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morganalatina21 · 2 months ago

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Way too far gone - Kimi Antonelli

The one where your friends can't take another night of you rambling about the guy you're in love with

Where, for the first time, is Kimi who is gonna hear what you really feel

inspired by friends - chase atlantic

Warnings: f!reader, english is not my first language, not proof read, use of yn, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, use of "good girl", alcohol.

Kimi's phone rang, waking him up from dreaming with his eyes open. On the background the lights and sounds from the tv on his hotel room lit up the ambient, the only sources of any movement. The young driver looked at the screen, seeing an unfamiliar name shining on the screen: Gabriel.

Sure, they were both rookies starting their first season on formula 1 together, but they weren't exactly close enough for him to be calling Kimi on a monday night, after the chaos at the Australian Grand Prix.

"Hello?" Gabriel yelled at the other side of the line, trying to hear his own voice. The music was loud and rythmic, which honestly made the italian happy that his friend was still able to party even after a DNF on the very first race. "Kimi?"

"Mate! Is everything okay?"

"I am fine." He paused, almost as if he was looking for somebody. "But to be honest, it's not someone's night." In the background, Kimi could hear someone whining, probably drunk, complaining about something. "Are you too busy to come and get us?"

"No." He answered, pressing his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, getting up and choosing something out of the pile of clothes he had to organize to travel to China very soon. "But can you at least tell me what`s going on?"

"Uhm... sure." After a few seconds the music was almost completely muffled and Gabriel sighed. "So, I went out clubbing with Isa, and on the bathroom she ran into a pretty drunk Y/n."

At the sound of your name, he physically perked up, back immediately rigid and the phone now on his hand.

"Y/n? Y/n L/n?"

"Yep. That one." He sighed again and swallowed. "Completely alone, dozing in and off, and apparently her friends left her alone at the club. I didn't actually understand most of what she said, but I know I got your name on some sentence, so... here we are."

"Okay, I'll- I'll come get her." Kimi was now kicking some shoes on and grabbing the keys to the rented car. "Just send me the address and I'll be on my way."

Before he could hang up, Kimi was already ou the door and frantically pressing the elevator button.

On the drive there, his thoughts were uneven, you recently told him about some weird things your friends have been saying a lot, and how it was all stuck inside the brain so bad it was impossible to shut down, keeping you up at night.

His hands squeezed the wheel and he bit his lip, promising himself silently he'd first hear you out instead of immediately cursing them off, after all, they were your friends.

Gabriel was waiting outside of the pub, purple neon lights making his eyes seem bigger and his hair darker. He waved once he saw Kimi and smiled tightly.

"Hey. She's inside, still with Isa. Come on." The brazilian driver guided him through the crowd, both with caps and heads tilted down to not be recognized so easily. "I'm really sorry, I didn't know who else to call. I offered taking her to the hotel and let her crash on the couch, I've done it before, but she refuses."

"Is okay." He shrugged. "Dios mio, Y/n."

The sight was one Kimi had never seen on you before. The make up was smudged on all directions and eyes watery, looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, head moving absentmindedly without any real pattern, head attached to the neck from all the sweat and arms shaking slightly from the cold tides you were pressed against.

Isabella, Gabi's girlfriend, had one of your hands cupped between hers in her lap, and she seemed to be trying so hard to keep you awake at the bare minimum.

"I got it from here, thanks mate!"

"No problems. Come on, Isa."

You barely noticed your source of heat leaving, just sniffed and let your head hang against the wall.

Kimi squatted down to be on eye-level with you, trying to steal your attention naturally, and when it happened, there was a glimpse behind your eyes.

"Hey, you look like him." You muttered almost to yourself, and then louder: "You really look just like him."

Holding out a hand, with the index finger you pressed against his right cheek, almost testing if he was real, and once the test came out positive, he felt the whole hand holding his face.

"Fuck, you're so pretty. Just like him." You sniffed once more, nostrils congested and drippy from all the crying that also ruined your make up. "But my friends- uh- where did my friends go?" Looking around, finally realising Isabella was no longer holding you.

"They just left, and now I'm here to take care of you, miss."

"My friendssss" Kimi now recognized, the one whining drunkly at the call was, infact, you. "Fuck, I'm really that unloveable." To that, he opened up his mouth to question, but you were too far gone rambling. "It's whatever, i guess, I mean, it's not great, but hey- at least I got a handsome face like you now staring at me."

"I think that's enough for tonight, come on."

Gently, he held his arms out, framing your curled up body and reaching for your elbows and pulling you to stay in your feet. A little off-balanced, but he could work with that.

"Let's go home."

His arms were shoved off at the blink of an eye, your hand still hanging in the air from pushing you away, back now fully glued to the wall behind you.

"Hit the brakes, man." You were slurring your words and barely managing to stay put in your heels, but your eyes were feisty. "I'm not walking into no stranger's car, I still have some self respect, 'kay? I can still think, fucker."

"What-"

Kimi explored every inch of your face, looking for a shaking sign of a unfunny prank, but he found nothing except some anger and that same glimpse.

"Are you serious? Love, it's me."

Your bottom lip quivered before you gulped, still not moving and looking at him with cold fear. Arms up, trying his best to not seem remotely scary, he approached you step by step, dragging his feet on the floor in order to not be too quick and scare you away. He did not know what he would've done if you ran off frightened and locked yourself in the bathroom, or worse, got lost in the streets.

"Okay, see? Calm down."

He was halfway believing in the way your expression softened and arms were hanging on the sides of your body, letting him in.

You blinked once, twice, before melting and craning the neck and taking his lips onto yours.

This was definetely not what he was expecting but gave in anyway, reciprocating the kiss and enveloping your shaking body in his arms. You tasted like vodka and some energy drink, most likely Red Bull, and he made a mental note to fake argue with you about giving his competition money.

"Come on, baby. Let's go home."

You grunted out of frustration. "Dude, what is your problem? I already said to you, I'm not going to bed with you just because you look like him. Just get a fucking grip and let us both enjoy what we still can."

"Y/n I'm serious."

Your brows furrowed. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm telling you. I'm Kimi."

"No, see," You pushed him only a few centimeters away, but your right hand was still on his forearm. "We are not allowed to say that name here." You said, matter-of-factly, waving a finger around. "So I don't know how you fucking know that name, just drop it."

"Y/n L/n, I am Andrea Kimi Antonelli, not just some guy who looks like him. Gabi called me."

The smug facade on your face disappeared more and more every second and he was getting impatient.

"No." You whined. "Kimi would not come for me. He would- he would not. Why would he? He wouldn't. No."

The italian's heart skipped a beat. Is that what you really thought of him? Heck, he knew you weren't dating but at least you should know he was not some prick.

You had to know. Right?

"Baby, I know you're not feeling good." He started, moving his forearm around to hold your hands into his. "But you need to let me take care of you, per favore."

With a sniff, your mind collapsed noticing his hand, the leather bracelet he always wore and huge rings framing his large and veiny hands, the ones you knew so goddamn well and fantasized about a promising ring on the ring finger, and you'd be wearing one exactly alike.

He really was Kimi.

You had kissed him thinking he was someone else.

You rambled to him about him.

And he was there.

"Oh, fuck."

Detaching your back from the wall, you let Kimi hold your shoulders and guide both of you through the crowd, out the main door and into the car.

The realization that it was really him dawned on you with an unrequited dose of sobreity and now tears of embarassment clung onto your eyes. You were shivering, blood pressure so low the temperature was running down to the point of almost hitting your teeth.

"I'm sorry." You managed to cough out on the middle of the ride, curled up in a ball on the passanger seat, looking out the window, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

"We'll talk at the hotel, okay?"

Fuck, that's exactly what you didn't want. It meant you'd have to go all the way up to his hotel room, expose your feelings and explain everything you did that night while still being tipsy.

You just wanted to go to your hotel room, take a hot shower just to get the sticky drinks you spilled on yourself off and breakdown under a pair of covers watching tv and crying yourself to sleep.

But now you knew, your relationship with Kimi was never going to be the same.

To you, everything was awkward. The car ride, walking into the hotel room and greeting people with a head nod, the elevator, everything. To Kimi, it was just mildly uncomfortable, but he didn't remembered the last time he was uncomfortable with you.

You pressed the button to your level, but when it came, he just held your waist and pressed for the elevator to close.

His hotel room was a bit chaotic, never being big on organization he'd most of the time just let thing on sight in order to not forget them. The tv was still on, bed sheets a mess, clothes thrown in the ground and a laptop upside down on the couch.

That was the first time you were in that hotel room of his, which was odd.

"Okay, do you wanna talk first?" He asked, handing you a bottle of water from the minibar. You grabbed it, but didn't open, sitting down on the couch, whilst he sat on the edge of the bed. "Fine by me."

He kicked his shoes off. "I want to start with what' been bugging me the most." You avoided meeting his eye once again, knowing they were very much trained on you. "Did you really think I was someone else when you kissed me?"

Swallowing hard, you still didn't find the voice so the best next option was just a shy nod.

"Did you do that before?" Again, just a nod. "Why?"

Now you met his eyes, a pang of pride filling you at the sight of his almost angry expression.

"Why do you care?" He tilted his head to the side, almost in a 'really?' state of mind. "No, really. Why do you care so much, Kimi? The fuck is it to you to ask me that?"

"Because I care about you. About us."

"Us?" You laughed dryly at that, tightening the grip on the water bottle. "Fine, let's talk about it. What is 'us', exactly? Huh?"

"The fuck- where is that coming from?"

"Because honestly, I thought I could take it, being your nothing until you decided you were done with me, but since we're already here, let's do it. Let's solve this." You untangled your legs, ready to get up and leave any time you needed.

"Done with you? Why would I be done with you, love?"

It hurt. Hearing him call you love after pushing yourself away for days, believing you were better and moving on from him, but now, as he asked you with the softest puppy eyes ever and being so caring, you wanted to give in and throw all your mini progress away.

But even if you did, he wouldn't have it. You knew he would not settle until understanding what was coming out of your mouth.

So, taking a deep breath, you held your tears inside.

"Let's face it, Kimi. We never were something grounded enough, and now, we would be even less. For fucks sake, you're in F1 now! I'm so fucking proud of you, but I know that, as each day go by, you'd be met with everything, everyone, that you could have, and I know what that can do to someone. Ollie already cheated on his girlfriend, and I'm not even your girlfriend, I'm nothing to you."

"We're not dating. You, for whatever reason, refuses to have sex with me so we're not even fuck buddies, and besides those little meeting we have to hook up we barely speak, so I wouldn't call us friends with benefits."

"And I just know, that when you'll get out there you'll realise I'm nothing special, and I was letting you lead me on because I was taking what I could still have from you. So please just fucking tell me I never meant anything to you so we could both move on from this and-" Kimi was kissing you.

At some point, in between your rambling, he got up and was walking towards you; amidst the kissing was when you noticed you've been crying.

It angered you how your body became a puddle in his hands, how no matter the pain it would come after this, you still leaned into him, wanted him.

That was what your friends were always talking about: how you craved him, and he let you stick around to have someone he knew he had control over. This must've been like the thousandth time you kissed, but it always gave you butterflies like it was the first one.

He stopped the kiss first, hovering over the couch. His swollen red lips, his big brown eyes staring at you.

"I couldn't sit there and watch you talk bad about yourself, love. I couldn't."

He watched without even blinking as your eyes just watered more, becoming bigger and more pleading, man was in awe with your reaction, lips quivering as you where almost whimpering. His hands slowly came up, cupping your cheeks to make sure you kept looking at him. A masterpiece of how beautiful you were, silently begging for him.

"Please Kimi, don't do this. Don't be mean." You whispered to his face. "Don't do this, please, please don't."

He delivered a quick peck to your chapped lips. "I'm not being mean, vita mia. I want you, I've never wanted anyone else, please believe me. I only want you."

You didn't know. You truly couldn't tell if the blink in his eyes was him being sincere or if your drunken brain was playing some sick prank at you.

Your soul wanted to believe him, your heart couldn't take another breaking, not again. But fuck, you wish you could consult someone else that wasn't drunk or completely infatuated by this man.

"Cara mia, let me show you. Please?"

You sighed.

Fuck it.

Leaned in just the slightest and bit his lip, pulling him towards you.

He layed all his body weight on you, dropping the laptop to the floor and having his hands clamping your sides, feeling you up on top of your club clothes.

"Cara mia, I need to know how you taste like." Kimi's voice was shaking even though his touch was firm.

Your breath hitched on your throat, slightly nodding to him. After two more pecks he started making his way down on you, taking his time on your neck, which he knew was a weak spot.

He kept going lower and lower, staring to push your skirt up until he found your folds, pulling your panties down to your knees, still letting them hanging from your heels.

"Fuck! Oh fuck!" You gasped as his tongue found your clit.

"Oh you're so wet already." He murmured, holding your thighs so they wouldn't close on his head, practically tongue-kissing your pussy. "Suck." He ordered, sticking his middle and ring finger in your mouth.

Kimi pulled your thighs and started using his big shoulders to hold them just the perfect angle to be with his lips into your core. Feeling like his fingers were wet enough, he pulled them out and shoved into you.

"Let me hear you." And you obliged, letting your lips hang and allowing your sounds to come out.

"K-kimi, fuck! Your fingers are so good, they've always been, but oh god- your tongue. Yes, please, yes."

You and Kimi never went much further than handjobs, this was the first time any of you were getting a head from the other.

And dear God, it felt amazing. Like heaven, and then hell and then heaven again. Kimi was leading you to your little death and probably what was after it too.

Your high was getting higher and higher, and Kimi was noticing it, stretching his hands to play with your nipples, stimulating you even more and letting your thighs clench his head.

You screamed, feeling his lips vibrate against your poor overstimulated cunt from his own moaning, fingers intertwined on the dark curls, pulling him in, almost as if you wanted him to enter you right there.

"You're pulsating, cara." He moaned. "Best pussy ever."

"You liked the way I taste?"

"I loved it."

"Can I taste you next?"

His eyes were blown wide, he was sucking on his fingers to get even more of your flavor, but that knocked him into reality.

With one final kiss on your clit, he pulled himself onto his feet and started undoing his belt. You slipped onto the floor and readied yourself on your knees in front of him.

Pulling his already hard cock out, he stared at you while you made contact with his angry red tip, giving it kitten licks.

"Don't be a tease." He warned, holding his dick by the base and, with the other hand, caressing your cheek. "Blow me like I'm yours."

And you did.

Started sucking the tip, bringing your hands up through his thighs until getting to his balls, massaging them as you guide your head closer and closer to his pelvis.

Using your tongue at the bottom, forcing your throat to relax and take all of him, which caused you to cough. Kimi held your hair in a pony tail, guiding you gently.

"Fuck! Don't do that." He hitched his breath and tighten his grip on your head when you moaned with your full mouth on him. "I'm not gonna last."

"Then cum on my tongue."

Holding your head with both his hands now, his thrusts on your mouth became more assured, harder but more careful. He moaned loudly, throwing his head back.

"Cazzo, Y/n- I'm-"

The taste of cum, nobody warned you before, was terrible. It was hot and sticky, almost like some kind of melted plastic, and it made you cough with him still on your mouth. But his dark huge orbs were staring at you.

So you swallowed with difficulty, and already started working your tongue on the bottom part of him again.

Grunting, Kimi pulled you up on your feet, kissing you, allowing your taste in his mouth and his taste in yours to mix.

He lied you back down on the couch, your legs immediately spreading to allow him in. His dick, already hardening, grazed against your wet pussy, making you quiver and lightly buck your hips up, chasing more.

Taking one of his hands from the top of your head he rubbed his dick around your folds, its tip massaging your clit.

"Who's being a tease now?"

He smiled brightly, aligning his length to your entrance. With one nod from you, he started invading your body.

Your mouth hang open, and he made sure to capture every single one of your moans into his own lips, feeling your tight embrace on his already stimulated dick.

And, dear God, was Kimi thick, stretching you out, feeling like he was going to rip you in half. His hands came up again, one caressing the top of your head and the other playing with your nipple, trying to ease it up on you. Meanwhile, your hands were holding onto his shoulders for dear life, legs already closing on him once again.

"Fuck, bella (beautiful), you're tight." He moaned on your neck. "It feels amazing."

"Kimi you're- its- everything. I can feel it all." You were babbling, trying to make sense of your words when there was none.

All you could think, taste, smell, feel and hear was Andrea Kimi Antonelli. You didn't know where you ended and he began, and honestly? You didn't want to know.

"Cara mia, I'm not trying to rush you, but please can I move?"

"Y-yes."

The alcohol, still buzzing in your blood, kept you numb to the pain, so he was free to move as quickly as he wanted, thrusting into you with hard slaps, forcing moans out of you.

"You feel so fucking good." Kimi whispered in your ear between grunts and sighs. "So, so good. You're taking me so fucking well, baby. Such a good girl."

His shit eating grin appeared as he felt you clenching around his thickness, and that's when an idea flashed his mind.

"How are you feeling?"

"Feels amazing, I need it more." You straightened your arms, holding onto his back, sticking your nails into his skin, pulling all of Kimi more and more towards your body.

"Do something for me?" You tried to look as he slowed down his pace. With one hand, he held your head and threw it back, off the edge of the couch, meeting your images in a huge mirror on the wall.

Kimi had a wide smile, ear to ear, as he rocked his hips into yours slowly, while you were a moaning mess, the make up even messier around your eyes, chest rising up and down. As a matter of fact, Kimi pulled your shirt up your tits to expose them, giving them a light slap, smile never leaving his face.

"Do you see yourself? Look at you, so pretty, so full of me." You moaned, he was starting to pick up the pace. He bent a little, just enough to reach your ears, still looking at you through the mirror. "How dare you say you're not mine?" His tone was rough, and it made your insides clench.

Kimi moaned as you kept squeezing his cock and pulling him to you as a desperate woman, like you needed him to breath.

"Fuck, baby! Can I- I'm way too far gone."

"Please."

His movements became erratic and uneasy as he approached his little death, holding your hair in a fist to keep you looking at the mirror, ableing you to watch as his grip on your waist got tighter and his dick thicker, pulsating inside you and finally pulsating his cum deep into your walls, who were clenching and pushing you to your own high.

"Come on, just give me one more." Zarping his arm around your waist he held you up, moving your body at his will like a doll. "Just one more, for me."

As if on command, your body gave in, scratching even more his body, your back arching from the couch, shaking and toes curling. Through the mirror you could see Kimi watching your every move, huge smile on his lips.

Getting down from your high, your whole mind was buzzing and blank, brain fucked just like your body.

"Are you okay?" He kissed you throughout the jawline. "Was I too rough?"

"You're amazing, Kimi." Words slurred, eyes blinking long. "It was awesome."

Slowly, the Italian retrieved, pulling his length, now soft, off of you. You sighed, feeling heavy and empty.

You sensed him moving around but refused to open your eyes, too afraid he'd be leaving you, scared to go back to the reality that your heart would be broken around once again.

"Vita?" He bopped your nose, and you looked at him. Raising his right hand, you spotted something on his right finger, simulating a ring. "I made it with a string of your hair that got stuck in my hand."

"I'll buy you a ring tomorrow and properly ask, but that's just so you don't have any more doubts."

"You don't even know if I'll say yes."

"Oh I'm not worried about that."

You and Kimi woke up the next day with knocks on the door. He was laying on top of you, barely being able to breathe, he grunted and blinked, eyes instantly checking on you.

"They woke you too?" You nodded, turning to the side to keep sleeping.

"It's your room, deal with it."

He rolled his eyes, pulling the covers to his hips and getting up, body completely naked except for that.

"Is Gabi." Kimi mumbled, looking through the peeking glass. "Hey mate."

"Heeeey." With the door open, you could hear the brazilian's smile as he spoke. "I was going to ask if you guys kissed ad made up, but I guess that's pretty clear now."

"Yeah, she's feeling waaaaay better now." Kimi smirked, throwing a glance in your direction.

You buried your head on the pillow and groaned, fuck, how did you guys not noticed last night that this couch was uncomfortable as hell?

March 23, 2025

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unabashegirl · 8 days ago

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Love Island - part 1

AU. Based on the TV show.

Author's note: Hello everyone, I've been meaning to post this on Tumblr. I hope you like this 10 part series as much as my Patreon followers did. This initial chapter is very short but it's on purpose.

⭐️ Please consider joining my Patreon -> Patreon

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the Love Island villa. Laughter and splashing echoed as the Islanders basked in the afternoon heat, their spirits high. Y/N lounged on a sunbed, half-listening to Tom, her current partner, as he animatedly recounted his latest gym achievements. She forced a smile, nodding occasionally, but her mind drifted. Each day felt like a mirror of the last, a cycle of sunbathing and surface-level conversations that left her craving something deeper.

Then, a sudden commotion pulled her from her thoughts. Georgia, the self-appointed drama queen of the group, leaped up, her phone held high in the air. “I’ve got a text!”

The excitement was palpable as everyone converged around her, eager to hear the news. Y/N's heart raced with anticipation; a new arrival could break the monotony and shake things up in the villa.

With a flourish, Georgia read aloud: “Islanders, get ready to welcome a new boy! Please head to the front of the villa to greet him. #NewBoyAlert”

Cheers erupted, and the Islanders surged toward the entrance, Y/N caught up in the tide of enthusiasm. As they gathered at the door, playful jabs and speculation flew about the new contestant, each guess more outrageous than the last.

When the door swung open, a wave of heat rolled through the villa. In walked Harry, tall and confident, with tousled dark curls that framed his face and tattoos peeking out from under his arms. He was clad only in dark swimming trunks, showcasing his fit physique. The moment he stepped in, it felt as if the air shifted—a palpable energy filled the space.

“Hey, everyone!” he called, his voice warm and inviting. “I’m Harry. I’m 26, a travel photographer, and I’m here looking for someone special.”

As the group responded with cheers and applause, Y/N felt a jolt of excitement at his casual charm. He seemed so at ease, as if he belonged there, and she found herself drawn to his confidence.

“Travel photographer?” Zara chimed in, her tone flirty. “Sounds glamorous! What’s your favorite place you’ve been?”

“Honestly? It’s tough to pick,” he replied, flashing a charming smile that made Y/N’s stomach flip. “But I’d say Greece has its magic. The sunsets there are something else”, He glanced at Y/N as he said this, and for a moment, their eyes locked, sparking an unexpected connection.

As introductions continued, Harry moved down the line, exchanging light banter and laughter. When he reached Y/N, his gaze lingered, a genuine curiosity dancing in his green eyes.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked, his tone sincere.

“Y/N,” she replied, feeling her heart race under his attention. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Great to meet you, too, Y/N,” he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

As the evening wore on, the villa transformed into a cozy gathering spot under the twinkling lights. Y/N found herself outside by the pool, trying to catch her breath from the whirlwind of introductions. The water shimmered invitingly, but her thoughts were consumed by Harry—the way he carried himself, how he seemed genuinely interested in everyone, and that spark in his eyes when they’d connected.

To her surprise, Harry sauntered over, casually lowering himself onto the lounge chair next to her. The warmth of his presence felt comforting, like a breath of fresh air.

“Mind if I join?” he asked, his tone light, but there was a deeper warmth in his voice that made her heart flutter.

“Not at all,” Y/N replied, a smile breaking across her face.

Harry stretched out on the chair, his relaxed posture revealing a confidence that made her feel at ease. “So, what do you make of all this?” he asked, glancing around the villa.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted, glancing up at the stars. “But it can get a bit repetitive. I mean, we’re all here looking for something, but sometimes it feels like we’re just... drifting.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. what’s kept you in here so long?”

She looked up, surprised by his directness. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d settle for just anyone. So, I was curious why you’re still here.”

She smirked, crossing her arms. “You get all that just from looking?”

“Maybe,” he replied casually. “Or maybe I’m just observant. Part of the job, you know.”

Their conversation deepened, revealing snippets of their lives. Y/N found herself sharing stories about her childhood, her passion for art, and how she’d dreamed of traveling but had never found the right person to explore with. Harry listened intently, nodding along, his gaze fixed on her as if she were the only person in the world.

“What about you? What made you want to come on the show?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “Honestly? I wanted to step out of my comfort zone.” He paused, a soft smile forming. “So far. I am very interested”.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up at his compliment, her heart racing.

As the evening wore on, they exchanged teasing remarks, laughter bubbling between them. With each shared moment, Y/N felt a connection growing—a sense of camaraderie and understanding that she hadn’t felt in a while.

“Well,” Harry said after a while, pushing himself up from the chair, “I guess I’ll see you around”.

��Definitely,” she replied, her smile lingering as he walked away, a sense of excitement coursing through her.

The sun rises on another day in the villa, and it’s not just the temperature heating things up after last night’s new arrival. Our Islanders may have started with some clear choices, but Harry’s arrival has shaken things up... especially for Tom.

The villa was buzzing with morning energy as everyone moved around the kitchen, filling glasses with orange juice and grabbing breakfast. Y/N sat on a lounger, enjoying a quiet moment with her coffee before the day’s inevitable whirlwind of chats. She noticed Tom watching her from across the patio, looking a bit anxious. He made his way over, rubbing his hands together, as if trying to psych himself up.

Tom might have been Mr. Confident last week, but it looks like he’s feeling the heat now that Harry’s in the villa. Will Y/N’s current couple get through this twist unscathed, or will Tom’s nerves get the best of him?

“Morning, Y/N,” Tom greeted, taking a seat beside her. His usual relaxed smile seemed a bit forced today.

“Morning, Tom,” Y/N replied, sipping her coffee and meeting his gaze. She could sense he wanted to say something, and he looked like he was wrestling with the words.

“Listen,” he began, leaning forward. “Last night, with Harry showing up and all... It’s got me thinking. I just wanted to see where your head’s at.” His voice was steady, but she could sense the nervousness under it.

She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “I get it. It’s all moving fast, isn’t it? I mean, I didn’t expect someone like Harry to walk in and shake things up.”

Tom shifted in his seat, his gaze flicking between her and his hands. “Right. He’s... yeah, he’s something. But, uh... I just want to know if you’re, well, interested. In him. Like, romantically.”

She took a moment, carefully choosing her words. “Honestly, I’m not sure yet, Tom. Harry’s interesting, and he’s definitely got that confident energy. But I’m still figuring things out. I mean, you and I have had a great connection.”

Tom relaxed a little, his shoulders loosening as he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I thought so too. We’ve been getting on really well. I just—well, I know how this place works. It’s all about testing things and seeing if connections are genuine, but…” He trailed off, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m getting left behind, you know?”

Y/N reached over, resting a hand on his knee to ease his nerves. “Look, Tom, I’m here to find something real, and I do want to see where we could go. But I also don’t want to close myself off from getting to know Harry. It’s early days, and I feel like it wouldn’t be fair to either of us to ignore a potential connection.”

And there we have it, folks. Y/N is caught between Tom’s steady interest and Harry’s unpredictable charm. With Tom hanging on by a thread, will Y/N let go or keep her options open?

Tom’s lips tightened, and he gave a small nod. “Fair enough. I can’t stop you from seeing where things go. I mean, you’re right—it is early days. Just… give me a heads-up if you start to feel like it’s going somewhere else, yeah?”

“Of course,” she assured him, offering him a warm smile. “I’ll always be honest with you, Tom. That’s a promise.”

He smiled, though it looked a bit forced, then let out a sigh, looking back towards the villa. “Right then. Just have to up my game a bit, won’t I?”

Y/N chuckled, nudging him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Just keep being you.”

But will that be enough, Tom? With Harry’s arrival in the villa, we might just see if Tom can hold his own—or if his steady confidence starts to crack.

After Tom walked off, Y/N settled back into her lounger, taking a slow sip of her coffee. The warmth of the morning sun was comforting, and she let herself enjoy the peace, though her mind kept drifting to Harry.

Across the patio, Harry was surrounded by a small group of girls, each one caught up in his easy charm. There was Georgia, always the first to get a word in; her dark hair bounced as she laughed at one of his jokes, flashing him a look that said she was more than intrigued. Beside her was Chloe, who toyed with her braid as she angled closer, her gaze fixed on him, and Lila, who had barely left his side since his arrival. They all hung on his every word, their laughter blending with his deep chuckles.

Y/N watched him, noticing the way he seemed effortlessly at ease, making each of the girls feel like they were the only ones there. He was charming, no doubt, and that little smirk of his told her he knew exactly what he was doing. There was something magnetic about him; he was the kind of person you couldn’t help but notice.

Then, as if sensing her gaze, Harry’s eyes lifted, meeting hers across the patio. The moment their eyes connected, a playful glint flickered in his. His smile softened, turning into that cheeky grin she was beginning to recognize. He said something to the girls that made them all laugh again, and then, with a quick apology, excused himself from the group.

Y/N’s heart gave a little jump as she saw him walking towards her, the confidence in his stride obvious as he crossed the patio. When he reached her, he didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned forward, his arms resting on the back of her lounger, his face close enough that she could catch the faint scent of the sea on his skin.

“Morning,” he said, his voice smooth, that smirk never leaving his lips. “Didn’t expect to catch you staring.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Staring? I was just observing… thought I’d get a better sense of what all the fuss is about.”

He chuckled, settling himself on the edge of her lounger without breaking eye contact. “Ah, so you were curious, then. Good to know I’ve got your attention, even if just a little.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “I was just checking to see if you were actually as charming as you think you are.”

He tilted his head, feigning contemplation. “And? What’s the verdict, then?”

She shrugged, pretending to consider it. “I think it’s too early to tell. But I’ll let you know if you manage to impress me.”

Harry leaned back, grinning. “Challenge accepted. I’m a big fan of keeping things interesting. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come over here to see if I could learn a bit more about you too.”

“Oh, really?” she teased, crossing her arms as she watched him. “So, the big mystery man’s got questions?”

“Maybe one or two.” His gaze softened, the playful edge giving way to a hint of sincerity. “Like, what exactly is a girl like you looking for in here?”

She held his gaze, considering her answer for a moment. “Honestly, someone genuine,” she said, her tone earnest. “It’s easy to get caught up in all the surface stuff, but I’m hoping to find something real. Something that lasts.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Right. Thought I’d take a risk, try something new.” His voice softened, a touch of vulnerability creeping in. “Been a while since I let anyone in.”

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade. She felt a spark, a warmth that hadn’t been there before, and she knew he felt it too.

“Alright then, Harry the risk-taker,” she said, breaking the silence with a playful smile. “Let’s see if you’re as good as you say.”

Harry’s cheeky grin returned, the playfulness back in his eyes. “Oh, you’ve got no idea what I’m capable of, Y/N.”

Looks like Y/N’s little morning coffee break has turned into something a bit more steamy than she bargained for. With Tom on edge and Harry moving in, she may have her hands full. So, who’s in it for the long haul? Stay tuned.

--> part 2

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sweettu1ips · 2 months ago

Text

PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

SYNOPSIS: Two souls, separated by time, find their way back in a quiet moment, where unspoken words flicker like stars between them, a promise that they were never truly apart.

WARNING(S): fluffy ⋮ reunion ⋮ reader is brunette ⋮ not seeing/ speaking to Paige for three years ⋮ tension ⋮ slow-burn ⋮ childhood friends-to-lover ⋮ readers last name is LEXINGTON ⋮ changed Paige's siblings names for a good reason but her parent's names remain the same ⋮ FYI, I'VE NEVER BEEN TO MARTHA'S VINEYARD. THEREFORE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S THERE. ALSO, MOST PLACES ARE MADE UP HERE :)

WORD COUNT: 16.7K ( another long one :p )

| P. TWO ⋮ WOTVB SERIES ⋮ MAIN MASTER LIST |

MARTHA'S VINEYARD—an island suspended in time, steeped in golden summers and salt-laced laughter, a sacred place woven into the fabric of the Bueckers and Lexingtons.

It was never just a destination; it was a ritual, a tether, a second home built not of walls and roofs but of traditions and tangled histories. Every year, without fail, we returned—drawn back by something deeper than obligation, something stitched into our very marrow.

A legacy carved from decades of sun-drenched Julys and twilight bonfires, from fathers who once met as high school boys and forged a brotherhood strong enough to span generations.

Except, I hadn’t set foot on its familiar shores in nearly three years. Three summers lost to the unrelenting tide of distance, of duty, of a life that had gradually reshaped itself into something unrecognizable. Washington—the state of endless pines, of mist and mountains, of cold rain drumming against my dorm window—had claimed me.

College had swallowed me whole, my days consumed by the relentless pursuit of knowledge, my nights tangled in the exhaustion of work and deadlines. The thought of leaving, of carving out time for something as indulgent as nostalgia, had always felt impossible.

Until now.

Because Wren would not have it.

"If you don’t show up to my wedding, I’ll come to Seattle myself and drag you down here."

The words, scrawled in bold, unwavering black ink, were etched at the bottom of the invitation box—the one that held the ultimate question, poised to demand my presence: Will you be my Maid of Honor?

Three years. Three years since I had last seen the Bueckers, the people who had once been as constant in my life as breath itself. But most of all—three years since I had seen her. Paige.

The others, I had managed to hold on to in some way or another—occasional messages, late-night check-ins, moments stitched together with just enough care to keep the thread from snapping completely. But Paige and I? We had unraveled. And it was my fault.

Once, she had been my shadow, or maybe I had been hers. Two girls moving in synchronized rhythm, seamlessly intertwined, never questioning the certainty of each other’s presence. But distance is a cruel, insidious thing. It starts slow—missed calls, unanswered texts—until one day, you wake up and realize the silence has settled in like an old tenant, comfortable and unchallenged.

I had gotten too busy with life. Too caught up in the deadlines, the obligations, the relentless forward motion of everything. Until, before I even knew it, the space between us had stretched too far to reach across.

We had gone from next-door neighbors in Minnesota, where our lives bled together in a seamless blur of backyard games and whispered secrets, to existing in entirely different worlds.

She was in Connecticut, chasing the dream she had been born for, carving her name into UConn’s legacy one game at a time.

And I—thousands of miles away in Washington, buried beneath textbooks and the intricate calculations of an engineering degree—had let the days slip through my fingers like sand, until Paige was nothing more than a memory softened at the edges.

And now, I was going back.

Back to the island where our laughter still echoed in the dunes, where our past selves still lived, preserved in the salt-stung air. Back to the place where it had all started.

But the question lingered, heavy and unspoken:

Would we still know each other?

The summer sun dripped gold through the open sunroof, sinking its warmth deep into my skin, coaxing a slow, lazy heat that stretched through my limbs.

The salty breeze curled through the car like an old friend, thick and briny, laced with something sweet—maybe the distant scent of waffle cones from the ice cream shop or the faint perfume of beach roses growing wild along the shore.

The road hummed beneath the tires, the distant cry of seagulls weaving through the melody of Surf Curse thrumming from the speakers.

Martha’s Vineyard.

A place stitched into my bones, etched into the softest parts of my childhood, my adolescence, my becoming.

A place where salt clung to bare skin, where the air was always rich with the scent of melting sunscreen and freshly brewed coffee, where the rhythm of the waves was a constant lullaby, steady and unchanging.

It had been three years, yet as I drove these familiar streets, it felt like no time had passed at all. And still, everything had changed.

Everyone had arrived yesterday—well, not quite everyone. Wren had insisted on a week of just us, just like old times, carving out a pocket of quiet before the storm of the wedding swept through.

No chaos, no rehearsals, no distant relatives lingering like ghosts at the edges of the house. Just us. The way it had always been.

Except this time, Carson—the man who would soon be my brother-in-law—was folded into that sacred space, a new presence settling into the history we’d built here.

And me? I was late. A day behind.

A crumpled UW sweatshirt lay forgotten in the back of the rented Bronco, abandoned in favor of the striped blue tube top clinging to my sun-warmed skin.

My hair, heavy with the day’s heat, was twisted into a claw clip, though a few stubborn strands had slipped free, framing my face in loose waves.

The weight of exhaustion pressed into me—seven hours of travel, a ferry ride that rocked me into something close to sleep, the ache of a body that had spent too much time folded into cramped seats and airport terminals. But it didn’t matter now.

I was here.

I slowed as I passed the places that had once been second nature, my gaze tracing their outlines like reading the pages of an old, beloved book.

The little bookstore, its sun-faded awning drooping slightly at the edges, its wooden sign still creaking softly in the breeze. The café with its sprawling deck, where people sipped iced coffee and watched the world pass by, their faces kissed by the golden light of late afternoon.

The weathered ice cream shop, where Wren and I had once pressed sticky fingers to the glass, deliberating between flavors as if it were the most important decision of our lives.

And then—there it was.

The Honeycomb Garden.

It stood just as I remembered, its cream-colored façade softened by years of salt air, its windows spilling over with cascading blooms in every shade imaginable. A riot of color, a symphony of scent.

Every summer, without fail, my mother, Wren, and I had made this stop—a quiet ritual, an unspoken promise. We would step inside, breathing in the floral air, fingers trailing over delicate petals as we searched for the perfect bouquet to bring home.

The scent of it would fill the beach house, settling into its walls, marking the official start of summer.

I pulled onto the curb, the tires crunching softly against the pavement, and turned off the engine. The absence of music made the world feel suddenly still, the only sounds the distant cry of gulls and the faint hum of life moving around me.

With a sigh, I stepped out, stretching my arms overhead, letting the tension slip from my body as the sun pressed hot and unyielding against my skin.

The breeze carried the scent of flowers and saltwater, a combination so achingly familiar that it made something in my chest tighten.

The little brass bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, a sound so deeply ingrained in my memory that it sent a shiver down my spine.

And then—

“Well, if it isn’t little Y/N!”

Kristy’s voice rang across the shop, warm and rich with familiarity, as if no time had passed at all.

She stood behind the sage-green counter, her green eyes crinkling at the edges as she set down a bundle of pale pink peonies. The scent of them curled through the air—delicate, sweet, tinged with something almost honey-like.

“Miss Kristy.” I grinned, stepping forward just as she rounded the counter, her sunflower-printed sundress swaying gently with each step. White sandals. A brown apron dusted with tiny petals. The same, yet different.

“Oh, my dear,” she sighed, her arms opening before I could say another word.

The hug was tight, the kind that settled deep into the bones, the kind that felt like home. She smelled of lavender and sun-warmed earth, of afternoons spent here, hands buried in stems and petals. I held onto her just as tightly, letting the moment stretch.

Her hair, once long and cascading over her shoulders, had been cut into a neat bob, silver strands glinting in the light. She pulled back slightly, her hands resting on my arms as she studied me with an almost motherly softness.

“How have you been?” she asked, eyes searching mine. “It’s been, what? Three years?”

I nodded, exhaling a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah… a long time, huh?”

My gaze flickered around the shop, tracing every familiar corner, every vase overflowing with fresh blooms.

As if anything had changed.

As if everything had.

Her smile unfurled like the petals of a morning bloom, soft and familiar, her laughter laced with warmth as her fingers lingered in a gentle squeeze against my elbows.

Fine creases gathered at the edges of her eyes, a quiet testament to years of sun and salt and soft, knowing glances. She studied me once more, head tilting slightly, the corners of her mouth tugging upward in that effortless way only she could manage.

“A little too long,” she murmured, a teasing lilt threading through her words, though there was something wistful beneath it. “Look at you! I think that Washington rain has washed away your sun-kissed glow.”

I huffed a small laugh, rolling my eyes even as I reached up instinctively to push back a loose strand of hair. “Unfortunately,” I admitted, a breath of a chuckle escaping me.

And then—something shifted. A flicker of recollection sparked in her gaze, her brows arching in sudden remembrance as her ears seemed to perk up.

“Oh! I just remembered—”

She released me, already turning on her heel, her sundress swaying with the movement. The scent of her floral perfume—jasmine and something faintly citrus—whispered through the air, lingering even as she disappeared behind the counter.

Her voice, ever honeyed and rich with familiarity, carried through the small shop, weaving through the blooms and filling the space with its warmth.

“Your mom placed an order yesterday—well, last night, actually,” she called out, her tone softening as she rummaged for something unseen. “Your dear brother was supposed to pick ‘em up.”

A knowing pause.

I could almost see the amused tilt of her head before she even emerged.

“But, I’m sure he’s still asleep.” A quiet laugh followed, a sound like wind chimes caught in a summer breeze.

My gaze flicked to the old clock mounted on the wall, its delicate hands frozen at 12:14 PM. My lips pressed into a thin, bemused line.

“Yep. Definitely still asleep.” I exhaled, shaking my head with a small smirk.

Miss Kristy reappeared, carefully cradling a bouquet wrapped in brown kraft paper, her fingertips gently smoothing over the edge as if the flowers themselves deserved the kind of tenderness only she could give.

It was so my mother.

A sunlit embrace of yellow dahlias and crisp white begonias, the colors as familiar as home itself. I reached forward, drawing the bouquet closer, my fingers brushing against the delicate petals as I traced the softness beneath my touch. The scent—fresh, bright, subtly sweet—bloomed in the air, stirring something deep in my chest.

Miss Kristy let out a knowing chuckle, shaking her head with a sigh.

I glanced up at her, hesitating for just a moment before clearing my throat.

“Uh—actually…” I started, shifting my weight slightly. “Do you maybe have any purple tulips?”

Her head tilted, her brows knitting together in quiet surprise.

“No lilies today?” she mused, her voice touched with curiosity, knowing well that lilies were my usual choice.

I smirked, shrugging. “Gotta expand my taste, right?”

A breath of laughter passed through her lips, the kind that was light and effortless, like the rustling of leaves in a soft breeze.

“Well,” she mused, tapping a finger against her chin, “I believe I have some tucked away in the back. I don’t think I’ve put them out yet.”

With that, she turned, vanishing once more into the depths of the shop.

The air seemed to hum in her absence, thick with the scent of blooms and the weight of nostalgia pressing gently against my ribs. I leaned an elbow against the counter, my fingers grazing the rim of a nearby vase as I waited, my gaze sweeping over the kaleidoscope of flowers before me.

Even after all this time, even after three years away, this place still felt like an inhale after a long-held breath.

Miss Kristy emerged from the back, her presence as effortless as a petal drifting on a summer breeze. She cradled the bouquet in her arms as if holding something sacred, her fingers gently adjusting the delicate stems before offering them to me with a warm, knowing smile.

“Ah! Here you are,” she hummed, her voice carrying that familiar lilt of affection. She tilted her head, the corners of her lips curling as she reached down, pulling a sheet of brown kraft paper from beneath the counter. “Just the tulips, sweets?”

I nodded, the scent of the shop thick around me—roses in full bloom, the crisp, green sharpness of eucalyptus, and the soft, honeyed whisper of baby’s breath. The air felt heavy with nostalgia, pressing against my ribs in a way that made my chest ache.

“Yes, please,” I murmured, slipping my hands into the deep pockets of my linen pants, fingers brushing against the leather of my wallet as I moved to fetch it.

But before I could pull it free, the warmth of Miss Kristy’s hand settled over mine—gentle, firm, a touch that spoke of quiet insistence. I stilled, glancing up to find her shaking her head, a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“This one's on the house, dear,” she said, her voice soft but resolute, a grin tugging at her lips. “A welcome home gift.”

I blinked, caught somewhere between gratitude and protest, my brows furrowing as I opened my mouth. “What—no—Miss Kristy, I can’t—”

But she leveled me with a sharp, playful glare, the kind that had the power to silence even the most stubborn of arguments. I shut my lips so tightly they barely parted when I exhaled.

“No buts,” she said, her tone firm, her gaze unwavering. “I insist.”

“Miss Kristy—” I tried again, shaking my head, the start of another argument forming at the tip of my tongue.

And so it began—the back-and-forth, me refusing, her countering with the patience of a woman who had won this battle many times before. A well-worn dance, choreographed by years of familiarity.

But in the end, I caved.

With a sigh and a slow, yielding smile, I raised my hands in surrender, cradling the dahlias in one arm. “Fine,” I exhaled, the breath leaving my lips like a quiet breeze. “But next time, I’m paying, m’kay?” I arched a brow at her, my voice teasing but lined with sincerity.

Miss Kristy chuckled, shaking her head as she carefully handed me the tulips, their petals soft as silk beneath my fingertips. She turned to tidy the counter, momentarily distracted—and that’s when I moved.

With careful precision, I tucked a crisp $30 bill beneath the register, sliding it out of sight just as she turned back.

“Alright, off with you now,” she teased, waving a hand as if shooing me away.

I grinned, stepping backward toward the door, my hands full of blooms, my heart full of something unspoken.

“See you later, Miss Kristy.”

But just as I pushed open the glass door, her sharp intake of breath reached me, followed by a voice laced with exasperation.

“Y/N Lexington!”

I turned back just enough to catch her incredulous expression, her eyes narrowing as she spotted the money beneath the register.

But by then, I was already slipping out onto the sunlit pavement, my laughter bubbling up like champagne, light and airy, carrying on the breeze.

“Bye, Miss Kristy!” I called over my shoulder, quickening my pace as I hurried toward the waiting bronc, my feet barely touching the ground.

Through the shop’s wide windows, I caught one last glimpse of her, standing behind the counter with a mix of amusement and feigned frustration painting her face.

The moment felt so fleeting, so tender, like a whisper of summer wind through the trees. I hadn’t even realized how much time had slipped through my fingers until I glanced at my phone, its screen glowing with missed calls and unread messages—most of them from Wren and my mom, though Amy and Lilly had their fair share, too.

Lilly’s texts stood out.

“dude hurry.”

A second one, only minutes later:

“ur moms goin’ crazy ‘cause ur not answering ur phone.”

I sighed, shaking my head as I finally slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar worn leather cool against my palms. The scent of salt lingered in the air, seeping through the cracks of my rolled-down window, mingling with the distant echoes of seagulls and crashing waves.

I turned the key in the ignition, the soft rumble of the engine grounding me as I set off toward the place that had lived in my memories for far too long—the beach house.

The drive felt surreal. Every turn, every street, every landmark was steeped in nostalgia. The docks stretched out into the water, boats rocking gently against their moorings, their white sails like ghosts against the cerulean sky. People bustled along the boardwalk, laughter spilling from sun-kissed lips, the scent of fried seafood and sunscreen thick in the air.

And yet, as much as I drank in the familiarity of it all, my mind wandered elsewhere.

To her.

The way she used to chase the waves, shrieking as the cold water lapped at her ankles. The way the freckles on her nose darkened in the summer sun, how she always smelled like coconut lotion and salt. The sound of her voice, soft but sure, teasing but kind.

God.

I swallowed hard, pushing the thought away as I rounded the final corner. The beach house stood before me, untouched by time yet somehow different. The long driveway stretched ahead, gravel crunching beneath my tires as I slowly pulled in.

And then—before I could even shift into park—chaos erupted.

The front door burst open, figures spilling out onto the porch like a tidal wave of familiarity.

First, Wren, right on my mom’s heels, her dark curls bouncing as she ran. Then my dad, his usual calm expression cracked open with relief. And behind them, the Bueckers siblings—Diego, Lilly, and Reece—all pushing past one another, racing toward me.

Except for one.

A certain Bueckers kid was missing.

A certain blonde who had been haunting my thoughts more and more with each passing day.

Before I could fully process it, the younger ones broke into a full sprint, feet pounding against the sun-warmed planks of the porch, their laughter spilling into the thick summer air like a song I hadn’t heard in too long. The sound wrapped around me, sweet and familiar, tangled with the scent of salt and sunscreen, of grass crushed beneath bare feet.

"Y/N!"

I barely had time to draw a breath before they crashed into me—a tangle of limbs and warmth, their bodies colliding with the force of a rippling wave, pulling me into the undertow of their embrace. Arms wove around my waist, my shoulders, my back, each squeeze desperate, filled with the kind of unspoken longing that only distance could create.

“Woah—Jesus,” I gasped, stumbling back a step, their collective weight nearly knocking me off balance. My laughter burst out, breathless and tangled with disbelief.

Diego—who had once been small enough to balance on my hip—was now pressing his face into my ribs, arms banded tight around my middle as if afraid I might disappear again.

Lilly, my little shadow, was suddenly face-to-face with me, her chin digging into my shoulder, her embrace unrelenting, as if trying to pour every ounce of her missed time into this single moment.

And Reece—once my short, scrappy sidekick—stood taller than me now, his arms hooked firmly around my back, his grip solid and steady, grounding me in the weight of their presence.

I pulled back just enough to take them in, my hands grasping their shoulders, my fingers brushing over the sun-warmed fabric of their t-shirts, the scent of ocean air and childhood summers clinging to them like something sacred. My chest ached with the sheer force of it—of them, of this moment, of home pressing itself back into my bones.

I let out a shaky laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “What the hell have y’all been eating while I was away?” My eyes darted between them, scanning their faces, trying to reconcile the past with the present. “Seriously—growth hormones? Miracle-gro?”

Lilly giggled, her smile wide enough to crinkle her nose, swiping at her sun-drenched cheeks. “We missed you, dummy.”

Diego nodded so fast it made his dark curls bounce. “So much.”

Ryan smirked, clapping a hand against my shoulder, his grip firm, steady. “Took you long enough to get here.”

I swallowed hard, something warm and unshakable swelling in my chest, curling around my ribs, settling deep in my bones.

"Yeah," I murmured, glancing past them—past the porch, past the gently swaying wind chimes, past the years I had spent away.

"I’m home."

As soon as the words left my lips, something deep within me exhaled—like the tide finally surrendering to the shore, foam-kissed waves melting into the sand after being held away for too long.

The weight I hadn’t even realized I was carrying settled, dispersing into the thick summer air, where the scent of salt and sun-warmed cedar clung like a second skin.

But before I could fully sink into the feeling, my mother’s voice cut through the moment, warm but edged with that familiar exasperation—the kind laced with love, the kind that had followed me through childhood like a shadow.

"Alright, alright—let her breathe, for God’s sake."

The younger ones groaned but obeyed, their arms unraveling from me with reluctant slowness, like they feared I’d disappear if they let go too soon.

Diego lingered the longest, his small hands gripping the fabric of my shirt at my waist, fingers tightening as if committing the moment to memory before finally, with a deep breath, stepping back.

And then, there she was.

My mother stood poised on the porch, arms crossed, the setting sun catching on the fine lines near her eyes—the ones carved from years of laughter, worry, and love. Her lips were pressed together, and for a second, it looked like she was about to scold me, but then I saw it—relief, warm and brimming, pooling in the depths of her deep brown eyes like a tide held back too long.

Beside her, my father stood in his usual ease, a lopsided grin stretching across his face. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his faded cargo shorts, as if keeping them there would stop him from pulling me into a hug too soon.

He rocked back slightly on his heels, his gaze steady, as if reassuring himself that I was really standing here.

And Wren—Wren stood slightly apart, just behind them, arms loosely folded, her expression unreadable at first. But I knew her too well. I knew that tilt of her head, the way her eyes traced me like she was searching for something beneath the surface.

Wren never just looked at people—she saw them. And right now, she was seeing me, reading between the lines of my posture, my expression, the way my fingers twitched at my sides.

She always saw too much.

I swallowed hard, the weight of it all pressing into my ribs—the porch where barefoot summers had stretched endlessly, where late-night whispers and childhood laughter had been carried off by the wind.

The people who had filled those summers stood before me now, their faces aged by time but still achingly familiar.

The scent of salt and sun-warmed cedar curled through the thick, golden air, wrapping around me like an embrace from the past, like something stubborn and unyielding, something that refused to be forgotten.

My mother was the first to move, stepping forward with a slow shake of her head, her expression wavering between exasperation and something far more fragile. Like she was still convincing herself I was real, flesh and bone and not just some distant memory come home to haunt her.

"You didn’t answer your damn phone, Y/N." Her voice cracked, just barely, a thin fracture in the frustration she was trying to hold together.

Guilt crept in, pooling at the edges of my relief. "I know, I know—I got caught up, I—"

I didn’t get the chance to finish before she was pulling me in, her arms a fortress, steady and unshakable, the same way they had always been. The scent of lavender and sun-warmed cotton enveloped me, the press of her fingers threading through my hair, resting at the nape of my neck—gentle, familiar, grounding.

"Next time, answer," she murmured, her voice muffled against my hair, the edges of it frayed with worry. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

A lump formed in my throat, thick and aching, but I forced a smile, my grip tightening around her. "I promise."

She lingered, holding on like she wasn’t quite ready to let go, like she was memorizing the feeling of me in her arms. And then, with a deep breath, she stepped back, her warmth slipping away just as my father pulled me in.

"It's good to see you, kiddo," Dad murmured, pressing a kiss against my temple. His hug was quick but firm, the solid press of his hand against my back grounding me in a way words never could.

The rough warmth of his palm ruffled my hair, the same way he had when I was twelve—like no time had passed at all, like I had never really left.

And then there was Wren.

She stood apart from the others, her arms folded loosely across her chest, her weight shifted onto one hip, exuding a quiet confidence as if she had all the time in the world. The sunlight caught the engagement ring on her finger, making it gleam like a promise forged in the warmth of the summer day.

But her eyes—they were a different story. Deep, knowing, unblinking, they scanned me, tracing over every detail as if she were piecing together a puzzle. It was as though she was measuring the gap between the person I had been and the person I had become, silently assessing if the two still fit together, if the distance between them could ever be bridged.

The silence stretched between us, thick and humming, something unspoken pressing against the spaces where words should have been. I felt it in the way her brow pinched, just slightly. In the way she tilted her head, assessing, calculating.

I exhaled sharply, rolling my eyes. "You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna say hi?"

Her lips twitched—barely, a flicker of movement that almost didn’t happen. "Hi."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Unbelievable."

And then, finally, finally, she moved.

The space between us closed in an instant, and when her arms wrapped around me, it wasn’t hesitant or delicate. It was solid, effortless, the kind of hug that wasn’t just a greeting, but a homecoming. Like the last few months hadn’t stretched between us at all. Like time had simply been waiting for us to meet again.

Her voice was muffled against my shoulder, dry but warm. "Welcome back, dumbass."

A breathless laugh escaped me, and I clung to her a little tighter, grounding myself in the familiarity of it all. "Missed you too, asshole."

But when I pulled back, something tugged at the edges of my focus, something missing. My gaze flickered past her, searching—the porch, the doorway, the lingering stretch of golden afternoon light spilling across the wooden steps. My chest tightened as my eyes swept over the familiar scene, looking for a silhouette that wasn’t there.

Wren exhaled before I could even ask. "Beau’s still asleep."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "Figures."

Even if I already knew.

Still, my search didn’t stop there. My eyes kept moving, scanning past my parents, past the younger ones still tugging at my arms, past the way the wind chimes trembled in the soft, salt-tinged breeze.

Wren saw. Of course, she did.

Her fingers curled briefly around my wrist—a quick, fleeting squeeze—before she let go. "She’s, uhm—out."

That was all she said.

And yet, it was enough to make my stomach twist, enough to make something settle, heavy and wordless, between us.

I nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance neither of us acknowledged out loud. "Right."

Wren offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her chocolate brown eyes.

I returned it anyway.

There would be time for that later.

For now, I was home. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

The heat pressed against my skin, thick and insistent, as though the sun itself were trying to melt me into the pavement. The air, heavy and sultry, wrapped around me like a thick blanket—saturated with the earthy scent of freshly cut grass and the faintest trace of sea salt, still lingering in the breeze.

The world felt too much, too alive—too vibrant. The cicadas hummed a constant, vibrating chorus in the trees, their song loud enough to pulse beneath my ribs. The wind, playful and mischievous, fluttered through the hanging chimes, making them sing a hollow, tinny tune that scraped against the air.

My siblings' laughter echoed in my ears, sharp and bright, filling the space, forcing itself into every corner of my consciousness.

But underneath it all, there was something quieter. Something heavier. A pull deep in my chest, like the last remnants of a storm settling inside me.

It was a weight I couldn’t shake—one that clung to me with the same stubbornness as the heat, pressing down on my ribs, curling tight around my heart. The world swirled around me, but that feeling remained, persistent and unrelenting.

I shoved it down.

For now.

Reece and Dad were already at my car, moving with ease, pulling my luggage from the trunk. Diego, still a little small and determined, stood beside them, his tiny hands gripping the handle of my suitcase like it was the most important thing in the world.

I watched as he tugged, his face scrunching up in concentration, muscles straining with the effort—but the bag barely shifted. He planted his feet firmly, giving it another go, a little grunt escaping his lips. Still nothing. The suitcase refused to budge, stubborn and unmoving in his grip.

I couldn’t help it—I bit back a smile.

"Hey, kid," I said, my voice soft but carrying as I stepped toward him, my uggs sinking slightly into the cool earth beneath me. "Think I’m gonna need your help with something way more important."

Diego's wide, innocent eyes flicked up to meet mine, a trace of confusion flickering across his face, like he wasn’t sure if he had heard me right. But the warmth in my tone seemed to settle his doubts, and after a beat, his gaze followed mine toward the passenger seat.

There, wrapped in brown paper, was the bundle of dahlias and begonias—their yellow faces turned toward the sky, their delicate petals whispering with the wind. It was a humble bouquet, nothing extravagant, but it had a beauty in its simplicity.

I nodded toward it. "I need someone very responsible to bring in the flowers. Think you can handle it?"

The shift in his expression was immediate. His eyes widened, and for a split second, I saw the world shift beneath him—he was no longer just the little brother trying to carry my bags. No, now he was entrusted with something precious. He stood taller, his chest puffing out like a proud little rooster, his grin spreading from ear to ear, so wide it almost swallowed his face.

"I got it!" he declared, voice rising with determination, his tiny hands reaching for the flowers with a reverence that made my heart ache a little. His fingers curled gently around the stems, lifting them as if they were made of the finest porcelain. His steps were swift, purposeful, as he marched toward the house, the bouquet cradled against his chest like a secret he was eager to protect.

I watched him go, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It felt good—no, it felt right—seeing him so proud of something so simple. I reached out, ruffling his dark hair as he passed, the motion soft and affectionate, the way I’d always done. "Good job, kid."

He didn’t hear me, already lost in his mission, but the light in his eyes was all the thanks I needed.

Turning away, I grabbed my duffel bag, the weight of it familiar and grounding, and threw it over my shoulder.

My fingers brushed the cool metal handle of the suitcase next, and I tugged it free from the car, dragging it along the gravel with a small grunt. As I glanced up, I saw Reece effortlessly lifting the last of my luggage, one hand gripping the handle, the other tucked casually in his pocket as if the suitcase weighed nothing at all.

I smirked, raising an eyebrow. "See you’ve been hitting the gym, huh?"

His grin grew, smug and self-assured. "Yeah, Paige’s been on my ass about going with her." His voice was easy, but I could feel the undercurrent in the words—the way he said it like it was no big deal, but I knew better.

My stomach tightened, a knot forming as her name echoed in my mind. Paige. Just the mention of her sent a ripple of something cold through me. Something I couldn’t quite place, but I could feel it clawing at the edges of my thoughts.

I tried to shake it off, forcing a chuckle as I shifted my weight. "I bet she has."

Reece didn’t seem to notice the shift, his smirk never faltering as he hoisted the luggage with ease. "It’s been good for me," he said with a casual shrug, like it was a normal part of his day.

But as the words hung between us, a sudden heaviness descended. It was in the way he didn’t break eye contact, the way he said her name—so effortlessly, so naturally, like they were in sync, like they were the same.

I swallowed, the tightness in my throat only slightly noticeable as I forced myself to look away.

Dad’s voice called out from the porch, cutting through the tension like a knife. "Is that all?"

Reece, still not picking up on my unease, shot back with a grin. "Nah—got the whole wardrobe in here."

I rolled my eyes and smacked him on the arm. "Real funny, ass hat." My voice was light, but my heart was still beating a little too fast, a little too hard.

Reece only chuckled, stepping aside as I shut the trunk with a resounding thunk. The sound echoed in my chest, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had closed too. Something softer, quieter—something I wasn’t ready to face.

Even as I turned toward the house, my mind was still spinning, and one name refused to let go.

It gnawed at me, even though I didn’t want it to.

I swallowed again, trying to push it down, trying to move forward. There was no point in asking Wren now. Not yet. I had just gotten back. I didn’t need to unravel everything all at once.

But something in me ached to know.

Maybe I would ask her later. Maybe I’d ask when the house wasn’t so full, when everything wasn’t so loud. When the air didn’t feel so heavy.

But for now, I would carry this weight in silence. For now, I was home. And maybe that would be enough—for now.

Following Reece into the house felt like stepping into a dream that had been patiently waiting for my return.

The moment I lifted my gaze, the weight of time pressed against my ribs—not in a suffocating way, but in a way that filled my chest with something warm, something deep, something that whispered, You are home.

Martha’s Vineyard had a way of making the past feel alive. The air was thick with salt and sun, the scent of distant tides curling through the open windows like an embrace. It had been too long, but nothing had truly changed.

The house stood just as it always had, unwavering in its quiet elegance, its cream-white wooden walls kissed with a hue of baby blue, a color that carried the scent of summer mornings and childhood mischief.

As I stepped over the threshold, nostalgia wrapped around me, tangible as the sea breeze outside. I could almost hear the echoes of my past self—barefoot and reckless, sneaking down these very stairs with Paige at my side, hushed giggles breaking through the night as we slipped out the door, hearts hammering with the thrill of escape.

The beach had been our sanctuary, the bonfires our altar.

Some nights, it had been just the two of us, feet sinking into cool sand, waves curling against the shore like a secret whispered between old friends. Other nights, the firelight stretched across miles of coastline, casting flickering shadows over dancing figures, smoke and salt mixing in the air as music pulsed through the dark.

I could still taste the saltwater taffy we had stolen from the pantry at ungodly hours, could still feel the rough wooden railing beneath my palms as I sat on the porch, legs swinging idly while Paige teased me about some long-forgotten crush.

The ghosts of those nights still lingered here, tucked between the wooden planks, hidden in the corners where moonlight once pooled at our feet.

The house itself breathed with life. Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, golden and endless, illuminating everything it touched—the polished floors, the delicate lace curtains, the picture frames that still lined the walls, frozen moments capturing laughter, love, and the stories of those who had walked these halls before me.

Some frames adorned the staircase, their glass glinting beneath the Cape Cod sun, reflecting back faces I had memorized like scripture.

And just beyond the glass, past the rolling green lawn, the ocean stretched out like an old promise. The blue of it was sharp enough to make my chest ache.

A burst of laughter broke through the air, pulling me back to the present. In the living room, Diego and Lilly were locked in some fierce, ridiculous competition, their playful bickering weaving through the house like background music.

The familiarity of it brought a smile to my lips, but it was only when movement caught my eye that my heart truly swelled.

Amy.

Emerging from the staircase, her short blonde hair swaying as she descended, the same radiant smile that had welcomed me a thousand times before now stretched wide across her face.

"You’re finally here!" she beamed, voice thick with warmth, with the kind of love that had always felt like a second home.

"Mama Amy!" The words tumbled from my lips before I could help it, my feet moving before my mind could catch up. In my excitement, I nearly tripped over my luggage, but I didn’t care. I closed the distance between us in a heartbeat, launching myself into Amy’s waiting arms.

The embrace was tight, fierce—years of love, of shared history, of something deeper than blood but just as binding. I buried my face into Amy’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and sun-warmed linen, the scent of comfort, of long talks on the porch, of arms that had held me through both laughter and heartbreak.

"Ugh," I groaned dramatically, squeezing tighter. "I missed you so much."

Amy chuckled, smoothing a hand over my hair the way she always had. "Missed you more, sweetheart. It’s been too quiet without you around."

And I knew she meant it. Because Amy had never just been Paige’s mom—she had been mine, too. A second mother in every way that counted. Just as my own mother had been to Paige and Lauren, Amy had been there for me.

Through heartbreaks and triumphs, through childhood scraped knees and the sting of growing up too fast. Through every moment that mattered.

Amy pulled back just enough to cup my face, her blue eyes searching mine with something soft, something knowing. "You doing okay?"

I swallowed.

I wanted to say yes.

I wanted to mean it.

But for now, I just nodded, letting the warmth of Amy’s touch and the weight of her arms settle the ache in my chest.

Because for the first time in a long time, I was finally here.

“Where’s Bob?” The words left my lips as I stood in the golden haze of the late afternoon, my voice threading through the air like the familiar melody of an old song.

The walls of this house had heard that name a thousand times before, whispered in the quiet of early mornings, shouted over the sound of waves crashing in the distance.

Amy turned to me, her face warm, crinkled at the corners from years of sun and laughter. She smelled like salt air and vanilla, the scent of summers past clinging to her like a second skin. Her arms, still wrapped around me, gave one final squeeze before she pulled away, her fingers lingering for just a second longer.

“He just left actually–– went out grabbing groceries with Paige and Carson,” she said, her voice light with the ease of routine. “You know how it is, the ‘Grocery Gang’.”

I nodded, already picturing the scene—the three of them wandering through the tiny, sun-warmed market, their hands brushing against fresh produce and wicker baskets, arguing over whether to get the sweet or unsweetened iced tea.

Time had a way of shifting, folding new people into old traditions, stretching and reshaping what once felt immovable.

“And Josephine?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, the name slipping from my tongue like a question wrapped in longing.

Amy exhaled softly, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make it this time. Work’s been keeping her tied up.”

A quiet pang settled in my chest, the kind that only comes when someone is missing from a place they’re supposed to be.

Josephine had become a fixture in our summers, as much a part of this home as the scent of cedar and sea spray, as the laughter that drifted through open windows at dusk. She was more than just Diego’s mom—she was a guiding presence that filled the spaces left by time and distance.

“Hopefully, she gets to join us soon, though,” Amy added, her voice threaded with hope.

I smiled, a knowing curve of my lips, and nodded. “Yeah, hopefully.”

Before I could sink too deep into the thought, I hitched the strap of my duffle bag higher onto my shoulder. “I’m gonna put my stuff in my room real quick.”

“Oh, lemme help you,” Reece’s voice emerged from the kitchen, thick with something sweet.

I turned just in time to see him wiping his sugar-dusted fingers against the fabric of his shorts, his mouth still full, his blue eyes dancing with mischief.

I arched a brow. “With your sticky hands?”

He scoffed, utterly unbothered, rolling his eyes with a dramatic huff. “Please, these suitcases probably cost twenty bucks. It ain’t that special.”

My lips parted in mock offense. “Excuse me—seventy dollars, actually.”

He snorted, already reaching down to grab a handle, his fingers curling around the worn leather with practiced ease. “Still not that special.”

Our words bounced between us like skipping stones over water, light and effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that had been carved into our bones over the years.

Amy chuckled softly as she watched us, shaking her head before slipping into the kitchen, disappearing into the soft hum of a home alive with movement.

And then, like a wave crashing against the shore, I felt it—that scent.

It curled through the air like an embrace, thick with warmth, wrapping around my senses and pulling me under. Smoky embers and charred wood, the unmistakable scent of barbecue, rich and golden. Beneath it, something briny, something fresh, the perfume of the sea woven into the promise of a meal made with love.

My stomach twisted in quiet longing as Reece and I drifted toward the kitchen, the weight of our bags shifting against our bodies. He carried two suitcases with ease, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort, while I adjusted the duffle on my shoulder, my fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of my own luggage.

And there, bathed in the golden glow of the evening sun, was my mother.

She moved through the kitchen with effortless grace, a quiet symphony of motion. The counters were covered in an array of ingredients—chopped vegetables glistening under the soft kitchen lights, meats marinating in deep earthenware bowls, the air thick with the rich scent of herbs and spices.

“Whoa,” I murmured, pausing at the doorway, my eyes sweeping over the spread before me. “What’s this? A royal banquet?”

Mom hummed, rinsing a bowl of potatoes beneath the steady stream of water, a small smirk playing on her lips. “We always celebrate the first night back here,” she said, matter-of-factly, as if I should have known better than to question it.

And she was right. How had I forgotten?

The first night back in this house was never just another night. It was a ritual, a way to stitch ourselves back into the rhythm of this place, to remind each other that no matter how much time passed, no matter how far we had gone, we always found our way back—to the same table, the same laughter, the same love.

Reece and I shared a look before making our way up the staircase, our steps in sync as we climbed toward the familiar. The wooden steps creaked beneath us, a sound so ingrained in my memory that it felt like a song I had once known by heart.

As we walked, our conversation drifted between the past and present—what had changed since I had been gone, what had stayed the same. Reece filled me in on everything, from the small, meaningless updates to the ones that mattered. Who was dating who, who had left for school, what pranks had been pulled when I wasn’t around to witness them.

It was easy. It was effortless. It was home.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself sink into it completely.

As we ascended the staircase, the wooden steps creaked beneath our weight, whispering their quiet welcome, a sound so familiar it felt like an embrace. The second floor unfolded before me, and a warmth bloomed in my chest, thick and golden, like sunlight filtering through salt-kissed curtains on a summer morning.

Four doors stood before me—three bedrooms, one bathroom—each a vessel of memory, of laughter and whispered secrets, of childhood dreams spun from the innocence of five-year-old hearts. One door, set apart from the others, belonged to Wren. Or at least, it had, until she decided she had outgrown it, trading in its small comforts for one of the bigger rooms on the far side of the house.

Now, it belonged to Lilly, and with her, it had taken on a new heartbeat, a new rhythm, though echoes of Wren still lingered in its corners.

The other two rooms, side by side, ours. Mine and Paige’s. A stake we had claimed long before we understood what permanence meant. Our names, scrawled across the wooden doors in glitter—Paige’s in regal purple, mine in a bright, childish pink—still shimmered under the dim hallway light.

The banners we had made with tiny hands, glue sticking to our fingers, had stood the test of time. A declaration. A promise. That no matter how much we grew, how much the world outside changed, these rooms would always be ours.

My feet carried me forward before I even realized I had moved, instinct guiding me to my door.

"Y/N’S SURF SHACK"

The words greeted me, bold against the white-painted wood, pink glitter still clinging stubbornly to its surface despite the years that had passed. Around them, seashells and surfboards danced in a scattered collage, hearts pressed between them like unspoken love. And there, beside the banner, a stick-figure drawing of two little girls—one blonde, one brunette—etched in messy crayon strokes, their hands clasped together in the way only best friends could.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I pressed my palm against the cool metal of the doorknob, fingers curling around its familiar shape. With a soft twist, I pushed the door open.

The scent hit me first.

Coconut and ocean salt, like sun-warmed skin after a day spent diving beneath rolling waves. The air felt untouched yet lived-in, the kind of space frozen in time yet waiting, patiently, for my return.

Everything was exactly as I had left it.

The walls, painted in a soft white-cream with an accent of baby blue, mirrored the sky just before it kissed the horizon at dusk. Sheer white curtains billowed gently in the breeze, whispering secrets carried from the sea.

The queen-sized bed sat pressed against the far wall, its wooden headboard adorned with delicate fairy lights, their glow faint in the fading daylight.

A thin string stretched across the wall above it, polaroids clinging to it like fireflies, snapshots of summer days and stolen moments.

Framed pictures and art I had carefully chosen lined the walls, pieces of my soul scattered across the room in colors and strokes.

Beside the bed, matching white nightstands stood like sentinels, their surfaces home to trinkets, forgotten books, and memories encased in glass frames.

In the corner, a hanging egg chair swayed slightly, as if remembering the weight of my body curling into it, book in hand, lost in worlds beyond this one.

One side of the room bore the evidence of my greatest love—the ocean. Surfboards leaned against the wall, their colors faded from years of salt and sun, each one holding the memory of a perfect wave, a fall, a triumph.

Among them, nestled between the wooden planks, were plants that had somehow survived my neglect, their green leaves stretching toward the light like they, too, belonged here.

A white dresser stood against the opposite wall, cluttered with the remnants of my life—a stray bracelet, a half-burned candle, a forgotten letter folded neatly beneath a smooth sea stone. Above, the ceiling fan spun lazily, stirring the air like an exhale, slow and deliberate.

And there, resting on the bed as if it had never moved, was my white bunny Jellycat. Nestled between a sea of throw pillows, its soft body slightly worn, the fabric stretched in places where tiny hands had clutched it too tightly in the night. It was a relic of comfort, of childhood fears soothed beneath the weight of moonlight and whispered reassurances.

But what caught my breath, what stilled my heart for a fraction of a second, was the vase.

Sitting atop the white nightstand, its glass surface catching the golden light, was a bouquet of pink lilies. Fresh, their petals unfurling in delicate, blushing curls, the fragrance wrapping around me like an embrace.

Paige.

She had been in here, had left them for me, had remembered.

Beside the flowers, a framed photo—Paige and me at ten years old, laughing mid-collapse, her arms wrapped around my shoulders as I struggled to keep us both upright. Frozen in time, our joy immortalized behind the glass.

My throat tightened.

It wasn’t just a room.

It was a time capsule. A love letter to every version of myself that had lived here, every laugh, every tear, every whispered confession made to the walls in the dead of night. It was a place untouched by time, yet full of it.

With a deep breath, I stepped inside, letting the warmth of home settle into my bones.

I step inside, and the past comes rushing at me like a tide—thick with the scent of salt, sunscreen, and a life I only get to touch for a few months out of the year. The air is heavier here, humming with old laughter, sunburned memories, and the echoes of a childhood that still clings to the walls.

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

Reece’s voice rumbles from behind me, steady and familiar, grounding me before I drift too far into nostalgia. I turn just as he sets my luggage down with a soft thud, his towering frame still as solid as ever, a quiet presence that never changes.

I smile, reaching up to ruffle his light brown hair like I always have, my fingers tangling in the strands before giving his back a firm pat. “Thanks, big guy,” I murmur.

Reece chuckles, a low sound, then nods once before heading downstairs, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floors, fading into the heartbeat of the house.

And just like that, I am alone.

The silence is thick but not empty—never empty here. It hums with something alive, something waiting, like the house itself is breathing me in. I let my eyes wander, drinking in every detail that tethers me back to this place.

The soft cream walls, still sun-bleached from the years. The desk by the window, cluttered with forgotten trinkets and sand-dusted notebooks. The faint scent of vanilla and sea salt, a perfume of the past that lingers in the fabric of the curtains.

But it’s the balcony doors that call to me the loudest.

Drawn like a thread being pulled, I cross the room, fingers finding the cool brass handles as I push them wide open. The ocean air rushes in, crashing into me with its salted breath, thick and alive with the weight of summer. It fills my lungs, clings to my skin, wraps itself around me like an old friend.

God, I missed this.

The view is the same—always the same—but it never loses its magic. The dunes stretch long and golden, their tall grasses swaying in rhythm with the wind.

Beyond them, the ocean sprawls endlessly, a restless blue that shifts with the sky, a shade I have never quite been able to find anywhere else. It’s a short walk to the beach, but from here, I can still hear the waves, the endless push and pull, whispering their secrets to the shore.

And if I listen even closer, I can hear voices drifting through the warm air.

Dad’s voice, deep and steady, carrying over from the pool where the grill sizzles. The smell of barbecue mingles with the ocean breeze, thick and smoky, curling through the air like an unspoken invitation. Wren is probably beside him, leaning against the railing, making some dry remark about his technique. The sound of their quiet laughter stirs something deep in my chest—a longing, a warmth, a knowing that this is home.

I linger there, drinking it in, before finally stepping back inside, leaving the doors open just enough to let the breeze follow me in.

My eyes drifted back to the lilies.

Soft pink, delicate, arranged with a kind of thoughtfulness that makes my chest ache. They sit on my nightstand in a glass vase, petals still dewy, as if they’ve only just been placed there. And beside them, a small folded note, edges slightly curled.

I already know who it’s from before I even touch it.

The handwriting—the careful curves, the way the ink presses just a little too hard in certain letters—it’s unmistakable.

I exhale a laugh, barely more than a breath, as I pick up the note, my thumb brushing over the familiar scrawl.

"Welcome back, princess."

Princess.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch into a smile despite myself. It started as a joke—an affectionate tease that Paige threw at me when we were sixteen. I had hated it at first, wrinkled my nose every time she said it, but over time, I stopped fighting it. Maybe because, deep down, I started to understand why she called me that. And suddenly, it didn’t bother me at all.

With a sigh, I let the note flutter back onto the nightstand before collapsing onto my bed, limbs splaying out in a careless starfish position. The sheets are crisp but familiar, the comforter slightly cool from being untouched. My childhood bunny still sits among the pillows, a little more worn, a little more forgotten, but still here—like a ghost of who I used to be.

I close my eyes.

Let myself sink.

The house breathes around me, the sounds outside blurring into a lullaby—the hush of the waves, the distant laughter, the cicadas singing in the heat. My body is heavy, my mind slipping somewhere between wakefulness and dreams.

Until—

“What’s up, stranger?”

The voice is deep, loud, and entirely too close.

A sharp burst of sound that shatters the quiet like a hammer to glass.

I jolt upright, heart slamming against my ribs as my eyes fly open.

“Jesus—” I hiss, my pulse still racing. “You scared the shit out of me, dipshit.”

Standing at the foot of my bed, grinning like a damn menace, is Beau.

My eighteen-year-old brother, taller than I remember, his shoulders broader, his hair sun-lightened and messier than ever. His grin is all teeth, mischief crackling in his dark brown eyes like a brewing storm.

Before I can react, before I can even think—

He launches himself onto the bed.

A solid weight, knocking the breath out of me as he crashes down, arms wrapping around me in a ruthless, smothering hold.

“Beau—” I wheeze, squirming under him.

“C’mon, you know you missed me,” he says, his voice muffled against my shoulder before his arm snakes around my neck, locking me into a chokehold.

I let out a strangled noise as he ruffles my hair with merciless enthusiasm, tangling the strands I had only just managed to tame.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I grumble, trying—and failing—not to smile.

He just laughs, completely unbothered, still holding me captive in his vice grip.

And then—

“Are you two seriously wrestling already?”

I don’t need to look to know who it is.

Wren leans against the doorframe, one brow arched, arms crossed, exuding her usual brand of effortless cool. The kind that makes it impossible to tell whether she’s amused or exasperated. Probably both.

Beau scoffs, rolling onto his back beside me, arms behind his head. “You jealous or something?”

Wren snorts. “Yeah, totally. I just live for the sight of you two rolling around like a couple of feral dogs.”

I sit up, running a hand through my now thoroughly wrecked hair. “If you’re gonna be in here, at least shut the door. You’re letting all the air out.”

Wren shrugs but does as she’s told, kicking the door closed with the heel of her foot. “So, now that the princess has returned, does this mean we’re getting into trouble tonight, or what?”

I smirk, stretching out my arms in an exaggerated yawn. “Depends. How much trouble are we talking?”

Beau grins, eyes gleaming. “The kind that gets us grounded for the rest of the summer.”

And just like that—

The house feels alive again.

Buzzing. Humming. Crackling with something electric.

And as I sink into the moment, into the warmth of them, I realize just how much I missed this.

How much I missed them.

The clock on my nightstand read just past three in the afternoon, the soft hum of the ceiling fan above stirring the warm summer air in lazy circles. The room still smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen, but now, layered on top of it, the familiar sweetness of coconut and vanilla clung to my skin.

My body was warm from the shower, my limbs still heavy with the kind of drowsy comfort that came after hot water and quiet solitude. The moisturizer I had lathered onto my legs made my skin impossibly soft, and my damp hair left cool, damp trails against the bare skin of my shoulders.

I had taken my time getting ready, slipping into a white floral tank top, the delicate fabric whispering against my skin.

The spaghetti straps sat gently on my shoulders, the V-cut dipping just enough to hint at something softer, a tiny satin bow sitting at its center like an afterthought. The mini skirt hugged my waist, airy and light, the hem brushing against the tops of my thighs with every movement.

As I stood in front of the open balcony doors, the humid air wrapped around me, thick with the scent of the ocean and the distant smokiness of the barbecue still sizzling downstairs.

The world outside stretched endlessly—rolling dunes, scattered wild grasses swaying lazily, the sun dipping lower in the sky, gilding the horizon in honeyed gold. And then—

Then, my eyes found her.

Down at the dock, standing alone, her blonde hair caught the wind, rippling like a flickering flame that danced in defiance of the vast, endless blue stretching before her. Paige.

The sight of her struck something deep in my chest, a slow, painful ache unfurling like a frayed thread that had somehow found its way back into the fabric of my heart.

Three years. Three whole years.

And yet, there she stood—still Paige. Still effortless. Still radiant in that quiet, impossible way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

Her back was to me, but I couldn’t help but drink her in. The sun kissed her skin with a warmth that seemed almost unnatural, casting a soft glow that made her look as if she had been sculpted from light itself.

I couldn’t help but trace the way her shoulders held a tension, something unfamiliar but familiar at once—a guarded kind of grace.

It was in the way her white cropped tank top draped over her, the gentle curve of her form visible beneath the fabric, as if time had shaped her in ways I hadn’t quite expected.

The soft lines of her silhouette, the subtle shift in the way she moved—everything about her spoke of the changes that had taken place, the growth that had come with the years.

And yet, beneath it all, she still carried the essence of the girl I had once known.

She looked unreal, like something conjured from the depths of a dream I had long buried, but now it resurfaced, flooding my senses with the pull of what had once been.

Before I could second-guess myself, before I could drown in the weight of everything I hadn’t said, my fingers clenched into my palm, and I let out a slow, steady breath.

And then I moved.

The comb in my hand was forgotten, dropped onto the bed as I turned and stepped out of my room. My bare feet moved swiftly across the wooden floors, past the open kitchen where Mom and Amy stood talking, their conversation a gentle hum I didn’t bother to decipher.

Past the living room, where Beau and Diego sat hunched over the screen, their game of Black Ops 6 filling the air with gunfire and shouted curses. Past my dad, still tending to the grill, his deep voice carrying over the sound of sizzling meat.

And then, out the back door.

The moment my sandals touched the grass, the heat of the afternoon pressed against me like a second skin. The air felt heavier out here, thick with nostalgia and something dangerously close to regret. I stepped onto the sand, the fine grains shifting beneath my soles, sinking slightly with every step.

Each movement felt surreal, like I was caught between past and present, like I was walking toward something I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.

But Paige was still there.

Still standing at the edge of the dock, still lost in whatever thoughts had her so still.

I hesitated at the dock’s entrance, the worn wooden planks creaking beneath my weight as I stopped. Three years. Three years of silence, of missed calls, of never showing up, of pretending the ache in my chest wasn’t real.

What the hell was I even supposed to say?

Hey? Sorry I haven’t texted you? Sorry I never called? Sorry I didn’t show up to any of your games? How have you been?

It all sounded stupid. Useless. Like trying to patch up something that had already been burned to the ground.

I swallowed hard, my hands tightening into fists at my sides, trying to steady myself against the wave of uncertainty. But then—

I exhaled. Released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

And I stepped forward.

The wooden planks were warm beneath my sandals as I slowly made my way down the dock, each step feeling heavier than the last. My heart pounded against my ribs, but my voice was steady when I finally spoke.

“Well, if it isn’t Paige ‘Buckets’ Bueckers.”

My voice was soft, careful, as if saying her name too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between us.

I saw it then—the way her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, the way her breath hitched in the split second before she turned around.

And when she did—

Paige blinked at me, lips parting, her blue eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite place. Disbelief? Shock? Maybe something else, something deeper.

“Y/N.”

My name left her lips like an exhale, like she wasn’t sure if she was really seeing me.

And for a moment, neither was I.

The world stilled.

For a moment, all I could hear was the soft, rhythmic lapping of the water against the dock, the distant hum of my father’s laughter mingling with the sharp sizzle of the grill, the occasional cry of a gull overhead as it circled lazily in the sky.

But everything else—the voices, the background chatter, the weight of three long, aching years—fell into a quiet hush as I stared at her.

Paige.

Her name echoed in my mind, a long-forgotten tune that had once filled my world but had gone silent, tucked away in the shadows of time. I hadn’t allowed myself to sing it in so long.

She was standing there, barely a few feet away, but in that moment, it felt like an entire lifetime stretched between us, the distance palpable and heavy, a gap carved out by silence and time.

The afternoon light bathed her in gold, casting a warm halo around her as it played across her form, highlighting every sharp and soft angle of her.

The light kissed her skin with a gentle reverence, turning her into something almost too perfect to be real. Her blonde hair, now slightly longer than I remembered, swayed with the breeze, each strand catching the sunlight like delicate threads of spun silk, glimmering in the golden haze.

Her skin, kissed by the sun and glistening with a natural glow, held that kind of effortless radiance that made her look ethereal, as if she existed just a touch beyond the realm of ordinary, like she wasn’t standing on the same plane of existence as the rest of us.

She had always been beautiful.

But now, standing before me after all this time, she was breathtaking in a way I wasn’t prepared for, in a way that pulled at something deep inside of me.

Her white cropped tank clung to her, the fabric stretching slightly over her body, accentuating the defined shape of her shoulders, the gentle curve of her waist. I noticed how her abs had become more defined, the subtle ridges of muscle drawing the eye, a quiet testament to her discipline, the years of hard work that had shaped her.

The pink cotton shorts, soft and simple, sat comfortably on her frame, riding up slightly when she shifted, the pale color contrasting against her sun-brushed skin, which seemed to shimmer in the fading light.

But it wasn’t just how she looked—it was how she felt. How her presence, standing so close yet so far away, pressed against me, filling my senses with something indescribable, something deep and untouchable.

A feeling I couldn’t quite name, but one that seemed to pull at me, to unravel something inside me I had long since sealed away.

She blinked again, her lashes fluttering as she looked at me, lips parting ever so slightly, like she wasn’t sure if I was real, if I was really standing here before her after everything.

“Y/N,” she said, my name rolling off her tongue, hesitant, almost fragile. It lingered in the air like something both familiar and foreign, a whisper of the past—so soft, so careful, as if she were afraid it might break in her mouth.

Something inside me twisted at the way she said it. Like it was a ghost of something she had tried to forget. The syllables clung to the space between us, heavy with unspoken things, things that had been buried under the weight of years and distance.

I swallowed, my throat tight, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to close in around me.

“Hey, Paigey.” My voice was softer this time, almost like a confession, an apology wrapped in a single word. The unspoken weight of everything I couldn’t say pressed down on my chest, making each breath feel too heavy, too sharp.

Paige exhaled sharply, a breath she had been holding, and then—just for a second—her expression cracked. It was subtle, but I saw it. A flicker of vulnerability, of something that had been hidden away for far too long.

I saw it in her eyes. The hesitation. The quiet hurt buried beneath layers of time. The way her gaze wavered, searching for something, something she had lost but couldn’t quite let go of. And the silent question that seemed to hang in the air between us, unanswered and aching.

Where the hell have you been?

I didn’t know what to say. Three years was a long time. Too long.

I had missed things. So many things.

Her games, where she had probably looked just like this—strong, radiant, untouchable under the stadium lights, the spotlight making her seem like she belonged to a world I could only watch from afar.

I had missed the way her sweat would glisten, the quiet intensity in her eyes as she locked in on the basket, the way her body moved with a grace that seemed both effortless and powerful all at once.

I had missed the late-night drives we used to take just to feel the wind in our hair, the hum of the car engine our only companion as we talked about everything and nothing. Our laughter getting lost in the rush of the road, the shared silence feeling like something sacred, as if the world outside didn’t matter as long as we were together.

And I had missed the way she used to lean against me during movies, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but still warm, still trusting. Like I was something safe in a world that never seemed to stop moving.

And I had just—disappeared.

I had allowed the silence to stretch like an endless chasm between us, the emptiness widening with each passing day until it became something insurmountable.

Something that now loomed in the background of every thought, every memory, a weight I didn’t know how to lift. I had let the space between us grow into a void, an ocean of time and distance that felt impossible to cross. But in this moment, none of that mattered anymore.

Because she was here.

And so was I.

The air between us buzzed with a strange, quiet tension, and for a heartbeat, the years that had slipped by seemed to vanish. All that was left was her and me, this lingering proximity that felt both foreign and familiar at once.

“Your hair got longer,” she finally said, her voice softer now, almost as if she were afraid to break the fragile moment between us. But even in its quietness, it was steady, certain.

I blinked, feeling the flutter of warmth in my chest, and my fingers twitched at my sides, a nervous tic I hadn’t realized was still there.

She remembered how it used to be—how my hair used to fall just past my collarbones, how she would absentmindedly tug at the ends when her hands had nothing to do, braiding small strands while we sat in the back of my dad’s truck, our eyes fixed on the endless sky above us, tracing constellations we had named ourselves.

“Yeah,” I murmured, my voice a little thick. “Figured it was time for a change.”

She hummed, a sound that felt like it reached into my chest and held onto something fragile. Her gaze lingered on me, just a fraction longer than necessary, like she was tracing the lines of me, mapping the girl she had once known but had somehow lost.

A gust of wind swept past us, tossing loose strands of her hair around her face.

I couldn’t help but watch as the soft tendrils danced in the air, framing her face with a wild, untamed beauty that made my heart stutter.

For a split second, a reckless urge surged through me, one I couldn’t ignore: to reach out, to brush the hair from her face, to tuck it behind her ear the way I used to, to erase the space that had grown between us, to make everything feel like it once had.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I clenched my hands into fists, the muscles in my arms tightening as I fought the impulse. I rocked back slightly on my heels, the weight of the moment pressing down on me, heavy and intense, and I wondered if I would ever stop aching for the ease of things that had once been.

“How’ve you been?” I asked, the question feeling ridiculous the second it left my lips. It sounded hollow, an echo of the distance between us, something that could never bridge the gap of those years.

Paige let out a quiet laugh, breathy and short, like she didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. It was the kind of laugh that hinted at something deeper, a history that still lingered between us, unspoken.

“Oh, you know. Winning championships. Breaking records. Carrying the team on my back.” She raised an eyebrow at me, the corner of her lips curving upward in a playful challenge. “Not that you’d know.”

I winced, a sharp sting of guilt pricking my chest. I deserved that.

“I saw,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed fragile, like they might break apart before they even fully formed. “I kept up, Paige. I—” I hesitated, my tongue suddenly thick, tripping over the weight of things left unsaid. “I just—”

Couldn’t be there. Didn’t know how to come back. Didn’t know if I was allowed to.

The silence between us thickened, but only for a moment, before Paige studied me with a quiet, knowing gaze, something flickering behind her eyes like a door left ajar, teasing me with the possibility of what had been. Then she let out another breath, shaking her head with a soft, almost melodic chuckle.

“Still the same,” she murmured, almost to herself, the words like a secret shared between the wind and the sea, something private that no one else would ever understand.

I frowned slightly, an unfamiliar discomfort settling in my chest. “What do you mean?”

She glanced at me then, her eyes catching mine for the briefest of moments, and for the first time since she turned around, she smiled. It was small, faint, barely-there—but it was real, and it struck me with the force of a forgotten memory resurfacing.

It did something strange to my chest, a feeling I couldn’t name.

Paige shrugged, her gaze drifting away again, toward the horizon where the sky and the water met in a seamless blur of blue—a vast, endless expanse that seemed to stretch on forever, the edges fading into the unknown.

“You always sucked at talking about feelings.”

The words hung in the air, like a teasing melody that both mocked and understood.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I exhaled a quiet laugh, the sound almost a release, a soft surrender to the moment.

“Yeah,” I admitted, my voice tinged with something close to regret. “Guess some things never change.”

A pause settled between us, but it wasn’t as heavy this time. It wasn’t drowning in the silence of old wounds or the weight of unspoken apologies. It was just—there. A soft, comfortable space, neither awkward nor charged, but simply open. A breath waiting to be taken.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something that could be rebuilt.

Slowly.

Piece by piece.

Step by step.

The air between us felt like a canvas—thin, stretched tight, and full of potential but still waiting for the first stroke of color. The weight of three years hung in the space between us, but the longer we stood there, the more that weight seemed to shift. The silence, once thick and suffocating, had softened.

I was still acutely aware of the tension in my chest, the way my heart beat a little faster with every stolen glance at her.

She was a lot taller than me now. I hadn’t remembered that. Or maybe I’d tried to forget.

Paige used to call me short stack when we were kids—her nickname for me that always felt so casual, so comfortable. She’d ruffle my hair in the most aggravating way, making me bat at her hands like I could do something about it.

Now, standing next to her, I was aware of how much space she occupied. How much taller she stood, her head just above mine. I felt small in comparison, my body pressed into the earth below while hers was a towering figure in the light, radiating strength and presence.

She was still Paige—my Paige, in a sense—but now, she seemed like someone else entirely.

Without thinking, I took a step forward, then another, until I was standing at her side.

She didn’t look down at me at first. Her eyes were still fixed on the water, the movement of the waves gentle against the wooden pillars of the dock, creating a rhythm that I could almost lose myself in.

The scent of saltwater mingled with the faint trace of sunscreen and the smell of her perfume, something light, floral, and citrusy, like the warmth of a summer day that you never wanted to end.

For a moment, I just stood there beside her, unsure if I should speak or if the silence would be enough to say what I wanted. She had always been good at filling the quiet—her voice, warm and steady, had a way of cutting through the air like a summer breeze, making everything feel just a little lighter.

“I’ve missed this,” I said softly, the words coming out before I even realized I’d thought them.

Her lips quirked slightly, and I couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes softened when they flickered toward me. “What, the dock? The ocean?” She gestured to the expanse of blue stretching out in front of us.

I nodded, swallowing a lump that had risen in my throat. “Yeah. The beach, the salt air. All of it.” My gaze drifted over the water, catching the way the sunlight bounced off the waves, giving them the shimmer of liquid glass. “It’s like nothing’s changed, and everything has, too.”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You’re not wrong. It’s strange, isn’t it?” Her voice was quieter now, almost like she was talking more to herself than to me. “It’s all the same, but it’s not. I don’t know.” She fell into a silence, her hand brushing absently at her shorts, and for the first time, I saw her hesitate.

I took a breath, trying to gather myself, the weight of the years apart pressing against my ribs. It felt like there was so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t know where to start.

So instead, I let my fingers drift to the edge of the dock, brushing against the smooth wood, and I glanced up at her. “How’s the team? And your dad?” I asked, my voice a little stronger than before, like I could find something to hold onto in the conversation.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Dad’s good. Still grilling at every chance he gets. The team’s... well, the team’s on fire. You should come see a game sometime.”

“Yeah?” I raised an eyebrow, watching her as she spoke. There was something about the way her eyes lit up when she talked about it, a fire I had never seen before. It was like she had become this new version of herself—this incredible version of herself—and it both amazed and terrified me.

“Yeah. I’ll get you tickets.” She said it so casually, but there was a soft vulnerability in the offer that made me pause.

“I’ll take you up on that,” I said, a little more sincerely than I’d intended.

There was a long stretch of silence again. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, not anymore. In that moment, standing there next to her, the world seemed a little bit quieter. We both seemed to exist in the same space—still, a little bruised from the time apart, but in a way, finding our footing again.

I didn’t expect what happened next.

Without warning, Paige turned toward me, her arms slipping around me in a tight hug, pulling me into her chest so suddenly I barely had time to react. The warmth of her skin against mine sent a shiver through me, not from cold, but from something I couldn’t name.

Something heavy and familiar, something that wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed. Her body was solid, strong, a safe presence I hadn’t realized I’d been craving all this time—an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

For a second, I was frozen��shocked by the sudden closeness, the feeling of her heartbeat against my own. It was as if time itself had slowed down, and I was caught in the suffocating rush of emotions I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years.

My breath caught in my throat, my chest tightening. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed this—the simplicity of being held by her, the steady rhythm of her presence. It was like coming home after being lost for far too long.

But then, slowly, I wrapped my arms around her, my head resting on her shoulder. The sensation was overwhelming in its intimacy, as if every part of me was yearning for her to stay, to never let go. It felt so natural, like we were two parts of the same whole, as if we’d never been apart.

There was no awkwardness, no question of where we stood—just the softness of her touch, the unspoken understanding between us, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down, yet strangely light in the comfort of her embrace.

“God, I missed you,” she muttered into my hair, her voice rough, as if the words had been locked away for too long. The warmth of her breath against my skin sent a shiver down my spine, but it wasn’t cold—it was like I had just exhaled after holding my breath for years.

Her fingers tightened around me, almost like she was afraid I would slip away again, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she, too, felt the fragile nature of this moment—how everything was hanging by a thread, yet it felt like the most real thing I’d ever experienced.

I closed my eyes, pressing my face deeper into the fabric of her shirt, the familiar scent of her and the ocean mixing in the air, filling me up like a memory I hadn’t known I was starving for.

There was something about the way she held me, something so sure and certain, that made everything I’d been running from feel distant, like it didn’t matter anymore.

“I missed you too,” I whispered, and it was the first time in years I’d said it without hesitation. The words felt right, like they’d been stuck in my chest for far too long, and I was finally giving them the space they needed to breathe.

The hug lasted a moment longer than either of us probably expected, but neither of us pulled away. I wasn’t sure what exactly we were trying to hold onto—whether it was the memory of who we were, or the hope of something more—but in that moment, I didn’t need to know.

I just needed to be here, to feel her against me, to acknowledge the truth that had been buried beneath layers of time and distance. We didn’t need words; the silence spoke louder than anything else.

When she finally pulled back, there was a softness in her eyes—something raw and unguarded that she hadn’t shown me before.

Something fragile, like she was allowing herself to be seen in a way she hadn’t been in years. She stepped back, but her hands lingered at my shoulders, grounding me in this moment, anchoring me to the now.

And I let her—because in that moment, I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to forget what it felt like to be close to her, to be hers.

“So,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, like she was still catching her breath from the hug. “What now?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t have all the answers.

But for the first time in a long time, I was okay with that.

The space between us felt like a warm memory, alive and trembling, like the soft afterglow of a sunset that refuses to fade into darkness. I stood there, lost in the weight of her hug, letting the quiet stretch, not feeling the need to rush through the moment.

A part of me, deep down, knew that everything in this instant—this reunion, this fragile reconnection—was not something to be hurried. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I didn’t want to push for anything more.

No questions. No answers. Just this. The feeling of her arms around me, the heat of her chest pressed against mine, the solid, familiar rhythm of her breath. It was a lullaby, pulling me into a place of peace I hadn’t realized I’d been craving.

Then, as if the universe had decided to drag us out of that perfect stillness, a voice pierced the moment.

“Y/N! Paige!” Wren’s voice called, the sound of her hand waving from behind the dunes, a small speck of movement in the distance. “Mom needs you both to start on the fruit salad!”

I groaned, the simple, mundane reality of life sliding back in. My shoulders sagged a little in exaggerated defeat, the world’s little interruptions making their presence known. But despite it, I found myself smiling.

Not at the fruit salad request, but because Paige’s laughter had tickled the edges of my consciousness in that moment, a sound so familiar, so rich with joy that it had the power to shift the air around us.

"Coming!" I yelled back, my voice trailing on the breeze.

The sound of her laugh rang in my ears, and only then did I notice the weight of her gaze. It was like the sun lingering in the late afternoon, never fully setting, just casting a soft, golden glow that made everything feel brighter, more alive.

Her eyes were still locked onto mine, and I couldn’t ignore the way it made my chest flutter, my pulse quickening with the unspoken energy that passed between us.

“What’s so funny, weirdo?” I teased, my lips curling into a smirk as I leaned into her lightly, swatting her shoulder.

Her eyes lit up, and the sound that escaped her lips wasn’t just laughter. It was a sigh of relief, a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding in for years. “Nothin’, just good to have you back.”

Those words—so simple, yet the weight of them crushed me in the gentlest way. She didn’t just say them; she breathed them out like a confession, something tender and unspoken that swelled between us.

The warmth that settled in my chest spread through me, curling through my ribs and wrapping around my heart, coaxing a smile out of me that I couldn’t fight.

I bit my bottom lip, and for a fleeting moment, I noticed the shift in her gaze. Her eyes followed the movement of my teeth grazing against my lip, and the air between us seemed to hum with something heavier, something that hovered just beneath the surface.

Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping as she almost seemed to lean toward me without realizing it. It was a fleeting thing, but it made my heart stumble in my chest.

"Missed me that much, huh?" I teased again, my voice low, like I was trying to mask the sudden flutter of nerves that rose up inside me.

Paige rolled her eyes, but there was a sly smirk playing at the edges of her mouth, a soft exhale slipping past her lips. "Shut up," she said with affection, nudging me with her shoulder.

But there was something more in the way she looked at me, something deeper. She wasn’t just laughing with me—she was laughing at the unspoken history between us, the distance we’d traveled, the time we’d lost, and yet still, here we were.

Standing together. The weight of it was overwhelming, almost intoxicating.

“Let’s go before Ivy yells at us,” Paige said, her voice light but with an underlying softness that made me want to linger longer, just to savor this moment.

She slipped her arm around my shoulders with an ease that made everything feel natural again, like nothing had changed between us. The simple act of her hand resting on me felt like a reassurance, a promise.

She pulled me with her, our footsteps sinking into the sand as we walked toward the house, the sound of the ocean still whispering behind us like a secret only we could hear. The weight of her presence next to me, her warmth so close, made everything else feel distant and faint.

It was like the rest of the world could fall away and leave just the two of us, standing in this perfect moment.

“Hey, Paige,” I said after a beat, the words slipping out before I could stop them, “you ever think about how much we used to talk about everything? When we were kids, I mean?”

She glanced down at me, her smile softening, her fingers tightening just a fraction around my shoulder. “Yeah,” she replied quietly, a small, almost wistful sound to her voice. “It feels like a lifetime ago, huh?”

I nodded, the weight of the years that had stretched between us settling in like an anchor dragging at the edges of my heart. “Yeah, a lifetime ago.” The words fell from my lips, soft and heavy, filling the space between us like the last trace of a dying star—bright and distant, but still burning with a warmth that threatened to pull everything back into its orbit. It was a strange sensation, standing there with Paige once again.

Her eyes held something I couldn’t quite name—something familiar, like the echo of a song that had been forgotten until it suddenly returned, flooding everything with its old, comforting tune. There was a spark in her gaze that lingered, just long enough for the air around us to shift.

A fleeting moment, yet profound in the way it made my chest tighten, made my breath catch.

Maybe it was the warmth of the evening sun casting long shadows on the sand, or the quiet, unsaid words passing between us, but I had a feeling—just for a moment—that we were somehow picking up where we left off.

No time had passed. No hurt, no distance. Just the two of us standing in the middle of it, as if we had never been apart.

I glanced over at Wren, who stood a little farther down the path. Her eyes were locked onto us, and though she was pretending to busy herself with something, the way her gaze lingered for just a second too long felt like more than idle curiosity. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips—one that almost seemed teasing, as if she knew something we didn’t, something that was left unsaid.

A secret shared in a look, between friends who had lived through more than their fair share of things, and maybe even seen things we weren’t ready to acknowledge yet.

We continued our walk, the ground soft beneath our feet, each step pulling us closer to the kitchen. Paige, with her arm still draped over my shoulders, had a quiet confidence to her now, a steady rhythm in her walk that mirrored something deeper between us. Her presence felt like a blanket wrapped tight around me, keeping the cold at bay.

We didn’t need to say much. It was in the comfortable weight of her hand resting against my back, in the way her fingers brushed my skin, almost absentmindedly, as if we had never been apart. I could feel the pulse of her every step beside me, and for the first time in years, the noise of everything else felt muffled, distant.

As we reached the kitchen, I noticed the familiar hum of home—the warmth from the oven, the rich scent of dinner filling the air, and the ever-present sound of Mom tapping her foot in a rhythm of mock impatience.

She stood by the counter, arms crossed, looking both like she was about to scold us for something and yet, there was an unmistakable softness in her eyes when she saw us together again. “Took you two long enough,” Mom remarked, her voice light but laced with something more affectionate.

Paige and I exchanged a quick glance, that look of shared amusement passing between us, as if the absurdity of it all—after everything, the distance, the time apart—had led us right back to this moment.

Together, in this space, we fit just like we always had. Life had a funny way of pulling people in different directions, of pulling you so far apart that it felt like you could never find your way back. Yet, here we were. Back where we began.

And, for all the uncertainty of life and the time that had passed, one thing was clear: no matter the years or the space between us, the quiet connection we shared remained, untouched. It was unshaken and whole, like the roots of a tree, deep and steady beneath the surface.

Amy, with her usual gentle smile, added, “Good to see you both again.” Her voice was soft, an undertone of warmth threading through her words. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed hearing it—how much I’d missed her presence, too.

The familiar clink of utensils and the soft rustling of things being prepared around us made the moment feel almost surreal. Wren’s eyes flickered back to us for just a moment before she turned to help her mom with the preparations, her fingers brushing the fruit in front of her with a kind of practiced ease.

As I moved toward the counter to grab the fruit, my fingers brushed against Paige’s for the briefest second. The touch, so small, yet it carried a charge, a kind of electric shiver that shot up my spine, leaving the back of my neck tingling. I almost didn’t want to pull away. Neither of us did.

It was as if we both knew what this touch meant—the gentle brush of skin, soft and fleeting, but steeped in a thousand unspoken words. In that brief moment, we were suspended between the past and the present, between the things we’d shared and the things we had yet to discover. There was a heavy silence between us, a truth neither of us needed to say aloud.

We both felt it. The truth of our history, of how much we had meant to each other, and how the years apart hadn’t erased that bond.

It was still there, in every lingering glance and every slight touch. For the first time in so long, I felt a strange kind of peace settle in my chest.

I didn’t know where this would lead, what we would become, or how much of us would ever truly change. But in that moment, standing in the kitchen with her—with Paige—I felt certain of one thing: we had never truly been apart. Not really.

Footsteps creaked against the wooden flooring, and Carson walked into the kitchen, his familiar presence filling the space.

He was a little disheveled, his shirt untucked and his sleeves rolled up as if he had been upstairs doing something, but the sight of him—so effortlessly at home in this space—made me smile.

I hadn’t seen him in what felt like forever, not like this. Wren’s fiancé. The one who had always been like a brother to me, the one who had grown up with us in the house, alongside Wren. Even now, he stood there with a grin that had never changed, a grin that made him seem just a little bit younger than he actually was. It was the kind of smile that made everything feel familiar again.

“Look at you two,” Carson said with a teasing tone, his eyes flicking between Paige and me. “Thought you’d be hiding somewhere, away from all the family chaos.”

Wren rolled her eyes, her smile softening as she threw a quick glance in Carson’s direction. “We just got here, give them a break,” she said, though the amusement was clear in her voice.

Carson moved to stand next to me, his hand clapping me lightly on the back, his way of greeting me. It was always like this, a brother-sister relationship that had never wavered. There was a certain comfort in it—no pretense, no time wasted on small talk.

Just the ease of a connection that had been forged long ago and was as solid now as it had ever been.

“How’s life treating you, kid?” he asked, his voice light and teasing, but there was a certain softness there, too.

I shrugged, leaning into the warmth of the conversation. “Same old, same old. And you?”

“I’m alive,” Carson said with a laugh, his usual self-deprecating humor in full swing.

As the conversation continued around us—Mom making sure we were all helping, Amy gently pushing everyone to contribute—I felt that old, comfortable rhythm returning.

The kitchen, bustling with life and voices, felt like home in a way it hadn’t in years. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. But with every word, every shared laugh, and every passing touch, I realized it didn’t need to be. We were here. Together. And that was enough.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 TAGLIST: @jadasogay @paige05bby @unadulteratedcyclepaper @bueckers2fudd

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers imagines #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers x y/n #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers fluff #piage bueckers series

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atleastpleasetelephone · 3 months ago

Note

Elvis who absolutely just loves eating readers pussy and fingering her and can't get enough and whines everytime he can't have it. Sorry if this isn't good it's my first request lol

A/N: I got another similar request so I've grouped these together. I thought 1950s E was best for this one.

Picture You

Pairing: 1950s!E x reader

Word count: 840

TWs: Public sex, Elvis is pussy-eating-obsessed, kind of exhibitionism, dirty photos, smut.

“Whaddya mean, no?” Elvis is looking at you with big, puppy dog eyes and his voice is particularly whiny.

“The opposite of yes, El.”

“But why?”

“Because we’re going out with my friends in five minutes, and I know you’re good, but you’re not that good.”

Elvis humphs. “‘S’not fair, honey.”

“It is too. You ate me out last night and this morning.”

“But y’look so pretty in this dress…” he weedles, fingering the fabric.

“You just wait until tonight,” you try to tell him, but suddenly he’s on his knees and pushing his head under your skirt. “ELVIS!” You squeal, backing away while his fingers do their best to get into your panties.

“Honey…” he pleads, following you on his knees, head still under your skirt.

You’re in the process of pushing his head away from your thighs when you both hear Gladys shouting up the stairs. Your friends have arrived.

***

You spend the day around Beale Street, drinking ice cream floats and listening to the live music in the bars there, since you turned 21 last week so now you’re allowed in. Elvis loves every minute of it, and insists that you come back after dinner to see when things really get wild. You nod and giggle, cuddling up to him in a corner for a while. Some time in the late afternoon the pair of you come across a photobooth. None of your other friends are interested, saying they’ll meet you back at A Schwab for more floats, so you get in together, laughing and giggling. As you fiddle with the settings, trying to make sure your chair is in the right place, Elvis has an idea. He gets down on his knees between your legs, pushing his head under your skirt again. You squeak.

“Elvis!” Your heart is beating quickly and you’re flushed. It might be a booth but it’s still kind of public. The curtain doesn’t quite touch the floor, for a start.

“Let me, honey. Wanna photo of that lovely face ya make when ya cum for me.”

You squeak again. “Elvis! People might see!”

“Cum quickly then.”

He pulls your panties to the side and starts to lick your clit furiously, feeling it harden under his tongue. You moan softly, looking down at the bulge his head has created under your skirt. The boy has a problem. You were the first girl he’d ever licked, down there, and it had gone from something that disgusted him to a full-on addiction in a matter of days. He wanted your pussy all the time, to lick and finger until he made you scream. You’d had sex once or twice, but this was his preferred method of getting you off, and it seemed to make him crazy too. More than once he’d cum in his pants, or against the mattress as he lay on the bed with his head between your legs. You kept trying to tell him to wear underpants so he’d stop ruining his slacks, but he wouldn’t listen.

His long middle finger slips inside you and curls to hit the perfect spot. You let out a shuddering moan and hit the button to take the photos. Sucking on your clit now, he slips another finger inside and pumps them quickly, knowing what will get you there. The camera flashes once, twice, and then you feel the tide of your orgasm wash over you and murmur his name. Two more flashes and he licks you through it, kitten licks to your sensitive clit that almost make you yelp.

“Come on!” Someone yells from outside. You freeze. There hadn’t been anyone else around when you’d come in, but now there must be a line.

You sit up and mumble something to Elvis about getting out, and he emerges from your skirt, hair ruffled and lips glossy with your arousal. He grins, sheepishly.

“Can’t wait to see the photos, baby,” he murmurs, as you try to get him to stand up so you can both leave. “Think I might haveta go home now though.”

Tugging on his wrist, you turn back to look at his face questioning. ‘Why, El?”

He giggles, pressing his lips to your ear as he follows you out of the photobooth.

“Made a mess in my pants.”

You blush as you pull him behind you, waiting outside for the photos to come out as the girls waiting tut and look at you like they know exactly what you’ve been getting up to in there.

“El! What did I tell you about wearing underpants?” You whisper, shame making your face even redder.

He wraps his arms around your waist, hiding his crotch from view. “Sorry, honey.”

“Won’t let you have it any more if you don’t wear some,” you tell him, as the photos drop into the slot.

He whines into your neck. “But honey, I need it.”

“Then get your mama to buy you some underpants,” you chide, picking the photos up and pushing them into your purse. “No underpants, no pussy.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis presley fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you

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artficlly · 3 months ago

Text

smog & spirits: lucky's choppery (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, vague smut, implied blowjob, mention of abortion (not to reader), mad scientist tony stark, laboratory, mentions of gambling, alcohol, smoking, vague mentions of physical violence, angst, some fluff (?), criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: wowee, i wrote this so fast (i already had the dialogue and some writing ready for like 80% of this chapter, so it was pretty easy to fill in the rest). hoping to at least get one more chapter out but no promises, beginning to feel a bit burnt out and my birthday is on sunday yippe. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love @calwitch permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The crowded sea of workers flooding out of the factories for the evening parted like a tide before Bucky, his strides purposeful, shoulders squared. The setting sun cast the Smokestack District in a haze of burning amber and ashen grey, the air thick with soot and the sharp tang of metal. Even here, in the industrial veins of Sootstone, men instinctively stepped aside lest they be trampled underfoot.

This Stark friend of his was apparently buried deep within the district, tucked away in whatever workshop or lair he called home. Even if their fathers had once been in business together, Stark seemed to have chosen a different path that didn’t dance as closely with the violence that pulsed beneath the city’s surface. You had no doubt that his work, whatever it was, still dipped into the murky waters of illegality. The Smog Boys and their associates rarely kept company with anyone clean.

You let your mind wander, dissecting the possibilities, if only to drown out the roar in your thoughts. For once, Bucky Barnes and his uninvited quests were a welcome distraction.

But no matter how much you tried to shove it aside, Becca’s revelation clung to you like a thorn buried deep beneath your skin. Her words would haunt you long into the night. You knew they would. You’d toss and turn, picking them apart, unravelling them until they unravelled you.

Your father—the man who had half-heartedly raised you, the man who had buried himself in drink and violence, the man who had driven your mother into an early grave—was not your father. Not the man you had thought him to be at all.

The realisation felt like a gaping wound in your chest. The years you had wasted on him, the countless excuses, the hesitant forgiveness. It was all for nothing. You had bent yourself backwards trying to make sense of him, trying to make peace with how he had broken you repeatedly. And yet, he was just another name to add to an already endless list of cruel men.

And your mother—gods, your mother. You had resented her for the life she had chosen, for trapping you in the Warrens, for binding you to poverty and suffering. You had never understood why she stayed, why she had chosen him, why she hadn’t run far from Blackstone and disappeared into the countryside. But now, it all slotted into place like the final piece of a puzzle you hadn’t realised was incomplete.

A sickness curled in your gut. You had hated her.

Your lip was raw from how hard you had been chewing it, and you forced yourself to focus on the roll of Bucky’s shoulders as he marched ahead, unphased, a cigarette hanging from his lips. You hated yourself for ever blaming your mother when she had endured atrocities. She had shown remarkable strength in escaping, in carving out a life of her own in the shadows of Sootstone. She had run from that wretched place, hidden in plain sight. Marrying your father…it must have been a last resort. Perhaps the only man who would take in a woman in her condition.

And she had never told you. Neither of them had. Did your father—no, the man you had believed to be your father—even know the truth? He had never spoken of the Church of Light beyond vague, half-drunken warnings, letting the weight of it gather dust in your memories. A ghost of something unspoken.

But you had never forgotten.

There was a plan forming in your mind—a quiet, insidious thing. A plan to destroy the Church of Light, to repay them for the cruelties they had stained your bloodline with. That day with Michael—gods, Michael— it had given you confidence, perhaps even delusion. You had power. Power strong enough to tear them apart, to bring them to their knees. But beyond any misplaced ideas of grandeur, you knew a truth. You couldn’t act alone. Not in such an obvious way. The Church was vast—multiple temples, hundreds of members. A massacre would not go unnoticed, and the coppers wouldn’t hesitate to drag you to the gallows. It had been a miracle you had escaped them as a teenager.

And every power, every body in this realm, had limits.

You’d never had the full opportunity to explore the depths of this cursed power you’d been gifted, this death that clung to your very being. You couldn’t know if you had what it took to destroy them all in one fell swoop without destroying yourself in the process.

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky. His expression was guarded, jaw tight, eyes locked ahead as smoke curled from the cigarette between his lips. Even now, with his muscles still taut from anger, he exuded a dangerous calm. A readiness to act, to strike.

You could use him.

You could use him, use the Smog Boys to rip the Church of Light apart. If it became a gang war, the coppers wouldn’t so much as bat an eye. They’d let the criminals handle their own if Bucky's name was attached.

And you would be protected—so long as you could keep his attention.

The thought twisted something deep inside you. Was it wrong to think this way?

Then again… had he not used you, too? Had he not sought you out for your power, for what you could do for him? Yes, he had paid you, but at what cost? There was no permanency in this. You were just another indulgence, another fleeting pleasure. He had told you himself—he didn’t think himself a man capable of love.

Maybe you could have loved him. But him loving you?

It would be foolish to think so. Foolish to believe he could care for you beyond lust, beyond the pull of your body against his.

Your thoughts twisted in on themselves, tangling like a mess of threads in your mind, squeezing, choking, refusing to come undone.

The streets of the Smokestack District grew narrower as you followed Bucky deeper into its labyrinthine alleys, the industrial skyline choking out what little remained of the evening light. Buildings leaned into one another like drunks in an embrace, their brick faces blackened with soot, their windows murky with grime. The air stank of coal smoke, damp rot, and something metallic—oil, or maybe blood.

At the end of a particularly filthy lane, past a crumbling row of tenements, you finally stopped in front of what appeared to be an unassuming butcher’s shop. A weathered wooden sign, its red paint peeling, hung above the entrance: Lucky’s Choppery. The display window was lined with thick cuts of beef and strings of sausages, though the glass was so smeared with grease it barely reflected the gaslights flickering in the street.

You eyed the butcher’s block just inside, where a cleaver had been buried deep into a slab of meat, its blade glinting under the weak glow of an overhead lamp. The floor, lined with well-worn tiles, bore the dark stains of years of blood and brine.

Bucky shoved open the door without hesitation, the bell overhead giving a feeble jingle. A lanky kid behind the counter—maybe eighteen at most—jerked up from where he’d been counting money, his dark eyes widening.

You glanced around, taking in the place. “Your friend Stark… is a butcher?”

Bucky huffed, crunching his cigarette beneath his boot. “It’s a front, doll.”

“Good to know…” You exhaled slowly, shifting your weight as the kid behind the counter fumbled with the till.

Bucky stepped forward, tapping the counter with two fingers. “Parker. Here to see Stark.”

The boy—Parker—flinched, his expression tightening. “Stark—you’re supposed to say Lucky—”

Bucky’s brow creased. “Who the fuck is Lucky?”

“It’s the codeword—” Parker sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his lips together like he was already regretting this conversation. “Mr. Stark is busy, I’m afraid Mr. Barnes…”

Bucky gave him a flat look. “Kid, I’m sure he is. But do you think he’s gonna be pleased if he finds out you turned me away?”

Parker swallowed hard. His shoulders sagged, and with a sigh, he jerked his head toward the back. “Alright… come on through.”

You followed Parker behind the counter and through a heavy wooden door into the backroom. The temperature dropped immediately. The air was thick with the lingering scent of salt and raw flesh. Rows of bloodless animal carcasses hung from iron hooks, swaying slightly from the draft that slithered through the room. You stepped carefully as Parker led you toward a door set into the far wall. The door's surface was scratched and worn, but the metal handle was polished from years of use.

Parker pushed it open, ushering you both in. You winced as you were blinded by the buzz of lightbulbs hanging overhead, illuminating the space.

A laboratory.

It was a chaotic masterpiece of metal and magic, stitched together in an unholy fusion of science and the occult. Copper pipes ran along the walls like veins, some hissing with steam, others crackling faintly with unnatural energy. The exposed brick was scrawled over with chalked equations, half-translated runes wedged between calculations that looked like they belonged to some deranged engineer’s fever dream.

Workbenches sagged under the weight of strange devices—bronzed contraptions with whirring gears, delicate instruments of glass and silver, and something that looked suspiciously like a heart pulsing inside a vat of thick, viscous liquid. Along the far wall, a large metal figure loomed, wires and arcane sigils wrapping around it in a spidery embrace. A dull red glow pulsed from within.

And at the centre of it all, hunched over a mess of gears and copper wiring, was the man himself.

Stark.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His dark hair was a mess of careless waves, tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times while deep in thought. A faint shadow of stubble darkened his sharp jaw. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, exposing forearms slathered with grease and soot. His vest, once fine, was smudged with oil and singed at the edges, and his half-buttoned shirt carried the distinct stains of burnt metal and something vaguely alchemical.

Perched on his nose was a pair of brass-framed goggles, their lenses thick and dusted with soot, the left one cracked down the middle. A tiny, flickering spark of blue danced across the metal frame as if whatever enchantment he’d woven into them was barely holding together. He had the look of a man who was equal parts genius and disaster, the kind of bastard who could build something to change the world but would probably set his own lab on fire in the process.

And, of course, he didn’t even look up as the door swung open.

“Who's this? A present for me?” His voice was rough. He finally glanced up, gaze narrowing as he studied you. “I see magic about her—”

“She ain’t for one of your experiments, Tony,” Bucky interrupted, stepping between you and the mad scientist. “She’s with me.”

“Huh.” Stark exhaled, leaning back against his worktable with an air of disappointment. “Shame. And touchy, too… I take it this is your infamous spirit-raiser?”

“What?” you muttered, stiffening.

“He experiments with magic and technology,” Bucky explained dryly. “Thinks he can… power metal with magic.”

“That’s possible?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Stark’s expression turned downright wolfish. “Oh, it’s possible. Just needs the right conduit.” He stepped forward, his fingers twitching like he was already picturing carving something out of you to power one of his creations. “I mean… if I could just experiment with a drop of your magic, it doesn’t hurt, I promise… just a prick, bit of bleeding, long-term possibilities can include sudden death buuut—”

Your expression melted into something of horror.

“Oi, that’s not why we’re ‘ere, Tony,” Bucky cut in sharply. “I’m hostin’ a party. You’re invited.”

With a flick of his wrist, he produced a pristine envelope from inside his suit jacket, the deep red wax seal still unbroken. The contrast was almost comical—elegant, refined, and utterly out of place. You doubted Bucky had penned the invitations himself; the script was too precise and delicate. No, he’d likely had some poor girl painstakingly scrawl each one by hand while he barked orders from the corner of a smoky room.

Bucky’s expression remained flat, but his tone had an unmistakable edge when he added, “Preferably, you’ll keep your hands off my bird while you’re at it.”

You had to fight the urge to snap your head toward him in shock. His bird? Had one week tangled in your sheets left that much of a mark on him? The man hadn’t even taken you on a proper date—unless you counted brutalising a handful of Iron Rats as a romantic outing.

Stark paused, his keen gaze flicking between the two of you like he was dissecting a particularly interesting experiment. The glint in his eye was pure mischief. “Your bird, aye? Didn’t realise things were so… serious.”

Bucky scowled, jaw tightening. “Shut ya fuckin’ gob and take the invitation.” He flicked the pristine envelope onto Stark’s cluttered workbench, where it landed atop a mess of copper wiring, scattered blueprints, and a wrench smeared with something that definitely wasn’t just grease.

Stark picked it up, popping open the seal with ease. “Alright, alright.” His expression shifted slightly as he skimmed the contents. “This ain’t got anything to do with that Smokin’ Jacks business?”

Bucky smirked. “Somethin’ like that.”

Even with the vague way they spoke, you had heard rumours.

The Smokin’ Jacks were a gang of gamblers—slick bastards who ran their operations like clockwork, their fortunes made not through brute force but by sleight of hand. They had gambling dens throughout Blackstone, and their debts were written in blood.

The Smog Boys and the Smokin’ Jacks had long held a hesitant truce—so long as the Jacks didn’t turn their tricks on the poor bastards in the Warrens, there was no need for bloodshed. Their scams and schemes were reserved for the rich and reckless of the Flower District, the men who never knew the weight of a real loss.

But lately, there had been whispers. The Jacks weren’t keeping their word. Their debt collectors had started crossing into Smog Boy territory, leaning on the desperate and the weak, pressing them for coin they didn’t have.

Bucky didn’t take kindly to broken deals.

Stark folded the invitation with an almost exaggerated neatness, tucking it into the inner pocket of his grease-streaked waistcoat. His eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing, the kind of look that suggested he saw a game unfolding that only he knew the rules to.

“Guess I’ll be there, then.”

Bucky gave a short nod as if he had expected no less. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving his cigarette case with a flick of his wrist. But before he could light one, you stepped forward, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them.

“You just wrapped up that business with the Iron Rats, and now you’re goin’ after the Smokin’ Jacks? Can you be any more reckless—”

Bucky turned his head toward you, exhaling slowly through his nose, cigarette forgotten. “Don’t make me remind you whose fault that Iron Rats business was.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re the one who escalated it—”

“Yeah, well, you sure were into it, weren’t you?” His voice dropped, low and taunting, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Sure fucked me afterwards like you did—”

Heat shot up your spine, equal parts fury and disbelief, and before you even realised what you were doing, your hand was fisted in the sleeve of his coat, yanking him toward you. He barely moved, only grinning down at you with that infuriating glint in his eye, like he was daring you to do something about it.

Behind you, Stark let out a low whistle, then a chuckle, clearly enjoying the show. “Well, well. You two are a real pair, aren’t ya?” He leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed, amusement dancing across his features.

Bucky rolled his eyes and wrenched his arm free, though not before squeezing your wrist briefly—just enough to remind you who was stronger. “We’re leavin’,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

“Try not to start a war before the party, Barnes,” Stark called after him. “But if you do—” he grinned, “—make sure I get front-row seats.”

You cast one last glance at the chaos of the lab, the scattered notes, and the eerie hum of machinery before following Bucky out. You didn’t need Stark to tell you that. A war was already brewing.

—

Your front door creaked as you pushed it open, the familiar scent of candle wax and herbs greeting you as you stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the amber glow of the streetlamps outside, their hazy beams spilling through the lace curtains. You shrugged off your coat, glancing over your shoulder as Bucky followed you in.

Only, he didn’t move the way he usually did.

Gone was the effortless swagger, the quiet, calculated control he carried himself with. Instead, he lingered near the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or turn and leave. The sight unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

“You stayin’ the night?” You asked, tone casual despite the tension between you. “Or are you gonna go over to keep an eye on Becca?”

Bucky exhaled, rubbing at his jaw before answering. “No. I’ll have Nat watch over Becca. Think I’m the last person she wants to see right about now.”

There was something distant in his voice. You had noticed a shift in him during your quiet walk back from Stark’s lab. You turned, leaning against the edge of the table as you studied him. His shoulders were taut beneath his coat as if he were bracing for something.

“Are you angry with her?” you asked carefully. “For what she said to me?”

His lips pressed into a firm line. He took a moment before answering. “Can’t say I’m not a bit upset, doll.”

You sighed. “I wouldn’t take it out on her. She was just tryin’ to protect you.”

His head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. “I can make my own choices.”

“Bucky… I just—” You began but you cut yourself off as the gangster finally spoke.

“I’m…” He hesitated.

You blinked. That alone was enough to unnerve you.

You had never seen Bucky hesitate, not like this. He always had something to say—sharp, sure, commanding. But now, something unfamiliar wove itself into his voice. Vulnerability.

“…Grateful.”

The word came quietly like he almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, and when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it—the slight furrow of his brow, the way his hands flexed as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

“For what you did for Becca today,” he finished.

You swallowed hard.

“Well,” you sigh, “I couldn’t have just left her there—”

“I’m serious.”

His voice was firm now, but there was a softness beneath it. He shifted his weight slightly, jaw working as he forced himself to continue. “I know she is cruel, but she is my blood. My responsibility.”

You let his words sink in, picking them apart in your head.

“I don’t think she’s cruel,” you murmured. “I think she’s a woman who’s built her walls so high to protect herself. Now she can’t tell a friend from a threat.”

Bucky huffed a quiet breath, barely a sound at all.

“I can tell you why she’s like that,” he said. “And I’m afraid I’m on that list.”

Your brows pulled together. “I wouldn’t blame yourself—”

“Sometimes I worry, doll.”

Something in his voice… a weight settled in your ribcage. It was lower now, rougher like the words were being dragged from some part of him he never let anyone see. His fingers twitched at his side, clenching once before flexing open again. His jaw went tight, and when he finally spoke again, the words came slowly, carefully.

“I worry that I am becoming my father.”

Silence stretched between you. You didn’t think. You just reached out, fingers brushing over his hand, grounding him, offering something—anything—before he could retreat behind the walls you could already see rising.

But it was too late.

His body went rigid, tension snapping through him like a wire pulled too tight. His hand twitched under yours as if instinct told him to grip, to hold on, but then…He pulled away. The moment his expression hardened, you knew. Whatever softness had been there was gone in an instant, buried beneath cold calculation and the armour he had worn for so long. “I should go,” he muttered, voice clipped.

“Bucky—”

But he was already turning, already stepping away.

The door swung open, and before you could say another word, he was gone, the night swallowing him whole.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, his presence lingering like a ghost you couldn’t quite banish.

—

Three days later, you made the—likely foolish—decision to deliver a care package to Becca. You knew you’d probably receive a tongue-lashing for it, but a small, wicked part of you wanted to be the better person. You had sourced some gin from the Flower Districts, strong, quality stuff that the upper-class women drank. A classier alternative to the harsh whiskey that the Smog Boys brewed and likely already lined Becca’s shelves.

The alley was dark and damp, the scent of piss and rotting wood lingering in the narrow space. Your breath curled in the cold air as you hesitated in front of her door, fingers tightening around the woven basket in your hands.

Maybe your presence wasn’t the best idea, given what she was recovering from. Perhaps it was best to leave the package and disappear into the night unseen. The message would be there, but you’d be spared the inevitable onslaught of curses she would toss your way. You imagined whore would be right at the top.

With a quiet huff, you bent to place the basket on the doorstep. Inside, nestled together, was the bottle of gin, a fresh loaf of bread, butter, and some cold-cut meats you had hunted down at the Sunday market. You knew Bucky and Nat were caring for her, but you wanted to be sure.

The door creaked open just as you straightened up.

Bucky.

He stepped out, locking up behind him, keys dangling from his fingers with an idle sort of ease. He was dressed in his usual suit—dark, well-fitted, with the coat buttoned up against the cold. The brass glint of his pocket watch chain caught the dim light as he turned to you.

For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. But it passed too quickly to catch.

“You just can’t help yourself, huh?” His voice was low, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

Your mouth opened before your mind could catch up, fumbling for an excuse. I was just making sure she’s alright. I was worried. I care. But instead, you settled for, “Sorry, I was just… ah. Care package. For Becca. Thought she’d need it.”

Maybe it wasn’t best to admit to your convoluted, backward scheme of making the woman feel bad through kindness.

His gaze dropped to the basket at your feet, scanning its contents with a slow, deliberate look before exhaling through his nose. Without a word, he bent and picked it up, turning it slightly in his hands.

“She’s out with that Brackett kid,” he muttered, shifting the basket to his other hand.

You hesitated. “That’s… good?”

Bucky arched a brow as he pulled out the bottle of gin, tilting it slightly to read the label.

“Still gonna kill him,” he said flatly, setting the bottle back down.

You bit back a smirk. “Of course you are.”

He didn’t smile, but something about his posture loosened—just a fraction. The last time you had seen him, he had stormed out of your flat. You couldn’t tell if he was still feeling stand-offish, or if the sharpness in his tone was just habit. The keys clinked softly as he turned them over in his palm, watching you with that same brooding expression.

He placed the basket on the hallway table, pulling shut the door and locking it with practised ease.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” he murmured, voice measured, almost lazy. But there was something deliberate in it, like he was waiting to see how you’d respond.

You hesitated, shifting on your heels. “Didn’t think you’d want to.”

Something flickered in his gaze, just for a second, before he looked away.

“Yeah, well,” he said, slipping the keys into his pocket. “You keep showing up, don’t you?”

You exhaled a short laugh, though your pulse was a little unsteady. “Guess I do.”

Bucky made a noise in his throat, something between amusement and resignation. Then, with a tilt of his head toward the street, he stepped past you.

“Walk with me,” he said, not looking back.

It wasn’t a question. And, despite yourself, you followed.

The night air bit at your skin as you fell into step beside him. The streets of the Warrens were quieter in this part of town, though the distant hum of nightlife still clung to the air—rowdy laughter spilling from taverns, the occasional shout of a drunk stumbling home.

Bucky’s flat was deeper in the district, past the noisier streets, tucked above an old tailor’s shop. He didn’t say a word as he led you up the narrow stairwell, the scent of dust and mothballs lingering in the close space. At the top, he flicked the key between his fingers before unlocking the door, pushing it open without much ceremony.

Inside, it was… surprisingly nice. Not lavish like Becca’s, but well-kept—orderly. The furnishings were simple: a sturdy wooden table, a leather armchair that looked well-worn but hardly used, a small bar cart against the wall with only a handful of bottles. Unlike Becca’s place, which was decorated with velvet drapes, gilded mirrors, and delicate trinkets, Bucky’s was bare. Functional. You got the sense that he didn’t spend much time here.

He didn’t look at you as he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the chair. Instead, he reached for the bar cart, grabbing a bottle and two glasses. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

He poured the amber liquid out and slid one of the glasses toward you across the wooden table, his own drink resting loosely in his grip. You hesitated for only a second before taking the offered glass, the cool weight of it grounding you. The scent was rich and smoky, promising a slow, lingering burn.

Silence stretched between you for a long moment, the soft clink of glass against wood filling the space. Finally, you exhaled, rolling the whiskey between your fingers before speaking. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Bucky lifted a brow. “About what?”

“You storming out of my flat the other day?” You sighed, leaning back against the edge of the table. “Look, I didn’t expect a thank you if that’s what’s got you all wound up.”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and searching, something unreadable in the depths of his blue eyes. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I’m not wound up.”

You scoffed. “You’re impossible.”

That pulled a smirk from him—slow, teasing. “Did you want me to stay?” There was a beat of pause before he huffed a quiet laugh, swirling the whiskey in his glass. When he finally looked at you again, amusement curled at the edges of his lips. “Did you miss me?” he drawled.

“Maybe.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, but there was something else beneath it—something you couldn’t quite name. His gaze flickered over your face, searching, considering.

“Careful, doll,” he murmured, tilting his glass toward you in a slow, deliberate toast. “That almost sounds like an invitation.”

He watched you as you lifted the glass to your lips. The first sip hit hard, burning its way down your throat and curling warm in your stomach. You coughed, barely suppressing a wince as the heat spread through your chest. Bucky smirked, tilting his own glass to his lips with far more ease.

“Shit, is this Smog Boys stuff?” You rasped, blinking away the sting.

“Off the market, yeah.” He hummed, stretching back as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it with a sigh. “Some of it, we brew strong. Just for us boys.”

Your gaze flickered to his hands, the way his fingers idly traced the rim of his glass. He had settled into his seat with the ease, legs spread wide, confidence dripping from every lazy shift of his body. The sight of him like that, whiskey warming his blood, watching you with quiet interest—it sent a pulse of heat low in your stomach.

You tipped back the rest of your drink, hissing at the burn, then shrugged off your coat. The heavy fabric slipped from your shoulders and crumpled to the floor between his feet. Bucky’s gaze sharpened. You lowered yourself onto the discarded coat, knees pressing into the worn wood through the fabric, your hands smoothing up the inside of his thighs.

His body reacted before his words did. His legs spread a little wider, welcoming you in, his breath hitching just slightly. You nuzzled against the rough fabric of his trousers, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“What’re you…” He trailed off as your nails ghosted over the buckle of his belt.

His hand caught your wrist, and you smirked at him, tilting your head. “I wanna taste you.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his fingers tightening on your skin for just a moment. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he tossed back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down with a heavy clink.

“Shit, doll,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, lower, as his free hand went to his belt. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

From where you knelt, you could see the way his breath had quickened, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before undoing his belt.

Your pulse thrummed in anticipation, thighs squeezing together beneath your skirts. Bucky exhaled sharply as you leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the fabric covering his length. His head tipped back, a quiet groan slipping from his lips, one hand smoothing through your hair.

He was always so controlled, always so composed—but now, beneath your touch, you could feel him unravel. And gods, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

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ladyshrike · 10 months ago

Text

The Four Times You Say His Full Name

Am I any good at writing? Not really. It's all over the place in my opinion, but I had to get this thought out one way or another.

The four times you called him by his full name.

This first time you called him "Kenji" instead of a nickname, was back in LA. You were working a wedding up in Griffith Park, a beautiful little affair under the strawberry moon. It's all the witchy vibes you adore, a little wedding mixed with a baby shower, good vibes, blessings and tides. They'd offered you some food, which you wouldn't turn down as a known foodie, and that was when you got the call.

Ken had been riding home from the party in the hills and crashed his bike. He wasn't too far from Griffith, that had been the good part of taking this job, and he's been taken to Silver lake, a quick drive from the park. The couple is understanding, eventually becoming good friends with her later on, but that's a story for another time. She's racing through the streets, down the hills and to the hospital. They hadn't given you much information, just that he'd crashed and where he was. And when you get there, you ask the charge nurse for him, only to feel his arms throw themselves around your shoulders, a slightly pointed chin resting atop your head. You immediately smell the alcohol, and it's almost instant that a rage fills your chest.

"Babe! Baby! Sweetcakes~"

It takes everything, and you mean everything, not to implode then and there. You look at the nurse in front of you and take small controlled breaths.

"Is he free to go home?"

He was, having been checked over and kept under observation for two hours before they called her. According to her it's just some bad scrapes and bruises, no contusions or anything super bad, he had actually been wearing his helmet at least, just not his jacket. His bike is totaled, helmet cracked, it really is surprising that he didn't have a concussion at the very least, but through even your anger and worry, you're glad he's ok.

You drive him home, and the way there is silent. He'd sensed something was up the way you were being so cold with him, pushing his hand off your thigh, turning your head when he tried to kiss your lips, avoiding eye contact with you. And when you guys get to your shared home, and you help him in, is it the only time since the hospital that you look him in the eyes.

He sees it immediately. That rage that's practically sobering for him. The hurt. Disappointment.

It's not the only time he's ever done this, and he's not particularly tempted to tell you those two words he just knows would just set you off even if it were true.

"Mina, emergency vital check."

The floating AI robot scans him as she stands there for a moment, looking over him herself. The tension so palpable, if she chose to raise a hand at him in her frustration, she could very well slap him with it. But that wasn't her. She was the sweetest thing, practically a Disney princess, so the anger in her eyes is surprising, and new.

"He has two deep road rash injuries, and a large scrape down his side that isn't as bad as the other two. No fractures and no concussion. I suggest monitoring for any latent signs."

"Get him hooked up to a banana bag, then look up flights to Japan."

He shouldn't try to joke, or anything, but the soft scoff leaves his lips before he could stop it.

"Japan? We goin-"

"We, are not going anywhere. I'm going home to see my dad. Maybe we'll talk. Maybe we won't."

His small smile falls, a slight wince given when the IV is put in.

"Is something...is he ok?"

You shoot him a look because you know he's smart enough to understand what you were saying. You didn't want to say it, but you were done. With the empty promises, the lies, the hospital visits. You were done with it.

"Sabine-"

"Kenji, I'm done, ok? I've had it."

And there it is. He thought his parents splitting up was the worst pain, but seeing you stand at the doorway, teary eyed in anger and barely breathing steady, it shatters his heart because he can see it. You are done.

"I only ever asked you for two things. Two. And I am grateful you can at least follow one. I'll give you that, you have never cheated on me and I thank you for that. But if you constantly break this one? Constantly do this shit? How do I know that'll last?"

"H-hey, hold on-"

"No, I am done. I love you. I love your mom. You two are...the only people I consider myself close to here, but I cannot deal with this anymore. I can't deal with thinking one day I'm gonna get a call and have to identify your corpse instead of picking you up from an ER."

"It's just a couple scratches, I'm fine-"

He's done it now. He's said it.

"Forget it."

She grabs her wallet, and just her wallet. It's the only thing in her bag that she's bought herself as her bag had been a gift from him. She heads out and he tries to follow her, not able to get to her before she's speeding out of the driveway. She feels like a hypocrite, because while she isn't drunk, she is speeding like she's a NASCAR driver, and in a residential no less. She doesn't care to look at the time when she arrives at the airport, hoping to find at least one flight outbound to Japan soon. The car can stay in the parking structure for all she cares at this point, he would get a call to pick it up at the end of the month, if she decides not to come back. Her phone vibrates incessantly in her pocket for a bit, even as she's paying for the ticket she's managed to snag so last minute. Her passport is always in her wallet, so she doesn't particularly worry about how she'd get there without it. She turns her phone off, and soon enough, she's on the plane, watching LAX turn into a massive black splotch with dozens of tiny lights speckled across it in almost neat lines, as the plane departs. She's glad for the little privacy her seat offers her in first class. It's a long flight, the seats recline into a bed and everyone has their headphones on, so she isn't particularly worried that they'll hear her already quiet broken sobs.

By the end of the month, your mind is made up. You'd started accepting his calls sometime in the middle of his season. You know you shouldn't have been watching the games, it would only make the hurt worse, but it was better than ignoring him completely. And that wasn't really possible when you get notifications about him on all your social media, all which say he's in a slump and you are nowhere to be seen at his games. Everyday since you'd left, there had been a voicemail. Apologies, checking in messages, more apologies, declarations of love, and to your utmost surprise, a recording of his introduction at an AA meeting. That one particularly stuck with her. Everyday, roughly at 8 pm, a call and a voicemail with his introduction.

Maybe that was why you started taking his calls. Maybe that was why his game was getting better, back to what he usually is at. His averages get better and you, for the most part, find your anger having dissipated. By the end of the month, you're hesitantly standing in his living room as he tries to clean up the bit of clutter he had around. His shirt rides up a little and you see it. The slight scarring from the massive scrape down his side. Your lips quivers and he stops completely, dead in his tracks. He's startled by the sight of those huge wet tears that build in your eyes and his arms are around you instantly, tightly wound to prove he was ok. That he was still there. He was safe.

You cry again that night, held in his arms. He misses the game the next day. He has his thirty day chip to show you after all, and he doesn't want to leave your side to make up for lost time. He swears a promise not to do it ever again. Drink and ride he means. He isn't an alcoholic, and the AA meetings were necessary to get his license back, but he wanted her to see he regretted his decisions wholeheartedly.

The second time you said his full name was at your wedding. A year from the date he proposed to you, rather clichely you'd admit, at your monthly trip to Disneyland. The team had won a game, they were given a PR trip to Disneyland and she was an annual pass holder. She met them there, and during the cavalcade with them, he stepped off as they got to the castle, where she stood watching, and he popped the question, on one knee with a simple little ring she had spotted in a jewelry store. The team, having been in on it, cheering them on when she tearfully said yes.

Now she stands at the alter, in a gorgeous dress that fits her like a glove, his mother as her maid of Honor, and her dad as his best man because let's be honest, he thought of him as a son at this point, the way his mom thought of her as her own daughter in the time they'd all known each other, and the ceremony is relatively small, less than fifty guests, very intimate.

It's during her vows, her promises to him and vice versa that she says it. Beautifully charming smile on those lovely glossy lips of hers.

"I, Sabine Baji, take you, Kenji Sato, as my husband. Through sickness and in health, through the good times and the bad, till death do us part."

It's the sweet and short of her vows, tearfully said as her emotions run rampant. The rest of the night spent energetically celebrating.

The third time is a little more...non PG.

It's off season, he's been training here and there, enjoying some time off in their big house up in the hills. She's spending the weekend babysitting between gigs and she's been...quiet. Maybe it was the fact that she was around them so often. Maybe, it was the fact that her friends just had a little one she was watching currently, that clung to her so jealously when Kenji came around for a cuddle too. Maybe she was ovulating. The exact cause of this scenario was a blur to her really. She just recalled, well, he recalled and told her it was how it went down. Swears by it that she, as the family was driving away with the baby, fast asleep curled up in a hoodie it wouldn't let go or give back, that she looked up at him and said it.

"Kenji." It's the first time in a long time that she says his name, so he worries maybe he did something wrong again without noticing, but the look in your eyes in determined, is heated...pleading. "I want a baby."

The night didn't end for you two there. You both lost count somewhere after three, overstimulated and yet continuing like bunnies in heat. You blame the baby fever, and maybe the wine during lunch, but the venture is fruitful two months later, when four pink lines, two on each stick, and the word 'Pregnant' in bold on the digital test are laid before you two on the bathroom counter.

The same counter he would quickly have you laying against as he spread your thighs open wider, held you closer, got a little rougher with his thrusts, aiming to make the baby in you twins, according to him. Something not fruitful, unfortunately for him, but enjoyable at least.

And that takes us to the fourth and perhaps not final time you ever say his name.

Seven months later, you feel like a ship. The little peanut, you two so kindly nicknamed the baby while looking for a name, kicking around, shifting about, giving you some of the most ravenous cravings you'd ever had. Braxton Hicks, you came to be brutally informed of when waking in the middle of the night in a labor scare, had finally died off.

Or so you had thought.

When the first stab of pain shot through your side, you'd simply grimaced and sighed, shifting on the couch during the somewhat humid autumn day. You had decided to stay the Halloween weekend in, instead of going to a party while you felt like a boat. Kenji immediately notes the discomfort and tries to help.

"You want your little heart ice pack?"

You shake your head, yawning softly because yeah, it hurt, but you were too tired. You just wanted to go to sleep already.

"Ngh...no...just wanna go sleep already...come with me?"

How could he say no? He takes your hand when you ask for help getting up, and you both feel it. The sudden rush of water on your legs, his slippers. Your face is beet red and he's confused for all of two seconds before he's scrambling for the "go" bag. A Dodger duffle bag that the team's wives/significant others had decorated for them. He'd filled it with extra clothes for them, babies first outfits, washed in baby detergent, and a picture of his mom and her dad, both who couldn't be there today. You groan in annoyance because that was your favorite rug now covered in amniotic fluid, and now you would probably stain the carseats because you were not about to try and change your pants in active labor.

(Kenji had that covered, gingerly pulling your panties and pants off and helping you out new ones on, after cleaning you up with a damp towel after all. Kiss to your belly and all.)

You say it, however, sixteen hours into active labor. Minutes before midnight, almost Halloween day, like your baby wanted to share a birthday with you, which you would never mind as long as you get to hold her. It's when a particularly sharp labor pain hits that you yell it, gripping his hand so tightly you swear you hear his hand crack.

It's angry, and pained, and you swear, just after saying his full government name, that you would make him feel how this felt. No amount of epidural helped this pain, no amount of Lamaze Breathing or doulas helped prepare her or take this pain any better. She'd find a way for him to carry and birth the next one even if she'd have to become a mad scientist. She isn't good with pain already and this isn't helping.

"Kenji Sato! You are having the next one, got I-ngh!!!GOT IT?!"

He just about passed out when they announce you're crowning, because for some gods forsaken reason, he decides to look beyond the blue sheet. It's a horror he will never forget, and he swears he won't put you through another round of whatever your anatomy was doing to push yours and his little princess out of you.

And then she's there.

She's in your arms first, he's busy gathering his emotions as they cut the umbilical cord for him, and you need the first few minutes of skin to skin with her before she has to get cleaned up and given her first dose of vaccines. He holds her after, eyes bleary with tears as he does so so gingerly. He doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't want to accidentally harm her tiny little fragile body. She's a perfect amalgamation of you two. His eyes, a grayish blue, but the rest, he will happily and readily proudly admit, is all your looks. Tousled full head of soft pinky fuschia hair, eyebrows to match, rosy cheeks and little pouty lips. He swears, on everything he loves, she smiles when he is told to do skin to skin with her as well. When she curls into his warmth while you are cleaned up by the nurses. And when you two are able to take her home, when you are given the all clear and she passes her car seat test, and you three are finally back in your house, settling her down in her side sleeper by your bed, it's clear that the few times you use his full name can be bad, but most of them?

They're worth it.

#kenji sato #kenji x reader #ken sato #ultraman rising #ultraman #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato smut #technically

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clarkeyhill · 4 months ago

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Crawling Back To You | George Clarke Part One

Fluff. Smut. Angst

The feeling of the tide that stuck around was hard for George to shift, that tide was you. No matter the distractions he tried set his mind on, his mind could never shift from the thought of you. You were a friend of a friend, nothing particularly to do with George, your energy was electric; a bubbly person who blended into the group so seamlessly.

You met George through Chris, his flatmate. You and Chris had met through your friend, Katie. Whom had been on a date with Chris prior, meeting him through his arrival at the flat one night.

"Y/n?" Katie called out

"Yeah?" You responded

"Be normal, I've got a guest" she chuckled

"I'm always normal? What do you mean?" You ask, walking round the corner of the living room to see a blonde, well presented man

"This is Chris" she smiled

"Hi" he said, outstretching his arm

"Hi Chris" you say, shaking his hand

"Nice to meet you" he responds with a smile

They both head into Katie's bedroom, she'd been on a date to the Museum with Chris a few hours earlier, heading back to your shared flat to carry on the date. You kept yourself busy, tidying around and shuffling around the place, you heard distant giggles coming from her bedroom as you chuckled to yourself.

A few hours went on and Chris and Katie emerge from her room

"Hey, Chris is going home, but he's invited us for a few drinks tomorrow night. In soho? A few of his friends will be there too, so you can mingle?" Katie says, excitement beaming from her cheeks

"Oh right okay, erm, I guess I'm free. What time is it?" You ask, placing some pots into the cupboard

"7pm, if that's okay?" He adds

"That's fine, I guess we'll see you tomorrow" you respond with a smile as he nods in return

"I guess you will" he smiles

Katie walks him out, heading down to the reception of your flat block. You smiled to yourself, he seemed really nice and a perfect fit for Katie. You felt a wash of happiness, all you wanted was for her to be happy; seemed it was finally starting to happen.

Not long after she walks back in the flat;

"Oh I forgot to mention, he has a friend he said might be a match for you" she added with a slight smirk

"A match for me? He's just met me" you laugh

"I know but, he thinks your energy's will just match like a house on fire, he's going to be there tomorrow" she adds

"What's his name?" You question

"George" she responds

🫶🏻

Part 2 maybe tonight! Let me know what you think!!

#george clarkey #youtube #george clarke #british youtubers #arthur hill

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bvnnywrites · 2 years ago

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Still Waters Run Deep

Chapter 1: Apple of His Eye

PAIRING: Eldritch!König x Reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As I've said before, English isn't my first language, so this would e fun. Hehe. I'm so excited to share this fic with you guys hehehehe. I'm posting this on both Tumblr and Ao3. Who knows, the story on the other site would be different hm...? I'm not telling when, but hehe. Also, reader is in her twenties, specifically 22, so yayeet. If you don't like how fucked up this story is gonna get then please turn around and go on your merry way. I'll be posting the first chapter here on Tumblr because jesus, my ao3 invitation has yet to arrive. Also, don't forget to write comments, I need feedback because I eat them like it's groceries-

WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARK, SMUT, NSFW, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Fingering, Stomach Bulge, Age Gap, Unprotected Sex, Cockwarming, Implied Discharge, Power Imbalance, Abuse of Authority, No Beta Reader, Dom! König, Size Kink, Size Difference, Cannibalism, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Older!König, Eldritch!König, Monster!König, Masturbation, Dark Romance, Blood and Gore, Violence, Monsterfucking

WHENEVER A CERTAIN COLONEL PASSES BY the soldiers would grow quiet, as if he’s sucking the joy with him and then the chatter would continue once his thundering footsteps would fade away into quietness.

A silence would hang over the air for a brief moment – like they’re making sure the danger has passed before proceeding – and the soldiers would continue to chat once they're sure it was safe to proceed. Babbling away but their voices would be a bit hushed, as if their ears were on the lookout for the colonel’s presence.

The colonel was absolutely – you remember his name being König because you saw him score several shots using a sniper rifle in training – wholeheartedfuckingly terrifying.

König strides confidently across the battlefield and KorTac base of Operations in the same damn manner—Arrogant, egotistical, prideful. The mountain of a man walks in like he owns the place, and troops would be so relieved if they see him in the battlefield because they know that he'd be able to turn the tides to their favor.

And the fucker knows it. He knows people look up at him. Looking at him like the fucking messiah that would save them right then and there.

He relished in it.

And he was so fucking gigantic as he is muscular too, to the point his huge hands could definitely crush your head with his fingers if he saw fit. To say he was a Greek God was insulting. No, he was like Kronos.

Destructive.

All-devouring force.

Whenever you stood too close to him—even tho you recall not stepping too close to the colonel because you wanted to respect the five-foot rule for everyone lest they give you the go signal to hog their personal space like Izzy does—you can see the way his muscles would bulge whenever he tightened his fists, or how the veins on his arms were so… alluring, and holy shit he has scars. Battle scars that should've repulsed you but you find yourself wanting to trace it with your fingers.

His form is almost mesmerizing—like how you'd imagine Fenrir slaying Odin from one of the Norse Myths.

However, like Fenris Wolf, he too was bound and shackled to base. Most of the time, at least. You would see him buried and drowning and several paperwork when you go to his office while Roze waited for you by the door.

And you could see his baby blue eyes squint and conjure a glint of annoyance as you hand him your report. He has pretty eyes, that colonel. He doesn’t speak to you, always uttering grunts or huffs. Dismissing you with a wave of his hand—always gestures but never talking.

It reminds you of gray skies and blue muted waters, and sometimes they seemed vibrant when you hear the sinister glee in his voice of bashing an enemies head open like how watermelon breaks – and then he'd look at you and you'd immediately avert your gaze because oh god that would be so fucking awkward if your superior had caught you staring at his eyes like a creep.

As mentioned before, König is mostly quiet, and you didn't really hear him talk since he never talked to you at all. In the battlefield, when he barked out orders, gunfire would drown them and those closest to him would relay the message on to the others.

Lieutenant Izzy – Izanami actually, but she preferred being called Izzy – always spoke in Japanese, but she can speak a few broken English words. She didn’t seem to see you as a liability, often asking you out to grab lunch with her and Captain Roze. The white-haired girl always made sure you never missed your meals, and if you did, she’d make sure to hand you some MREs for the sake of making sure you’re taken care of.

She said to you once, “Be careful of that colonel, he is… what is English word that for… word you use when object is not good to you—harms life.”

“You mean dangerous?” Roze would correct her. “We really need to work on your English, girl.”

“Yes, that the word I’m looking for.” Izzy would laugh. “ローズ先輩、訂正してくれてありがとう。”

Roze, on the other hand, was more closed off. She was ruthless and strict, but you’re convinced that she cares about you the same way Izzy does because she gets this soft glint in her eyes when you tell her that you forgot to eat or missed lunch. Then five seconds later you’d feel an MRE smacking you on the chest, and Roze is barking at you for being stupid enough to not eat and say you’re lucky that her and Izzy are looking out for you.

But you can tell that both are highly protective of you, like older sisters making sure their youngest sibling didn't fuck up on missions or get hung by their rib by enemy soldiers.

Whenever the colonel passed by, you remember Roze’s words “Keep your gaze down” because apparently there was an incident where König had beaten the shit out of a recruit because the poor thing looked at him funny. Something about the recruit scrunching his face in disgust at the colonel or was it because he had mocked him behind his back?

Either way, the kid was beaten to a pulp.

The colonel was never given a court martial, however, since he had been able to pull rank it seems. Roze was the one who told you during lunch, voice in a hushed whisper.

Then your thoughts wander back to the nightly horror stories your soldiers would tell to one another. You had a habit of visiting them before making sure they all slept on curfew time. It was fun and it helped boost morale amongst the troops. It also helped that you were a younger lieutenant, so you were able to easily connect to your platoons’ humor and quip remarks.

You remember the hushed whispers in the barracks, each of them uttering stories of what König might look like beneath the mask.

You often thought maybe he looks so mutilated that it resembles Nemesis from Resident Evil or maybe Salvatore on the Village Version. But you've seen the pretty blue eyes König possessed and you just know that deep down, he was a handsome man.

Sure, he was old enough to be your dad, had a huge ass age gap that's wider than the forehead of the colonel of the Mexican Special Forces you had previously worked with due to König being forty-five years old, but you'll admit a pretty man if you see one.

However, your soldiers' claims were way more hilarious as they spoke. Each sounding absurd and stupid than the last.

"I heard he has three faces, like the demon Asmodeus. I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if he's a prince of Hell in disguise. Have you seen his body? What I'd give to climb him like a tree."

"I could've sworn I saw worms underneath. Kind of like maybe a maggot-infested lower jaw since I heard the skin of his jaw had been burnt off."

"I think he has the face only a mother could love. Men like that exist."

You had grown up in a small town, people believing heavily in superstitious beliefs. However, once you've left said small town, you realize that they were silly things that old people simply uttered into the wind.

"Did you know a psychic said I would get murdered when I was ten?" You laughed at the absurdity of it all, wanting to add some scary shit of your own.

"Really, L.T?" One of your soldiers said. "Oh, this has to be good!"

“Yeah. I remember she was very old, and if I were correct, I think she moved from Hallstatt? Wherever the fuck that is.”

You told them the stupid little story. How you lost twenty dollars to a fraud only for them to say you'll get murdered, and how it spooked you as a kid and made you all paranoid only to realize you just got scammed out of your money.

"The thing that will kill you is hiding its face. The thing that will kill you has its crown scraping the ceiling. The thing that will kill you has sharpened teeth. The thing that will kill you will charm you with its glamor and false promises. The thing that will kill you will devour you with its appendages and fill you with its seed. The thing that will kill you… you won't see it coming."

The soldiers all laughed, including you, after you've said it in the most croaked voice as you mimicked the old psychic.

You've never laughed so hard in your whole life, but you were glad that it was your troops that were with you and not stuck up stoic alpha male soldiers. It wasn't real, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

All of you got along.

Sure, most of the soldiers given to you were teens – because the military was just hiring eager and stupid kids, and by God you were going to protect these little shits with your life – but it was fine because they had you. For as long as you live, you promised yourself you'd make sure they were all safe.

And you took them under your wing and you feel bad because they were kids compared to you. They shouldn't be here dressing up as soldiers and being sent off to war zones with you. These kids were supposed to be at home, where they could be safe, and worrying about teen stuff. But then again, KorTac was a company at the end of the day.

A Private Military Company—basically just glorified mercenaries at this point.

Of course, they would exploit anyone who is willing to serve for their country while also getting paid generously compared to being in a government affiliated military—Hell, you're here, aren't you? Why? Because they can be greedy fucks and capitalism exists, and KorTac rivals Disney in terms of being a well-known PMC in the military world, and you're broke.

Not to mention that the BAS – Basic Allowance for Subsistence – was fucking higher in KorTac than the government affiliated military you used to serve in. A BAS rate of seven hundred sixty-two point sixty-nine euros for enlisted members, while officers are given the same but with an increased rate of four hundred ninety-seven point fifty- eight euros is better than the current BAS.

You also get the average of six thousand and seven hundred eighty-two euros at an average per month here in KorTac. The pay is way fucking better and you can save up money to the point you were able to pay off your own student and credit card debts and leave your parents' nest since you were basically loaded at this point.

Money was enough to blind you from the dangers that lurked beneath the still waters that run deep that is KorTac.

"The thing that will kill you… you won't see it coming."

“Did you hear what happened?”

“What?”

“Another soldier went missing again.”

Captain Stiletto changed her mags, examining her scope as she spoke to you with a calm voice—as if she hadn’t just dropped the news of someone going missing. Again. You were ready to hear which recruit was unlucky enough to be whisked away and never to be seen again. That or they turn up mutilated and scared, and the poor things won’t even talk. However, a missing rookie suddenly turns up out of nowhere after months of disappearing without a trace was statistically low.

No, really, it would be low—unusual at best.

The best way to analyze it would be using the Bayesian Inference, and using a probability model to express the uncertainty towards the situation. In this case, using a binary variable would be ideal, $Y$, to represent the outcome whether the missing rookie ever did turn up or not. $Y$ = 1 if the rookie is found, and $Y$ = 0 if the rookie isn’t found.

Then assume that the probability of finding said missing rookie is equal to the proportion of all missing persons who are eventually found. As evidence becomes available, then update the model with that evidence and compute the posterior distribution for the probability of finding the rookie.

In this case, if one of the higher ups discovered the rookie all pale and shaking and are obviously had been terrified to fucking death, the information in that scenario could be used to update the posterior distribution, taking into account that the probability that the rookie had seen something scary in that location, if they were ever found that is.

Once the model with all available evidence has been updated, the posterior distribution to make predictions of the probability of finding the new recruit can now be used. The officers tasked with finding them—at least those who hasn’t given up—will be able to find them within a certain time frame or calculate the probability that they’re are found alive or dead.

Just some basic statistics you’ve learned in ninth grade, that’s all. Or at least from what you can remember.

The scar that ran down the captain’s face was evident like the blood smeared in your hands when you’ve killed an enemy. No one knew why there was a huge damage to her face or why it was there in the first place. You’ve only been in KorTac for a month, almost everyone you’ve met have given you warnings and it was all the same—keep your distance from the colonel. You have half a mind to say “Fuck this” but the pay was good.

Not to mention your contract hasn’t been finished yet and you doubt you’d find a good paying job like this while doing what you love.

“Who was it?” You dared to ask.

Stiletto looks away for a moment, before turning back to you. “Private O’Neil.”

Your eyes widened at the information. You don’t know the person, but to hear a private going missing was surprising. Usually, it was the recruits who disappeared for the most part or at least from your observation in your stay here. Now that’s very strange.

“Huh… a Private? How come it wasn’t a rookie?”

“That’s what I’m thinking too.”

Stiletto responds with the same confusion as you, her lips pursed. She looks worried, unsure to react.

“The colonel had been tasked to investigate the missing cases, but even he isn’t getting any answers.” The captain says, her face troubled. “It’s like there’s a serial killer at base.”

“Like playing Mafia, huh.” You joked.

“Exactly.”

You’re scared of what this could mean. If whoever it was plucking the recruits off like grapes were about to turn to privates, then it won’t be long before your ass is on the line. You have half a mind to help, maybe offer your insights on the investigations, but thanks to Roze and Izzy’s advice, you knew better than to get too close to the colonel…

Unless you want to get beaten by König with your incompetency—what he deems incompetency—since he loves doing things his way according to the soldiers who had worked with him.

It wasn’t enough to scare the rookies, however. They’re still chatty and happy, all of them seemed unaffected by these rumours.

Of course, they’d be unaffected, everyone is telling them that it’s just rumours and the soldier that disappeared had simply been discharged for wanting to leave or go back home. There were a few who didn’t believe it, but those with higher ranks – including you – were reassuring them that it was merely rumours.

That they shouldn’t really worry their pretty little minds about it. And what infuriated you the most was because it worked. They were gullible kids, as young as sixteen to nineteen—basically a six to three years old age gap between you and them. They should know better than to believe the honeyed words from yours or their superiors’ mouth.

But could you even blame them?

They’re just kids. You and the other high-ranking officers were older than them, obviously they would trust you. They expect all of you to guide them, showing them the real ropes of war and violence unlike the trial sessions they’ve had in boot camp and the infantry.

So, really the blame was on every high ranking official—including you.

Everyone from being a specialist to the general of the army were losing their shit over these incidents because KorTac was supposed to promote opportunity and valour, but how can you do that if your fellow soldiers – doesn’t matter what rank they are – are going missing like some monster was plucking them off of their rooms one by one or rather off of the hallways when they’re past curfew.

Curfew falls under your responsibility too, sergeants up to lieutenant colonels were tasked to make sure that every rookie or corporal has to be following the curfew or rather their curfew. KorTac had implemented the curfew for the rookies up to the corporals’ weeks prior to your official employment according to Roze.

The last thing the people who called the shots wanted was a widespread panic amongst their troops.

“Do you have any hunch as to who it might be?” You asked her curiously, wanting to know the captain’s thoughts.

“It could be that newbie before you, Phillip Graves, but he’s mostly out on missions. So, that checks him out.” Stiletto answered, looking at you. “Then there could be the possibility of it being Horangi.”

“Why him?”

“He’s too violent.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Stiletto laughs at your response, shaking her head as if you’re being silly. The captain was nice, in your opinion at least. She pats you back lightly like an aunt would when you remind her of your mom when they were younger. There’s a twinkle in her eyes, one where it makes you wonder just how exactly does Stiletto see you—a daughter, sister or maybe a friend. Either way, you were in her good graces and that’s enough to quell your curiosities for now.

The two of you were practicing alone in the firing range. Those at the lower ranks had gone to sleep or were forced to sleep since it was curfew for them.

The atmosphere had gone heavy.

It was light and cheery in the morning, but at night, the happiness and laxness of the vicinity disappears, and you and the rest of the soldiers with a higher rank are faced with the reality that someone was picking off all of you one by one like candies inside your granny’s bowl of strawberry candy that you don’t see anywhere in the grocery store.

You know, the one’s you get when one day you became a grandma – or great-aunt, or even an honorary old “auntie” – and these things just magically appear at the bottom of your purse. The ones that once they start spilling out of your bag, you’ll find an intricate cut-glass bowl or dish in the middle of your living room and your grandkids or kids would just come and go while pocketing a handful of them, and the refill is somehow always in your purse.

Stiletto hands you a rosary from her pocket. You looked at the long wooden beads coated with silver chains and designs before glancing at the captain. You took it gently, letting the coolness of the holy object cool your skin that wraps around it. Oh, it’s a sweet gesture. Now you have something to wear around your neck, a little good luck charm despite the fact that you don’t really believe in God or a higher being. Her head is tilted to the side, looking at you with an analysing glance as silence befalls the two of you.

“Why…?” You asked her underneath the fluorescent lights of the firing range, riffles forgotten at each other’s side.

Stiletto shrugs, sighing tiredly, “Maybe the thing that’s picking us off one by one would be scared of the Lord.”

“I doubt he exists.”

“He’ll save you in your time of need. He answered my prayers. Maybe He’ll answer yours too.”

“What did you pray for?”

Stiletto is quiet for a moment, looking away before looking back at you with worry. She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“That you would still be alive the next time I see you… that you wouldn’t be next, lieutenant.”

“You’re the lieutenant that Horangi had referred to the company, ja?”

A voice says with a German accent to it, and by Mary, Joseph, and the Babeh Jesus what an alluring voice he has. It was low and rough, a tad bit raspy—gravelly. You thought to yourself that if you were Persephone and you heard this voice coaxing you into the warm embrace of the Underworld, you too would have cartwheeled and backflipped into Hades’s lap. Leaving the nymphs and the flowers, and the warm sun to drown in the enticing embrace of the God of Death while he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

You turned around, half a mind to fuck the brains out of this man until you saw who was speaking to you and all horniness came to a halt as you realized who it was.

König.

You glanced directly at his eyes briefly before averting you gaze, Roze’s warning echoing in your head. You nod your head, confirming his question. You tell him your name and rank, which country you came from, and basically any general information you can tell to confirm your identity. Konig nods his head at your words. His eyes crinkled—was he smiling underneath the sniper hood?—and you can hear a smug tone on his voice.

“Ja, leutnantin, I’ve read your files.”

“Oh.”

Your eyes glanced to the side, seeing some soldiers chattering at the end of the hall. Good. There are people around. A polite smile blossoms on your face, offering it to the colonel – just like you would whenever you bump into a senior officer. Your mind raced why he was suddenly talking to you.

HE BARELY RESPONDED SO WHY WAS HE SUDDENLT BEING A CHATTER BOX?! You internally panicked since he often responded in hums or grunts whenever you give your report, didn’t even glance at you whenever the two of you passed by each other.

So, why now?

“Did you need something, sir?” You asked him politely, tilting your head a little as you crane your head to look at him properly because holy shit, he’s so fucking tall.

“I do, actually, Schatz.” König responds, cold eyes gazing down at your smaller form. “I need your help with a… serious matter. Come with me to my office.”

His strides are big and long as you struggled to keep up with him as he walked down the halls. Your eyes glued to his massive thighs… and oh. The soldiers within the halls part like the sea as König passed by as if he was Noah. They all lower their gaze, chattering going to a halt until only the sound of the storm raging outside can be heard.

“So, why do we need to go to your office?”

But König doesn’t answer, and his hands balled to a fist. You can see the cloth crinkle as his grip dug into his palms, while he ignores your question. Which is, in a way, rude since you were simply trying to gouge out information as to why your colonel was summoning you to his office. You furrowed your brows at his actions.

“It’s the least I should know, don’t you think–”

“Are you always so noisy?”

You blinked owlishly at his words, the colonel barely looking or glancing at you as he continued to walk down the halls of KorTac. Your breath hitches in your throat as you register the slight annoyance in his voice.

He finally looks at you, eyes crinkling as he laughs. And oh god, his laugh. The mere sound of it makes your cheek warm and make both of your lips smile.

“The look on your face earlier is funny, Schatz. However, you’re a lieutenant, no? I’m sure that despite how young you are, you’re mature enough to know that there are classified things that can only be discussed within the confines of an office, ja?”

“I’m sorry, colonel. I didn’t mean to let it slip off of my head.”

You feel like winning the lottery, but the prize isn’t a billion bucks—it’s the fact that you haven’t angered the colonel, and he’s not bashing your head to the pavement or maybe stabbing you where you stand and tearing your flesh with his gloved hands.

You don’t notice the guilt that settles on your face… nor the look of softness and endearment on König’s face as he admires the look of culpability blossoms on you face.

The softness of your face, the way your eyes are filled with such an adorable shyness when you think that he would actually reprimand you for something so innocent. You were so little compared to him too, so fragile… so weak. He relishes in this power over you—power over your reactions and your expressions. You looked so eager to stay on his good side. So eager to please him in your own innocent way. Whether you intentionally do it or not, König is being pumped full of dopamine at just you talking to him.

He's had his eye on you for a long while. The moment you stepped foot on base, beneath the scorching sun of the tarmac, König wanted nothing more than to snatch you and make you his. Drag you away from KorTac, smuggle you to Austria and lock you away in his house by the sea shore, away from prying eyes.

Where he can have you all to himself.

But even his rank and reputation in KorTac couldn’t save or excuse his behaviour if he does that. Everyone would think he was a freak or someone creepy if he were to ever just scoop you up. The way your voice echoes when you bark out your orders to those inferior to you, the way it softens when you talk to your friends – especially to Horangi, and König s gnawing at the cages of his enclosure because he wished you would talk to him the way you would to Horangi.

He wants to talk again without addressing you formally, but he is awkward with connecting to people. Even when he tried to follow his psychiatrist’s advice in trying to open up to people, König still has a hard time trying to initiate a conversation. The words piling up in his throat—stuck there for the rest of eternity.

König doesn’t know what to do with his hands, resisting the strong urge to grab yours—so tiny and adorable—and let his giant hand envelope it. You are pouting, gaze averted to the ground, cheek rosy from embarrassment, probably reprimanding yourself that you should’ve known better.

König isn’t sure if he wants you to be scared of him or not – and he hates that you are the first one to be an exception to his desires, because he wanted everyone to fear him. There is something dark, disgustingly predatory almost, in his thoughts as he watched you beat yourself up, but he doesn’t speak, and his fists are balled up because your voice and adorable face were too fucking much and he doesn’t even know how to talk to a girl in his adult years.

“C-colonel, we’re here.”

You hate that you stutter, but you can’t help it since your heart skipped a beat when you looked up and saw König looking at you with such softness and tenderness from his gigantic height. You had to take a deep breath, shaking your head at the delusion it’s not a delusion, you aren’t seeing things runnin in your head.

No.

That was wrong. That idea in itself would be wrong. The colonel was someone wise despite his violent tendencies. He would never entertain the idea of being with a fellow soldier. Not to mention bend the rules just to risk his position and rank. It would be stupid for him. It wouldn’t be worth it for him, and you just fucking know it.

“Ah… right. Bitte, wait a minute.”

You can see how miniscule the keys are to his hand, his form bending down a little and when he stood back up, he was at least three inches taller than the fucking doorway. He turns the lights on and gestures for you to step in. He closed the door behind you as you took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his gigantic desk.

The desk looked proportionate to his form, and the office chair he has accommodates him greatly and it makes your heart flutter because he looks like a king and all he had to do was give out his decree, and you would be scrambling to do said decree to please him because holy shit something about how big he is, is making your insides churn deliciously–

Wait. Bitch, you better stop. Your thoughts screeched to halt, smacking yourself internally because you’re sure you’re not yet in your ovulation week because you just finished your period four days prior… No, that’s not true, you lost track of your cycle due to the recent events that happened at base. The colonel was twiceyour size, and you’re not sure if you can take him.

Not in a fight, of course.

“So, about the recent events happening here at base, I’m sure you’re well aware of it by now.” König starts, leaning at the desk. “Soldiers are disappearing left and right, the younger ones wouldn’t take long before they stop buying our lies, and we need a way to stop whoever it is that is picking is off and making us drop like flies.”

He stopped, eyes roaming as if he’s analysing you.

“Hase, you are quite the prodigy that at such a young age you’ve managed to achieve the rank of lieutenant, and I am completely impressed.” König says, nodding to himself as if he’s proud of you. “Someone of your calibre would be of valuable help to catch the culprit or, rather, the creature that’s currently on the loose in base and hunting us one by one.”

“Creature? Don’t you mean person?”

“I’d like you to look at these and tell me that a human was behind these incidents.”

König slides you a dossier and you merely throw a confused glance at him before opening said dossier, and you almost–No. You do regret opening the fucking folder.

The entrails of the victims are chewed off and sprawled across the floor, the ground was a sea of blood. Some of them had missing parts, but mostly the torso was empty, intestines being the only thing left behind from the inside of the corpses, and there were a few where the eyes hangs out of its socket and runs down their faces like a veiny egg yolk. You want to look away, but you can’t. Some pictures showed the skins have been peeled off, most had been cleanly peeled off. Even the nipples were intact. Never to this day have you seen anything so horrible.

Finally, the urge to puke tore your attention away from the files, smacking it to the table as you swivelled your head away, and your mouth unhinged as the familiar disgusting liquid of your insides went past your throat. Before any of it could spill past your lips, a bucket had been shoved to catch it. König holds the bucket to your mouth. Meanwhile, you did nothing but vomit. Over and over again. Long after it seemed there was nothing more to bring up, you continued to vomit.

At last, after a good solid minute, you stopped. Tears prickled your face as puke-mixed snot went down your throat. König was kind enough to offer you tissues to help clean yourself up before he hands you a glass of water, and getting rid of your vomit.

“I’m sorry.” You weakly said. “That caught me off guard and I–” The words cut off in your thought as you shuddered as the pictures seared into your head. Well, guess this is my thirteenth reason.

“It’s fine, Schatz. Nothing to be sorry about. It is rare for someone to stomach such evidence.” He reassures you.

His giant hand rubs soothing circles on your back and it’s so comforting that you eventually calm down and catch your breath. The taste of bile still lingers and you downed glass after glass of water just to get rid of it but seemingly failing to do so. Yet it is nothing compared to the electrifying touch of König’s fingers that glide behind your back, passing by the wing ang hooks of your bra. Of course, he didn’t mean to do that he most definitely did intendes to do that because he was just trying to ease you out of your sickened state.

“I’m sorry.” You say again.

The pout on your lips was making you adorable and König was glad he was the way that he was right now. Had he been the same age as you, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back. He would’ve pushed you down on his desk, giant hands spreading your legs, tearing your clothes, while he makes you beg for his cock–

“As I’ve said before, Schatz. It’s fine. We have to recompose ourselves from time to time. After all, we’re only human, no?”

You look up at him from where you seat, smiling softly at him. He was so nice. Your eyes flickered to his neck, and then on to his fingers. Seeing the lack of wedding band on him had you feeling butterflies. Was he not married? Who wouldn’t want to marry him? Was he ugly?

His baby blue eyes—like a mixture of storm grey skies and the heartless depths of the ocean—were a soft hint to the fact that he was handsome. You just know. Unconsciously licking your lips, your eyes scanned him over – in the most shameless manner, but that was fine. You can always chuck it up to you just analysing him.

“Now, Schatz.” His fingers wrapped around you chin, coaxing you gently to look up at him. “Lieutenant colonel Allard, Captain O’Neil, and I will be conducting a manhunt starting at 00:00 up until to 04:30 this Friday. Allard would be taking the North side of the base, I’ll be taking the South, and O’Neil would be taking the West area–”

You paid attention to every word he said, nodding your head every now and then. You kept your eyes locked to his, unaware of the growing tent inches away from your face in your colonel’s pants.

“–which is why I called you to my office.” His voice rips you out of your trance. “I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to lend out a hand in catching whatever it was that’s picking us off one by one?”

“Yes, sir.”

The way you responded with such speed had you internally clutching your pearls. You were so confused as to why you had agreed so easily without even asking for the details. Hopefully, your colonel would be kind enough to graciously brief you and the team before he sends you all out to play limbo with this culprit.

König smiles at your eagerness to help the team—to help him. The younger ones weren’t so eager like you; often having to be bribed with a reward just to help. But you? You said yes without any hesitation.

“Are you married, Schatz?”

“No, sir.”

“How come? Most female or male soldiers your age are married. Why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t you?”

Your body tensed as your mind caught up with that loose mouth of yours, but before you could even stop yourself the words had already been uttered into the world. Holding your tongue and making you blurt this in front of your superior needs to be fired. Like, bro, pick a different sim to fuck up. Please. You might’ve had the chance to be in his good graces, being offered promotion after promotion because König did say he’s read your files – he’s awfully touchy too, but maybe that’s because he’s comfortable around you. You might’ve had a chance of walking out the office, alive and healthy with nothing but a nod of a head and telling you to be prepared for the operation this upcoming Friday – but now you’ve said those words with such casualness that it doesn’t really suit the dynamic between you two, and could promptly land you to some punishments. You could–

The colonel chuckles, eyes closed as his shoulder’s shook, and the sound of it makes your cheeks flare with warmth.

“What gave it away, Schatz?”

Your body relaxed, seeing he wasn’t offended or irritated by your response.

“It’s uh… um, the lack of wedding ring, sir.”

“Oh? What an observant klein leutnantin.”

He looks at you, contemplating for a moment before König spoke.

“I have trouble finding a… suitable mate, if you will. Mutter often tells me that I’m a carbon copy of my father, which could explain why she’s so distant and hostile towards me. I don’t… I don’t know or saw the need to find a partner until… until recently.”

His gaze lands on you as he said the last two words. You furrowed your brows, wondering who or what could’ve changed his mind. With a tilt of your head to the side, you asked him a question that stems from his words.

“How come your mother hated you just because you looked like your father? You can’t exactly control your looks.”

“Because he was a monster who had forced himself on her, and forced her to carry his child – which would be me.”

Your eyes widened at that. You didn’t exactly expect the colonel to say it so casually, as if it’s a fun fact you’re telling to a kindergarten. You pursed your lips, looking away, feeling awkward and bad now that you had brought up the topic.

“I’m sorry… I… I didn’t… know.” Was all you can muster.

“You seem to not know anything at all, Schatz.” He cooed at you. “It’s alright. You needn’t be sorry. How I was born is something I cannot control, but the outcome of who I can be is.”

König chuckles, walking over to pat your head affectionately and holy shit it has your heart racing.

“Growing up, the children my age shunned me. They had thrown rocks at me, calling me a monster. My mother did nothing to comfort me, dismissing me and shoving a sack to cover my face. I spent most times outside the house, often sleeping on caves by the waters or at the sand by the shore. The lake is something comforting, I must say… I miss it – yearn for it, if you will."

“Lake? Don’t you mean ocean?”

“My hometown was in Hallstatt Lake, Austria.”

His words ring a bell. You could’ve sworn you’ve heard of Hallstatt Lake before. You tried to remember where you heard it, but couldn’t. Oh, well. If I can’t remember it, then it ain’t that important.

My father travelled from the ocean and dwelled by the lakes of that area. Then he saw mein mutter and... you know how that story went. Anyways, I have learned that I am… hideous. Therefore, that is one of the contributes as to why I am still, in your kind’s terms, single.”

“So you’ve never had partners before? Not even… I dunno… doing the devil’s tango? Sex?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No, Schatz. They back out the last minute.”

You looked at him pitifully. He was a lonely man, wanting to have someone beside him and yet his self-esteem was so low. Maybe fucking him could boost his self-esteem. It’s not like I’m craving him, I’m simply helping. Maybe I could be the first to teach him the intimate touch of a woman. The comforts of the flesh. There was something about damaged men that are just so fucking hot. After all, it’s just a twenty-three years old age gap between König and I – Woah, what?! Pause. Your thoughts screeched to a halt, pinching yourself for letting it wander off that far.

How did it get to this?

How did the two of you get so comfortable to the point he’s literally just trauma dumping on you, and you’re lending an ear to listen. You should be walking out f the door, telling him this was unprofessional but you find yourself glued to the chair, heart going out to König as you empathize with him.

“I may not know what you look like under the mask, but mom did tell me that you can see if a person has a handsome or beautiful face is by looking at the shape of their eyes.”

“Oh? And what have you deduced from just observing my eyes, Schatz? Am I considered monstrous?”

“No, sir… I’d say you’re beautiful.”

König’s eyes widened at your words, his cheeks burning beneath the mask and he’s so fucking thankful that you can’t see his face or what he looks like underneath. His heart thumps louder than it did when he first saw you.

He is fighting the urge to invite you to move in with him to his quarters, keeping you all to himself. König’s sure that his bedroom is way more spacious and comfier than that of a lieutenant’s. The Austrian giant has to physically restrain himself from snatching you, and dragging you into the shadows with him where no one can rip you from his embrace – he can’t bear thinking about you being with someone else.

“Was it offensive… sir?”

“No, liebling. I just think you are blind.”

König would absolutely whisk you away right now. All you need to do was say the word, and he’d be following your words as if they are the ten commandments. He can and will buy you an estate if you want, just pick a place—preferably in Hallstatt, Austria—and that would be easy for him. König would love to just provide for you, to get to go home to someone as adorable and meek as you are – eager to succeed and be praised by the most little of things. You would be protected there. No one would ever disturb you.

His father was never there for his mother. Left nothing to support her other than trauma after he was hunted down by the townsfolk and brutally murdered. König tells himself that he would be different, that he would give you the world. You need only ask.

He understands that being delusional isn’t healthy, and that his psychiatrist would definitely shoot him with a Nerf gun for letting himself descend into this type of madness, but he was old.

And lonely.

And you’re just so sweet and so nice to him, going so far as to tell him he’s beautiful. And despite spending too much time in waters, König drowns himself in fantasies about you being in a giant house, welcoming him home after his deployment, pregnant and eager to kiss him sweetly. You who can be his everything. A cure for his troubles and woes, even though his psychiatrist had severely advised him to not put your partner on high pedestals because it is extremely unhealthy and co-dependent.

König knows he can’t just blurt shit out as he pleases, lest he scares you away. You would scream at him, call him a sociopath – or a psychopath if you aren’t as knowledgeable as him in the department of terms. He is only self-aware enough to know that he can lose you if he made one wrong move.

He’s old and tired. And he wants to experience fatherhood before he dies, preferably having you as his klein Frau. But he can’t rush you. He needs to bid his time. In that moment, König decided—regretfully so—to let you go back to your duties for the day.

He needed to get close to you than he ever did before—needed to work with you to have you close to him at all times.

“That would be all, liebling.” König says to you. “You are free to go now. I don’t really want to hold you up here for too long.”

“It’s an honour to be picked by you, colonel.” You chirp happily, eager to maintain this casualness between you two in hopes of getting promoted faster.

The giant, behemoth of a man watches you walk away from him, eyes glued to your hips and adorable, plump ass. Your frame still smaller than him even when you stood up to your full height. It was endearing to him. Soft blue eyes following your every move, watching you as you give him one last smile and a friendly wave before you closed the door shut behind you.

“I’d say you’re beautiful.”

Your words echoed in his head, making the older being flustered as he ran his hands over his face and sighed. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, and he knew he’d be clinging to that until the day he died.

“It shall be the day that the sun is at its peak when you find what you longingly desire. Once the sky is thick with water and the blood of warriors are spilled, the gods will give you a chance to converse with this creature. You should turn them away. Put them at arms-length, but you are a selfish being. You would devour them, drain them until they are merely husks because of your depravities… I pity this young girl.”

He recalls the stupid reading he had gotten from a so-called ‘wise woman’ twelve years ago in her quaint house at Wolfengasse street. Maybe that völva was genuine in her craft before she left Austria.

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years ago

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hey, i've sort of a prompt in mind. The driver has a couple of shitty races and is frustrated and furious. The reader let's him use her so he can relax and take his mind off it. He does so and becomes pretty rough. In the morning, he's the first one to wake up and sees hickeys, red and irritated skin patches on her body. When she wakes up he starts to apologize.

It's probably too short for a fic, so maybe you can insert it in the ones you already have. It's up to you

Afterglow || CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x wife!reader Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, slight angst, roughish smut WC: 1.4k F1 Masterlist

The night had been humid, as it had all week, and your sleep was light and fitful as you tossed and turned in the sheets. Warm hands trailed up your bare legs and you sighed at the touch you had missed while Carlos was away. You suddenly startled awake remembering your husband wasn’t meant to be home yet but he caught you before you could hurt yourself scrambling out of the bed.

“Cálmate, mi reina, it’s me,” Carlos soothed as he felt your racing heart beating against his chest. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

It took a moment to relax but then you returned the embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist while his large hand cradled the back of your head like he did when he needed to keep you close to him. Taking a seat on the bed, he pulled you onto his lap and kissed your forehead as an apology, one you happily accepted.

The sheer curtains swayed gently in front of the windows that had been left open all night to battle the summer heat. Beyond the balcony, the island was hazy in the watery pre-dawn light and the local fishing boats were just starting to make their way out of the bay before the tides changed.“You’re home early.” You pulled back so you could see the exhaustion in his brown eyes and you stroked his beard that he hadn’t trimmed since he left. “What’s wrong, guapo?”

He caught your hand and clutched it to his chest so you could feel his heart beating beneath it before he raised them to his lips to kiss the wedding band on your finger. “I missed you.”

Giving him a small smile, you kissed your way across his shoulder before climbing the thick muscles of his neck. “I missed you too, but that’s not why you look so sad.”

His sigh was heavy and deep, filling the four corners of the room and you pulled back to see his face. “I’m not sad, just disappointed. It was a bad weekend, amor.”

You peeked over at the alarm clock before grabbing the hem of the satin slip you wore to bed. His eyes followed your fingers as they drew the material up your body and he bit his bottom lip at the sight. “There’s still time to change that.”

“Yeah?” he asked as his hands roamed your body, his fingers digging into your skin. “You want to make me feel better, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed but it turned to a gasp as he nipped at your collar before kissing the mark he left. “I’d do anything to make you happy.”

His beard tickled your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake as he made his way down your chest, nipping and sucking the skin until you whimpered his name with need. Shifting on his lap, you rocked your hips in search of friction and felt his own need swelling beneath you.

“Please, Carlos, I missed you.”

He silenced your begging with a rough kiss, his tongue forcing your lips open for him. His fingers were leaving their prints in your skin the way he held your hips tight and it took all his will power to pull away long enough to speak. “On your knees.”

Carlos didn’t even give you a chance to move as he picked you up and put you right where he wanted you in the centre of the bed. The comfortable clothes he wore for travelling were quickly discarded in a heap on the floor before you felt the bed shift under his weight and felt his hand caressing the swell of your ass.

“I needed you with me, hermosa,” he said as he nudged your knees apart for him. “I needed you.” Your back arched as he curled two thick fingers into your cunt without warning, stretching you with the only patience he had before they were gone and his cock pressed to your entrance. “I need you.”

“You have me,” you moaned as he worked his length inside, inch by inch, until your fingers were grasping the blankets and your breaths were mere pants. “I’m yours.”

Carlos pulled you up off your hands so your back was flush against his chest and he reached around to roughly palm your breasts, pinching and squeezing your nipples until your cunt clenched tight around him. “Will you still be mine if I lose my seat?” his voice was low in your ear and you craned your neck to see the resentment in his eyes, something that had been simmering since the negotiations for his contract renewal stalled.

Placing your hand over his, you pushed it down your body to the juncture of your thighs. “Always,” you promised as he felt the union of your bodies. “I married you for love, Carlos, not your job.”

“I might be out of it soon enough,” he spat bitterly and you felt his chest rising and falling rapidly and the heat of his breath on your neck. “Three. Fucking. Races.” His hips snapped against you with every word, stealing the air from your lungs, and you knew there was only one way to ease the anger burning in his gut. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you said as you reached over up and tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging the strands as you gave him permission to use you as a vent for his frustrations. “It’s okay.”

His control snapped as he accepted your offering and you gasped as he gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises. Carlos had always loved to mark you, though not always this rough. He had liked to leave on his trips knowing that his touch and his kiss still lingered on your skin. You knew there would be a few marks come morning light.

When dawn finally broke you were in Carlos’ arms watching the coastal breeze dance with the curtains and finally bring with it some cool air. The wind was welcome on your hot skin where a thin layer of sweat coated both of your bodies where you lay entangled on the bed. The gulls were just beginning to wake with the day and their songs echoed along the beach in a peaceful lullaby that threatened to send you off to sleep.

“Mierda,” Carlos swore as the sun crested the balcony and bathed the room in its light. You blinked against the bright rays that had interrupted the dream you had almost reached and found your husband shaking his head. “Perdóname, mi amor.”

Your brows pinched in confusion and you looked up from the pillow you had made of his shoulder. “Forgive you for what?”

“This,” he whispered as he dragged a fingertip down your neck, the touch a little tender but not sore. “And this.” You followed the trail he danced along your skin and saw the deep red hickeys his mouth had made, the slight dents around your breast in the shape of his teeth and the light purple bruises of his fingers on your hips. “I’m so sorry, I got carried away.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Sitting up, you placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving. You knew he would go down to the gym and spend the rest of his day there, running until he couldn’t move because he thought he deserved the punishment. “I can take everything you have to give, baby. I want it, I want to be the one who can make you feel better on your worst night. I want to be the one you can let yourself go with.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said after swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you said with a smile before leaning down to capture his full lips that were begging to be kissed. “It was quite the opposite.”

“Yeah?” he asked as his eyes traced your curves and he saw your nipples begin to peak beneath the heated gaze. You bit your lip and nodded, giggling when he pulled you on top of him. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Carlos, you’re ruining my afterglow,” you murmured as you kissed his jawline and felt the echo of the burn of his short beard between your thighs.

Rolling over, he pinned you beneath his body and you felt his heavy length against your hip as he stared down at you, the love still as strong as the day you wed. And just like that day, he made a vow, “I promise I can fix it.”

#carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction

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ot9snumber1 · 1 year ago

Text

siren song

siren!sana minatozaki x reader

summary: dahyun gets your crew shipwrecked. jeongyeon says she's got it under control. you take a walk to clear your head—clearly not the best idea.

warnings: smut, blood, manipulation(?), 2yeon!, implied death(s) but the main one is up to interpretation, i know nothing about pirates nor sirens i'm making things up

notes: just wanted to write something based on the dive teasers and ended up making it way longer than my usual fics,, i also couldn't help but insert misamo in this. u guys know me and misamo...

also, dedicated to the lovely @royaltozaki <3

wc: 3.2k

"damn it!" you yell, kicking a rock in frustration. dahyun trails behind you as you pace around the beach, muttering constant apologies.

"captain—"

"enough! do you realize what you've done?" dahyun shrinks at your tone, nodding and looking even more guilty. "what if we're stranded here forever? you have no idea how hard it is to get rescued—hell, i don't think we have enough supplies to last us two mon—"

you had dahyun cornered against a tree. voice laced with venom, seeing pure red as the younger girl did her best to hold back tears.

your scolding was cut off by jeongyeon putting a hand on your shoulder. "y/n." she says, her tone not exactly harsh, but very far from the usual banter she'd have with you.

"lay off the poor girl, will ya?" jeongyeon frowns, moving to stand between you and the newbie. "she's doing her best."

you cross your arms, jaw clenched and staring at her like she was crazy. the taller woman sighs, nodding understadingly. she couldn't blame you for being mad—you were just doing your job as captain, after all. she just wished you wouldn't be so harsh on dahyun.

"look, i've got it covered. jihyo and i are working on the engine, nayeon's preparing lunch for everyone." she says, a gentler tone this time as she puts both hands on your shoulders. no matter that you were the captain now, you'd always be the little girl she and nayeon rescued in her eyes. "take a walk, okay? it's a beautiful island, it'll help clear your mind."

you grumble, looking away to think as you tapped your foot on the sand repeatedly. she's right, you were just letting your frustrations get the best of you. "fine." you mumble, storming off without another word.

jeongyeon sighs.

"i wouldn't worry too much about her," she says as she turns around, putting her hand on dahyun's shoulder this time. "she's just sensitive about this stuff."

dahyun looks at her, puzzled. jeongyeon nods, already knowing what she was going to ask. "she lost her girlfriend—tzuyu—in a wreck a few years ago. it was the one expedition where she wasn't there."

"she's captain now—give 'er some space, okay? she just wants to protect us, you included." jeongyeon reassures her, giving a smile and squeezing her arm before leading the both of them back to where the others were.

—

you curse to yourself as you trip over another root, kicking the tree that it belonged to. you wipe the sand off your front and sleeves, brows furrowing as you take deep breaths.

this definitely wasn't helping, you think. you huff, finding yourself in an area fenced off by rocks. the tide wasn't high, leaving more than enough room for you to sit and draw on the sand.

you sit, the waves barely crashing against the tip of your shoes. you take back what you thought—it was as beautiful and peaceful as jeongyeon described, you were just too stubborn to let it calm you down.

your focus goes to the wet sand in front of you. scooting closer, you shiver when you feel your pants begin to soak. the waves reach your ankles.

you keep staring at the dark sand, watching how the water continues to crash against it. leaving rocks and shells only to bring them back with it the next time a wave crashes.

without giving it much thought, you trace a heart into the sand. the next wave only consumes half of it, you redraw that half quickly.

the initials of you and tzuyu's names are written shortly after, a small smile gracing your face before the wave crashes back and takes tzuyu's inital back with it.

"what's up with you and taking my love, hm?" you scoff and toss a small stone into the water, attention back to the waves that continued to crash against your shoes and the cuffs of your pants.

"this is dumb." you mutter, running a hand through your hair. you cringe when you feel the strands that stuck to your sweaty skin. "jeong was right. mind cleared, time to go." you stand up, not even attempting to wipe the wet sand off your pants. you'd just gross yourself out.

"i don't think you've cleared your mind."

you whip your head around. that wasn't a voice you were familiar with. was your crew followed?

a giggle follows and you shiver, grabbing a small knife from your belt. "i'm not afraid of a fight." you say, getting into a protective stance. "i've taken the loves—"

"i don't care what you've taken." you see something—someone emerge from behind a rock in the water, head just barely peeking above the sea. "unless it's me, of course."

she smiles, her eyes dangerous.

"put that thing down." the mystery woman says, pointing at the knife in your hand. you shake your head.

"i said put it down." she seems to sing through her words this time, kind smile replaced with a deep scowl. you were about to tell her to piss off until you hear a quiet thump beside you.

you look down. when did you drop the knife? you were just holding it with an iron grip just a second ago—

"come here."

you were too busy trying to process what just happened to even realize that your legs were walking towards her.

"what the fuck?" you gasp once the cool water hits your chest. "what do you want? what are you? why are you—"

she laughs once more, finally face-to-face with you. "isn't she cute, girls?" she hums. you feel something wrap around your legs, her arms pulling you closer by the waist.

you look down, going stiff at seeing what exactly was holding your legs together. a tail.

a siren's tail.

you panic instantly, trying to free yourself from her grip. her grin only grows as a hand goes over your mouth and another pair holds your arms together.

you look to your side—another siren, black hair and blunt bangs squishing your face a little too hard. you look to your other side, a third siren, long black hair—long enough to cover her chest—held your arms tight against your body.

you look back to the one in front of you, light brown hair and a stare that burned straight down your core.

"a little feisty, though." the one holding your face says, squeezing a little harder when she feels you open your mouth to protest.

"doesn't matter, they're all the same anyway." the brunette—you assume she was their leader—muses, carefully moving the hand away from your mouth. you open it to say something, but she just shakes her head.

you can't seem to form words after that.

"hm," she whispers, face just inches from yours as she gets lost in thought.

"momo, mina, leave. this one's mine." she commands. they leave your side almost instantly, you sigh out of relief when you regain control over your arms.

"bring leftovers home for us, yeah, sana?" momo quips before disappearing into the water with mina.

you look back to sana. she was still staring straight through you, her gaze never left. not even to bid her girls goodbye.

"sana is a pretty name." the words leave your mouth before you can even think. what the hell were you doing? she was about to kill you, for fuck's sake!

the siren raises her eyebrows, a seductive smile gracing her face. "you're not concerned that she implied that i'm going to eat you?"

she observes you. every breath you take, every blink and every time you have to peel your eyes away from her cleavage. nothing goes undetected in her eyes.

you take the time to think. what exactly were you feeling? you were tzuyu's. you swore you always would be, no matter what. it's not like you were committing to anything with the creature holding you captive. hell, you were 100% sure she'd just gotten into your head.

jeongyeon had always warned you about sirens, but you never believed her. in your eyes, she was just trying to keep you from getting out of her sight.

now you couldn't keep your eyes away from sana.

maybe you were just sexually frustrated. she is very attractive for a monster known to kill pirates. then again, that's how they get 'em. or you're just bored. maybe it's both.

"...no?" you'd given the answer much thought, yet you were still unsure. sana feels her hunger and desire grow tenfold.

she grins again and you catch a glimpse of her razor sharp canines. "for a captain, you're really stupid. i like you." she hums, giving you exactly a second to process her words before crashing her lips onto yours.

this was wrong, so terribly wrong. you were kissing someone that wasn't your tzu and breaking the promise you made to jeongyeon about not daring to look at a siren.

you tense up and she notices, prompting her to move a hand to your neck and hold you still. unsurprisingly, her touch was ice cold. you moan involuntarily at that.

she wasn't even choking you or anything, she just felt so good against you.

"not so bad, huh?" she whispers when she pulls away to grant you a breath. sana hums something you couldn't comprehend and you nod, the action completely out of your control. "mhm, that's what i wanted to see."

you finally gave up trying to distinguish what were your choices and what was controlled by her song. your body belonged to her now, as far as the both of you knew.

sana kisses you again, trying not to smile too much when you sigh into it. her tongue swipes against your bottom lip, making you whine against her mouth once more.

you part your lips, wanting to feel her tongue against yours. instead, you feel her sharpest teeth pierce the skin of it.

you pull away, hating the taste of blood. you watch it drip down to the water before looking up at sana, her mouth dripping in your blood too.

"what? it hurts?" she grins, leaning in for another taste. "let's get you cleaned up, then." you have no time to respond before you're pushed into the water. (thankfully, you screwed your eyes shut before she did so.)

the wound on your lip stings. you try to swim up, but sana just pulls you back down and continues kissing you like it were nothing. her tongue goes in and out, you can feel her sharp nails scratching against your waist. at least her lips on yours distracted you from the pain of it all.

you feel her lips on your neck. your breath would hitch, but you can't breathe—you don't want to breathe. not necessarily craving death, but if it meant you'd never have to live with the fact you were letting this happen, it didn't sound terrible to you.

you're pulled back up, but she hardly lets you breathe anyway. one hand on the collar of your dress shirt, stopping you from escaping (as if you were trying to) and another rubbing your pussy through your pants. you weren't her first victim, you were sure of it now.

"wait—wait, sana—"

she finally pulls back for more than a second, pouting. "it's not very fun if i give you everything you want."

you raise an eyebrow, panting as you wipe blood off your lips. "this is the first time you've let me breathe since you pulled me into the water."

sana tilts her head, biting her lip as she looks away from your bleeding lip and up to your eyes. "cute. i can only give you one thing, you know? that's how we keep it fun, darling."

"now choose: the ability to breathe freely," she seems uninterested as she tears the buttons off your soaked shirt. "or let me do whatever i want?"

her eyes flit back up to you.

"well?"

"i was told to kill your kind, you know."

sana laughs again, backing you up against a large rock. it was incredibly attractive, like listening to death come collect your soul.

—

jeongyeon frowns when she sees that nayeon still hadn't touched her food, nor had she even sat down after telling everyone lunch was ready.

she gets down on the shore again, walking towards nayeon. the older woman was just standing, barefoot on the sand and letting the waves cover them in sand.

"worried about her?" jeongyeon asks, voice as gentle as the shore as she stands beside her lover. nayeon nods, leaning her head on her shoulder. "of course i am."

"she's strong, nay. she'll come back and forgive dahyun, trust me."

"not about that, jeong." nayeon mutters, fiddling with her necklace now. jeongyeon purses her lips.

"give her ten more minutes before i look for her, okay?"

nayeon nods, feeling a small weight lift off her chest. "okay."

—

"fuuuck, sana!" you groan as her tongue swirls around your nipple, her fingers pinching the other. you take a fistful of her wet hair and desperately attempt to push her head down to your pussy.

"got somewhere else to be?" she asks, her free hand replacing her lips as she straightens up. "...yes. your head has somewhere else to be, too." you mumble in frustration, face flushed.

"right." sana teases, opting to suck more hickeys into your neck instead. you were even more pissed now, but you found yourself too weak to protest against how fast she wanted to do things. she licks the fresh mark, making you whine.

"you hungry? your mom was making you lunch before this, no?"

"she's not my mom!" you reply, your mind wondering how sana knew about nayeon. then again, she'd probably been stalking you since you got shipwrecked here. "and i'm not hungry."

"i am." sana husks against your ear, chest heaving against yours. you tense up again. "calm down, i'm not going to devour you like that."

"not yet at least." she mumbles as she undoes your pants. you didn't allow yourself to laugh. "not funny." you mumble, she shrugs. "wasn't trying to be, darling."

sana lowers herself, kissing across your stomach while pulling your pants down. she takes your hands and forces you to hold them together. "do not touch me."

you weren't going to anyway, in fear of her using her song on you again. you learn to stop trying to predict her behavior. now you physically couldn't let go of your hands, just watching helplessly as sana descended into the water.

your leg gets thrown over her shoulder and she immediately latches onto your clit.

you hiss, her mouth warm compared to the cool water enveloping your entire lower half. you hear her faint giggles as her nails dig into your thigh, lapping up as much of you as she could.

her tongue was moving faster than you could think—in and out, swirling around your clit, moving anywhere and everywhere to coax those delicious sounds out of you. she was a relentless predator and you were just meek prey.

you whine through clenched teeth when you feel yourself rapidly approaching your climax. you didn't want to cum for her at all—much less give her the satisfaction of making you do so this quickly, but everything about her was so alluring and you were incredibly desperate to feel something after so long.

you make the mistake of looking down at her, bucking your hips up when you realize her eyes were still on you the whole time.

she lifts you up out of the water, both of your legs over her shoulders while her hands moved to steady your hips. you were practically laying on the smooth rock, hissing from the slight burn it gave you.

the filthy sound of sana eating you out was much easier for you to hear now and it drove you crazy. your thighs close around her head as you continue grinding against her face, making her smile against your lips. "cum, darling. don't be so scared of me." sana whispers, breath hot against you.

you stop fighting against it, cumming hard when she kisses your clit. your body relaxes quickly after, panting and focusing on trying to form a coherent thought that you didn't bother to notice sana was singing again.

sighing out of relief when you realize she was giving you control over your hands again, you lean up slightly only to see her climbing on top of you.

"we're not done, captain." she whispers against your wounded lips, capturing them in another kiss.

you try not to cringe at the feeling of her slimy tail against your legs.

—

"y/n, it's not funny anymore. you're going to give nayeon a heart attack!" jeongyeon calls out, sighing when you're not hiding out in a clearing amidst the trees.

it's been nearly an hour since she started looking for you. how far out could you have gone?

jeongyeon continues walking, her pace quickening the more she thinks about finding you passed out on the ground. she'd never forgive herself if anything happened—going on a walk to clear your head was her idea after all. (she'd never forgive herself for how nayeon would react, either.)

"y/n, i'm serious!" she calls out once more, reaching another part of the beach. her heartbeat quickens once she sees footprints.

—

your hands were on sana's boobs, one massaging and the other pinching at her nipple. she moans into your mouth, her hands going over yours.

"rougher, darling. how many times do i have to tell you?" sana says, smiling when she sees how tired you were when she pulled away from your lips. you were doing your best to catch your breath, hating that you couldn't keep up with sana.

it's not like you could shove her off you and kill her anyway, you could hardly move your legs as is. you hate that you fell into her trap—that you let her plan unfold.

there wasn't a single merciful bone in her body either. she was only keeping you alive to torture you at this point.

sana's lips reattach to your neck, kissing harshly but not leaving any more marks for the sake of keeping your head attached to your body.

her ears perk up when she hears someone calling your name from a distance, the fins extending as she looked towards the direction of the voice. you did too, heart dropping at the sight of jeongyeon looking around and yelling your name. you pray that sana dragged you out far enough for her not to spot you like this.

"ah, what a shame. that's our cue, darling." sana hums, letting herself fall back into the water and pulling you with her. you struggle against her grip, using the last of your strength to push her away. still, she was hardly exhausted. she easily captures you once more, holding you tight and forcing you to watch jeongyeon's figure on the shore grow smaller and smaller.

"don't worry, it's not the end for you yet." sana whispers, her lips grazing your ear. "you've been my favorite to ruin, darling."

you feel tears run down your cheek as you both submerge under the water once more. you don't bother to close your eyes anymore, the ocean didn't sting as much as it did years ago anyway.

sana sings again, her voice muffled in your ears. everything goes dark the second after she stops.

"rest up, darling." sana smiles, her arms tightening around you.

#siren!sana #sana minatozaki x reader #sana x reader #sana minatozaki smut #twice x reader #twice smut #sana minatozaki imagines #twice imagines

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thebenjiblackwoodexpress · 7 months ago

Text

Fire on Fire Part. 3

Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Description: Aegon made a promise to his niece 6 years ago that he would marry her. Separated by distance and the passage of time, Aegon still intends to keep his promise to the only girl he ever loved. When Rhaenyra returns with her children to King's Landing, Aegon hopes to get Y/N to fall in love with him all over again but quickly learns her heart may not be so easily won. So ensues an elaborate game of cat and mouse which Aegon is determined to win.

Previous part Dividers by @zaldritzosrose

Writer's note: Hiiiii! I'd recommend reading the previous 2 parts for context of when they were teenagers but you could probably read this as a standalone. There will be future parts. I've played around with time, so Rhaenyra and her kids spend around a week at KL before the events of Lord of the Tides.

Warnings: female reader with Targaryen features, targcest (uncle and niece), sexual innuendo, Aegon being fairly toxic and possessive at points. Childhood friends to lovers to enemies to lovers vibes. Aged up characters. Will be canon divergent. Aegon isn't a rapist in this because if Ryan Condal can write fanfiction, so can I.

The sky looked just as it had when he'd watched Y/N disappear into it on her dragon 6 years ago. Standing at the entrance to the Red Keep, in the same spot he had that very day, Aegon could almost pretend that no time had passed at all until he saw her step out of the carriage behind her mother, his sister. And it felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. She was still Y/N, with the same silver hair that shone like a thousand glittering stars and the singular beauty he could only describe as cutting. But she was more mature now, her features more defined, a woman rather than the girl he had known and loved. He was much changed, too, and he wondered for a moment if Y/N would even recognise him now. But she was not even looking at him. Her lilac eyes were trained upon his brother Aemond, fixing upon the eye patch that concealed his scar. Don't look at him, Aegon thought. Look at me. And that same possessiveness he'd long held towards Y/N, for as long as he could remember, simmered to the surface.

As if he'd called her name, her eyes met his, widening slightly in recognition. The world around them seemed to fade away as they stood gazing at one another, and Aegon felt an uncontrollable need to be close to her suddenly. He wanted to touch her face, trace its contours, and measure the passage of time in their subtle changes. He wanted to pull her to him and wrap his arms around her, to press her body against his and see if it still felt like something inevitable and completely right. He wanted to kiss her and see if those lips that could speak such cold words could still feel like fire against his. But most of all, he wanted to talk to her, to hear her speak his name again, to hear her say anything. Y/N had been the first and last person to truly understand him. They had always been one in the same, and he wanted so badly to feel that familiarity once again. A sharp pain in his ribs jolted him out of his stupor as Aemond not so subtly jabbed him in his side.

"Aegon, won't you greet our guests?" His mother's voice sounded terse and strained. She must have tried to get his attention several times before he'd heard her.

Hands clasped behind his back he inclined his head towards Rhaenyra first.

"It's good to see you again, sister, nephews."

And it was. A part of him had always wanted to be close to his elder sister, though the tense relations between his mother and Rhaenyra had rendered this but a wistful dream. And he'd had a close friendship with Jacaerys in childhood. Though, any residual affection he had could not extend to Lucerys. He'd cost his own brother his eye, and Aegon had long blamed the boy for his separation from Y/N. He turned to his niece again, once more finding himself lost in the depth of her eyes.

"Niece." It was almost embarrassing how tender the appellation sounded in his mouth, and Aegon knew this had not been lost on those around him for he could see Aemond wince out of the corner of his eye.

"Uncle." By contrast, Y/N's voice was cold and devoid of any emotion, her gaze steely. Aegon's heart plummeted. He'd expected her anger might have waned in the 6 years they'd been apart, that she might have missed him as he had her, though perhaps not as acutely. He'd been quite certain that he'd loved her a great deal more than she loved him. But he still remembered the promise he had made to her on that fateful day at Driftmark when he'd taken her first kiss. He had said that he would marry her one day. Aegon intended to keep this promise and vye for her heart all over again. He had wanted one girl and one girl only his whole life and if she were still a little angry with him he was prepared to weather the storm, to take her ire in his stride and forge a path back into her heart. With renewed determination, he quirked his lips up at Y/N in a smile that was full of intention. He couldn't feel too sorry to have her frown back at him. She'd always been particularly beautiful to him when angry, blazing with an intensity only the stars could manage.

At supper, he noted that Y/N took up her old spot opposite him as if by habit. Though she said but little, and nothing at all to him, he had observed a slight pinkening of her cheeks as he'd continued to try and catch her eye all evening, prompting a satisfied smirk from him which she seemed to bristle at, steadfastly avoiding his gaze from then on. It seemed his niece was determined to play hard to get. Aegon was all too willing to accept the challenge, thoughts whirring in his mind of how best to get Y/N alone so she would have to speak to him.

Aegon was up earlier than he thought he'd ever been in his life, dressing quickly before the sun had even risen. He paced the floors of his chambers in nervous anticipation until he saw the first pinpricks of sunlight break through the blanket of the early morning sky. Then, he briskly walked to his niece's old chambers, where she'd happily been installed once again, much to his pleasure since it was but a short distance from his own.

He leant against the wall beside her door, preparing to wait for her until she emerged to break her fast. She couldn't very well deny him her company if he just happened to be in the vicinity of her chambers and offered her his arm to walk her to the morning room. He jumped slightly as her door opened with a soft click, having become lost in his thoughts as he waited. Lost in thoughts of her in truth, of what dress she might wear, of how her maids might have arranged her hair, and how she might react to his being right outside her chambers. The reality was far from what he had pictured, her eyebrows pulling together and her expression taking on a blackness he misliked. He'd always been good at reading her emotions, for she always wore them on her sleeve around him. This emptiness was unnerving to him.

"Good morrow, uncle."

Aegon tried not to be ruffled by her indifferent tone, only investing his own with more energy.

"Good morrow, Y/N. I thought we might head to the morning room together. My mother and sister would be pleased to break their fast with you there." He didn't rightly know whether they would. He didn't care, but it wasn't a bad ruse.

Holding his arm out to her in invitation and drawing up the most charming smile he could muster, Aegon silently pleaded with her to take his arm.

"Please offer them my apologies. I don't much like to eat early in the morning. Besides, my mother has requested my presence in her chambers."

Aegon's face fell, his arm dropping back to his side limply as he watched Y/N speed down the hallway away from him. She was lying, that much he knew. She simply didn't want to be in his presence, and that knowledge sent a jolt of pain through him. For the first time, Aegon considered that he might not be able to win Y/N back. Perhaps he'd been foolish to think they could start right where they'd left off, despite their estrangement of 6 years. He realised that in trying to protect his mother and brother at Driftmark, and in so doing inadvertently call Y/N a bastard, he might just have lost her for good. It didn't help that she'd returned in the first place to reaffirm Lucery's right to Driftmark once the Sea Snake passed. But he couldn't believe that. He couldn't give up on her, not without a fight. They'd played many games as children. Now, they would simply play another. If Y/N wanted a game of cat and mouse, then he would be obliging.

"Just the princess I was looking for."

Aegon smirked as Y/N nearly dropped the book she was holding. The clever minx probably thought it unlikely he should find her in here. But she must have forgotten all of the times he'd sought her out in the library in their youth, when he'd first realised he was in love with her and would have done anything to be at her side. His mind wandered to the feeling of her hand running through his hair as she'd read.

"What for?" It took Aegon a moment to understand what she was asking, though he quickly shook himself out of his reverie. He was hardly going to win Y/N over if he continued to just stare at her stupidly.

"I was hoping to get your recommendations on some reading material." At her look of incredulity, he slowly moved towards her. As he got closer, he noticed her taking minute steps backwards, her back hitting the bookshelf behind her as he came to a stop right in front of her.

"You? You want to read a book."

Aegon smirked at her.

"Don't look so surprised. I read to you once, didn't I?"

As if by fate he spotted the familiar spine of the book he'd once read aloud to her when she was overcome by a wave of seasickness and barely able to keep her eyes open. His voice had lulled her into a peaceful sleep.

Placing one hand on the bookshelf on one side of her as if to steady himself, he reached across her body with his other arm to grab the book, effectively encasing her in his arms. At her sharp intake of breath he smiled to himself, presenting the book to her innocently.

Y/N sounded a little breathless as she spoke.

"You remember?"

Aegon stepped closer, shifting his hand so that his fingers just grazed her bodice. He spoke so lowly she couldn't have heard him had he not lowered his head until theirs were nearly touching.

"I remember everything."

Y/N only stared at him with wide eyes at first, but he caught her gaze flicker briefly to his lips. Experimentally, he trailed his fingers down her side. A feather light touch, he didn't want to push his luck. And then she was stepping away from him, turning to the opposite book case and grabbing a thick and dusty book, which she promptly shoved against his chest.

"I think you'll like this one better."

And with that, she was scurrying away from him once again, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor of the library as she fled.

Looking down at the red tome in his hands, Aegon laughed. No one had been able to exact such a genuine sound from him in years.

Of course, she'd hand him the Book of Holy Prayer. Gods only knew what tales she'd heard of him to think he'd have need of such a thing. He placed it back in its rightful place on the shelf, he reclaimed the romantic novel he'd dropped as Y/N had forcibly shoved his arm away from her. As he left the library, the book under his arm, he winked at the maester, who'd just entered holding a bundle of scrolls. It had likely given the poor old fellow quite a fright to see Aegon of all people coming from the library, more still with a book tucked under his arm.

Perusing the novel that afternoon gave Aegon an idea of how he could convince Y/N to spend some time with him. He thought in time she might come to appreciate the deviousness of it. As they sat opposite each other at supper once again he addressed her directly.

"Y/N, I wondered if you might play a game of Cyvasse with me on the morrow. We used to enjoy playing together as children and I can have a board set up."

He caught Y/N exchanging a glance with Rhaenyra before turning back to him.

"I apologise, uncle. But I don't remember the rules."

Aegon's smile only grew at her refusal. He'd anticipated as much.

"I'd be more than happy to catch you up to speed."

Another curious look at her mother prompted Aegon to think she might actually be asking for her permission. It was evidently denied.

"Alas, I don't think I'll have any free time for games tomorrow. But thank you for the kind offer, uncle."

Time to put his plan into action, Aegon thought.

Lowering his voice and leaning across the table so no one else could hear him, he played his card.

"Y/N I'm starting to think you don't want to spend time with me. In which case I might be forced to recite some passages from one of your romance novels as this evening's entertainment."

His threat seemed to have had the desired effect as she gawped at him, mouth hanging open like a fish. Though a very comely fish, Aegon thought. The novel didn't have anything too damning in its pages, but it did contain a few rather silly passages he was sure Y/N would rather not be aired publicly.

She whispered through gritted teeth.

"You wouldn't dare."

Aegon smirked.

"Oh, I would." He started to rise from his seat as if to address the rest of the family sat around the dinner table before she promptly stomped on his foot under the table.

He hissed in pain, glaring at her.

"Seven hells Y/N."

The raucous they were making had earned them several looks from his mother, and sister, but they quickly returned to their conversations as he smiled blithely back at them.

"I'll play a game with you if you keep your mouth shut. OK?"

Aegon smiled brightly at Y/N's acceptance of spending time with him.

"Excellent, that wasn't so hard was it? I'll come by your chambers tomorrow to get you."

Y/N glared at him the rest of the night, seemingly trying to scorch him and turn him to cinders beneath her gaze. Aegon was simply pleased to have her full and undivided attention on himself. She wasn't looking at his brother now. She was looking at him.

Aegon thought Y/N remembered the rules of Cyvasse pretty well, considering she was currently sat across from him and thrashing him. What had looked like a small victory for him had quickly turned sour as he glumly looked a the board.

Y/N was comparatively gleeful, with a self-satisfied look gracing her features.

"The rules seem to have come back to you, niece."

Taking another one nof his castles, Y/N leant back and smiled broadly at him.

"I think you're just bad at this game, uncle. Your problem is that you never have a strategy."

Aegon's hand hovered over the board as he considered his next move, but he looked across it into her eyes at her assumption.

"You'd be surprised. I'd say I have a pretty clear idea of what I want and what I have to do to get it."

His mouth upturned as he saw her swallow down a retort.

He gasped suddenly, pointing behind her at nothing at all. As she whipped her head around he quickly reached across the table separating them and made a grab for her trebuchet piece, concealing it within a closed fist. She turned back towards him with an air of suspicion, looking from him to the board and back to him again as he presumed an air of innocence.

"Ah, perhaps I was mistaken. I thought I saw..."

"What piece have you taken, Aegon?"

He grinned at her. That was the first time she'd said his name since she'd arrived.

He presented the piece to her, quickly retracting it when she made a grab for it.

"I'll give it back to you if you give me something I want in return."

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. He knew she was too competitive to abandon a game mid-play. She'd want to see it through and so she'd humour his request.

"What do you want?"

Aegon leant towards her, so close her breath was fanning his face as she followed his movements. He raised his free hand to curl a tendril of her hair around his fingers.

"I want you to take a stroll in the garden with me on the morrow." It seemed like the type of thing lovers would do in Aegon's mind, at least the type of lovers he'd read about in Y/N's books. So he thought she might like it. He wanted to do all of the things that happened in her books with her, if that was the type of love she sought. If she'd only let him.

Y/N let out a shuddering breath as if she'd been holding it waiting to hear what he'd request.

"Is that all?"

With a final stroke of her hair he dropped his hand and leant back in his chair.

"That's all."

"No."

Aegon quirked his eyebrow up, not having expected her refusal to such an innocent request.

"No?"

"I don't trust you. You're playing some game."

Aegon smiled coyly at her, weaving the piece he'd taken from her between his fingers.

"I thought we were both playing a game, my dear niece."

He didn't mean Cyvasse, and he didn't think she thought he did either.

With an agility he hadn't known she'd possessed, Y/N made a quick grab for the piece that was almost successful, though he pulled it back out of her reach.

"Give it to me, Aegon."

Ah, there you are, Aegon thought. That was his fierce girl, half savage and half his.

He reclined nonchalantly back in his seat.

"Come and get it then."

Her irritation with him plain to see on her face, Y/N rose and moved around the table to stand before him with her hand outstretched expectantly.

Aegon placed the trebuchet piece in her hand before quickly enclosing his hand over Y/N's and yanking her towards him. Not expecting his ruse, she fell into his lap with a shriek, and he quickly entrapped her in his arms. He grinned at her devilishly, more than a little pleased with this turn of events.

Y/N pushed against his hold, huffing in frustration as he didn't move an inch.

"Let me up, you swine."

"Only if you promise to go on a stroll with me."

Y/N glared at him wordlessly, though she stopped struggling, seeing it was futile.

Aegon tutted at her. "I'm quite comfortable like this and don't think I'll have any desire to move anytime soon. If you want your freedom, you'll have to give me what I want, I'm afraid. Is spending time with me really such an awful prospect?" He couldn't help the tinge of insecurity that came through in his words. Did she really hate him that much?

But it seemed to be that note which finally struck a chord with Y/N. Sighing with resignation and relaxing against him, Y/N looked at him sternly.

"Fine, but I will hurt you if you try to ravish me behind some bushes. I've heard about your reputation."

Aegon felt a levity in his heart again. He could see the smile Y/N was trying to conceal, hear the jest in her words.

"Oh darling, I wouldn't dream of it." He would. He definitely had. But he wouldn't tell her that. Instead, he finally released her from the cage of his arms and let her stand up, though he immediately bemoaned the loss of her.

Aegon had quickly captured Y/N's arm and wrapped it around his, firmly tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow as soon as he'd seen her enter the garden. He'd been worried for a short while that she wouldn't come at all. But there she was, utterly resplendent in the morning sunlight.

"Come then, Y/N. Tell me what you've been up to in Dragonstone these past 6 years."

Y/N looked up at him quizically.

"What do you want to know?"

Aegon responded immediately.

"Anything. Everything. Just talk to me."

And, finally, she did. Aegon didn't care if it was minutes or hours or days that passed because Y/N was speaking to him, laughing with him again, just as she had when they were children together. Everything was going a little too well, however, for Aegon was too busy staring at Y/N to realise he was walking them into a path of rose bushes. Evidently, she was too busy staring at him to notice either, giving Aegon only a few seconds to grab hold of her and turn her towards him before she fell into it. Regrettably, the rapidity at which he'd turned her had caused her dress to fan out and get caught in the thorns.

"Oh bother." Y/N had sighed exasperatedly, reaching down to untangle herself before Aegon had stopped her and crouched down himself.

"Allow me." This seemed like the sort of thing a romantic interest would do for his beloved in a novel. Aegon remembered Y/N had always like the part where the knight rescued the princess best.

To his surprise, Y/N only started swatting at him frantically.

"Aegon, get up. If anyone were to come across us and see you under my skirts, they'll think.."

"What? Oh, no I don't care if they think that."

"Aegon!"

"I'm just joking. You're being ridiculous. Anyway, I'll be quick."

He paused, unable to resist teasing her a little more when she was blushing so deliciously.

"But, if we were doing what you think your imaginary spectators would think we were doing, then..."

She grabbed a chunk of his hair suddenly, giving it a threatening tug.

"Aegon, I swear if you finish that sentence I'm going to shove your face in that rose bush."

He chuckled, happy enough to have her fingers in his hair. He redirected his focus back to the matter at hand, though her constant shifting made it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

"Stop squirming."

"I can't keep my balance."

Aegon pretended to sigh exasperatedly whilst hiding his smile. He patted his shoulder in invitation.

"Fine then, just sit on my shoulder while I do this." He could see Y/N looked sceptical at first, but she perched tentatively on his shoulder after a few moments, her hand resting on his back to support her.

The soft tread of footsteps had the both of them snapping their heads up to see Aemond turn the bend. He halted in his steps upon seeing them, although he quickly turned back in the opposite direction, his lips turned upwards in a smirk that seemed to say this was exactly the position he'd expect to find them in.

Y/N threw her hands up.

"Perfect."

Aegon reached up from detangling her skirts to pat her thigh reassuringly.

"Not to worry, my sweet. No one would expect you to throw your lot in with me."

She slapped his hand away, eyes narrowed.

"I'm not your sweet."

Aegon simply smirked at her.

"You're right. I do prefer you venomous."

Seeing that he'd left her speechless for once, he turned back to the thorn bush and, with one final tug, successfully untangled Y/N's skirts. He couldn't save the mesh, which was torn in several places.

Rising from his crouch, he didn't expect to see such a forlorn and despairing look on Y/N's face as she stared at her torn dress. He felt a jolt of panic rush through him that he'd actually offended her with his teasing, frightened her even...

"Y/N, look, I'm sorry if I upset you or frightened you. I was only teasing."

She waved away his apology, pointing towards her skirts.

"No, I'm used to you. It's my dress. The mesh is hard to come by and it was my absolute favourite."

Aegon immediately regretted not being even more careful, hating to have upset Y/N by ruining her dress.

"I'm so sorry Y/N. Can't it be mended?"

She shook her head softly, looking up at him with a smile devoid of any malice or sarcasm.

"I don't think so. But it's just a dress after all. Thank you for helping me, Aegon."

He bowed his head respectfully as she passed by him.

"Of course."

Aegon watched after her as she disappeared into the walls of the Keep. The dress clearly did matter to her, and so it mattered to him. In the hopes of remedying his error, the Prince went in search of the Keep's seamstress.

Viserys hadn't been best pleased to learn that whilst he was confined to his sick bed, Queen Alicent had not arranged for a banquet to be held in Rhaenyra's honour. This was an oversight he commanded her to resolve quickly. Thus, it was that in a few days hence the family would host a banquet with all the most important nobles in attendance. The whole affair seemed rather farcical to Aegon since this was hardly a friendly visit, with the succession to Driftmark hanging in the balance. He only hoped that the dress he had requested to be made for Y/N would be ready in time. The Keep's seamstress had assured him she would be able to get hold of the same diaphanous mesh material of the one he'd inadvertently torn. Aegon was anxious to please Y/N, to give her a reason to consider him again as a suitor for her hand. He had little doubt his mother and Rhaenyra would be steadfastly opposed to such a match for that had been the case when they were adolescents. But he wouldn't allow their petty arguments to keep him and Y/N apart any longer...provided Y/N felt the same. She seemed increasingly amenable to his advances, taking his arm when offered and allowing him to lead her to meals, and her manner was much warmer and familiar when they talked now than it had been only a few days ago. But he could tell there was still something amiss, a wall she had built up between them he was determined to break down.

On the morning of the banquet, the seamstress knocked on Aegon's door to show him Y/N's completed dress. He was satisfied with the outcome, the material was just as grand as her previous dress had been. He only hoped she'd think so, too, once she saw it. Perhaps she would even wear it later that evening. Before sending the seamstress off to Y/N's quarters with the dress, he quickly scribbled a note to his niece.

Quelos,

Please accept this dress as a replacement for the one I tore in the rose garden, along with my sincere apology. The material is as close a replica of your favourite gown as I could procure. I hope it will still please you and that you will wear it tonight at the banquet.

Aegon

Aegon had already drunk several cups of wine by the time Y/N entered the banquet hall, though it was her elegance and refined beauty that sent him stumbling back a pace rather than the alcohol. She was wearing the dress, and it fit her perfectly, swirling in burgundy pools of fabric around her with the intricately woven black mesh over the top. Returning his gaze to her face, he jolted slightly to see that she was already looking at him too and smiling softly. He felt himself smile back at her by reflex though as soon as he took a step towards her, his mother was calling for all the guests in attendance to take their seats. He made a beeline for the seat next to Y/N, roughly shoving Jacaerys aside and ignoring his cry of indignation.

Aegon heard Y/N trying to conceal a giggle with a cough, and smirked at her as he sat down. He turned to face her, leaning against his hand. "I take it you like my gift then?" Aegon was aiming for mild interest but he was genuinely curious to know what she thought of it. Smoothing the material out on her skirts, Y/N smiled brightly at him.

"I think it is very beautiful. Thank you. You didn't have to."

Aegon leaned further towards her.

"I wanted to."

The evening passed surprisingly pleasantly. Though Aegon didn't know if that was just because he was so preoccupied with trying to make Y/N laugh. He'd earned a pretty endearing snort from her with his impression of Lord Beesbury, much to her embarrassment. Though he did notice her continually glancing at his cup as he allowed a servant to fill it multiple times throughout the night. He normally needed to be drunk to get through these sorts of things, but Y/N's company made him want to stay sober, so he turned his goblet upside-down on the table, stopping a servant from filling it again. Y/N looked at him in surprise, her eyebrow quirked up. Aegon simply shrugged at her, though his ears perked up at something Rhaenyra had said at the other end of the table to his mother.

"The betrothal is all but arranged. There is just the matter of..."

Aegon's heart was thrumming in his ears, cold dread filling him. She couldn't mean Y/N? But the way Y/N was looking sheepishly down at her plate and refusing to meet his eyes all but confirmed it.

"Are you to be married?" Aegon could barely repress the rage he felt, gritting his words out.

Y/N nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Yes." By the sound of it, she wasn't too pleased about the arrangement either. Aegon grabbed Y/N's hand and pulled her up, ignoring her shocked expression, and he dragged her along with him to the centre of the banquet hall, where a dance was just about to begin.

"Dance with me." It wasn't a request. The time for patience was long passed. Aegon wasn't going to let Y/N slip away from him again to marry some other priggish Lord. He pulled her close to him, speaking lowly with anger lacing his voice.

"When were you going to tell me you were betrothed?"

Y/N looked surprised by his animosity.

"I didn't think it would matter to you. From what I've heard there are many other girls who've taken your interest since I left."

Aegon bristled. She didn't think it would matter to him.

"And we're you jealous? Like I was when you flirted with other lords and knights?"

"No, we no longer have any claims over one another. You can do as you please."

Aegon gripped her waist tighter.

"How can you say that? Is your heart still so hardened to me after what happened at Driftmark that you are blind to how I have pursued you ever since you returned? I apologised for what I said, sent you letters explaining why I had to say it. And you didn't reply to a single one." Aegon's voice was raw, thick with desperation. Y/N stared up at him in confusion.

"You sent me letters? I never received them."

Aegon felt his heart plummet. He had thought her lack of response meant that she hated him. To know she hadn't even read them was just as upsetting.

Aegon loosened his grip, holding her more gently.

"Then you don't know?"

"Know what, Aegon?"

"That I love you. I never stopped."

Y/N took a sharp intake of breath, searching his eyes for the truth in them, he thought. Then her gaze hardened again.

"I apologise if I have given you a false impression, uncle. But I am betrothed. I'm tired now, I think I'll retire for the evening."

Aegon was stunned by her coldness, her harshness after he poured his heart out to her. He was stunned only a short while before he shook himself out of his despondency. No, he didn't believe she no longer felt for him, and he wouldn't allow her to marry another man if there was any possibility of her returning his feelings. He followed her back to her chambers, not bothering to knock before letting himself in. Y/N jumped at the sound of the door opening, looking at him like he had three heads.

"What in the Seven Hells, Aegon! You can't be in here. Someone will see you."

Aegon shut the door behind him.

"I don't care. I need to know if you love him. That fool you said you're set to marry

Y/N shifted uncomfortably.

"I... like him. We like each other."

Aegon took broad steps towards her, stopping only when they were a hair's breadth from one another and placing a hand on her waist possessively.

"Like? Is that all you wish for, to be liked? You deserve to be passionately desired and fiercely loved." He tightened his hold on her for emphasis.

"It doesn't matter what I want. Mother has arranged it."

Aegon frowned.

"Of course it matters."

Y/n placed a hand on his chest to push him lightly away from her.

"What do you want from me Aegon?"

Aegon smiled sadly at her.

"You have to ask?"

Y/N shut her eyes briefly before fixing him with the full force of her gaze, which had long had the ability to bring him to his knees.

"We can't relive the past. Even if I wanted to. It's just too late." All Aegon could hear was that there was a part of her, however small that part might be, that still felt that frenetic energy between them. That wanted him too.

"I think we can. Maybe you'll fall in love with me all over again, if you give me a chance."

Y/N's eyes lit with something he couldn't place before immediately dulling into that blank mask of indifference he'd come to hate.

"Too much has happened. I think you should leave, Aegon"

Aegon grasped desperately at a reason to get her to just listen to him.

"Quelos, please." Her head snapped up, eyes locking with his. In them, a tenderness he'd not seen in years. He nearly sighed with relief at the sight of it.

"No one else calls me that."

Aegon approached her again, though he did not touch her this time.

"You are very like a star. In it's beauty and light. In is cold indifference and untouchable distance from mere mortals like me."

"I'm not indifferent to you." Y/N's reply was so instantaneous he scarcely caught it.

"What?"

"I said I'm not indifferent to you." Y/N was looking at him with such an affectionate expression, Aegon felt his heart was fit to burst. This was as close as she'd come to admitting she still held any feelings for him other than resentment at all.

"That's good. Because I find myself quite often overwhelmed with how much I feel for you. I always have an excruciating need to be near you. To talk to you, even when I have nothing to say. I think I have wished for you and nothing but you my whole life." He whispered the last, as if fearing that voicing his confession any louder would shatter this fragile understanding between them.

He hadn't realised how close he'd come towards Y/N, if he leant forward only a little their lips would touch. He also hadn't realised she was clutching his tunic, pulling him towards her even when she was trying so desperately to send him away.

"Are you telling the truth?" And for once Y/N looked insecure. Had she thought his feelings a lie after Driftmark or had she thought they would change?

"Yes, nuha quelos."

Her eyes widened. He'd never called her "his star" before.

Caught up in her beauty and the growing suspicion she might just feel the same for him, he made to kiss her only to have his head snap back violently when she slapped him.

"Seven hells! What are you? Dragon or girl?"

Holding his throbbing cheek, he relented in his anger as he looked up to see Y/N holding a hand over her mouth, her eyes alight with fear. He softened his voice, dropping his hand from his face so she didn't think she'd seriously hurt him.

"It's alright, Y/N. That was my fault. If you don't want me to kiss you, then I won't."

"But I did want you to kiss me."

Aegon blanked, then threw his hands up in confusion.

"Then why did you slap me, you infuriating woman?"

Y/N shuffled towards him sheepishly, tentatively raising a hand to stroke the red mark she'd left on his cheek.

"Since the day that you first kissed me...I have never been close like that with anyone else. I panicked."

Aegon held her hand in place over his cheek.

"Why?"

Y/n turned her gaze to the floor.

"I didn't want it with someone who wasn't you."

Aegon felt his heart stumble at her words. Smiling tenderly at her, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger to gently turn her gaze back to him.

"Good. I'd kill a man if I knew he'd touched you."

Y/N fixed him with a rueful glare.

"That's hardly fair. I'm supposed to be fine with you whoring yourself about the Red Keep, chasing after every skirt you see?"

Aegon smirked at her.

"So you do care?"

When she made to move away from him in annoyance, he quickly gathered her back into his arms, speaking affectionately to her to make up for his past deviances.

"It is you who has my heart. Who has always held it."

Y/N melted against him, though she still looked a little unsure.

"I don't know what to do."

Aegon stroked her cheek

"I'll teach you."

He leant down slowly, routinely searching her eyes for any doubt, any hint she didn't want him to kiss her. As she tilted her head up to meet his, he pressed their lips together. After a few moments, she began to respond, and it was just like it had been in their youth. Each brush of her lips against his felt like a fire burning through him and like a wound knitting together all at once. It didn't matter to him that she was inexperienced. He only wished he hadn't bothered kissing any other girl's lips. When she pulled away to catch her breath, he pressed their foreheads together, wanting to maintain this closeness between them.

"What did you write in your letters?"

Aegon chuckled at her sudden curiosity, entangling his fingers in her hair.

"Mostly, I was just begging you to forgive me for what I said at Driftmark, telling you I loved you and that I missed you."

Y/N stroked a hand across the plane of his chest.

"I missed you too."

Nuha quelos~my star

Quelos~star

Tagging:

@callsignwidow @lady-dragon-rider

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