#I said ‘there were days this month where not once was I pain free’

[unascended]

BEING SPURNED SHOULDN'T HAVE STUNG SO PROFOUNDLY. It was as if he'd been stabbed. Where normally pain required that Astarion have an iron grip on his overt emotional responses, he'd been free to express himself for far too long. What (horrors) wonders being free for a couple months could do for his ability to reel it in.

He could go limp and pliant and allow his body to be used, but he couldn't take a little rejection?

"Wait." It was a snip delivered with a cold hand held up between them, but it was firm. He needed to take a moment, and he couldn't have Sylverian slithering off before he could respond. Astarion's jaw clenched, and rather than look at the hurt painted on Sylverian's face, he leaned over to retrieve the clean underwear he'd forgotten to put on after he'd scrubbed himself clean. Fishing them from a neatly folded pile of clothing, he set about pulling them up his legs and - he reached for a blanket. He didn't want to be clothed, nor did he want to be exposed.

If he swaddled himself, he'd be safer for it. Sylverian wouldn't be tempted to come back to his body as if he were sorry he'd said no.

Wrapped tightly in a rather exquisite fur, he finally turned about-face, scrutiny evident in the wrinkle of his brows. No one had ever said no to him before.

He'd always been the one who -

And no one ever -

He had two choices. He could remain angry and snap at Sylverian like a cornered animal just as he'd done all day, or he could give up the act. No, he couldn't afford to spill it all, not right now, but this... this wasn't working. Hells, if he were being honest none of it was but he couldn't think of a single way to cough that whole vile business up that wouldn't end horribly in one fashion or another. Either way he had to stop this. What he was doing. Preferably all of it, but he didn't want to.

Funny that. If he were deluded enough to believe Cazador was a god he may have thought Sylverian was put in his path to torment him.

"Sex is... complicated for me." Astarion admitted, fighting against his urge to simply throw Sylverian out of his tent and be done with this whole mess. "I feel desire sometimes. Often at times you might find inappropriate. But I - well... Cazador had me use my body to lure him the prettiest things I could find."

This was ugly. He should make this innocent man leave before he was eternally scarred. He couldn't. The dam was broken. "I never had a say in what anyone did to me. Or with my body. I never had the luxury of saying no. Not unless Cazador allowed it to entertain his guests."

He was spitting and snarling, perhaps, but for once it wasn't at Sylverian. This wasn't Sylverian's fault. He was right to stop this. He was right and he was kind and it had thoroughly complicated his simple plan.

This time when he reached for one of those warm, pink-tinted hands, it was with a tenderness so genuine that he wanted to gnaw off his own tongue. "Thank you. For what it's worth I do want you. But being touched, it... brings back those feelings of disgust and fear. I disappear into myself. I don't know where I go but I..."

Something in Astarion's voice breaks and he released that soft hand, body rolling to face the wall of his tent and exposing his bare, scarred back to the man beside him. "I was wrong to do that to you. To lie so you'd touch me and I could avoid what you asked me for. You are under no obligation to forgive me, or Gods forbid pity me. But you want this, right? This is what you wanted."

There are several moments spent in shameful silence, red eyes burning holes through the canvas of his tent. So much honesty feels almost as if it's torn him open and left his entire being as a gaping wound on the stone floor of the kennels. It's happened again. One wrong word and he was being defiled.

"I don't know if I can be what you think you see in me, Sylverian. I would do unforgivable things to be free of him."

He already had.

SYLVERIAN WAS TOO ATTENTIVE A LOVER, too in tune with those he shared intimacy with for this shift in energy to go unnoticed. It didn't just brush against his awareness ; it crashed over him with such startling intensity that it left him momentarily breathless.

Astarion was upset.

Was the thought of simply being together and holding each other so upsetting to Astarion?! Was Sylverian’s company, when they weren’t having sex, so unpleasant?!

And suddenly — perhaps because Sylverian was such a bleeding empath and so easily swept away by the emotions of others, or perhaps because he was still overwhelmed, or perhaps because something felt so terribly wrong, or perhaps because of all these things at once — he felt anger stir. It coiled hot in his gut, unsettling and unwelcome, and before he even realized it, he was shying away from Astarion’s touch.

❝I don’t want… this,❞ he said, his voice sharper than intended.

He swallowed hard, his anger dissolving as quickly as it had risen, leaving behind something softer. Something raw and aching. His voice now wavered, quieter, unsure.

❝I… I feel like I am just a reprieve for you,❞ he admitted, his thoughts tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. ❝I don’t judge you for it. I have done the same, when fear stole my rest and only your touch kept the nightmares at bay.❞ Without Astarion, the tadpole and everything else would have been too much to handle. ❝But I meant what I said before, that I want to try, and I don’t think you truly give me a chance———❞

He stopped himself before he could say anything else, his gaze faltering, his fingers toying with a lock of his golden hair to anchor himself. Gods, the tent felt stifling all of a sudden.

Outside, the last remnants of daylight had given way to night.

❝I… forgive me,❞ he murmured at last. This was all so confusing. ❝It has been a long day. I should rest.❞

[vaya-mernda]

Having a high pain day and I just want to cry (some more).

[thehmn]

A lot of Danes I’ve talked to express guilt at “taking advantage” of our universal healthcare and I sometimes wonder if it’s based on the knowledge that it’s not a universal right everywhere? Because these people are never “taking advantage” of it. They feel sick so they go see a doctor who then tell them there’s nothing wrong and they can relax. Stress less.

I have to see the doctor every month due to other illness which I don’t feel the least bit bad about but I fell victim to this feeling too once. At one point I started feeling pain in my chest, arm and neck and got really worried I was experiencing a hart attack or blood clot. At the same time I worried I was overreacting but my housemate convinced me to call Lægevagten, which isn’t the alarm center but more like a group of on-call doctors you can call if you have questions or worries. I told her about my symptoms and suddenly she said “Are you calling from this address?” having clearly looked it up on some sort of location gps system from my phone. I confirmed and she just said “Okay, I’m sending an ambulance” and within minutes two paramedics were at my door. They decided to take me to the nearest hospital where I spent the night going through all sorts of tests, from blood work, having radiation pumped into my lungs for a CT scan and several other X-ray images.

Nothing. They found nothing.

I felt so SO bad but before I even said anything they assured me “This is good. We’d rather people come here and nothing is wrong than people not come here when something is wrong and they end up dying. Now you don’t have to stress about this”

A few days later I realized the pain came from a sliiightly dislocated rib that randomly popped back into place while I was riding my bike.

I felt so silly but my friends reminded me that I didn’t make a huge fuss about it at the time. I just told the doctor my symptoms and she set the whole thing in motion. Like the doctors said, this is what universal healthcare is for. People need to feel like they can call for help even at the slightest sign of illness so it can be caught early. This is how you keep a population healthy.

But yeah, it’s such a silly feeling. We pay taxes to have universal healthcare so there’s no reason to feel guilty about using it. We just can’t help ourselves I suppose. (Let’s not even get into the fact my doctor diagnosed me with early diabetes “just to be on the safe side” that seemed to vanish almost immediately but it still means I get free yearly vaccinations and I have very mixed feelings about it)

[navybrat817]

Indulgence

Pairing: Dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub!Female Reader Summary: When Bucky calls, you go to him. Word Count: Over 5.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, D/s elements, bondage, aftercare, established arrangement, insecurities, pet names, longing, possessive behavior, world building, mix of canon and non-canon, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm very excited for this new AU, lovelies! There's a deep bond between these two, but we know the road to love isn't always easy. ❤️Beta read by the amazing @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. And thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for listening to me ramble about this part. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You had only been asleep for an hour when your phone went off, your eyes barely open as you reached for the device and saw the familiar name appear. “Bucky?” You answered drowsily.

“Hey, angel,” he said roughly, the pet name bringing a sleepy smile to your face. It sounded like he hadn't gotten much sleep either. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I have tomorrow off,” you said, a bit more alert as you sat up. “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I got back a bit ago,” he replied, swearing under his breath. “It’s really late. I just…”

“Need me,” you finished for him, stretching your back as you stood up. If he wanted to tell you he made it home safely from his latest assignment, he would've sent you a text. You knew by now that a call meant he had to see you in person. “Give me a few minutes?”

“You sure? I understand if you’d rather go back to bed.”

“I’m not going to get any sleep until I know you will, too,” you said. It would drive you crazy. “I want to come over. Okay?”

You wondered if the call dropped since you didn't hear anything on the other end. “Okay. I’ll send a car,” he said. He never let you pay for a ride yourself. “Thank you,” he added so softly you almost missed it.

“You don't need to thank me,” you assured him, though you appreciated hearing it. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, your heart skipping a beat before he hung up.

You brushed your teeth again before you changed out of your pajamas. The outfit didn't exactly matter. If it had, he would’ve told you what you wear. It wouldn't stay on long anyway. You sensed that this was a night for him to simply blow off some steam or release anything still pent up from his assignment.

You were more than happy to help.

“On my way.” You messaged him a few minutes later as you went out to the car.

You politely greeted the driver before gazing out the window. If anyone had told you months ago that you’d be sleeping with the former Winter Soldier, you would’ve laughed at them for saying something so crazy. You never expected to meet the man, let alone connect with him. That was your life now though. You were sleeping with Bucky Barnes.

But it wasn't that cut and dry.

“I’ll be outside.” He sent back.

You smiled to yourself as you thought about Bucky, the man searching for himself again. After years of enduring horrific pain and having no control over his actions, he felt lost once he was free. In his eyes, he would never be able to right all the wrongs of the atrocities he was forced to commit, but making amends for his past was a start. It wasn't enough though to heal the cracks from within. It couldn't stop him from plunging into the deep abyss of his mind where it once felt whole.

He had to find a way to feel semi-normal again. He needed to do something good for someone else outside of his heroic duties. And he had to do so in an environment where he could express himself openly, honestly, and authentically with a person he could trust.

That was where you came into the picture.

If Bucky called, no matter what time of day and you were available, you went to his place in a car he paid for. You stayed until you were both satisfied. A more crude way to think of it was that you helped him fuck out his frustrations and gave him a means to inflict pleasure on someone instead of hurt. It was a routine you were used to by now.

“You wanna be my angel?”

You may be his angel, but you weren't his girlfriend. He wasn't in a place to have a typical relationship. You weren't just a fuck buddy either. You were his submissive of sorts, along with his confidant and a way for him to find release and some sense of normalcy.

While he sometimes fucked you like a whore, he never once treated you like one. He cared for your well-being and checked in on you the way a boyfriend would. He kept his place stocked with your favorite snacks. You didn't sleep with anyone else and neither did he. You looked out for each other.

Unlike your last boyfriend.

As far as arrangements went, you could do much worse. There were rules set in place. Bucky was honest about his needs and helped you heal your wounds from the failure of your previous relationship. But the more time you spent with him, the more you wanted to be with him.

Was it a recipe for disaster?

The drive seemed faster than usual because before you knew it the car stopped in front of Bucky’s apartment building. Your pulse quickened when you saw the brunette standing by the door, donned in his usual leather jacket. Even from a short distance, he looked massive and heat bloomed in your core as you knew what was to come. He moved to the curb with more grace than a man his size should have, his hard blue eyes set on you through the glass before he opened the door.

His gaze practically set your heart on fire and it went full ablaze when he tenderly smiled. He was stunningly beautiful even in the dark of night. It almost hurt to look back at him.

You had it bad.

“Hey,” he said, offering you his gloved hand to help you out. You hardly ever saw him out without his vibranium hand covered. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” you smiled softly, giving the driver a quick thanks before you got out. “You, too.”

Bucky's large hand moved to the small of your back as he gently led you toward the building and opened the door. He didn't like to linger outside for too long. Neither of you spoke as he guided you to his apartment on the first floor and you didn't push him to make small talk. It was a delicate arrangement and some nights didn't call for filler.

Still, you tried to get a read on his emotions. There was a stiffness to his stance, but he didn't appear upset or angry. You also didn’t spot any obvious injuries.

“Were you hurt?” You asked as he took his keys out. He was only gone for a couple of days, but you knew how dangerous the missions were.

He turned and stared at you, not at all surprised by your question since you always asked. “No, I didn’t get hurt,” he assured you, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. “But I can't exactly talk about it either. I’m sorry.”

You nodded in understanding. It was information you weren't privy to and you doubted he called tonight to talk about it anyway. He peeled back layers of himself, yet there was so much underneath that you didn't know about. You cared for him regardless.

“Bucky, you don't have to apologize for that,” you reminded him.

“I just feel bad. You can tell me about your work, but I can't always talk about mine,” he said, looking both ways before he poked his head into his apartment.

“My job isn’t as ‘exciting’ as yours,” you teased before he let you in.

Bucky had a nice place. The partially exposed brick walls paired well with the hardwood floors. Tasteful, but not extravagant. The thick curtains in the living room matched the drapes in his bedroom. Since he occasionally slept on the floor by the oversized chair, it helped to block out the sun. He didn't have much as far as decor, but he did have a piece of art that his best friend, Steve, drew hung up in the hall.

He also had a bowl that you made on the console to hold his keys, which he promptly set them in.

It meant something that he even let you into his apartment when others close to him had never been invited.

“Need anything to drink?” He asked, slipping his jacket and glove off.

He had an empty glass waiting on the kitchen island in case you did. While you indulged in a drink now and then, he wouldn't allow you to have too many. He refused to have sex with you if you were inebriated. Said it took consent away and you wouldn't be alert enough to use a safeword if necessary.

He wouldn't budge on that rule.

“No, thanks,” you answered, gazing at him.

His T-shirt strained against his biceps, one flesh and one vibranium. You could still smell his cologne from the small distance across the room, amber and cedarwood. Warm, comforting, dominating. All the things he was to you.

Not the monster he sometimes believed himself to be.

You eyed him as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, the need to soothe him coming forward when you caught a distant look in his eyes. He didn't even make a move to down his drink as he set his hands on the counter and stared off. Maybe he couldn't give you the details about what happened, but you could take care of him.

Because as much as he sometimes had to have control over you, both of you had power in your relationship.

“Bucky?” You gently called out, pulling him from his trance. “You can talk to me, even if you have to keep some things to yourself.”

His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Three months.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Three months since we started this,” he answered.

You realized he was right when you remembered the date. It felt longer yet still brand new. “Yeah. Three great months,” you smiled.

A knot formed in your stomach when he didn't smile back. “And you still feel safe with me?” He asked, gripping the counter so hard you thought it might crumble in his hands. “You really trust that I won’t hurt you?”

Your smile slipped, the questions like a punch to the gut as you walked toward him. You stopped a foot in front of him to give him some breathing room as he made eye contact. Where had that come from? What happened to make him question that?

“Of course, I feel safe. Not only do I feel safe with you and trust you, I know that you won't hurt me. You will always take care of me,” you said with fierce determination, yet with a vulnerability you couldn't hide. “If I didn't believe that, I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t submit to you.”

You told him the same thing the day you two agreed on this arrangement. He wasn't your boyfriend, but he wasn't like your ex. He wouldn't just throw you away without a second thought or ignore your needs. You also had faith in him that he wouldn't harm you.

And as much as you trusted him, he trusted you that much more. If he didn't, he wouldn't have called you in the first place. That meant he still trusted himself around you.

He looked away and asked above a whisper, “Do you still think I'm a good man?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, your heart aching when his jaw clenched. “Bucky, look at me, please.”

He slowly made eye contact with you, a storm swirling in his stare.

“You are a good man,” you stated, needing to reach the part of him that believed it. “And it doesn't matter how many times you ask me that, my answer isn't going to change. Ever.”

Bucky was silent, his breathing the only sound in the space. You were worried that you said the wrong thing before he pushed himself away from the counter. Instead of moving back when he approached, you stood firm, ready to brace the storm. You sometimes felt like a mouse confronted by a lion when he got close, but it sent a thrill through you. Because you meant what you said.

You trusted him and he made you feel safe.

“I just had to hear you say it,” he whispered as he cupped your face.

A fire lit within you as Bucky captured your mouth with his. There was care and tenderness beneath the hunger and you found yourself clinging to his arms as you kissed him back. No one before him had ever kissed you with such desire, such passion. It had you chasing his lips when he pulled away too soon.

“Now go to my room, get undressed, and kneel on the bed facing the headboard,” he ordered, his voice low and allowing the words to sink in just in case you had any objections. Because he was done talking and ready to play.

So were you.

It took you a moment to answer since you had to bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered, feeling his eyes on you as you walked to his bedroom.

You focused on keeping your breathing even as you shed your clothes, taking a moment to fold them before you set them on the chair in the corner. The only time you left your garments on the floor was if Bucky put them there or had you put on a show for him. It was his space and you respected it.

He hadn't told you how long to wait for him, but your heart thumped as you knelt on the queen sized bed. You didn’t see any toys as you glanced around, but there was water, snacks, wipes, and the soft blanket you loved waiting on the nightstand. It took a moment for you to spot that there was a blindfold and scarf on top of the blanket. Your womb clenched in anticipation, an exquisite feeling knowing your patience and obedience would reward you.

Bucky walked through the door a minute later and shut it behind him. The energy shifted completely, both of you ready for each other. As much as you wanted to lift your gaze and look behind you, you kept your eyes downcast as he approached the bed. He cupped your cheek once he was close enough and forced your eyes to meet his.

“My beautiful angel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your skin as you glowed from the praise. He reached for the scarf and ran his fingers across the silk as he glanced at you. “As much as I hate to cover those beautiful eyes of yours and restrain you, I want you to concentrate on my touch tonight. Just let me have you.”

A shiver rolled down your spine as you nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hands behind your back,” he said, moving to secure them once you did so. The silk was soft against your skin, almost as soft as the kiss to your shoulder. After years of being restrained, you knew he felt guilty at times taking your control away. The difference was you gave yourself to him willingly. “Tell me your safewords.”

“Green is good. Yellow to pause,” you stated, testing the scarf. He never bound you too tight, but it was enough that you couldn’t slip your wrists free. “Red to stop."

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You turned your head a fraction so he could slot his lips properly over yours. Gentle, yet hot enough to melt your insides. “My good girl.”

He maneuvered you so you were in the middle of the bed and spread your knees a bit further apart. He joined you on his knees, still fully clothed. Casting your gaze down again, you bit your lip when you saw the prominent bulge in his pants. A hand came up to grasp your chin before you could stare for too long and lifted your head. If you were still wearing your panties, they would’ve dampened from his darkened gaze.

“So beautiful and all mine tonight,” he said.

“I’m yours, Sir,” you whispered, the word “always” unspoken.

“And I know you were staring,” he smirked, his fingers working the button and zipper of his jeans. His impressive cock sprang free once he pushed his underwear and pants down far enough and you wished you could lean down and swirl your tongue around the large head. “Greedy angel. Just desperate to have my cock in you.”

“Yes, Sir. Please,” you begged.

He made a show of lifting the blindfold before he slipped it over your head, your body tensing up when your world went dark. Sight was one of the senses you relied on the most. It helped you absorb most of the world around you. And now it was temporarily gone. It felt like your heart would burst from your chest as you breathed a bit heavier. But Bucky was there, softly touching your face until you relaxed.

“Breathe, angel. I’ve got you,” he whispered, drawing a gasp from you when his lips touched yours. His hands mapped your body, brushing along your breasts down to your thighs. You felt him everywhere. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered as a hand moved around your back and forced you to arch. He was careful not to hurt your arms. “Please.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips closed around your nipple. You could practically feel that he looked up at you as he gently suckled. A wave of arousal crashed through you as he pinched the other. No one had ever lavished your body with such attention the way Bucky did.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured against the swell of your breast. “Helpless. Trembling. Needy.”

You didn't mean to let such a wanton moan escape, but he made you feel needed. He made you feel wanted. It was a beautiful thing to surrender to him.

“And I love that I'm the one you trust to take care of you.”

“I trust you with my life, Sir,” you moaned.

And your heart, even though he had the power to break it.

Your chest suddenly felt colder when Bucky pulled his mouth and hand away and you shook from the loss of his heat. His vibranium hand touched your torso to remind you he was close when he shifted closer to you on the bed. You gasped when he dragged his hand down and you were helpless to do anything but feel when it slid between your legs.

“You're doing so well for me,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers spread your sopping folds. He teased you, letting you soak his metal fingers as you mewled. He lightly bit you again when he replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding along your slit, but not pushing inside you just yet. “You want me inside you? You need me to fuck you, don't you? Tell me.”

Your cheeks flamed as you whined. “I need you to fuck me, Sir,” you said, trying to widen your thighs to take him in more.

“I will. I'm going to give you everything you need,” he rumbled, gripping your hips with strong and capable hands to keep you still. “And you’re going to let me ruin your pretty little pussy with my cock.”

You panted with want at his possessiveness. Filthy words were something you never thought you’d hear from someone associated with The Avengers and they kicked your body into overdrive. You ached to have him split you open. “Ruin me, Sir.”

In one swift move he lifted you, pulled you into his lap, and buried himself to the hilt. Your mouth fell open as you let out a cry, every inch of his cock stretching and making itself at home in your welcoming cunt. You couldn't brace yourself on his shoulders with your hands behind your back. You couldn't see the ecstasy in his eyes as he let you adjust to his size, but you didn't have to. Not with the way he dug his fingers in and groaned against your shoulder.

He took you to heaven when he was inside you.

“Color,” he said against your skin, thrusting his hips up once.

“Green,” you moaned, reminding yourself to stay still when you wanted him to move. “So green.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, gently kissing up to your ear. “Keep being good while I bounce you up and down on my cock.”

Your eyes fluttered behind the blindfold as he pulled you up and slammed you back down on his cock. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your heart beat frantically in your chest. It was difficult to string thoughts together, but they all went back to him and how good he made you feel. How he made you feel beautiful.

Flaws and all.

“It’s like your cunt was made for me, angel. Practically crying all over my cock,” his voice was smoky as sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips. The next moan was softer when he slid a hand up to your neck, resting it there as the other kept your hips flush against his. “You deserve to feel good because you are good. So fucking good.”

Your lower lip trembled as a sob worked its way to your throat, “Thank you, Sir,” you whimpered before he squeezed.

“And I. Deserve. You.” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust. You didn’t have to see his face to know the fury that surfaced. “My angel. Mine.”

It overwhelmed you as he bounced you in his lap, sinking you down onto him again and again. His thrusts were almost unforgiving, but the hand on your throat didn’t tighten anymore. He couldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m your angel, Sir,” you moaned as he reduced you to a needy wet mess.

“I wanna tear you apart,” he growled against your lips. “And put you back together so you still feel me when you fucking breathe.”

“Tear me apart, Sir,” you gasped, a plea for him to use you more. Your thighs hit his as he thrust up and all you could do was take it. He touched places inside you no one else could reach, physically and emotionally, and you never wanted it to stop. “Please!”

“Tell me you need me to come inside you and I’ll let you come,” he ordered, the hand on your neck squeezing a fraction. “Say it.”

“Come inside me, Sir,” you begged.

“Bucky,” he breathed against your lips. “Say. My. Name.”

Your next breath was shaky. He always had you call him “Sir” on nights like this. Why was this different?

Your orgasm began to crest, but you couldn’t let go until you gave him what he wanted. And he’d give you what you needed. “Come inside me, Bucky,” you exhaled. “Please.”

He swiped his thumb along your pulse with a deep groan, his cock still driving up into you. “I will after you come,” he promised, his tongue sliding past your parted lips and pulling away all too quickly. “C’mon, angel. Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”

The sob you tampered down earlier resuraced, wrenched from your throat as you came. Your release continued, practically leaking around his cock as tears slid out beneath the blindfold. You were beyond rational thought as pleasure spiraled through you, vaguely aware that he thrust through it to chase his own end.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” He grunted, pulsing hotly inside you as he filled you up.

Both of you panted as you continued to drift from euphoria, your heart still beating wildly. You were warm, but your body shivered as he lifted you up. Your combined release slid from your aching cunt once he slipped free. You floated and wanted him to catch you, but you couldn’t put your arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when you let out a whimper. He made quick work of untying your wrists so he could lay you down properly and wipe away the tears still on your cheeks. “I’m going to take the blindfold off.”

Your eyes stayed shut for a moment when Bucky removed it, but you cracked them open when you wanted to see him. Your vision slowly cleared as you blinked a few times, your mind still floating as he came into view. He called you an angel, but he was the one who had a halo around his head at the moment. A gorgeous angel who had unrightfully had his wings taken away. He smiled like he wanted to eat you alive, but his touch was nothing short of tender when he brought his hand to your face.

“So fucking beautiful. You did so well for me. Fuck, I just wanna clean you with my tongue and fill you up all over again,” he praised as you clenched around nothing and whined. As hot as it sounded, you needed a bit of rest after that. “Not tonight,” he smiled, keeping a hand on you as he grabbed a wipe.

A reason he had everything close by was because you craved his touch after sex. If he ever got too far away, you whimpered and reached for him. It made you feel needy, but he assured you that he needed to keep touching you just as badly.

It just wasn’t fair that he looked so composed.

Bucky continued to shower you with soft praise as he cleaned you up. It didn’t take him long before he wrapped the soft blanket around you, trembles moved through your entire body as he put his arms around you, too. He took aftercare very seriously. It was a way for you to feel cared for and nurtured while allowing your body and brain to return back to normal. He never wanted you to experience negativity or sadness after any sort of session, especially an intense one.

You were aware that he moved you closer in his arms and rested his cheek against the top of your head, but you weren't ready to speak yet. It always took you a minute to come back to yourself and he was never one to rush or push you. If relaxing in his embrace was what it took to return to the world, he was more than content to keep you in his arms.

At least, that was what he told you.

You opened your eyes after a few minutes. Your heartbeat was back to a steady rhythm, but you still weren't ready to move yet. You were warm and safe. Bucky was there to take care of you. But what about him?

Had you taken care of him?

Bucky had a faint smile on his face when you lifted your head, his shoulders relaxed and eyes soft. Like he was at ease with everything around him. “Welcome back, angel,” he whispered, peppering your face with light kisses.

“Hey,” you smiled tiredly, your voice a little hoarse as you brought a hand to his hair, happy that you could touch him again. Judging by the way his eyes slipped shut for a moment before he opened them, he missed your touch, too.

“You okay?”

“I am and so are you. You're okay.” It wasn't a question. Whatever haunted him earlier was gone.

For now.

He didn't tear his gaze away as he reached for the water behind him, which you gratefully accepted as he put it to your lips. “You amaze me, you know? You just came back to yourself, but you're talking about me being okay.”

“Isn’t that why you call me?” You asked with a small frown, taking another large sip. “To help you?”

His brows furrowed. “It’s not just about me. This is about you, too.”

You took one more drink before you could say something stupid. Yes, this was about you, too. How he didn't push too far. How he’d hold you after sex and talk with you because those things were important to you. How he made you feel cherished and wanted for a short while.

You just didn't want to admit that he was a constant in your mind. But would it be so wrong if you did? Even if he’d never date you, didn't he have a right to know how you felt?

Communication was key and you would have to eventually tell him if those feelings persisted.

“It’s about both of us and I just want you to be okay,” is what you said because it was the truth.

He set the water aside and cupped your cheek, his calloused hand a little cool, but nice. You almost wished you could hide from his knowing eyes, but he didn’t press you for more. “I am now,” he said, swallowing a little. “I just couldn't let you see me tonight.”

Worry filled his eyes like he may have upset you, but you shook your head. You had seen his scars, but he was never obligated to show you his body. “You're letting me see you now,” you said, scooting closer as he brought your wrist to his mouth to kiss it.

You thought about how the evening played out. How he asked if you thought he was a good man. How he demanded that you speak his name. And how he said he deserved you. Either something happened while he was gone or someone said or did something to get to him. You wished you knew what it was since he didn’t expand on what had been eating away at him before.

“And before you ask, you didn't hurt me,” you told him, knowing the question was coming. You appreciated that he cared enough to check.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good because I’d never stop hating myself if I did,” he admitted, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “You don't deserve that kind of pain.”

Your heart swelled, not letting any past hurt enter your mind. He made you believe that you deserved better than what you had. It was a good feeling.

“Neither do you. And that's a reason why safewords exist. Both of us can use them,” you reminded him. Like aftercare, he took the words seriously. He listened to you. And if he ever got overwhelmed, he had every right to stop it the same way you did. “So no self-hate tonight.”

He huffed in mock annoyance. “Yes, ma’am. And speaking of self-hate,” he teased, tilting his head to look your way. “I really don’t want to go to therapy tomorrow.”

There was a forced calmness in his blue eyes as you assessed him. “You still don’t like your therapist,” you stated.

One of the conditions of his pardon was that he had to go to therapy. It was meant to help him process his thoughts and past experiences in order to work through them. Though he didn’t tell you what went on in his sessions as it was none of your business, he didn’t keep it a secret from you that the doctor was far from his favorite person.

You wondered if Bucky told her about you.

“What’s there to like?” He asked.

You smiled a little, knowing better than to poke the bear and say she probably wasn't that bad. “Well, being able to speak to someone who provides non-judgemental and empathetic support is one thing.”

“That’s why I like talking to you,” he said, the affection in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say.

Moments like that made you think he cared. No, that wasn’t right. You knew he cared about you. But hearing things like that made you feel like there was hope for more and he wasn’t ready for that.

Hope was both a wonderful and dangerous thing.

“Have you met anyone else?” He asked suddenly, moving his hand to your back.

It was a question Bucky asked every time he had you over. He said from the start if there was another man in your life that you’d rather be with, someone who could offer you more, he’d step aside. There wasn't anyone else. You didn't want anyone else.

And while it was admirable that he would walk away if that ever changed, your heart ached at the thought that he’d easily let you go. Because at the end of the day he wasn't ready for a relationship. Not yet.

Even if he was, who said he wanted one with you?

“No, I haven't met anyone,” you said, feeling the warm breath of his exhale against your skin as his hand moved up and down your back. It relaxed you more and you found yourself fighting a yawn. “Have you?”

“No,” he chuckled. The crinkles by his eyes made him look carefree. “Not since you saved me.”

You shut your eyes, afraid that tears would well up if you looked at him. “I didn't save you. All I did was buy you a coffee one afternoon,” you whispered dismissively.

That day changed your life.

“I’m going to let that slide since you're sleepy, but I’m going to remind you when you're wide awake that you did a lot more than that,” he spoke. He held you a little tighter when you stayed quiet. You were more tired than you thought. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You let your eyes shut at his command. “Thank you for taking care of me, Bucky.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

There was something else unspoken in the air, but a tender kiss to your forehead stopped you from reading too deeply into it.

In the morning, he’d send you back to your place after he made you breakfast. He’d text you later to make sure you were okay. He would continue to check in and you would do your best not to fall for him more. Because one day he wouldn't need you anymore. You didn't know when that day would come, but tonight you could indulge in the fantasy that Bucky wanted you to be his girl.

Permanently.

I just want these two happy and together. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Begging you for more Caracalla fanfiction pretty please?? Literally no one writes for him ??

I’m so ashamed but can you write Caracalla and fem reader who starts her period, how he’d help her through any pain or discomfort? Also disgustingly good period sex to get rid of cramps if this isn’t too weird?

I just started at work and have no products with me so we die like men in Rome, free bleeding 🩸

Blessed if you do, blessed if you don’t 🙏🏼 ty xx

Bleeding free for love

Emperor Caracalla x wife!reader

warning : +18, smut, hurt/comfort, tiny emotional, kissing, body worship, blood play, period sex, family problems

Summary : When the sun was in the sky at midday, it was the aches and pains that afflicted the goddess of Rome, hot and cold baths hardly seemed to help and hardly any food was right. When her husband has a certain idea to take away her pain and they both could get closer to each other.

info : So finally dear i have finished it i wish you a lot of fun reading and hope you have survived your period well. I had a lot of fun writing this everytime again and wish you lots of fun ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blood had many uses for rituals, animal blood for eating, for painting, blood was something that gave life and could take life it was the most valuable thing known to man because without it you died.

One thing the soldiers in the battles knew as soon as they saw the blood of their opponents they had won, the midwives saw the blood of the mother as a life was born and a dead man would bleed as his head was cut off.

A thing that everyone knew, every child, every man and especially every woman who felt the blood on a day of the month followed by pain and upset.

A natural process that could lead to life according to certain doctors or midwives to whom one went to have herbs and tinctures mixed against the pain, but as death would haunt everyone, so would pain haunt every woman of Rome.

A pain that also commanded the empress in a moment of adversity, from the moment she woke up she had felt on the edge of Olympus.

She loved her husband and her brother-in-law but her smile wanted to smile less and less, everything seemed to interfere and nothing worked her mood was completely controlled by the gods a thing that only disturbed her even more.

At breakfast, her appetite didn't seem to be for anything except for a delicious sweet fruit or honey glazed nuts, but nothing else seemed to appeal to her either, ,,I'm sure it won't be anything bad" she had told Caracalla, who was already giving her a worried look, normally the three of them tasted their way through the whole breakfast and were not so reserved.

At midday in the palace garden she was only in the shade, the sun seemed far too strong, although even Geta and Caracalla were in the sun, ,,Just leave me" she had said more cheekily than necessary when they both wanted to pull her to the table for a game and she had retreated with her servant.

But above all, her stomach pains didn't stop, pains that she feared were something worse and she wanted to turn to a healer after the senate meeting...but the answer came to her with a knowing sigh.

She rose from her seat in the senate to help her brother-in-law's argument, knowing that Caracalla was not fully present in his current state when she felt the first drop and she cursed inwardly.

,,I commend myself, something has come up" she only hastily said to Geta and gave Caracalla a brief smile as she tried to get away from the gazing eyes as quickly as possible.

But while Geta tried to reassure the senate that all was well, it was Caracalla in particular who seemed to snap out of it and looked anxiously after his wife.

Gods must you make me bleed now? she asked the saints and at least the answer was only why her abdomen hurt and why her mood was so different, she had bled once more.

A bleeding that made her go straight to the bathhouse where she washed herself because of course it didn't stop at a drop, she sometimes felt as if she were an animal bleeding to death in its last moments.

It stung and pinched so much, no wine or food seemed to help and the water always seemed too cold, ,,Warm it up once more" she ordered her tone again harsher than she wanted and the servants informed the slaves.

The bath water warmed up again after a few minutes and she sighed as the pain disappeared, at least for a moment, as she tried to concentrate on the rose petals and the scent of avender that came through the flowers floating around her.

A scent that at least helped her with a headache did some good, at least the gods were a little merciful to her because the rest of the day she would be bleeding in her room.

Her feelings were as numerous as the gods and she probably didn't take pleasure in anything, just lying in bed perhaps listening to music to distract her from the pain.

Whatever it was she was going to do it was all better than being around people, she had kept the dinner with Caracalla and Geta as short as possible, ,,I will find a way to take away your pain that is my duty as your husband" her heart tried to cheer her up and gave her a quick kiss.

A kiss that actually made her smile for a moment, it seemed that no matter what situation or how much pain she was in Caracalla always found a way to make her smile, one of the things she appreciated so much about him.

He liked to fight with himself, the madness taking him over more and more from time to time but for her he always tried, ,,And I will accept this as your wife" she replied and gave him a kiss too as Geta only had a pleased look for the two of them, glad that his family didn't stop at madness and blood.

After dinner, everyone retired to their rooms to rest, the day had been exhausting enough and she just wanted to try to sleep, a sleep that was not granted to her, but minutes turned into almost hours in which she turned from left to right and knew that as long as she continued to be stabbed in her abdomen, she would find no rest.

Until the moment she heard a knock on her door and smiled, ,,Are the gods not letting you sleep either?" she heard her husband ask and saw that Caracalla had a small tablet with some things on it.

Sitting up in her bed, she tapped the fur next to her, ,,The honourable ones seem to be stabbing me right now," she replied, but immediately saw her husband get a worried look on his face.

In his state, where he was probably at least a little more aware of his surroundings, it was always better than him having a full-blown seizure and hurting someone else.

Setting the tray down on the bed, he scrambled over to her and placed his hand on her stomach, surprisingly gentle for someone who seemed so worried but at least it had a little ,,The warmth of love" he grinned as he saw her features relax and her hand rest on his.

Maybe it really was the bond between man and woman that could help them, that could ease their pain as she saw some sweet treats on the tray.

Treats they fed each other, the sweetness and warmth actually helping a little, ,,My caring emperor" she murmured to him before giving him a kiss.

A short kiss really, but one that made the blue-eyed man want more, his hand sliding from her belly to her side, letting her know he wanted her, ,,The healers said...a touch of body might help with your pain," he said as they parted, the smell of sweetness mingling slightly with the tang of metal.

She felt the slight shame burning on her cheeks, she knew it was supposed to help when they slept together it always seemed to make no difference, an agreement, a bond could do so much

,,But the blood" she already knew the skins and pillows needed to be cleaned even without the sex through her blood, but Caracalla just smirked, ,,Has an attractive effect on me" he just giggled before he kissed her again.

A kiss as they lay gently on the pillows, hands carelessly taking the clothes from each other's bodies, the room seemed too warm, too heated by their love that burned as his hand went to her breast.

The gods gave her the pain but also the sensitivity something that also struck her lover who looked at her almost proudly, ,,Never be ashamed of our union no blood will keep me from you" he assured her and began to kiss her neck.

The little bites and marks turned her on more than usual, her mind plagued by lust that surfaced between the pain whenever she thought of her husband, an emperor who continued to take care of her body.

His fingers skilfully massaged her breasts, teasing her nipples as he lightly pinched them and she shuddered as she groaned, ,,Mhhh gods you've made a pack with him" she giggled as she saw the amusement of Caracalla as he continued to take care of her body.

Every piece of her had to be loved by him, everything she needed he gave her, praised her, kissed her, bit her, licked her everything he just wanted to be with his wife.

His goddess who loved him so much it was the only right thing to do that he helped her through everything in their life together.

Blood was what he liked in the Coloseum arena, and her blood seemed to act like an aphrodisiac on him, making him lose himself in lust and slight madness.

He finally kissed her belly before running his hands along her thighs and pushing them slightly apart, ,,Your emperor will take away any pain...as sweet reddish as a cherry you are" he compared them and the couple both smiled at the sweet but apt comparison.

A comparison as his hand held hers as she saw him caress himself a little and yet she opened her legs, his hungry expression meeting her slightly pleading one.

The feeling as he was inside her not unfamiliar but pleasing the sounds of the couple mingling as he kissed her again the brief moment of time to geen hung between them.

But now their shared love seemed to diminish, with every thrust he made, every movement, every lustful sound that escaped them both, their love for each other only blossomed more.

His hands went from her hips to her body every now and then, giving it further attention, knowing that it made her feel good when the pain was taken over by the pleasure.

,,Don't stop" she only breathlessly brought out, wrapping her legs around his hips to feel him deeper after a few minutes.

The healers were right love could banish pain and how love could banish it, rarely had she felt him so intimately and arousing it was something a look at her husband told her they should both do more often.

Her hands shakily detached themselves from the fur and scratched along his torso, his grunts letting her know he was the one enjoying the pain, something she gave him more of.

His thrusts increasing whenever she pulled at his light-coloured hair, scratching along his skin, his back streaked with red.

The couple gave themselves to each other, savouring everything and the sounds that echoed off the stone walls as if they were looking at each other from afar.

She heard him stammer ,,I love you" almost sensing that he was close to his climax, a tingling sensation in her stomach that she could only answer with a nod as she pulled him even tighter against her.

The moments passed and the movements became more hurried and intense until the stifled cry was lost in the kiss as the couple shuddered and clung to each other as the climax came over them both.

A moment in which the pain and the blood didn't matter, his care didn't matter, they held each other and only separated after a short moment.

He lay down next to her with a slight grin and put his hand on hers, ,,The gods should honour us like this more often" and the couple had to laugh again when she turned to him and held his hand.

But no more pain plagued her as she gave him a kiss on the forehead and now knew that love could conquer even the pain of blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@cottoncandiescupcakes , @somepallings , @k-yurieee , @qardasngan , @sweeteststing , @songbirdmunson , @abundance-of-fic-reblogs , @bel0ved-heretic

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 14 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: mentions of alcohol, a creep at the gym, mentions of Lisa and what happened in the last chapter, cursing, oc and jk finally talk and it hurts, jk gets punched in the face, explicit content: hickey, breast/nipple play, jerking off, oral sex (male and female receiving), hair pulling, ass slapping, unprotected sex (please don't be stupid), big dick!Jungkook, creampie

☆word count: 12.2k

☆a/n: someone said more angst? but this time with a true side of hope (maybe). Hope you guys like it <3 and thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Wednesday, October 7th

Days have gone by. Weeks, actually - September giving way to October. You’ve been in a daze, going through the first month of the semester in slow motion. You’ve been focusing on classes more, studying in all the free time that you have, when you’re not going to the gym.

You’ve started going to the gym on a regular schedule. Three to four times a week, most of the time accompanied by Yoongi. It’s easy to know why - Yoongi’s got a crush on the guy who works at the reception of the gym. You think it’s good. Yoongi’s allowed to move on from Hoseok, to finally find someone else who is worth his love. 

It gives you hope that one day you’ll get that for you too. But you’re not there yet - far from it. You’re still feeling the repercussions of that Friday evening when you foolishly believed you and Jungkook were fixable.

Now you think the whole world lies between you and him, and you doubt anything will ever fix that. 

He’s texted you once, since that Friday evening. A few days later, he asked if you wanted to talk. You ignored the message - it was the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but it had to be done. Too much pain stands between you and him for you to be able to be with him.

At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. Like a mantra - you’ve been repeating to yourself that you can’t be with him because he’s Taehyung’s best friend, because it would ruin his friendship. And Jungkook deserves his friends, deserves to move on with Lisa if that’s what he wants to be doing.

You know he’s not. You know that night was the last time he saw Lisa outside of their friend group gatherings. You know because last week you were at the bar with Ria, and you’d somehow ended up at Taehyung’s table. You’d felt Lisa’s scalding gaze on you the whole time, yet she’d remained nice to you, polite like she’d always been.

Jungkook has broken more hearts than just yours after all.

You know they have stopped hanging out because Sera asked Lisa where Jungkook was that night. She answered that she didn’t know, that they’d stopped seeing each other. She’d said so looking at you, as if trying to throw the blame on you, but it’d gone unnoticed to the table.

Perhaps because they were drunk. You wouldn’t know - you’ve stopped drinking since that first party of the semester when everything came crashing down.

You take a long sip from the water bottle you always carry to the gym. You’ve been stretching on the black mats, in the smaller room in the corner that some people also use for yoga. Right now it’s just you and some guy you’ve seen around a couple of times before, and you’ve been trying to ignore the way he keeps looking at you.

You wish there was a gym nearby for women only, but there unfortunately isn’t, so you suffer the stares once in a while, though they aren’t as frequent as you initially thought they would be. Maybe because most of the time you aren’t alone - you think maybe you shouldn’t have come alone today.

Luckily enough you’re almost done, so you just move on to the last stretch, the muscles in your back straining for a few seconds before they relax as you take a deep breath. Once you’re done you stand up, heading to the cleaning station to get some paper that you spray with the cleaning spray, and then you walk back to the mat you used to clean it. 

A second later you’re out the door, walking quickly to the women’s locker room. 

A glance to your left makes your heart clench in your chest, so hard you think you might be about to go into cardiac arrest. 

Jungkook is standing by a squat rack, gaze lowered, yet it’s like he senses you watching. His head immediately raises, and he meets your gaze for half a heartbeat before you look away, walking even faster just so that you don’t have to be in his presence anymore.

You could have chosen another gym. But this one is the cheapest and nearest option from your college, so you decided to still come here, even though you knew you’d see Jungkook once in a while. Luckily enough for you, you’ve been able to figure out his approximate gym schedule, and you’ve avoided the hours that he usually comes here.

Hell, he usually comes in the morning, and it’s almost nine pm.

Though you know the true reason why you’ve chosen this gym. Not that you would admit it to anyone - it just feels reassuring to see Jungkook once in a while, to know that he’s doing okay.

Even if the dark circles under his eyes tell you he might not be doing all that good at all. But you’re not close enough to him anymore to be allowed to care, so each time you just disappear the second you catch sight of him, hoping he doesn’t see you. 

Your heart beats out of your chest the whole time you change in the locker room, and you tell yourself you’ll make a beeline for the front doors as soon as you’re out. It’s not as reassuring as you wish it was, and you have to take a few deep breaths before you walk out of the locker room.

A saccharine smile welcomes you outside, and you startle at the sight of the man who had been in the yoga room with you. He’s leaning against the wall, but the second he sees you walking out he pushes up from the wall, folding his arms on his chest.

You hear the distinct sound of alarm bells at the back of your mind as he says, “Hey.”

You swallow, searching for salvation as you glance around the gym, but there’s none to be found.

Jungkook’s not even by the squat racks anymore.

“Hey,” you reply, trying to sound polite.

“I see you here all the time,” the man adds.

You almost gag - you’ve never noticed him before, and the thought that he might have been staring at you multiple times makes you shudder.

“Oh,” you let out.

He smirks, and this time you gulp as you once again scan the gym.

“What’s your name?” the man asks.

Hell, he has to be in his early forties - aren’t there any women his age he could be hitting on instead?

“Sophie,” you reply as quickly as you can, saying the first name that comes to your mind.

“Well, Sophie, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink with me?”

You gulp. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel small, like he’s undressing you with his gaze, and you feel infinitely vulnerable in front of him.

“Huh, sorry, I’m busy tonight,” you say.

You make to walk past him, but he steps to the side, blocking your way. “Come on. I promise we’ll have fun.”

Ew.

“I am busy,” you insist as adrenaline flushes through you.

“Clearly,” the man drawls. “Come on, doll, I promise I’m a good time.”

“Excuse me?” you say, unable to help yourself.

The man laughs, but before he has time to say anything, an arm wraps around your shoulder, and you’re pulled into someone’s side. Your first reaction is to punch, but your hand stops midway as you meet Jungkook’s gaze, and everything fades away until it’s just you and him.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

Your eyes dip to his mouth. Fuck… He’s so close, and you’ve missed him so much, and your heart is reaching out for him, searching for him like it’s been doing for weeks.

“Yes,” you answer, and you don’t dare look at the man as Jungkook pulls you even closer.

“Hey, I was busy here,” the man comments, once again blocking your way.

“Well, this is my girlfriend, and we have plans tonight,” Jungkook says, levelling a glare at the man that you wish to never be on the receiving end of. “So respectfully fuck off.”

You wince, thinking that might aggravate the man. But when Jungkook tilts his head to the side with murder in his gaze, the man rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath that awfully sounds like ‘Fucking bitch’. You have half a thought to punch him for it, but Jungkook steers you away, and despite the weeks and months between you, you feel yourself leaning against him.

The early fall night is warm outside, summer days clinging to October like you’re clinging to Jungkook’s waist right now. You don’t even know when you snaked your arm around his waist. You just know you’re holding him just as much as he’s holding you, and though you don’t talk, you hear thousands of confessions lingering in the air.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks softly when you’ve walked away from the gym, towards where you assumed he must have parked his car.

You surprise yourself by blinking back tears at his words, at this revelation that he still cares for you like you care for him.

“Shit,” you let out.

Jungkook lets go of you like he’s the one hurting you, and your arm falls at your side aimlessly as he steps in front of you.

“I’ll make a complaint against him,” he softly reassures you. “So that he can’t work out at this gym anymore.”

You nod, blinking away the tears. You succeed, and you take a deep breath before you meet Jungkook’s gaze.

You don’t think you were ready for the softness, for the yearning that his gaze holds right now. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He smiles, infinitely sadly. “Of course, Y/n. Do you want me to drive you home?”

You’re almost foolish enough to tell him that you already are home, here with him.

“Please,” you say.

He nods. “I’m parked this way.”

You follow him, clutching the straps of the duffel bag you’ve been using for your gym clothes. He’s parked closer than you thought he was, and just a minute later, you’re sitting in his car, and he’s driving you towards the dorms.

The silence is heavy in the car - filled with memories of you and him, and of the breaking that followed. You look at his profile as he drives, and he’s careful not to glance your way, like doing so is admitting maybe you both are still vulnerable for the other.

And you want to speak, want to voice the words haunting you. But you can’t. Not when you chose to not reply to him when he texted you weeks ago. Not when all you can picture is Lisa coming out of the bathroom wearing his shirt, while he stood there, mute, his head hanging low.

So you remain silent, as does he, up until he parks in front of the dorms. You swallow a lump in your throat as you lay a hand on the knob, ready to open the car, but he clears his throat, and your eyes snap to him.

“Do you…” he trails off, toying with his piercings. “Do you think you’ll ever move back home?”

The question is treacherous, a dagger that stabs right through your beating heart. 

“I don’t think I can,” you answer in a whisper.

He nods once, not glancing at you. “Okay.” He wets his lips as he takes a deep breath, and then he finally shoots you a quick look. “I’m sorry.”

He truly does look sorry, apologetic, his big doe eyes once again filled with sadness and yearning and so many regrets you think he might be drowning in them.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, and you offer him a tentative smile. “It’s fun to experience the dorm life a little.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Ria is a fun roommate.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I’m glad she is.”

You hold his gaze for a few seconds longer, and you see he means so much more. You see the longing - it’s reflected in your own eyes. But you can’t be with him, not after all that happened. So you open the door, looking away from him even though it costs your soul to do so.

“Thank you for driving me,” you whisper.

“Of course,” he answers, voice heavy with emotions you don’t want to interpret.

Not when they might crush you with no chance of survival.

“I’ll see you around,” you add as you pick up your duffel bag from where you’d left it at your feet.

“See you around,” he echoes.

You take a deep breath, offer him one last tight-lipped smile, and then you shut the door, turning away from him before he can see the tears pooling in your eyes. Before you can let your heart break again, before you decide to go home with him after all.

Before you can accept that there were tears pooling in his gaze, too.

Thursday, October 10th 

You like your Thursdays. You only have a class in the afternoon, and it’s your easiest class this semester, with a professor who genuinely loves what she’s doing and who teaches it grandly. It’s an engaging class, where she makes everyone participate, and though you usually hate those, she always manages to make everyone feel comfortable enough to actually participate.

You wish all your classes were like this, but alas, most of them suck.

But yes, you like your Thursdays. Maybe the sun shining bright on your walk home through campus contributes to it, the slowly-changing leaves in the trees beautiful in their multitudes of colours - some still green, others red, yellow, orange and brown. It makes for a pretty picture, and the warmth from yesterday still lingers around, so much so that numerous students are lounging on the lawn in front of the college, sharing snacks or studying or just taking in the sun while they still can.

Your heart was heavy all night yesterday, keeping you up almost till dawn, but the sun rays are healing today, so much so that the thought of Jungkook doesn’t hurt quite as much.

You get to the dorms with a smile tickling the corner of your lips. You usually head home with Nabi, but she said she wanted to go see Namjoon first, and so she went to his office after your class. So you’re alone when you push the door open, and you’re convinced you’re alone when you close the door behind you, kicking off your shoes.

You only realize Ria is hiding under a pile of blankets when she peeks through, startling you. You jump, ready to throw a punch if needed, and she starts laughing as she pushes the blankets off.

You laugh with her as your heart races in your chest, and you lay a hand on the beating organ to try and calm it.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you let out, and you put your backpack down next to Nabi’s bed - your bed for the last month.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, but you doubt she really is. “I needed this though.” 

You slightly furrow your brows, and you only then make out her red nose and puffy, blood-shot eyes. It’s evident that she’s been crying, and your heart sinks in your chest at the sight.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, immediately moving closer to her, sitting on her bed close enough that your thigh touches hers through the many blankets.

She shifts to give you more space, and you climb on the bed properly.

“I don’t know, man,” she says, and her voice wobbles as tears fill her eyes again.

You tug her into a hug, and she cries against your chest. You’re mortified - you’ve never seen Ria cry, and there’s something wrong about it, like the sun just rose in the west instead of the east, or like it’s raining upwards. You hate it, and you rub her back soothingly, holding her closer as sobs rock through her.

“I just,” she lets out between two sobs. “He started seeing someone else.”

Oh.

You had an inkling it had to do with Seokjin, but now the confirmation breaks your heart for your friend, for the feelings she refused to admit to herself.

And now she’s too late, much like you were that Friday night when you ran home to Jungkook, hoping you’d be able to confess your love for him.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you whisper.

She raises her head long enough to wipe her cheeks and meet your gaze. “You said this would happen.”

And then she’s sobbing again, and you hold her close, not caring that she’s currently staining your shirt with her tears. 

“And the worst part is that she’s so pretty,” Ria continues. “Clearly super smart too. Like obviously she’d be his type, you know.” 

She pulls her phone out of the pile of blankets, and the screen turns to life as she angles towards her face. She then hands you her phone, and you see that she’s on a girl’s profile.

“Look at the story,” Ria says.

You click on it, and the picture that comes up is one of Seokjin looking to the side, laughing at something. He looks annoyingly perfect like that, his eye crinkling at the corner in joy.

The picture was also posted only twenty minutes ago, so you know this is fresh.

 “How did you find this?” you ask.

Ria plops on her back, sighing dramatically as she looks up at the ceiling and at the glued fluorescent stars that you placed there the week after you moved in. 

“He told me he was going on a date,” she admits, her lips jutting out in the hint of a pout.

“Oh?” you press.

“I know,” she grumbles. “Yes, we’ve started talking again.”

You think it’s progress, but you don’t mention it, not wanting to scare her when she’s finally admitting her feelings to herself.

“And he just told you he was going on a date?” you ask.

She nods, and tears well up in her eyes again, though this time she successfully blinks them again. “Yeah, we said we’d be friends? And yesterday he told me about the date, and about who he was going to go with.” Ria pulls one of the blankets over her face, shielding herself from the world. “Fuck, I even helped him pick out what to wear.”

You wince, and you’re glad she can’t see it. “You want to be just friends with him?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just know that I’ve been stalking the girl obsessively since yesterday, and I saw the story as soon as she posted it.”

“Yikes,” you let out.

“I know,” Ria whines. “I’m such a mess.”

You pat the top of her head that still sticks out from underneath the blanket. “I think this is good.”

She pulls the blanket off her features, glaring at you. “How can you say that?”

“Because you’re finally realizing you have feelings for him, no?”

Her mouth falls open, but she doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you as her waterline increasingly becomes wet, and then tears fall onto her cheeks again. You quickly grab a tissue on her bedside table, and then you gently wipe her cheeks as she just keeps staring at you, clearly realizing that you are right.

That she’s in love with Kim Seokjin.

“Shit,” she lets out after a while. “What am I supposed to do?”

You offer her a gentle smile. “You tell him. You tell him before it’s too late and things go any further with the girl.”

“He did say he wasn’t going to stay with her late”, Ria says. “He’s got work at six.”

“So then text him at six, and ask him if he wants to hang out.”

She widens her gaze. “I can’t just do that,” she says.

You tilt your head to the side. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Because I am a fucking mess right now,” she grumbles.

You laugh, patting her head again. And though you agree she does look a mess, you know it’s fixable. Ria is easily the most beautiful person you know - even when she’s crying.

“Then let’s get you ready. Let’s eat something good, do your makeup and all that shit.”

She scrunches up her nose, yet a smile slowly tickles the corners of her lips. “And what do I tell him?”

“You tell him how you feel,” you say, and the parallel between your situation with Jungkook hits you so deep you think you almost fall off the bed. “You tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”

“What if it’s already too late?”

What if you get there and he’s already with someone else?

“Then at least you’ll have tried,” you say. “And I’ll be here to comfort you if needed.”

She takes a deep breath, like she’s amassing all the courage in this world, and then she nods once curtly as she sits up. “Then at least I’ll have tried,” she echoes. She smiles, a smile that starts with her eyes and then trickles down to her lips. It’s a smile of hope, of sun after the storm, and you can’t help but reciprocate it even though your circumstances are so much more dire.

Even though you were too late.

“Let’s do it.”

*****

You sit outside, the last of the warmth of the day clinging to the edges of campus. The early fall smells of wet leaves and dirt and lingering sun rays, and you take it all in. It’s relaxing, calming, even though you’re aware you likely shouldn’t be out at this hour of the evening alone.

But Seokjin told Ria he’d come over, and you weren’t going to be the cockblock to their conversation.

You don’t know what you’re doing here. You’re in the park you had to go through last year to get to your apartment, the one where you’d fallen in a puddle of mud on Valentine’s Day, before you’d gotten home and Jungkook saved your pants from the stain.

Before your very first kiss with Jeon Jungkook, the first of a long chain that was only leading up to catastrophe.

Your conversation with Ria keeps replaying in your head. You’re aware her situation with Seokjin isn’t exactly the same as that of you and Jungkook, yet the parallels strike deep tonight, as you sit there in the park that saw the beginning of whatever it is that you and Jungkook were.

You were too late. At least that’s what you’ve been repeating to yourself for hours. Indeed, when you’d gone home that Friday night, he’d been with Lisa. It’d been proof that he was moving on, that he might have liked you one day but doesn’t anymore.

But then again, you’ve seen him wither - from a distance, obviously. You’ve heard what his friends say about him. How he’s been isolating himself, playing video games and just focusing on college. Because he has to live up to his father’s expectations - at least that’s what Jimin said when you were at the bar, and you learned that Jungkook and Lisa were over.

But you’ve seen him wither like a flower in the fall. His eyes growing heavier, his back never fully straight anymore like he can’t bear the weight that was placed on his shoulders. Or maybe that’s the effect that you have on him, and when you’re not around, he’s okay.

You really hope he is. At least then one of you wouldn’t be dying, breaking and breaking all over again whenever you think about everything that went down between you and him.

You wish he’d told you about Gabrielle. You wish he hadn’t held that promise, but then again it shows that Jungkook will do anything for those he cares about.

Like intervene when some creep is harassing you at the gym. Like driving you home to the dorms even though the atmosphere was tinted with bittersweet pain, with the memories of when you’d laughed in that same car on the way to New York.

Memories of when you’d given him a blow job after that party because you couldn’t keep your hands off him.

Then again, you reckon the memories of you and Jungkook aren’t confined to his car. They’re everywhere, because for months he’d followed you around everywhere, always in your heart.

Not that he’s left your heart. There’s still a hole shaped like him where he used to be, and nothing you’ve done has been able to do anything about it.

No, everything always leads back to him - even your friends falling in love anew leads you back to him, to the memories of when he’d whispered sweet nothings against your skin in the middle of the night. Of when he’d told you to sleep in his bed if you missed him - did he ever notice that you did? That you slept in his clothes, that you clung to him even though you’d told him that you were over?

Your heart breaks anew, always. It shatters like you’ve barely repaired it, and you know you haven’t. Hell, he’s always haunting you, like he’s the ghost haunting the hallways of your life. 

You know he is. Because everything always leads back to him. Every conversation that you have reminds you of him, and you wish you could be Ria. Wish it wasn’t too late for you, wish Jungkook wasn’t Taehyung’s friend.

You wish that you didn’t care about all of that, that you could just go back to your apartment right now and tell Jungkook every secret you’ve carried in the nights you spent with him. You wish you could just say everything without holding anything back. Not because you wish that he was yours - no, only because you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on if you don’t get the closure you never got with him.

Because there always were more words lingering in the air, more truths untold that hid in the deepest corners of your hearts, both yours and his.

There always were, but should there still be?

Can you just go up to him tonight and say everything, not caring about the consequences?

Isn’t that the advice you just gave to Ria?

You’re up before you’ve fully registered the thought. Before you realize that you’ve come to a certain catharsis sitting there tonight, as your friend confesses her love to the one she might be too late to have.

Your feet know the way, following that same trail you’ve walked a hundred times before, if not more. And your steps are sure, confident, like you haven’t spent months breaking yourself over him.

But you’re done breaking. You want healing, you want the sun to pierce the clouds that have been covering the land of your mind. You want some happiness, you want, like Yoongi, to be able to move on. You foolishly want, like Ria, to be able to tell Jungkook how you feel.

And so what if it impacts his friendship with Taehyung? You have a feeling the friendship’s already been impacted by Jungkook’s shattered heart.

You owe him to be able to heal, too.

You’re in front of the apartment, standing at the bottom of the short flight of stairs, all of ten minutes later. Looking up at the door, remembering when a paradise of you and Jungkook awaited you behind it.

Now, you think it’s hell on Earth awaiting you, but maybe there’s solace to be found in confronting the reason for the jagged pieces of your heart.

It occurs to you then that Taehyung and Ariane might be home, that they might end up being witnesses to something you so wish could be just yours and Jungkook’s. 

You’ve had enough of Taehyung being at the back of your mind whenever it comes to Jungkook.

“Y/n?”

You startle for the second time that day, though this time you jump so high you think you might have jumped out of your skin. 

Jungkook is standing to your left, gym bag in hand, and he looks at you with questions in his eyes, like he too can’t believe he gets to speak to you again in just a few days.

“Hey,” you let out.

He chews on his piercings, big doe eyes not leaving you. He doesn’t even blink, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he does so.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asks.

You smile softly, and your heartbeats don’t hurt as much as they usually do. Like this is where you were supposed to be tonight, after the gentleness of the afternoon.

Before your conversation with Ria, that is.

“Are Tae and Ari home?” you ask, not replying to his question.

He takes it in stride, taking a few steps towards you, though he stops at a safe distance from you. “No. Everyone’s out to the movie theatre right now.”

“Right now?” you echo. 

He nods once. “They’re going to the ten pm show because Sera was working at the library until nine.”

Which means you have hours of blessed alone time with Jungkook to talk to him. You can’t help it - you look up to the sky, and watch the blindingly bright moon that reigns up there. 

“Good,” you say.

He takes another step towards you, and you meet his gaze again, offering him another smile. He looks at it like it’s foreign, like he hasn’t spent months tangled up with you in his bed or yours, in New York City or here.

“Why are you here?” he asks again, his voice lower this time. Softer, gentler, like he’s afraid he’ll scare you away.

“Can we talk?”

His gaze widens almost unnoticeably, and his lips part like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what to say. He closes his mouth, gulps, and then says, “Sure, let’s go in.”

You end up following behind him, as he already had the keys in one hand. The apartment hasn’t changed at all since the last time you were here - since that Friday night Lisa walked out of the bathroom - and it’s just as warm and homey as you remember it to be.

Even more so as Jungkook kicks off his shoes, putting his gym bag down by the door as he eyes you carefully.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks.

You reckon you could be fully honest right now. You could tell him how you feel, you could say you fell in love all those months ago despite the odds working against you. You could say everything, yet you don’t want to jump into it right away. You want to enjoy this moment with him - it might be your very last after all.

“How have you been?” you query as you take your shoes off.

He pulls on his piercings and then glances to his right. “Do you want to sit while we talk?”

You nod, and a moment later you’ve moved to the kitchen, and you’re pouring a glass of water for you and him from the filtered pitcher in the fridge.

You put his glass down in front of him, and he looks at it like it too is foreign to him. Like your kindness is a stranger, and you think maybe it is.

Maybe after telling him you were over in Paris, your kindness died in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, and he takes a long sip of water as you sit down next to him.

In the chair to his right, much like you’d been on Valentine’s Day.

“So?” you ask, and he cocks an eyebrow in question.

Gosh… the circles underneath his eyes seem darker, and there’s a hollowness to his cheeks that you didn’t really notice before. Maybe he hasn’t been eating enough, the heartbreak stealing his appetite much like it’d stolen yours.

Did he really care this much about you?

“So what?” he lets out.

“How have you been?” 

He doesn’t like the question. You can see it in the way he tenses, in the way his shoulders hunch forward even more like he’s trying to protect himself.

“I’ve been okay,” he replies.

You get it. You don’t deserve the truth, not after all the distance between the two of you.

“You?” he adds after a few seconds.

You take a deep breath, looking away from him to glance down at the glass on the table between your hands. “I haven’t been doing all that great,” you admit. “Not too bad, but not too great, you know?”

He looks apologetic when you meet his gaze, yet he nods his head in understanding. “Yeah.”

There’s a silence, like maybe the crevice really is too large for him to hear you from your side. But you don’t want it to be that way - you’ll leap over the crevice if you have to, but you want to tell Jungkook everything.

You need it, or you’ll never be able to heal.

“I…” you trail off, and you take another deep breath, trying to find the courage that invaded you while you were at the park.

It seems like it left you empty now that you’re sitting next to Jungkook, and you hate it.

You hate everything that made it so that it’s now awkward between you and Jeon Jungkook.

“You what?” he presses gently.

You take a sip of water. “I wanted to talk about us.”

Your words fall between you and him, so loud you think they might have pierced your eardrums.

Jungkook just looks at you in silence and then looks around himself. “What if Tae comes home?”

“Jungkook, I don’t care if Taehyung comes home right now,” you say, and you find yourself fighting sudden tears. “I’m so tired.”

He murmurs your name, and some part of you yearns for the way he’d used to call you peach, teasingly yet softly like it was the most beautiful word in his dictionary. 

“We never told each other how we felt,” you continue, realizing that you maybe should have rehearsed something before deciding to come here, if only so that you wouldn’t look stupid right now. “We spent months together and yet…” You pause, and he too remains silent, like he’s so startled by the conversation that he’s entirely mute now.

“Yet we never said anything about how we felt,” you add. “That’s why I came home that night.”

You hope he knows which one you’re referring to, and it seems like he does. His big doe eyes fill with the same sorrow you know is in yours, and he says, “I’m so sorry.”

It hurts. It hurts far too much for you to be able to breathe, and you look up to the ceiling, furiously blinking away tears. “For what?” you ask.

“For not telling you about Gabrielle,” he says. “For thinking that my promise to her was more important than what you and I had.”

“It destroyed my trust in you…” you admit, voice smaller than the drop of condensation rolling down your glass right now.

“I know,” he answers. “I’ve been hating myself for it for months.”

You hadn’t expected this much truth from him, so quickly. Not when months have passed without you exchanging more than just a few surface-level sentences.

Not when just a moment ago, he’d lied and told you he’s been doing okay.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Don’t tell me what I should do or not do,” he fires back, so softly you barely hear him. “I’ve been going insane, Y/n.”

“Jungkook…”

“You want to know how I felt?” he asks, and there’s sudden anger in his tone, dripping from his every syllable. “You want to know how it felt when I was in Paris and had to pretend that I wasn’t in love with you so that your brother didn’t get upset?” You barely register the confession - he barely leaves you time to register it as he adds, “I was fucking ruined. I hate lying, and I had to lie about you to my best friend because you asked me to.”

“Jungkook…” you trail off. “I just wanted us to tell him together.”

“And it led to that fucking shitshow with Gabrielle,” he says, ignoring your intervention. “If I’d been able to tell her we were together, she would have never kissed me. And she only did it because she didn’t want people to know that she’s gay.” He scoffs. “Which is frankly stupid because we’re in 2024 and if her parents don’t approve of her then they can fuck right off.”

You don’t say anything to that, mostly because you think that’s a conversation he has to have with her, and not with you.

“And then you dumped me, you refused to trust me, and I fucking got lost in Paris until I had to call Gaby for help. And I told her everything then, because what was the point of holding back?”

It’s like there was a dam inside of Jungkook, and you coming here tonight burst it open, words cascading out of his mouth like they can’t be stopped.

Like he took the time to rehearse what he wanted to tell you if he ever got the chance to.

“I didn’t dump you,” you say when the silence stretches for a few seconds. “We were never together.”

“Right.” Jungkook chuckles so dryly that you think you might have just fallen into the Sahara desert. “Because of your brother, right?”

“Why are you so mad?” you ask, feeling your own temper flaring despite the fact that you’d meant to come here and tell him about the love that bears his name in your chest.

“Because, Y/n, I’ve been fucking miserable for months,” Jungkook says, voice raising. “Because I went back to New York to have my whole family laugh at me when they realized we weren’t together anymore. Because I was forced to officially become the heir of JJS because my brother chose to open his own company. Because the one time I thought maybe I should try to move on you decided to come barging in and you saw everything.”

“You’re blaming me for coming here that Friday?” you ask in disbelief. “Fuck, Jungkook, I lived here.”

“You were already out,” he points out. 

“So that gave you the right to just fuck another girl?”

He rolls his eyes, sighing deeply. “See, it pissed me off when you ignored the text I sent you after that, but now I realize that it might have been for the best.”

You don’t answer anything, not when your heart aches so fiercely. You don’t think there’s any fight left in you - there barely had any to begin with. You didn’t think you’d fight with him tonight, didn’t plan for it to lead here, yet here you sit, watching his features contorted in rage he must have kept bottled up for weeks.

It occurs to you then that Jungkook doesn’t love you anymore. That the feelings festered, turned to a much uglier feeling you don’t want to name right now.

“Why?” you ask. “Why was it for the best?”

“Because we can’t fucking be together, Y/n. Because it never was about Paris, it never was about Gaby and Lisa.” He pauses as silver lines his gaze, but he blinks it away. “Because it’s always been about Taehyung, right? You never would have dated me because of Taehyung.”

“You know,” you let out, and you scoff, shaking your head. “I was coming here tonight to tell you that I fell in love with you last semester. But shit was I fucking wrong for that.” Your voice becomes louder as you keep going until you’re practically screaming in his face. “Yes, because of Taehyung. Yes, you’re right. What happened in Paris never mattered. It was always about how we couldn’t be together because of Tae.”

He’s stunned silent, and he just looks at you as you clench your jaw, taking a deep breath. You’re trying to staunch the flow of your anger, of the tears that threaten to spill on your cheeks, but it quickly occurs to you that you’re not going to win the fight.

You get up so quickly the chair almost falls behind you, and you storm out of the kitchen as the first tear falls.

“Y/n,” Jungkook says behind you, and he’s up and out of the kitchen a second later.

You try to put your shoes on, yet they blur behind the tears in your gaze.

“Y/n,” Jungkook says again, louder this time.

Maybe because he’s closer, or because he actually spoke louder. You don’t know, don’t care.

All you want is to flee the scene before he sees the ugliness of your broken heart.

You manage to put your first shoe on, but Jungkook bends down and picks up the other one before you can put it on.

“Give that back,” you say, and you angrily dry the tears on your face with the back of a hand.

“No,” he says.

“I fucking hate you,” you practically scream, and Jungkook drops the shoe.

He smiles softly. 

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t know who makes the first move. Don’t know how or why or when, but Jungkook cradles your face as you grab a handful of his sweater to hold him close. His lips hit yours so hard you think you taste blood, and he pushes you back against the door to deepen the kiss.

Your tongue darts out of your mouth to play with his piercings once, and he grunts as he drives his knee between your legs, then thinks better of it and picks you up. He holds you up against the door, his mouth moving in time with yours, languidly. It’s soul-destroying, like he’s wiping everything you were clean so that you can start anew.

You want it to be that. You want this kiss to be born of feelings and not anger, of the love you both had for each other.

You want it to be born out of the love you were so afraid of that you kept finding reasons to keep it locked away. Because he is right - you always used Taehyung as an excuse to keep Jungkook a safe distance away. 

Not that he was any better. He was doing the same thing, up until he wasn’t. Up until he told you he’d tell Taehyung everything in Paris, and suffer the consequences. You were the one then to tell him to wait, and today you know it was a mistake.

Today, you know you shouldn’t have waited before calling Jeon Jungkook yours. Because it allowed him to slip through your fingers, and you don’t think you’ll ever forgive yourself for it.

Jungkook’s tongue meets yours, and you let out a breathy sound as his hands rove your body, up and down your sides like he can’t choose a spot to linger on. Yours are lost in his hair - you’re already pulling at the strands just the way you know he likes. And he’s quick to react, to suck on your tongue, teeth teasing it. It steals a moan from the confines of your chest, and Jungkook grunts as he pulls away.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers as he leans his forehead against yours. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll let you leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Your hands move down until they cup his cheeks, and you gently swipe your thumb on his soft skin. “Kiss me again,” you whisper.

“Fuck,” he curses and then adds your name at the end.

His mouth is ravishing yours again a second later, and this time, you know nothing will stop you. Nothing can stop you - not when you’ve been craving his touch for so long.

Jungkook carries you towards his bedroom, disconnecting from your lips so that he can look where he’s going over your shoulder. He’s about to push the door open when you have a flash of Lisa here, and you tense in his hold.

He immediately stops moving, glancing at you to meet your gaze.

“Can we go in my room?”

He nods yes, and you peck his lips once before he starts walking again.

Your room is dark and cold when he pushes the door open, yet he drops you on the bed all the same. You watch as he bends down to plug the string of fairy lights into the outlet, and a second later the room is bathed in a soft glow that reminds you of nights with him, of falling in love until you didn’t make sense without him anymore.

You don’t. You don’t make sense without Jungkook.

He takes off his sweater, revealing planes of honey skin you’ve missed far too much, his tiny dark nipples perked from the cold. That reminds you of the power outage, of the first time you’d been with Jungkook like this, right in this room.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t say anything, yet you know that he missed you too. It’s in his eyes, in the way he looks at you so adoringly, and in the way he climbs on top of you so that he can kiss you again, slower this time.

Like tonight, time has stopped, and you can enjoy him eternally.

You kiss him back, putting all the feelings in your chest in the motion of your lips against the softness of his. Your hands find his warm skin, and you caress his back as you kiss and kiss, as his tongue gently traces your mouth and finds your own tongue.

He pulls away a few seconds later, only to move down until he’s sucking a mark on your neck. It takes you by surprise, and you moan as you pull at his hair. He resists for a few seconds, keeps sucking on your skin until he’s sure to have left a hickey behind, and then he finally meets your gaze.

The darkness in his eyes hints at barely concealed lust, which you reciprocate as you wrap your legs around his dainty waist, forcing him to grind on you.

You’re not surprised in the slightest to find him already hard.

“I don’t think I can be gentle with you tonight,” Jungkook says, voice low. “You’ve driven me crazy.”

“Don’t be gentle,” you challenge. 

He doesn’t need to hear more before he’s crashing his mouth on yours again, with none of the previous softness. It’s rough, claiming, like he wants you to know that you’re his, and that you’ve always been his. He pulls at your bottom lip, sucks on it as he runs a hand down your side and under your shirt, and he brings it up until he cups your breast, searching your nipple through your bra.

He lets out a frustrated sound when he doesn’t manage to find it right away, and he pushes your bra up until it lies over your breasts and his digits finally find the sensitive nipple.

He pinches it, hard enough to earn a pained moan from you, and he moves his head to your neck, lapping at the mark he already put there.

“Tell me to stop anytime and I’ll stop,” he says, voice gravelly and husky and so unlike the softness that clung to him earlier.

It turns you on far more than you thought it would.

“Okay,” you say.

He smirks against your neck, and then he nibbles at your earlobe before kneeling between your legs. “Take off your shirt.”

You nod, sitting up as much as you can. He helps you get rid of the fabric - it’s a college sweater you got last fall - and he throws it to the floor.

Your bra follows soon - you think he’s about to kiss you again when he stills, eyes going wide as he looks at your exposed breasts, and then up at your face.

“You’ve been wearing the necklace?” he asks, and the softness is back in full force, making you think that it might have actually never left.

“I haven’t taken it off once,” you admit with a small, vulnerable voice.

“Fuck…” he trails off. “Fuck, Y/n.”

You wish he’d called you peach, but you think there might be another moment for it, a better moment.

You think this might not be goodbye.

He kisses you again, soft for a few seconds before he claims your mouth again. A few more seconds later he’s moving down your frame, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples while he plays with the other. You moan softly, hands looking for purchase on your bed until you decide better and lose them in his silk-soft hair again.

He circles your nipple with his tongue, flicks it once before sucking, and then moves to the other one, giving it the same treatment. He teases your breasts like that for a little longer, like he’s trying to remember every curve of you, and then he goes even lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your abdomen up until he reaches the band of your pants.

He hooks his thumbs in your pants as if he might try to rip them off your body, but he lets go instead, kneeling between your legs.

“You know,” he lets out, and he palms himself through his pants. “I want to feel you tonight.”

You reach between the two of you as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “I want to feel you too.”

His fingers run up your side, finding your bird tattoo. He traces it lightly, then meets your gaze and says, “You got a new tattoo.”

You nod.

“I love it.”

You don’t have time to say thank you before he’s crashing his lips on yours once more, stealing the words from your mouth. He doesn’t linger there for long - a second later he’s kneeling between your legs again, unbuttoning your pants. He helps you out of the fabric, dropping it on the floor with your sweater. He leaves your panties on - his eyes darken with lust at the wet spot you know already stains the lilac fabric between your legs.

“Shit,” he curses lowly, and he runs a thumb over the wet spot. “You’re so wet.”

You gulp, holding his gaze as you nod once. “Do something about it.”

He smirks, tilting his head to the side. “Oh, don’t worry, I will.”

You watch him as he gets up, taking off the rest of his clothes. Soon, he stands in all his glory, fisting his dick a couple of times as you take in the sight.

“Come here,” Jungkook says, motioning for you to sit on the side of your bed.

Your bed is low enough so that his dick is almost at eye level, and he taps it on your lips as you look up at him.

You know what he wants. Yet you resist, your hands gripping his thighs hard enough for your nails to dig into his skin just a little. He winces, tapping your mouth again, and you feel some of his precum on your lips.

You lick it clean, and then you give a tentative lick to the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Actually, I don’t even think you should-”

You interrupt his sentence by taking his dick in your mouth, sucking hard as you tease it with your tongue. Jungkook moans out a curse, and you don’t give him time to say anything else before you grab the base of his dick so that you can jerk him off in time with the back and forth of your head.

It’s sloppy, drool slipping out of your mouth and dripping from your chin. You don’t care - you use it to jerk him off better, faster, and Jungkook throws his head back, the muscles on his abdomen shifting under his skin.

You cup his balls, massaging them with a light touch as you keep on sucking him, your eyes slowly watering every time he hits the back of your throat. Jungkook just lets you do it, doesn’t take control, and your pussy drips and drips, soaking your panties.

You’re so horny for him, even with all the history between you.

Even though you’re not sure if this is goodbye.

Jungkook suddenly pulls your head back by the hair, hard enough for your scalp to burn. A string of spit still connects his dick to your mouth, and you lick it clean as he looks down on you, breathing heavily.

“Get on all fours,” he orders, and he lets go of your hair so that you can move.

Though you’re usually a brat, you don’t dare disobey right now, so you move until you’re positioned like he asked you to. He slaps your ass, and your skin tingles as he massages the spot, bending down to press a kiss on your spine.

He moves between your legs now, pushing your panties to the side so he can lick a long stripe from your clit to your entrance, dipping his tongue inside once before he straightens.

“Think you can already take me?” he asks, and he rubs his tip on your clit.

You moan unabashedly loudly, hiding your face in a pillow. He keeps rubbing his dick on you, never sliding it in, and you eventually look back towards him.

“Just be slow at first,” you tell him, heart beating out of your chest with all your desire for him.

He massages your ass again. “Don’t think you can take it?” he teases.

You swallow, letting out a breathy sound as he rubs on your clit again. “I just…” you trail off, and you grip the sheets as if that’ll help you concentrate. “I haven’t had sex since April.”

Jungkook freezes behind you, his cock still pressed on you. You meet his gaze and fall in the depths of his eyes.

You’ve always been falling for him anyway.

He bends down, finding your mouth despite the awkwardness of the position. You kiss softly, yet you’re painfully aware of his tip nudging your entrance, yet never sliding in. And though you’re also painfully aware he hasn’t put a condom on yet, you reach behind you, grabbing his dick to hold it in place as you push back, until he’s finally sliding in.

He’s huge. You think he’s even bigger than before, and you moan out his name as he slips in slowly, one inch at a time. You feel every vein, every ridge, his dick spearing you open until you’re full with him, stretched so wide open you see stars.

You both don’t move once he’s fully embedded inside of you, your walls clenching around him by instinct. His breathing is ragged, and he leans his forehead on the side of your face, pecking your cheek once as he gives you time to adjust to the impressive size of him.

“Let’s stay here forever, mmh?” he murmurs.

“Kook…”

“You know,” he whispers softly, and he slowly pulls back only to push back in roughly, his balls slapping on your clit. “I’ve been imagining fucking you raw.” He pulls back, pushes back in. “A whole fucking lot.” Another back and forth of his hips, and he hits so hard you move forward on the bed. “And I gotta admit -” skin slaps against skin - “that the real thing doesn’t compare to my imagination.”

He straightens, and then he starts pounding into you so hard all you can do is hold onto the sheets and moan his name.

He’s right though - you feel him a thousand times more than you’ve ever felt him before, the lack of a condom rendering the act oh so sinful. And though you’re aware it might be a dumb idea, you too just want to feel all of him. To be just one - your bodies linked in the most intimate of ways.

Jungkook pulls out, flipping you on your back. You’re dizzy for half a second, but then you meet his gaze, right as he thrusts forward in one swift motion, impaling you on his cock. You moan as he grunts, his eyebrows bunched together over his eyes in what you know is pleasure. He’s sucking on his piercings, and he looks so hot you just want more of him.

“Harder,” you beg.

He laughs lightly, sounding out of breath. “Fuck.”

But he gives in to your desire, fucking you hard enough so that he’s the only thing you can think of. Your room is filled with the squelching sounds that your pussy makes each time he thrusts forward and with the slapping of his skin against yours; his grunts and your breathy sounds form a melody meant for your ears only, and you feel a knot slowly tightening in your core. Your hands have shifted to his muscular thighs at some point, and your nails dig into his skin, making him hiss.

He leans forward, locking you between his arms as he slows down the rhythm, yet keeps it just as rough. His lips find yours, and you taste the light sheen of sweat on his upper lip as he kisses you languidly, his tongue easily finding yours.

You think the kiss slows time. It slows time until every moment feels like forever, until each of his thrusts last a light year. You feel infinite - you are infinite, as long as he’s with you. It’s a beautiful feeling, one that swells in your chest gently until your heart bursts with warmth for him, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to repress for months.

With all the feelings you’ve been trying to repress since that first time you saw him, running into him outside of the apartment. Since that first time he called you peach - and all the times following that.

You’ve been in love with Jeon Jungkook for a lot longer than you ever wished to admit to yourself, but there’s nothing scary about it. Not when you know he feels the same. And if this is goodbye, if this moment is to be your last, you know it will always be your favourite ending.

Because if the world was ending now, you know you’d die happy.

Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. Your nails trace idle forms on his back, digging in whenever he thrusts forward, and you’re full of him, oh so full of him.

“I missed you,” he whispers. “I missed you so fucking much.”

The revelation steals your breath, as does the rapid rhythm he establishes next. The new angle feels sinfully good, the weight of his body on yours is entrancing, and the knot that was slowly forming in your core tightens to a breaking point.

“I’m going to come,” you whimper.

“Come for me, peach,” Jungkook urges you on, and you moan, hiding your face in his neck.

You come the second he reaches between you to press circles on your clit. And you come hard, vision flashing white as you let out a broken moan, clinging to Jungkook for dear life. He’s a grunting mess, cursing under his breath.

“That’s it, peach, you’re doing so good,” he praises, and his voice is breathy, whiny, the only indication that he’s about to follow you and climax too.

Your pussy clenches hard around his dick, and Jungkook stills deep inside of you, his dick twitching. But he’s not coming yet, like he’s trying to keep it in.

“Where do you want me to come?” he asks.

Your hands climb up his side, nails scratching him, and then you lose them in his hair again, lightly tugging on the strands. Your orgasm steals your thoughts, your words from your brain, bliss sweeping through you and leaving you on a cloud of ecstasy. “In,” you breathe out.

“I don’t think -” his words are cut off by a soft moan as your walls clench around him, your orgasm not fully done yet. “That’s a good idea,” he finishes.

“I have an IUD,” you remind him, even though it’s hard to form sentences when your mind is swimming in such bliss.

You bite at his neck, lightly, and then suck on the spot. Jungkook doesn’t need more to resume his hard thrusts, and you think you’re insane.

You and him. Both of you have gone insane, and he’s coming a second later as he pushes all the way in, moaning in your ear as you praise him softly. He paints your insides white, shooting spurts and spurts of cum deep inside of you as he clings to you and you cling to him. His climax lasts for a long time, and he’s shaking by the time he’s done.

“Holy fuck,” he lets out, and he chuckles lightly as he pecks your neck.

“Felt good?” you ask, your arms tightening around him.

“Fuck yeah.” He sucks on your neck lazily, earning a breathy sound from you. “You?”

“It always feels good with you, Kook,” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply anything, but he nuzzles his face in your neck, the proximity and the intimacy of the action meaning more than words. You gently caress his back, feeling his muscles shifting under his skin as he takes a deep breath, and then he lifts his head to meet your gaze.

“I think we still need to talk,” he says with a gentle voice. “But thank you for this.”

You swallow a sudden lump in your throat, nodding once. “We do.”

He seems conflicted for a time, like he doesn’t want to move but knows he has to, and you cup his cheek, swiping your thumb over the small scar he has there. It brings a soft smile to his lips, though you aren’t fooled.

It doesn’t meet his eyes.

He sighs, and then he glances at your night table, clearly looking for some tissues. There’s none in sight, and he meets your gaze again.

“Huh…” He chuckles again. “What should we do…” he trails off, his eyes dipping downwards between your two bodies.

“Right,” you let out, and your cheeks burn. “I can try to put my hand?”

He nods. “I’ll go get toilet paper.”

Once you’ve both agreed to the plan, Jungkook slowly pulls out of you. You immediately feel his cum dripping out of you, staining your sheets even though you try to stop the flow with your hand. Jungkook just looks at the sight, the tip of his ears reddening, and then he quickly puts his pants on so that he can go get something to clean you up with.

He comes back a moment later with toilet paper, and he starts cleaning you up, eyes solely focused on the task at hand. His moves are sweet and caring, and your heart feels far too warm for your own good. Indeed, his shoulders are too tense to mean anything good.

Or maybe he’s regretting blowing up in your face earlier. You don’t mind it - you’re glad he was able to get the words out, as they’ve clearly been weighing on him.

Jungkook finishes by wiping your hand as clean as possible with the toilet paper, and then he throws it away in the bin near your desk. He sits back down on the side of your bed, glancing at you as you remain lying down, not truly processing everything that happened yet.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Jungkook asks.

You prop yourself up on your elbows. “What time is it?”

“Ten forty-five.”

Which means you definitely still have plenty of time left before Taehyung and Ariane come home.

“Yes, I’d love to take a shower,” you say, accepting his offer with a soft smile.

He reciprocates it, but it still doesn’t meet his eyes.

Have any of his smiles reached his eyes in the last few months?

The question spins in your head incessantly as you shower, Jungkook next to you. There’s heaviness surrounding him - it’s in the way his motions are slow, subdued, and in the way he doesn’t look you in the eyes, fully. It’s in the lines on his forehead, between his eyes, and the sadness that lingers on his features.

You haven’t been doing too good in the last few months either, but you had your friends. And you realize then and there that Jungkook isolated himself from everyone, some part of him likely always feeling like Taehyung was responsible for your falling out.

You can imagine the resentment he feels towards Taehyung for it, and how difficult it was to remain friends with him.

Jungkook wraps you in a thick towel once you both finally step out of the shower, and you take a moment to dry yourself, enjoying the silence preceding the conversation you know you need to have. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind it, like he too wants a moment of calm before the storm.

And you know the storm is about to hit hard. It’ll likely break you, throw all remaining pieces of you to the four corners of the Earth.

But you don’t care - the storm can hit as hard as it wants, as long as you’re with Jungkook when it does.

“I can’t believe you’ve been wearing the necklace,” Jungkook whispers.

He was quicker than you - he’s all dry, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants. He hasn’t put a shirt on, and your eyes travel the planes of his body, heating up your cheeks.

“I haven’t taken it off once,” you admit. “I’ve kept the letter, too.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “I was embarrassed about it for a while,” he admits, and his gaze drops to the floor. 

You’re done drying yourself, and you hang the towel behind the door, before facing Jungkook again. He hands his shirt - a white flag waved between the two of you - and the familiarity of the act makes tears pool in your eyes.

You hesitate for a few seconds, but then you grab his shirt, putting it on. It’s just as comfortable as it was months ago when you’d worn it to sleep every night, and you want to reach for Jungkook, to hold him close and never let go.

“Thank you,” you say, words choked by the lump you force down with a swallow. “Why were you embarrassed?” you ask.

Jungkook pulls at his piercings, meeting your gaze for a few seconds. “Because I thought you might text me. I hoped you would, honestly. But you never did.”

Your heart aches, and you have to shut your eyes to prevent it from burning into ashes. “I’m sorry.”

You are. You truly are - you’d just believed then that the letter meant goodbye. That you had to let Jungkook go at all costs, even if it meant shattering your heart and his in the process.

“Ah,” he lets out, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s okay.”

But you know he’s lying. It’s written in every defeated angle of his body, and you want to take all of the months back, to save your relationship before it went up in flames.

He sighs, meeting your gaze. “Do you want to sit in your room to talk?”

You reckon it’s a good idea - you don’t think you want the bathroom to be the scene of this conversation. So you nod your head, and Jungkook reaches for the doorknob, pushing the door open.

Pushing the door open to reveal a wide-eyed Taehyung, who looks between Jungkook and you a couple of times while you just stand there, the shirt you’re wearing way too incriminating.

You watch the storm as it hits in real-time. And it hits harder than you ever imagined it could, Taehyung’s fist colliding with Jungkook’s face before you’ve even truly had time to register that he was about to punch Jungkook.

Jungkook staggers back as you shriek, “Tae!”, but Taehyung’s already readying for his next punch. You immediately pull Jungkook behind you, standing between him and your brother as Taehyung’s cheeks turn red with rage.

“You’re fucking my sister,” Taehyung hisses, and it’s a statement, the dots irreparably connected in his head.

Jungkook touches his cheek, and you look over your shoulder just long enough to see that it tore from the force of the blow, and blood is slowly seeping out.

“I’m not fucking your sister,” Jungkook replies, his voice flat.

Taehyung chuckles bitterly, but you speak before he can, “I’m an adult, Tae, I can fuck whoever I want.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Taehyung drawls. “So you had to fuck my best friend, huh?”

“We’re not fucking,” Jungkook says again, and you slightly frown as you glance at him over your shoulder.

But he isn’t looking at you, eyes fully focused on Taehyung. And then you understand, pain crashing all of your nerves like lightning just struck you.

Jungkook is choosing Taehyung over you.

“Is that why she’s wearing your shirt?” Taehyung asks, and he shakes his hand, the only indication that his knuckles likely hurt from the blow to Jungkook’s face. “You really think I’m fucking stupid or something.”

This time Jungkook remains entirely silent.

“Tae, it started last semester,” you say, scrambling for words to tame the storm before it destroys everything. 

That makes Taehyung laugh, though the sound is scary, dangerous. “Last semester? So I ask you to take care of my sister, and you start fucking her?”

“I was taking care of her,” Jungkook replies in a similar icy tone, putting emphasis on the ‘was’.

Because you are a construct of the past now, aren’t you?

You shudder with the realization, the pain overtaking everything. You barely hear Taehyung as he tells Jungkook to fuck off, that he can’t believe he ever called him his friend. All you feel is your heart as it shatters, all over again. As Jungkook tells Taehyung to calm down, that they can talk it out.

But Taehyung is having none of it, his face mottled with red from his anger.

“Stop!” you scream as they just keep going on and on, and they both surprisingly fall silent. “Fucking stop, will you? Who cares if Jungkook and I slept together?”

You. You do, but you can’t say it.

“Jimin knew,” Taehyung says, voice low. “Jimin knew and you fucking gaslit him.”

“I did what your sister asked of me, and clearly she was right if that’s how you’re reacting,” Jungkook fires back.

“Stop,” you add, though this time it’s more of a beg. “Stop, the two of you.” You face Taehyung, nails digging into your palms as you clench your fists. “I fell in love with Jungkook. I just did, and it happened naturally, and it was reciprocated.” You don’t dare use the present tense. Not when you’re coming to the conclusion that the story truly ended last semester.

What happened tonight doesn’t change that. Because Taehyung is here now, proving every insecurity that you ever had. 

“And yes, we had something, but it ended last semester too,” you add, and you hope you won’t shatter too much of Jungkook when you conclude, “Tonight was a lapse of judgment.”

You feel the cold radiating from Jungkook behind you the second the words are out. You don’t even dare look at him as Taehyung says, “Jungkook, I think you should find somewhere else to stay for a couple of days.”

“Tae, come on,” you let out. “Can we just be adults?”

“Sounds good,” Jungkook replies, ignoring you.

He walks around you, and you try to grab his wrist, but he’s quick to shrug off your touch.

“Jungkook,” you say, tears pricking at your eyes. 

He doesn’t look back on his way to his bedroom, and you follow after him, knocking your shoulder with Taehyung’s on the way.

“Jungkook,” you repeat, and he disappears into his bedroom, though you’re quick to walk in as well. “Jungkook, stop.”

He doesn’t glance your way. Just grabs his school bag from where it was on the floor, and puts it on his bed before heading to the drawer you know houses his underwear and socks. 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to go, you live here,” you add, and a tear slips free, spilling on your cheek.

Now he does spare you a glance, and you watch the silver lining his gaze. But it’s the look in his eyes that silences you, until all you can do is watch him as he packs some clothes. He’s done in no time, and he throws a sweatshirt on before brushing past you to head to the front door, next to which Taehyung is still standing.

“Jungkook,” you let out, and it sounds more like a sob than anything else.

It’s the sound of breaking hearts, something you and Jungkook have grown far too familiar with.

He grabs his keys from the table by the door, puts his shoes on quickly, head hanging low like he doesn’t want Taehyung to see the tears on his cheeks. But you see them - you know them. 

You’re the reason behind them after all.

Jungkook finishes putting his shoes on, and he lays a hand on the doorknob, yet he hesitates before turning. Long enough for you to try again, “Jungkook, please.”

He meets your gaze, and his eyes clear of the tears as he blinks a few times. “I’ll see you around,” he says in a whisper, and you know it for the lie that it is.

He’s not planning to ever see you again, is he?

Prev | Chapter 14.5 | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

I promise the angst is nearing its end :') I hope you guys liked this chapter! Let me know what you think!:)

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[rememberwren]

A Complete Set (Whatever That Means) || 2

A continuation of Skin Deep. Part one of this sequel is here.

About this: previous warnings apply, oral sex (f receiving), alcohol, gross imperfections, not a single nipple unfortunately, an eyebrow though. For @/moody-alcoholic, I hope this manages to quench even the tiniest portion of your thirst. 1 more part left. 7k

-

“Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Are you seeing anybody else?” 

Simon looks up at you. His hair is getting long, falling over his forehead and looking nearly brunet in the dim lighting. You don’t think he’s cut it since the two of you have started dating. 

He’s been drawing for half the night, hunched over with the sketchpad in his lap, doing terrible things to his own posture and blocking his own lighting all at once. When he answers you, it’s in that dry tone that lets you know he thinks you’ve said something funny or clever: “No.” 

A knot in your chest loosens. It’s hard to believe you worried over such a question for so long just to receive such a simple, earnest answer. He goes back to sketching. 

You content yourself with this and stretch your legs out until your toes touch his thigh at the other end of the sofa. His mouth twitches, but he keeps working. 

-

Six months pass, and how do you celebrate? You climb topless onto Simon’s lap, eager and anxious in equal measure. Your nipple piercing had stopped hurting months ago (save for the time you had snagged it on a cable knit sweater and nearly seen Jesus), but you had read online that piercings heal from the outside inward, and as such you had made every attempt possible to leave the thing alone even when all you wanted to do was play with it. 

In his own way of celebrating, Simon had bought you your first new barbell: a black one with black gemmed studs at each end. You couldn’t help but notice that it looked similar to his, only with a more delicate, feminine touch.

“Will you change it for me?” you ask him. Your hands are shaking.

“Alright. Let me wash my hands.” He shifts you off of his lap and disappears into the bathroom where you hear the faucet turn on. You cross your arms over your breasts, feeling silly being half naked without Simon in the room. Your foot bounces impatiently, but you know that if cleanliness were a love language, it would likely be Simon’s. 

Not that he had told you he loved you—nor had you told him. You had promised yourself that you would wait until he said it first (the only sure-fire way to avoid coming across as overeager and scaring him off). Still, there were a thousand ways in a day that Simon made you feel as if he loved you: the way he would go out to start your car in the wintery mornings when your remote start stopped working; the way he always offered you the first bite of his food if you weren’t sharing a meal; the way he’d crack open your drinks before handing them to you. Was it wrong of you to try to read between the lines? 

Simon comes back and tugs you onto his lap again. His hands look huge compared to the jewelry through your breast as he dexterously works the ball free from the barbell. He has the hands of a surgeon: steady and calm. You close your eyes in anticipation of pain, but there is none; it just feels alien, sensitive whenever his calloused fingers brush over your pebbled nipple, even as he removes the barbell itself. 

Taking the sanitized jewelry, he carefully puts it in and screws the stud in place. 

“That didn’t hurt at all,” you say, reaching down to tug softly on the barbell. Still, no pain. 

“Great,” he says, eyes on your breasts. He grips your hips. “Up, now. C’mon, up.” 

He tugs you up onto your knees so that you’re the perfect height for him to take your nipple into his burning mouth. You shiver, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other burying itself in his hair, gripping softly to keep his mouth in place. If you had worried that getting the piercing would make you less sensitive, you were wrong. He tugs on the jewelry gently with his fucking teeth and God, holy shit, fucking hell, definitely not less sensitive.

“Been waiting to do this,” he says, nuzzling the skin between your breasts as he gives you a moment to catch your breath. “Six months of hell.” 

“Yeah?” You pant lamely, chest heaving. 

He hums. His thumbs stroke beneath your breasts along the sternum tattoo he gave you—a favorite part of you for him to touch—as his lips find your nipple again, lashing softly with his tongue. His hands have begun to tremble where they slide down the curves of your sides and to your hips, touch soft and worshipful as he brings you down to rest your weight against the hard line of his cock still confined in his jeans. The shaking says more than a thousand of his words ever could. 

“I want you,” he mutters. “Say yes.” 

“Yes, God, yes.”

Simon guides you off of his lap, kneeling down into the space between the couch and the coffee table. He pushes the table backwards with a little more force than is necessary when there isn’t enough room for his long legs and accidentally sends a cup full of charcoal pencils tipping over onto the carpet. You snort with laughter. He peels your leggings and panties off and drags you to the edge of the couch, pressing your thighs open wide. 

Getting head from partners in the past had been a fraught, mostly unenjoyable experience. Even your first few times with Simon had been tense, with him quickly moving on to something else after noticing your inability to relax. A less eager man might have counted his blessings and moved on, but Simon’s gentle persistence had gone a long way toward reassuring you that he truly wanted to please you this way. It had gone a long way toward reassuring you that you could let him. 

He spreads you apart, thumbs slipping against your slick folds, heated gaze pinpointed on your most intimate parts before he leans in and licks a broad stripe over your entrance and up to your clit. You shut your eyes (and cover your face for good measure). His warm breath fans against your pussy as he laughs. He could be mean and pull your hands away, but he lets you hide this way and you are grateful for it. 

Simon takes his time mapping each part of you with his mouth, nose brushing your clit whenever he doesn’t have his lips sealed over it. Your thighs shake, toes curled, as he pulls whines and choked gasps from your throat. 

You peek through your fingers when you feel him shifting beneath you to find that he’s worked his cock from his jeans and is jerking off, only noticeable by the tell-tale rhythmic motion of his arm against your calf. 

“Jesus, Simon,” you whine. 

He makes a little sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, shifting on his knees to change the angle of his mouth against you. Something about him so unashamedly enjoying himself makes it easier for you to enjoy yourself too, to let your hands come away from your face and thread them through his hair. 

“Can we fuck?” you breathe, aching inside deep where his tongue can’t reach. 

He nods against you and kneels up to kiss you. You still aren’t used to the taste of yourself in his mouth, but it’s growing less foreign—and nothing could ever make you turn away from one of Simon’s kisses. 

He pulls you off the couch onto your knees, his legs spread to either side of your own. You arch your back, feeling his cock brush against the back of your thighs. Two of his thick fingers slip inside you, testing your give and your wetness. He twists them; turns to hook them against that soft, vulnerable spot inside you that makes your legs shake. Simon works a third finger into you, a stretch that your body struggled to take before but which it accepts eagerly now, the sting welcome and familiar.

“Fuck. I need a condom,” he rasps. 

“Just pull out,” you say. 

You can sense him rolling his eyes. Your fondness for the (dangerous) pull-out method had been formally noted by him and thus far rejected at every turn. 

“Don’t insult me,” he mutters. He grabs your hand and guides it between your own legs. “Be good and keep yourself warm. I’ll be right back.”

He’s barely gone long enough for you to stroke your fingers through your folds, but when he returns (flashing the intact condom package at you like he always does), he watches you for an endless, lingering moment.

“I like that,” he says at last, taking his spot behind you again, condom in place. 

“Like what?”

“Watching you touch yourself.” The head of his cock nudges your entrance. He finds the right angle and slips inside you, stretching your walls to make room for himself. You groan, your fingers digging into the couch cushion. It stings a little, right towards the end, but he just softly saws himself in and out of your pussy, soothing the ache with pleasure. His words go completely over your head. 

He reaches so deep inside you, like with his every thrust his cock bullies the air out of your lungs. The slick sounds are lewd, keeping time with your moans and sighs as his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips, manhandling you further onto the couch to the perfect height for him to fuck into you, your knees barely skimming the carpet.  

Your hand ends up crushed between your pelvis and the couch. You let your fingers find your clit and the touch reminds your body of how close it is, that coil deep in your belly stretched tight and ready to release. Your fingers trail down to where his cock pistons in and out of you, and at your touch he groans, slows to a smooth drag, his length slippery with your own arousal. 

“Touch yourself, not me,” he chides, his voice rough. “I’m close enough.” 

“I’m close enough,” you say.

He flops against your back, nearly crushing you with his weight to hook his chin over your shoulder and ask: “Then what the fuck are we waiting for?”

You can barely draw in the breath to laugh, and it’s only worse when you cum. You bury your face into the couch cushions, giggling, fingers rubbing a gentle, hectic rhythm against your clit as your pussy spasms around him. He snorts at your laughter, a soft quiet exhale against the back of your neck. Then he cums, his thrusts sloppy and hard, turning his head at the last moment to bite your shoulder lazily. 

“Sex makes you so weird,” you pant. Your face hurts from smiling. 

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I do.”

He ties off the condom and throws it away. The two of you sit naked on the couch together, curled up. It’s a little alien to be this open about your body with someone and to have them be so open about their body in return, but it’s a good strangeness. So much about loving Simon is. 

“I need to get the other one pierced now,” you mention, toying with his unpierced nipple. “Have to complete the set.”

“I never did.”

“You’re incomplete. Don’t you know?” 

He snorts. “I feel quite fulfilled, thanks.” 

“Please Simon?” you ask. “I want to.”

“Don’t ever say please. I’ll text Soap in the morning,” Simon says, trailing his fingers up and down the length of your arm, making goosebumps appear. 

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you’d been thinking about for the last several months? Would it offend him to know that you didn’t want to go to Johnny for any more piercings? 

Whether it offended him or not, your pride couldn’t rest easily going back to the tiny room behind the curtain in Skin Deep. While there had been only a few other tense interactions between you and Johnny since Simon’s birthday (and usually he seemed to favor outright ignoring your existence), the situation had not improved. 

“Simon—I think I’d rather go somewhere else for my other nipple. To someone other than Johnny, I mean.” 

Simon frowns. “What’d Johnny do.” 

He phrases it like that—more of a statement and less of a question, immediately assuming that Johnny is at fault. 

“It’s just—it’s like I said on your birthday. He doesn’t like me much.” 

Simon turns to look you in the eye. When your gaze tries to skirt away, he lets out an irritated breath through his nose—but doesn’t fight you. Simon always lets you run. Maybe because he knows his legs are long enough to catch you. “You really feel like that?” 

“You’ve never noticed?” 

“Thought it was in my head,” he mutters. Then he says the most dreaded words he possibly could: “I’ll talk to him.” 

“No!” you nearly shout. You struggle to lower your voice to something more appropriate for indoors, your heart tap-dancing to an anxious beat inside your chest. Just trying to picture Johnny’s irritated expression at any of Simon’s potential efforts to talk to him made your stomach turn over. “I mean—don’t. Really. It’s fine.” 

“It’s not. I need you two to get along. You and Johnny—you’re the most important people in my life,” he says baldly. His honesty does something to your lungs—empties them, crushes them. You only just realize the position that you’re putting Simon in, and it makes you feel about two inches tall. How could you let your petty problems with Johnny potentially get in the way of their longtime friendship? Their brotherhood?

“I’m begging you, Simon,” you plead. “Promise me you won’t talk to him. Just, give me more time to get to know him or something.” 

“Can't promise that.” He stands up and stretches, joints popping as you stare at him, your stomach tearing itself to pieces at this knowledge. This is not how this conversation was meant to end. But he disappears into the bedroom before you can gather your wits enough to say another word.

-

There is nothing like sleeping beside Simon, his arm beneath your head, your body turned and cradled against his side, a leg thrown over his thighs. His heart is as slow and steady as his breaths, his calloused thumb tracing a line back and forth on your naked side, a line which grows slower and slower as he drifts closer to sleep. 

You ruin it like this: “Simon?” 

“Hm.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“If you got’a.” 

“On your birthday, you said that women meant for you sometimes ended up being Johnny’s. What did you mean?” 

He’s quiet for so long that you mistake him for falling asleep. You’ve resigned yourself to asking him another night when he speaks, his speech is slow and thoughtful, like it is hard to put it into words. 

“When Soap and I are in a room together with women, I’m like a ghost. He’s a fucking human being. Flesh and blood. Alive. People want to talk to him, to know him, to laugh with him, to have a drink with him. I’m not like that. I haven’t ever been like that. More than once Johnny would try to get me together with a woman who would end up falling for him instead. Eventually I convinced him to stop trying.” 

“Were you jealous?” 

He makes an ambiguous sound. “It’s hard to be jealous of Soap.” 

“Not impossible, though.” 

He rolls you over onto your back, coming to rest over you, your legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets. The darkness lengthens the shadows of his eyes, but you can still feel his gaze, tangible as any touch. He braces himself on his elbows over you and lets his forehead rest against your own. “I just wanted someone who was mine,” he says. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue, those words that are building inside of you and growing harder to withhold by the day. But you say it like this and hope he can translate: “I’m yours.” 

He ducks his head and kisses you. 

-

In the morning, Simon has slipped a piece of paper just beneath the edge of your mug of tea. When you look at it, written in charcoal pencil is DARCELINA: Dream City Tattoos and Piercings XXX-XXXX. 

-

It’s one for the record books: the rain. Thick pregnant clouds carry more than eight inches of rain to your city in the course of a day. The last time it rained so much was apparently during the Civil War era. The city floods, including the basement of your apartment building, which leads to a building-wide power outage. 

Simon has you pack a suitcase, junk the majority of your refrigerator and freezer, and come stay with him. You’re giddy, feeling like it’s a semi-permanent sleepover when he gets the call that Skin Deep has flooded as well. 

Then things take a turn for the worse. Simon is gone for nearly 36 hours straight making endless calls to attempt to clear the water and begin repairs, and sometime in the midst of that, the fight with Johnny happens. 

It’s an ugly one. 

Simon comes home in the foulest mood you’ve ever seen him in. It turns him positively stony as he moves around the apartment making himself a hasty meal, avoiding your eyes every chance he gets. After he eats, he sits heavily on the sofa, pulls out his sketchpad, and trashes no fewer than six entire pages before you get the nerve to ask him what’s wrong. 

“Soap,” he mutters, crumpling a paper in one strong, dextrous hand. He throws it toward the small garbage can beside the telly and misses. “He’s looking for other locations to pierce at.”

“Is the building that bad?” you ask. “You guys will have to find a new place?”

“Soap is looking for a new place. One without me.”

You gape, the shock of this news reaching all the way to the core of your being. 

“You don’t think it’s because of—?” Me. You can’t even finish the sentence, the thought upsets you so much. You tuck your legs beneath you on the couch, curling up, seeking to become small and harmless as grief and horror wash over you in wave after wave. 

“This is my fault. I tried to talk to him but he’s so fucking—he gets under my goddamn skin like he was born to do it.” Simon pauses heavily, before adding: “I need to tell you something about the night Soap pierced me.” 

Story time. Alright. You uncurl your legs, choosing to sit with them criss-crossed, your body turned toward him, giving Simon your entire attention. It’s been months since you found out that Johnny had been the one to pierce Simon, but you had been no closer to getting the story from either of them. Your curiosity was a dangerous, corrosive thing, eating away at your insides. 

“I’m listening,” you say, hoping you don’t look as eager as you feel. 

Simon looks to be at a loss for words, running his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth. When he speaks, it’s hardly the lengthy story you had been anticipating: “We fucked.”

You blink. “You and—Johnny?”

Simon sighs and shrugs a shoulder. 

“I didn’t know you were…” Simon stares, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “…interested in men.”

“You are. Why can’t I be?”

You feel a chilly pang of horror, like someone has slipped a dagger between your ribs. You rush to assure him: “You can! You—“

Simon’s mouth twitches as he rubs at the crease of one eye, and your panic fades. He mumbles: “I’m just fucking with you.”

“So you’re bisexual.”

“I’m… I don’t fucking know. I’m attracted to who I’m attracted to. I never named it.”

“Okay,” you say gently. “We don’t have to. But what does that have to do with now?”

“The day after we—y’know. Fucked. I told him it was a one time thing. Maybe it’s in my head,” says Simon, frowning. “Maybe I’m crazy. But sometimes he looks at me or says something to me and it makes me think it’s not over. Not for him.”

“Is it really over,” you ask, “for you?”

Simon looks at you, quiet. He says: “I want you.”

And you are so relieved by the obvious honesty in his answer that it never crosses your mind to think that’s not what you asked. 

-

Simon is uptown at a café holding consultations while Johnny directs cleanup efforts at the shop, and you think that now’s the perfect chance. 

Your hands shake against the steering wheel the whole drive there, nerves less like butterflies and more like great winged moths in your belly. A part of you says that this is a mistake, you should turn back and let Simon and Johnny work it out on their own. But another part of you feels personally responsible—even if Simon says you aren’t. All your life you have taken things too personally, shouldered burdens which were not your own, bent over backwards to solve problems that weren’t yours to solve. If there was any chance that you could resolve this, you would put your pride on the line to do it. 

You park alongside the street and are thrilled to find the front door unlocked. The entire place smells musty, like a basement. The wooden floors have warped a little under your tentative steps, announcing your presence sooner than you’d like. 

Johnny sits in the chair where Simon tattoos clients. Sunlight streams in through the blinds and lights him up like some kind of punk-rock angel, his mohawk freshly clipped, dark finger nail polish chipping. Sometime between now and the last time you’ve seen him, he’s pierced his eyebrow: a black barbell with studs that reminds you a little too much of the one through your nipple (and Simon’s. Was that intentional? Did Johnny pick jewelry to match Simon’s? To match yours? For some reason just the thought makes your nipples tighten). In his hands is one of Simon’s sketchpads, and he’s flipping through it leisurely. 

He glances up toward the sound of your footsteps. 

“If you’re here about the water—“ his words die out on his pierced tongue as he stares at you, gobsmacked by your appearance. 

“Hey,” you say lamely. 

“Where’s Simon?” he asks, eyes flickering toward the protective spot where Simon usually hovers just over your shoulder. “He said he wouldn’t be in today.”  

“He’s not. It’s just me. I thought maybe we could talk.”

Johnny openly grimaces. He shuts Simon’s sketchpad and sets it down (hopefully where he found it). Standing from the chair, he takes a few casual steps away from you, clearly heading towards the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Really cannot think of anything we have to talk about.”

You square your shoulders, fighting down that instinctive urge to make yourself smaller, to give in and be manageable. “I think we do.” 

“You should go.” 

“Not until we work this out.” 

“There isn’t any this, alright, just—does Simon even know you’re here?” Something guilty must splash across your face because Johnny gives a mirthless laugh, reaching up to palm at his eyes. “Tha’s great. Just great. Could you be more incriminating?” 

“Incriminating—? Look, Simon told me about the night you pierced him.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Johnny says flippantly. 

“About how you two slept together.” 

Now that stops Johnny in his tracks. It’s clear that he didn’t expect Simon to really tell you about that night all those years ago. He looks at you with a fresh caution, waiting to see how exactly you’ve taken this news—what you plan to do with it. “Aye, then. I guess he did.” 

“I’m not trying to take him away from you.” 

Johnny makes a derisive sound. His words are well-rehearsed, like he has said them to himself a hundred-hundred times: “Cannot take what isn’t mine.” 

“He was your friend first,” you say, aiming for conciliatory and gentle the same way you might approach a feral animal. Johnny stares at you with flat, suspicious eyes. They’re so fucking blue—so different from Simon’s own dark ochre ones. “He told me that you’re one of the most important people in his life.” 

Johnny’s face softens. He says: “You shouldn’t tell me that. He wouldn’t.” 

“He’s not always good with words. Please don’t leave the shop, Johnny. I think it would break Simon’s heart.”

“I didn’t know he had a heart to break,” Johnny mutters. He leans against the wall beside the curtain and sighs, lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll think about it. Now out. You shouldn’t be breathin’ in this air.” 

Johnny ushers you to the door, hand hovering just above your back, careful not to touch you. Once you’re out on the street, he shuts the door and locks it audibly. Then he leans in and huffs a heated breath beneath the “NO WALK INS” sign. In the fog, he adds: “No GFs!”

You flip him off. 

He flips you off. 

On the way back to your car, you find yourself smiling. You force yourself to scowl. It’s a more appropriate expression. Giving one last glance back toward Skin Deep, you find him still standing there, watching. 

Likely just to make sure you’re really leaving. 

-

Not long after you are moved back into your apartment, you find that Simon stops sleeping. 

You’re ashamed to say that it takes you a while to notice; nothing changes on your end of things. Anytime you are sleeping over, he lays down with you, tugs you up against his chest, and holds you for ages, his body still and breathing even. But one night you wake to a cool, empty bed. And later in the week, it happens again. Until more often than not you realize that any moment when you expect Simon to be sleeping, he isn’t. 

Usually you find him sketching, shadows like charcoal smudged beneath his eyes. He doesn’t meet your gaze and tells you to go back to bed, that he’ll be there soon. Sometimes he even does come to lay back down beside you—but only long enough for you to convince him that you have fallen asleep again. Then he is shifting away from you, disappearing into the other room, shutting the bedroom with the quietest click behind him. 

You know that he’s busy. His schedule has been booked—and with deposits nonrefundable, people more often than not kept their appointments. He’s been working with a client on mock ups for a sleeve, and the various pieces and the way they all come together around the contours of the person’s body are very delicate. Johnny’s threat to find a new job doesn’t help, either. Have they talked and resolved things yet? Simon never says so. 

You can’t imagine the stress that he is under, and you’d do anything to be able to shoulder a fraction of it for him. 

That’s how you end up with drunk Johnny in your car. 

It starts with Simon falling asleep before you—for once. You can tell he is well and truly asleep by the sheer weight of his arm over you, the soft snores that he gives out against the nape of your neck. After so many nights of sleeplessness, his body has finally given in. You’re about to slip off to sleep yourself when the buzzing of a phone startles you back into wakefulness. 

Not your phone—Simon’s phone. And it goes off again. And again. And again. Who the hell could be sending so many messages at midnight?

You know you should leave it alone—if it was urgent, they would likely call—but curiosity gets the better of you. Carefully you slip out from under Simon’s arm. It’s a testament to his sheer exhaustion that he doesn’t wake as you jostle him. In sleep, he looks painfully young and relaxed, and it makes you long to reach out and brush back his hair that has fallen onto his forehead. But not at the risk of waking him. 

Sure that all you are planning to do is shut Simon’s phone off so that he can get some restful sleep, you are surprised to see that Simon has his text notifications visible on the homescreen, so all it takes is a simple tap to open them up. 

Johnny. All Johnny. 

Ghost. 

Ghost

Are you uo? 

Up* fuck my fingers 

I need a ride home

Simon

I’m at that bar on… The text is cut off. To see more, you would have to open his phone. So Johnny is stuck at some bar, drunk more than likely. Well good riddance, you think to yourself, the hurtful way he treated you still very much fresh in your brain. But then you remember your talk at Skin Deep, and your traitorous heart softens. Could you really just put the phone back now and pretend you hadn’t seen the messages?

Simon doesn’t even have a password; that’s how much he trusts you. Would he still trust you after this, if he knew that you had gone through his phone, even if it was for a good cause? 

Making a spur of the moment decision, you could only hope so. Your conscience wouldn’t let you wake Simon, and as much as you disliked him, it couldn’t let you leave Johnny stranded at some bar either. 

You open his phone as quickly as you can, swiping so that it goes straight to Johnny’s texts and nowhere else. The name of the bar is right there, and you scramble for your own phone to type it down in Google Maps. He’s not far. Probably would be within walking distance, if he weren’t drunk. You could be there and back before Simon ever knew you were gone—you hoped. 

As Simon, you send back to Johnny a simple OMW. 

There is no hint of spring in the frigid March air as you slip outside into your car. The parking lot is dim and quiet, and traffic is minimal as you follow the GPS on your phone to Johnny’s location. The pub nightlife spills out onto the pavement and you struggle to find a place to park, grimacing at the knowledge that you will have to get out of the car and go inside to find Johnny, considering you see him nowhere on the street. Leaving the warmth of your car is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, especially in just a thin tank-top and a pair of leggings. Gathering your coat more tightly around yourself, you rush out of the car and through the people on the sidewalk and into the warmth of the pub. 

You keep your eyes peeled for Johnny, but can’t spot his silly haircut anywhere. What if he’s gotten a ride home from someone else? What if he’s decided to walk, or found someone to go home with? You shift up onto your toes, looking over everyone in the bar when you spot him in the corner at a table with a few other men. 

Johnny doesn’t even recognize you at first—either a testament to how unexpected your sudden appearance is or how drunk he is based on how difficult it is for his eyes to focus on you. When he realizes who you are, his mouth drops. He points. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, accent so thick and slurred that you can barely understand him. 

“Picking you up. You said you needed a ride.”

“Aye but not from—oh, Jesus make me still. Yer not wearing a bra, are you?” 

All the men at the table turn to gape. You snatch the sides of your jacket closed where they had loosely fallen open, your face flushing with warmth. The table roars with laughter, but Johnny in his drunkenness doesn’t seem to notice your embarrassment. 

“That was mine!” Johnny shouts, elbowing the man next to him. “Did you see that? That was my work!”

“We get it, bruv,” the guy says with a roll of his eyes. “She’s no ten.” 

“What’d you fuckin’ say?”

The table laughs. 

Johnny grabs a fistful of the guy’s shirt and drags him nearly clean out of his seat. “I said, What’d you fucking say about her?”

The table stops laughing. Johnny cuts an impressive figure even when drunk; he’s easily the largest guy of the group. Your stomach drops and lands somewhere between your shoes. This is not going to plan at all. Reaching out, you try to insert yourself physically between the two of them but can only wrap your fingers around Johnny’s wrist, feeling the strength poised in the tendons. 

“Johnny,” you say, loudly to be heard over the sounds of the pub. “Come on. Let’s go, yeah? Simon…Simon’s out in the car.” 

“Simon?” Johnny let’s go of the guy’s shirt, his bad mood evaporating as quickly as it had manifested. He nudges his way out from behind the table, all politeness. Once free, he stumbles into a woman in a slinky dress who gives him a look that could melt glass. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize to her, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist and doing your best to keep him steady. “He’s an idiot, and he’s drunk. You look amazing by the way—“

“Control your boyfriend,” she snaps. 

“I will,” you promise, guiding Johnny away from her and into the crowd. 

His nose brushes the shell of your ear, breath fanning across your neck as he says with a laugh in his voice: “I’m not yer boyfriend.” 

You flush. “Thanks for letting me know, Johnny. I had no clue.” 

He says something back, some Scottish phrase, his accent so thick you couldn’t understand the words even if you knew them. 

“English, please,” you mutter. 

“Je-sus,” he groans, dragging the words out into multiple syllables. He takes your chin in his hand and squeezes your cheeks a little. “You’re just like him. ‘English, MacTavish’. Ha!”

You bat his hand away. 

“He’s been rubbing off on you,” Johnny mutters, laughing a little. Beneath his breath (though far more loudly than he likely intends), he adds: “In more ways than one, I imagine.”

Your face goes hot. “Johnny, stop talking.” 

The two of you exit the pub out into the cool night air. It seems to sober Johnny some, as he takes in deep, gulping breaths. He walks a little steadier as the two of you cross the street, and by the time you’ve made it to your car, he has shrugged you off altogether (even if he is still a little unstable on his feet). He stands outside the car for a moment before opening one of the rear doors. 

“What are you doing?”

“Rather sit back here.” 

“I’m not your cabbie.”

“Strange manner of dress if you were,” he says snidely, slipping into the backseat. 

In the driver’s seat, you let yourself have a small breakdown. You grip the wheel tightly, taking a few deep breaths of your own, searching for inner peace. You thought that you and Johnny had a tentative truce after that day at Skin Deep, but clearly he is still holding some grudge. Your search for peace turns up empty. 

“Sorry I lied about Simon being here. I just really needed you to leave the pub,” you explain politely. 

“Knew you were lying,” Johnny says from the darkness of the backseat. He sounds remarkably like Simon: brooding and irritable. “He’s got no idea you’re here, does he? He’d never let you come alone.” 

You frown. “No. He doesn’t. He’s sleeping and I didn’t want to wake him.” 

“Nightmares?” 

“Huh?” 

Johnny leans forward. You glance at him in the rear view mirror. “I said, Has he been having more nightmares?” 

You didn’t know anything about Simon having nightmares. That sour feeling in your belly was back, the one that made you feel like you would never truly know Simon, not the way his friends did. 

“No,” you say, a little defensive. “He’s been working on this sleeve for a client. Staying up way too late to finish it on time.” 

“Aye. Nightmares. Anything else is just an excuse he’s telling himself—and you.” 

Done with the conversation, you turn the key in the ignition and pull out into the street. “What’s your address?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Left my keys at the bar.” 

“Goddamnit.” 

You turn towards Simon’s apartment. “Then you’re staying with us—with Simon. You can sleep on his couch and get your keys in the morning; I’m sure he won’t care.” 

“Are you staying there?” 

“Yes.” 

Johnny mutters something under his breath. You consider yourself lucky not to have heard it. For a while, the two of you drive in silence. Then Johnny says: 

“You never came for your second nipple.” 

“It’s only just been six months.” 

“So you’re due for an appointment then, aren’t you?” 

You steel yourself, gripping the wheel tightly at ten-and-two. “Actually, I’m going to someone else.”

Johnny’s seatbelt unclicks. He hovers at your shoulder bringing with him burning warmth and the scent of whisky. When he talks, his breath brushes your neck, fury tangible in every syllable. “Who is it? Who the hell is he taking you to? Darcelina? Astrid? Dusty? Whoever it is, consider the appointment canceled. No one is piercing you but me.”

“You don’t get that privilege,” you grit out between your teeth. “Not anymore, not after the way you’ve treated me!”

“Oh, did I offend you?” he breathes, clutching one hand at his breast. “Not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on?” 

“Fuck you, Soap! I wanted to be friends.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly. Suddenly the road goes blurry. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to calm down—you’re driving for fuck’s sake. You swallow past the lump in your throat, the silence interrupted by rustling as Johnny leans forward again in the backseat, trying to get a look at your face in the passing streetlights. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans. “Are you crying?”

“No!”

“You are. Fuckin’—pull over, before you get us killed.” 

Keen embarrassment only has your eyes watering more, until you have no choice but to do as he asks, pulling over to hastily parallel park and throw on your hazard lights. You let your elbows rest against the steering wheel, face in your hands. His words echo in your head, said in that stupid Scottish brogue: not falling down at your feet? Not worshippin’ the ground you walk on? Are those really the things he thought you wanted? Is that the sort of impression you gave to Johnny, to Ghost’s other friends? 

The backseat door opens and Johnny climbs out. A small part of you hopes that he will walk himself home—and good riddance. But he horrifies you by walking all the way around to the driver’s side of the car and tugging on the door handle until you begrudgingly unlock the doors. 

“C’mon,” he says, trying to pull you out of the car with your seatbelt still on. 

“What’re you—?”

“Just—wouldya—so stubborn—“ he drunkenly leans over you and mashes his fingers against the button of your seatbelt until it releases. For that brief moment, he is a warm weight across your lap, bringing with him the scent of cologne and whisky. Then he pulls you out of the car—and into his arms. It’s a tight, full hug, chest-to-chest, not bone crushing per se, but all-encompassing. 

You don’t realize how badly you need it from him until you’re getting it. 

“You’re such a dick,” you groan against his shoulder, sniffling.

“Aye,” he says, swaying a little on his feet, like the two of you are dancing. “But I’m right. We cannot be friends. So you’ve got to let this go, alright? Just breathe out 'n let it go.”

“I don’t understand,” you mutter. “He wants us to be friends.” 

“He doesn’t know what he wants,'' Johnny says, one hand rubbing gently at your shoulder blades. “No more crying. It’s out of your hands. Aye?”

You shake your head, hands gripping his shirt. 

But your tears slow and eventually stop. Cars pass occasionally. One of them honks at the sight of you both entwined on the side of the road, rolls down their window to let their passenger yell something suggestive, and it makes your face go hot. Johnny pulls away, nearly stumbling out into the road to give the car both middle fingers as it peels away. He slips on the damp asphalt and goes down hard on his side, taking the skin off his elbow and palm. 

“Fuck, I’m hammered,” he laughs. 

“Clearly,” you say, struggling to help him up and into the backseat. 

Once in the driver’s seat again, you feel exhausted, emptied, like a washcloth wrung out and left to dry. The drive back to the apartment is silent, and when you’re in the parking lot, neither of you make a move to get out of the car. 

You warn Johnny: “Simon’s asleep, so be quiet inside.” 

Johnny warns you sleepily: “Ghost is right there.”

There’s a tap on the glass of your window. It nearly makes you shriek—but it is only Simon, half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, bundled up outside the car door. You roll down the window sheepishly. 

“Need a little help?” he asks, taking a drag and turning his head so the smoke doesn’t touch you. His eyes are on Johnny in the backseat. 

You hold up your fingers with just a smidge of space between them. 

[onmykneesformatt]

vanilla - c.s.

requested: yes!!

synopsis: after a lengthy relationship, chris decides to try and surprise you on your 7 month anniversary. it doesn’t go how he planned, and he feels bad.

warnings: SMUT OH MY FUCK. just very aggressive (no major abuse or violence), degrading, choking, hair-pulling, overstimulation, use of safe word, aftercare, angst (happy ending tho!!), i don’t think anything else but lmk!!

a/n: i think it’s about time i write smth about chris and feed y’all. so, eat up!! (also i tried to put a picture and it literally wouldn’t let me😭)

you and chris never really thought about kinks or anything like that. you had talked about it, but the furthest you two ever went was just filming it once or twice. even then, it was still very vanilla. it was soft, enjoyable, and not very rough.

chris wanted to change that.

“so, wait. are we going somewhere?”

“we can, but that’s not the surprise.”

chris kind of smirked, knowing that his surprise was not something you expected.

“can you just tell me? it almost dark out and we’be barely done anything all day except for you making me a nice breakfast. which, i did appreciate by the way.”

“you’re welcome, and no. i’m not telling you.”

he tapped his fingertips together and chuckled lightly. he liked surprising you. he’d done it multiple times before. a bouquet on your door step, a new pair of expensive heels, even flying home early from boston and not telling you. it was his thing.

and tonight was a surprise.

-

at 9:30 pm, you started to get ready for bed. you almost did it in protest for how you and chris barely did anything today.

“oooh, what’s this? toner? replace the t with a b.”

he giggled. how dare he? after not giving you a major day like he does every other anniversary?

you kept a straight face, not breaking eye contact with your face in the mirror as you kept applying serums and creams.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing, chris.”

he knew that whenver you ended a sentence with his name, you were mad.

“look, how about i meet you in the bedroom in five minutes, and make it up to you?”

you let a little smile show, remembering that your surprise to him was a peachy-orange lingerie set that hugged you in all the right places and showed all the right skin.

“fine.”

-

it started slow and sweet, like always.

but it slowly turned into more.

he went from having you on your back with him lightly laying on you to flipping you onto all fours and ripping the new lingerie set off— literally.

“chris-“

“shut up and take it. i know you can, slut.”

it felt good, the way he was pounding into you.

what didn’t feel good was him calling you the one word you didn’t like. after he started pulling your hair, it all felt real.

were you really just some toy he used? was this his breaking point where he realized he didn’t actually like or respect you like he pretended?

“chris, i don’t-“

he pushed your face into the pillow, tightening his grip on your hair.

“i said shut the fuck up. god, you really are just some slut who thinks she can do anything she wants.”

tears started welling in your eyes. they only strengthened when he started swatting your ass and digging his free hand into your back.

it hurt. like, actually hurt. but he wouldn’t listen.

he was never like this. chris? be aggressive? especially in such a vulnerable moment? never. until now.

after almost suffocating with your face in the pillow for what felt like hours, you tried to shift your face over just enough to be able to breathe. it was hard, with his grip on your hair pushing your head down into it.

eventually, you were able to properly breathe. you started breathing heavier and heavier. not from pleasure, but from overstimulation. from pain.

“i- i can’t! chris!”

he could barely hear you over his grunts and the sounds of skin slapping loudly.

“cant.. can’t what? slut can’t use her words now?”

you tried, but he was causing you so much pain that the tears were taking over. so much so, that you just broke.

what he thought were breaths and tears of pleasure started to settle in, and he finally realized. your pillow and face wet with a taste of salt, and your heart pounding so bad you started shaking.

he slowed down, moving your messy, wet hair out of your face.

“vanilla! vanilla!”

your safe word. you never needed it before, but you guys thought of it after having sex the first or second time. he always wanted you to know you were in control of what was happening too. in a sort of inside joke/mockery, he made it “vanilla”.

“hey- hey.”

he took a second to gather himself and pull out, sitting next to you on the bed. your body fell limp on the sheets.

“what’s wrong-“

“no!”

he tried to rub your shoulder, but your yelling frightened him. it should’ve. the way he caused you the pain he did was horrible.

“hey-“

“just- stop! what-“

your crying intensified, leaving him with a concerned look.

“what made you think that was okay?!”

you tried to stand, stabling yourself with a hand on the bed and the other holding a throw blanket to cover your body.

“what do you mean-“

“what do i mean? chris- you just.. started going crazy! it felt good at first, but you pulled my hair, you dug your nails into my back! you- you called me a slut!”

“i thought-“

“no you didn’t! you didn’t think at all!”

it finally hit him.

that word.

the one word he promised to never use.

“baby- i didn’t mean any of it!”

“then why’d you do it!”

tears turning into anger at his stupidity slowly dried up.

“i thought it would be a nice surprise for our anniversary! but, i’m sorry. i forgot about that word.”

that word was used against you everyday in highschool, ever since you gave some kid a handjob at the park. anytime you wore something even slightly revealing. it opened a floodgate for name-calling.

the tears started up again once silence filled the bedroom.

again, chris was never like this. you always thought he would provide the comfort you so desperately needed in your life. however, it seemed like he thought otherwise.

chris stood up, walked around the bed, and engulfed you in his arms. after realizing that he truly didn’t mean it (doesn’t make it okay, but it’s good he realized he was in the wrong), you hugged him back.

“how about we clean up. can i help you with that?”

you sniffled while stepping back from him. you dropped the blanket and wiped your eyes.

“yeah.”

you spoke softly, still trying to catch light breaths.

he grabbed your hand, leading you the bathroom.

he started the shower, grabbing your coconut body wash out of the bathroom closet along with a soft, white towel.

after getting you into the perfectly-warm shower, he started to clean you up. he didn’t let you move a muscle. he made sure you were fully clean and taken care of before even thinking about himself. he grazed your body with the loofah, making sure every inch was perfectly covered.

“i really am sorry, baby. i didn’t mean to take it that far. i think i just got too excited. i’ll never do it again, i can promise you that.”

“a warning would’ve been nice. i get why you did it. throw in a little variety, or whatever. but that word really set me off.”

“i know, i know.”

he kissed the back of your damp head, making sure you knew he meant his sorrow.

“i forgot. but, no excuse. how about now i dry you off and get you into some comfy clothes, hm?”

his tone was low but sweet. your heart stopped racing, your breath caught up, and your mind was at ease.

“okay.”

after he dried you off, still not letting you do it yourself, he grabbed your hand to lead back into the bedroom. while you were sat patiently on the edge of the bed, he rummaged through drawers and shelves looking for your favorite sleep shirt and a pair of under wear with comfortable shorts.

“this good?”

“yes. thank you.”

“stand up, please.”

you dropped your towel, letting him glide the extra large graphic tee over your head. you lifted each leg as he slid the underwear up, then doing the same with the loose shorts.

“get comfy in bed, i got some treats for you earlier.”

“really? thank you, chris.”

“anything for my girl. she deserves nothing but the best, so i try all for her.”

he kissed your forehead before you slid into the bed, pulling the thick comforter over your body and turning on your favorite show.

-

you fell asleep in eachothers arms, but not until he gave you a lengthy apology.

you know he didn’t mean it, but he needed you to remember he wouldn’t do it again.

his heartbeat under your head lulled you into a deep slumber. a soft, orange light coming from the lamp in the corner of the bedroom mixed with the tv still playing your favorite show made just enough light for you to not have any other worries that night. an open bag of the tastiest chocolate on the nightstand next to two open soda cans had filled your stomach and your heart. the soft laugh tracks in the background and fan lightly blowing on you gave you the comfort you needed.

the biggest comfort was chris’ concern.

he loves you.

you love him.

that’s all you need.

-

AHHHH ITS DONEEEEEEE!!!!! i pray that this is as good as y’all are expecting 😭😭 but seriously though, i thank y’all for the support. i’m at 300 followers already (WHAT THE FUCK) and i couldn’t have done it without you guys. love y’all!! mwah!!💋❣️🌺

taglist: @sleepysturniolo @suyqa @jessie-essie @sturnsobsessed

sorry if i missed anyone that wanted to be tagged!!

[hgfictionwriter]

Self Control: Part Ten - Setback

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie suffers an injury during a game and has to navigate balancing her recovery and caring for you. She feels helpless as she tries to step up for you, but can't the way she wants to.

Warnings: Language. Slight angst.

A/N: Inspired by poor Jessie's injury during the Olympics. And everyone please knock on wood I'm not putting some bad mojo out there with this. Oh, and in this world Janine is still a Thorn 🙏 Rest of the series is here.

"-and Fleming is down. Oh, that looked like a hard hit. She's moving, but she's not getting up."

Football was a physical sport. She'd seen far too many friends ushered off the pitch to never fully, or sometimes even ever, return. She'd been extraordinarily lucky that she'd been more or less injury-free her career. However, sometimes she did take a few knocks.

Normally, she was most worried about the team anytime she was injured; that she was letting them down. But as you held her hand while she sat on the examination table in the medical assessment room, your eyes filled with concern and worry - at least for the short amounts of time she could manage to look at you; even with dimmed lights it was too damn bright - she felt most guilty about you.

"I'm confident we're looking at a Grade 2 concussion here," the team doctor said. "I'm not worried that we're into severe or Grade 3 territory. Y/N, I'm going to ask that you help monitor Jessie's symptoms and recovery over the next couple of weeks. If repeat vomiting occurs, extensive dizziness, or she's having prolonged confusion or headaches aren't improving, please contact me immediately."

Jessie had her eyes screwed shut. She tried to focus on her breathing and keeping herself steady as she attempted to will away the incessant pounding in her head. She opened them as the doctor finished speaking to see you nodding eagerly. Your eyes were trained on the woman before glancing back at Jessie and lifting her hand to give it a quick kiss.

"For the next couple of days - lots of rest. That means physical and mental. Very limited reading and screen time. And you're going to be really sensitive to lights and sounds, so a dark and quiet environment is best.

"Days three and four, you can start some light physical or mental activities again. Short, non-strenuous walks, for example. But listen to your body. Days five to seven, you can increase things a bit more, but-"

"We're moving in less than two weeks," Jessie interjected, wincing as she opened her eyes once more to look at the doctor. The doctor, who she knew well, gave her a look of warning, knowing where this was going.

"You should not be packing or moving furniture in two weeks," the doctor said firmly. "You can take on some light packing maybe 7-10 days from now, but carrying heavy boxes is out of the question."

Jessie shook her head and regretted it immediately, wincing sharply this time, a hand flying up to her temple as she grimaced in pain. Your hand came to her shoulder and she sat very still as she rode out a wave of pain.

"We'll hire packers," you told her sternly. "We already have movers anyway."

"No," Jessie returned stubbornly, still unable to open her eyes.

"Well, she's still coherent enough to argue with me, so I guess that's a good sign, right?" You relayed flatly to the doctor who chuckled.

"It is, actually," she said. "Y/N, you know my number. Feel free to contact me directly if you have any questions. Jessie," Jessie felt the doctor's hand on her shoulder and she slowly blinked her eyes open to face her, "behave yourself. I know you like to be busy and I know you want to take care of your fiancée, but you'll be able to get back to that much sooner if you listen to your body and to me."

"Mm," Jessie voiced noncommittally.

The doctor chuckled and spoke to you again.

"Okay, you can take her home now. And with all of this urgency I didn't even have a chance to ask how you're doing. How much longer?"

"About two months left," you answered.

"Oh my gosh. Final stretch, hey? How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," you said. Jessie peeked an eye open to see your hand subconsciously rubbing your enlarged stomach while you continued to hold her hand in your other. "She's so active." You shot Jessie a sidelong, mildly teasing glance. "And at night in particular. I blame myself for that one - I'm the night owl of the two of us, so she must be getting that from me. But yeah, some of the third trimester symptoms are certainly popping up, but truly, I can't complain too much. Or shouldn't yet anyway," you finished with a smirk.

"Well, it'll be nice to get settled in your new place before the baby comes. I'm positive you'll sort out the logistics just fine," the doctor added pointedly and Jessie knew it was for her.

"That's the plan," you said. "It shouldn't be bad. We don't have too much stuff. Most of the furniture will be new and we're just getting all of it delivered after our move-in date."

"That's great. Well, Jessie, I will be seeing you in a week for a follow-up, but Y/N, if I don't see you anytime soon, I have my fingers crossed that the rest of your pregnancy goes smoothly. Can't wait to see pictures of your little one once she's born."

The walk out to the car was slow and tedious. Jessie tried to walk casually and easily, dismissing your supportive arm and wanting to walk on her own, but ended up bracing herself against a random car only ten feet in as she became disoriented. Your arms were around her in a second.

"Baby, come on. Don't be so stubborn. Put your arm around me," you told her both tenderly and firmly. Despite the medication the doctor gave her, her head was still pounding and she had to relent.

She was filled with self-contempt as you eased her into the passenger seat and gently closed the door, wary of both the jostling and sound.

"My baby," you cooed after you climbed in and were settled. You rubbed her thigh and placed the cold compress the doctor had given you into her hand. "Here, hold this against you. It'll help."

"I hate this," Jessie said, voice shuddering against her will.

"I know, love," you said gently. "Let's be grateful it's nothing more severe. I know that doesn't help you in this moment though. Let's get you home, alright?"

She opened her eyes to look at you. Your bump was nearly pressed against the wheel at this stage in your pregnancy.

Jessie sniffled and rubbed her face in aggravation. You shouldn't be taking care of her. You shouldn't be worrying about her. It should be the other way around.

Though you drove as steadily as you could the whole way home, even the slightest jostling or bumps sent pain through her. She gripped the seat tightly and breathed heavily as she fought off a persistent wave of nausea.

She leaned heavily on you despite herself as you both walked up to the apartment. You'd found a hat of hers in the trunk and put it on her to block out some of the lights she'd encounter on the journey up. She apologized repeatedly throughout the walk and you tutted in disapproval and shushed her.

You put her to bed and Jessie began sniffling again as emotions began to bubble up once more as she watched you going all around the apartment to get her set up and cared for.

At one point you were in digging through one of the bottom drawers in the bathroom for something. You held onto the counter with one hand to balance yourself and you huffed in exertion, your stomach very much in the way.

Jessie sat up, wanting to come over to help you. She grimaced as her head began to pound anew and her vision narrowed to a point. She swayed in bed for a second before she felt safe enough to move again. She'd only flung the covers off of herself and lowered her feet to the floor when you voice boomed from the other room.

"Jessie," your voice sharp and making her flinch. "Get back into bed," you said insistently, but much softer this time as you walked back over and gently pushed her back down. She whined and sniffled as you did so. You began to laugh and her eyes grew wide as she looked to you in disbelief.

"Why are you laughing?" Jessie asked, her voice so much weaker than she intended.

"You're being silly," you said through a residual laugh. "You're so stubborn. You were levelled onto the pitch, nearly unconscious, less than two hours ago. Please, just relax tonight. Can you do me that favour?"

"I should be helping you," she went on, her voice up an octave as she fought through emotion.

"You can help me by resting," you told her patiently. "Oh, I have to text your parents back. They're worried about you."

She really wasn't in the right state of mind, because suddenly she felt her face screw up and she began sobbing, made worse by the physical pain the action triggered inside of her.

"Jess," your tone gentle and inquiring, but clearly in shock at the sudden outburst. You sat down next to her immediately and began caressing her head. "What's going on?"

Jessie winced in pain as her shoulders shook while she cried.

"Oh my gosh," you said, underlying concern in your voice as you began to rub her back and you took her hand. "Is it your head? What can I do, baby?"

"I'm letting you down," Jessie forced out, breath hitching at the end of her sentence. "I should be taking care of you."

"Oh my God. Babe, stop that," you said gently, but urgently. "You're not letting me down at all. You take care of me all the time. You're injured. It's okay."

"I'm not a good partner," she sobbed. She heard the sound of surprise from you, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm not around enough. And that's bad enough. And now we're having a baby? I'm never going to be around. I'm going to be an absent parent. And even if I'm here, I might be injured and you'll have to take care of us both."

"Jess. Oh my God," you said in bewilderment as you rubbed her back further. "Baby, please. None of those things are true. Take a breath."

You placed a hand on her chest, pressing firmly and somehow it immediately caused her to slow her breathing. She brought her hand to yours and clutched it tightly.

"Breathe," you said patiently. "It's going to be okay."

Within those few moments, Jessie's breathing began to normalize and she felt her pulse slow once more. She exhaled and the tightness she'd held in her brow relaxed with it.

"It's okay, baby. Just breathe," you coaxed softly as you continued to rub her back and hold your hand and hers to her chest.

Her eyes remained closed as she let you calm her. Her shoulders hitched periodically with a residual cry, but eventually, she sniffled and opened her eyes to look up at you. The room was dark, but she could still make out your features.

"I don't want to let you down," she whispered, voice still trembling as her throat tightened once more, emotions threatening to spill over once more.

"You never let me down," you told her resolutely. "Ever. And I mean that." You let those words sink in before carrying on. "You are the absolute best partner I could ever hope for."

Jessie watched quietly as you smiled, but it faltered. Looking closer she saw tears starting to form in your eyes.

"I'm serious. You know my family. My parents marriage was absolute shit. I didn't know - for a long time - that relationships could be good. That they should be. The way you love me, the way you care for me, is something I didn't even want to hope for because it seemed so impossible. And then even if it was possible, there was no way I'd find someone like that for me. That I would deserve to be loved like that."

"Babe-" Jessie went to interject, but you stopped her.

"When I tell you you're incredible, I really mean it. You're far more than I could've ever hoped or dreamed for. You show me more love and affection in a day than I felt for years at a time. I swear. So please don't ever worry about letting me down."

Jessie was sniffling now, blinking tears onto her pillow and she lifted your hand to kiss it, holding it there against her lips and clutching you tightly. She hated that you felt that way for so many years. And though she was happy that she could make you feel loved like that, it broke her heart, too. She just couldn't fathom someone not loving you wholly and completely.

You leaned down and kissed her forehead, removing your hand from her back to caress the side of her face. You chuckled lightly, speaking against her forehead.

"Short of cheating on me or having some secret family on the side, you could never let me down."

"Babe," Jessie complained, shifting her head to try to look at you. "I would never do that."

"Just saying," you said lightly as you sat back up. "That's the line. For clarity purposes - even if you fell out of love with me and chose to end things, you still wouldn't be letting me down. I'd be devastated, of course, but I would respect that and still love you."

"Babe," Jessie started whimpering again and you consoled her.

"Okay, okay," you placated. "Last thing. Yes, you travel. Yes, you'll be away sometimes. And yes, it is possible that you could get injured again. But that's okay. Of course, I don't want you to get injured, but because I love you. You need to understand that we're partners. We take care of each other.

"And lots of parents travel for work. I know you sometimes forget, but I'm pretty independent and I'm capable," you smirked. "Plus, we have lots of support in case I or our daughter need anything while you're away. What stands out most to me is our daughter will grow up seeing her mom pursue what she loves, working hard to be the best as what she does, and inspiring a new generation of players. That means so much and I wouldn't change it."

You laid another kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest, baby. I love you so much. I'm going to take care of a few things, but I'll be back soon and we can lay together, okay?"

She gave a faint noise of acceptance and you rose from the bed, pushing off slowly, now having to lean back and get your balance to counter the weight of the baby. Jessie's hand shot out to brace your back, and though you delivered a stare her way after you were steady, it dissolved into a smirk.

"See? You're still helping me."

------

The week dragged on so horribly slowly for Jessie. She was so frustrated and upset with herself. She would've always wanted to be able to get up and go, do things, but especially now. You’d taken over essentially all of the household chores and errands and she felt exponentially guilty.

One day you came home, shuffling through the door with bags of groceries hanging off your arms. Jessie shot up off the couch to help you, but her vision began to peter out. She paused a few steps in to brace herself against a nearby chair.

"Jessie," you chided.

She could hear you putting down the various bags. And she pre-emptively put up her hands in defense. "I'm fine." When she opened her eyes again, she was met with a disapproving look from you. She dropped your gaze immediately.

"Sit down, please," you instructed.

"I can help you put everything away," she insisted as she tried to push past you, only to have you hold her back.

"Jess," your voice was curt and she knew you meant business. She could feel your gaze burning into the back of her head and she forced herself to look at you. You went on softer this time. "I'm sure you could help me with groceries. But I'm fine. Honestly. You can help me most by doing as your doctor said, and taking it easy."

She was contemplating a rebuttal, which you saw it coming from a mile away and you continued.

"Don't make me resort to tactics of emotional warfare," you said sarcastically and Jessie huffed, recalling how you told her the other day that the more you had to wrangle her, the more your daughter kicked and squirmed and tired her out.

Jessie sighed begrudgingly and collapsed into the couch, an instant pang shooting through her head at the jarring motion. Served her right for being petulant, she thought ruefully. Despite her antics, she felt your hand caress the side of her head.

"It's like a preview into parenting," you joked before kissing her head and returning to the groceries. Jessie opened her eyes and glared at your retreating form.

"Yeah? Are you going to threaten our kid with guilt trips, too?" She'd meant it as a bit of a snide joke, but immediately regretted her words as soon as she'd said them. Your movements stilled and you slowly turned back to face her, your expression one that made Jessie sink further into her seat.

"Do not start with me, Jessica."

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "That was uncalled for."

"You're still injured. A brain injury at that," you replied as you went back to the bags before giving her a pointed look. "I'll chalk it up to that. You get one freebie."

Jessie was silent as she watched you work. Your movements were laboured at times and she see how much effort it took to do certain tasks. Still, it was true, you managed just fine.

When you were finished, you returned to the living room and sat heavily next to her, a sigh of relief on your lips as you leaned back. You were short of breath, and Jessie looked away quickly when you felt her watchful gaze and peeked open at eye at her. You held out a hand, gesturing for her to relax.

"She's pushing against my diaphragm; it's making it harder to breath, it's not a big deal," you reassured her pre-emptively. You placed your hands on the cushions and pushed yourself up to sit straighter before you met her eyes again. You took her hand.

"I know you want to help. But you have to pace yourself. You can't spring up and sprint over, or you can't be up and down trying to pack and lift things. Not right now. You know better than that," you said gently.

"I already texted Janine and Kelli about packing. They agreed to come over tomorrow," she pouted, spurred on by another failed attempt of hers yesterday. You sighed and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you for doing that. I feel much better about that approach," you told her.

"I'm sorry," Jessie said, fingers fidgeting as she remained slumped on the couch. She sat up and gave you a hopeful look. "I'm feeling better every day, though. I'll be able to help out a lot more around the house soon."

You gave her a patient look and cupped her face in your hands.

"I'm pregnant - not infirm. Did you know...there are thousands of women, for one reason or another, who do this alone? I am very, very lucky that I have you and you’ve been so attentive and wonderful. But there are many women who manage all by themselves. I can do the same - not even, actually, since you’re still here and supportive - for a couple of weeks."

Despite your words of reassurance, Jessie's face fell and she snuggled into you, resting her head on your shoulder. She frowned as she felt your body jostle with a soft chuckle as you wrapped your arms around her. You kissed the crown of her head.

"My sweet baby," you chuckled further against her though she groaned. "Don't worry. A few weeks from now when I'm complaining 24/7 and can barely get out of bed, you'll be relishing these moments."

--------

True to their word, the next day Kelli and Janine were over and were making serious progress on packing up the apartment under Jessie's and your watchful eye.

Despite their help, it was a struggle for Jessie. She was very particular about things like this and she wanted things packed up and organized in specific order and way. With some coaching from you, she'd had to let some of that go, but it wasn't easy.

She and you packed up the lighter things, but anything heavy, and particular full boxes, were left to the girls. And what upset her even more was that she was having trouble focusing. Between all of the lights - clearly, none of you could pack in the dark - and physical exertion, she found herself having to take more breaks than she liked and you'd had to take over quite a bit in directing the girls.

Still, when she was able to, she tried.

"Oh, that needs to go over here," Jessie interrupted as Kelli was setting down a box in the obviously wrong pile. Kelli rolled her eyes good-naturedly and picked up the box once more with a heaving motion, balancing it against her thigh as she adjusted her grip before moving it to the appropriate area.

"Better, princess?" She asked, eliciting a scowl out of Jessie. She knew Kelli was just joking, but it was grating on her. Kelli called her that a few times now, along with a couple of other cracks in that vein.

Her friends, throughout her entire life, had always loved teasing her. Maybe it was the way she blushed when she got flustered or worked up, but people just seemed to love poking at her. Normally, she took it in stride, but it was hard to laugh them off today.

She had all of this mapped out and was fully ready to tackle it alone. Did Kelli think she wanted to ask them for help? No. She hated it.

You were supposed to have your feet up without a worry while she took care of it all. Instead, you were on your feet, packing alongside them and doing more than your fair share of directing and corralling. She saw how you stood there, a hand on your back as you caught your breath, a veiled wince now and then. She could see how sore and tired you were getting.

Her stare followed Kelli as she bounded back over to Janine to gather up some more items. Jessie could feel the heavy tension between her shoulder blades and she felt her face and ears growing hot. She took a steadying breath, she knew this feeling; if she wasn't careful she'd be blinking back tears soon.

She released a slow, deep breath as she returned her attention to the box in front of her and labelled it accordingly. She was setting down the marker when out of the corner of her eye she caught you waving Kelli over. She watched as you spoke in a hushed tone to her and nodded to the other room.

Jessie frowned as she watched you two retreat. Something seemed off, confirmed when you partially closed the door behind you. Jessie quietly padded over and held her ear close to the opening. She whipped her head around, gritting her teeth momentarily at the way the sudden motion aggravated her symptoms, when she felt Janine sneak up, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"What's going on?" Janine mouthed, ever curious. Jessie shrugged the girl's hand off her shoulder tempermentally.

"I don't know," she mouthed back with a mild glare. Janine rolled her eyes and they both leaned in.

"-I appreciate your help. I know you don't have to be doing this. But you need to stop making jokes. She already feels bad enough. She doesn't need you making cracks at her expense. She wouldn't do that to you if situations were reversed. So stop. Please."

Jessie's stomach sank. Now you were defending her as well. She went to push the door open, but Janine pulled her back and away, well out of earshot.

"Let it go," Janine told her.

The emotions Jessie had been working to keep at bay just minutes ago were now raging forward. Her ears were burning and she sniffled.

"Jess," Janine warned her with underlying care in her voice. She knew the last thing Jessie would want right now is to have an emotional meltdown. Janine placed her hands on Jessie's shoulders and spoke calmly, but firmly. "It's fine. Nothing to get worked up about. Y/N loves you a ton. She's being a mama bear to you right now. And fair enough. You're not feeling well, so she's looking out for you. Kelli's a big girl. She'll get it. She'll be fine."

Jessie sniffled and folded her arms against herself.

"It just sucks," she said as she worked to regain her composure.

"I know," Janine said as she patted her on the shoulder. "You'll be all better soon though. Take it easy on yourself." She smirked. "Y/N said you were planning to paint a few rooms in the new place a couple weeks from now. You're on your own for that."

Although she fought it, Jessie had to laugh. She was about to comment when she noticed the door open behind Janine and you and Kelli stepped out. She studied you both and to her surprise nothing seemed odd.

Janine followed her gaze and looked back at her with a wink before going back to help Kelli, who, at least as far as Jessie could see, was in fine spirits.

You must've noticed Jessie's behaviour because you soon approached.

"Everything okay, babe?" You asked.

She looked to you, her gaze eventually falling to your rounded stomach. She placed her hands on your pronounced bump and ran a thumb lovingly along it before lifting her gaze back up to you and all of the boxes around; a physical manifestation of the new chapter you both were starting together. She smiled at you.

"Yeah. Everything's good."

[himasgod]

Neuvillette x Reader arranged marriage!

Where you are forced to marry Neuvillette, but your dream is to be a blacksmith

The sound of rain echoed on the roof of the workshop, accompanying the monotonous rhythm of the drops hitting the glass of the windows. The workshop was a sanctuary that you had built with your own hands after months of effort, finally free of the restrictions you had endured during your marriage to the Supreme Judge of Fontaine, Neuvillette.

“A marriage of convenience,” that’s what everyone had called it. And they were right. When the Supreme Court had decided to unite the sole heiress of an ancient lineage—you—with Neuvillette himself, it had all been cold, calculated. A political decision to strengthen the stability of Fontaine, or so the decree had said.

From the beginning you had hated the idea. Your heart was in fire and iron, not banquets and fancy dresses. Being forced to abandon your dream of being a blacksmith to become the wife of a man you barely knew was like putting out a living flame with a bucket of ice water. For your part, Neuvillette was not enthusiastic either. While he was always polite and courteous, his coldness and emotional clumsiness only made the distance between you widen.

Mutual respect was the only thing that kept everything from falling apart faster. But respect was not love. Or so you thought.

The first few months were full of awkwardness. You refused to say more words to him than necessary and he, with his eternal patience, accepted your slights without reproach. His way of speaking was so calculated that sometimes you felt he treated you like a colleague at a business meeting rather than his wife.

There were attempts, that was undeniable. Small gestures that might have gone unnoticed by others.

Once, noticing your frustration with etiquette lessons, he brought you a book on the philosophy of art and left it discreetly on your desk.

Another day, you had heard rumors that he had spoken to the local master blacksmith to allow you to work clandestinely. But every time you tried to thank him, he denied it with a clumsiness that only fueled your frustration.

“I just wanted to be useful, nothing more,” he said, without looking directly at you.

Your frustration came not only from the situation, but also from him. He was a complicated man, shrouded in a cloud of mystery and repressed emotions. His eyes, always filled with an inexplicable melancholy, seemed to hide a pain that you never quite understood. You tried to ignore it, to focus on your own aspirations, but his silent presence was always there, reminding you of the cage in which you were both trapped.

The real turning point occurred one rainy night. As usual, Neuvillette was locked in his office, reviewing court cases until the wee hours. You had decided to confront him, tired of the coldness that seemed to consume everything.

"Why do you try, if it's clear that we both want this to end?" you snapped. Your words were harsh, but also sincere.

Marriage was a cage for both of you.

Neuvillette looked up, his eyes filled with that melancholy that you never fully understood.

"Because I believe that, even if we don't fully understand each other, the respect we have for each other is worth preserving" he answered calmly. His words left you frozen. There were no reproaches or sadness, just a raw and honest truth that you didn't know how to respond to.

The divorce came silently, like the tide receding after a storm. Neither of you fought it; it was simply what had to happen. You returned to your dream of being a blacksmith, while he continued with his life of duties at the Supreme Court.

You thought there would be relief. But with each blow of the hammer on the hot metal, you realized something you’d tried to ignore: you missed his presence, his calm, even his clumsiness. The little things you’d taken for granted—the way he’d tilt his head when he listened to you talk about your passions, or the way the rain always seemed to fall softer when you were near him—began to linger in your mind like a lingering echo.

For his part, Neuvillette felt the emptiness, too. Though his face remained as impassive as ever, his heart carried a heaviness he’d never felt before. He’d lost something important, something he didn’t know how to value until it was gone.

On the loneliest nights, you’d find his gaze fixed on the rain, searching for answers in the drops running down the glass. He’d remember the moments shared with you, no matter how insignificant. A fleeting laugh, a conversation about something trivial, or even the sound of your hurried footsteps as you left the office in a huff. All of this was part of a mosaic that he now wanted to be able to reconstruct.

Fate, capricious as always, he brought you together months later. In the middle of a downpour, your paths crossed near Fontaine streets. You had taken shelter under an awning, your hands stained with soot after a day of work in the workshop. When you looked up and saw him, a mixture of emotions ran through you.

Neuvillette looked at you with that same melancholic expression that you had so hated and learned to love at the same time. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The rain fell between you, erasing the distance but also the words.

“You look happy,” he finally said, his voice as soft as the murmur of the rain.

“I am… for the most part,” you answered, not daring to look him in the eyes.

The silence stretched on, laden with unsaid things. Perhaps you would never recover what they had lost, but in that instant, both of you knew that the respect that had been born in your marriage had evolved into something deeper. Something that, even if you couldn't name it, could never be forgotten.

The moment you put down your towel to wipe the soot off your hands, and took a deep breath to let your feelings out, you heard your words come out of his mouth as well. Exactly the same.

"I think it would be nice to try something again."

You said in unison. Your brow furrowed as you looked away.

"Don't copy me."

"I said it at the same time, excuse me. I didn't copy y-."

"Shut up."

However, you set the hammer aside as you lowered your head slightly before muttering.

At the same time as him, again.

"I've been missing you."

You felt a drop of sweat fall down your forehead as your teeth ground together. Neuvillette gulped.

The rain continued to fall, but for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a weight. Maybe it was a promise, a chance to start over,

even if it was as two strangers who once shared an important chapter of their lives.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[fioiswriting]

Reunion | oneshot

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

[Part 2]

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, implied Cregan Stark x Reader (you can interpret them as lovers or not). Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course &lt;3

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral m receiving, praising kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, Alys Rivers (but no cheating), Reader has a child, grief, light choking, not proofread.

Words count : 7600

Author's notes : Hi everyone !! Sooo I’m posting my first ever fanfic on here, my first x reader and my first fanfic for Aemond. I’m very anxious haha But well, this fanfic is heavily inspired by a RP that has been going on for months with my wonderful gf <3 She writes Aemond so well I swear and now she’s making me fall in love with Cregan too haha oops whatever. Some of Aemond’s lines in this fanfic are hers so of course the credits go to her 💕 Long story short the reader’s backstory is inspired by my OC! The plot doesn't make any sense but whatever

Also English is not my first language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes !!

Enjoy 🖤

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Oh, take me back to the night we met The night we met - Lord Huron

The snow had covered the landscape of Winterfell in a thin white layer so similar to ash, and the image tugged at your heart for a moment. Ashes. Fire. War. It was strange, the stillness that had followed the fury of screams and blood, of fire and ash, the constant anguish and pain of loss. It was like a long howl and then sudden silence. Life had resumed its course, the earth and the grass nurtured in red, as if nothing had happened, and that still irritated you sometimes, three years later.

For this peacefulness was a constant reminder of your life before. Before the war, before your own family ripped itself apart from within, before you lost him. There was something bitter in the thought that, in an alternate reality, you would have been happy with him by your side. The night brought its share of sweet dreams, lulled by the embrace of his arms, and you closed your eyes with ease, hoping to see his face again, which was fading day by day, desperately clinging to the details that made him.

It had been the best solution, you knew. 

For there was no reality in which he could live as much as you wished for. And you had accepted your duty by straightening your shoulders, silencing your heart, digging your thumbnail into the inside of your wrist. Your stepfather had said he was dead; he had seen Vhaegar fall from the sky, wounded.  He had seen the huge dragon crash into the water with all its weight. He had waited, and no silver hair had returned to the surface. He had searched and no body had been found.

So, he had returned, triumphant, with the conclusion that Aemond Targaryen was dead.

The room had swayed around you, but your fingers on the hard, rough wood of the table had kept you grounded. You had nodded, unsure, your ears ringing, your teeth sinking into the flesh of your tongue to hold back the tears that were beading at the edges of your eyes.

You knew it was inevitable, perhaps even fair. But it still hurt.  It sill fucking hurt.

Daemon had reassured you by pointing out that you were now released from your marital obligation.  A marriage to him that you had hoped for, waited for, dreamed of in your younger years. A marriage you had despised, once forced into, once made captive, a prisoner to be used against your own mother. And then a marriage that you had loved, cherished even, when he had opened up to you, when he had changed, when he had revealed that soft side despite his rough edges.  And you loved him, truly. The childhood love, the shy love that had blossomed between laughter muffled behind the curtains, hand-in-hand runs through the Red Keep and reading session hidden under the library table, had been rekindled.  Raw, devouring, bruised by war, but more powerful than ever.

Out of the corner of your eye you had caught a glimpse of the comforting gaze of your mother, the Queen, her gentle eyes searching for clues that would betray what you were feeling. It was she who had stroked your hair that evening, her presence welcome and soothing.

During the war, events had made you more uncertain than ever; blood and cheese had broken something in you. Suddenly shaken by the horrific actions of someone you hardly recognised, by the actions of your own family and the father figure who had raised you as his own daughter. You questioned your loyalties more than ever. Of course, you'd been devastated by Luke's death, your beloved little brother, so innocent, so sweet, and the despair you'd felt, the sadness, had gradually turned to anger. 

Your desire for revenge had fed on your rage, on your anger.

And in your quest for revenge, you had grabbed the dagger hidden in your bodice when you had kissed him, when you had poisoned him with your lips and your body pressed against his. Perhaps it was cowardice to do it on your wedding night, right after the pitiful ceremony in which you had been forced to exchange your vows of fidelity, the humiliation of the white, blue, red and green cloak around your shoulders.  Perhaps it was cowardice to wait for him to surrender to your touch, hard with desire, before plunging the blade straight into his heart.

But you didn't do it, in the end, the humiliation of your failure burning in your cheeks, and you had seen the horrible reality in the icy eye fixed on you: he was expecting it.  He knew. He had anticipated you, as usual, one step ahead of you, ahead of your plans. And the humiliation was all the more bitter.

First he had defied you, knowing full well that you couldn't do it, despite your momentary hesitation. Then he had wiped away your tears, the sound of metal echoing off the floor as he captured your lips with his own. 

And both you and he had sought to release the accumulated tension in the comfort of your naked bodies, in the rough, demanding thrusts.

You weren't quite sure when your relationship had changed. When he had become more forgiving. When he had trusted you. When he had become gentle. When you had felt him slipping away, subtly, almost imperceptibly. When you had begun to seek comfort in his arms, to seek the warmth of his body, to seek his love on his lips.

You loved him.

So you spent the nights lying awake in fear. Fearing the moment when you would have to make a choice. Fearing the moment when you would have to betray.

Which side would you choose when both armies were coming towards you, carrying the same flags, the same weapons, both calling your name?

Anxiety had spread its roots in the pit of your stomach, crescent moons in the palms of your hands. You felt as if you were losing your mind.

But the choice had been forced upon you without you having to make it. You had accepted it, as your duty demanded, as your loyalty to your family demanded.

Life at Winterfell wasn't so bad, quite the opposite in fact, despite the cold and snow you weren't used to. Cregan Stark was a good man. He had given you time and space to grieve, and had opened the castle gates to you with kindness. You had decided that you could get used to the cold and the snow, to the stone and the rustic wood, so different from the refineries of the capital, but infinitely warmer.

It was your choice, your departure for Winterfell.  Dragonstone was still haunted by the ghost of Luke, by the ghosts of Joffrey and little Aegon and Viserys and Rhaenys and all the family members you had lost.  King's Landing was haunted, too. By your sweet aunt and her cries of despair, by Aegon's descent into madness, by the humiliations you had so gracefully endured, by the recurring announcements of deaths, by the smell of the innocents’ blood, by the pitiful looks of Alicent, who had seen in you the image of herself a few years earlier, powerless and manipulated.

But above all, it was haunted by him.

The weight of the memories had become unbearable and you needed to leave.

You chose Winterfell, hoping the cold would help you forget. And Jace had come with you, his thumb caressing the back of your hand with affection, always the protective, reassuring big brother he was to you.  Probably glad to see his friend again, too. Your friend, to both of you.

But forgetting was something you'd never really been able to do, even less with the last memory he'd left you.

Now, just over three years later, you felt ready to return to King's Landing to visit your parents, to face the demons of your past and to mourn once and for all. It was inexplicable, perhaps a little strange, but you felt the need to go back.

On his first dragon ride, Rhaegar clapped his hands along the way, nestled into your arms in front of you, closing his eyes as the wind ruffled his dark curls. Midnight, your dragon, as pleasant as ever, as easy and gentle as ever, took care to be careful with the two of you on his back.

When you arrived, Rhaenyra hugged you as tightly as she'd ever hugged you, her nose buried in your thick hair, before bending down to take her grandson in her arms.

"I've missed you, sweet girl." she said to you. You smiled and reached for her arm, glancing at your son who'd grabbed one of your mother's long silver curls: "Daemon has missed you too. You know he doesn't show his feelings, but... he missed you." 

You smile, your eyes dropping to the floor.  You missed them, too, terribly, despite the frequent letters.

"And of course... we’ve missed you too, little one!" Rhaenyra added, catching the child's nose with her thumb and forefinger, causing him to burst into laughter.

It felt good to be back.  It was good to have regained some sort of routine in your daily life with your family. It was good to see the walls of the Red Keep return to their original familiarity, chasing away the ghosts you feared you might see again.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Perhaps you should have listened to your stepfather and not stray under any circumstances from the knight who has been following your every step with concern, afraid to lose sight of you. 

Five years earlier, it was Sir Erryk's vigilance that you had deceived when you had carelessly followed your eldest uncle into the dangerous streets of the capital.

The streets of King's Landing offered you a freedom you had missed. But now you almost regret sneaking through the crowds to escape the vigilance of the knight who had escorted you. You decide to take a shortcut, the hood of your cloak pulled down over your forehead.  It must have been your imagination.  You aren’t on the worst side of the city, not like five years ago, and the streets have become safe, much safer now that your parents are in power.

Your footsteps led you to some stone steps, which you climb at full speed, your heart pounding in your chest.  Glancing behind you, you disappear like a shadow around the corner of an alley, but the feeling is still there. You feel as if you are being followed.

At the Red Keep you already had the unpleasant feeling of being observed. In the gardens, with your son. Along the ramparts, enjoying the sea breeze on your face.

But you blamed it on your body's automatic response to the anxiety that had built up in all the years you'd spent within the walls of the Keep.

You slow your pace as you spot the dome and towers of the Great Sept at the end of the alley. From there you can easily find your way back to the Red Keep. All you had to do is keep moving, staring ahead, pressing your pace, wrapped in the thick wool of your cloak.

One step after the other. Breathing deeply. Half-moons in your palms.

The Great Sept growing closer give you a strange kind of reassurance.

And then suddenly, one hand closes over your mouth, the other around your waist. Your back bangs painfully against the cold stone wall of the winding alley into which you have been dragged. Fuck. Fuck.

You are too paralysed to struggle, too paralysed to bite the hand of the stranger holding you prisoner between the wall and his own body.

"You obviously learned nothing from my advice, Lady Strong," the icy voice whispers in the hollow of your ear. Your eyes widen. 

That voice. It couldn't be.

Lady Strong. Lady Strong. Lady Strong.

It can’t be.

That is your sick mind playing tricks on you again.

"As reckless as ever, hm, aren't you? You could easily get yourself killed."

The stranger releases you and you look up again, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, searching for that icy blue, tinged with lilac, that have read through you so many times before.

It is impossible.

He has died three years before, falling from Vhaegar's back into the deep waters of the lake at Harrenhal.

Is it a ghost? Is it a hallucination?

"You are dead. You were dead," you whisper, more to yourself than to him, still in shock from the feel of his body against yours. You feel the tears that have formed at the corners of your eyes roll down your cheek, and your little fists pound his chest.

You have so much to say to him. So many things to reproach him for.

His hand cups your cheek to turn your head and force you to look at him, his thumb wiping away your tears. 

The way he looks at you hasn’t changed; it still makes you shiver. You still feel that your uncle could read through you, that he could discover your deepest secrets.  And there is still that hint of desire, too, that gleam in his one seeing eye.

You want to kiss him. You want to slap him.

He clenches his jaw as he pulls you against him, burying your face in his chest, his arms around you. He rests his chin on your head. One of his hands strokes your dark hair as you stifle sobs into the wool of his cloak.

The situation takes you back to your wedding night, when he had comforted you in the same way after you had told him that you couldn't hate him, even if you had tried.

"I know," you hear him whisper, the vocal cords vibrating from his throat against the top of your head.

He is standing there, in front of you. You cling to the fabric of his clothes with all your might, as if you're afraid he'll slip away again.

"How?" you ask, eyes closed, head against him. If he is to be taken from you again, you intend to enjoy every moment in his company. 

He clenches again. You step back to look into his eyes, to search his enigmatic gaze for answers, for clues, for signs that would explain how. Why.

He doesn't answer you, but he is filled with desire as he grips your chin between his middle and index fingers, as he captures your lips with his own. You rediscover the possessiveness you've been missing. He pushes you a little harder against the wall behind you, as if to remind you who you belong to. Who you were married to.

A familiar warmth blossoms between your thighs, a warmth you haven't felt for too long. You're trapped, right there, your uncle towering over you, trapped between the wall and his body. His fingers close around your jaw and you kiss him back hungrily, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

You're perfectly aware that the situation is surreal.  You're perfectly aware that you're making a mistake, that you shouldn't respond to the kiss of the man who used to be your husband, not when he's technically still your enemy, not when he's technically dead. 

But you shut out the voices in your head begging you to stop.

"I still want to hate you, you know," you breathe between his parted lips. He merely mutters hm in reply, trying to shut you up again, his hands wandering under your cape, tracing the ribs of the body he'd missed so much. He reaches for your waist, your hips, which he grabs meanly. 

There's no one in the alley around you, but the hood over his head hides his long silver hair anyway. 

"Three fucking years." Your lips leave his, a mixture of anger and desire bubbling up from your lower belly. Aemond stares at you, his jaw clenched. He knows you need to unleash your emotions when you don't read an ounce of regret in his gaze. "Three. Fucking. Years. And you've told me nothing. You never sought to -"

"I couldn't," he retorts harshly. He seems to be searching for words to explain something you could not possibly understand, but his gaze does not soften. You know he needs time, you've learned to know him.  You've waited three years, what's another moment? But you're tired, and your patience isn't as strong as it used to be.  You look away, a mocking laugh escaping your lips as you repeat his justification. "You couldn't." 

"And risk your mother executing me?" He forces you to look at him again, and you feel the lump form in your throat. You know you are perhaps being unfair, but you were alone for those three years while you mourned him, so alone, and in a way, you want to make him pay.

"You were dead to me, qybor." Uncle. You feel him twitch at the mention of your family tie, at the nickname he used to love to hear on your tongue. "I had to live with the idea that you would never come back."

The tears that had dried on your cheeks threaten to flow again, pooling at the corners of your eyes. Aemond sighs. 

"I thought I was dead too," he whispers. You can feel the tension in every one of his muscles. There's a moment of hesitation, a silence that hovers between you.  You have so many questions, but you don't know where to begin.  Not a sound leaves your lips.

"She tended to my wounds," he adds, and you frown in confusion. "Alys."

Alys. You try to wriggle out of his grip, but he keeps you pinned to the wall.  Alys, you remember the rumours whispered in your ear by that rat of Larys - those false rumours, you remind yourself -  but you can't help feeling your heart clench.  You don't trust your voice enough to speak, to say anything.

"There's no one left in Harrenhal but her," he adds, as if you need that clarification, as if you need to know where he's been all this time. 

You say nothing. Your throat is tight. If you speak, if you look at him, you'll cry again and betray your feelings all over again. You refuse to make a fool of yourself, not now.

"She's the one who saw you. In Winterfell." There's a hint of bitterness in his voice as he mentions the place where you've spent the last few years rebuilding yourself, trying to forget him.  A bit of anger, perhaps, too.

"Cregan Stark welcomed me indeed," you reply curtly.  Perhaps you want to hurt him as he hurt you, but you are deliberately vague in your answer. "I have mourned you, qybor."

Everything is so confused in your mind.  A paradoxical blend of desire, anger, sadness, jealousy.  Of love too.

You want to strangle him and melt on his lips at the same time, and you know that after all this time you should be used to feeling this paradox of emotions with Aemond. Your uncle was a set of contradictions all his own.

"I saw you. On Midnight. That's how I knew you were here."

You nod. Words don't work between you, you know that. It has always been like that; the habit of letting silence speak more than words. The habit of communicating through the carnal acts of your bodies against each other. *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond pushes you against the wooden door as soon as you enter the mediocre room of the inn. He is demanding, more than ever, as his hands run along your hips to your thighs to lift you up and press you against the door, your legs closing around him. He watches you with hungry eyes, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. You can't stop a moan from escaping your lips. 

There's something feverish, passionate, urgent about the kiss. And when his tongue begs for an opening, your lips part to welcome him. There is only you in this room, an interlude where nothing else exists, where you don't have to worry about your duties and loyalties, where you are guided by nothing but passion.

His hand slams against the wall next to your head and with a movement of his hips he lifts you a little higher onto his waist, your legs locked tightly around him. He grunts into the crook of your neck at the friction of your crotch against his.

"Tell me to stop." His hand which isn't against the wall to support your weight slides up to your jaw. He lifts your chin, his gaze locked in yours, searching for clues, anything that would betray your desire to end whatever it is you're doing. "Tell me to stop now, or I won't be able to."

You don't want to stop. You should, you know you should, but you silence the little voice in your conscience that's begging you to pull yourself together, to end it all before you've even started, before you've even gone too far, and you kiss him with more vigour, with more fervour.

"I'm not going to tell you to stop, qybor," you whisper against his lips. "You know that."

His hardened member twitches beneath you at the mention of the High Valyrian, at the mention of that nickname he's so fond of. It's his weakness, you know, and despite the three years he's been away, he hasn't changed.

It's so good to feel him against you again, to feel his lips against yours, along your jawline to the junction with your neck. In one sharp movement, he rolls his hips to meet yours, pressing you a little harder against the wooden wall, and he catches your moan between his lips.

You know that tonight there will be no shy touches between you, no awkward explorations like in the early days of your love, when it wasn't tainted by war, blood, and death yet. You and he will both be consumed by the burning fire of passion.   You both need to release that tension and frustration, to make up for lost time, to drown, drunk with desire, in the most carnal of acts. All that matters now are his hands on your body to ease the pain pulsing between your thighs, the desperate need to feel him inside you. 

The barrier of your clothes frustrates you. You need to feel his skin against yours, to feel all of him, and your hand runs down his body to pull at the cord holding his breeches together. Immediately his fingers close around your wrist to hold you back. He wants to be in control, you know. But it has been three years and something about you just isn't the same.

"Let me worship you like I used to, qybor," you whisper against his lips, your forehead pressed against his, and you feel his jaw tighten. There's a moment of hesitation in his eyes, clouded by desire.

His thumb caresses your lips, pressing against your lower lip. You part them, just enough for the tip of your tongue to wet the top of his thumb. There are no further words exchanged between you, just silence, punctuated by your gasping breaths. His hand closes around your throat, not pressing too hard, just enough so you can feel the weight of his palm against your windpipe, just to remind you that he's in complete control of the situation.

Fuck, you've missed it; the adrenaline of his hand around your throat, the adrenaline of knowing he could do anything to you and you'd be defenceless.

"On your knees then."

The command echoes through the room and you feel the wetness seeping between your thighs as you slide to your knees in front of him. Your eyes shine with envy and you look up at him as you did years ago. You know he can't resist the angelic look on your face when you're between his thighs. You know he can't resist the dichotomy between the innocent look on your face and the sinful act you're about to commit.  He revels in your submission, and that's something you've learned to use against him.

Your uncle releases his cock from his breeches, his hand wrapped around the base, and the desire you feel between your thighs becomes more and more unbearable. The head is already glistening with anticipation, white pearls beading at the slit, and it takes all of Aemond's self-control not to grab you by the hair and force himself into your mouth entirely. 

Closing the distance, he rubs his member against your lips to spread the wetness before pushing into your mouth. Your lips close around him. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the hand holding the base of his manhood is replaced by yours to cover what you can't take. Your tongue curls around the tip first, absorbing his salty taste, and you look up at him through your long lashes. He doesn't look away from you.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb caresses your cheekbone before sliding to the corner of your lips, just where his length disappears between them. It's as if he's hypnotised by the spectacle, by the bobbing of your head, by your hollowed cheeks, by your application and devotion. 

His hands leave your jaw and sink into your thick curls, urging you to take him a little deeper, and he thrusts between your lips with more vigour. You close your eyes, concentrating on not choking as his member touches the back of your throat. You take it as diligently and assiduously as ever, ignoring the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

"That's it, just like that. Such a good girl, mandianna [niece], such a good wife," you hear him grunt, his movements more erratic, more jerky, and you revel in his praise, sending a new wave of heat between your thighs. "Only for me."

You feel him throb on your tongue. You know it won't be long now, and you prepare yourself to welcome him, to let the salty taste of his seed flood your tongue, but your uncle pulls back reluctantly. 

"I would rather not waste." he whispers, his eyes riveted on the thread of saliva that connects your lips, glistening with saliva and precum, to the tip of his cock. You shudder. Aemond definitely hasn't changed much, you realise.

His hand finds your cheek again and he caresses your lips to spread the mess you've made by sucking him. You know he isn't finished. This is just the beginning and you're both driven by the consuming hunger of passion. You know what's coming now, your core clenching around nothing, and you rub your thighs together, in an attempt to soothe the impatience. 

He urges you to stand. He has that predatory look in his eyes as he closes the distance between you with his determined steps. 

" Undress," he orders, and you do not take your eyes off him as you untie the linen dress you had put on to disguise yourself as a common girl.

The garment falls heavily to the floor, forming a grey puddle at your feet, and you take a step forward.

"Do you not like seeing me dressed in rags, qybor?" you ask in a playful tone, teasing, referring to the time, years ago, when he had rescued you during your adventurous walk along the grim Silk Road where your uncle Aegon had accidentally led you. 

The memory was so close and yet so far away.

Aemond takes a step towards you, his hand brushing aside the long hair that hides your breasts to tuck it behind your shoulder.

"Not when you are meant to be my Queen." His eye glow with desire. He studies your body in detail as his fingers slide down your collarbone to your breasts. His thumb traces their underside before moving up to your nipples, hardened by the cool evening air and desire. He plays with them, eliciting a moan that satisfies him.  He looks at you like one looking at a prize, a long-awaited gift.

"Three years away from my beautiful wife," he whispers, his good eye gleaming as he looks at your breasts.

"You did have pleasant company in Harrenhal though, didn't you?" you hiss through your teeth and Aemond's hand suddenly closes around your throat to make you swallow your insolence.  You're not afraid, not anymore, for you know he won't hurt you. You have this power over him and it's delicious. 

His face is so close to yours that your noses are touching. 

He doesn't let go of you. 

"It wasn't like that." He whispers. "With her." You know he's sincere because he's almost awkward with his words, his explanation. You can see in his eye that there are so many other things he would like to tell you, but you have learned not to rush him.  It has always been difficult for him to open up, to be vulnerable.

His fingers release you. Aemond is a good head taller than you, and as he puts a hand on your shoulder, moving forward to force you back until your knees hit the mattress, your eyes remain fixed on his. 

Your uncle lays you down on the mattress. It's not the comfort of the bed you once shared, but you don't care, you just need him inside you. 

You need him to make you feel whole again. Aemond was fire, and you were willing to burn for him.  You had always burned for him.

In the candlelight of the small bedroom where you spend the night, you see his thumbs slip under the waistband of his breeches. His clothes quickly join yours on the floor.

There's something soothing about the weight of his naked body on top of yours. Once under him, you know you can surrender completely to him and stop thinking, just stop thinking.

His lips on yours, his hands on your body, his broad torso eclipsing your smaller figure.

He places kisses down your neck to your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave purple marks that will blossom tomorrow. 

He kisses your breast, his lips closing around an erect nipple which he sucks gently, then around the other.  Your hands are buried in his long silver hair.  You can feel how wet you are between your thighs. You need him desperately, right there.

The confidence with which his fingers slide down your waist, from your hips to your inner thighs, only emphasises his ravenous expression. His touch on your folds sends a wave of heat through your body, causing your hips to move against his hand. Softly tracing the curves of your crotch, his index and middle fingers finally part your folds to collect the wetness that has formed there.

"Is it sucking your husband's cock that has got you so wet? 

Yes, you want to answer, seeking more contact, but the words are stuck in your throat.

"Stay still," he orders in a hoarse voice as you move your hips, his hands gripping your hips to pin you back against the mattress. 

You comply, for once, because you know he won't give you what you want otherwise. And you can't wait any longer, not today, not when you thought you'd never feel his warmth against your body again, his hands on your hips, his cock inside you.

"You see, you can be a good girl." His voice is softer when you obey. And to reward you, his fingers slide to your entrance, where he applies a little pressure with the tip of his middle finger without actually penetrating you. "Now beg your husband to fill you."

"Please, qybor," you murmur, your hand taking his cheek to bring his face to yours. You want him to look at you. "Please, I need you inside."

Oh, the slowness and precision with which his finger plunges into you makes you throw your head back. He begins to move back and forth, his index finger joining his middle one, caressing your spongy walls, his thumb tracing circles around your bud. Curling his fingers, he strokes that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and you clutch the sheets beneath you.

You feel your centre tighten around his fingers, the release you've been looking for so close, so very close. You shut your eyes, ready for the familiar wave of warmth to wash over your entire body, but your uncle pulls his fingers away. You grunt in frustration.

You open your eyes only to see Aemond bring his fingers to his lips indecently, spreading your wetness over his own lips. "You still taste so good," he purrs, and you feel the blush rise to your cheeks.

He leans over to kiss you and you taste yourself on his lips. It's indecent.

He pulls back and you see him wrap his hand around his hardened cock, the head angrily red and already drooling in anticipation. He guides himself to your core, rubbing his length between your folds, coating it with your glistening juices. 

The round tip of his member enters you, slowly at first, stretching your narrow entrance as if to give you time to adjust. Aemond pushes and he sinks easily into you until he's fully seated, your warm, wet walls feeling heavenly around him, squeezing him just right.

" You are so tight," he growls against you as your arms close around him, your legs bent and pressed to either side of his body. 

He gives you a moment to get used to having him inside you again, to feeling him so deeply. It's exactly what you need; he stretches you deliciously, with a perfect touch of controlled pain.

You feel whole again and you want to cry.  You never want to lose that feeling. You want to keep him, against you, inside you.

You close your eyes and bury your head in the hollow above his shoulder, clinging to him as if to feel him more deeply, more intimately.

"You can move," you reply, rolling your hips to support your words. Aemond's hand immediately presses down on your stomach to hold you against the mattress and you bite your lower lip, almost guilty of forgetting his earlier command. He always has that need to control. He's the one who decides, you should know it after all these years, and you should stop being so demanding, so desperate.

"I said stay still," he scolds you, and the waiting is unbearable. 

You need him. 

When he finally pulls out and thrusts into you again, you let out a whimper. Your nails dig into the pale skin of his back, leaving crescent marks that will probably still be there the next day.

Once under him, Aemond has the ability to make you vulnerable, and part of you hate him for it.

"You take me so well," he growls after a particularly brutal thrust. "You're such a good girl."

The praise is sweet music to your ears.  You have always needed it, to be praised, complimented.

You feel him hitting that special spot deep inside you, you feel him pressing in so deeply and your grip tightens around him.

"Did you miss me?" you whisper in a voice made weak by pleasure, but all you get in return are the hoarse grunts of his voice.

Aemond lowers his eyes to look at where you are joined, hypnotised by the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. The rhythm he imposes is powerful, deep, and his fingers find their way between your bodies, reaching your little bud at the top of your folds to trace circles on it. You won't last long and he knows it as he feels your walls tighten desperately around him. Your moans grow louder.

"Look at me." His voice barely brings you back to reality, even though your mind is already far away, even though you know you can't last much longer. Painfully, you open your eyes to meet your uncle's icy gaze. " I am going to fill you up." His pacing becomes more erratic, more sloppy, and you know he won't last much longer either. Leaning on his forearm, he continues to stroke your pearl in small circles. "I am going to fill you up and you're going to take it all."

The image of you, belly round with his child, haunts him.  It never stopped haunting him, even on the brink of death, even when he thought he'd exhaled his last breath as he fell into the icy waters of the lake, his heart clenched with regret and remorse. It still is a wonder that he has survived. Perhaps, just perhaps, the Gods still had plans for him.

I'm going to fill you up. Words like that shouldn't bring you to ecstasy, and yet they do. Aemond reaches deeper, and as he feels your whole body convulse with the spasms of your orgasm, he joins you in your release. He spills his seed deep inside you before remaining still, buried against your womb, enjoying your warmth, making sure he's pouring every last drop into you. 

He doesn't want to pull out, not yet, and you close your arms around his neck, your breast pressed against his chest as he softens inside you.

The weight of his body on yours is comforting.  For the first time in years, you feel alive. For the first time in years, the open wound he left seems to be healing.

When he pulls out, you wince at the sensation of his cock slipping between your still too sensitive folds. You immediately miss the feeling of fullness. 

You barely move, your whole body still sore from your lovemaking, but you can feel his cum leaking from your entrance onto the mattress below.

Again, Aemond's fingers are between your thighs that are glistening with the intimate essence of both of you, collecting his own seed and pushing it back into you.  You whimper, still too sensitive, your lips brushing against his, and he remains inside you for a brief moment. He wants to make sure nothing is wasted.

And when he withdraws his fingers, he presses them against your lips for you to clean them.

You snuggle up against him, your head against his chest. Your hand caresses his chest, the fine line of his muscles, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close. You enjoy the warmth of his body while you still can. Between your thighs you feel the sticky sensation of his seed mixing with your wetness as it still flows out of you, but you don't want to leave the embrace of his arms.

"I saw you in the gardens. With the child."

When you feel his throat vibrate, you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed. "It was you, then?" You swallow. "It was you watching me." It's more of an observation than a question, and you suddenly understand that constant, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. At least you weren't crazy. 

He lets out a hm and pauses.

"Is he yours?"

You know where this question is leading. You fear the moment of truth.  You'd deluded yourself into thinking you could avoid it, but you were naive; did you really think you could hide the truth from him for much longer, now that he was back?

"Yes." You answer, looking away. You're nervous, and he can feel it.

"He's Cregan Stark's son, isn't he?"

Your heart clenches. You hesitate for a moment. You should lie.  You know you should lie.  To protect your son and your family, as you've protected them for the past three years.  You only need one word.

You hear him sighing beneath you, taking your silence as confirmation.

"No, he's not." 

The words leave your lips before you can even stop them. You hold your breath. Beneath you, Aemond tenses. He straightens, puzzled, silent.

"A bastard, then?" His voice is dry, almost mocking, revealing a form of irritation. "I did not expect this from you, dear niece." Disappointment.

You feel anger boiling inside you at the thought of him insulting your son, your sweet boy you love so much. You swallow the lump that has formed in your throat and rise on your forearms, your eyebrows furrowed as you turn your hard gaze on him.

You don't know how to express the words that are desperately trying to escape your lips. 

" He has blue eyes," you add, and you can see the confusion on his face. A lock of hair slips from your shoulder and falls around your face. "Your blue eyes."

You feel him tense up. He says nothing, just stares at you with his one seeing eye.  It's rare to see Aemond Targaryen so unsure of himself, so full of doubt. He stares at you as if he's afraid he's heard you wrong, as if he's afraid he's invented the words that have come out of your mouth.

"What did you say?"

You look away. You bite your lower lip, regretting your words.  You want to bury your face in his chest. You breath. 

"He is your son, Aemond." You finally admit it.

It's true that Rhaegar's brown curls could easily make him look like a Stark. Cregan had offered to raise him as his own, and you had smiled at his kindness.

Rhaegar is so much like you. Like you, and like Luke, and especially like Jace as a child, of whom he is the spitting image. He has the soft features of your face, but his eyes make him undeniably Aemond's son.

Your uncle holds you close, his arm wrapped around your waist, his long nose buried in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair.

"My son," he repeats in awe.  It's rare to see Aemond smile with sincerity.  Especially after the war has worn him down, made him more ruthless than ever.

"His name is Rhaegar," you say. "Just as we discussed." There's shyness in your voice.

He straightens, you on top, straddling him, and he seeks your lips to kiss you fiercely. His desire awakens beneath you; you feel him harden against your core again.

And this time, he makes love to you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** 

"I missed the best part." He purrs against you, his hand absently caressing your breast before sliding down your body to rest on your flat stomach, just above where your womb lies. He clenches his hand possessively over your flesh. His voice is almost tinged with regret. Your hand rests on his.

"You shouldn't have left me," you reply, bitter. Deep down, you're still angry with him. Your gaze falls on your stomach, where both your hands lie, yours on top of his, clasped together. "You shouldn't have let your anger dictate your actions," you add, looking away. "But you were blinded by your desire for revenge, by your desire to prove that you could be better than him.” You swallow.

It is his fault, after all, that he missed your son's birth, that he didn't see him grow through the tender years of his infancy.

Rhaegar needed a father, and it was Cregan who raised him.

"Does he even know who I am? Who his father is?"

The guilty look on your face betrays you, and you know immediately that you've hurt his feelings. It may be selfish of you, but he needs to understand.

"You were supposed to be dead. There's still a lot he doesn't know." 

He doesn't say anything. You don't have the courage to meet his hard, stern gaze, you don't have the courage to see the disappointment and pain on his face, because if you do, your heart will tighten and you will fall apart.

"He's still so young. Give him time." You add, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his hand, in an attempt to soothe him. 

You know how much Aemond wanted a son, and you know it's cruel to take that from him.  You know he would have made a good father. You can picture him with Rhaegar on his knee, reading him stories, telling him about the adventures of Vhagar and Visenya, and you love the image that forms in your mind.

You told Rhaegar about Aemond, though he was still too young to understand. You told him that his father had once owned the greatest dragon in the world, that his father was a fearless man for it was true, and you saw his big eyes light up. 

Aemond pulls you closer to him. "I want to be there for him, you know."  Unlike Viserys, but he doesn't have to say it, you understand what he means in the undertone he leaves at the end of his sentence.  He has always suffered from his father's indifference.

You cuddle up to him and he runs his fingers through your long curls. For a moment, you imagine that everything is fine and you search for his touch. He plants a kiss on the top of your head.

"I've missed you," he admits, the words landing on the tips of his lips in the silence of the bedroom, but you're already dozing off.

You know that tomorrow will be made up of choices and decisions. 

But for now, you fall asleep in the embrace of his very real arms, for once, enjoying the illusion of the life you both could have had.

[yunjardi]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

[𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 (𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐬), 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐥𝐦𝐤 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠!]

[𝐚/𝐧: 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 <𝟑 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐟!𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐥. 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!]

♡ being pregnant is hard, but jake is harder

♡ jake is always ready for the mood swings that may or may not occur, and he's especially ready for the times when your mood swings over to the horny side of the spectrum

♡ he'd be so gentle when teasing you, only taking things further if you told him you had enough energy to do anything sexual

♡ you two are either softly making love or fucking like rabbits, all depending on how much you feel you could handle (physically) on a given day

♡ he just wants to make you feel pleasure amidst the pain that comes with being pregnant :,(

and now for the little drabble...

"wait, we'll still be able to have sex, right?"

is the first thing that jake said upon separating from your long embrace induced by your sudden pregnancy announcement.

you couldn't help yourself from chuckling at how passionate and serious he was about his question.

"yes, jake," you reassured him, "we'll still be able to have sex, so you have nothing to worry about."

jake sighed with relief once hearing this new information, now knowing that your sex life wouldn't falter even though you were pregnant.

"phew, i don't think i'd be able to survive 9 whole months without it," jake wiped fake sweat off his forehead which made you giggle.

"you are shameless, jake sim," you laughed before jake pulled you, the love of his life, into a kiss.

"only when it comes to you, y/n y/l/n."

in the past few months, your relationship with jake surprisingly changed a lot (in a good way, of course).

but the thing that changed the most was your sex life.

not that you and jake weren't fucking like rabbits before, but it was now on another level.

being pregnant made your libido skyrocket to a point where you and jake couldn't keep your hands to yourselves.

if you guys weren't being all lovey-dovey, jake going out of his way to run out and get you whatever you (and the baby) were craving, you guys were definitely doing the nasty.

jake loved exploring new ways to fuck you since you couldn't do some positions that you'd normally do, your steadily growing tummy making things (sexually or otherwise) a bit difficult at times.

either way, you guys always found a way around it in order to satisfy your sexual needs.

it usually starts in the evening when you and jake are relaxing together when suddenly his hands start making their way all over your body. from then on, things just take off.

panties tossed to the side, you find yourself grinding your hips down onto two of his long fingers as he teased your clit with his thumb.

"jake," you breathed out as your walls desperately gripped onto jake's fingers, "m-more."

you didn't really have to beg much (or at all really) for jake to give in.

he was always ready to fuck you whenever you wanted whether you were aware or not; he just gets off to seeing you beg for his cock.

"so warm and wet," jake praised as he continued to toy with your entrance, "makes me wanna put another baby in you after you have this one." jake rubbed his free hand on your tummy as he described his dirty little fantasy about fucking you so much that you're pregnant every moment that you're able to be.

"show me, babe," you breathed out amorously whilst putting your arms around his nape before kissing his lips ever so gently.

it wasn't long until you found yourself at the edge of the bed, wet and waiting impatiently for jake to stick his veiny cock inside your needy hole.

once he finally did, you couldn't help the sensual moan that escaped your lips as your pussy immediately gripped onto every inch of his dick.

you felt your inner thighs heat up once jake began to push and pull his hips into yours, your moans becoming more prevalent with each thrust.

your moans were uncontrollable, your body so engulfed in pleasure that you couldn't even think straight.

gently helping you shift your body onto the bed because he didn't want you to stand for too long, jake continued his strong and steady thrusts, trying not to get too rough with you whilst you took his girthy cock from behind.

soon, you had a desire to change positions, longing to feel his length at a different angle. plus, you wanted to see jake's pretty face while he was stuffing you full. that meant riding was the way to go. not to mention that it drove jake absolutely insane to watch you shamelessly fuck yourself on his cock as you chased your orgasm.

"good girl," jake praised you breathlessly, "just like that; keep going."

jake would be lying if he said that he wasn't close to the edge.

seeing your tits (that have gotten fuller throughout the last few months due to pregnancy) bounce up and down while you gripped onto one of them drove him absolutely nuts (no pun intended). not to mention how turned on he got whenever you'd put your hands on your tummy for support while you rode his dick.

jake dug his nails into your hips and ass, still adoring your appearance as you practically used him as a sex toy. helpless whines, whimpers, and moans of lust escaped both of your lips, neither of you being able to muster up the power to dirty talk at this point.

soon, jake let himself loose, holding your hips down firmly onto his as he let out strings of groans and curses. he held your body close to his, leaving kisses from your neck to your chest all while his seed leaked from your tight pussy back down onto his softening length.

"if you weren't already pregnant right now, i'd say that you need to take a test asap," jake joked as you left kisses along his jaw and on his soft face, "because after that, there's no way you wouldn't be." jake laughed breathlessly as he flashed his pretty smile.

"at this rate, i'll be pregnant again in the next few months," you joked. "if you keep this energy up, we'll be a family of four by next year," you couldn't help but add onto your last statement with a slightly concerned chuckle.

"well, if the shoe fits-" jake shrugged with an obvious grin on his face.

"sim jaeyun, get your act together."

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed this little drabble i wrote for you all + the double upload hehe <3 definitely let me know if you'd like more drabble content like this! ily <3

taglist: @axartia @jjhmk @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @leeis @jaeyunology @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @leeheeheeseung @jenshinee (send an ask to be added + if you have asked to be on my permanent taglist and don't see your username, pls message me!)

©yunjardi on tumblr

[silvermarley]

i know its a tad weird, but... do you think muzan would be ok with period sex? its technically free blood... and reader wont have cramps during it

You’re all good! I mean demon + free blood?? Sorry it’s super late 🙏🏻

Period Sex

Muzan x Reader

Warnings: blood obv, a bit rough?, cunnilingus, fem! body parts, minor degradation, established relationship, unprotected sex

WC: 2.1k

Demons have an unquenchable thirst for blood. They typically don’t care about their human victims, as they’re only a mere blood bank to them. The same is said about the infamous and overwhelmingly powerful king of all demons, Muzan Kibutsuji.

But, he has a unique situation that has taken hold of him for the past few days. You see, he’s not ignorant of the human body, but there’s something he didn’t know about. Mortal women bleed once a month, as their bodies ready themselves for eventual pregnancy.

Muzan’s situation is unique because of his lover. A human woman, one which he couldn’t kill. One that he found himself seeking out, and the person who makes his cold heart(s) beat. It was obvious that since he was a demon, he would seek out any blood he can get. You knew that. So when it was your time of the month, you would make up some excuse to be left alone for the duration of your period. That was your plan every month.

Eventually, the demon king saw the pattern in the times you would ask to be alone. It made his teeth clench just thinking about why that would be. You were a loyal partner, of course, but that fact didn’t come up in his mind when it would start to go over reasons as to why he had to go days, if not a week without you. Who would dare to impose on my relationship, he thought. You were his. He has the right to be with you everyday, so why? Why must you insist on taking.. vacations, as he called it, so often?

For the time away, you would suffer through your period. The cramps, bleeding, and aches.. all of it. Not only were you unsure of what Muzan would do if he knew about this, but you also didn’t want to bother him with your vulnerable and emotional side. In the end, he’s a man-eating demon. It had been long enough for you to understand that he wouldn’t dream of killing you, no matter how angry he felt. But just the thought of him knowing about your period was quite frightening.

Muzan isn’t a very patient man, unfortunately. He wanted to know why you kept leaving and distancing every time. Why you were keeping something from him.

You had your own room, and you didn’t really use it until the time came. You much preferred to spend your nights with him. But in this case, it wasn’t possible.

He knew where you went monthly, considering nothing in the infinity castle gets past him. And now, he was heading there in search for answers. As he got closer to the room, he caught the scent of blood. Your blood?

In a matter of seconds after his keen sense of smell caught that scent, he was sliding open the door to your room. You jumped upon seeing him, not know what to do now that he was here.

“Are you injured?” He asked after a pause. His eyes glowed at the smell, even in the dimly lit space.

His eyes scanned over your form, covered in a blanket and your face, showing many emotions. Confusion, fear, and above all pain. Not pain from any injury, like he was thinking. At your silence, he was about to seethe in anger at who would be brainless enough to lay a hand on you. Until you spoke up.

“No..” your voice was slightly shaky. You had no idea how he would react if you told him about your dilemma.

Heavy footsteps are heard as he walks over to you. “Then?” His arms cross skeptically. “What aren’t you telling me, Y/N?” Muzan’s voice was firm, yet you could tell this was his way of checking on you.

You sigh. This was inevitable. You couldn’t hide this for all eternity, anyways. “I’m not hurt.. I’m on my period.”

His eyebrows furrow curiously. Right.. he likely didn’t know that about you.

“Every month, I..” you calm yourself, only stopping your words to whince at the pain in your stomach. “..bleed. It’s something women go through.”

“Every month..? How come I smell your blood, but i have yet to see it?” He kneels by you to inspect your body. Most of which was still covered.

He wasn’t reacting badly so far, which came as a surprise. Turns out his restraint is much better than you thought. Now, it was just embarrassing to explain it.

“Because I bleed from down there..” you began to mumble, face heating up slightly at how you couldn’t bring yourself to say the actual thing you’re referring to.

His ruby colored eyes glowed once more, this time for a different reason. Before you could protest, he lifted the blanket from your body to see your bloodied lower region. He couldn’t stop the groan leaving his chest as the scent got more prominent. You noticed his grip on the blanket tightened.

“And you thought to hide this from me?” His gaze then returns to your face.

You nod hesitantly. “It’s just.. I didn’t know how you would react. And I didn’t want you to deal with it..”

“Deal with the blood?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you know who I am? What I am?” You felt a cold finger trail from your jaw to your collarbone.

“I-I know.. but the blood isn’t all of it. It also causes stomach cramps and mood swings.” You stutter, yet you felt little to no fear right now due to the look in his eyes. It wasn’t of murderous intent.

His hand trails down further to your stomach and he rests it there. “..Is it hurting now?” He questions, and when you nod again, he inquires more about it. He inhales. “It’s hard to resist the scent of your blood. Especially after hearing where it’s coming from..”

Warmth spread across your cheeks at the comment. You didn’t know where he was going with this.

“I think I know how to assist you with the pain.” This would be a sweet thing to hear, if it weren’t for the sinister smirk on his face.

He begins pushing the blanket completely off your body. After it was successfully moved to the side, he took in the view. He was getting hungrier by the minute. Drool fell from his lips a little at the sight. He needed to taste it. And he wasn’t one to play with his meals.

Muzan pulls down your shorts, tossing it aside to see the mess that is your panties. He groaned again, unable to stop himself from licking a stripe on your clothed core, tasting your sweet blood through the fabric. You gasped, feeling much more sensitive than normal, but also hot due to his boldness.

He rips your sad excuse for underwear and dove right into what he’s been craving ever since he smelled your sweet blood. He’s no stranger to pleasuring you with only his tongue. But god, this felt so good. So different. Like he was trying to devour you whole. Like he’s parched and the only thing that can quench it is the mess between your thighs.

The demon’s tongue moved languidly at first, to savor the taste of both your arousal and the tempting red liquid. But the muscle moved quicker with time, desperately needing to taste all of you. You writhed and grabbed onto the only thing keeping your mind in reality, his wild and now unkempt black locks.

Your needy tugs to his hair only made his movements more determined. The heat in your lower stomach was rising at a rapid pace not even you could keep up with. The area that was previously aching with pain was now flooding with pleasure. Muzan’s nails dug into your upper thighs as he feasted on everything you were giving him. The pain shouldn’t have felt so good, but with the drag of his demonic tongue, god it did.

Your orgasm hit you like a flash, as your arched into his head and stuttered his name loudly. The growl he let out was low and heavy. He licked up your mixed juices while you twitched and shook.

He then lifted himself from you. His pupils were blown wide and his lower face was messy. “Divine, just as I thought.” He murmurs, “Your essence is sweet, and mixed with your blood..” he takes in a breath, and trails off.

You caught your breath, which was knocked out of you for a moment. Before you had time to respond, he’s making his next move. You glanced down as he sat up, noticing his prominent erection in his dress pants. It made you wonder how it would feel inside you now that you were on your cycle. You were sensitive already, but this time it was enhanced surely.

His sharp teeth nearly shined as he grinned darkly at you. “Your blood is irresistible.. and I can’t wait to see such delectable essence on my cock.”

His grin widens a bit more at seeing the you bite your lip with replenished need. You two have been intimate many times before, but this felt like so much more. With this, he could have claim every part of you, in your weakest state. In your most vulnerable time. And that thought alone has been driving him wild since he tasted you.

You barely even noticed when he took off his pants and vest, leaving his formal shirt slightly unbuttoned as he was too desperate to be inside you. Having said that, you also failed to notice when he was now hovering over you and positioning himself at your entrance. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he carefully plunged in. There was a mutual groan shared as he pushes in, inch by inch.

The mix of slick and blood made it easier to stuff you full of his cock. When he bottomed out, he couldn’t resist biting your shoulder. You whined from both pain and pleasure, as he laps up more of your sweetness. The taste of it on his tongue caused him to begin thrusting. “Always such a good little human, hm?” He rasps.

You let out a strangled moan at the sheer power of his thrusts in an attempt at a response. Your mind couldn’t even think about the pain in your abdomen with how good he was making you feel. His head pulls back to watch your lewd expressions. It was always his favorite. Just seeing how much of a mess he can make of you gets him going.

Even as such an individual as mighty as Muzan, he still falls into the irresistible pleasure he gets from you. The feelings he once was unfamiliar with, came easily when he met you.

His nails dig into your hips this time as with each thrust he pulls you to him, only increasing how deep he hit. Your whines echoed off the walls of your room, mixing with the slaps of skin. A faint but audible set of groans and grunts can also be heard from the man above you. Only you could drag these uncontrollable noises from the king himself.

The demon threw his head back, gripping under your thighs to bring them to your chest. That served to make him go even deeper than you thought possible. Your body was trembling under him, and the feeling of getting close came creeping up on you. The tightening of your pussy made his noises turn into something more animalistic. “Make a beautiful mess on my cock. I know you want to.” He coos breathily, his alluring eyes staring at your face.

And you were more than happy to follow as he said. Body twitching and ecstasy taking over, you came hard. Your mind was effectively taken over by the intensity of it all. A deep growl came out of his mouth as you convulsed and nearly milked him for all he’s worth. He felt close, and quicker than normal. The circumstances played a big part in speeding up his gratification in indulging in you.

You could barely keep your eyes open as he relentlessly thrusted, overstimulation making you shake pathetically. He reveled in your form and the sensation. After a few more harsh thrusts, he gives a final one that fills you with his cum. “That’s it,” he moans huskily, “Take it all..”

When he spilled all he could into you, he pulled out and let his dick lay on your stomach. He looked down at the fluids connecting it to your messy cunt. A sight he could get used to.

Though, he’s no weak man by any means. It wasn’t long before his stamina allowed him to become hard again. A desire-filled smirk was plastered on his face. “You should know that I am far from done.”

As his lover, you definitely knew that. But as a human, you weren’t sure how far he would take it this time. The king wasn’t going to give you time to think about that, however.

——

[schemmentigfs]

Hi! I have a request on mean!mommy Melissa x R? When Melissa caught r flirting with someone (on purpose) and she decided to take R home and punish the hell out of R and comfort her after?

Tempting Fiery Redhead Devil.

summary: Jacob reveals that Melissa once told him that she wasn’t a jealous person. Outrageous by the made-up lie, you decide to take revenge by flirting with one of the teachers at the book club reunion without knowing that it would lead to painful consequences later at your girlfriend’s place.

warnings: porn with plot, mommy/mistress kink, a little toxic melissa? strap-ons, blowjobs, degradation, squirting, praises, fingering, oral, mentions of voyeurism.

shout out to the person who said that mel eats pussy for breakfast, CUZ SHE DOES! and for lunch and dinner too. 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩btw, I managed to get some free days so send prompts for me to write! :)

Monday mornings at an elementary school as a teacher were always quiet and ordinary, being the beginning of the week they ever tended to be slower or considerably boring. Even discouraging at times, and today things weren’t very different, actually it seemed the same old thing. Everyone who worked at Abbott Elementary was still sleepy and in a bad mood, trying to gather strength to start the day after a quiet relaxing weekend away from the common chaotic environment which seemed to take over the entire building.

You weren’t much different from the rest. Struggling with the urge to not to close your eyes and sleep on the hallway benches, exhaustion taking over every inch of your body. Which was quite curious and comical since your weekend off from work had been, to say the least, like a visit to paradise. On Saturday and Sunday you stayed at Melissa’s place, enjoying your girlfriend’s company in the little bubble that both built in these nine months of an established relationship.

You didn’t understand why you looked so tired. Most of the time, on those two days you and the older woman cooked together and cuddled on the couch watching romcoms — Melissa’s secret favorite genre of movies. A great counterpoint to the tough and mysterious persona she was known for throughout South Philly. Until the memory hit your head. In the middle of a scene from 50 First Dates, the redhead began to place heated kisses and bites on your collarbone starting a makeout session that ended with you under the sheets moaning and screaming her name while she went down on you.

“You taste so divine, babygirl,” she said between tortuous and slow licks. Seeming genuinely enchanted by your flavor. “I could spend hours with your thighs suffocating my head.”

As she savored your entrance, her fingers traced teasing circles along your inner thighs, sending shivers through your body. Her breath, warm against your skin, whispered countless promises yet to come, mingling with the soft hum of approval as she continued to explore your depths with a hungry curiosity.

You bucked your hips, moaning loudly, massaging the well-defined red curls that were slightly messy. “Feels so nice. More, please mistress!”

She moaned into your pussy, reaching out one of her manicured hands to twist your perk nipples. The pain made you tighten your grip on her hair, arching your back off the bed. The woman pinned your hips down again, you let out a strangled cry. Letting yourself get lost at the feeling of Melissa taking care of you, the way she knew how.

“Aw, that was such a cute noise, baby. Do you like it when mommy takes charge and praises you?” she talked you through it. “I know you do, so good for me, letting mommy play with you like this.”

Melissa placed a kiss on your clit, replacing her tongue with two fingers, making you cum at an impressive speed with a pitched gasp. While you were coming down from your high — eyes closed, body trembling and breathing heavily, the woman followed a trail of kisses and licks through your body until she reached your face. Where she captured your lips in a hungry kiss, making you moan as you tasted yourself in her warm skillful mouth.

When you part for the air, you mapped shapes into the freckles on her back. Looking at your girlfriend with doe eyes and a weak smile, still recovering from the orgasm and trying to control your irregular breath.

“Mel, can you approach a little more?” you broke the silence wanting more contact with her body. She giggled hearing your request and moved even closer. Not wanting to spend a second away from you.

“You're so good to me, hon,” she returned the smile, pressing a gentle peck on your cheek. “So good. I'm so proud of you.”

The next morning and also the last day you stayed at her house, the woman didn't give you any time or chance to rest. While preparing breakfast, she bent you over the kitchen counter and fucked you senseless with one of the strap-ons which she kept in a secret box that contained various sex toys that she used with you in bed. Things like vibrators, handcuffs and whips stood out in this huge selection of objects.

“Mommy,” you mewled between violent thrusts and hearing her animalistic grunts accompanying the movements of her hips slamming into you. “I can’t hold it any longer, please let me come.”

“That’s it, be a good girl and cum for mommy,” she whined, finding her own release after hearing you scream her name. Melissa gently pumped her cock inside you for a while, before pulling out with a kiss down your spine to relax your body on the aftershock. She throwed the harness on the floor to worry about cleaning up later.

You made a dissatisfied noise, feeling empty. She noticed and started calming you.

“I gotcha baby. You’re okay, now let’s get ya cleaned up and fresh.” The redhead carried you in her arms bridal style to the upstairs bathroom and kept her promise, giving you a warm, relaxing bath that you enjoyed every second melting on her embrace and sighing passionately with each caresses and kisses given.

After your shared bath, Melissa made blueberry pancakes along with strawberries and apple juice — your favorites — and took you back to bed. But this time, she didn’t start another round and just spooned you from behind, whispering sweet nothings as you fell asleep with an adorable smile on your face.

“So beautiful and precious,” she told you. “Ti amo, dolcezza mia. Sono la donna più fortunata del mondo.”

“I love you,” you managed to say sleepily, turning around to face Melissa and snuggle into her soft and comfy chest. That at this point had become your favorite place to sleep in peace, the sound of the redhead's heartbeat always calmed you down. “More than anything, babe.”

The last thing you felt before drifting off was a tender kiss on your hair.

That Sunday, you slept like a baby. What a completely unforgettable weekend, those pleasurable moments with your girlfriend were always cherished. No matter how much energy it took from you, leaving Melissa in complete control was special and made you feel loved in her presence.

Stopping walking for a bit as your feet feel sore through your green all-stars, you complain once again.

“I just need a double dose of caffeine and a medicine to calm down,” you breathed out, practically dragging yourself with your heavy bag on your shoulder. “Dude, why do I pack so much stuff in this damn thing? There’s enough props that could fit in Ava’s bunker.”

Mr. Johnson, who was sweeping the floor with small headphones humming the Jacksons famous Blame on The Boogie tune, laughs at your complaints making you startle, placing a hand on your chest while meeting his gaze. “You look like Ms. Teagues waking up confused in the nurse’s office after taking out the entire power in school,” he commented casually. “Where is that willingness? Does Ms. Schemmenti have anything to do with this?”

The mockery makes your cheeks take on a red blush. Everyone was now aware of your serious relationship and every opportunity given they found a way to make fun of the dominance she had over you, in a respectful way, obviously. No one would dare to disrespect Melissa’s precious girlfriend that she protected with all her heart.

You didn’t mind all that teasing of course, it was hilarious and a bit harmless when someone did it. Perhaps, these jokes were so good that they made you laugh genuinely. But since you’re known through the entire building as one of the shyest and quietest teachers, that often led to extremely embarrassing situations.

Like one time on development day where in the middle of Ava's ridiculous presentation, sharing what she had done over the summer vacation instead of her plans for school in the new school year. At the back of the library, Melissa began tracing imaginary patterns on your soft thighs, each movement closer to your core without caring about the rest of the staff present. Self-conscious and afraid of being caught, you grabbed her hand, pulling it away in dismay. But the ambitious woman just gave a smug grin and continued her ministries, earning a deep, shaky sigh to fall from your lips.

The redheaded teacher was only testing the waters, shamelessly teasing you to see how far you would reach the limit. That meant, begging to be touched by her.

“Lissa, we are in the same place as our co-workers. That isn't a great idea!” you protested, unsuccessfully trying to maintain your professional demeanor in public.

“Don’t be a pussy, you can handle it, dollface.” She replied with her pupils blown with desire, waiting for you to give in.

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti,” you tried with a firm tone but were interrupted with a slap on your left thigh. That would definitely leave a mark. “What are–”

“Sarai una brava ragazza per me, o ti comporterai come una stronza?” Melissa scoffs with a humorless laugh, knowing that when she said something extremely dirty in her native language, it quickly turned you on. “O vuoi un altro segno rosso sul sedere?”

“Uh?”

She jeered with false sympathetic eyes. “Poor baby, cat’s got your tongue?”

“No, but..”

Barb, who was there that morning — almost fast asleep, and inpatient, noticed the almost inappropriate act in public and ended up reprimanding you and her work wife with an incredulous look. “Ladies, we’re on school grounds. This is a learning space, please behave.”

“Please forgive us, Mrs. Howard, it won't happen again!” you spoke out, chastising for sounding like an horny teenager caught by your parents in the middle of an intimate moment. “We’re just fooling around to take our mind off the nonsense things Principal Coleman says about her spiritual retreat.”

“Mmm, I see.” She hums, falling back asleep tired from all the chatter.

You put your hands on your face, feeling embarrassed and shy. Jumping on your seat for a brief second when Melissa puts her own palms on top of yours, making you look directly at her.

“Do ya think you can get away that easily?” your girlfriend teased with a tilt of her head, leaning in to drop a comment in your ear. “Bambina cattiva. I suppose mommy has to teach you a lesson. Doesn’t she?”

She wasn't suggesting what you were imagining, was she?

“I dunno if we should have a quickie in here. It’s easier and safer to do this at home, there’s more privacy and I don’t want to get on any trouble—”

“Shut up and follow me outside,” Melissa interrupted, grabbing you by the arm with a certain possession. The touch makes you squeal in pain. “Do I have to discipline you to be more obedient when receiving orders?”

“It will not be necessary. I’ll behave, ma'am.”

“Good.” She replied, satisfied with your answer. “See, you can obey me. It’s easy.”

The disapproval warning given earlier by Barbara was a little in vain, as minutes later the redhead ended up pulling you to the parking lot and covering your mouth, roughly fingering you in her car as a punishment for not keeping quiet. Risky but also hot.

“Mommy’s little slutty girl,” Melissa groaned in the backseat with a sweet ridiculous voice compared to the almost aggressive way she inserted four fingers into your tight hole. “So fuckin’ pretty, all mine.” The words made your walls clench around her, obtaining another moan to escape from the redhead’s labia.

“Yeah, mommy. Only yours,” you whimpered, before cumming hard in the older woman's strong arms. Collapsing as Melissa holds you tightly against her. “Fuck!”

“Questa è la mia principessa,” she concluded that day, tracing your lower lip with her finger affectionately. “Why don’t we go home right away, hon? I guess someone deserves to be rewarded for the good job she just did for me.”

“Please,” you answered with some difficulty, nuzzling your face in the crock of her neck. Inhaling the sweet aroma of jasmine from her perfume. You weren't so naive as you seemed, the reward meant that Melissa was going to let you touch her. And you would never refuse an offer to pleasure that goddess sculpted by angels.

“Please? Such an obedient baby. How could I deny something from a sweet thing like ya?”

Melissa was always attracted to your innocence and purity. There was something charming about the way you acted with any unintentional sexual provocation she threw your way, giving a shy smile in response or a nervous laugh. Or how you blushed afterwards when you asked her to explore something new in bed together, or buried your face in her chest when she showered you with kisses and called you her good girl. That drove her instantly insane. Since after all, you were just her pretty angel that she loved corrupting and ruining.

“Mr J..” you gave a panicked smile coming back from the memory, about to think of an excuse so you can run and get out of there as quickly as possible. “I-”

The janitor rolled his eyes in amusement when he noticed how desperate you were.“I'm only joking kid, chill out. What happened to your sense of humor and improvised jokes?” he questions. “I think the ghost of bad mood got you, boo!”

You raised your eyebrows without expressing any reaction. “Ghost of bad mood? That sounds like something my fourth graders would say.”

“And something you would say if you were in a good mood!” The guardian retorts. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish cleaning the rest of the hallway and classrooms before the rascals arrive. And please, no pornographic acts in my closet again. You're lucky enough that the hidden cameras didn't capture anything or maybe could end up having consequences.”

Oh, another honorable mention of one of the ‘secret and public’ makeout sessions between you and Melissa on school grounds, which ended with you both getting caught after sex by Janine, it's safe to say that this experience was definitive for you two agreeing not to have quickies in any corner of Abbott anymore.

“Yep, understood, Mr. Johnson. No more activities in your closet,” you lowered your head, giving a small groan in irritation.

You continued to walk towards the break room, relieved it was twenty minutes left for the first bell to hit. Opening the door, you find Melissa who was keeping her leftovers from the weekend dinner in the fridge. You lean against the wall, watching her with a goofy smile. She truly was a vision. Seconds later, the woman beams when she notices your presence, she is always mesmerized everywhere you are. According to her, your beauty was breathtaking.

“Hey, babe,” you greeted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, enchanted by the way her bright eyes roamed your figure with adoration and longingly.

“Buongiorno amore,” she tells you gently in her sleepy morning voice and gives you a sweet peck on the lips. Normally Melissa didn’t show affection in public for preferring to be reserved — she wasn't a big fan of pda, jesting that sounded annoying. But lately she's been making an effort and exception after hearing you mention that it was one of your favorite love languages. “Someone seems whacked, hm?”

The false pity in her tone, doesn't go missed by you.

“I think a certain second grade teacher had something to do with it,” you playfully swat her on the elbow. “Earlier, it was a challenge getting up to change. I had to sit on a chair to put on my clothes, my legs were wobbly like jello!”

She laughs and boops your nose. “It means I fucked you well that weekend, honey. In fact, I can't wait to have a moment for ourselves again. So I can bury my head in your dripping cunt until you beg for me to stop.” Melissa whispers with a sensual wink and lets you wordless, returning to the usual table she shares with Barb.

If there was one thing she was good at, it was being a complete pervert. Consider it to be one of her many specialities. “Uh, right. That sounds perfect,” you stuttered and composed your posture to avoid shameless questions from the other teachers and move towards your main goal; the coffee machine. The staff room remained in a comfortable and compressive silence but something caught your attention immediately.

“What’s so hilarious there?” You asked in doubt as you turned on the almost broken machine with some difficulty to prepare a fresh cappuccino so you could recharge your social batteries before your students arrived that morning and heard Jacob and Janine whispering to each other excitedly. The small discussion between them echoed through the lounge, drawing the attention of the other teachers and staff members present in the room, who decided to ignore them. Finding the dynamic duo's infectious energy considerably irritating.

Gregory, who was sitting near the vending machine, exchanges glances with you and just shrugs at the interaction between his girlfriend and best friend.

“I have no idea what is being said, although it sounds very productive.” The teacher finishes, returning to pay attention to class planning and also to suggestions for his garden.

“Can this assumption be considered valid?” Jacob ponders with his hand on his chin, thoughtful for two measly minutes. “I mean, it only mentions a small percentage! I shouldn’t worry about that, right?”

Janine puts her hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle but firm pat. Sometimes the history teacher got anxious easily even depending on how silly the subject was. “Don’t worry, it’s just a small result that says you are considerably calm.” Finally, she turns her head towards you. “Good morning, Y/n! We were just checking out a BuzzFeed test that looked fun.”

“BuzzFeed test?” you raise an eyebrow holding back a laugh as if that was a funny joke made up by the younger teachers. “Is Hill freaking out about a quiz? No way.” It was common knowledge that the topics discussed by the two tended to be genuinely meaningless most of the time. And that seemed like another one on the list.

He defends himself, sounding somewhat dramatic. “It's not a simple quiz, it's one to find out how jealous we are with our partners.”

So it wasn't just a meaningless or random conversation. Just a test to reveal your level of jealousy? That was kind of interesting, no matter how stupid it seemed. Curious about the subject, you pull up a chair to sit next to them. “And what was the result you two got? Is it that bad?”

The second grade teacher takes her phone out of her pocket and checks the result again. “Mine said I’m quite naive and don’t feel jealous most of the time.” She sighs, looking a little offended by the adjective given in the sentence.

“Acceptable, if you don't take it personally as you always do in any situation. And Jacob?”

“My result said basically the same thing. Just adding that my jealousy could just be a small signal of paranoia caused by some insecurities,” the man shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the suggested issue. Making a mental note to discuss it with his boyfriend later. “Rude if you ask me.”

You switch your gaze between your friends, taking a sip of your cappuccino. “Well, no offense, but in my opinion that makes a lot of sense.” The words that slip off your lips make them cast an incredulous look your way. “What?”

“If you say so,” Janine comments and clears her throat to take the attention away from her. “While we’re on the subject, let me seize the opportunity. Do you get jealous easily?”

The question sounded so silly and naive that for a measly second the idea of ​​not answering immediately seemed completely valid. So valid that you even considered it but decided against it when you remembered that she might be on your case later, insisting to the point of making you lose your mind with the typical interrogation.

“No!” you said proudly with a grin, convincing them. “I am someone who is considerably controlled.” Your focus goes to Melissa, who had put down her word search game and had nudged Barbara to watch the morning program presented by Jim Garden. “But that one over there? It's worse than the devil himself when she gets jealous.” You pointed to the redhead discreetly with a playful smile. Silently thanking that she wasn't listening.

Jacob gives you a puzzled look and gestures with his hands for you to come closer and whispers. “Huh, it's curious you mentioned that, Mel Mel once said she wasn’t the jealous type.”

Was this the best he could do to try and get a genuine giggle out of you? What a complete idiot.

“Right, and I adore attending the book club meetings at the gym twice a week,” you say sarcastically. Hoping that he was only teasing and saying something out of pocket, but your expression changed into a frown after noticing the truth and sincerity in his words. “That's impossible! When did she say it?” You almost shouted but covered your mouth with your hands so as not to attract any attention.

Jacob inhaled deeply, looking for the right words to not make you freak out. “When we...” The pause makes you slam your hand on the table, urging him to continue.

“HILL.”

Your patience began to run out when the Italian woman’s voice manifested about to make a fuss.

“Could youse control that noise over there?” Melissa grumbles from the couch that occupied the break room. “I’m trying to focus on the news,” she points to the television that was playing Channel 6.

“Sorry, honey!” you apologize, closing your eyes and taking a minute to recover, repeating the prompt. “When was that, Jacob? Answer me.”

“It was when we were watching some episodes of The Real Housewives of New Jersey in my apartment last month. In one moment, Mel burst into laughter and said that she had never felt jealous on an extreme level. Not a single time.” He recalled.

Your breathing hitches. The realization hits you like a punch in the gut. That sounded like a stupid April Fools joke.

Melissa Schemmenti was a jealous woman by nature. No matter how much she denied it, she made clear in her actions. Whenever someone flirted with you, her infamous fight or fight instinct was activated. You've witnessed many times the way she clenched her fist, bit her lip impatiently and gave a death glare to anyone who dared to mess with you. The Sicilian woman made a point of showing that her girl belonged only to her and no one else.

And knowing that she preferred to be stubborn and lie to hide that she was vulnerable and maintain her reputation as a fearless woman with a heart of stone rather than actually tell the fucking truth made you extremely outrageous. Did Melissa have the slightest idea and notion of how much this could upset you? Apparently not.

It was truly childish behavior to act dramatically about something stupid like that but who cared, it was your right to be bothered by it.

“She said? Great, we’ll see about that,” you mutter in a venomous tone with arms crossed. “It’s time for someone to try her own medicine.”

Jacob widens his eyes, afraid that he has revealed more than he should and leaves the table to go towards Gregory to discuss something lighter and more restrained like Dungeons and Dragons.

“Do not under any circumstances tell her that I said anything!” he begs in fear. “Sometimes, that woman scares the hell out of me. Even though I consider her a maternal figure, she—”

“No need to shit your pants, squidward. You’ll be able to sleep peacefully with doors open and lights off, the tenebrous green-eyed monster will not appear under your bed and rip your feet off.” You mock him and he just bites his nails, still scared.

Ava who was listening to the conversation pipes in. “Bitch, don’t tell me we're about to witness some real sapphic drama between you and our favorite milf. Watching this will be more fun than all the heterosexual drama between Janine and Gregory since he started working here.” She winks with a smirk.

“AVA,” Janine begins with a sigh, her exasperation palpable. "Seriously?"

“Quiet, lowercase. We're about to witness a historic fight between Abbott's hottest couple,” Ava retorts, clearly entertained.

As the silly provocation between the two women escalated, you quietly slipped out of the staff room. A bittersweet expression crossed your face, your stomach aching with discomfort. The camera crew, who had been filming the entire scene, noticed your sudden change in demeanor and hurriedly pulled you into the hallway for an impromptu interview.

“Sometimes, Melissa can really surprise me. Some moments are pleasant, others... not so much,” you said softly, absently playing with the ring on your left hand. “It’s just challenging to navigate at times.”

The cameraman nodded, urging you to elaborate more.

“She has her own way of seeing things,” you continued, gathering your thoughts. “I guess we all do. But that doesn't justify her acting like a damn bitch.”

——

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of chaos. From the moment the kids entered your classroom for the first period, they seemed determined to test every ounce of your energy, concentration, and patience. Your usually well-behaved students turned into mischievous imps whenever they caught a moment's respite from your watchful eye. Normally, you didn't mind their occasional antics; it was part of the joy of teaching. But today, dealing with their exuberance felt overwhelming, compounded by the weariness that weighed heavily on you.

Before heading to the cafeteria, your little eagles had transformed into small devils, finding mischief in every corner of the class. Pencils flew like missiles during quiet time, paper airplanes soared across the room during small breaks, and even the usually attentive ones seemed to have caught a case of the giggles that spread like wildfire.

You found yourself back in the classroom after a much-needed lunch break with Janine, Gregory, and Jacob at a quaint restaurant seven blocks from school. Spending time with the trio had been a welcome distraction from the confusion and hurt caused by Melissa’s unfounded lie about her jealousy. You were thankful that the topic hadn't resurfaced during lunch.

Initially hesitant when Gregory invited you to join them, fearing it might fuel gossip about that topic, you eventually relented at Janine and Jacob's insistence. They assured you they wouldn't bring up anything uncomfortable, and instead, the conversation flowed to lighter topics—celebrities, nerd conventions, upcoming seasons of TV shows, and plans for the next weekend’s parties.

Faced with a daunting stack of tests to grade by Thursday morning, you absentmindedly clicked the tip of the red pen. The harsh, flickering light strained your eyes uncomfortably. Thoughts swirled in your mind—was retaliating against Melissa fair? Or would it be wiser to simply ignore her falsehood? You trusted Jacob. He wouldn't lie about something like that, would he?

Maybe the best course of action was to confide in your girlfriend about the insecurity that the revelation had sparked. But the thought of admitting to Melissa that her words had shaken you, worried that it might seem like making a mountain out of a molehill, made you afraid. You didn't want to burden her with unnecessary drama.

“Ms. Y/l/n?” A voice from the back of the room interrupted your thoughts, causing you to hastily put your glasses back on and stand up to address the class.

“Yes, Jayden? How can I help you?” you responded, trying to maintain composure despite the unexpected question.

The boy looks at you with a neutral expression, before saying something unexpected. “I just wanted to know one thing. Are you pissed off at Ms. Schemmenti?”

You were taken aback in the heat of emotion. “Wait, what?”

A chorus of awed whispers erupted among the students, making you wish you could disappear into the floor. The speed at which gossip spread through the school was staggering, and controlling it seemed impossible. Your only hope was that Melissa wouldn’t hear about this.

“Class, let’s settle down,” you scolded, though your own nerves were evident. Fidgeting with the pearl necklace around your neck, your fingers trembling slightly, you replied, “What makes you think that, buddy?”

He gestured towards the framed photo on your desk—an adorable snapshot from one of your early dates with Melissa, a day she surprised you with a picnic in the park. You both had agreed to keep your relationship private initially, which made this moment all the more intimate and cherished.

“You haven’t been holding the picture and staring at it with puppy heart eyes today since the first class started. And you always do that, so somethin’ is clearly wrong here.” Jayden notes.

“And we didn't see you coming out into the hall to visit her when you dropped us at art class,” Skylar added with conviction.

Elijah, who was engrossed in his drawing, wisely pointed out. “And also, you didn't take out your phone to text her and laugh at her dad jokes,” he chuckled, grimacing.

Fucking hell. It was remarkable how observant these kids were, noticing every detail of your daily routine. They were right, but explaining the nuances of your relationship to them felt awkward and unnecessary.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you spoke. “Everything’s fine. I’m just a bit distracted today, that’s all. But everything between us is as it should be. Understood?”

“Got it,” the students chorused, finally leaving you in peace. It was both amusing and exasperating to have to justify the intricacies of your relationship to a bunch of curious children—a situation you never imagined facing in your years as an experienced teacher. One thing was certain: your therapist would hear some interesting stories next month.

“Why can't I ever have a normal morning in this place?" you muttered, rubbing your temple as the camera zoomed in on your face. "I swear, it's like Abbott is conspiring against me. On summer break I will vanish from Philadelphia.”

——

After dismissing your last student for the day, you locked the classroom door with a defeated expression. Gathering your things, you made your way to the gym where Ava’s book club meeting was set to begin in fourteen minutes. The prospect of discussing books didn’t seem quite as pleasant knowing Melissa would be there, oblivious to your seething anger.

Speaking of the older woman, in the last period you thought of a naive plan to get some much-deserved revenge. Your plan was initially short and objective, leaving Melissa jealous by deliberately flirting with another staff member to the point where she lost control completely. It seemed simple to think like that straight away, the real problem would be execution and you knew it would be complicated.

Furthermore, there were three stages for the older woman to enter possessive and dominant mode. First, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Second, she clenched her teeth and bit her lips, feeling the blood rush to her head at a frightening speed. And finally, threatened anyone with her greenish orbs, sometimes even opting for violence methods featuring the emotional support baseball bat who she affectionately nicknamed Edith Houghton.

To push her to these stages, your flirting would need to push boundaries. But could you really go through with it, right? You just needed a suitable target.

Lost in thought, you walked slowly towards the stage, pulling out the book from your bag and flipping through its highlighted pages of One Of The Good Guys. Distracted and not paying attention, you collided with someone, sending both of you and your belongings sprawling to the floor.

“Ouch,” you complain. “My things are all scattered! What a great way to finish my Monday.”

“Fuck! Sorry!” A male voice exclaims in ecstasy, clearly frightened. Reaching out his hand to help you up.

You looked up and recognized Benjamin Cooper, one of the newly hired teachers for seventh grade. He wasn't a frequent face in the break room, often seen at meetings and conferences, seeming introverted and anxious around the rest that worked there. As if the poor twenty-six year old was looking for validation from those more experienced. Fairly that made you feel a little sorry and wanted to help him fit in.

“No worries, Mr. Cooper,” you said, accepting his hand with a small smile. “I was equally distracted.”

Benjamin blushed. “I should have been paying more attention. I've been a bit lost in my own world.”

“Win-win, right?” you replied with a light laugh. “So are you here for the book club?”

His face lit up at the question. “Yeah, Janine recommended it as a good way to get to know everyone here better. She said it’s quite an adventure.”

Before you could respond, Ava appeared, clapping hands. “Come on bitches, let's get this over with. I have a party club to attend later.”

——

The conversation is lively, everyone spent the next forty minutes discussing the story of the book, seeming intrigued by how the plot unfolded. But you have a different goal today. You steal a glance at Melissa, sitting on the other side of the circle, before turning to Benjamin, who is next to you.

Then let the games begin.

With a charming smile, you lean slightly closer to Benjamin, enough so that your legs are almost touching. “You really captured all the nuances of that character,” you say, voice sweet and complimentary. “It’s rare to find someone who sees so deeply between the lines.”

He smiles, clearly flattered. “Thank you, Y/n. I always try to pay attention to the smallest details.”

As the conversation continues, you laugh at his jokes, lightly touch his arm as you speak, and ask questions that demonstrate a genuine interest in his opinions. Your eyes shined with excitement, but every now and then, you would cast a calculating glance toward Melissa, watching her reaction.

The second grade teacher, sitting a few feet away with her legs propped up on another free chair, tries to remain calm, but her fingers nervously tap the cover of the book. Her eyes squint whenever they land on both of you, and her jaw is tense, her lips forming a thin line. She sees how you are purposely trying to at the same time attract his attention and piss her and she feels a mixture of anger and jealousy rising inside her.

During a pause in the debate, you laugh again at something Benjamin said and touch his knee, leaving it there for a moment longer than necessary. The redhead, no longer able to contain herself, stood up abruptly, attracting the eyes of everyone in the room.

“I need some air,” she says, her speech controlled but carrying a cold tone. She leaves the room quickly, leaving an awkward silence behind.

You watch her leave, a victorious expression flickering across your face before turning her attention back to him. “Sorry about that,” you whispered, trying to play it off. “She must be tired. Mel had a busy morning. Mondays are kinda tough for her.”

Benjamin, a little confused, just nods, while the others exchange puzzled glances. Except Ava who just remained lying on the floor, playing on her phone and enjoying the spectacle in front of her.

The principal laughed shamelessly. “Things are heating up! Mr. Johnson, get the damn popcorn ready. Someone is going to drop dead here!”

Her casual remark caught Barb's attention. She pieced together the situation and gave you a skeptical look, silently questioning whether you were brave or reckless to challenge Melissa without fear of serious consequences.

“Y/n.” She responds quietly enough just for you to listen, making a cutting gesture across her throat. “Sweet baby Jesus and the grown up too, what on earth are you doing?”

In a bold move, you raised a finger to your lips, implying that it was a deserved payback. The words of reprimand almost escape the brunette's throat, but she stops herself. Too stunned to speak against.

Mr. Morton whistled, drawing everyone's focus back to the book discussion.

You could have sworn you heard the noise of the redhead in her classroom, punching some makeshift bag to gauge the tension. Your creative imagination could visualize the scene perfectly, Melissa would have her back to the closed door, her body tense and her fists flying towards the object, hanging in the corner of the room. Each blow precise and full of strength, sweat running down her forehead and the veins in her neck standing out, highlighting the gravity of her dangerous emotions.

She would also probably be mumbling disjointed words with a focused expression.

After a few minutes, Melissa returns, carrying a bottle of water, trying to maintain her composure. As she handed the object to you, your eyes met hers for a moment, filled with unspoken emotions. “You forgot it in your classroom, darling,” she says, more controlled, but her body language says much more.

You take the bottle, fingers brushing your girlfriend's, and give her a smile that's both apologetic and mischievous. “Oh, how forgetful I am! Thank you, gorgeous,” you reply, the word loaded with meaning.

The rest of the meeting continued with a palpable tension in the air, and although your plan had been completed successfully, the atmosphere changed when the man innocently asked if you would be interested in going out sometime so you could visit a bookstore downtown.

Melissa watched from afar, her jaw clenched as she saw the blonde place his hand on your shoulder, inviting you to join him. Jealousy boiled inside her until it erupted into an outburst she couldn't contain. With determined steps, she stormed towards you, eyes flashing with indignation.

“Oi, you piece of shit!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the room. “Aren't you ashamed to flirt with my girlfriend in front of me?”

Benjamin turned around, surprised by Melissa's outburst. His smile disappeared instantly, replaced by an expression of bewilderment.

“Ms. Schemmenti, I... I wasn't...”

“I don't want to hear your excuses!” Melissa interrupted, her voice still thick with fury. “I have a baseball bat hidden in the trunk of my car and I'm not afraid to stick it right up into your ass—”

The youngest, visibly shaken, quickly retreated from the room, leaving space for others to quietly exit in his wake.

Barb stood at the entrance, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she observed the tense scene unfolding before her. As the fight between you and Melissa began, the kindergarten teacher's shock and disapproval grew. She had always known you two to be level-headed professionals, and seeing you in such a state of conflict was unsettling.

After a few moments of observing, she shook her head in disbelief. She knew that intervening in such a heated exchange would likely only make matters worse. Instead, she turned on her heel and quietly left the gym, praying that it would end soon.

“You've got some nerve, Y/n,” Melissa spat, her voice sharp with anger. “Flirting with him like that, right in front of me?” She had been pacing back and forth, her frustration boiling over into shouts that echoed off the walls. You, on the other hand, sat calmly in one of the chairs again.

“Please Schemmenti,” you scoffed. “You're just upset because I caught you in a lie.”

Her eyes narrowed, jaw clenching in frustration. “Lie?! What the fuck are you talking about?” she demanded, her voice rising.

You leaned back on your seat, crossing your legs casually. “You said to Jacob last month that you weren't a jealous person, remember?" you taunted. “But it's clear as day that you are!”

Melissa's face flushed, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She had hoped to keep her jealousy hidden, but you had seen right through her facade. “That's not the point,” the green-eyed woman snapped, her voice tinged with bitterness. “You shouldn't have been flirting with him in the first place.”

“Maybe if ya were more honest about your feelings, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

She advances towards you quickly, like a predator surrounding its prey without caring for the way your body shrank and trembles with dark green eyes studying you carefully. You are startled by the movement and lose your balance, falling from the folding chair. Making a thunderous noise, leaving your cheeks flushed in embarrassment

“Crap,” you hiss in pain. “I’m going to need a bucket full of ice to assess this fall. Uh?” The attempt to calm her down backfires when she only rolls her eyes in annoyance silently shutting your mouth with her infamous mortal glare.

Melissa leans on top of your body, biting and licking your earlobe before whispering a simple command that she expects you to follow without any questions or complaints. Her heavy breathing makes you suppress a small whimper. “I want you to meet me at the parking lot in four minutes. It looks like someone needs to remember how to behave like a good girl and not disobey mommy again.”

You just agree, too muzzy to speak. She gets off of you, picks up the purse that was on the side of the chair and takes one last look at you, before disappearing in her angry walk, the noise of her boots makes your head spin.

You were in trouble. And about to see the meanest side of your girlfriend while dealing with the terrible consequences of your acts.

——

The heavy silence of the house is broken by the abrupt sound of the front door slamming shut. Melissa enters, her face a mask of suppressed fury, her eyes burning with a jealousy she can no longer control. You, mesmerized by the intensity of the older woman's expression, take a step back, but there is no time to react.

With a quick movement, she approaches, her hands firm but gentle, holding her precious girl around the waist. Without a word, she lifts you onto her lap, her muscles tense with anger and neediness. Taken by surprise, you feel your heart racing, a mixture of fear and excitement taking over.

Melissa strides purposefully down the hallway upstairs, fury burning in every movement. Sucking and biting your neck, creating purple marks that she knew would be difficult to hide later. When you reach her large room, she pushes the door with her foot, entering a space that now seems small and suffocating. “You've been quite naughty,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “I think you need a gentle reminder of who's in charge.”

The bedroom is shrouded in soft gloom, lit only by the diffused light from the lamp on the bedside table. The redhead takes in your figure, who is standing next to the bed, your eyes shining with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. Melissa looked deeply into your eyes, feeling the weight of desire and anticipation. Slowly, with a firm but tender touch, she began to undress you, piece by piece, letting each item of garment fall gently to the floor. Her slender fingers slid across the smooth skin.

She begins to unbutton her own blazer, revealing the pale, unblemished skin beneath. Each undone button is executed with calculated precision, his eyes never leaving yours. Melissa slides her blouse and bra off her shoulders, leaving them coughed next to the mirror.

Her hands go down, undoing her belt and black leather pants. The soft sound of the zipper coming down echoes through the silent room. She slides her pants down, revealing her sculpted legs, and kicks them to the side. After taking off her underwear. Melissa stands up again, completely naked, a perfect contrast between confidence and vulnerability.

The soft light from the lamp outlines every curve of her body, creating shadows that dance across her skin. With a nonchalant face, she walks to the drawer and opens it, taking out the harness and dildo. With dexterity, she attaches the accessory to her waist, adjusting it perfectly. The strap-on contrasts with her milky skin, looking like a natural extension of her body.

“Kneel.” Melissa commands, pointing to the center of the floor. There's a harsh, venomous tone to her hoarse voice and you get the feeling that you're going to be humiliated by the older woman for acting and behaving like a brat. Without hesitation, you obeyed, lowering yourself to the floor, knees meeting the cold wooden floor.

She sits on the edge of the bed and spreads her legs, with a maniacal smile and a demonic look in her green eyes — now dark with excitement. The sight looked quite pornographic, her red hair was now tied up in a beautiful ponytail, the way that her curves and magnificent body were on display for you.

“Suck it. Now.”

Your breath caught at Melissa’s words, a mix of anticipation and excitement flooding your senses. With a soft nod, you reached for her harness, your fingers clumsy tracing the contours. The smooth texture felt foreign yet strangely enticing in your hands.

She groaned at the sight of you wrapping your lips around her, the other end rubbing her clit causing a gasp. “That’s a good little girl, taking mommy's cock so well.” You moaned at her praise, running your tongue over the length, sucking and licking.

As you continue, she begins to move her hips slightly, pushing the silicone a little deeper into your mouth, establishing a slow but steady rhythm. “You like that, baby? Letting me take control of ya?” she asks. “Seeing you like this, so submissive and dedicated makes me so damn wet.”

She receives a muffled moan of confirmation, your palms resting on Melissa's thighs to plead more physical contact.

“Good pet.” The woman repeats. “Keep going, you’re making me so proud.”

You whined, feeling a wave of heat rise to your face. Looking away, trying to hide the blush that was certainly coloring your cheeks.

“Holy shit, baby. Mommy is so close. Make her come in your mouth with that magical tongue of yours.”

The answer is immediate. You increase the intensity, mouth working expertly as she continues to fuck your throat on agressive movements. The sound of panting breaths and whimpers fills the bedroom, creating a symphony of submission and pleasure. Every movement is meticulous, showing your dedication to pleasing. Melissa lets out a sigh, her fingers tangling in your long hair, guiding you gently as she reaches her orgasm.

“Fuck.”

She lay on her back, her auburn hair fanned out across the pillows. sinking into the softness of her king-sized bed, mind still buzzing with euphoria.

“Come here.” The tempting woman commands softly, reaching out her hand to you. Without hesitation, you position yourself over Melissa, straddling her. She holds you with a mischievous smile, helping you align yourself with the strap. “Ready for me?”

You yelp, cheeks flushed pink, holding onto her shoulders for balance. Slowly starting to lower yourself, feeling the toy enter your tight hole, a soft moan escaping your lips as the redhead fills you up deliciously.

“Such an obedient plaything,” Melissa whispers. She lets go of your waist and slides her hands up, firmly cupping your breasts. “Now ride me, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “Of course, mommy—”

You begin to move, getting up and lowering yourself slowly at first, finding a comfortable rhythm. She watches in awe, fingers lightly squeezing your tits as she moves her hips up to meet yours. “Good girl. That’s it.” The Italian praises, encouraging.

As your motions progressed, bouncing with more intensity now back and forth, Melissa lets out low and hoarse moans. With a firm touch, she slaps your left breast, the skin turning slightly red from the impact. You arch your back, letting out a loud moan in response, intensifying the experience. The woman repeats the gesture, this time on the right breast, her hands caressing and squeezing right after the slap.

“Does that hurt? Oh baby.” She laughs. “Do you enjoy being my sweet little toy?”

“Yes!” you say between growls, more desperately. Each thrust sends waves through your body, the slaps to your breasts only intensifying. “I was made to be used by you.”

Melissa continues to encourage you, soft hands alternating between slaps and caresses. The bed starts creaking and you grab the headboard to have something to hold on, your knuckles turn white as you reach your climax, a groan of her name echoes in the residence, your body collapsing on top of her. The mattress sinks on impact, but you don't seem to worry about that.

You remain in that comfortable position for a while, the hands that were scratching your back now rest on your ass, caressing the soft flesh with a delicious lightness. Melissa's touch is intimate yet confident, each stroke a gentle exploration of familiar territory, as if following a recipe she knows by heart.

Rubbing your cheek against her shoulder, your mind melts and enters a state of relaxation. The feeling of her heathen and sweaty body pressed against yours and enveloping both of you in an intimate warmth makes you realize that there's no place else you'd rather be.

Outside, the night holds its breath, unaware of the intensity unfolding within the sanctuary of your shared passion.

“So fuckin’ good.” Melissa babbles, mostly to herself. “Dio, è così dannatamente bello. Posso sentirlo pulsare sul mio cazzo.”

She then delivered the first spank on your bottom, making you involuntarily jump in surprise. The bite you give in the valley of her big breasts awakens an primal animalistic desire on the woman underneath you.

In a blur of adrenaline and urgency, she placed more aggressive slaps on her ass, leaving it completely redden and sore, ignoring your cries. The action was enough for your juices to drip onto the sheets.

“Such a dirty whore, mommy needs to clean her before she makes more mess.”

Slowly, after at least ten swats on each buttock, Melissa removed you from above her, pulling your hair with all the strength she possessed. And pushing you to remain lying in bed, she grabs your wrists, pulling them above your head, trapping them firmly.

“Keep those hands to yourself or I will handcuff them.” Your heart misses a beat, you feel Melissa’s internal struggle, a deep desire.

The older woman lies on her stomach between your legs, leaning down to bite the inside of your thighs. Each kiss is teasing and intentional, leaving a trail of fire on your skin. You moan, your hips arching slightly in response to Melissa’s touch. “Babe…” you whisper, full of need.

“Shhh,” she whispered back, slapping your pussy and kissing your mound leaving a red mark of lipstick, claiming you as her property before spreading your folds apart. “I’ll take care of you, babygirl.”

Melissa gets closer, her tongue finally finding your puffy and throbbing clit. She starts with slow and circular movements, exploring each centimeter with experienced precision. You yearn, your fingers massaging your own breasts, trying to find some relief for the overwhelming wave that begins to take over.

“Lissa,” you exclaimed her nickname like a prayer. “Please.”

“You think you’re so smart. Flirting with that Stronzo on purpose just to get fucked by me later. I know you better than that, doll.” Purrs the redhead against the sensitive skin, her words sending vibrations of pleasure making the knot in your stomach slowly loosen with each degradation.

“I held back so much not to fuck you in that damn gym,” she continues raising her head. The pink lips shining with your wetness. “In front of that motherfucker to prove that you're just a brat desperate for mommy's attention. Isn't that true?"

“Yes, mommy. I'm a...brat who enjoys your attention.” you scream breaking under the intensity of the sensation.

Satisfied, Melissa buries her head between your pussy again, nibbling you with her sharp teeth. Tears begin to stream down your eyes, the feeling becoming too much. Your legs close around your girlfriend's head, keeping her trapped and slightly suffocated, your eyebrows twitch in concern. But she smiles widely, her own excitement borning. The Italian wouldn't mind if you suffocated her even more, finding the idea of ​​passing out while pushing you to the edge hot.

As your senses heightened, you noticed a peculiar sensation — a slight blurring of the edges of vision and a distant echo in your hearing. Melissa, sensing your arousal nearing its peak, intensified her efforts, her fingers and tongue working in sync to stimulate your most sensitive areas.

Suddenly, with a shuddering cry, your body convulsed in ecstasy, a rush of liquid escaping you as you experienced the intense release of squirting for the first time. Your cum splashed onto Melissa's mouth and chin. She moaned softly, savoring your taste as she continued to gently lap your folds drawing out every last bit of your pleasure.

You gazed at the ceiling, feeling simultaneously grounded and weightless. Drifting in a dreamlike state you struggled to anchor yourself back to reality, still overwhelmed and sore.

Melissa, noticing your distant gaze and subdued responses, felt a pang of concern. She gently traced your cheek, her touch seeking reassurance in their connection. Yet, as you remained unresponsive, the redhead’s worry deepened.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, her heart sinking with the realization that perhaps she had misread your intimacy. She cursed herself for possibly misinterpreting the intensity, fearing she had hurt you or worse.

The older woman propped herself up on one elbow. “Amore, breathe with me.” She said, her tone soothing guiding you through slow, deep breaths.

Gradually, the haze began to lift, the bedroom coming back into sharper focus. You felt a sense of clarity returning, though the confusion still lingered at the edges of your mind. You looked at Melissa, finding solace in your girlfriend's steady gaze.

Your eyes reflected a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. “I'm tired, Mel," you admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “And a bit overwhelmed.”

She nodded understandingly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your sweaty forehead. “It’s okay, hon. I've got you.” She murmured, her words a comforting promise.

She gets up, trying not to make any noise, and goes to the bathroom. There, she wets a small towel with warm water, wringing it out before returning to the room. Melissa sits down next to you again and begins to gently clean your aching body, starting with your face and working your way down to your neck, shoulders and arms. Each touch is delicate, as she whispers sweet words of comfort and love.

After cleaning you up, Melissa grabs a bottle of soothing lotion from the bedside table and begins massaging your reddened skin, soothing any discomfort it may have caused. “I love you, baby.” she says, kissing your shoulder blades, while her hands continue their careful work.

You sigh, relaxing more with each touch. “I love you.”

She finishes the massage, tucks you with a soft blanket and lies down next to you, her presence comforting. And wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, and you can feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your back. You intertwine your fingers with hers, your breathing syncing with the calm rise and fall of her chest. Together, you fall into a peaceful sleep.

——

The next morning, you walked into school, steps a little uneven, a flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks. Melissa was right beside you, a wide grin plastered on her face as she stifled laughter. She kept a supportive hand on your lower back, guiding you down the hallway.

As you made your way, you passed Ava and Barbara, who were welcoming students. Ava raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. She made a scissor motion with her fingers, earning an exasperated sigh from the veteran teacher.

[leclucklerc]

Something Immortal CL16 - 02. Bad Idea

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Wayne!reader

Summary: Y/n Wayne knows that this is a bad idea. But well, going against the law is something that runs in the Wayne Family.

Word Count: 4.4K

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“Is B really going to buy an F1 team?”

Y/n looked up from the plate of dessert in front of her towards where Jason was sitting. The both of them are in the VIP lounge of the Monaco GP, waiting for the race to start before being ushered towards the Ferrari garage.

“What makes you say that?”

Jason gave her a pointed look. “I’m not dumb,” he said. “I can see a business talk even if it’s miles away.” At this, he pointed towards the paddock that could be seen from the windows in front of them.

They could see a glimpse of Bruce, laughing and talking with people with different team kits. Y/n recognized most of them as the team principals or even the management team from different F1 teams.

“Y/n, seriously, I don’t have time to become a driver,” said Jason. “And I’ll probably suck at it, most of these guys had been racing since they were in diapers.”

“Still,” defended the woman, fully aware that Jason’s argument was fairly logical. “You don’t have to be a driver, but I think being around Formula One, something that you’re passionate about, can help you, Jason.”

He doesn’t have to be a driver if he doesn’t want to. Hell, truthfully, if Jason really puts his foot down and strictly declares that no, buying a whole Formula One team is not going to help him, then y/n and Bruce will stop. The both of them will leave this silly idea behind and never look back once more.

But she had seen him. How his eyes followed every garage that they passed in rapid attention. How he attentively listened to what John had said about Ferrari’s Formula One team, how he had watched the free practice and qualifying alone the days before.

It’s been a while. Maybe the last time she saw him being this passionate about something was before his death. To see Jason looking forward to something, to see his brother actually enjoy doing something outside of his crime-fighting activities.

“I-“

“Jay,” she said again, reaching out to hold the older man’s hand. “I- I know we’re not the best family. B is not the best father and the rest of us have not been the best siblings but still I-“ she stopped at that, eyes searching for Jason’s own. 

Years of guilt appeared inside of her. Years of missing memories between the two of them. Years full of regret and anger that had soured their relationship beyond words. 

Y/n, only wants what is best for her brother. “I still want you to be happy,” she said, blue eyes with a hint of green meeting hers. “I want to see you laughing again, be integrated into society, and live your dream-!”

Jason looks lost and y/n is really glad that this section of the VIP lounge was reserved for them.

Because the man in front of her looks so fucking vulnerable. 

She still remembers that time when Jason just returned to Gotham. All Lazarus green eyes and rage oozing out of his form. How he had practically attacked Tim, taunting the rest of them, and begged their father to choose him over that clown.

Y/n also remembers the emptiness that appeared in his eyes when they informed him that the Joker was dead.

It was one of the most terrifying moments of her life. Because Jason had it made his mission to kill that clown. To avenge the fallen Robin that had remained unavenged. To finally end the reign of terror that the prince of clowns had put upon Gotham City.

To know that he’s dead?

Well.

There are just so so many things left unsaid between the two of them. Too much pain and history that had happened between the two of them. To see, Jason who had always raged and raged looking this lost is-

“I’ve been wondering-“ said Jason, leaning forward. “Ever since that clown died, I’ve been wondering what the fuck I should do with my life-“

It’s a familiar conversation. Something that Jason had told her months ago under the darkness of the night. When there are only the two of them on top of his safehouse rooftop, sharing a stick of cigarettes to fight off the cold.

Y/n leaned forward, touching their shoulder together. It’s something that they often did before Ethiopia all those years ago. When Jason was nothing but a short and skinny kid that’s not too far off y/n own size. 

It’s been years since Ethiopia and a lot of things have changed.

“Have you decided, Jay?” she asked, eyes closing and head leaning towards his shoulder. “Whatever you want, you know that we will support you.”

Jason was silent for a bit.

The female too, sat there in silence, giving the older male a chance to think it through.

“I still want to be Red Hood,” he whispered, far too low for anyone to hear except y/n. “I still want to make Crime Alley a better place for people to live in.”

Y/n has to fight off a smile at that. Such a typical answer for a bat. Such a typical answer for the son of Bruce Wayne.

“Yeah?” she said. 

Jason hummed. “But I also want to live my life.”

A smile appeared on y/n face. She can feel the excited thrumming of her heart as she continues to listen.

“Oh?” she asked. “And that is?”

“Going to university, getting an English degree,” at this, he stopped. “And living the dream F1 fan life ‘cause my family owned a fucking team here.”

Y/n laughed at that; happiness clear on her face.

Bruce got the honor to wave the checkered flag that marks the end of the Monaco GP.

Her dad looks pleased, but she also knows that inside of that large smile and laugh, her dad simply doesn’t care. This business trip to Monaco had been a risky move after all, if it’s not for Jason’s happiness, y/n doesn’t think her dad would even consider going on this business trip.

In the end, when her dad was handed the checkered flag, the man put the flag into Jason’s hand.

“Do you want to do it, Jay?”

Jason blinked. “Huh?”

“Waving the flag,” answered her dad, letting out a smile. “Instead of me, my son can do it, right?” asked Bruce, turning his head towards where the president of FIA and the chairman of Ferrari stood.

“Of course, of course!” Said Ben, the president of FIA. “It would be an honor for us!”

“But they literally asked for you” answered Jason.

Her dad merely laughed at that. “They said you can do it, son.”

Jason may look like as if he wants to protest, but y/n knows that the man is far too excited at the prospect of waving the checkered flag at the Monaco GP. He may grumble and curse her dad a few times, but he really can’t hide the happiness that’s shining through his eyes at the mere thought of it.

The older man too, seemed to notice his son’s excitement as he let out an indulgent smile as he watched her brother being escorted to his position.

“Jason looks happy,” she said. “It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

“I know,” murmured her dad. There was silence between the two of them before her dad leaned forward towards her a bit. “I saw you earlier.”

Y/n raised her eyebrow. “What?”

“I saw you flirting with one of the drivers,” replied her dad. “The Ferrari one.”

Ah, she thought. He was referring to Charles. “It was an act, Dad,” she simply said. “You know, like your Brucie Wayne persona? I just think that it will do us some good if we’re on a friendly term with the paddock.”

Her dad stared at her. “There are better ways to do that, like chatting with the FIA president, for instance,” replied the man as he turned his gaze toward where Ben and John were talking with Jason near the track. “I don’t think flirting with a driver will really help our cause.”

Y/n shrugged, “He’s cute, what can I say?”

“Y/n.”

“What?” she hissed out. “I have to watch you flirt with Selina the entirety of my life, let me flirt with cute boys for a change!”

“You know it’s different,” pointed out her dad, leaning closer towards her. “Don’t associate with anyone outside of the masked community.”

The woman rolled her eyes at that.

She knows that the older man has a point. She knows that he’s doing this in order to protect all of them. Not only his hidden identity, but the rest of the family and possibly the rest of the Justice League. Bruce has always put a tight leash on all of his children regarding the interaction and the social circle that they all kept. Most of the time, the man didn’t have to worry considering most of his children worked inside the masked community, resulting in most of their friends being another superhero.

But y/n?

Despite her close association and frequent presence in their nightly activity, she sometimes thinks that her dad forgets that she’s not a vigilante or a hero. Yes, she knows all of their secret identity, yes, she often assisted her brothers on their not-so-legal work.

Outside of all of that, y/n is a civilian. She’s just a normal doctor who’s not saving the world during her past time. She’s a normal woman that’s working in a perfectly legal job.

Friends are hard to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world. Friends are harder to come by when you’re the daughter of the richest man in the world who is also hiding the fact that he’s the dark knight himself.

“I know,” she hissed out. “It’s a persona dad, I doubt we’ll talk again.”

Her dad gave her a look as if he didn’t believe in that.

And well.

Um.

Charles won the Monaco GP. The first Monegasque driver to do so in the last 93 years. Jason had failed to hide his excitement as he waved the checkered flag.

Her family was there, right in front of the podium as they watched the Ferrari drivers and the McLaren driver celebrating the win that they acquired. Y/n was standing there, smiling politely as she watched the champagne shower that was happening in front of them.

It was also then, that their eyes met.

She was not sure if Charles was looking at her or at someone near her, but the man’s already wide smile had gotten wider as he locked his eyes with her. And it was also then, that Charles sent her a wink.

Huh.

Okay.

Oookay.

I’ll meet you later, he seems to mouth off, a bit quickly, before he continues the champagne shower with the rest of the drivers.

So much for not talking with him anymore.

“Hi, stranger.”

Y/n can’t help the quirk of her mouth at that greeting.

The woman turned her gaze towards the source of the voice, eyes immediately falling towards where Charles Leclerc stood next to her. There’s a smile on his lips, hair tousled and green eyes twinkling.

“Hello,” she greeted back, raising her glass of champagne. “Drink?”

Charles chuckled. “I had enough champagne for the day,” replied the male as he took a seat next to her.

She can’t help but laugh at that. “I mean, you won today,” answered the female, putting down the glass of champagne on top of the table in front of them. “How does it feel to be a Monaco GP race winner? And did you actually drink the champagne that’s being sprayed earlier?” Being sprayed with a bottle of champagne sure is an experience, it seems. 

“Amazing,” he breathed out, inching closer to her. “I guess a change of mindset is the only thing needed to break the curse.”

“I told you,” said the female, amusement dripping on her tone. “Guess I did become a really lucky girl today.”

“I hope so,” answered Charles. “I did remember your words throughout the race.”

“Oh? You did?” teased y/n. “Seeing Charles Leclerc win the Monaco GP live and being constantly on his mind? What a lucky girl I am.”

Charles let out a laugh at that.

The dinner party around them is buzzing with blaring music and drunken chatter. The event itself was hosted by WE and the FIA. A collaboration work between the two entity that marks the beginning of WE’s involvement in the motorsport industry. It was the reason why her dad – a reclusive who hardly leaves Gotham if he can help it – needed to do a business trip in Monaco.

And of course, for the simple reason of buying Jason an F1 team. 

Not that y/n is complaining. She had wanted to visit Monaco forever and this was the perfect opportunity to do it. Watching a Formula 1 race live is a bonus that she will never miss out on.

The dinner party that they hosted was the formal event that they made for the winners of the race. Though, it seems most of the drivers are in attendance. No doubt advised by each of their respective team to gain the elusive Wayne sponsorship.

She knows that the news of Bruce Wayne wanting to buy an F1 team or become a major sponsor had already made its rounds. Even the bigger teams who don’t really need more money came in order to make some kind of connection with Wayne Enterprise.

Truthfully, this dinner party made her nervous a bit. After all, it’s not like she attended a party outside of Gotham.

But still, Charles’s sudden presence helped ease up her nervousness for a bit.

“Where’s your brother?” asked Charles, eyes flickering around the room.

“Ah, Jason is not feeling well,” replied the female. “He decided to stay in our hotel.” Which is a blatant lie. Y/n knows that Jason brought his Red Hood gear all the way here. He’s probably prowling the streets of Monaco, searching for that gang boss who made him join this business trip to Monaco initially.

Charles hummed at that, taking a seat next to her.

“I heard you helped orchestrate this whole dinner party,” started the man.

Y/n laughed at that. “Orchestrating is a big word, considering me and my family just throw some money at the event organizer.”

“Still, I really like the red accents, it was as if you already know that Ferrari is going to win today’s race,” said the male as he gestured towards the red flower as well as the red napkins on top of the tables.

The woman grinned cheekily at that. “Who said I don’t? Maybe I have the power to see the future?”

Charles raised his eyebrows at that, amusement clear in his eyes. “Oh?” he prompted out, leaning forward. “Can you see my future then?”

Y/n hummed, mouth closing in a wide smile as she too, leaned forward. Both of their face are really close to each other. “Hm…” she let out. “I think… You’re going to be really drunk tonight.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling. “It’s given,” he said, grinning.

“Really?” she said, sounding amused. “Do you want me to see further into your future?”

“You can?” asked Charles, with a tilt of his head, mouth still grinning. “What a fearsome power that you have.”

The female giggled. “I think I can see…” she whispered. “A future world champion here.”

Now, Charles is full-blown laughing, the glass of champagne that he had been holding now forgotten as he lets the amusement to envelop his very being. 

“Seriously,” he said the first part in French before he switched back to English, “You really know how to appease someone.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” said Charles. “You better be careful, or I’ll think that you’ve been flirting with me.”

It’s a bold thing to say, especially to Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

She knows that she’s one of the most desirable women in the marriage market, considering her looks and her family. Many people had attempted to flirt with her, to trap her with their honeyed words and kind gestures. 

But still, it’s been a while since there’s someone this bold.

“Well, I’ve been flirting with you,” replied y/n instead. “It would be embarrassing if you thought otherwise.”

Yeah, the moment she uttered those words, she knew that this was a bad choice to make.

Because at that moment, she could see the sparkle of interest in Charles’s eyes. The light that suddenly shone behind those green orbs as the man leaned forward toward her. Y/n could faintly smell the cologne that he wore, a masculine one that reminded her of her dad for a bit.

“Oh?” he said, mouth quirking up and eyes crinkling. “I’ve been flirting with you too, if you haven’t noticed.”

Okay, this isn't good. She needs to stop this before they go further and ignite her dad’s anger. 

“I see,” answered y/n with a smile. “Anyway Mr. Future World Champion, I think your team principal is looking for you-“

It was the perfect excuse because she really did have seen Fred wandering around the room in search of his driver. However, whatever she was going to say stopped immediately when a hand reached out to grab her wrist. She immediately looked down, staring at Charles’ palm.

“Hey,” said the male, grinning. “Wanna go somewhere fun?”

She should say no.

Y/n can already imagine her father’s disappointed sigh and the loud protest from her brothers. She can already see her doing the walk of shame tomorrow, with Jason silently judging her. It would be stupid of her to say yes because there are just so many consequences waiting for her if she took up that offer.

There’s literally no reason for her to say yes to someone that she barely knows.

But well-

Charles looked at her with those bright green eyes of his, the corner crinkling up from how wide his smile was. There’s something about his expression – so transparent, so genuine, something that she rarely saw in Gotham – that tickled her heart at the right place.

Maybe it’s the dimpled smile, maybe she was simply swept up by the moment.

But the next thing that she knew was-

“Yes,” she answered.

The smile that Charles let out can ignite the room.

The music is loud. Louder than what she used to.

There’s a huge misconception of her back in Gotham. Due to her father’s public persona, as well as her brother’s less-than-idle nature, the media had portrayed her as a party girl once upon a time.

But really, this is the first time for her to be in a club.

Clubs are not that common to start with in Gotham. Due to the high crime rate, and the many many dangers, clubs scarcely exist in the city. Galas though? Galas happens almost every week. Due to that, y/n only ever attended galas and galas.

So this, this is a new experience for her.

She could see the throngs of people around her, dancing and laughing, fully immersed in the music around them. There’s something about the air that just made everyone highly excited as if there’s no tomorrow.

It didn’t take long for her to be swept up by the atmosphere too.

 “So, how are you enjoying the night?” Yelled Charles as the two of them laughed and danced in the middle of the dance club. Y/n was glad that she had opted for a short dress because really, the ball gowns that she used to wear for galas will be sticking out like a sore thumb in this kind of scene.

 “It’s been fantastic!” answered the woman, amidst the loud music. Her mouth is a bit aching from how wide she’s been grinning but that really can’t dampen her mood. “It’s not my usual scene, but I guess a change of environment is not that bad.”

“Oh? Gotham doesn’t have a lot of parties?” laughed Charles, hand finding themselves around her wrist.

She stepped closer, face almost touching. “Mostly galas, or gatherings,” said y/n, letting out a shrug, before a grin overtook her face once again. “It’s not exactly safe to throw a wild party like this in a city like Gotham after all.” 

Something flickered in Charles’ eyes as he let out a hum.

“So,” started the woman, wanting to change the subject of the conversation. She leaned forward, cocking her head for a bit. “Is Monaco nightlife had always been this lively?”

“It is when it’s my party,” said the man, as they stepped out of the dance floor towards the bar.

Ordering for the both of them, Charles sidled close to her.

“You’re really trying to get drunk tonight?” teased the woman.

“Not too much,” replied the man. “I wanna remember you.”

She hummed. “Well, what’s stopping you?” she asked. “Don’t you think we should make more memories then?”

Charles turned to her, and the grip that he had around her waist tightened.

“Oh?” he said, voice lower. “Are you sure?”

The grin that she lets out must’ve been enough of confirmation because the next thing that she knew, they’re stumbling into Charles’ Ferrari, lips interlocked with each other in a desperate and sloppy make-out session.

She’s grateful that the parking space is located in a discreet place because her appearance right now is less dignified than what Bruce Wayne’s daughter should be. Though, she really can’t seem to care right now. All she knows is the taste of Charles’ lips on her and how his hand traveled all across her body, giving her a delicious tease of pleasure.

They fell into bed together.

That night had been a bit of a blur, to be honest. He remembers dancing with y/n, laughing, and touching her under the club lights. He remembers dragging her to the edge of the dance floor, head leaning forward.

“Can I?” he had muttered, head cocking sideways.

Y/n had let out a laugh at that, hands winding around his neck before she too, leaned forward.

He remembers the sweet taste of her mouth, how she had opened her mouth, letting their tongue meet in a wet mess. How his hands had wandered around, starting from her back before reaching downwards towards the edge of her short dress.

“Let’s take this somewhere,” muttered y/n back then, releasing his mouth with a string of droll still connecting them. “Somewhere more private,” the last part was whispered and he remembers the jolt of arousal that hit him at that very moment.

Charles doesn’t have a clear memory of how they managed to get into his apartment. All he remembers is how he pinned y/n by his front door, savoring her as they rutted against each other like a teenager. 

The night ended with them on his bed, rustling against each other and-

Charles cracked his eyes open, watching the sun filter into his room from the crack of his curtain.

He could feel the pounding headaches as the memories from last night rushed into him like a tsunami. Of him winning the Monaco GP, of him attending the formal dinner, of him and y/n stumbling into bed together-

His eyes widened as he immediately turned his gaze toward the other side of the bed.

Sitting there, still topless with a blanket covering her, is y/n Wayne, brow furrowed as she scrolled something on her phone. That sight immediately warmed something across his heart as he stared at the woman silently, not wanting to avert his gaze for a second.

“You’re awake?” asked y/n, turning her gaze towards him.

He let out a hum, shuffling closer towards her.

At that, y/n’s hand fell on top of his head, caressing his unruly mop of hair. It’s soothing, something that he really needs amidst the headache that’s been throbbing inside of his head. They stayed like that for a couple of moments, basking in each other presence.

The moment didn’t last long because y/n phone rang.

“Yeah?” asked the woman before she stared at him for a moment before she began talking in a language that he didn’t understand.

Charles faintly recognizes it as German. He knows a couple of words, but with the way y/n talking as if she’s a native speaker, well, it’s safe to say that he really doesn’t have a clue about what she’s talking about. The phone call didn’t last long. Only a couple of minutes at best. Though, at the end, y/n let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” he asked, sitting up.

“Charles, listen,” stated the woman. “This is a bit awkward, but I gotta go.”

He ignores the disappointment that erupted inside his chest. The driver had been hoping that they could have breakfast together before taking a stroll around Monaco before he had to see her off.

“I really enjoyed last night but-“

Before she can even finish that sentence, Charles interrupts her again. “Can I see you again?”

Y/n blinked, staring at him. “Yes?”

“See you again,” said the driver, leaning closer. “I really enjoyed last night. More than simply enjoying it,” he continues. “I like to do it again.”

The woman is still staring at him.

“Of course, I mean not only fucking, but like, I would love to have a date with you,” he continue, tongue a bit tied at the sight of an angel in front of him. “If you give me the chance?”

Honestly, he was not expecting much. A woman like y/n must have had a lot of suitors or partners all her life. Charles will be the luckiest man on earth if y/n even gives him a chance for a single date, let alone dating her.

It was silent for a bit, as the both of them stared at each other with no words being exchanged.

The moment was broken when y/n let out a loud laugh.

It startled him a bit, Charles doesn’t really understand what’s funny about his declaration and yet, he doesn’t really mind it. After all, the sight of y/n letting out such a carefree laugh is something that he will integrate into his memory forever.

“Yeah,” said the woman, finally. “Let’s see each other again.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” grinned the woman. “But next time, bring me to a proper date, okay?”

Charles laughed at that, giving her a single kiss.

taglist!

@piceous21 @myloveforfandom-blog @barnestatic @ilivbullyingjeongin @fangirl-dot-com @halleest @a-beaverhausen @sagestack @redcellghost @mac-daddy-210 @kellysthilaire

[baynetta]

asking miguel to give you a back massage because your lower back has be killing you! and he starts getting distracted (y’all r in backshots position)

every single day i think about what would be to have a beast of a man always touch starved. let’s picture it, miguel is the type of guy no matter how angry, stressing or even on the edge of a mental breakdown, that man it’s always down bad for you. so when you ask him to do an subtle act like a back massage, how could he say no?. what kind of boyfriend he would be to negate such a innocent act?. the truth is that that never ends up well for you, like let’s be real why you even got that back pain in the first place. “ya mi chiquita, where it hurts?” he casually comes from behind, slowly sliding his hands from the sides of your hips. his fingertips gently carresing your curvy hips, as you throw your head back, resting your head on his solidly built chest. you close your eyes just enjoying whatever he was trying to do with you. then you feel him kissing you in the forehead. this love gestures is what send tickles down, you often love when he’s rough on you but when he’s like this, taking extra care of you makes you want to melt right there. “no te hagas la bonita, where it hurts?”. as you open your eyes, you see him looking right down at you, his stare, god how long he has been hungirly creeping at you?. “more in the center, like in the low back” you said slightly annoyed that he’s playing too much. “mmh i see..” now you have his full focus in your back, tbh the man was fully cheeking your ass, how the bum gently moves up when he drags the palm of his hands in circles, in the exact right place that you wanted. you were wearing that tight pijamas that left little to the imagination, so he’s fucking holding back like craaazy.

he use his knuckles to press it on your center and then go up throughyour spine and then down, reaching a little lower from your low back. he then uses his free hand to grab on your hip. his grip start to become tidder once a soft moan scape from your pretty dirty mouth, “te gusta así?” he asked as you can feel his lips near your left ear, the tip of his nose smelling your sweet aroma, going from your hair to your neck, that man was savoring every single of inch of you (he likes to play with his meal before eating it so 🤭), you just nod impatiently for more. now he just couldn’t take it anymore, and fully pressed down his painful erection on your beautiful plump ass, now holding both of your hips, guiding your ass to fully grind on his long hard shaft. it was still and even with the light fabric covering it with the friction you can feel every angry vein of his cock. that shit is just mouth watering to you. “miguel.. que pesado eres” you said annoyed and you kinda were, that man is going to end up breaking you in half. but with your ungrateful attitude you just earn a hard and loud spank from him, making you gasp out of the surprise and the sting that made your bum burn like crazy. god you’re just causing him to be more frustrated “who did this you?”, “who hurt that pretty back of you, huh?” he asked while forcing you to look up at him, his eyes where so lustful like he hasn’t been touched in months, “mm?” he asked again while playing with your lips with his fat thumb. you just bat your eyes at him giving him that inocent look, those bambi “fuck me” eyes that you know it makes him go insane, you’re such a fucking tease. the way he quickly pull down your shorts and panties, just enough so he can fully see that piece of ass he loves to use it to get himself off, like whenever you’re bending down he would not wait to play with it, to make it bounce on his cock until he pleases. but now he was tired of just pressing it down, he needed more. “miguel, can you..” you said as you tried to face him, “shut up” he spits as he push your back on to the kitchen counter, you try to protest but he keeps forcing you to stay still, you know that he doesn’t play, if he wants to be brutal it’s up to you. suddenly he lifts your mini top so your soft nipples are touching the freezing ceramic, you whine, you want to be his good fuck-toy and not protest but you just can’t help it. it’s humiliating, he’s just torturing you at this point. the way you know that tomorrow it’s gonna hurt even more. “now do me a favour, stay still y callada o te irá peor”

(pd: i definitely can do a part 2 of this one 🤭)

trad:

okay tiny

stop acting dumb

like that?

miguel you’re so annoying

and shut up or it’s gonna be worse