and butterfly promised to be bound to each other for all eternity, the butterfly began to long for something more. They became somewhat jealous of the other creatures in the forest, and longed to follow their ways with their own darling.”

Marriage.

It was something that was growing more and more of a need rather than a want. You never thought you would be here, lying awake at night, daydreaming of Dottore marrying you, but here you were now. Admittedly, hearing the stories from the other Fatui agents was mainly what put the idea in your head. When you inquired into their love life, many of them would tell you about their spouse. “Spouse.” What a wonderful word. A sign that their love for each other had reached such a stage had you smiling. But then you realized that you could not call Dottore your husband, nor could he call you his spouse.

You didn’t expect it to bother you that much, but it did. Why weren’t you two married? Was that why people doubted your relationship so much? Perhaps if you had a ring and some papers to show for it, it would finally get through their thick skulls?

Besides that, the idea of marrying Zandik was very appealing. You didn’t need or want some big, fancy wedding, but rather it was the notion of marriage that you enjoyed. Yes, you knew you two would never be apart from each other, but marrying him was still nice to think about. And it would be so cute! So you made up your mind to marry Zandik. All you needed was to get him to agree.

“Dottore, let’s get married.” That one sentence made Dottore stop moving his pen, leaving a blot of ink where he left it resting.

“Pardon?” You had barged into his office a mere few seconds ago and those were the first words you uttered.

“I would like us to get married. You know, officially and all of that.” You stood right in front of his desk, staring at him with a proud smile on your face. Dottore stared right back at you with an unreadable expressionable, silence overtaking the room, before chuckling and picking back up his pen.

“Very amusing, dear,” he continued writing whatever he was working on. You furrowed your eyebrows at his dismissal, quite offended at how he blew you off, before grabbing the pen right from his hand, unclicking it, and placing it in the cup holder. You had his attention once again.

“Zandik,” you emphasized his real name so he knew you were serious, “I mean it.” Dottore peered at you before folding his hands on his desk.

“Why?”

“Why?” You repeated. Wasn’t it completely obvious, the reasons as to why one would want to get married? And really, how many people could be like “Oh yeah, I’ve been married for a few hundred years!” (You imagined yourself doing that to others in the future. Well, hopefully, you’ll be alive in a few centuries too.)

“Well, I mean, because we love each other of course. And marriage is one of the highest displays of love one could show to another.”

“I see,” he seemed to take in your words. “Although I beg to differ. I believe that the mere concept of marriage could never compare to how I have shown my devotion to you in much larger amounts.”

“I-I guess you’re right about that,” you admitted, “but it would be… romantic! And there would be hard evidence, yes, tangible proof for both of us as a sign of our love.”

“Tangible proof?” The Harbinger chuckled. “I already have much evidence of our love. It’s standing right in front of me. What more proof would I want than you?” He then tapped to his neck, and you followed suit, brushing your fingers against your neck only to find a bite mark that was healing. Ugh! How dare he be both romantic and refute both of your points? And also curse him for not taking you seriously! Normally, you would have gotten mushy over the flirting but this time you felt the prick of annoyance.

“It could be like, a new chapter for us. You know.” You were running out of practical reasons. The legal benefits stuff, last names, or whatever, didn’t apply to or matter to the two of you. Your relationship was quite unique after all. A Harbinger didn’t care much for the law anyway.

“I can’t see our relationship changing that much after one ceremony.”

“Well, it would be gradual…”

“What exactly would be different?” You couldn’t believe you were going back and forth about a subject such as marriage. Wouldn’t the average person be overjoyed to be proposed to by their longtime lover?! Ah, but you should kick yourself for expecting things to go normally. Zandik was certainly not the average person.

“Okay, then how about the fact that I want to marry you, Zandik? Nothing more, nothing less. It’s solely what I want. That’s all.” You didn’t realize your voice had risen in volume until after the fact, and you immediately winced at his expression. You probably looked so dumb, getting so worked up over something like this.

But indeed, you were sure Dottore could see the selfish part of you now. Perhaps there was a part of you who felt guilty for being unable to express your love in the same ways you used to be able to due to your illness. A part of you who still felt terribly sorry for your lover, having to deal with your lackluster abilities. So perhaps by marrying Dottore, it would be a way of showing him how much you loved him, a simple yet clearly efficient act that would hopefully be sufficient enough for a while, until you were strong enough to do more extravagant things. But oh, you should have known better than that. You can’t get away like that, [Name]. So you quickly backtracked your words. There was no use in pushing this subject. And really, you were obviously quite content with the current state of the relationship. He loved you, you loved him. What more could you ask for, especially being the way you are now?

“You’re right, it’s dumb. Never mind,” you mumbled in a deflated manner, gaze falling downcast. “I’ll go now,” you tried to quickly excuse yourself and go hide in a corner, but Dottore’s sigh made you stop.

“[Name], come here,” he called you over to his lap. Although you wanted to just run out of the office, you knew that he would catch you before you could make any good distance, so it was probably best to just comply now. So you made your way to Dottore and sat down on his lap, his hands steadying you and pulling your back flush against his chest. One arm was secured around your tummy while the other stroked your cheek.

“[Name], you know I did not mean to offend you. I was simply curious as to your reasoning.”

“Mhm.” Oh, you were definitely mad at him from the way you refused to meet his eye. He sighed once again, and he knew there was only one way to fix this situation.

“Let us get married.” Those few words made you perk up in his lap and practically swing around, your chest now pressed against his.

“Really?” You looked up at him with pleading eyes, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “But why?”

“Yes, really. And for why… think of it as indulging my curiosity while simultaneously making my soon-to-be partner happy. It does interest me to see if our attitudes to each other will change after marriage.” Really, the bigger part of the picture was that he didn’t want you to sulk or be mad at him, he preferred to see you smiling. But he didn’t need to say that part out loud. And he couldn’t anyway because, in the next instant, you kissed him hard before launching into a whole speech.

“Oh, I promise, it won’t even be anything big! I know you don’t like big fancy gatherings, so it could just be the two of us! And maybe the Tsaritsa I think, because we still need the person to officiate it or whatever, but I promise it won’t be a hassle! Trust me, you’re going to enjoy it okay?” You spoke so fast he was surprised you didn’t trip over your words. As quick as you spoke, you pecked his cheeks before hopping off his lap and out the door, muttering something about getting help from Columbina.

…Well, it was a good thing that you were still full of surprises, Dottore thought.

—

“And so the raven and the butterfly promised to join together in an act of union, although their lives were already heavily intertwined. Soon, there would be truly nothing that could sever their bond of love. But the raven still needed a bit of help understanding the importance of such an official union.”

By now, news of his wedding had spread. Not to the underlings, no, he did not want to listen to their gossiping every corner he turned. But rather all of the Harbingers knew of the event. Most of them were completely baffled but had the decency to send their well wishes. For you, mostly. Not for him. And then there were others who wanted to intrude on his business badly. Namely Pantalone. He was the first to wish him, and the first to curse him if he hurt you in any way.

And now he was the first to badger him on his marriage. Apparently, he believed that he wasn’t trying hard enough, as he left all the details and organization to you. Dottore didn’t really see the problem. He was letting you live your dream, and you were perfectly fine without his input. But Pantalone clearly had a problem with this.

“Dear Doctor, you truly are an idiot sometimes.” Dottore paused his writing.

“Excuse me?”

“Your lack of attention is one thing, but do you think that showing up in bloody clothes is acceptable?” He was probably the kind of person to finish a surgery and then head straight to the wedding right after. Dottore glanced at his arms and indeed, there were some dried blood stains that he had yet to change out of. But he scoffed at the banker, he may not care much for social etiquette, but even he knew the basics.

“Obviously I would wear clean clothes,” he clarified.

“I’m sure you would,” Pantalone replied calmly and sarcastically. “But my point still stands, as you clearly have no idea how serious this is.” Dottore was partially offended by Pantalone’s words. The piles of notebooks about you surely showed how much he knew and understood you.

“[Name] would be happy regardless of what I do. Besides, the ceremony is only for an hour or so. Perhaps even less.”

“Yes, they would be,” he sighed. “I don't think I'll ever understand how that poor thing tolerates you. But just think about this,” he began pacing around the room as if he didn’t subtly insult the doctor. “Of course, I’m sure I barely know the faintest thing about [Name]’s past, but when was the last time you’ve seen them so eager to get all dressed up? So excited for something, hmm?” Dottore crossed his arms and began to thoughtfully consider his co-worker’s words.

Indeed, you were practically bouncing and glowing with every footstep you took. Really, to think something like this could make you so happy. Perhaps this was another example of how his brain worked differently from yours. You had marked the day on your calendar and the first thing you did when you woke up every morning was count the days until the ceremony. You were also far more affectionate, being in your “honeymoon phase” as you called it.

Every so often, Columbina, who was also covering the expense for you, would barge into the lab with countless clothes and designers who would customize an outfit for you. Dottore didn’t quite understand or particularly enjoy your friendship, but he couldn’t deny he liked hearing you laugh and smile, so he let it slide. Of course, neither he nor the segments were allowed to see as you insisted it would remain a surprise until the wedding. Zandy was excluded from this rule though.

“It may be only a mere hour, but surely the Doctor is capable enough to make his soon-to-be spouse happy in that short time. Even your own segments know better,” Pantalone continued with a smile still on his face. “I’ll even choose the outfit for you, as I’m sure you have nothing of the sort in that dreadful closet of yours.” And yes, Dottore often showed up to balls and gatherings in his same clothes, ignoring the fact they were usually formal occasions. For your sake, he really wasn’t going to let the Doctor show up to your wedding looking like… that.

Although Dottore didn’t appreciate Regrator’s passive-aggressive words, he was beginning to understand and he hated that the man was right. Pantalone took Dottore’s silence as a sign that he had won.

“So we have a deal then?”

“Fine,” Dottore grumbled. Ah, the lengths he’d go for you…

“Splendid. I’m sure [Name] will be positively ecstatic by this. Also, the Mora will be coming out of your funding budget.”

“...What?”

—

“At long last, the raven and the butterfly swore themselves to each other, promising to allow nothing to come between their love.”

The date of your wedding had come, and Dottore had barely seen you. Yes, you had been whisked off by Columbina early in the morning to prepare for the ceremony. But he would see you soon enough.

True to his word, Pantalone had provided a suit that fit him rather well. (He could only hope that it didn’t dent his budget too much, though.) As he got ready, he wondered how you would look. He could only assume that Columbina was going to make you look your very best. Although Dottore always thought the tradition of two spouses not showing their outfits to each other until the day of the wedding was stupid, he was beginning to see the appeal of anticipation. Like after when he’s working on an experiment and the only way to progress is to wait. Actually, he thought the concept of marriage was stupid in the first place, but here he was anyway. And he never thought he would ever find himself wearing a suit, but look at him now. Ah, you really did change him, don’t you?

The venue was Zapolyarny Palace of course. There was no better place. Not only was the inside of it quite beautiful, it was the home of the Tsaritsa who would be conducting the ceremony. The wedding was to be a very private thing, with only you, him, and the God in attendance. You both preferred it that way, wanting the moment to be between only you two. So when Dottore arrived at the grand hall, he expected it to be empty, but the Tsaritsa was there before him, already standing at the altar. A smile appeared on her face once she saw him.

“My dear Harbinger, there you are,” she waved him over and he soon found himself standing next to the Archon.

“Your Highness,” Dottore nodded his head as a form of respect while the Tsaritsa continued to hum in delight.

“Why, you look quite dashing today. I know [Name] will be overjoyed once they see you.” The Tsaritsa had been rooting for you two for a long time, and now it had finally officially come to fruition. Dottore chuckled at her words.

“I would hope so. This is the first time they’ve seen me in such attire. Speaking of, where are they?”

“They will be here soon. Columbina is fussing over them a lot. But you, are you excited Dottore?” The scholar mulled over her words. Perhaps excited was a stretch, but he was indeed looking forward to it. Perhaps it was the act of making you happy that brought him more joy than the actual marriage. Perhaps the idea of seeing the ring on your finger brought him a certain sense of possessiveness knowing others could see his claim on you. Perhaps the idea of kissing you until you couldn’t take it anymore after the wedding was appealing as well.

…Alright, maybe he was excited. The Tsaritsa seemed to notice his inner conflict.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to answer. I know exactly how my Harbinger feels about this all, anyway,” the Cryo Archon sent a knowing look to her subject, to which Dottore internally cursed himself for showing those emotions. But at that moment a door swung open and a chorus of giggles echoed into the room. Columbina’s face peered through the door before she swiftly hid herself again.

“Oh! Looks like we’ve kept them waiting.”

“Huh, Dottore is there already?”

“Yes, dear [Name], now it’s your time to shine~” There was a shuffle of feet and movement in the other room, but he could not see it as you were not near the doorway.

“W-wait! Are you sure I look okay? What if something is messed up or-”

“Darling, you’re worrying far too much. I bet Il Dottore himself will be left speechless by your beauty.”

“But- but, I don’t know, what if he doesn’t- ah, hey!” Your words were abruptly cut off as Columbina practically shoved you out of the room, nearly making you trip and then slamming the door shut with only a “good luck!” You scowled at your friend’s ill but well-intentioned treatment before immediately straightening up, knowing that the Tsaritsa and your soon-to-be husband could now see you.

And then your eyes landed on your Zandik. He was stunning. Well, he was always stunning to you, but his beauty could surely not be described by your limited vocabulary right now. The suit hugged him so perfectly, going so well with his mask. Perhaps it was because it was such a special day, but everything about him just seemed to stand out more than usual.

Little did you know, Dottore was similarly entranced by you, immediately raking his eyes over your figure and analyzing every part of you. Only that he did not outwardly show it unlike you, who stood there comically with your mouth agape. Dottore had always thought you were the most beautiful being to come into Teyvat. Not even the Gods could hold a candle to your beauty, which was certainly a high standard to meet, but you exceeded it. Perhaps it was blasphemous to compare a mere human to an almighty God, but he felt no remorse in speaking the truth.

“Dearest [Name], you look as beautiful as freshly fallen snow,” the Tsaritsa’s praise snapped you out of your stupefied daze and you composed yourself once again.

“T-thank you, Your Highness,” you gratefully accepted the praise, and then realized they were looking at you expectantly. Especially Dottore. His gaze didn’t leave you for one second as you hurried to the altar. Somehow, as you stood across from him, you were a bit embarrassed to meet his gaze. The jitters were finally settling in.

“We are gathered here today to witness the joining of [Name] and Zandik. Two people who have displayed undying love for each other for centuries,” the Archon began, sending soft looks to the two of you, and then nudging your arm to finally meet the gaze of your lover. So you hesitantly lifted your face to make eye contact with Dottore. There he stood, a smile stretched on his face.

The smile was composed of many things. Naturally, it reflected his usual assured self-confidence with a hint of a smirk. But more importantly, it contained something more real, more soft, that even you had only seen very occasionally. Although it was veiled under many layers that left it hard to see, you could see it was a smile of love. That made you grow a bit warm, and you couldn’t help the smile that crept up on your lips.

“These two have been through the unthinkable together, and yet their bonds remain unbreakable, their love everlasting. Although they do not need marriage to prove how deep their love is for each other, today they will make it official.” The Tsaritsa kept her words short and sweet. She knew either of you did not care for all of the long, boring, drawn-out details. You two just really wanted to get married. And it was better for you to profess your vows in private. She knew her Harbinger would hold his words back in her presence. She then turned to you and asked the question you saw coming, motioning for you two to hold hands. Dottore still wore gloves, but this pair was thinner than his usual ones.

“Do you take Zandik to be your husband? To love and cherish him above all else?”

“I do,” you replied with no hesitation. The God then turned to Dottore.

“Do you take [Name] to be your spouse? To love and cherish them regardless of what may happen?”

“I do,” you could see his shark teeth peeking out from his mouth. The Tsaritsa nodded in acknowledgment of the answers.

“By the power vested within me as the Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon of Snezhnaya, I now pronounce you as a lawfully wedded couple,” the Tsaritsa said seriously before she switched to a more lighthearted tone. “You may now kiss,” she smiled at the two of you. And then Dottore leaned in for the kiss first, catching you off guard but you eagerly reciprocated. You had intended for it to be a short but sweet kiss, considering the Tsaritsa was right there, but it seemed like Dottore had other plans, as he deepened the kiss. Highly aware of the Cryo God’s amused stare, you tried to mumble a protest against your sealed lips and gripped your husband’s suit harder to get him to stop embarrassing you. But this only made the Archon laugh.

“It is always lovely to see a couple so passionately in love. How beautiful,” the Tsaritsa grinned, giving her last blessing before Dottore finally pulled away from you. “But, I will not intrude on the newlyweds' time any longer. Please, I hope you enjoy the rest of the day, and may it remain eternal in your memories,” the Tsaritsa smiled knowingly at the two of you before making her exit. She was indeed the God of Love. Only you and your new husband remained in the spacious hall now, and a silence swept into the room. Well, what does one say or do after getting married?

“Zandik-”

“Ah ah, we still have one thing to do.” He then produced two boxes presumably with rings inside.

“Oh! The rings!” You had forgotten about that until now, with all of the things that had happened.

“Give me your hand, dear.” Oh, it always gave you butterflies when he called you a pet name. He was really in a good mood. You stuck out your hand and he popped the box open, revealing a gorgeous ring, a dazzling blue jewel in the center. You were definitely going to end up with a sore lip, from how much you were biting it to stop smiling so hard. Dottore then slipped the ring onto your finger with ease, a perfect fit of course. It was no surprise he knew your measurements without having to ask. But now it was your turn.

You fiddled with his ring in your hand. It was a lot simpler than your one, probably because he did not care much for such extravagance on himself, and he would most likely keep it stored away rather than on his finger for obvious reasons. He definitely did not want the blood of a random person dirtying it…

With bated breath, you tenderly grasped his fingers and slipped the band onto him. It was done, and you were incredibly pleased.

“My husband,” you smiled.

“My darling,” he reciprocated your affections and was about to speak again when you suddenly launched yourself at him, hugging him with as much strength as you could muster.

“You’re mine, all mine. My husband,” you repeated the words as they felt so good on your tongue. Your husband wrapped an arm around you, stroking your hair.

“I have always been yours,” he replied like this was old news. But if becoming your husband would help solidify that for you, then this was well worth it, Dottore thought. “And you have always been mine. It will never change.” He felt you smile and giggle into his chest before you pulled away, a truly happy expression on your face.

“See? I was true to my word, wasn’t I? Quick and simple, just the two of us. You liked it, didn’t you?” Oh, you were just begging for praise now. But he would entertain you, just for today.

“Indeed, it was an efficient ceremony. But I’d say the best part was seeing you like this,” Dottore commented as he ran his hands over your chest, admiring the smaller details about your attire and how well it hugged you. “Very alluring,” he rumbled. You ignored the heat rising up your body as you returned the compliment.

“Well, I could say the same thing about you, love. I would have never guessed you would have greeted me in such an outfit,” you traced your fingers over his tie, resisting the urge to yank on it to kiss him. That could wait for later because right now you were shamelessly staring at him in it.

“Well, I can assure you that you’ll have another chance to further examine me later,” he chuckled at your prying gaze, “but for now, give me your hand.” You looked at him questioningly but agreed when he pulled you closer yet again.

“Did you know? It is customary for newlyweds to dance at their weddings. That is something you would enjoy, no?”

“Oh! I’d love to! But we don’t know how to dance, do we?” Dottore grinned widely, his pointy teeth nipping his lip, making you question him.

“Wait, you know how to dance?”

“Of course. Being a Harbinger means acquiring a vast variety of skills.”

“You never told me that!”

“You never asked.”

“Well, it’s not something I would normally ask you! You should have told me,” you huffed.

“Now I’m going to look dumb, with my lack of dancing skills compared to you.” Your husband chuckled.

“Do not fret. I will guide you.” He raised your already clasped hands higher until you two were in basic form. Well, as best as you could, because there was not only your inexperience, but your illness made it hard to keep up such a stance.

And you two danced. If it could be called dancing, considering the amount of time you stepped on his feet or even tripped, along with the multitude of apologies. But it didn’t matter. It was fun, and your laughter rang out loudly in the grand hall. It didn’t matter that it came to a point when your feet couldn’t handle it anymore, you still let yourself be twirled and adored by your new husband, enjoying the first delight of being married.

—

“The hearts of the raven and butterfly were undeniably together as one, which led to great joy for the two of them.”

Alright, you had to admit it. Dottore was right. Outwardly, it seemed like nothing much had changed about your relationship. Life was really the same routine. Your illness and his duties still existed after all. But that was okay! Change does not need to be seen to occur. Perhaps the change happened within you both. Your heart was certainly lighter now. But it would certainly make you happier to partake in some more “domestic” activities, now that you two were a married couple. Though you obviously weren’t going to bring that up to your husband. He already has enough to do, after all! Still working on the cure to your illness too, without rest…

…

…Well, you shouldn’t think about it too much! You should believe in your husband, no matter what happens. And speaking of, it seemed like your wish for domesticity would be granted without you asking, for one day Dottore came to you with a request.

“[Name], I require your assistance.” Those few words had you immediately intrigued because it was rare that Dottore asked you for your help since most of the stuff he needed help with was far beyond your ability now. Naturally, you were eager to please him.

“I need you to help me…” you held your breath in anticipation, “cook.”

Huh? In disbelief, you could not help but repeat his words.

“You want me to help you cook? Like a meal?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Dottore replied, dead serious. You had to hold back your laughter.

“But… why?” Dottore let out a sigh and rubbed his temples.

“Regrator has forced my hand into doing frivolous nonsense for the sake of his games once again. What happened was…” Dottore then went on to explain the conversation he had with the Ninth Harbinger. Apparently, they had gotten into one of their usual prickly discussions, and somehow it had turned into a list of things the other could not do, and cooking had been brought up. Of course, not wanting to appear inferior to the other Harbinger (who was surprisingly a decent cook) declared himself as an okay one too. Pantalone, who loved to be as petty as possible when it came to his co-worker (and could probably detect the lie anyway), requested him to demonstrate his skills to him. If he was a good cook like he claimed, then it would surely be no issue, right? He wouldn’t mind putting his budget on the line, right?

Now, this was one of the very few times Dottore regretted lying for the sake of his goals. That was definitely worth a long laugh, you thought, as you couldn’t hold in your laughter anymore. Dottore was not amused in the slightest. But then you had a thought. You wondered if Pantalone did this on purpose so that you could enjoy the domestic life with your husband. He was very perceptive when it came to these things after all. Maybe you were reaching with that but… you thanked him silently anyway.

“So your plan is to have me help you cook, and then pass it off as if you did all of it? Well, I certainly won’t say no. But I worry for you… I still remember what happened in the Akademiya.” You don’t want to think about the dreadful times of Zandik ruining the dorm’s kitchen when he tried to cook.

“It will be alright. I will follow your lead.” Oh, being in charge of Dottore for a few hours? Well, now you really couldn’t pass up this opportunity.

For the dish, you had decided to go with something you were familiar with. Samosas. You remember making them for Zandik quite often in the Akademiya. In fact, it was the first dish you cooked for him and one of the things that won him over. Those were good times.

Although, your hands were still not the best at dealing with stuff in the kitchen. They were shaky and you could possibly hurt yourself. So instead you decided to guide him through the technical part of the process. Thankfully, Dottore’s expertise with a scalpel came in handing while cutting ingredients. So that part wasn’t too hard. You just had to ignore how your body warmed when you had to place your hands over his to show him how to properly do it.

Surprisingly, he was rather non-combative as you instructed him what to do, the spices to add, how to mix and add the ingredients, and whatnot. It was rather cute, really, to see him try so hard. The only problem was that he still fucking blew it, smoke filling the room (you had no idea how that could happen) and you had to do it yourself (with him standing protectively next to you as if the food and fire were going to jump out and attack you.)

At least shaping and rolling out the dough was a less challenging task for him… though it seemed like he lacked the patience and delicateness needed for the rest of it, so he opted to rest his hands around your waist, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he observed your handiwork. It was a little bit crooked, considering your shaky hands, but far better than whatever Dottore was doing. And although you welcomed the weight of his chest pressed against your back, you weren’t really sure why he continued to look since this wasn’t all that interesting.

“Dottore, you know you don’t need to stay? I can tell you when the samosas are done, I know you’re busy.” Your husband seemed to playfully ponder your words.

“I’d prefer to observe the skillfulness of my spouse.” The fact that he wanted to stay with you made you smile.

“From this position of all? Mhm, sure thing,” you hummed in amusement as his arms tightened around you.

The domestic life was a good one.

(Pantalone took one look at the samosas and instantly knew the Doctor could have never made them, but did not say a word, for his goal had been accomplished.)

After that, strangely enough, there were a few more events that you would consider “domestic.” They weren’t frequent, no, but you wouldn’t say they were thinly sparse. One of your favorites had just been a few days ago.

“Eh? You want to… read a book with me?” You had absolutely no idea why Dottore suddenly entered your room as night fell with only that request. You were surprised by this as he never took an interest in your novels. Although you took an interest in his scientific texts every now and then, you still preferred your silly fictional novels. It was nice to escape to another world. But that wasn’t the point right now.

“That’s correct.”

“But why?”

“Why not? Is it so strange that I want to learn more about what occupies my lover’s time so much?”

“Well… no,” you admitted. You were caught off guard at first, but of course, you’d happily agree. “Okay, you can choose any book you want,” you motioned to your shelves which was home to numerous other things than books as well. Dottore looked at the variety of books you had before choosing one at random, wiping the dust off. You two then got comfortable in bed, your back pressed snugly against his chest as he held the book open in front of you. Looking at the title, you couldn’t seem to remember what this one was about, so it would definitely be nice to reread it with your husband.

As he began to read the first few pages, your mind began to recall bits and pieces of the book. And that’s when it hit you. You remember this book had a… particularly passionate kissing scene right at the very beginning that had your face a little hot the first time you read it. Oh, you definitely did not want Dottore to know that! Why did he have to choose this book out of all the ones there? At this realization, you began to grow antsy between his arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just realized, we should probably stop reading this book.”

“Why?”

“Um, you see, this is actually the second book in the series. So we need to read the first book first in order to understand it.” The poor excuse flew off your tongue.

“Where is this first book, then?”

“Well, I don’t own it…”

“So you read the second book without reading the first?”

“Erm, yes, I did actually… and I’m warning you now so you aren’t confused like I was! It’s for your own sake.” Okay, now you had dug yourself in a hole because that was obviously a blatant lie.

“You’re hiding something,” Dottore observed after blankly staring at you for a few moments, before swiftly moving the book out of your reach and flipping through the pages, to which you protested obviously giving yourself away. But it was too late.

“Oh? What do we have here?” He quickly scanned a few pages, his grin only growing larger and larger as you hid your face. But Dottore found it extremely amusing if anything.

“Why, I would have never thought this is the kind of stuff you read. Perhaps there is more that I don’t know about you than I thought,” he teased, causing a loud groan to emit from you. A part of you wondered if he planned this, from the way he was already moving in to nip at your earlobe.

“Tell me, did you come in here because you actually wanted to read or just tease me?” You pouted as he cupped your chin, bringing you close for a kiss, to which you happily reciprocated, albeit a bit peeved.

“I guess you’ll never know,” Dottore smirked before enveloping you in his arms and pushing you down onto the bed, capturing your lips once again. “But I am curious to find out how realistic those scenes could be.”

Needless to say, a lot more kissing than reading got done that day.

—

“The raven and butterfly’s happiness continued for much longer. But of course, every creature is aware that nothing lasts forever, and even the lightning in the sky would agree with that statement. All fairytales must come to an end. That was no different for the raven and the butterfly.”

Ah. The time had flown by rather quickly, Nahida thought. Already she was nearly at the end of this tale, despite how lengthy it was. For some reason, that always seemed to happen whenever she tried to retell this particular chronicle. But now, she was ready once again to see this story to the very end, as always.

However, her gentle heart still cannot help but feel a little bit of pity for the two of you, knowing how this tale ends.

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greenorangevioletgrass · 1 year ago

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fever pitch (b.b) - prologue

soundtrack: mastermind - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: Bradley shoots his shot in public, but will he fumble when he meets you in person? warnings: language, drinking, meet cute notes: my first series in a while! this is shamelessly based on the epic Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce saga currently happening rn, and combine that with my innate love of football (the kicking kind, not the NFL kind) and... voila! I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks. Happy reading! <3 ✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

Soccer Sensation Bradley Bradshaw Fails To Shoot His Shoot With Y/N At Her Concert?

Arsenal captain Bradley Bradshaw may be among his club’s top scorers this season, but even he misses a chance in romance like the rest of us.

The 29-year-old athlete spoke about his missed opportunity with the multi-platinum songstress Y/N while speaking to his former teammate Héctor Bellerín on the latter’s podcast, “More Than A Footballer”, earlier this week.

When asked about any fun stuff he did last weekend, Bradshaw replied,

“I went to the Y/N concert at Wembley [Stadium]... it was awesome. It was pouring rain, but it was amazing. I don’t remember Wembley ever being that electric aside from, like, cup finals. She was sensational.”

Bellerín nods in agreement, having heard great things about the famed singer-songwriter’s live concerts.

Unprompted, the American midfielder then continued,

“If you’ve heard about the tour, there’s this tradition of trading friendship bracelets. And I actually made one with my number on it, hoping I could give it to her after the show…”

The Cockney-raised Spaniard cackled in surprise and teased him, “But she didn’t wanna see you, bruv? [That is] legend!”

“No hard feelings!” Bradshaw raised his hands in defense over the Zoom call. “She needed to dry off and get warm. Gotta make sure she stays healthy, protect those vocal cords. But yeah, I was a bit bummed out about it.”

Bellerín laughed and jokingly addressed the camera, “Y/N, if you’re watching, give my boy a chance, will you?”

Mononymous pop sensation Y/N is hot off of her Kaleidoscope North American Tour, which wrapped in September. Her six-show run at Wembley Stadium this November officially kicks off the European leg of her sold-out tour.

Will they be the next pop royalty and conquer the stadiums with their own crafts, or will this fizzle out as this week’s viral anecdote? The ball is in your court, Y/N.

Y/N’s representatives have not responded for comment.

***

Your Miu Miu heels click and clack against the ground. The pavement gleams after the rain and glistens under the streetlights. Everywhere you look, your eyes hurt. Down, and you worry about slipping into a puddle and falling on your ass. Forward, and a million camera flashes are ready to give you an aneurysm.

All in the name of reporting your night off of work, performing live in front of 90,000 people in a stadium.

In other words, all in a day’s work.

There’s a moment of reprieve, when the silvery white blitzes disappear into the dim tangerine lighting of the lobby. The flight down the stairs is so dark, you’re seeing green. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but as soon as they do, the thumping bass line of some dance music hits your ears. Clashing perfumes doused on the dancing, dressed-up bodies that you have to weave through.

You are seriously regretting your girl friends’ invite to a night out. You could’ve just had them over to your hotel, open a bunch of red wine, and you would’ve still had a blast. But no. You had to say yes to going to the Cuckoo Club with Lacey, Amara, and Jo.

And this evening is making you feel quite cuckoo.

There’s champagne at your booth and you’re much too eager to take a glass and start a toast. “Cheers, bitches!” you yell over the music, clinking your glass against theirs before downing the whole thing in one go.

It’s nowhere near enough.

There’s not enough buzz to dull the assault to your senses—not even after the three glasses of wine at dinner earlier. Everything is still too loud, too bright, too crowded, too… much.

“Hey!” you nudge Amara, who is sitting right next to you. “Let’s do shots!”

She turns to you, eyes widening at the slightest. “I thought you wanted to take it easy tonight!”

“Changed my mind,” you shrug, as you get up to the bar.

While you make your way through the crowd on the dance floor, Bradley Bradshaw looks up from his booth and does a double-take at the girl who just walked by. Even in a high-end club full of the well-dressed and well-heeled, people still get starstruck. And why wouldn’t they? You’re about as famous as an iPhone.

His eyes widen and immediately whips out his phone to shoot a text to his oldest and most trusted friend Natasha Trace.

‘Dude, I’m in the club and Y/N just walked in. What do I do??’

Natasha thankfully texts back almost immediately. Then again, maybe being a Communications Director for a major company requires her to be a good texter. ‘Wdym what do you do? Just go talk to her.’

‘You were supposed to introduce us!’ Bradley replies, eyes darting between his phone and you at the bar, conflicted.

Natasha is a mutual friend of yours, too, and when the Bracelet-gate clip went viral, she laughed in his face for a full 5 minutes before deciding to set the two of you up. But the schedule never really aligned, so he hasn’t got a chance to see you. Not even after he went to your concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream.

And now, seeing you here in the same room at the same time as him…

‘What do you want me to do, get down there and do it for you?’

‘...Can you?’

He senses the judgment even as the three dots appear on his screen.

‘Stop being a pussy, Bradshaw. Let me Netflix and chill with my gf in peace.’

Bradley scoffs, half-annoyed and half-fond. ‘Asshole. Have fun.’

The dance floor clears up, just enough to see that you’re right there. Leaning against the bar in your dress like a dirty daydream, talking to the bartender, and he couldn’t just let you go without a word. He thought about it, and he simply couldn’t.

“Oi, where are you off to?” His teammate Martin hollers, while the others watch him make his way to the bar in determined strides.

He squeezes past patrons across this jungle of a club, hoping to God that somebody hasn’t beaten him to talk to you yet, or you haven’t ducked out completely. Oh fuck. You’re still there, though. Good. You’re still at the bar, still glimmering under the mirrorball. Just a tap on the shoulder away. You can do it, Bradshaw…

“Excuse me, I—”

You feel the hand on your shoulder just as you turn and stand up, and in a flurry of miscoordination, looks up just as the other person moves in.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Bradley feels the top of your head slamming up against his nose and he groans in pain. “Ohh!”

“Shit! Oh my God…” you gasp, reaching out to the man in front of you. He’s tall, very tall, and you can’t quite see his face with his massive hand clutching his nose. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s okay. My bad…” It really doesn’t seem like it, so he lets go of his nose and smiles sheepishly. Gosh, he must’ve looked stupid right now.

But you see it differently. What you see is a dashing man in a sleek tieless navy suit and a well-groomed mustache, straight out of a Cinemascope flick, ever so handsome despite his reddened nose from the way you just accidentally headbutted him. “No, that was totally mine. Are you okay?”

Your eyes are crystal clear even in the dim light, the concern is palpable in your gaze—and rightly so. It’s just that he’d take the headbutt any day, if it means he can look at your beautiful face. “I’m… I’m swell. Y/N, right?”

There’s a shift in your gaze. First, alert—you’re assessing how much of a potential threat this person is, whether they’re gonna be weird about you— and then it relaxes. Not a threat. Then a slightest hint of mischief, like she wants to know what kind of dynamics they would have. “Have we met?”

And boy, can he.

“We haven’t, actually. But I went to your show at Wembley earlier this week. You were amazing.” He offers a handshake. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You didn’t quite catch his name over the blaring music, although you shake his hand anyway. “Sorry?”

He leans into your ear, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

You don’t know which one makes your heart skip, the sudden close proximity, the warmth of his timbre, or the whiff of his perfume.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You accept his handshake, hoping he doesn’t see how flustered you are in the strobing purple light.

“Likewise.” He nods with a smile. “And may I just say… you look stunning.”

“What, this old thing?” You brush down the art nouveau-inspired Balmain dress on your body. You’re just being modest, of course; you know you’re dressed to the nines. You have never been much into facial hair, but somehow that mustache suits him very well. “You don’t look so bad yourself. You remind me of a… young Robert Mitchum. Or Paul Newman— or one of those Golden Age leading men.”

His face lights up. It’s hardly the first time he received that kind of compliment, but when it came from you, it feels… different. It feels special. It makes him just a little bolder. “Yeah? Maybe after a few drinks, I’ll be quoting lines from Butch Cassidy. Or would you prefer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof?”

This piques your interest. A man of culture, it seems. But of course, you can’t be too sure. “I’m more of a Paris Blues kinda gal, I’m afraid.”

Gosh, you don’t swoon so easily and he likes you so much for that. “Makes sense.”

“How so?”

“It’s a good underrated musical movie, for the musically gifted… And Sidney Poitier was just fantastic in that.”

“Huh.” You raise your eyebrows. You honestly thought he was just spouting the famous titles. But the fact that he has likely seen this hidden gem might just mean he’s really into it. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

He leans in to speak in your ear yet again. “If you stick with me for a bit, I might show you another surprise or two.”

The music drowns out your racing heart just barely, and the bartender places a whole set of tequila shots on the bar top, and it snaps you out of your reverie for a moment.

“Wanna get some air?”

He seems surprised, but of course he wasn’t gonna throw away this shot. “Sure. Why not?”

You instruct the bartender to send the shots to your booth, not even spending ten seconds to ponder staying in this deafening hell hole. Not when this man looks like peace. Perhaps an undercurrent of mystery underneath, but his whole demeanor is as calm and comforting as those old-school movies you put on to fall asleep. At the same time, something about this person pulls you in, it’s almost magnetic, and you can’t help wanting to see this through.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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thelastofhyde · 6 months ago

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut.

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass.

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp.

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips.

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

��Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs.

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment.

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically.

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too.

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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khioneee · 7 days ago

Note

No nonono no no no. I just found Wilted 😭😭😭😭😭my heart can’t take it I think this is one of the best angst fics I’ve ever read😭😭 like it needs so much more recognition. But it can’t end like this.

Idk if you do request and if not that’s completely fine, but could you do like a part two or an au where something triggers her memories (bonus if she gets them back when she’s with her new boyfriend) and she so angry so she asked her mom then maybe she sees Simon walking or she calls him and demands he tells her the truth and that he take her home(with him) even though everyone is telling her Simon’s no good for her(including him), she wont listen and tells him the wreck wasn’t his fault and that nobody decides who she can and can’t be with that it’s her decision. And they get back together you know happy endings.

You can change some stuff if you want I just want to see Simon happy. Ok that’s all don’t forget to eat something and drink some water. Great authors have to take care of themselves too, bye👋❤️.

you got it, nonnie! been cooking this up since you sent the req, and it’s already at 3.4k words 😭. but more importantly, remember to take care of yourself too! here’s your reminder to eat and drink your 12 cups of water 🥹. hope this is close to what you were hoping for 💗 enjoy.

The days had stretched too long without him, the anticipation growing each time you glanced at the door of your flower shop. His deployment was supposed to end a week ago, and every day you found yourself waiting, feeling a quiet ache that had started to bleed into worry. Simon always visited the shop as soon as he came back, his presence slipping in like he was part of the space, a rhythm that had somehow settled into your life.

And then, finally, he arrived.

Simon stepped through the door, and the world felt like it clicked back into place. Everything seemed normal again, like he belonged there, in that space filled with soft greens and blooms. He moved among the flowers like they were as much a part of him as the silence he carried, and you thought that maybe it was just the frequency of his visits. But there was something more—a quiet sense of homecoming, of something unspoken that settled deep inside you.

“What took you so long?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. Yet the relief that seeped through your words betrayed you, slipping out despite yourself. It was almost silly, really, to feel so much for a man you barely knew.

But here he was, standing in your shop again, and the warmth of his presence seemed to fill a space that had felt empty in ways you hadn’t known.

Simon hesitated, his gaze dipping downward for a moment before he looked back at you. “I… needed to get settled,” he murmured, voice soft. His hand reached into his bag, pulling out a small, nearly-dry purple plant, its leaves curled at the edges. He held it out with a strange kind of reverence, as if it held a secret. “Got this for you. They were all over the ground in Brazil… tried not to hurt it on the way back.”

The plant lay fragile in his hands, bruised but beautiful, and something twisted inside you. As you took it, your fingers brushed his, a moment too brief, too fleeting, and it sent a warmth up your arm.

“It’s lovely,” you whispered, your voice catching on something you couldn’t name. There was an ache there, beneath the words, an unspoken weight that hung in the way he looked at you.

He took a slow, deep breath, his gaze drifting around the shop, his eyes touching each corner as if memorizing it, as if gathering it all up in a way that felt final.

“Listen,” he began, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it, every word feeling like a struggle. “I… I don’t think I’ll be back for a while.”

The words struck you, sudden and sharp, and you couldn’t help the way your chest tightened. “What do you mean?” you asked, barely managing to keep your voice steady.

“It’s not healthy… coming here again and again,” he replied, looking away as though the words were too heavy to say while meeting your gaze. “Buying flowers, visiting her grave…” He paused, swallowing, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the grief that clung to him like an old coat. “I can’t keep holding on to someone who’s already gone. If I stay… it feels like I’ll never move on with my life.”

You couldn’t fully understand—why he felt like he had to leave you behind along with the girl he’d lost. He could still visit, couldn’t he? It didn’t make sense why he had to leave you too. But you knew better than to argue with a grieving man, especially one who carried loss in a way that had become part of him.

Your fingers tightened around the plant, holding it like it could keep you steady.

“I understand,” you said softly, though your voice wavered. “But… can’t say that I won’t miss you.” You forced a faint, sad smile, but the ache in your chest felt like something breaking, something you couldn’t quite name.

Simon’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting yours with a look that felt like he was holding back a thousand things he couldn’t say.

“Can’t say I won’t miss you either,” he murmured, his voice raw, as if he were trying to contain everything he felt. “You’ve been… well, you’ve been more than you know.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with things unsaid, memories neither of you would speak of. You felt the weight of it all—the quiet understanding, the way you were both holding on to something that seemed to slip further away with every breath.

You took a shaky breath, struggling to find the words to ease the ache blooming in your chest. “I hope you find peace, Simon,” you whispered, voice barely steady. “Real, honest peace. The kind that lets you finally be happy.”

A flicker of something passed over his face—gratitude, maybe, or just understanding, but it was enough to send another pang through you.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough but sincere, like the words themselves held a weight he couldn’t release. “I’ll try.”

He turned to leave, his steps slow, each one feeling like it carried more than just distance. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder one last time, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

“Take care of yourself for me, yeah?” he said quietly, almost a plea.

You nodded, feeling a sting in your chest, like you were letting go of something you never even knew you had. “You too, Simon.”

And then, without another word, he walked out of the shop, his presence lingering in the silence he left behind. In your hands, the purple plant sat like a quiet promise, a reminder of something both lost and found.

A goodbye that felt like an ending and a beginning all at once.

You were watching your boyfriend move around the kitchen, chatting with your mom as they prepared dinner together, their voices blending with the warmth of home. Yet, despite the comfort of the scene, something kept pulling your gaze back to the small vase on the counter.

Inside, the purple flower Simon had given you was wilting. Its petals, once vibrant, were curling at the edges, their color fading—a quiet reminder that something beautiful had started to slip away. You couldn’t ignore the faint pang that stirred within you each time you looked at it.

Your mother noticed and smiled, gently suggesting, “Why don’t you press it into one of your journals? You’ve got that lovely collection of pressed flowers. It’d be a shame to let this one go to waste.”

Her words caught you off guard. A collection of pressed flowers? You tried to recall the last time you’d pressed a flower, but nothing came to mind. The idea felt foreign, yet strangely familiar, like an old habit you’d somehow forgotten.

Driven by curiosity, you excused yourself from the kitchen and headed to your room. There, on a dusty shelf, you found a stack of journals that looked well-worn, as though they’d been opened and closed countless times. You selected one at random, and as you opened it, a few pages slipped loose, drifting to the floor.

Kneeling down, you picked up the scattered pages, pausing as your fingers brushed over a pressed daisy, faded but delicately preserved. Beneath it, there was a note written in neat, careful handwriting. You held it closer, heart pounding as you read the words:

Every time I see a flower, I can’t help but think of you. You’re everywhere, even when I’m miles away.

The signature was unmistakable: Simon.

You stood frozen for a moment, rereading the words that felt intimate yet unfamiliar. Simon’s handwriting… words from him, words that seemed to speak to you in ways that went beyond the surface. You couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it was as though he were reaching out to you from a memory you hadn’t realized you’d lost.

Compelled to understand more, you flipped through the pages of the journal, finding more pressed flowers scattered among the entries. Each flower seemed to carry its own message, its own secret memory, and tucked between them were letters—some in Simon’s handwriting, some in your own.

Another note slipped out, this one written by you, the ink familiar and clear:

Home is not the same without you. Every corner feels empty, every morning too quiet. Please, come home safely, Simon. This place isn’t home without you in it.

You felt an ache spread through your chest as you read the words. These weren’t just casual messages—they were parts of a shared story, a connection you hadn’t known existed. Every letter spoke of moments between the two of you, woven together like threads in a tapestry you’d somehow forgotten.

Heart pounding, you reached for another journal, one that looked older and more worn. As you flipped through, more letters and flowers revealed themselves, each one adding to a picture that was slowly coming into focus. Memories of travels, quiet conversations, promises made under moonlit skies—all preserved, pressed between petals and pages.

And then, nestled near the back of one of the journals, you found the last note, written in your handwriting, simple yet filled with a love that resonated through every word:

I love you forever, Simon. And to answer your question… yes, I’ll marry you.

The words seemed to leap off the page, a promise sealed between petals and time, hidden but unforgotten. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the weight of the letters settled over you, filling the gaps with emotions you hadn’t known you were missing.

This wasn’t just a collection of flowers—it was a history, a story of love, of quiet moments and shared dreams. Simon hadn’t just been a visitor to your shop. He had been a part of your life, woven into it in ways you were only beginning to understand.

As you sat there surrounded by journals and petals, the wilted flower on the counter took on a new meaning. It was a reminder of something fragile yet enduring, something that had managed to survive through time, waiting patiently for you to remember.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by pieces of a love you hadn’t known you’d lost, you felt the weight of that history settle into your heart, filling it with both sorrow and a newfound understanding of the promise you’d once made—one that now, despite everything, felt as real as ever.

You sat there, surrounded by scattered journals, pressed flowers, and letters that hinted at a life you hadn’t remembered until now. The words on the pages blurred as tears slipped down your cheeks, the weight of each revelation pressing heavily on your heart. This wasn’t just a collection of flowers and notes—this was a love story, preserved between petals and pages, hidden from you until this moment.

Just then, your mother appeared in the doorway. She took in the scene—pages strewn across the floor, tears streaming down your face, and the shattered look in your eyes. Concern deepened in her gaze as she slowly walked over to you.

“Sweetheart?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with worry. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

You looked up at her, voice breaking as you clutched the journal close to your chest. “You kept everything from me.”

You clutched the letters tightly in your hands as you made your way to the field. You didn’t know how you knew he’d be here, but somehow it felt right, like an unspoken understanding guiding your steps. The sky was a muted gray, casting a somber light over the tall grass swaying gently in the breeze.

And there he was—Simon. Standing alone, hands in his pockets, his gaze distant as he looked out over the field. The moment he heard your footsteps, he turned, his eyes meeting yours. His gaze dropped to the letters in your hands, and as realization dawned on his face, his expression softened, then crumbled, and for a second, he looked as vulnerable as the words he’d written so long ago.

“Were you ever planning to tell me?” you asked, your voice shaking as you tried to hold back tears. You took a step closer, feeling the weight of each word pressing down on you. “Or were you just going to let me go on without ever knowing?”

Simon’s face fell, and he took a deep breath, his gaze shifting down, unable to meet your eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you… didn’t want to put you through that again. Everyone thought… it would be easier for you to heal without knowing.”

You shook your head, the letters trembling in your grip. “But I loved you, Simon. I deserved to know that much. I deserved to know what we had.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw, each one carrying the weight of what had been kept from you. You watched as he took a step closer, his own eyes glistening, his hands clenching at his sides as if he were fighting to keep control.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “The last thing I wanted was to bring you more pain.”

“Pain?” you repeated, voice rising. “Do you know what it feels like to find letters and memories that don’t feel like mine, but are? To feel like a stranger in my own life?”

Simon’s shoulders slumped, his gaze filled with guilt. “I’m so sorry… I never wanted this for you.” He looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe I could just leave you with a clean slate, let you have a life without the weight of what we went through.”

“But it was my life too, Simon,” you replied, voice soft but resolute. “I had a right to know the love we shared, the promises we made… and you took that from me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as you stood facing each other in the empty field, the letters a fragile testament to what once was.

Finally, Simon looked up, meeting your gaze, his own eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I loved you more than anything,” he said, his voice rough, each word like a confession. “And I still do. That’s why it was so damn hard to watch you live without knowing… but it felt selfish to want you back, to bring you all the hurt that we went through.”

Your throat tightened as you looked down at the letters, the words that held pieces of a love you’d somehow forgotten, promises you hadn’t known you’d made.

“But maybe that’s not your choice to make,” you whispered. “Maybe… maybe I needed to remember, even if it hurt.”

Simon’s face softened, his eyes filling with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before, glistening with unshed tears as he took a shaky breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice barely holding together, each word heavy with remorse.

“You owe it to me, Simon,” you said, your voice steady despite the ache. “I have a right to know who I was—to know who we were. And if it hurts, then that’s mine to bear.”

He looked away, jaw tightening, struggling against the emotions that threatened to break through. “I just… I thought maybe if you had a fresh start, it would be easier. You could move on without… without the memories.”

“But they aren’t just memories, Simon,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “They’re pieces of me, of us. And you had no right to decide I didn’t need them.” You held up the letters, trembling in your hands, a tangible reminder of the love you’d both lost. “These aren’t just words on a page—they’re moments, promises we shared, a life we built together. You can’t erase that, no matter how much you try.”

Simon’s gaze returned to you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and longing that mirrored your own. “You’re right,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I owe you that, and more. I was wrong to keep it from you. I was wrong to think I could just let you go and pretend it would be better that way.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything that had been kept from you since the accident, the loss of something you never even knew was yours.

“My life… it hasn’t felt right since the accident,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’ve been living in a place that doesn’t quite fit, like I’m walking through someone else’s memories.”

Simon’s expression softened, his gaze filled with an ache that mirrored your own. He didn’t say anything, waiting, giving you space to continue.

“When you came to say goodbye, it hurt in a way I couldn’t understand,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know why I felt so empty watching you leave. But the only thing that’s made sense… the only thing that felt real was when you walked into the flower shop. Every time you came by, it was like… like a part of me recognized you, even if I didn’t know why.”

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours, grounding you as he spoke. “I should have known. I thought I could walk away, let you find your own peace, but it’s clear now… I’ve just been trying to hide from something we both needed.”

You held his gaze, pain, regret, and quiet understanding filling the silence between you.

And then, your eyes drifted downward, noticing something glinting at his chest. Hanging alongside his dog tags was a delicate silver band—a ring, familiar in shape and weight. It took you a moment to realize what it was, but when you did, it felt like the ground slipped out from under you.

It was your engagement ring.

The ring you’d once said yes to. An evidence of a love you couldn’t remember but somehow felt deep in your bones.

A fresh wave of emotion surged through you, your gaze lifting to meet Simon’s. He noticed your stare, his fingers reaching up to touch the ring as if it were a talisman, his face softened with both pain and something that looked like hope.

“Simon…” you whispered, words catching in your throat. “I don’t know if what I feel right now is love. I don’t know if I can call it that… yet.” You took a deep, steadying breath. “But I feel like it could be someday. Like there’s something here that could grow into that.”

His eyes glistened with something close to relief, and he nodded, his lips pressing into a faint, bittersweet smile. “That’s more than I ever thought I’d hear from you again,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You held his gaze, a strange peace settling over you as you spoke. “I know I loved you once. And maybe… maybe I’ll love you again. In this life, and whatever comes after.”

A quiet, vulnerable smile touched his lips as he reached up, his fingers brushing over the ring, the same band that held so much history, so much unspoken promise.

“I was waiting for you to come back,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “Waiting for you to remember.”

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of his words settling deep within you. Stepping closer, you gently placed your hand over his, your thumb brushing against the ring he’d held onto all this time.

“I’m here now,” you whispered, meeting his gaze.

The pain, the longing, and the love that had waited in silence between you found its voice in that moment. You didn’t need memories to know that this was where you belonged, and for the first time in a long time, the pieces of your life began to feel whole.

As you sat there with him, surrounded by the stillness of the field, you noticed a lone dandelion growing nearby, its delicate seeds waiting to be carried away by the breeze. You reached over, plucking it gently, and held it out to him with a soft smile.

“Make a wish,” you whispered, your voice barely breaking the quiet around you.

He looked at the dandelion, then back at you, a tender smile crossing his face as he shook his head. “I already got my wish,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a warmth and sincerity that made your heart ache in the best way.

In that moment, words felt unnecessary.

You leaned into him, feeling the quiet reassurance of his presence, knowing that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together.

#asks #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost angst #simon riley x reader #simon riley #angst #cod ghost #ghost

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 6 months ago

Text

Keep Moving Forwards: Part 4

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.0K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

There was an odd pain radiating from your temple, stretching around your forehead to the back of your scalp, pulsating. What happened? you wondered. As you reached up to press your palm into the epicenter of the pain, you felt a distinct sharp pain radiating up your side from your ribs, spreading down through your back. It was enough pain to justify saying your entire torso felt like it was on fire. A sharp hiss escaped from between your teeth as you finally managed to bring your palm to your temple, the ache still pounding. You ran one hand up your side to find it bandaged, a wooden splint strapped to your side to keep you from bending. Something very bad had happened. You tried to recall events leading up to now, but the memories were foggy. Something about rain and darkness? Your body remembered biting cold, but other than that, you struggled to pull anything from your subconscious. Right now, you were just exhausted, both in mind and body.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with an odd sight. A wooden ceiling, vaulted high above you. You squinted, unsure if the pain in your head was distorting your vision. The roof of your cabin was much lower and certainly didn’t have the ornate carvings lining the beams. You managed to turn your head slightly, your neck sending a shooting pain through your spine as you clenched your teeth. Unless you were dreaming, this wasn’t your cabin.

To your right, there was a small wooden side table with four ornately carved drawers. Atop it was a washbasin with a dirty red rag draped over the side, and a single candle burned down almost to its base, the wick and flame high and flickering. Across the room was a large window with brown curtains hanging from the beam above it. On the window sill stood a series of bottles and candles—perfume bottles, perhaps. Below that was a chest carved with various markings, some of which you could make out as stars. Fighting against the pain, you craned your neck to look at the fireplace, where wood cracked and split as smoke curled up the chimney. Resting next to the mantle was a series of weapons: swords, knives, an ax, all left haphazardly as if someone had thrown them down some time ago and left them to collect dust.

Your head sent another pang of pain through it as you squeezed your eyes shut, your head falling back to hit the pillow again, which was soft, warm, and inviting. You let your hands fall back to your sides, instinctively curling into the warmth of the soft fur at the side of the bed. You let your fingers run idly through it as you tried and failed once again to orient yourself. Thinking too hard sent the pain burning through your skull again, and every breath felt as if someone were dragging a knife down the length of your side.

You must have fallen asleep, because when you next opened your eyes, the light in the room had shifted to the oranges and yellows of evening. Struggling once more to turn your head and look around the room, you noticed the washbasin had been removed and the candle replaced with a taller, newer version. Someone had come in while you were asleep. When you reached down your sides, you noticed the wooden splint had been removed and the dressings replaced with smoother, cotton bandages. Not only had someone been in the room with you, but they had also nursed you.

You tried to sit up. Another blast of pain, and a small inadvertent squeak from your mouth, and your head fell back to the mattress. When you turned your head, you recognized the male standing in the doorway, but couldn't quite place him. Your eyes squinted at him, mouth slightly open.

“You’re awake,” he finally spoke, making his way across the room and setting a basin of clean water on the side table before wringing out the rag within it. He reached across to run it across your temple, and you jerked to the side, causing another roar of pain as you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

“You can’t move like that,” he warned, pulling his hand back, the water dripping onto the floor. “You haven’t fully healed, and every time you move, that rib recracks.”

A broken rib. So that was the cause of the pain.

You groaned slightly as he placed the rag back in the basin and took a step back. You gave him a long look up and down. Yes, he certainly seemed familiar. His tanned skin, covered in swirling black tattoos running down his arms and up his neck, barely visible above the collar of his black shirt. His face was hardened yet kind, with hazel eyes meeting yours as you continued to try to decode this familiar stranger. His hair, soft black waves, swooped down over his forehead, and the most familiar part of him were the large bat-like wings protruding over his shoulders, the talons on the top glinting in the light of the fire, now blazing at the foot of the bed.

“Do you not recognize me?” he asked after you seemed satisfied with your visual investigation.

You rested your head back down on the pillow, your neck nearly giving out from the strain of holding it up, which felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. You choked back a slight gasp as your neck spasmed. “No,” you finally got out. “Should I?”

The male’s brows furrowed, and a hint of concern flashed across his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. “We met a few nights ago, both at the Starlit Stag Inn. You were in the room adjacent to mine.”

You pulled through the memories, recalling your initial interaction, walking in to find him lounging on the chair. Memories seemed to be coming back, slowly.

“You were in my room,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

The male let out a light chuckle as he pulled a wooden stool from the wall, planting his large frame onto it. His forearms rested on his thighs as he leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I would argue you were in my room, given I was there first.”

You opened one eye, the other still clenched shut, to look at him. His face was soft, inviting, handsome for sure, but what struck you most was the seeming care he took in looking at your face, which you were sure was battered and bruised based on how it felt.

“Well,” you replied, “I guess I’m sorry about taking over your space.”

He smiled again, his scarred thumb stroking the top of his other hand as he looked down at it. “I was more than happy to share.”

There was a pause as he looked back up at you, now staring toward the ceiling, ragged breaths escaping from you as you tried to peer through memories, searching for what had happened over the last few days.

“What do you remember?” he finally asked.

You blinked a few times. Rain, cold, pain, male voices echoing, saying such foul things, and before that, purple flowers, your mother. “It’s fuzzy,” you finally said, tears building at the corner of your eyes, though you weren’t sure why.

“Seemed like you knocked your head pretty hard,” the male said, gesturing to your temple. “Though I can’t say what happened to the rest of you, you were pretty battered when I found you”

“Found me?” you asked, a tear slipping down your cheek, though it was on the other side, and the male couldn’t see it as you shoved the sadness deep down.

The male nodded. “You were lying on the river bank, soaking wet and freezing. I assume you’d somehow fallen into the river and hit your head. You don’t remember any of that?”

That would explain the blasts of pain.

“What river?”

The male’s eyes furrowed again, apparently you knew less than he thought. “The Frostvale.”

“Frostvale, as in the Illyrian Frostvale?” you clarified.

The male chuckled again. “I don’t think there are many others named that.”

Frostvale was where your mate had taken you one summer, to spend the weekend swimming in the cold water rushing in from the eastern sea. Your mate. Oh gods.

You suddenly tried to shoot upwards, but the pain pushed you back down.

“Whoa, whoa,” the male warned, rising from his seat and rushing over to you.

You screamed as the pain radiated up your side and seemed to erupt from your mouth.

“You need to be careful. Your ribs are shattered,” he warned, pulling back the blankets slightly to check your bandages. It was then that you realized you didn’t have a top on and that the bandages around your midsection barely covered your breasts. You gasped quickly as the male went to adjust the bandage, but you whipped out an arm to push him back, slamming into his chest, pulling the fur blankets up.

“No!” you screamed at him.

He threw his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright” he conceded. “That was fair. But you need to not move so much. You already punctured your lungs twice just while you were sleeping.”

That explained the wheezing, hollow, raspy sound emanating from your chest.

“Half of this week has just been trying to keep you still,” he said.

“A week?” you suddenly realized, your eyes widening.

The male nodded, lowering his hands and returning to his stool. “Yeah, you’ve been out for about four days.”

You gulped down the anxiety growing in your stomach. You’d lost four days, and who knows how many more from the injury. You suddenly ran through how far you would have made it from your cabin, realizing your original plan to escape had altered based off of this slight mishap.

You learned, after more questions, that you’d been away from the cabin for the last seven days. A full week without being found or going back—the longest time you had made it, although the injury certainly aided in that. But what you found strange was that since you had woken up, and the entire time you had been unconscious, the slimy voice of your mate hadn’t wormed its way into your mind. You shuddered at the thought of being unable to get away from your mate's coercion, insults, rages, and any other commentary he might throw down the bond. You silently thanked the Mother for whatever grace had been gifted to you.

The male looked toward the washbasin and then back to you. You followed his eyes. “I need to clean the gash on your head,” he said.

“I can do it,” you retorted.

The male frowned. “You can’t sit up. If you lift your arm above your head, your lung is going to pop, and I’m not even sure you have enough strength to hold yourself up for more than a second.”

You weighed your options, your eyes darting between the washbasin and his face. He sensed your hesitancy and finally responded, “I promise I won’t do anything. I just want to wash your wound.”

He held his hands up again as if in a peace offering. You gulped, still not fully sure why you felt so against this male touching you. Something in you felt incredibly hesitant about those wings, but you couldn’t quite place why.

The male sucked his lips between his teeth and peered around the room, his eyes landing on the fire mantle. He stood slowly as you watched him. You tried to cover yourself more, but pulling the blanket up caused a small fire to radiate through your back. The male seemed attuned to your nerves and said, “I’m going to get up and grab something from the mantle, and then I’m going to come back here and sit down.”

You nodded approval, and he gave a small nod back before he stood, continuing to face you, hands drawn up before himself while he walked slowly to the mantle. Your breathing paused as you waited. He reached up and grabbed a single hunting knife from the top. You suddenly panicked, trying to sit up, in fear of what you didn’t know. He wasn’t coming at you, wasn’t menacingly brandishing the knife, and yet you felt an inherent need to flee. When he saw your reaction, he quickly placed the knife on the floor, standing again, hands drawn up to his shoulders, palms facing you.

“It’s okay,” he reassured as you grunted at the pain. “I’m sorry, I should have told you what I was getting.” He pointed a finger down at the floor. “I was going to let you hold this while I cleaned the wound. You can hold it to my stomach, and if I go too far or you feel unsafe, you can defend yourself.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused at his remark. He was willingly giving you a weapon and asking you to stab him with it if you felt uncomfortable. “What?” you asked.

He looked at you, pausing, eyes meeting yours. “I just thought you might feel safer if you had some control.”

You tried to wipe the confusion from your face. He wanted you to stab him. No, he wanted you to have a way to stop him from hurting you. Even if he didn’t plan on hurting you, he wanted you to be able to stop it. You didn’t say anything, just continued to look at him.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked. When you didn’t respond, he added, “Look, I don’t know why you aren’t healing faster, but I’m worried that letting that fester is just going to make it harder and harder or deadly.” A pause. “Plus, I’ve been working hard at cleaning it for the last few days, so having you ruin my work doesn’t seem fair.” He gave you a small smile.

You nodded, and he smiled again, saying, “Alright, thank you. Now, I’m going to lean down and get the knife. I’m going to put it next to you on the bed and then step back until you take it, okay?”

You let out a sound of agreement, and he slowly crouched, one hand descending to grab the blade, the other still held in the air. He stood back up and slowly walked to the side of the bed, putting the knife next to your hand and taking a step back, both hands returning to the air. You quickly gripped the knife, and through the pain, held it up, your upper arm still propped up by the bed.

“Doing okay?” he asked. You nodded.

“Okay,” he pointed to the washbasin, “Now I’m going to grab that rag and dampen it. Then I’m going to run it over your forehead to clean it. It might take me a few rounds before it’s clean, and I am going to want to stop to look at the wound, but I promise I won’t let my hands touch you. Is that okay?”

You nodded your agreement. He nodded back. “I’m going to have to lean over you a bit, so you just keep the knife steady. You can rest it against my stomach.” You nodded again. He paused momentarily, “And please don’t accidentally stab me, if you’re going to do it, make it count.”

He slowly walked forward, grabbing the rag and dipping it into the water before wringing it out. He then brought it to your forehead, wiping it gingerly at first, his eyes focused on the wound. You held the knife to his stomach, pressing the tip gently into his shirt, feeling the hardened muscles underneath.

You gulped a few times, your sight locked onto his face and hands as he tended to you. He spoke the entire time, telling you what he was doing, alerting you when he was going to move, and warning you if things would hurt. At some point, you let the knife fall from his stomach, but you couldn’t decide if it was comfort or fatigue. When he was finished, he tossed the rag into the basin, scrubbing his hands clean and then wiping them on his pants.

“I probably should have opened with my name,” he chuckled to himself. “It just seemed like you were more preoccupied than niceties would have allowed. I’m Azriel.”

You looked at him, your fingers tracing the knife handle. “I’m Y/N,” you responded.

“That’s a pretty name,” he replied, turning back to you.

You smiled lightly, not looking towards him, just tracing the carved woodland animals on the handle of the knife.

“Look, I—” he started, then stopped, pondering his response. “I don’t want to intrude, and I know you’ve got some amnesia from hitting your head, but I just—” He paused again. “That first night, in the tavern, I came into your room and woke you up because you were screaming and—” He stopped.

You gulped, your eyes filling with tears, and you sniffled them away. You didn’t know why this kept happening. Why did you keep allowing yourself to the brink of tears in front of this stranger? He watched as your eyes reddened and lined with silver. “We can talk about it later,” he said, then smiled, picking up the basin and propping it on his hip. He looked toward your torso. “Would you feel more comfortable if a female looked at your ribs?” he asked.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat that built before you could cry and nodded your head. Azriel smiled slightly, aware of the oncoming storm, and said, “I’ll send a female up here tomorrow morning.” He turned, walking toward the door, his large wings narrowly fitting through the entrance. Before reaching behind him to pull the door shut, he paused and asked, “Do you like berries?”

You nodded again, unable to speak for fear you might sob. He threw you another smile before ducking his head and leaving the room. Then he shut the door, leaving you alone as your tears began to fall and you coughed out long sobs that sent your body radiating with pain. You were stuck here, in a room, unable to move, with a male you didn’t know. You gripped the knife in your fist before pushing it under the fur blanket as your exhaustion hit you again, and your weary body succumbed to sleep.

Authors Note: Thank you for everyone who has been keeping up with the story and interaction and a special thanks to those who asked to join the tag list, it means to much to know there are people out here genuinely enjoying my works!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll

@fightmedraco

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@romantasyreader28 @minnieoo

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mydemimonde · 1 year ago

Text

my tears ricochet — aemond targaryen x reader one-shot

warnings: angst with no happy ending. mention and description of miscarriage, depression, character death, aemond being an asshole. no beta reading! i like alys but i needed to make her kind of a bitch for this

words: 4500ish

A/N: i hope you like this little piece of writing, took me like five hours lmao. english is not my first language so expect some mistakes. i have an upcoming fic with aemond x oc, if you're interested in reading it, here's a sneak peak. enjoy your reading! ♡

We gather here, we line up Weeping in a sunlit room, and If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too

The words that left Aemond’s mouth cut deep in your skin. Your heart was heavy, a huge sharp pain was pressing your chest and you felt like vomiting. You were thankful you were sitting, otherwise your legs would have failed you.

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, you could only hear his muffled voice, as if it was distant. The air grew thick with tension as Aemond’s words hung between you two, the Sun lighting the dark room.

“Alys and I…”

You have heard plenty of rumours about your husband and that woman in Harrenhal. You refused to believe them, you were sure your husband was an honourable man who loved you and respected you deeply. But apparently it was not like that.

All you could do was stare blankly at the fireplace, no emotion showing in your face, your hands together on your lap and some tears falling down on your cheeks, while he kneeled before you, explaining to you what happened, tears spilling from his eyes at the fact that he betrayed you. His dear wife.

“I swear to you, Y/N” he placed his hand on his chest, his voice broken and barely above a whisper “there is nothing else between us. I ended the matter”.

You stopped a bitter laugh from escaping your lips. Ended the matter? That was far from happening, you were sure of it. That morning, when he arrived with Cole and his men, a brunette lady in a green dress came as well.

Oh, yes. He even dared to bring her to the Keep.

According to Aemond, before he confessed his betrayal, that woman was an important asset to win the war for the Iron Throne against his half-sister and uncle. She could see things before they happened, she had visions and he needed her.

But to you, it was beyond that.

How could he betray you in that way and have the audacity to bring the woman he betrayed you with to your home? How could he do such a thing to you after everything you had to endure?

Memories of the weeks after you lovely wedding flashed through your mind.

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

“I’m so sorry, Aemond,” you said in between sobs, hiding your face from him. You were sitting on your shared bed after the maester left your chambers. It was your second failed pregnancy, apparently you were not fertile enough for a healthy one.

The world shattered around you, you wanted to cry and scream until your throat hurt, you wanted to set everything on fire. You were not capable of keeping a child safe in your womb, you were not capable of giving your husband an heir.

“Shh, my sweet love,” Aemond’s voice was soft, his hand caressing your back as the other went to take your hands and uncover your face. Your eyes and nose were red and puffy, tears still streaming down your cheeks. He wiped the tears with his thumb and hugged your shaking figure, trying to calm you down. “Listen to me. This was not your fault. None of it”

“But, Aemond, I-”

“No,” he interrupted, looking at you with a serious expression. “Do not blame yourself for this. It is a terrible thing that happened, yes. But by no means was it your fault, I want you to understand that” his thumb stroked your cheek as you regained your breath.

“Aemond, you heard the maester. I’m incapable of giving you a child” water began to pool in your eyes again, remembering what the wise man told you with a sorrowful look.

He nodded. “Yes, I have heard him. But I do not love you less for that. Y/N, I love you for being you, my dear wife. Not for what you can or cannot give me. I only care and crave for your love.”

You believed every word he said, every promise, every look directed at you and every touch he gave you. Oh, how stupid you felt now.

Since you were not looking at him nor saying anything, he took your hands in his. That caught your attention and you flinched, finally looking at him.

With a quivering and threatening voice, you managed to say: “Get out”.

After that morning, you still slept in the same chambers and bed. You slept on your edge of the bed, turning your back to him, while he slept on his side. Sometimes you felt him staring at you, he would try to touch you or talk to you, but you were very clear to him. You needed time to think, needed time to forgive him, and he decided to respect that.

However, after feeling the bed shift every night while you pretended to sleep and hearing his footsteps early in the morning right before waking up, you decided you would not forgive him.

You cried into your pillow every time he left, spending the night in another chamber. Her chambers.

Soon you began feeling terribly sick, you would wake up with nausea, vomiting your breakfast and with awful migraines.

“You are with child, princess” the maester’s words echoed in your head, trying to assimilate them.

“That… that’s impossible” you shook your head and smiled sadly. “I have already lost two. I am not capable of carrying a healthy pregnancy” you repeated the words the maester had told you several moons before.

The old man chuckled. “You are almost three moons in, princess” you blinked. “You need to trust this old man. This one is safe. But listen very carefully” his expression turned serious, your eyes wide with surprise as you nodded. “It is imperative that you follow a healthy diet to keep this child safe. You must avoid all kinds of strong emotions and stressful situations.”

Oh. Right.

You just nodded, taking mental note of his suggestions. “Thank you, master”.

He left your chambers and you stayed there, standing next to the fireplace, a hand lingering on your belly. You were now with child. Aemond’s child. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, thinking about what to do next, but especially about how you were feeling.

Happy? Relieved? Sad? It was all a mix of feelings that made you uneasy. You’ve been confirmed that this was a safe pregnancy, or at least it was if you followed the maester’s instructions. You should be happy, right?

But after remembering what Aemond had told you weeks before and his activities during the nights, you realised that happiness was impossible. You were unsure if after you told him the news, he would stop seeing her. After all, he promised their affair would cease, and he did not keep his word.

The sound of someone knocking on the door pulled you from your trance. “Yes?”

Queen Alicent, your mother-in-law stepped in the room. Her eyebrows were furrowed, a worried look in her face. “My dear, I have seen the maester come from your chambers”. She came closer to you, examining you and taking one of your hands in hers. “Is there anything wrong?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but you could not find the words. “I- uhm” you cleared your throat and looked at your hands. “I’m fine, your Grace”

Alicent tilted her head. “You’re with child, aren’t you?” you lifted your head, your gaze wide and lips parting. She only smiled. “A mother notices things. I have noticed you have been feeling ill. Nausea and migraines” she explained, leading you to sit down on the edge of the bed. “I started with the same symptoms when I had Aegon in my womb. And from the look on the maester’s face, it appears that you and the baby will be safe”

You just blinked at her words. Certainly, mothers can notice things.

“Indeed, your Grace” suddenly you felt like crying. “I do not know how to tell Aemond, he-” you closed your eyes and looked at your hands. You took a deep breath as Alicent caressed your hair. You looked back up at her. “I know he has been seeing that witch every night. I see him do that. He swore to me he would stop, but-”

The Queen nodded and grimaced. She did not like that woman either. It was a shame for her that her (favourite) son would bring her mistress there. The fact that he in fact had a mistress was a shame itself. How could he disrespect his wife, his mother and his whole family like that?

Something inside you told you she already knew. “I’m so sorry, my dear” she hugged you and you felt at peace for a moment. Queen Alicent was truly like a mother to you.

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

After your conversation with Queen Alicent, you decided to tell Aemond the news. For a moment, you hoped that if he heard what you had to say, he would immediately abandon the witch’s side and come back to you. You may still forgive him after all…

The Queen had arranged a feast in your honour. It would be the moment where you would tell him the news, with the rest of the family. You met Aemond in your chambers, right when you were finishing preparing yourself, you were combing your long hair when he entered the room.

His expression confused you. “I am afraid, my love, that I will not be able to escort you to supper. I have some unattended matter in the Council”

You frowned and felt quite disappointed. “But you will be able to attend, right?” you already felt a wave of desperation through your body. “Your mother has arranged this in our honour, you must not be absent.”

Aemond let out an exasperated sigh that took you by surprise. “I will, Y/N. It is just that I will be joining later with Cole, that is all.”

And so you walked to the Great Hall alone. Aegon, Helaena, Otto and Alicent, as well as some members of the Council —except from Aemond and Cole, of course— were already there, waiting for you.

When Alicent saw you entering the Hall with a blank expression and no sight of Aemond by your side, the corners of her mouth curved downwards. She approached you. “My dear Y/N, where is Aemond?”

You lifted your eyebrows. “He said he would be late. He had matters to attend in the Council.”

Her expression softened as she caressed your arm. “Well then, come with me. Let us have a seat and we may wait for him” you followed the Queen and sat next to her, to her right. There was an empty seat next to you, meant for Aemond.

You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, anxiety coursing through your veins as you lifted your head to glance at the doors. You have been there waiting for almost twenty minutes, the musicians were already playing some quiet music, the sound of people chatting filled your ears.

Suddenly, the doors opened. Everyone stood up from their chairs and the music stopped. It was Ser Criston Cole who entered. Alone. He found your gaze in the crowded room, a sorrowful and sorry look on his face.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you had to witness later. Your husband made his way into the Hall, with Alys Rivers on his arm next to him.

One of her hands lingered over her belly.

You heard Alicent scoff next to you, shaking her head at the sight. You, on the other hand, could not utter a word. You felt sick to your stomach, you wanted to run away from there. But your feet did not seem to move, it was as if they were glued to the floor.

Aemond met your empty gaze for a few seconds before moving towards the chairs in front of him. He pulled one for Alys, she thanked him with a soft smile that he returned and sat.

You could not stand being there, in the same room as them.

You turned your heels and ran away from there as soon as you could, tears spilling and making your vision blurry as your legs moved fast. You heard footsteps behind you, and a soft grip on your arm made you stop in your tracks. You turned your head and saw Aemond’s eye scanning you, noticing the way your cheeks were damped with your tears.

“Y/N, let us go back to the Hall”

Rage flowed through you like dragonfire. “Get your fucking hands off me!” you yelled with a brittle voice and freed from his grip with a strong tug.

That took Aemond by surprise, his wide eye proving it. You were staring at him like he was the biggest scum in the world. Which he was. And that felt like a dagger through his heart.

“Y/N, my dear, please listen to me” he pleaded with a low voice, trying to reach your hand.

“So now that whore is part of the Council?” you answered bitterly. He did not move nor said anything. “How dare you humiliate me in front of everyone? How dare you disrespect your wife and your mother in such a way?” you spat, nostrils flaring with anger.

Once again, he tried to reason with you. “My love, I promis-” he was interrupted by a slap across his face, startling him.

“Do not fucking call me that” you warned him, waving your index finger to him to turn around and leave to your chambers.

That night, you just let the anger and sadness take over you, sobbing into the pillow as Aemond heard everything outside the door. He stayed there the whole night, his back against the cold door, waiting for you to open it. But you refused to let him in, and so he fell asleep on the floor.

He was awakened by Cole in the early hours of the morning, and since he did not hear an answer when he knocked on the door, he forced it open, searching for you. But you were nowhere to be found.

He called your name, but you did not answer. He just heard some muffled sobs in the toilet, the door was locked. “Y/N? Y/N please, let me in.”

You just muttered a small “Please, leave me alone”. Aemond’s gaze fell to the floor for a few moments, and he was ready to leave you again, you just needed time to think. You would come to your senses again, and you would listen to what he had to say. Everything would be back to normal.

Just when he was ready to leave with Cole, he heard the sound of metal hitting the ground, so he forced the door, worried about you. What he saw made his breath hitch.

You were on your knees on the floor, crying, your hands and the white gown you wore to sleep was covered in blood. Your blood. Your gaze found his, and you managed to yell. “I said leave me alone!”

Aemond fell to your side immediately, ordering Cole to fetch a maester. He began examining you, trying to find the source of the blood, but you were not harmed. He lifted your gown and saw your legs damped with blood as well. He looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Y/N…”

“Almost three moons in” you cut him. “The maester said it would be a safe pregnancy, if I followed his instructions. Avoid stressful situations.”

Aemond’s heart dropped listening to your words. He could not say a word for a while, he just kept looking at you. “I-I’m so sorry, Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Sorry does not change anything” your voice was harsh, your eyes felt like daggers on him. “You chose her over me. You chose her over our marriage, our baby, and now our child is gone. Is gone because of you. You killed it.”

He felt everything around him stop, it was like you took his heart and squeezed hard with your cruel words. But he deserved it. He deserved all your anger, and more.

“Go back to her. She needs you, Aemond, I’m sure she does. The baby she carries needs his father, do not do the same you did to me” you swallowed, watching his reaction.

“Y/N, I told you, we ended everything. She was at supper with me last evening because as you well said, she is part of the Council. She is valuable” he was trying so hard to make you believe his words.

You laughed bitterly. “Do you think I’m stupid, Aemond? I know what you do every night, when I pretend to sleep. I know you go back to her. Every fucking night. You reek of her, Aemond” you sneered at him, letting him see how much you hated him now. “I know for sure she is expecting a child, your child.”

Tears began to spill from your eyes again, but you did not let them fall. You did not wish for him to see you that vulnerable again.

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

After the maester had arrived, he instructed Aemond to leave the chambers. Your words and the way you looked at him with hate, no not hate, repulsion, were still engraved in his mind. As he left the room he heard your sobs, it was a sound that broke his heart. How could he hurt you, his beloved wife? He was responsible for your heartbreak and the loss of your child.

That day he decided he would try once again to have your trust and love back. He sent a maester to Alys’ chambers to give her moon tea. Then, a guard would escort her outside the Keep, a carriage would be waiting for her to return to her home.

He let that affair and bargain destroy his marriage, but he would do anything to amend it.

He went to your shared chambers, it was a cold night, the wind howled outside the Keep and only his footsteps were heard in the corridors. He opened the door, the wind was so strong it threatened to close it, but Aemond was stronger and managed to open it. He expected to see you lying on your bed, resting after the maester gave you some milk of the poppy, but he did not see you there.

Aemond looked around the dark room and found you in your white gown. His heart began to pound fast in his chest, his hands began to shake as he caught sight of you, your feet perched on the window still looking down.

His steps were silent, calculated, trying not to scare you. But you already knew he was there, you heard the door being opened and you knew it was him. You did not look back at him, not even when he was begging you not to do anything insane. He came closer, carefully offering you his hand.

“Y/N please,” his voice gentle yet tinged with desperation. “Step back, please, just take my hand”.

At the sound of his voice, you slowly turned around, facing him with empty eyes. His eyebrows drew together in deep concern, his lips slightly parted. He let out a small sigh of relief as you placed your hand on his palm, but before he could grab it, you gave him what could only be described as a sad smile and slipped through his fingers, letting yourself fall.

Your funeral was held a few days later, Aemond gave Vhagar the command to set your corpse on fire. As Vhagar saw the tears in her rider’s eyes, she let out a loud roar, full of sorrow. Aemond stared at the flames, incapable of moving as his cheeks were wet with warm tears.

As he turned to leave, however, he felt a certain uneasiness. He began looking around the field, and he swore he saw your figure standing behind a tree, watching him. He blinked rapidly, but you disappeared.

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

That night after the funeral, Aemond cried silently as he clung to one of your dresses. It still had your smell, it was as if you were right there with him. In the dimly lit room, shadows danced like spectres, casting an otherworldly ambiance.

It was right there, through tear-blurred vision, that he saw you. Your ghostly figure stood next to the window, looking through it, an apparition bathed in a haunting glow. You were sobbing. Aemond's breath caught in his throat, the ache in his chest growing immeasurably.

“Y/N?” he asked with a trembling voice, standing up slowly to approach you. Your sobbing never ceased as you turned to see him. Your eyes were glinted with a seething anger, the tears you shed were like salt in his wounds, a reminder of the pain he had inflicted upon you.

Just before he could get closer to you, you climbed to the window sill. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he realised what you intended. He lunged forward, his hand outstretched in a futile attempt to stop you, but it was too late. You jumped, slipping through his fingers once again.

Aemond could not sleep well. After that, he began seeing you and feeling you everywhere. During his training, when he could not concentrate and fell on his back missing Cole’s attacks, he saw your figure staring at him from the roof. During his visits to the library, in the solemn silence, he could hear your sobs. During supper, he could feel your hand linger over his shoulder, just like the way you used to do.

He would see your reflection in the mirror, looking at him with pure anger, your face contorted with rage.

Every night, the same thing would happen. He would see you standing next to the window, sobbing, turning to glare at him just to jump afterwards. He had to witness your death over and over again, slipping through his fingers. It was driving him insane.

He was sleep deprived. He requested the maesters to give him something so that he could find sleep. However, your late visits never ceased. You continued haunting him, he did not know what else to do to stop this.

One night, there was a storm raging outside, loud thunders and lightning streaking across the sky illuminated the room. Aemond drank the tea the maester had given him earlier, trying to get some rest.

Your sobs interrupted his peaceful sleep. He rubbed his eyes and saw you standing there, looking at him with a mix of rage and sorrow. Before you could repeat the actions from previous nights and climb through the window, he dashed across the room and fell to his knees.

“Y/N, I beg you!” he pleaded through a strangled cry, his hands clutching his chest. You turned your body to him, watching as he cried before you, his other hand covering his face. “I am miserable without you, my love. I am so sorry for the pain and suffering I caused you!”

Your sobs came to a halt, listening to his desperate laments and pleadings. You approached him without saying a word and he lifted his head to look at you.

“I am living in torment, I am in agony, Y/N. I know I hurt you deeply, I know I deserve all of this” he moved his hands, gesturing at the room. “I’ll carry the guilt of what happened to you and our child with me, always.” His voice was full of remorse, his hands shaking terribly as he spoke.

He swallowed and closed his eyes, feeling the weight on his shoulder starting to vanish. He could not apologise to you when you were alive, the guilt ate him. But now he had the opportunity to do so, even if it was too late.

Your hardened expression softened at his words, feeling your heart clenching at the sight of him like this.

“Aemond.” Your voice came out as a haunting whisper, as if the wind carried it, and it reached his ears, sending shivers through his spine. “I cannot leave this place. I am a prisoner here.” You explained as you extended a hand to caress his cheek. Your touch was cold against his skin, but he closed his eyes and leaned into it.

“You caused me great pain, husband. This is why I haunt you every day and night.”

Aemond’s eyes opened and he rose to his feet. He took your pale cold hands in his and looked into your eyes. “I beg you to forgive me, Y/N. I cannot undo the past, I wish I could. But I need you to do that. You need to be free as well, I do not wish you to continue suffering.”

Your brows furrowed and your eyes became watery. “I loved you, Aemond. I loved you til my very last day.”

“I still love you, Y/N. And I apologise for everything. You were too good for me.” A tear ran down his cheek, a bittersweet smile graced his features as the memories of your happy marriage filled his mind. Fragments of your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes would shine with love as you looked at him. Fragments of your life together before his mistakes.

Your foreheads touched. “I loved you, Aemond. But I cannot forgive you” you whispered and he gulped. He could feel your breath fanning his face, your lips were so close to touching.

Aemond did not know if it would be wise to kiss you, but he missed you so much and longed for your touch, your lips, his body and heart ached.

Your hands were carefully placed around his neck, and you chose to close the distance giving him a sweet kiss from your cold clay lips.

The next day after the ferocious storm, Aemond's lifeless form lay on the ground, next to the window. He was found by Cole and Otto, who walked into his chambers after not hearing word from the Prince all morning.

They gathered around him. His eye was closed, his slightly parted lips holding the faintest trace of a serene smile. His death was sudden, and it was said he died from the pain of losing his wife and child. It could have not been an attack, there were no signs of it, no signs from any wound in his body.

There were no signs of violence, other than the strange marks of slender fingers, like ghostly imprints around his neck.

taglist: @moonlightfoxx

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen angst #aemond one eye #hotd #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell #aemond one shot #mydemimondewrites

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erineas · 10 months ago

Note

Hey/

Did you see 6 skeletons 1 maid updated?

Thoughts?

I was saving this ask to make a little comic of how that last chapter felt but- lets say it didn't turn out how i wanted. Instead, i just dug out some of my old Maid-chan drawings and stared at them blankly for the next days.

I'm still particularly fixed on this one little page:

Mister Green was my absolute favorite and the only light i saw at the end of her tunnel. He was so kind and sweet, and pretty much the only one that treated her like a person (besides Yellow of course). When i first read this fic so many years ago i didn't trully realized the dark tone of this story but i still chose the only "healthy" option. I wanted MC to be happy and free, and oh how i wanted him to give her that. I held those drawings of him for years imagining a chapter where they would encounter again and that would drive her to a better ending (either skeletons overcoming their issues and treating her with respect or him taking her away).

But then this final chapter appeared and it was... a thing.

(Kinda spoilers for the babes that haven't read it)

First of all, I FINALLY GOT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AFTER BEACH CHAPTERS OMG I NEEDED THAT

Second of all, it didn't look good at all and it was getting worse as I read. But then good because it was a week alone for her to rest and Sans was eating with her?? But also that whole scene reminded me how bad her situation really was so it actually wasn't good at all.

And then the scene that broke me.

I was aware that I wanted her to flee before, but I never thought she could.

It was oddly satisfying, if not a bit anxiety inducing because of the thought that they would caught her eventually. As always.

But then Asgore, and Orange. And nothing...

I got mad that he found her. Which was a weird feeling since I remember liking him a lot. It felt to me like he ruined her good enough ending. But despite that, it makes sense it was him so I don't complain.

What crushed me though, wasn't that she couldn't say goodbye or that Sans got tired of trying to get her back. It was the fact the Gs didn't even try looking for her. They didn't even got mentioned. What happened there, I wonder. Didn't they like her? Care for her? Mister Green wrote her letters, of course he liked her. But then why...?

Suddenly he looked like a fairytale.

The ending was great, finally lending her the ability to choose. It made absolutely everything worth it and the way it was written made me feel like I do have a say in the matter. And for the first time, i didn't choose the skeletons.

I realized she could find her happy ending alone.

(My live reaction)

#Thank you for asking I'm still not over this fic but I'm so relieved we got some kind of closure yknow #Seeing maid-chan after so many years felt like meeting an old friend #and they summarize the hell they went through just to finish it with a “but I'm ok now”#I wanted to hug her so bad #I'm just glad she's free #I still love my skellies duh but I now recognize their highly toxic behavior #I still love Green I would redraw him but damn man where tf are you?!#I'm team Asgore and Chara now #Fuch them everyone else #5am talks #6s1m #That damn woman also had the EGGS to live off of moss and stream water wth

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heich0e · 1 year ago

Text

[warning: while f!reader is not described with any specific physical characteristics, the child in this fic is described as having inherited all of Megumi’s attributes and none from reader! please read with that in mind, or pass over this fic if not <3]

"Did you tell her my name?"

Megumi lives in a flat above the clinic, and has since he was 23. The old vet he'd studied under had lived there for years, right around when he was his age, but as he and his wife got older and their family grew, they needed more space than the little two bedroom provided them.

It's the perfect size for Megumi, though. Well-suited in every way to his lifestyle: large enough that he doesn't feel cramped but still small enough that he can easily keep it tidy, and close to work so he can always quickly pop downstairs to check on any animals boarding overnight—though he does still sleep sometimes on that lumpy couch in the staff room if he's just too exhausted after a long day to climb up the stairs.

The apartment has served him well over the past decade, and he's happy with his little home, a perfect space just for him.

Well, him and Yuuji at present.

"That was soooo crazy."

Yuuji has made this remark roughly forty-seven times in the past two hours since the two of them came upstairs following Nanami, Kota, and your departure from the little clinic. He's downed two thirds of the beers he brought with him, though—and a healthy pour of the whiskey Megumi keeps in his cupboard—so that might be as much a cause as any for the repetition.

Megumi sighs, taking another little swig from his own drink.

It's not like he's completely wrong, either.

Megumi is still reeling from the excitement earlier in the evening, and unsettled by feeling that he can't quite seem to shake in the aftermath. He keeps thinking of the little boy who has his eyes, and of the mother who couldn't meet them.

Why does he feel like he should know you? Like he does know you? Or did, maybe, once.

But try as he might he just can't bring back any memories of you, or where the two of you may have once met. Megumi prides himself on his memory, and his ability to remember names and faces, so why is this the moment that it's failing him? Deceiving him into believing something he knows just can't be true?

Is it because he wants to know you? To know Kota?

No. That's ridiculous. He'd felt dread when Kota had first appeared on the clinic doorstep, convinced it was some kind of haunting or a cruel hallucination.

Yuuji couldn't recall with any certainty that he'd told you Megumi's name, but Nanami could have easily mentioned it at the police station or on the drive to the clinic. Hell, you might have seen his name on the wall when you came in. But none of that explains why you behaved so strangely towards him, so evasive in his presence. He was sure that you were tired after the frightening ordeal of losing your son, but it still didn't necessarily make sense why he was the only one whose gaze you had such a hard time meeting.

"What restaurant does she work at?" Megumi suddenly asks Yuuji, and his friend peers at him over the table they're seated at on the floor of his living room.

Yuuji shrugs. "Nanami didn't say, and when I texted him he said that he's not allowed to give out personal info like that."

"But it was nearby, right?" Megumi asks again. "It would have to be if Kota made it here all on his own."

Yuuji shrugs again, watching his friend's face.

"What's up with you?" he asks him bluntly. "You're being weird."

"No I'm not," Megumi argues, his lips pursing.

"Yeah you are," Yuuji counters. "Weirder than normal, anyway."

Megumi shoots him a weak glare, pushing himself up from the table. He's a little unsteady on his feet, and he looks down at the place where he was sitting once he's risen. He had more to drink than he'd planned on, and it's hitting him now that he's upright.

"I'm gonna wash up and go to bed," Megumi mutters.

"Mind if I crash on the couch?" Yuuji asks, as though his friend has ever once denied him. Megumi waves his hand dismissively, shuffling past his friend in the direction of his bedroom.

After getting ready for bed, Megumi finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom listlessly. In the other room he can hear Yuuji laughing along to some late night variety show, but that's not what's keeping him awake—having long grown used to it. He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut as though he might be able to will sleep to come to him by force.

He can hear the sound of his heartbeat.

Ba-dump.

Yer still a young fella, Megumi, but ya won't be ferever.

Ba-dump.

Gotta start thinkin' about yer future 'ventually.

Ba-dump.

Settlin' down, findin' yourself a pretty girl, babies.

The old man's cheeks were so red that night that Megumi started to genuinely worry for his health. He remembers trying to sneak a glass of water into his hand in place of his sake, but it never quite worked.

"I don't want any babies."

The old man snorted when Megumi said that.

"No bachelor as handsome as you ever wants babies," the old man replied. "But one day yer gonna wake up next to the girl ya love and realize there's somethin' missin'. Then you'll know whatcha want."

Megumi hadn't bothered correcting him, still too busy processing the opportunity—the enormous, terrifying opportunity—that had fallen into his lap that night. Didn't bother telling him that no girl would change the way his brain is wired, or sway his fire-forged conviction.

"Can I get you two anything else to drink?"

"'nother round of sake!" The old man requested jovially. "We're celebratin'!"

"And what exactly as you gentlemen celebrating?"

Megumi looked up from his hands then, towards the server with the smile in her voice.

You.

An apron tied tight around your waist, and a youthful glow in your cheeks. You were probably a few years younger than Megumi, if he was judging right. Maybe 23 to his 28, or somewhere thereabouts.

"Fushiguro-kun here's takin' over the business!" the old man exclaimed, even though nothing of the sort had been agreed upon yet.

You looked over at Megumi, your eyes meeting for the first time, and he watched as your smile grew.

"Well," you said, a cheerful, easy warmth lilting in your voice, "congratulations."

Megumi couldn't bring himself to say anything in reply.

You laughed a little as his eyes skirted away.

"Your next drink's on me, gentlemen."

Megumi sits straight up in his bed, soaked through in a cold sweat. On the other side of the wall, the variety show is still playing, but instead of laughter he hears Yuuji's rumbling snore.

He clutches at his heart, his fingers shaking as he twists them into the sweat-dampened cotton of his t-shirt.

All he can think about when he closes his eyes is the phantom memory of your smile from that night in the early spring five years ago, and how it looks just like Kota's.

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk writing #jjk drabble #writing #mini megumi #tw parenthood #tw pregnancy

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marshallsgirl · 1 year ago

Note

i just wanted to request something 😭 can we get a long ish fic that’s angsty?? like can we get some arguing and then some good smut?? love ur fics btw 💗

Don't leave me

Pairing: Eminem x Fem¡Reader

Warnings: 🔞 MATURE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Recommended song: Sacrifice-Black Atlas feat. Jessie Reyez.

Author's note: I don't know exactly what is this but I hope you all enjoy it. I love you guys so much! Sending all of you a warm hug🫂🤍

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

"Did you sleep with her or did you...Did you just kiss her?" I asked him. I was so scared to hear the answer. I couldn't believe I was having this kind of conversation with him again. I still remember that time like it was yesterday. That time when he told me he was leaving me cause he wanted to marry Kim. I was a complete mess. I was feeling persistently sad for months.The next year he got divorced and came back to me. I forgive him almost immediately because I was so in love...Damn it! I'm still in love with him. I helped him and he went to rehab. Here we are, he is healthy now thank God but now...Fuck, now we are at my house. He wanted to talk to me about something important, something that happened with Kim. Oh, man I feel this is going to be really painful. I'm just so stupid. I want to stop loving him.

"I slept with her" he answered.

Here we go.

"Fuck! Okay, alright!" At first I didn't feel any pain but instead I was feeling really angry. I wanted to punch the wall.

"Listen, maybe this is how it has to be. She is the mother of my child. We need to try to do the right thing for Hailie, you know. But, hey listen I love you..."

"Shut the hell up, Marshall! That's not love!"

"No! you shut up when I'm talking to you! Y/n, I went to her cause I was too angry with you!" he said trying to grab me by the arms, but I managed to wriggle out of his grip each time.

"I was angry with you, Marshall! You know how much I want to be a mom and you saying no to me made me really sad and angry. I'm sorry if I lost it! I went mad, I know. But I was angry with you! You are always leaving me, Marshall!" I yelled.

"I fucked up, I know! But I'm here trying to apologize to you and I want you to know that...Fuck, I do love you y/n" he replied.

"Stop saying that shit, you don't love me. You never...Marshall, stop you are making me feel like shit. I fucking hate you!" I was crying now. There is no way I could ever hate him and that makes me even more angry.

"Y/n, I hate to do this shit. I know I need you. Fuck! You've always been there for me when I needed you. But you have to understand!" He said.

"I can't believe you are doing this" I said still crying.

"Why can't you be happy for me? Y'know what? don't think about me, think about Hailie. I'm doing this for her happiness. Why can't you see that?"

Of course I was happy for Hailie, she is an angel. I loved her a lot. But couldn't stop thinking how much it hurts me that Marshall is not thinking about me. Not even a little bit.

"Y'know what...it's just fine! I don't fucking need you, so get out!"

"Y/n"

"Marshall, fuck-I'm..." I couldn't control my tears. "Leave right now!"

"Y/n, you don't want me to leave" he said chucklin.

"I want you to get the fuck out of my house right now!" I yelled but he didn't move. "Marshall, leave now!"

"Alright!" I saw him walk to the door and I couldn't control my mouth and I said:

"fuckin' asshole!"

"Fuck you!" He said before slamming the door. I was about to go to bed and cry more when he came back. He is unbelieveable! Why is he doing this!?

"Hey, let's talk like adults!" He proposes with a strong voice. He's standing right in front of the door with his back turned to it.

"Now you want to talk? Y'know what? Fuck you, Marshall!" I say walking towards him while I try to push him to get him out of the house. But he doesn't budge and he surprises me when he grabs me by my forearms. I stare at him in shock, his eyes darkening as he holds me close. He's putting pressure onto my skin, tight enough not to let me twist out of his hold. I hold his gaze, not showing any weakness but it's hard when he stares at me with so much intensity while he's so close to me. "You're being ridiculous. Get out of my house, you idiot!" I grunt, doing a poor job at pushing against his firm chest that barely budges and if it weren't for the tension in the room, Marshall would probably laugh at me for being weak. "Leave now, Marshall! I won't..." and just like that I'm being shut up with Marshall's lips. He has crashed our lips together in seconds, barely giving me any time to react as the kiss is aggressive and firm, just like the tension between us is. He's still holding my forearms, smirking into the kiss when he feels that I relax under his touch. It irritates me and it causes another bubble of anger to pop as I start slapping his chest, but he doesn't let me go. I won't deny it. The kiss is good, too good. I don't want it to end but I don't let it show. It'll just boost his ego anyway. He bites my lower lip, gently not cracking my thin skin with his teeth as if to show his dominance, before he detaches his mouth from mine.

"Now shut up." he rasps out.

Once I'm back to my senses, I glare at him and nudge his chest with more strength. Marshall's eyes widen for a moment before a cocky grin appears on his lips. This is a fucking game for him, he thinks he can kiss me and make me shut up which digs into my pride.

"How dare you!?" exclaiming, I nudge him again. This time, he lets his huge body budge underneath my palms and eyes me with the same smirk that I wish I could wipe off his face. He's so enjoying this. He is no longer holding me as his back meets the hard wood of my front door. "Stop laughing in my face!" I yell, ready to jap at his chest again but with a quick movement, he's holding me by my wrists before that could happen.

"You done?" he chuckles.

Oh, he's devilishly hot and can use his charms very well. He is challenging me with a single stare and attitude. It's fucking pissing me off. He's doing this purposely. Before I could get some words out of my very shocked and open mouth, Marshall is already opening his mouth again.

"Don't act like you didn't like it," he chuckles, thumbs caressing my wrists which he still holds in his grasp. It irritated me that he just shut me up with a kiss. Fuck, I did like it.

"Fuck you," I scoff, "Don't flatter yourself." He nods along my words, cockily chuckling lowly before he grabs my wrists with one hand, the other one holding the back of my head. I could feel my heart in my throat, anticipating his next move as my stomach burns with excitement despite how distant the two of us are. He is kissing me again. Dropping his hold around my wrists, his hands are cupping my cheeks as he slowly backs me. My hands clutch the thin material of his expensive shirt. He's everywhere, tongue exploring my mouth, teeth biting my lower lip and tugging it before he's diving back for a kiss, barely giving me a chance to catch a breath.

All of my thoughts are gone, mind empty with only one purpose: kiss him back. My own hands are over his back, nails grazing his back that's covered with his shirt and that's why I put a special pressure, causing him to groan. The kiss is aggressive, no matter how many times we've had quick sex or were making out, the atmosphere was never this aggressive and there was never this much tension. He's still backing me, my ass bumping into the back of my couch that's in the middle of the room, thanks to the spacious living room I have. When he pulls away, his forehead leaned against mine, I slowly open my eyes to be met with tongue licking his bottom lip.

"Should I still not flatter myself?" he asks confidently, cocking his brow at me as I glare at him.

"You're so fucking annoying." I remark, not having enough time to even add something as he's kissing me all over again. The kiss is heated, My body heating up from Marshall's lips and touch, a shameless moan escaping my lips. Fuck, my own body betrays me!

"Marshall," I moan, his mouth on my neck as he bites me into the crook of it. Licking the faint mark of his teeth, he sucks my skin there while a gasps of pleasure resounds from me.

My hand goes between his legs, feeling the hardening bulge and I give it a squeeze, his body shivers for a moment. When I give him an intentional and hard squeeze, his deep growl of irritation is pleasing for me. Marshall doesn't waste time, growing annoyed at the fact I just grabbed his dick knowing it'll hurt, and he turns around quickly. So quickly that I almost get a whiplash, my body hovering over the couch as he bends me over it. Luckily, my arms catch me before my head can bump into it and if it weren't for the awkward position, I'd cuss him out for being so reckless. Surely, there was no real danger for me but it still caught me off guard.

It all happens quickly. First, I feel Marshall's hands on my sweatpants. They pool around my ankles, Marshall's fingers already tracing the hem of my panties. He takes off my panties.They pool around my ankles, along with my sweatpants as Marshall kicks my legs apart. Thank god I'm bent over, so I don't actually stumble from his action. I feel the tip of his fingers brushing against my heat, voice humming at the wetness that coats his fingers. One second he's rubbing his fingers against me, the next second I hear the rustle of his belt unbuckling, following the sound of a zipper before I feel his dick poking my ass cheek. My breath catches in my throat, thighs begging to clasp together so I can get at least some kind of friction. In my current position, it's almost impossible to get some relief.

"What did you say to me? That I should fuck you?" he asks lowly

"What?" I breathe out, not hiding how shaky my voice is. "I did say fuck you a few times".

"Yeah, fuck you"

I feel his dick. He starts pushing in. He always stretched me out, but this time he's splitting me open as I gasp at the sudden pressure of his thick length. He's not extremely quick but not slow either, just enough to surprise me with the pace he had chosen. Filling me up to the brim, I gasp as he starts pulling out before he smacks his length back into me. His thighs slap against my ass as he sets a rustless pace, as soon as he hears moans and gasps leaving my mouth.

"You feel fucking amazing, babe" he said. He delivers a few slaps to my ass and I'm a moaning mess. My body is pulled up by Marshall's strong arms as I bump into him, our bodies still connected as he stops his thrusts. I whine, wishing he'd continue as his hard length is pressing against my cervix. Marshall's fingers tap against my lips and I open my mouth.

"Put them in your mouth." I hear his husky voice

I swirl my tongue against his two fingers and he hums approvingly into my ear. Shivering, he pulls them out before I feel them circling my clit. And his hips are already working as he starts thrusting into me again. Throwing my head back, I lean against his shoulder as pleasure shoots straight through my entire body. It feels so fucking good. My walls wrapping around his dick while his palm is sprawled over my lower stomach. I glance down and I can see him moving inside of me. I shut my eyes in pleasure. It's becoming too unbearable and he barely started.

"Fuck, Marshall" I gasp out, his hand disappearing from my heat and just as I'm about to complain, he's wrapping his hand around my throat. My eyes roll back, especially when he squeezes my neck and grunts into my ear.

Oh fuck, I'm going to be so sore after this. But I don't regret it and I chase my high. My nails dig into his skin, my body barely holding up as my legs tremble.

"So good." he moan.

He's making me feel so fucking good, my whole body shudders as I approach an intense orgasm. I feel so full that I just couldn't hold it up for much longer. His hand around my neck is just a huge bonus that makes everything more intense. My legs shake as I'm cumming, walls clenching repeatedly around his dick that still thrusts into me. The orgasm lasts long, longer than I thought it would but I'm not complaining. Marshall delivers a couple of harsh thrusts that makes me wince, his hips slapping against my ass for a few times before he's cumming, leaving his seed inside of me. He growls, his thrusts sloppy as he rides himself through the orgasm. Our chests move quickly, our bodies exhausted as his hold on me easens up and I no longer feel him pressed against me.

His warmth is gone as soon as he pulls out of me, my walls aching and heat already swollen, but I love that feeling. I've to clutch the back of the couch, holding myself for balance and support while I'm trying to catch a breath. Glancing at Marshall, I stare at him with my heart painfully twisting in my chest as I watch him getting into his clothes.

"Y/n, you'll always be one of the most important women in my life" he said and then walks away, making his way to the front door.

"Marshall, wait!" I called for him but he didn't look back. He leaves me. My heart just broke. I started to cry. "Don't leave me".

•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•●•

I cry a lot. I thought he'll be back. But he's not. He didn't came back.

And the night when I saw the news where they announced that Marshall was remarrying Kim, it was the same night I found out I was pregnant...

#eminem x y/n #marshall mathers x y/n #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader #eminem #eminemslimmarshall #marshall mathers #slim shady #the real slim shady #rap god #eminem gif

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whatudowhennooneseesyou · 2 years ago

Text

First Time!February- Fic 6

Soft!Dom Lee Know x sub!fem reader

Requested by: this is all me baby

Content Includes: angst (a lot of it), reader is depressed and insecure about her lack of experience, slow burn, kissing, praise, crying, unprotected sex (don't do it), fingering (f receiving), oral (receiving), body worship (receiving), slight humiliation, fluff, virgin!reader, nipple play, cum play, comfort sex, corruption kink, possessiveness, hand-holding, aftercare.

I don't feel the themes I've written in this fic are 'toxic' but I'm not sure it's healthy either so just read with care.

Word Count: 4.2 K

The mug of tea was warm in your hands as you felt Lee Know sit down next to you on the couch, his hands cupped around his own as awkward silence filled the air.

‘It’s um…been awhile since we last saw each other’ Lee Know commented, taking a sip of his tea as he gazed down at you.

He didn’t know why he invited you to his place, he didn’t know you well, you were a friend of a friend that he has only spoken to a handful of times at social gatherings, made small talk here and there.

‘Yeah, um at the party’ You chuckled awkwardly, Lee Know watched your body language, your posture was slumped and your shoulders drooped.

‘I’m surprised you remembered me, I look very different dressed up than when I wear normal clothes’.

The quip was light-hearted but it didn’t reach your eyes, the eyes he remembered that were bright and lively when he last saw you.

‘Ahh, you gotta try and camouflage yourself more then, I was able to spot you right away in the store’ Lee Know joked half-heartedly, his eyes crinkling at the outer corners and smiling slightly at the giggle that filled the room.

His stomach twisted lightly when you finally looked directly at him since sitting on the couch, your face was pale and he noticed how blotchy your skin looked, like you had been crying…and a lot.

‘So…’ You raised the cup to your chin, blowing on the liquid lightly before taking a small sip, gulping before you spoke again.

‘How are things with you? You seeing anyone?’

Your voice cracked at the end of the sentence and furrowed your brow as you cringed, hoping Lee Know didn’t notice how shaky your voice was.

He didn’t reply right away as he watched your features and how you looked at him, he wanted to ask if you were okay but he didn’t know how, didn’t want to make things weird.

‘Good…things haven’t changed much’ He took a sip, exhaling before speaking again.

‘And no, I’m not seeing anyone, I’m too busy’ He held the mug on his thigh as he watched you again.

‘You?’

The tightness in your throat came back at the question, your chest hitching as your fingers clenched around the mug of tea.

‘No…course not…and I’m alright’.

The light went off in Lee Know’s mind as he took another sip of tea, bingo…he thought as he held the mug of tea in his hand, shifting his legs so his body was facing you.

‘You don’t look alright’ He supported his head with his arm, leaning it on the edge of the couch, his lip pursed in concern.

‘What?’ Your voice pitched in tone, eyes widening at how straight-forward the comment was.

He leaned in slightly, eyebrows furrowing as he thought about his answer, trying to refrain his response in a way that was inviting and not condescending.

‘You don’t look alright’ He repeated with a soft but firm tone, speaking as he placed his mug on the table.

‘You look…troubled, what’s going on for you?’

There was a lingering pause as you watched each other, an array of emotions spreading across your face as you pondered whether to be vulnerable or not.

His words felt genuine and his eyes sparkled with kindness and concern, he was here to listen and that’s something you hadn’t had in awhile.

‘I just’ You took one final sip of tea to quench your throat before staring into the mug.

‘I’ve been alone for a while now and it just…hurts’.

The confusion was rampant in his body as he watched you place the mug on the table, moving to face him now as you twiddled with the hem of your cotton jumper.

‘But you have friends right? People to talk to?’

Your eyes rolled as you dismissed his answer, your eyes misting up and your bottom lip starting to quiver.

‘That’s not what I mean…’

His heart ached at seeing you tear up, you looked so defeated and he was a bit surprised, shuffling his body further towards you by an inch, leaning his chest in.

‘Do you mean like a…boyfriend?’

The moment dissipated with a shaky exhale, your eyes blurring with tears as you sniffled.

‘Yeah, I’ve never been in a relationship’ A sob strangled itself from your chest, still gazing down at your lap.

‘And I don’t know why, I don’t know why someone doesn't want to be with me’.

You couldn’t see the shocked look on Lee Know’s face right now but it did graze his features before he attempted to blink it away.

Yes, he hadn’t thought of you in that way before…

But you had a great sense of humour, bright eyes and a sparkling smile, why would you think that about yourself?

‘I’m…I’m sure that there’s someone out there who likes-’

‘No!’ You interrupted him, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your jumper as you shook your head.

‘I don’t think there is, I’m 24 and no one has said anything Lee Know, I’ve asked out guys before and been rejected, no one has ever seen me that way before and I don’t know why and I just-I just feel so left out, I feel so left behind’.

Lee Know hurriedly reached to grab the box of tissues from the coffee table, holding it to you as you pulled out some and wiped your nose, watching you catch your breath with shaky inhales.

‘There’s nothing wrong with never being in a relationship at your age though’ His voice was low and sincere, he wasn’t touching you yet but he was close too, moving just a little bit more so both your knees were brushing against each other.

‘Everything happens differently for everyone, there’s no need to rush’.

He hesitantly reached his fingers out as he brushed them against your knee, attempting to offer you some sort of comfort with his words and presence.

‘I don’t know if this will help but you don’t need to compare yourselves to others, it’s okay to set your own pace and take your time with these things’.

He was glad he invited you back to his apartment now and that he followed his intuition, he could feel you begin to relax around his space and that brought comfort to him.

‘I know-I just’ You sighed out, wiping your cheeks before scrunching the tissue into a ball.

‘I don’t know why guys just don’t find me attractive, I’m not ugly and I have a great personality? Is there something about me that guys just don’t like?’

There was no deceit in your eyes as you asked that question, you were completely genuine and wanted a serious answer from Lee Know, you weren’t sure what he could give you, you just wanted him to give you something.

‘Um’ He cleared his throat, his eyes staring at the coffee table as he pondered, unable to think straight with how sad and fragile you looked sitting next to him right now.

"I don’t know about other guys’ He said, glancing back at you.

‘But I think you’re a great person’ He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

‘And you’re very pretty’ He peered down at you, the corner of his lip tilted up in a half-smile.

He watched as you gazed up at him through your lashes, your cheeks reddening from the sudden compliment.

‘Really?’ You sniffled, complete disbelief in your eyes.

‘Of course’ Lee Know’s eyes narrowed in mischief, his hand moving up to rub your shoulder lightly.

‘Why would I lie?’

The remark made you giggle, your teeth flashing in a pearly smile as you lightly held onto Lee Know’s wrist.

‘There it is, I got you to smile finally!’

A few small chuckles were shared as you leaned in to place that hand on the outside of Lee Know’s thigh, gazing up at him with adoration.

‘Thank you, I feel so much better now’.

‘I’m glad, I couldn't have you leave here all sad’ He spoke with warmth as he brushed the strands of hair out of your eyes, his nose almost brushing yours.

He could feel your fingers trace the outside of his mid-thigh and his chest tightened from something even more, his eyes drawn to your tear-stained cheeks and ruby-coloured lips.

Something stirred in you too as anticipation began to build in your stomach, flickering your eyes to his mouth before looking at him again, silently giving him your permission.

‘I don’t know if this is-’

‘Please, Lee Know…it’s okay’

The whininess of your breath sparked a sense of curiosity in his mind as his mouth lightly grazed you, his lips pressing a weary kiss to your mouth.

A shaky gasp was exchanged as you leaned in, supporting yourself with your hands as you kissed him again, this time it was firm and your lips parted with a loud noise.

Lee Know’s hands clutched at your waist as he immediately pulled you in for another kiss, this time it was wet and heated, slotting your bottom lip between his mouth.

It was over before he began as Lee Know pulled away from you breathlessly.

‘I’m sorry-I shouldn’t have’ He moved to the edge of the couch, shaking his head,

‘I’m sorry’.

Your mind shut off before you could think rationally and you felt yourself scrambling over to Lee Know.

‘Please…don’t stop’ You pleaded as you wrapped your arms around your neck as you hovered over him, your legs almost straddling him.

‘I want this’ You panted out, you were already breathless and your heart was racing.

‘I need this, I need this so much Lee Know…please’.

He could feel you trembling under his hands as his cheeks became flushed from how you were already breathless from the few kisses exchanged.

‘I-I don’t want you to regret this’ He responded, his brain already losing any sense of logic as your hands cupped his face, stroking his cheekbones.

‘I won’t..I just want one time….pleeasse’ Your voice cracked, you could feel your eyes tear up again with how badly you craved more.

‘I won’t tell anyone, I’ll leave afterwards…you don’t even need to see me again, you can just forget about me’ You fisted your hands in his t-shirt, tears wetting your lashes.

‘Just this once. I just want this one time’ You words were strangled with tears, attempting to compromise and bargain with your body, your heart.

Twinges of guilt ran through Lee Know as he stared at your teary, pleading eyes.

You sounded so needy right now, clingy and desperate.

And he felt guilty for how turned on he was right now, your touches and words already clouding his mind.

‘This is what you want?’ His voice was low and his eyes darkened, his fingers rubbing up your sides.

‘For me to make you feel better?’

Your arms tightened around him as you nodded, fingers stroking the nape of his neck.

‘Yes, I do, yes’ You ended the moment by leaning down to press your mouths together, sighing as Lee Know deepened the kiss, tilting his head to the side.

He pulled himself up so he was sitting upright, grabbing your legs so you can straddle him, his hands squeezing your arse and causing you to moan into his mouth.

Lee Know’s thoughts wandered as he kissed you more, your hands were frenzied and your kissing technique was slightly clumsy and off-kiltered.

He called your name out and stared up at you deeply, tilting his chin up as he halted you still against him.

‘How long has it been since someone has touched you?’

He felt your body stiffen under that question and you looked at him as if you were a deer in the headlights, your face filled with embarrassment.

‘What do you…what do you mean?’ You answered coyly, though it wasn’t really working.

‘You know what I mean’ He raised his eyebrow, smirking with his eyes.

‘How long has it been since you were last with someone?’

An exhale of defeat left your body as you responded sheepishly.

‘I’ve never…’ Your words trailed off as you shook your head.

‘You’ve never had sex?’ His voice filled with surprise as his eyes widened at your response.

‘No…I’ve tried, I’ve made out with guys before but nothing has ever happened, I just haven’t felt comfortable enough until now’.

You could see the hesitation in Lee Know’s eyes at your honesty and you couldn’t, you had already humiliated yourself by practically begging Lee Know to fuck you…why not just throw you entire dignity on the line while you’re at it?

‘But I want too with you, I really, really want too’ You were too embarrassed to look Lee Know in the eye so you settled for nuzzling your face in the side of his neck, your fingers clutched against his arms.

‘I’ll try and make you feel good…I promise, I just want to experience this at least once in my life’.

You cringed internally at how whiny and desperate you sounded in your mind, stooping to this level to be touched and appreciated.

‘Can you stand up for me?’ You heard him say, feeling your heart drop as you unlaced your arms, reaching back and shakily standing up in the living room.

You couldn’t look at Lee Know as he stood up after you and you almost braced yourself for the rejection, for him to say that he couldn’t do this, that he didn’t want you anymore.

You heard him leave your side, his steps leading away from you and you glanced up at Lee Know with a pensive stare when he called your name.

He tilted his head to the hallway and reached his hand out to you.

‘The bedroom is this way’.

…

Your eyes gazed up at the ceiling as you felt Lee Know gently pull your pants down your legs, dropping your ankle at a time and you were left in your bra and panties.

‘You’re so beautiful’ He spoke softly to you, his fingers gliding along your naval and watching your skin prickle under his touch.

‘Thanks’ You murmured as you could feel your body wanting to curl around itself, your knees dropping to the side as you stared at him, noticing how toned his bare chest was.

‘You’re quite handsome yourself’

‘Oh, I know,’ Lee Know smirked, leaning down to hover over you as he adjusted your legs, lightly nudging them apart with his knee.

‘A handsome man for a pretty girl’

He pressed his mouth to yours before you could say anything, trailing kisses down towards your ear.

His lips on your neck had your back arching from his touch, a sigh of pleasure escaping you.

‘God, you’re so sensitive mmmh? I’ve already got you moaning for me’.

You were spaced out already and could only respond with a whine, his lips dusting your collarbones and his fingers near the hook of your bra.

‘Can I take this off?’ He asked, there was an air of caution around you but you nodded, more insecure about your body than anything else.

Your breasts were flushed and your nipples already hard, he couldn’t help but take one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and moaning as your hands clutched his hair.

‘I want to cover you with my marks, I want to make you mine’

He breathed out before paying attention to your other nipple, his free hand softly kneading your breasts.

‘Please, do whatever you want’ You breathed as you writhed lightly under his touch, secretly wanting him to bruise you with his kisses so you could remember this when you leave.

‘Oh, you’re letting me have control?’ Lee Know spoke in-between kisses down your naval, his tone sickly-sweet with a slight condescending tone.

‘Such a good girl’.

His hands traced around the seam of your panties, pulling them as they snapped back against your hips, smirking as you jolted.

‘You’re so cute’ He praised with a low tone, pulling the band of your panties down your hips just an inch, staring at you with a dark, almost primal gaze.

‘Can I pull these off?’

You nodded at Lee Know with hazy eyes, you could feel yourself become more wet at the anticipation of what you were about to experience.

He slowly pulled the panties away in a teasing fashion, watching them slide down your thighs and removing them one ankle at a time.

Lee Know’s gaze was intimidating and the thought of having someone so close to your heat caused your legs to snap together, a huff of disappointment filled the room.

‘Don’t hide from me okay? He reassured you gently as he grabbed your knees and opened your legs.

He slid your legs back down again as he laid in-between your thighs, his arm strewn over your hips as he anchored you to the bed.

‘Fuck baby, look at you’ He moaned out in awe as he looked down at your pussy, your sensitive and touch-starved body meant you were dripping wet.

‘So much for me to taste’

‘Awww!’ You moaned out in pleasure as Lee Know spread you out and placed a light kiss to your clit before licking a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit.

‘Mmm, I knew you would taste so sweet for me’ He murmured against you as he paid all the attention to your clit, drawing circles around your clit before sucking it between his teeth and repeating the motion.

Your whines and moans filled his bedroom as he ate you out with precision, your thoughts wandered to thinking how was he so good? How many girls had he done this too?

Lee Know’s groans vibrated against you as you clutched your fingers in his hair, his arm pressing against your stomach which only enhanced the pleasure.

You reached your peak rather quickly, cumming on his face within minutes of him touching you.

‘Mmmm, you really needed that didn’t you?’ He pulled his face away, his mouth shiny with your slick and a look of accomplishment on his face.

‘Please…I just, I want you now’ You pleaded out, reaching your hands out and making ‘grabby’ motions to him.

‘Not yet, I need to use my fingers, get you extra wet for me, do you think you can handle another one?’

You already felt so dazed out and overwhelmed from the stimulation but you weren’t going to say no to more pleasure, you wanted to draw your time with Lee Know out and make it last.

‘Okay, just one more’.

‘Good, I’m going to make you feel so good’ He told you as he settled his face back down to your crotch again.

A yelp left your mouth as you felt his tongue against your clit again, feeling his fingers scissor and spread inside of you, your hips arching against his face as you felt him touch areas you didn’t even know existed.

‘Lee Know!’ You whined out as you came for the second time moments later, your mind blanking and the world becoming blurry as you came down from your high.

The world came into focus as you felt Lee Know hover over you, he was now completely nude and you could feel the heaviness of his cock against your entrance.

‘You’ve had my mouth, are you ready for my cock?’ He gently nudged your legs open and wrapped them around his hips, his hair flopping into his eyes.

‘Please, I’m ready, please’ You whined out, tears misting your eyes again at how much you wanted him to be inside of you, jutting your hips against him as you clutched at his shoulders.

‘I need it, I need you, I want this…I NEED this’ Your tone was desperate as you looked at Lee Know with pleading eyes, your brow furrowing as you attempted to pull him against you even more.

‘Shhh’ He pressed a light kiss to your mouth, trying to reassure you and supported himself on his elbows,

‘I’m going to give you what you need but you need to breathe, I’m going to go slowly’.

You stared into Lee Know’s eyes as he first entered you, your hands gripping his biceps and shaky gasps leaving your body as you felt him stretch you.

‘Fuck’ you murmured into his mouth as he kissed, breaking the kiss as you tilted your neck up and just felt, you just wanted to FEEL this moment of him stretching you.

‘You’re so tight, you feel so good’ He spoke through clenched teeth, exhaling in relief as he bottomed out.

‘Stay…just stay inside of me for a second’ Your fingers gripped his shoulders as you looked at him with misty eyes.

‘I want to feel you, let me feel you for just a moment’.

Lee Know’s hips stilled inside of you, leaning down and pressing a reassuring kiss to your mouth, one of his hands holding onto your thigh.

‘Okay’ You tapped his shoulder and nodded at him, reassuring him to move.

‘I’ll be gentle’ He told you again, slowly pulling his hips, gasping as he pulled out and moaning lightly as he slowly pushed in inside of you, beginning to create a slow pace.

The moans slowly began to build as Lee Know set the rhythm, the intimacy of the moment building and your excitement growing at having someone touch you this way.

‘You feel so good, you feel so good on top of me, thank you, thank you’ Your voice hitched and tears began to swell in your eyes again, overcome with gratitude.

Lee Know’s mind swarmed with confusion and overwhelm as he felt you pulsating around him, your body wrapped around his.

He didn’t love you but he loved having you underneath him, praising him, how desperate and needy you were and how much you desired to be with him.

‘You like the way my cock feels inside of you?’ He grunted out, his hips snapping against you just a touch more firmly, groaning at the effect your sounds had on him.

‘You love the way I feel on top of you?’ He panted out, admiring your fucked-out stare and your hands running up and down his back.

‘Ahhh-yes! I love it-Mmm!’ Your head tilted back on the pillows, eyes closed and lashes fluttering from how good you felt right now.

It was more than just having Lee Know fuck you, it hurt but you wanted it too, you wanted to feel the soreness and see the marks to remember this moment.

And Lee Know’s heart filled with pride at knowing he was the first the fuck you and he wasn’t even that.

You were exposing every fibre of being to him, he could see your heart in your desperate eyes, you were so quickly willing to give him every part of you.

He hadn’t experienced this before, he was certain he’d never experience this again.

‘Be mine’ He panted out as he removed his hand from your thigh, roughly removing your hands from his back and pinning them beside your head, his fingers clenched tight around yours.

‘I’ll fill you, I’ll fill you every day, I’ll fuck the sadness away, I’ll be your first’.

His thrusts accelerated and the snap of his hips against yours resounded in the room.

‘Say it. Say you’ll be mine’ He demanded, his voice lowering and the softness of his stare leaving.

‘I’m yours, I’m yours Lee Know, all for you’ You whined out, his thrusts bordering that line between pleasure and pain, you were sure your hips would bruise under his touch.

Lee Know finished inside of you with a cry of your name, his cock spasming inside of you and his face buried in your neck, unclenching your fingers and dropping his hands against your sides.

You both stayed silent for a few minutes as you both tried to catch your breath, your fingers raking through Lee Know’s sweaty hair and enjoying his warmth inside and on your skin.

Lee Know ran his arm down your body and shifted to pull his cock out from inside of you, both of you wincing from how sensitive you were.

‘Are you okay?’ Lee Know’s voice was soft again and his gaze filled with kindness.

‘Mmm, I’m good.’

‘Do you want some water?’ He asked nicely, caring for your well-being.

You didn’t realise how parched your throat was until now and your voice was all croaky.

‘That’ll be great, thanks.’

Lee Know rolled onto the other side of the bed and you watched as he grabbed his briefs and put them on, standing up with a groan and leaving the room.

A pang of anxiety was starting to pool in your stomach as you shuffled around looking for your underwear, keeping your thighs close together so his cum didn’t drip out of you.

You were putting your pants on as Lee Know entered the room, his face looked at you in confusion.

‘Where are you going?’ He asked, putting the glass of water down on the bedside table.

‘I’m leaving…it was just one time right?’ You asked wearily.

He sauntered towards you, tilting your chin up with his thumb so you could look directly into his eyes.

‘I said I’ll be your first right? Now that you’re mine, I want to be your last’.

This will be the longest fic in the series and it took me about 4 days to write this because I prefer to write more detail when it comes to angst.

The rest of my fics are going to be light-hearted and fluffy as.

Thank you @creativechaoticloner for the Lee Know banner!

If you would like to be included in the taglist, comment down below.

Taglist: @destiny-fics @umbralhelwolf @starsareseen @hipster-shiz @creativechaoticloner @cherry-0420 @lino-jagiyaa @mischiefsmind @scuzmunkie @mrcarrots @reighlee-greaves @junieshohoho @partywithgyu @kodzukein @whatsk-poppinhomies @yeosdarling @hologramhoneymoon @dilucpegg3r @marievllr-abg @craxy-person @itbtoblikethatsometimes @gyuhanniescarat @staytinyinmybpack @thirstybchanstan @necessiteez @softquokka @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @hijeongguk

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