#Series: Part 16 of Heart of darkness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

navybrat817 · 27 days ago

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Hold You Tight: Part 16

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 15 | Series Masterlist | Part 17

Chapter Word Count: Over 5.4k

Chapter Summary: Bucky tries to pull you closer when you want to pull away, and someone else in your life my not take no for an answer.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, arguing, tension, slight harassment, kissing, reference to stalking, inner turmoil, manipulation, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky traded lazy kisses with you as your tears slowed, and you had no idea if it was his mouth that had your heart pounding and the crushing weight of everything that surrounded him. It was so much to unpack. Every encounter with him seemed to be that way. Something blindsided you or suffocated you, but you hadn't been at all prepared for what he just shared. And how could you? He didn't keep photos of his mother around, and you hadn't gone poking around online.

Would you have found out the truth if you had?

He followed your lips when you pulled away. “It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling you back in.

It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Though it partially made sense now why he was moving so fast. He believed if he met you then that you would've fallen in love and been together to this day. Because he didn't seek you out then and lost so much time, he was packing everything into a rushed time span. Dating, meeting his friends, getting you into his place. He was moving things along at an accelerated speed, and you were barely keeping up with the ride.

“No.” The muffled word against his lips somehow rang out loud and clear enough for him to stop, but you put a hand on his chest in case he tried to lean in again. “Why are you punishing me?”

His eyes rounded. “You think I’m punishing you? Jesus, why would you think that?”

“Because of how you went about all of this. I know you were desperate, and I get the drive behind some of your actions now,” you said, which you refused to excuse. You got it but couldn’t excuse it. “Your response of ‘where’s the fun in that?’ when I said you couldn’t just ask me out like a normal person? You almost seemed to delight in intimidating me. Why?”

If you saved his mom, why do this?

“I didn’t delight in that. I played it wrong,” he admitted in a quiet voice, surprising you. “I approached it like…”

“Like everything else in your life where you have everyone under your thumb through fear. You did the same thing to me.” You laughed just a little. “In a way, it worked because I’m officially afraid to try to leave you.”

Had things blossomed between you two organically, you’d like to believe that things would’ve been better. Healthy. There was always the chance that a relationship might’ve come to an end because life was like that. But if he frightened you enough to stay forever, he’d never have to worry. The stars would still align as far as he was concerned.

“I don’t want you to fear me or what we have,” he whispered, reaching for you as you scooted back.

“What we have? Tell me, do you think your mom would be proud of your actions to obtain me or ashamed?” You couldn’t believe that was the kind of man she raised, to put fear into the heart of the person he supposedly loved.

He flinched. Actually flinched. You might as well have raised a hand to him. “She…” He swallowed. “She would’ve wanted us together.”

“Like this? By you not giving me a choice?” you asked, pushing yourself up. “I need to go home.” There would be no getting through to him and this revelation was doing your head in. One cup of coffee wasn't enough either.

He got up to follow you. “Why are you rushing off?”

“I have a shift today, and I have to go home and shower,” you said, grabbing some of your things. “Don’t worry about dropping me off. I’ll get a cab.”

“What? No, you-”

“You put money in my account, so it’s not like I have to worry about paying for it. And it’s not like I’ll be alone either since you’ll have me followed whether I want it or not,” you said as a matter of fact.

“You’re putting a wall up,” he said, frowning as you grabbed your phone charger before he could. “Don’t shut me out, please.”

“I’m not shutting you out. I’m trying to process the gigantic bombshell you dropped on me,” you said, stopping to look at him when he grabbed your arm. “Bucky-”

“This has been a lot, all of it, but we can’t go back and change it, and you know I can’t let you go because we’re meant to be together,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “You feel it. I know you do.”

How many times would he say that until you agreed? “Just because you think fate stepped in-”

“Fate brought you into my club, but I gave it a much-needed push to bring us together after leaving things to chance for so long,” he said, tugging you closer and putting his other hand on your cheek. “You can’t tell me you don’t care about me in some capacity. You’re just afraid to admit it because it isn’t conventional in your eyes, but you don’t have to be afraid of how you feel.”

How could you truly fall in love with him when he orchestrated everything from the start? “Feelings or not you’re still going to force me to move in with you soon, and that scares me,” you said. Your wings would forever be clipped.

“We should’ve been living together and married by now,” he argued, keeping a tight hold on you. “I know I’m making you move in sooner than you want, but beyond safety it’ll give us a chance to really know each other before we get married.”

Talk of marriage had your heart thudding. The man would probably force you to marry him sooner than you wanted. “You said you already know everything about me,” you said. At least he thought he knew you. The vision of you he built up in his mind scared you, too. He couldn’t keep you on that pedestal.

“But you don’t fully know me yet, and I don’t know what it’s like to live with you. The experience will bring us closer together.” His smile was full of hope. “We can read together, do movie nights, dance in the kitchen.”

“Bucky-”

“We can exercise together, in and out of bed,” he continued, your breath hitching as he rubbed his nose against yours. “Don’t you already feel closer to me now that you know we're meant to be?”

A quick knock on the door followed by a long one saved you from answering. “It isn't check-out time, is it?”

“No. That would be Ray,” Bucky headed to the door and kept you back a small distance before he answered. The man really was protective, wasn't he?

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Ray said, giving you a polite nod before he leaned in and whispered something to Bucky. Whatever was said to him made his face harden. The entire change in his demeanor worried you.

“Kotyonok, let’s get your bag and get you back to your place so you can get ready for work,” he suggested, his smile tight.

“What’s the matter?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” he answered, kissing your forehead. “And before we go, I know you suggested taking a cab, but please let Ray take you back to your place. It would make me feel better.”

The hint of a plea in his voice and the look in Ray’s eyes kept you from protesting. “Fine, Ray can take me home. Just give me a second to change out of these pajamas,” you said, a bit surprised that Bucky wasn’t offering to take you home himself. “But you are going to tell me later what’s going on, right?” you asked.

“I will, but I need some answers myself first. Get changed. I’ll get your bag,” he said, gently guiding you to the bathroom so you could change and officially ending that conversation.

Ray was still by the entry door once you came out, looking a bit stiffer than usual, too. You stole a glance at Bucky as the three of you headed to the elevator, catching the anger etched in his features as he gripped your bag handle tight enough that you thought it would rip. They were leaving you in the dark about something. You weren’t sure if you could take any other bombshells.

“Ray may need to pick you up from work instead of me, but I’ll message you if that’s the case,” Bucky said, fixing his hair in the elevator reflection. “And… we may need to talk about your girls’ day out.”

“What about it?” you asked, already knowing where he was going with this.

“If you can cancel or reschedule it,” he replied.

You stared hard at him. Where was that coming from? “No, it's tomorrow, and I’m not cancelling or rescheduling. And don’t you dare use Zemo as an excuse to get your way,” you snapped. Even if it was a valid reason, you didn’t want to hear it.

His jaw clenched, but he looked sad as he glanced at you. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“We talked about this. If it’s a safety issue, Ray agreed that someone could watch out for me. That should keep me safe,” you reminded him. You’d be fine. “Right, Ray?”

The blonde stared straight ahead. “That isn’t my decision,” he said apologetically.

Your shoulders slumped. For a short time, you thought he could be on your side or at least help give you some slack. “Right. Because you don't get to make decisions, and neither do I. You’re a bodyguard, I’m just a doll,” you said, looking straight ahead, too, and pulling your hand back when Bucky tried to take it. “Please, don’t.”

“Kotyonok…” Bucky sighed as the door opened. You marched out, not waiting for either of them. “Wait.”

You headed straight for the desk, feeling sadder when you didn’t see Natasha. “Checking out, please,” you said, sliding the room card over to the woman standing there.

“Of course. I hope you enjoyed your stay.” She looked behind you likely at Bucky before giving you a smile. “Ms. Romanoff also wanted to remind you that you have a place here if you need one.”

“I’m sure I’ll take her up on that soon,” you said, turning your head to glare at Bucky. While his expression was stoic, his eyes told you he didn’t want you to be upset with him. “And make sure she adds an inconvenience fee to the damaged wall bill. She’ll know what I mean.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” she smiled. “Take care.”

Bucky was hot on your heel and you didn't make it two steps out the door before he had a hand on you. “You’re upset with me. Putting up more of that wall.”

You didn't speak until Ray walked past you to get his car. “You’re trying to get me to cancel my day out with my friends, after you went through the whole charade of buying me a new dress for it and everything. And after what you told me about your mom.” You took a breath to try to calm down. “Yeah, I’m upset, and yeah, you’re supplying me with the very bricks to build that wall.”

“I said we may need to talk about it, I didn’t flat out say you weren’t going,” he corrected you. He might as well have. “I know it means a lot to you, but-”

You held a hand up. “No. There are no ‘buts’ in this. For all you keep taking from me, I don’t ask for much. I really don't,” you stated. In fact, you’ve shown lots of restraint. “Who knows how many moments I’ll get like this with my friends once you move me in.” He wasn’t about to take this small thing from you after everything.

He titled his head. “You think I’ll keep you from them?”

“Part of me thinks you will, yes. Because as soon as I think that there’s hope, the second I think that we could be closer together while you loosen the reins, you say or do something that puts me back in your full control,” you said. He had to see that. “And every time you do that, like you are right now, it makes me want to push you away.”

“And you can push all you want, but I’ll just pull you closer,” he smiled, making you huff when he actually did so. “I’m not afraid to let you burn me.”

“You keep saying that. Give me a match or a lighter and we’ll test that theory,” you said. He burst out laughing, the sound loud in the morning air as your eyes widened. “Why are you laughing?” you asked incredulously. How could he laugh when you were still worked up?

“Because even arguing with you makes me happy,” he sincerely stated. “And now all I want to do is find a way to put a smile back on your face.”

You exhaled. He was so in love with the idea of a relationship with you that arguments appealed to him? Anyone else would've walked away by now.

“You’re infuriating,” you whispered when he touched the corner of your mouth and made it twitch in a small smile. “Impossible.”

“I know,” he whispered back, running a hand through his hair. “Listen, you’re tired and you’re overwhelmed, which is completely my fault. Am I right?”

“Yes,” you sighed. He hit it right on the nose.

“And maybe I was rash in suggesting that you cancel your plans, but I need to take care of a couple things before we discuss that more,” he said, leading you to Ray's car before you could protest. “You just have a good shift, okay?”

He was placating you now, and it was sadly working. “Fine,” you said, touching his hand, the metal one. “I don’t think I said so earlier, but thank you for finally telling me the truth,” you said, calmer than you were moments before. He should've told you from the start, but it couldn't have been easy reopening old wounds regarding his dad.

His gaze softened. “Thank you for letting me.”

“And whatever Ray told you or whatever’s going on, just breathe, okay?” you begged.

He took a deep breath. “I’ll just think of you and it’ll help,” he said, adding in a low voice as he pulled you against him. “And this.”

This was nothing like the slow, languid kisses from minutes ago. This was dominant, claiming, threatening to rob you of the air in your lungs, like he wanted you to feed your own breath into him. He either forgot Ray was there, or he simply didn’t care.

By the time Bucky stopped kissing you and helped you into the car, you didn’t want to look either of them in the eye.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing your temple and shutting the door as your heart flip flopped. God, he was insufferable. Confusing. Obsessed.

“You're certainly keeping him on his toes,” Ray said, not driving off until he made sure Bucky was in his vehicle, too.

“Someone has to,” you said, staring out the window. “I’m going with my friends tomorrow. I don't care if he makes you drag me back,” you said. Unless your life was in some sort of immediate danger, there was no reason for you to skip out on meeting up with the girls.

“So you’re aware, the suggestion of you moving your day out has nothing to do with wanting to control you. He’s upset because of the news I delivered and he wants to keep you close,” Ray explained, making you feel a little bad.

“So, that news was the reason why you both changed your tune, and you can't tell me what that news is,” you guessed. If you were in some sort of danger though, surely Bucky would’ve said so. “He told me about his mom. How I saved her.”

Silence filled the vehicle. “So, you know the truth,” he said after a minute, his voice neutral. “Are you okay?”

“I’m trying to be,” you answered carefully. You really were.

“That’s all you can do,” he said before adding under his breath, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

You snorted. “I guess I'm living breathing proof of that.” It was ironic how an act of kindness put you on this path. “And as much as I don't like to wish pain upon people, I hope Bucky's dad got whatever he deserved.”

Winnie, from the short time you knew her, was nothing but wonderful. Bucky said the dahlia painting in his office served as a reminder that he would never do to you what his dad did to his mom. He would never set you up to take the fall for anyone else, wouldn’t let someone else hurt you if he could help it. He would forever stand by you.

Was pushing him away doing you any good?

“He did,” Ray promised you. “And I say with complete sincerity that I hope today is very uneventful for you after the time you've had.”

Your nose scrunched as you laughed. “So do I, Ray. So do I.”

Ray was kind enough to wait outside of your place as you showered and got ready for work, and didn't push you to talk more before he dropped you off at the shop. He was even kind enough to stop so you could get another cup of coffee. It helped improve your mood.

“There she is!” Kate smiled when you walked in. “Little miss not-so-single anymore.”

“Hey,” you giggled before you paused. “I didn't know you were working today. Did you switch shifts with someone?”

“God, the schedule’s all messed up. Mrs. Crandle called out for some business thing-”

“Business thing?” you asked, your brows pinched. She hardly ever took time off for things like vacation let alone a business thing without informing her staff.

“Yeah, I’m not really sure about all the details, but Lorraine ended up switching the whole schedule around. Mya’s coming in later, and I had to come in early, and your shift’s ending early.”

“What?” you frowned, checking the schedule to make sure. She was right. Your shift today was almost cut in half. “Would’ve been nice to get a text or something.”

The assistant manager wasn't bad to work with, but she could be a little forgetful with things like that. If Bucky hadn't just put money in your account, you may have been more upset over having half a shift cut. After the night and morning you had though, maybe an afternoon off wouldn't be so bad.

“She probably forgot since you were coming in at your normal time. Who knows?” Kate shrugged. “You know, I half expected Clark to be here waiting for you. Seemed really eager to see you yesterday.”

“Yeah, about that.” You looked toward the door, your body tense in anticipation even though he wasn't there. “Why did you tell him I was working today?”

“He’s kind of a regular, and I didn't really think about it. Then Mrs. Crandle brought up your boyfriend and…” Her face fell as she stopped cutting stems, which made you feel bad when she glanced your way. “Crap, I did something wrong, didn't I?”

You weren’t about to go into specifics regarding your personal situation. “I just don’t want customers to know when my shifts are unless I’m specifically working on an order or event for them, okay?” you said, hoping she understood that it was a general request.

Bucky was not getting in your head about your safety.

“Okay, as long as you aren’t mad,” she said. You gave her a smile to assure her that you were okay. “So, tell me about your new boyfriend.”

You filled her in as much as you could to make it sound believable, just like you had with Addison. Like her and Mrs. Crandle, Kate was excited for you. And they would never know the full truth.

As your shift went on, you were surprised you hadn't heard much from Bucky. It was for the best though. He was clearly dealing with something. As much as you didn't want to defend him in your mind, it had taken a lot for him to talk about his parents. To show you some of the damage done to his body. It was a vulnerable moment. Did you owe it to him to be vulnerable, too?

Wait, why did you owe him anything?

“Heading out?” Kate asked once your shift was up.

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing at your phone. You wondered if you should text Bucky before you decided against it. You'd let him know once you got to your place that you wouldn't need a ride. “Just call me if you need me to come back in.”

“Don’t worry about that. Enjoy the rest of your day!” she smiled.

Satisfied when you didn't see Bucky or Ray’s car waiting for you either, you decided to take a walk. It was a nice day, and you needed the fresh air. You hoped the weather was nice for the winery. You’d have to take photos to look back on what was going to be a fun time.

“Hey!” you heard someone shout after a few minutes of walking.

You stopped when you spotted Clark waving at you from the other side of the street. You barely waved back before he joined you. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” he smiled, pushing his glasses up. “You done working already?”

“Yep,” you said, adjusting your bag. “And I should really-”

“Could we talk for a minute?” he asked.

You hesitated before nodding. “Sure,” you said, falling in step beside him.

“You know, I actually went to the shop to buy you flowers yesterday. I was going to buy you some roses,” he smiled.

Oh, God. “You were?”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there and… It doesn’t matter,” he smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I was thinking… Maybe we could grab a coffee sometime? My treat.”

The hopeful look in his eyes made a pit form in your stomach. “Clark, I’m seeing someone,” you said, his blue eyes dimming. Hadn’t Kate said that Mrs. Crandle brought up that you were in a relationship? “It’s fairly new, and I don’t want to mess things up,” you explained, though he wasn’t owed an explanation.

“I didn’t want to believe it,” he mumbled, kicking a small rock on the sidewalk. “Well, if it’s fairly new, I'm sure you can get coffee with other people.”

“Get coffee with people? Yes. But this kind of sounds like a date, and I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sorry,” you said. That would feel like cheating even if you didn't consider it a date, and you weren't that kind of person.

“Then we won’t call it a date,” he grinned.

Maybe you were feeling paranoid, but there was something weird behind his smile. “You just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to send mixed signals by agreeing to go with you.”

His smile shook a bit. “It's just a coffee.”

“Is it?” The longer he stared, the more odd things felt, and you didn’t like it. “Listen, when you find someone else to give flowers to I’d be happy to pick some out for you.”

“I don't understand.” He laughed, but it sounded bitter. “You’ve always been nice to me.”

“Well, yeah. You’ve always been kind, too, when you come into the shop.”

“Too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he muttered, his smile disappearing completely.

You gaped at him, almost faltering in your step. “What did you just say?”

“I said you’re too nice for someone like Bucky Barnes,” he said louder, his ire clear as day. “You think I don’t know about his reputation? He’s dangerous, and you’re too good for him.”

“How do you know I’m dating him?” you asked. And what did he know about his reputation?

He was quiet for a moment. “Mrs. Crandle said his name, and she has no idea what kind of man he is,” he said, making you feel uneasy. “I don’t think you do either.”

Oh, you knew plenty. “I appreciate your concern, really, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Well, I do. And I just don’t see why we can’t have one cup of coffee together,” he said, flashing a smile again. “It’ll be fun.”

“Because you know I’m seeing someone,” you said. He knew it before he bumped into you, but was still pushing for you to go with him. “And I also kind of make it a rule not to date customers,” you added, stopping when you got to your building. You walked faster than you thought.

“Well, rules should have exceptions, right? And if Bucky cared so much, where is he? Why wasn’t he waiting to pick you up and take you home?” he pressed, his eyes narrowing when you dug into your purse. “Maybe he doesn’t care about you as much as you think.”

Your next breath came out shaky. He hadn’t raised his voice at you, but you didn’t appreciate the third degree, or the implication that Bucky didn’t care. “Because he’s a busy man who sometimes works both days and nights. I don’t expect him to drop everything just to take me home.”

“If you took a chance on me, you’d never have to worry about things like that.”

You were starting to feel nauseous. “Well, sometimes I like the quiet after the bustle of the shop, so walking helps me decompress. And I can't take a chance on you when I’m seeing someone else.” Why was he being so pushy?

He took a small step closer. “You know, it’s dangerous to walk home alone.”

You took a step back, your keys between your fingers. “You’re right about that,” you agreed. The only reason you did so today was to take back a little control, which didn’t seem so smart now.

“I can start walking you home if you want,” he smiled, towering over you. Was he always so imposing? “When’s your next shift?”

You managed a smile in return, but it was extremely forced. “Clark, that’s really not necessary, but thank you for the offer. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He gently took your arm when you turned toward the door, worry crawling up your spine when his hand tightened a fraction. You suddenly wish you had Bucky or Ray around. “I really don’t mind.”

“My boyfriend will mind, and I’m sure you can understand that. So it’s a no on the coffee and the walks home,” you said gently but firmly, pulling your arm back and rubbing the spot where Clark grabbed you. He wasn’t listening. It somehow felt worse than Bucky and you couldn’t pinpoint why. Was it because Clark tried to act nice? “It’s been a long few days, and I’m going to get some rest. Have a nice day, okay?”

His eyes narrowed again, but it was his chilling smile that unnerved you. “I’m sure I'll see you again soon. We’ll have to get that coffee,” he said, walking off before you could say another word.

You rushed into the building once he was out of sight, your hands shaking. It may have been from the confrontation or the combination of everything. Maybe Clark was just lonely and latched on a bit because you were nice. Hadn't Bucky done something similar?

But if Clark wanted to see you, why hadn't he just gone into the shop if he knew you were working?

Double checking your locks once you were in your apartment, you took a breath and stared at your phone once you sat down. You had to talk to Bucky. He answered within a few seconds of you calling.

“Kotyonok, is everything okay?” he asked, sounding both happy and concerned to hear from you.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” you asked, hearing a few other men speaking in the background.

“Because you’re calling me and not texting. And you sound a little off. What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine,” you lied. How did he recognize that you felt off? “I just wanted you to know that the assistant manager changed my shift, so I went home early.”

“Wait, you’re already home?” he asked. The background noise suddenly stopped. “Did you get a cab? Please tell me you didn’t walk back to your place.”

“…Fine, I won’t tell you that.”

Bucky let out an impressive string of curse words as you pulled the phone away from your ear. “That’s not safe. You know it isn’t,” he hissed, but you knew he wasn’t actually angry with you. Just the situation. And bumping into Clark today and Zemo the day before, he had a bit of a point. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Because I said it may not be a good idea to go out with your friends.”

You closed your eyes. He was not going to make you feel bad. “I just needed a breather, okay? And I made it home just fine.”

“But did you? How do I know someone didn’t follow you?” he asked. Clark’s face flashed in your mind when you stayed quiet. “…Kotyonok, did someone follow you?”

“No one followed me that I know of,” you said. You really didn't have any idea. “But… I did bump into Clark. He was in the neighborhood.”

“Clark? That guy from the shop who tried to give you flowers just happened to be in your neighborhood when I wasn't around?” he asked, fury seeping into his tone as you winced.

“I… I’m sure it was a coincidence,” you said. Placating him in this wasn’t going to work, but you had to try.

“That isn’t a fucking coincidence and we both know it. Did he say anything? Try anything?”

You shut your eyes. It would be like ripping off a band-aid. “He asked me to go get a cup of coffee with him, but I told him I was seeing someone.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “He asked you out?” he asked, making you shift in your seat. “Why the fuck do I not have a file on him yet?!” he snapped at someone in the background.

“I’m working on it, boss!” you heard someone promise. “Should I call-”

“No. I’ll call him myself,” Bucky growled.

Who was he talking about? “Bucky, it’s okay. The guy asked me out and I said no,” you assured him. You weren't going to go out with Clark. “I’m sure women throw themselves at you every day and you turn them down.”

“They don't ‘bump’ into me in my neighborhood. And had you told me you were leaving early, I could’ve made sure this guy didn’t go anywhere near you. I don’t even want him near your shop until I know more about him,” he said, his anger not lessening. “If he tries anything, I will tear him apart piece by fucking piece,” he promised you, the intensity in his tone making your throat go dry.

“That isn’t necessary,” you whispered.

He sighed. “Why would you deliberately put yourself in a spot like this just to prove a point? Be pissed at me, I can take that, but do not risk your safety,” he said, adding in a quieter voice, “I couldn’t take it if something happened to you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hating how guilty you felt, how worried he sounded on your behalf. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to worry you,” you said. It was stubborn and dumb on your part, and now you were afraid that Bucky really would try to cancel your day out tomorrow. You couldn’t let him. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“Make it up to me?” he asked. That seemed to get his attention. “How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll…” you began, steadying yourself. Natasha said you had power, and maybe you’d have to test that sooner than you expected. “Stay at your place tonight.”

You could hear a pin drop from the quiet. “You’ll stay the night?” he asked, his voice moving like lava through your veins.

“Yes,” you whispered, hammering the nail in the coffin.

“Give me two hours and I'll come get you,” he said, his voice strained, eager. “Be ready.”

“I will be.”

God, you hoped you knew what you were doing.

Oh, Clark. He's a problem now, isn't he? What do we think Ray told Bucky? And what's going to happen when you spend the night? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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oddinary4bts · 5 months ago

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Chasing Cars | ch 16 (jjk)

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

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

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

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

☆warnings: cursing, mentions of Taehyung punching Jungkook, alcohol, explicit content: car sex, hickey, oral sex (female receiving), begging, fingering, praising, jerking off, big dick!Jungkook, unprotected sex (please don't be stupid)

☆word count: 8.9k

☆a/n: almost done :( i hope you guys love this chapter, it makes me very soft :') thank you to @moonleeai beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

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

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Monday, October 14th

You wake up slowly, soft snores by your ear rousing you from your slumber. You’re confused for a time, not recognizing the scene, but the second your eyes lay on Jungkook, everything comes back.

The fear, the hurrying back home, the tears and the confessions. Everything comes back with stark clarity, and you smile as you peek towards Jungkook.

He’s sleeping on his side, facing you, his hand resting on your stomach. His lips are slightly parted, and it soon becomes evident that he is the source of the snoring as he takes a deep breath, letting it out as a rumble through his chest. It’s adorable, and your heart melts at the sight, filling with warmth for him.

But unfortunately you woke up for a reason, and that reason is because you need to go to the bathroom. So you carefully remove Jungkook’s hand from your stomach, and he slightly frowns, his mouth closing. You’re afraid you’ve woken him up, but the snoring resumes a few seconds later, and you reach into the space between you, gently pushing a strand of his hair back from his face. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, lips lingering on his skin for a few seconds before you pull away, sliding out from underneath the covers to get up.

The floor is cold under your feet, and you shiver, searching the dark room for a shirt to put on. You find one of Jungkook’s t-shirts, and you immediately put it on, shivering some more once you’re half-dressed, the shirt more like a dress on you.

You tiptoe out of Jungkook’s room, gently shutting the door behind you. The orange light from the neon light outside in the street illuminates the living room, guiding your steps to the bathroom. But light filters from underneath the door, and you freeze in the middle of the room when the door opens, revealing Taehyung.

He takes in the sight of you, clenching his jaw as he turns off the light from the bathroom. You just stare at him for a few seconds, your nails digging into your palms at the reminder of the anger you harbour for him.

“Everything okay in there?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. No thanks to you.”

“Y/n…”

“Are you done in there?” you query, taking a few steps forward as you motion to the bathroom.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.”

The apology falls flat, and you stop, folding your arms on your chest. “I just want to go to the bathroom.”

He gauges you for a time, holding your gaze, and then he steps to the side. “Jungkook and I talked,” he admits. “We’re good. That’s why he came back.”

“Good for you,” you let out as you walk the rest of the way to the bathroom.

Taehyung stops you from closing the door, slapping his hand on it. “I really am sorry,” he insists. “I was pissed at him, not at you.”

“You should not have been pissed at any of us, Taehyung,” you seethe through your teeth. “I’m an adult. I am allowed to do what I want to do. What was so wrong with it?”

“Jungkook is…” he trails off. “Was the kind of guy that would just hurt girls. I didn’t want that for you.”

“It was none of your business,” you say.

He sighs. “I would have just appreciated it if you guys told me before.” He pauses, his arm falling at his side, but you don’t move to close the door just yet. “I kind of knew. I had my suspicions all semester, and then in Paris too.” He takes a deep breath, glancing towards his bedroom. “I really would have just liked that you guys tell me. Now I just feel blindsided.”

You clench your jaw, shutting your eyes. “Taehyung. You have nothing to do with my relationships. We did not have to tell you shit, and you were not blindsided. You had nothing to do with us.”

“He’s my best friend, and you’re my sister,” Taehyung says. “I’m not saying I should have been involved in the relationship, Y/n. I just wish you’d trusted me and told me.”

You slowly shake your head. “It’s not like you gave me any reasons to trust you, Tae. You told him to not touch me.”

Taehyung snorts. “That didn’t stop him. Pretty sure it just spurred him on.”

For a moment, you just stand there, your gaze widening. You see that Taehyung is trying his hardest, but you’re not ready to forgive him. You don’t even know if you want to forgive him - he came very close to ruining everything between you and Jungkook, and you don’t think you can forgive him for it.

“Seriously, I’m sorry,” Taehyung adds after a few seconds, his baritone voice barely over a whisper. “I fucked up. But we laughed about the fact I punched him so, I guess we’re good?”

You’ll never understand guys. If you were Jungkook, you would hate Taehyung for the rest of your life. But you reckon maybe you should take a page out of Jungkook’s book.

“I don’t think he’s upset with you,” you carefully reply.

Taehyung nods, sensing that you probably don’t want to speak about it anymore. So he says, “I hope you guys manage to fix things. I’ve never seen Jungkook so distressed about someone before.”

“I think there’s a lot that you don’t know about him,” you say.

There’s a lot you don’t know yourself, too.

“Ah, that’s fine,” Taehyung says, shrugging his shoulders.

Guys and their friendships indeed.

“M’kay,” you let out. “I… I’ll go now.”

Taehyung nods again. “Sounds good. Sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing, you’re getting on my nerves.”

He snorts. “There’s my sister.”

He moves to ruffle your hair, and you push him away as he laughs. “Good night, Tae.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

And though you don’t think you’ve forgiven your brother yet, you feel a little lighter when you go back to bed, Jungkook pulling you back into his embrace with a soft sigh.

Friday, October 18th

You’re anxious. You don’t know why - it’s just Jungkook, but this will be your first real date, and there’s something about it that renders you anxious, palms sweaty as you check your makeup for the thousandth time in the mirror, making sure that it’s perfect.

Your friends were relieved when you told them what happened last Sunday. When you explained the misunderstanding, and that you and Jungkook were good now. You could have cried saying it. Jungkook and I are good now.

You never would have believed yourself if you’d said you’d end up with Jungkook, months ago. Hell, you recall the Incident - it was the first step into the madness that falling for Jungkook was, but now you feel as sane as ever.

Jungkook is your sanity, as much as he’s your insanity.

But yes, your friends were all happy for you. Even Yoongi, though he did complain that he was the last one standing in the single zone. You don’t think he’ll be there for much longer. You see how the reception guy has been eyeing Yoongi up, and you know Yoongi just needs a push in the right direction.

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you straighten. Your makeup is perfect - Ria helped, though she left twenty minutes ago, as she had a date with Seokjin to get to.

She’d screamed when she’d seen your Yves St-Laurent dress. You felt like it was fitting to wear it tonight, considering that Jungkook bought it for you. It fits you just as well as it did then, making you feel like a princess once again. But it does nothing for the nerves in your stomach - you think you need to see Jungkook for that to be solved.

“Okay,” you whisper, grabbing your purse and your phone.

Jungkook texted you three minutes ago to tell you he was ready, and to meet him in the living room. You’d thought it was funny, but right now, as your hand reaches for the doorknob, you wonder if you should tell him you’re sick.

You’ve never been this anxious about a date before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath.

“Y/n?” Jungkook says on the other side of your door, and you let out a startled shriek. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” you quickly reply. “Yes, sorry, I’m almost ready.”

“Okay.”

You take a deep breath, amassing whatever courage you can find, and then you finally open the door.

Jungkook looks beautiful. He’s dressed in black dress pants, with just a white linen dress shirt that he’s tucked in the pants. It’s rolled around his forearms, revealing the ink on his right arm. He’s styled his hair for the occasion too, revealing more forehead than you’re used to seeing with him, and you’re hit with the musky scent of his cologne a second later.

Most of all, your eyes catch in the huge colourful bouquet of flowers he’s holding.

“Oh,” you let out. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t decide which colour you’d want, so I told them to put a little bit of everything.”

“Kook…”

He grins. “I hope you like it.”

You can’t help the smile curving your lips. “I love it.”

You grab the flowers, inhaling their fragrance as Jungkook just looks at you, his grin falling into a much smaller lovesick smile.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments you, and a light blush takes over your cheeks as you eye him up and down.

“So do you.”

He smirks. “Ready?”

You nod, though you raise the bouquet. “I should probably put this in water.”

You do so, heading towards the kitchen to find a glass big enough to put the flowers in it. You indeed do not own a vase, and Jungkook pouts and apologizes for it.

You kiss his cheek to reassure him, and then you carry the flowers back to your room, putting them on your desk. A second later, you’re back in the hall in front of the door, and Taehyung and Ariane wave goodbye as Jungkook grabs your hand.

“We’ll see you losers later!” you say, and Taehyung laughs.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he replies.

Jungkook laughs, saying, “Fuck off, Tae.”

You grab a coat from the closet - the weather has grown colder in the last few days, and though Jungkook is driving you to the restaurant he chose, you don’t want to get sick around your midterms. Jungkook puts a coat on too, and a second later you’re walking outside, the wind catching in the lapels of your coat. You shiver, hurrying down the stairs.

“Shit, it’s cold,” you grumble.

Jungkook kisses your forehead, and suddenly it feels like the warmest summer day.

“Let’s hurry then,” he says, and you hold hands as you walk to his car, which fortunately isn’t parked too far.

You blast the heat the second the engine purrs to life, and Jungkook laughs next to you, his hand finding your thigh. You chat about everything and nothing as he drives you to the restaurant, and he drops you right in front of the doors despite the fact that he needs to go park further away. You complain about it, saying that you’re fine to walk with him, but the stern look he sends you makes you pout, though you obey and slide outside of the car to walk into the restaurant.

It’s fancy. You’d expected it to be fancy, but you didn’t think it would be fancy fancy. There’s a huge crystal candelabra hanging from the ceiling in the hall, the lights catching in the crystal and reflecting the multiple facets. The walls are covered in red tapestry, and fake dark wood columns climb the walls as if they’re holding up the ceiling. It’s beautiful, extravagant, and though you feel out of place, you know that you’re okay.

You belong anywhere in the world where Jungkook is, and tonight, it’s at this restaurant.

Jungkook meets you in the lobby a few minutes later, cheeks red from the cold wind outside. His hair is slightly ruffled, a lone strand having escaped from the confines of his hairstyle, and you immediately reach up to push it back.

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, tugging you close to kiss your cheek. “Let’s go.”

You walk up to the desk, behind which the hostess has been waiting for you. She smiles at the two of you, and then leads you to the table that Jungkook reserved for the evening.

The restaurant proper is just as beautiful as the hall, with its dim lights that hint at a romantic ambiance. Candles adorn the center of every table, on top of white tablecloths lined with gold. You’re pretty sure the glasses on the table are also made of crystal, but you don’t focus on them long enough to tell as Jungkook helps you out of your coat, draping it over the chair he’s pulled for you.

“You’re such a gentleman,” you tease as he walks around the table and sits in front of you.

“Esmeralda raised me well,” he answers.

You furrow your brows in question. “Esmeralda?”

He smiles gently. “My nanny.”

Oh.

He hasn’t told you much about her, but you know he cared for her a lot. It shows in the way his eyes dip to the table, and in the deep breath that he takes, heaviness settling on him.

“I’m sure she was a wonderful woman,” you gently say.

He nods, meeting your gaze again. “She was the best. She would have loved you.”

You’re not sure about that statement, but it makes butterflies take flight in your stomach all the same.

“I would have loved her, too.”

Jungkook’s smile grows bigger as the heaviness lifts, and he looks at you with the sparkles in his doe eyes that you’ve come to love so much through the months.

Before you can speak more, you’re handed menus for drinks. Jungkook suggests a bottle of red wine, and you accept the offer, trusting him more than you to know what to drink at a place like this. As the waitress takes the order, you glance around to the other couples, fast in intimate conversations all around you. Jazz music is playing over hidden speakers just loud enough so that you can’t hear the people around you, and it really makes for an intimate ambiance, like maybe it’s just you and Jungkook in the restaurant tonight.

“You like it?” Jungkook asks when the waitress leaves.

“Like it?” you repeat.

“The restaurant.”

You nod, scanning the place with your gaze once more, before setting your eyes on him. “Yes. It seems really fancy though.”

“I can’t treat my girl?”

Your mouth falls open as your heart starts racing in your chest. “Your girl?”

He grins. “Are you not my girl?”

You’re blushing. You’re blushing like crazy, yet you can’t help the small happy dance that takes over you. Indeed, you squirm on your chair, smiling wide as Jungkook chuckles softly.

“That’s right, I’m your girl,” you reply. “And you’re my boy.”

He scrunches up his nose. “That makes it sound like I’m a baby.”

“Are you not?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, though the amusement that paints his features tells you that he isn’t annoyed in the slightest. “We should choose what to eat.”

He’s right, and so you grab a menu to choose what you want. A few minutes later, when the waitress returns with the wine bottle, Jungkook lets you taste it despite your lack of knowledge of wine. You judge it good enough, nodding wisely as Jungkook snorts in front of you. You throw him a warning glare, though it’s more teasing than anything, and then you both order your meals along with an appetizer of beef tartare to share.

The conversation is easy after that, while you share a first glass of wine. It truly is a good wine - it’s a lot sweeter than you expected it to be, and you enjoy the taste of it as Jungkook tells you stories from his childhood.

By the time the beef tartare arrives, the conversation has shifted to what you did during the summer.

“I’m jealous,” Jungkook says when you tell him about the camping trip with Taehyung and your mother. “I’ve never gone camping.”

Your gaze widens. “You haven’t?”

He eats a piece of tartare, nodding his head. “Never.”

“Let’s go next summer!” you say. “You can tag along on our trip. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind.”

He smiles, eyes sparkling. “As long as I get to share a tent with you.”

“Obviously,” you say, chuckling. “But you’ll have to behave.”

“Hey, I always behave!”

You both laugh, though Jungkook’s features grow somber a few seconds later, his laughter fading.

“Everything okay?”

He shrugs, lips jutting out in a small pout. “Your summer sounds like it was a lot more fun than mine.”

You purse your lips, reaching across the table to grab his hand. You gently squeeze his fingers, and he meets your gaze, offering you a quick smile that barely meets his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you gently say.

“Not your fault,” he reassures you. “It was just a lot of sudden responsibilities and… navigating it all when thinking that I lost you was hard, you know?”

“I can imagine,” you whisper.

“But it’s okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Taking over the US branch of JJS is scary, but I know it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “My parents finally deem me worthy enough to talk to.” He pauses, sighing deeply. “So that’s something, no?”

Your heart breaks for him, for the kid who always wanted his parents’ approval but never got it.

“I guess it is,” you agree. Your thumb glides on the back of his hand. “I’m sorry they treated you like that growing up. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Ah it’s okay,” he says. His fingers grip your hand tighter. “I mentioned to you that I go to therapy, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, you did.”

“It’s really helped with that,” he admits, and he offers you a small, vulnerable smile. “With a lot of things actually.”

You smile softly. “I’m glad it did, Kook. You deserve the healing.”

He pats your hand, letting go of your fingers to jab his fork in a piece of tartare. “Have some of it,” he says, raising the fork towards you.

You eat the tartare, the taste melting in your mouth. “It’s so good,” you say once you swallow.

He nods, taking another piece. “I came here a lot last year,” he admits. “Alone.”

“Why alone?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Because most of my friends wouldn’t be able to afford it,” he points out. “And then, none of them knew that I am…” he trails off, but you don’t need him to complete the sentence to understand.

“I knew,” you remind him.

He tilts his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. “I think you would have had an aneurysm if I’d asked you out on a date in public then.”

“Jungkook!” you let out, though the second he starts laughing, you can’t help but join too. Because he’s right - you would have never risked being in public with him like this, not when it could get to Taehyung’s ears somehow.

You finish the tartare, sipping on the wine as it goes. Jungkook asks you about your plans for the rest of college, for your future as a medical student, and you tell him that you and Nabi are planning to take the same route, if possible.

“You girls are inseparable,” he teases.

“We are,” you say, nodding your head. He chuckles, though he immediately listens as you continue, “What about you though? What’s the plan when college finishes?”

He’s in his last year after all.

“My father wants me to do an MBA at Harvard or NYU,” Jungkook admits. “And though I don’t really feel like studying at one of those universities, I already said I would.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping forward a little, the perfect picture of defeat. “I wish I could just stay here.” He meets your gaze. “With you.”

You wish he could stay, too.

“It would be awesome,” you agree. “But you have to plan your future too! We’re not even… fully dating yet?” You say it like a question, and he pouts, a frown overtaking his features. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to be the thing keeping you from doing what needs to be done for your career, you know?”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” he reassures you, the frown vanishing. “Don’t worry. I could always drive down here on the weekend.”

“Or I drive up!” you suggest. “Besides, how long is an MBA? Maybe I can try applying to NYU for med school and meet you there.”

“I might do full-time or accelerated,” Jungkook admits. “So…”

He’s interrupted as the waitress stops next to you to steal the empty appetizer plate away. You watch how she eyes him up, and you can’t help but grab his hand. He squeezes yours, a knowing smile on his lips as he looks down at the table.

“You always get jealous easily?” he teases when she’s gone.

You glare at him, choosing to ignore his comment. “You were saying?”

He laughs, but he recovers quickly, saying, “So I would probably be done by the time you start med school.”

Right.

“Well then I’ll come live with you while I study there!” you suggest. “So we’ll just be separated for two years.”

Jungkook winces. “I’ll still drive down here every weekend. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand my family for longer than a few days at a time.”

As much as you understand him, it still pains you to hear so. Because, how can’t they see just how amazing Jungkook is?

“I’m sorry…” you let out.

“Don’t be,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand again where it rests on the table. “I just don’t want to be away from you.”

It’s cheesy, but there’s also underlying pain in there. You can’t blame him - the months away from him have been some of the hardest of your life for you too. You’ve been overcompensating since Sunday, spending practically every second together, but you don’t mind.

It’s healing, oh so healing, and you just want to bask in it while you can. Though you don’t think he’s going to be ripped away from you, you can’t help the fear that still creeps at the back of your mind when you don’t pay attention.

Your main dishes arrive, and you smile at the sight of how small the dish is - plenty enough for you, but you already know Jungkook will eat some more when you get home later. The conversation is lighter while you eat, filled with stories about your classes and that midterm you’re convinced you failed last week. Jungkook reassures you, and the rest of the dinner goes by so quickly it feels like a car passing by at a hundred miles per hour. You want it to last - but soon enough you’ve eaten dinner, and the wine bottle is empty, your mind buzzing from all the alcohol you ingested, which is obviously more than Jungkook considering he has to drive.

You’re pouting. You know you are, and Jungkook chuckles at the sight.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You nod, though your pout intensifies. “I can’t believe our first date is almost over.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling like a thousand stars. “We’ll have plenty of other dates,” he promises. “Besides, you’re the one who said you have to study tomorrow.”

“I’m boring, aren’t I?” you say, scrunching up your nose.

You do have three midterms next week though.

“Nah, you’re cute,” Jungkook replies, winking at you. “Studying hard is hot.”

“Is it though?” you say, laughing.

He nods forcefully. “If it’s you doing it? Totally.”

Another laugh tumbles from your lips, interrupted by the waitress as she stops by the table with the cheque. Jungkook pays, making sure you don’t see the bill, and you then get up, putting your coats on to slowly head to the world outside.

It’s drizzling now, and you pull the hood of your coat on your head, following Jungkook as he leads you, his large hand firmly wrapped around your small one. You look up at him when he glances over his shoulder, melting at the sight of the dimpled smile on his lips.

“You look adorable,” he says.

“So do you.”

He narrows his gaze. “Thanks?”

You snort, tugging on his hand so that he faces you. “It was a compliment.”

He pulls you closer, hands settling on your waist. The drizzle tickles your face as you look up, your hands resting on his chest, and for a moment it’s like the world is slowing down, allowing you a glimpse of an infinity of you and him. The wind blows, and the hood of your coat falls, your hair dancing around your head. Jungkook gently pushes a strand of it behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

Despite the cold, you feel like you’re in your own summerland, and your lips part as Jungkook’s thumb teases your lower lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

“Kook…”

You’re alone in the world. Tonight is just about you and him, like you’re the main characters in the story, and the second the drizzle turns into rain, Jungkook presses his lips on yours. You sigh softly, kissing him back as he tugs you so close you feel the full hardness of his body against you. Your arms sneak around his neck, holding him tight, and he kisses you like you have all of the time in the universe.

Because now you do. Now you do, and it’s liberating in the softest of ways. It’s you and him, swimming in the gentle rain, holding each other closer because you can, and you want to, and no one can ever take it away from you anymore.

“I really love you, you know?” Jungkook says after he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “I think I was waiting for you my whole life.”

“Jungkook…” you breathe out.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You make me happy. More than you can even imagine.” He pecks your forehead, pulling away just enough to meet your gaze. “And I’ve been dying to kiss you all evening so…”

You can barely hold your smile in. “I get a kiss on the first date?”

He smirks. “You can get a lot more if you want to, peach.”

Though the rain is cold, and your hair is slowly getting wet, and your makeup is surely getting ruined, your blood heats up in your veins. “Oh?”

“If you want to, of course,” he adds, voice low. “Unless you don’t fuck on the first date.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Of course I don’t.”

Jungkook steps back, letting go of you. “Well, then I won’t push you.”

He starts walking away, and you laugh as you follow him, quickly grabbing his hand again. You reach his car thirty seconds later, and Jungkook opens the door for you. You climb in, and he shuts the door behind you before walking around the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“Thank you for tonight,” he says when the car purrs to life. He throws you a quick glance filled with indescribable softness. “I really had fun.”

“Me too, Kook,” you whisper.

His hand finds your thigh once he’s finally driving down the street, heading to your shared home. “I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

You wonder if it’s a hint of insecurity in his voice, or if he’s just teasing you. Still, you reply, “You could never.”

You don’t want him to ever feel insecure when it comes to you. Not when his very soul is the reason why your heart beats in your chest.

“My parents would highly disagree.”

There’s a silence as your mouth falls open, and Jungkook throws you a look before bursting out laughing.

“It’s a joke, peach,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jungkook,” you let out. “That was…”

“Funny?” he provides.

You snort. “No.”

“You laughed.”

You glare at him, slowly shaking your head. “I didn’t.”

There’s a prolonged silence, and he chuckles, patting your thigh. “I swear it’s okay,” he says. “It really was just a joke.”

“I just think it’s…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders. “Sad?”

He toys with his piercings, throwing you a quick glance. “I guess it is. But therapy has been helping.”

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper.

Jungkook freezes next to you, and you know the words have hit him right in his chest. Has anyone ever told him before?

“I really am,” you add. “I know therapy can be hard but look at you!”

Even in the orange neon light of the street lights, you can see Jungkook’s cheeks tinting with pink. His waterline shines silver, unshed tears swimming in his gaze, and he gulps, letting out a small chuckle.

“Thank you,” he says once he’s mastered his emotions. “You are…”

“The best?” you suggest when he doesn’t finish his sentence.

He laughs a hearty, happy giggle that makes everything in you shine, like maybe a star was born in your chest. “Yes,” he agrees, nodding his head wisely. “Definitely the best.”

You fall silent for the remainder of the ride, though you keep playing with Jungkook’s fingers where his hand rests on your thigh. He’s wearing rings, and you spin the one around his index mindlessly, eyes cast on the world outside the window.

You near your apartment, and you notice the lights are on in the living room, a sign that Taehyung and Ariane are probably still there. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t slow down, and you glance at him, brows furrowed.

“Are we not going home?” you ask.

He looks at you just long enough to wink, then settles his gaze back on the road. “You really think I’d let the evening end so early on our first date?”

Gosh.

Warmth swarms into your heart as it beats softly in your chest, and you slightly shake your head, rolling your eyes playfully. “Alright then. Where are we going?”

He grips your hand, raising it to his lips so that he can press a feathersoft kiss on your knuckles. “It’s a surprise.” You narrow your eyes as if glaring at him, earning a soft laugh from him. “You really are adorable.”

“And you are fucking cheesy.”

You laugh in unison as he nods his head yes. “Guilty,” he says when the laughter recedes.

The rain hasn’t slowed down since you reached his car, only increasing as Jungkook drives and drives up until you’re out of town, and you think tonight might be perfect after all. Because you’re with him, and it’s freeing, like maybe you were stuck in a cage for months before tonight.

The feeling grows tenfold when you reach your destination, the top of a hill overlooking the city. Through the rain lashing the windshield, the city seems to be a sparkling jewel where it sprawls down in the valley. It’s beautiful in a calming, ethereal way, and your eyes slide to Jungkook.

“How did you find this place?” you ask him as he turns the engine of the car off.

He unbuckles his seat belt, turning so that he can lean his back against the door and look at you. “When I was searching for a place to sleep when Tae asked me to leave,” he admits. “I drove around for most of the night and stumbled upon this place.”

The memory of pain jabs deep in your chest, but a deep breath soothes it away.

“I’m sorry Tae kicked you out,” you whisper as you look outside.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I came back on the Saturday,” he admits. “Slept in my car on Thursday, then at Jimin’s and then Tae texted me to come home.”

You nod, glancing at him. “How did that go?”

“It went a lot better than I thought it would,” Jungkook answers. “Mostly Tae said he wished we’d told him before, and that though he was a little… disgusted that you and I had sex, he just wants us to be happy.”

You snort. “Disgusted?”

Jungkook nods, and he lets out a small laugh. “I mean… Can you blame him? You’re his little sister, I highly doubt he wants to think about you having sex. Like… Do you want to imagine him with Ariane?”

The second the image pops into your mind you scrunch up your nose in disgust, punching Jungkook in the shoulder. “Ew.”

“See? You get it.”

You chuckle, and then you look outside again. The windows are already fogging up a little, distorting the lights from the city even more.

“You wanted to ask me questions the other day?” Jungkook says.

You furrow your brows. “Huh?”

“Last Sunday,” he explains. “When we…” He motions between the two of you as if that explains anything. “You said you wanted to know everything about me, and I said I’d answer all of your questions.”

“Oh right.” You ponder for a time, gazing out the window, and then ask, “What’s your favourite colour?”

He smiles, eyes sparkling, and then sets his gaze on the city too. “Black. You?”

“Black is not a colour,” you point out. “But I’ll let it slide. Mine’s green.”

“You’d look fantastic in green.”

Your cheeks burn, and you look at him again. “Favourite animal?”

“Dogs.”

You grin. “Me too.”

Jungkook grabs your hand, and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Then we will get a dog together.”

“And a cat?”

He chuckles “You want a cat too?”

You sigh, reminiscing about the cat you had growing up because your mother was too busy to get a dog like you and Taehyung wanted.

“Why not?” you say. “That way the dog would always have a friend around.”

“Why not two dogs?” he suggests.

You smile. “Deal.”

You go back and forth like this for a while, sharing everything from your favourite food to your favourite movie, though the questions slowly get more personal. When you ask him what his favourite childhood memory is, Jungkook tenses, yet he replies his Disney trip with Esmeralda and Junghyun. Yours is the first camping trip you’d taken with your mother and Taehyung.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook says after you finish telling him the story of how you’d burned all your marshmallows that first night. “I’m coming with you guys next summer.”

“You are,” you agree, nodding forcefully. “My mom will love you.”

He smirks. “Of course she will, I’m the whole package.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, even though you fully agree with him.

There’s a silence, as you both shift your attention towards the world outside. The windows are completely fogged up now, and the sound of the rain on the roof of the car creates a gentle melody, one that’s been accompanying the conversation as it goes.

You glance at Jungkook. You’re not surprised that his eyes trail to you a second later - big doe eyes filled with all the stars in your universe. Especially as he smiles. It starts deep behind his pupils, then cascades down his face to stretch his lips in a blinding smile that eclipses all those you’ve seen before.

And you wonder, has he truly smiled since he lost you that May night? Or is that his first true smile, the one not of the moon passing in front of the sun, but of the moment the sun shines through after the passing? Because his smile is truly blinding, like he wasn’t really smiling all night. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was still stuck in the shadows of the months apart, of the void between the stars in the night sky after you’d lost each other.

But he isn’t stuck in those shadows, in that void anymore. He isn’t, and you reach for him, reach for his soul and heart. He meets you halfway there, with a gentle sigh that fans over your features as your eyes flutter close and your lips brush his. The kiss is softer than a flower’s petal, the kiss is love shared and earned and longing and the perspective of a bright future, if you so dare to take it.

The kiss fills you with love for this man sitting next to you. For this man that kissed you for the first time on Valentine’s Day, stealing your heart from your chest then. It’s not scary - you know he’ll take care of your heart till the sun sets on your last day.

He’ll take care of your heart until the sun rises on your first heaven. Though perhaps this is your first heaven. Perhaps it starts with him, and leads into infinity. You think it would make sense - it always was about you and Jeon Jungkook after all.

When the kiss ends and you sit back in your seat to hold his gaze, Jungkook smiles again. Just as soft, just as gentle, like the rising sun in the summer. It holds promises of you and him, and you love him.

You love Jeon Jungkook more than you’ve ever loved anything in this world.

“Do you want to head home?” Jungkook suggests a little while later, after you’ve gone back to looking at the jewel of a city down below.

You sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s half past ten, and though you do have to study tomorrow, you don’t feel like leaving just yet. Not when your heart beats for him like it does, slowly filling with unquenchable desire, with a thirst for him that only he can help with. So, instead of accepting the offer, you turn to face Jungkook, smiling softly.

“Not really,” you say. You glance at the back seat, your smile turning into a devilish smirk. “Remember when I sucked you in your car?”

He follows your gaze to the backseat. “Yes?”

“Have you ever fucked anyone on that backseat?”

The silence that follows fills with tension, with barely concealed lust, and Jungkook lets out a low chuckle.

“No,” he replies. “Why? Got anything in mind?”

“I kind of really want to ride you right now.”

You’re not exactly in the mood. You know you’ll get there easily - it’s mostly just that this place feels like a safe haven, like a retreat from the whole universe where you and Jungkook can just get lost for a while. You want to take advantage of it, to live in it until it’s time to return to your normal life, to Taehyung and Ariane and studying.

“Shit peach,” Jungkook lets out, voice dark and husky. “Say less.”

You laugh, though you immediately squeeze between the front seats to get to the back. Jungkook, much larger than you, doesn’t fit, and he grumbles as he gets out of the car, only to climb with you in the back.

“Good thing the windows are all fogged up, mmh?” he says as you lean against the door opposite him, legs spread open to create room for him to get close to you.

You bite at your lower lip. “You don’t want people to see us?”

His eyes darken, if that’s even possible. “Oh peach. Don’t you remember how I wanted all of New York to see just how good I fuck you?”

Your blood heats up in your veins, shooting down your body until it warms up your core. “Oh, I remember,” you whisper, breathless as Jungkook pushes your dress higher on your body, revealing your dragon tattoo first, which he gently traces with a finger, and then the black, lacy thong you’re wearing.

“So, so hot,” Jungkook praises.

He leans in, his lips ghosting yours, though he diverts at the last second, aiming for your neck instead. You tilt your head to the side, letting out a breathy sound as he finds the sweet spot under your ear. He sucks on it lightly, teeth teasing it, and then pulls away just enough to meet your gaze.

“Just, before we go too far,” he says, and there’s a hint of clarity in his dark eyes, of sanity you know he’s about to lose. “I don’t have any condoms.”

You smirk. “Guess that means you’ll have to fill me up.”

“Fuck.”

Before you can truly register what happened, Jungkook crashes his mouth on yours, ravishing a languid kiss that has your mind spinning. You fight against the buttons of his dress shirt, and when you think you’ll lose it Jungkook pulls away to help.

Soon the shirt is off, revealing Jungkook’s perfect body, though the dim light from the city down below doesn’t allow you to see his hard-earned muscles in all their glory.

“You’re keeping the dress,” Jungkook says as he plays with the hem between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to ruin you in it.”

You’d argue if you were able to produce a single sane thought, but right now, all you want is him, and if he wants the dress on, you’ll keep it on.

“The panties can go though,” he says, and he lets go of your dress to press a finger on your core. You’re already getting wet, so you’re not surprised when he hisses, and then brings his finger to his mouth. “You know what?” he says after he’s sucked on his finger. “I think it’s time for dessert.”

Though the car isn’t that big, Jungkook manages to move back enough so that he can lower his face between your thighs. He kisses his way down, sucking a hickey on the inside of your right thigh that makes you moan softly.

You lose a hand in his hair, the other finding leverage on the back of the passenger’s seat next to you as Jungkook nears your pussy. He doesn’t go for it though, instead pressing a light kiss on your clit through the fabric of your thong, and then he moves to your other thigh.

“Don’t tease,” you whine, though he still sucks a hickey on the soft skin of your inner left thigh.

“Why?” he asks, his lips moving against your skin as he licks at the hickey.

“I want you.”

“Oh, peach, I promise you’ll have all of me soon.”

The words make you see stars, or maybe that’s because he’s pulled your panties to the side with one hand, revealing your glistening pussy to him. He blows on it, and your eyes flutter shut as your hips try to rise towards the sensation, though Jungkook holds you down.

“Be patient for me, peach,” he warns. He bites at the inside of your thigh, hard enough to slightly hurt. “I’ve been thinking about what you taste like all week.”

You haven’t had sex again since last Sunday. In the moment, you hadn’t cared that Taehyung was home, but you both were too embarrassed to fuck again since then. It’s been haunting you, evidently so, considering you’ve slept tangled up with him every night. More than once you’d felt his arousal against you, and resisting was the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Perhaps it’s contributing to your impatience tonight.

“Yeah?” you let out in a breathy sound.

Jungkook teases your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve been thinking of how you come undone on my tongue.” He sucks on your clit next, before adding, “How you always come so good on my dick too.”

You’re going to die tonight, aren’t you? He’s about to destroy you, and you don’t even care.

You want it so bad you think you might die if he doesn’t give it to you.

“Kook…”

“Yeah?” He raises his head from between your legs, kissing your thigh.

“Please touch me,” you beg.

“Where?” he asks. He kisses your thigh again. “Here?” He grabs your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth so that he can kiss the back of it. “Here?” He moves up your body and captures your lips in a quick kiss that still leaves your mind spinning. “Or here?”

“I want your tongue on me,” you breathe out against his mouth.

“But where, peach?” he teases. “You’ll have to be more precise.”

“Eat me out, Kook.” You moan softly as one of his fingers teases your entrance. “Please eat me out.”

“Oh I will,” he says like a promise, and then he pushes his finger in up to the first knuckle. “I will,” he repeats against your lips, and then he’s going down your body again as he slowly pushes his finger deeper inside of you.

He arches it, searches for your g-spot, and lets out a low chuckle as you squirm the second he finds it, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Patience,” he teases, and he pulls his finger almost all the way out before pushing in again.

You moan softly, resting your head against the door. This time you resist moving though, and Jungkook answers by diving his face between your legs again, his tongue circling around your clit once. He does it again when you return your hand to his hair, and this time you hold his head in place, keeping him from pulling away. He laughs against you, which sends vibrations deep inside your core, and then he finally gives in to your desire, sucking on your clit hard as his finger starts fucking you at a steady rhythm.

He’s good to you. He’s always been - far too good - and tonight is no different. No, tonight you think he might even be better, like the months apart only served to enhance the desire and passion you share. Because even though you’ve had sex twice in the last week and a half, tonight feels new, in all the ways that matter.

Tonight feels like your soul might fuse with his, and for the first time since the very beginning of your relationship with Jeon Jungkook, you jump in feet first.

Jungkook’s mouth works on you, his tongue alternating with pressing circles and licking at your clit, the pressure he applies slowly increasing as time goes by. Soon, he’s able to add a second finger inside of you, and though your walls clench hard around his digits, he works the muscle loose.

So much so that, by the time your orgasm is nearing the horizon of your conscience, he’s able to push a third finger in. You’re wet, soaked and dripping, and your pussy makes squelching sounds as he fingers you in time with the ministrations of his tongue on you. You’ve been moaning softly this whole time, though now that you’re split wide open the sounds grow higher pitched.

“You’ll come for me, mmh?” Jungkook says against your pussy. He laps you up, drinking your juices. “I want you to fucking scream my name when you come, okay?”

You don’t know why it undoes you. It just does, and a second later you’re indeed moaning his name, your orgasm slamming into you. It shakes you to your core, and your walls clench hard around Jungkook’s fingers, though he pushes to keep them inside of you. His tongue keeps moving on your clit as you come, milking your orgasm in the most sinful way, and the waves of the climax wash over you, again and again and again until all that’s left of you is a breathy mess.

Jungkook kneels back on his heels, wiping his chin clean with the back of his clean hand. He licks the fingers he’s been fucking you with clean, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as ecstasy invades your bloodstream, blowing your pupils wide.

“You’re always such a good girl for me,” Jungkook praises as he caresses your thighs next.

“Fuck, Kook,” you let out, and it’s whiny, almost embarrassingly so.

“I know.” He caresses up and down your thighs another time. “Think you can take my dick now?”

You gulp, your throat dried out by all the moaning you’ve been doing. “Yes, please.”

He pats your thighs approvingly, taking your panties off for you. He then undresses himself, awkwardly so with the size of his car, yet soon enough his dick is freed. It slaps against his abdomen, standing hard and tall and leaking precum, so enticing to you that you think you might be going crazy for this man. You immediately reach for Jungkook’s dick, grabbing him so that you can jerk him off.

He’s steel hard under your touch, his dick twitching as you stroke up, your thumb teasing his slit. You work your way down then, smearing the precum on him, and then move up again. You watch what you’re doing like you’re entranced, and you think maybe you are.

Jungkook’s dick has that effect on you, after all.

Jungkook lets you jerk him off for a few seconds, grunting softly as you spit in your hand to lubricate his tip. He soon grows impatient though, and he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to ride me?” he asks, voice so low it’s almost gravelly. “I want to feel your pussy on my cock, peach.”

You smirk through the haze encasing your brain, and you straddle his lap, holding yourself up on his shoulders. “Yeah?” you say, circling your hips on his dick, your juices dripping all over him.

His eyes flutter shut, and you lean forward to suck on his lip piercings. He grunts, his hands flying to your waist so that he can guide your motions, forcing you into a back-and-forth motion that rubs his dick on your oversensitive clit in just the right way.

“Fuck,” you moan, your face falling in his neck.

He forces you back, then forth. “That feels good?” he asks.

“Everything always feels good with you,” you reply.

“Damn right.” He kisses the side of your face, and you meet his gaze just long enough for him to be able to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. You taste yourself on him, and it only turns you on further, until you move up enough to be able to grab the base of his dick and align him with your entrance.

You lower yourself on him slowly, your mouth never disconnecting from his. He grunts against your lips, and you swallow every sound, up until his dick is fully sheathed in you, pushing against your cervix.

“Fuck you feel good,” he groans, and he leans his head back against the car seat.

It reveals his neck to you, and you lean in to lick at the column of his throat, your lips closing around his Adam’s apple as you suck softly. His grip on your waist tightens, before shifting to your hips, and he lifts you up, slamming you back down a second later.

You see stars. You fucking see stars, and your mouth falls open as you moan unabashedly loud. It spurs Jungkook into action, and he lifts you enough so that he can ram his hips into you, his dick splitting you open again and again until all you can think of is the space where your bodies are connected. Jungkook lets go of your hips on one side, grabbing a handful of your dress so that he can push it up, revealing the space between you, and his cock inside of you.

He slows down, grunting softly as you moan his name, and then he entirely stops.

“You look so pretty on my dick, you know?” he says, and he pushes up once, before pulling almost all the way out. “You feel so, so good too.” He fucks you a few times, eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feeling. “I just want to fuck you constantly.”

“Please do it,” you reply, and a second later he’s pulling you flush against his chest, and then he’s fucking you hard and quick, your moans and heavy breaths filling the car into a pornographic song. The rain on the roof soothes the edges of the sinful sounds, and the dim light of the city paints it all in a scene of passion and shared love, and whispered confessions when Jungkook comes a few minutes later.

“I fucking love you,” he says, face hidden in your neck. “Shit peach, I am so in love with you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the wild beats of your heart, and then you say, “Me too, Jungkook. From now on until the end.”

You don’t even know what you mean by the end. You think you mean grey hair and years and years of being with him - you almost can see it. You can see yourself going in the night with him, falling asleep on his chest eternally. Or maybe him on your chest, like that scene from The Notebook that always rips your heart from your chest.

Yes, you think if you and Jungkook are to end one day, it’ll be at the end of a very long road, and tonight you know you are ready for every single second of it.

The most beautiful part is, you know Jungkook is ready for it, too. From now on until the end.

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can't believe there's just one chapter left :') did you guys like this one? I feel like we all deserved the healing after all the pain these two went through :') let me know what you think!

#chasing cars ch 16 #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #jeon jungkook #btswritersclub #chasing cars #chasing cars series

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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The Fall from the Heavens Universe Series Masterlist

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, arranged engagement, obsession, violence, swearing, bullying, chauvinism, mention of injury, character's death ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

Author's note: The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them. I have decided that both Rhaenyra and Viserys' children are titled My Prince/Princess/Your Grace, and Baela and Rhaena are titled My Lady. For the purposes of this story, Lord Arryn has a son, to whom the female protagonist was later betrothed.

All Series & Scenes Moodboards The Lost Haven (Modern mafia AU) Play with my heart (Modern actors AU)

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cerisereids · 6 months ago

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𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 (𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲)- 𝗮.𝗵. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟰]

masterlist, part one, part two, part three

wc- 5.2k

pairing- aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

summary- down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

warnings- swearing, mentions of nudity, we finally find out what happened in new york, one thing about me is my ass loves a simile, make ups all around!!!

a/n- the last part of this series is finally here!! thank you all for the endless support for this series, it means the world to me. enjoy!

The overhead light of your father's kitchen beats down in the middle of the table, the rays acting as a golden barrier between you two. He's just across the table from you, but he may as well be a million miles away. Guilt seeps through your every pore as your father's disappointment radiates through you. It's been a week since he caught you with Aaron, a case taking him away soon after that gloomy morning in the kitchen. You pick at your food, sliding it around your plate with your fork until your father speaks first.

"How long was it going to take?" he mumbles, and your head shoots up. He continues at your furrowed brow, "how long was it going to take to tell me you were sleeping with Aaron?"

The confrontation of your actions shock your nervous system, panic seizing each organ in your body. Your forehead falls into the crook of your neck, your cheeks heating at an ungodly temperature. "I'm so sorry, Papà-"

"Nuh-uh," he cuts you off, waving his fork at you, eyes dark and stormy, "don't 'Papà' me, do you have any idea that your actions have consequences, young lady?"

A pit of guilt sinks deep in your stomach, like you're 16 again and got busted sneaking in after a kegger. Only this time, you're grown, no teenage angst to fall back on as a result of your actions.

"Dad-" you try, but he's not having it.

"Did you tell him what ran you out of New York City? Why not a single publishing company will work with you?" he accuses.

Your heart stops, cheeks heating to an insane degree. Acid gurgles in your stomach as you go over the events that led you back to Virginia, your heart anxiously pounding.

"That's a no," he huffs out in annoyance, and frustration constricts your throat as he stands up to put his plate in the sink.

"Dad, I'm-"

He whips around to face you. "You're what? Sorry? You're my daughter, which means that I'm here to support you no matter what, but not when you lie to me. Not about this," he shakes his head as he makes his way to the stairs.

Soon, you're abandoned in the kitchen, your baggage your only company. You sit there in tense silence, mind flashing back to that detrimental morning one week ago. The way your father stood there, briefcase in hand, staring down Aaron like they're in a Texas Standoff.

The kitchen felt like a war zone that day, and has every day since. Tension rose thick like mud, dirtying you all over, exposing your lies. You remember the way your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, sitting heavy as a rock as you watched your father figure it out. The way his eyes flitted between you two, his brows furrowed, one raised every so slightly as to say, 'really?'

Aaron's face flashes through your mind, the pale of his cheeks contrasting his dark features, looking like he'd seen a ghost. His hand was still partially inside a bag of Nespresso pods, frozen in place. You were sure you didn't look much better as you shot a panicked look at the raven haired man you'd been...liaising with behind your father's back.

"Don't look at him," your father said, in that stern Italian cadence that meant you were about two seconds away from swimming with the fishes. "Look at me, and tell me the truth. What's going on here?"

He knew, of course he knew, though he's making you tell him yourself. Ever the agent.

"Dad-"

"David," Aaron had cut you off immediately, and you remember the sting of acid that punched your throat, your eyes widening as he took a small step towards your dad. "It's my fault, completely. I initiated this, please don't take your anger out on her. It's on me, and I'm sorry."

You were breathless at the fact that even after all of this, Aaron was still taking care of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but you couldn't have slowed the racing patter of your heart if you tried.

"Don't tell me how to feel about you sleeping with my daughter, Aaron," your father snapped, voice booming off the marble walls. "Aaron, I've always respected you. You're a good man, and an even better agent. But right now? I've never wanted to kill somebody more. Get out of my house."

Your fork clatters against your plate as the memory surges through you, seizing every part of you with otherworldly guilt. You see yourself vaguely in the reflection of your plate, and you don't recognize yourself. The distortion of your reflection in the glass paints a better picture of you than a mirror could right now.

Shame follows the guilt soon after, twisting around your heart like a lasso and pulling until it's so tight, you're bursting out the front door for some air. The cool evening air bites gently at your cheeks, dew already beginning to moisturize the nature around you. When you'd moved back here, you wished to be like the daisies blooming in your father's yard this spring. Born again, renewed.

Angry tears prick hot in your eyes as you stroll, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. You're in disbelief with yourself, making the same mistakes over and over again. Even in your emotional daze, though, you can't seem to count Aaron as a mistake. You're fully aware of the ways in which you hurt your father, but you can't help but wonder if you had gone about things differently, more honestly, could you still be with him?

The question nearly paralyzes you, shock unzipping down your spine at the thought of being with Aaron, inhibitions stripped away. Your feet make quick work in the direction of his apartment, your subconscious stampeding over the logical voice in your head telling you that visiting him would only be disastrous.

Emotion wins this battle, since you're knocking at his door no more than 10 minutes later. You pick at your nails as you wait for him to open the door and anxiety pools in your gut, tart and bitter. His door finally swings open and he's speechless at the sight of you. His eyes wide and chest heaving up and down, he wordlessly steps aside to let you in.

You cross the threshold and stand awkwardly in the entryway. You wring your hands together, eyes darting everywhere but the man before you. He stands with his hands on his hips, clad in a dark suit, go-bag sat by the front door.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out as you take in your surroundings. "Do you have a minute?"

He nods slightly, and your breath hitches on an inhale.

"Aaron..." you start, but the words get lost in your throat. "What do we do?" You want him to maybe, just maybe, try and salvage what you have.

"I don't think we should continue seeing each other. At all," his voice is small, but firm and low. Your hope fizzles like a sparkler fading into the night.

"What?" you breathe out. You weren't sure what other possibilities were there for you, but you weren't expecting him to shut you down so immediately.

"What?" he asks, tone bordering on sarcastic, "is that not what you came here to do?"

"N-not necessarily!" you choke out, tears immediately springing to your eyes. Your throat constricts with frustration, how easily you fold in front of him is nearly embarrassing.

He looks shocked at your response, and it's like a hammer to a nail in the middle of your heart, splitting it right down the middle. His hands still rest on his hips, but he brings a large palm to his face, running it from his forehead to his chin. When he looks back at you, his own eyes are glossy.

"I-" he starts, unsure of how to finish, "I'm sure you can imagine how difficult it has been for your father and I at work."

Water floods in your ears, white hot anger burning in your core at his words. You truly thought you heard him wrong, that there's no world in which he could be making this about himself.

"How difficult it has been for you?!" you screech, and he flinches at your tone. "My own father won't even look at me!"

He avoids your gaze, brows furrowed and sad eyes trained on the floor. You continue.

"He won't talk to me unless it's to berate me for lying to him, and you think it's hard for you?!" your voice rings louder through the

Your logical mind is once more at war with your fiery emotions. You weren't alone in your deceit, and you know that Aaron has been facing his own consequences, too. That doesn't matter much to you, though, as you stand there in front of him, shaking and in tears. All the while he stands there, still as a statue.

"I've always prided myself on being respectable. To myself and others. The way your father looked at me that day..." he shakes his head and takes a few steps in the opposite direction, regaining some composure. "I never want to feel that guilt again. I'm sure you don't either."

You nod slowly, your brain finally wrapping itself around his decision. Before you can respond, though, his phone pings with a new message. He sighs before running five fingers through his lightly gelled hair.

"I think we should talk more about this later," he says, reaching for his go-bag and meeting you by the door.

"No," you turn to him, heaving chests now inches apart, "there's nothing more to talk about. You said we need to call things off, and clearly whatever you say, goes. Have a good case Aaron," you pierce him with one last scrutinizing gaze before slamming his door.

It begins to rain lightly on your walk home, picking up in speed the further you go. Mother Nature is falling right in line with your mood, you see. You wish you could take your time, mosey in your misery. The rain does unfavorable things for your hair, though, and you'd rather not suffer the frizzy consequences.

A familiar figure waits on your porch as you arrive home, brows furrowing as you trudge up the pathway to the house. Your heart stops once you realize who it is, blood rushing through your head and pounding in your ears.

"Kate?" you nearly whisper, paralyzed with disbelief.

Her long blonde hair whips around her shoulder as she turns to face you.

"There you are! I was waiting for you!" she chirps, fake niceties rolling off her tongue with the same ease they did in New York. Good thing nothing's changed.

"Why are you here?" is all you can get out, uncaring of your nasally monotone.

She scoffs, as if it's ridiculous of you to even ask. "Well...let's go inside and talk about it! I don't want to sit in the rain! It seems it hasn't done you any favors." She scrunches her nose in a fake giggle that almost causes steam to rise from your ears. Rage bubbles up inside you as you pass her by, not looking at her as you unlock the front door.

You're not entirely sure why you're letting her in, maybe it's the itch of curiosity you haven't been able to scratch since leaving the city. Why she did what she did. Some people say closure isn’t real. You're not one of them.

"Okay," you huff out in annoyance, "what is it? Why are you here?" you lean against the entryway table, a hand on your hip.

"Geez! We haven't seen each other in almost a year. I thought there'd be at least a little courtesy!" her nonchalance bites at your heart like a mosquito, frustration and hurt swelling inside you. "I just wanted to check in on you. Is that so wrong?"

You scoff, unsure if she's putting on an act or is genuinely this vapid. You shake your head in disbelief, how were you friends with this awful woman for years?

"You never bothered to check in when I was being shamed out of every single publishing office in New York. You seemed just fine then," you cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow at her.

"I think you're being overdramatic," she responds, and your jaw drops open at her gall.

"Oh, you think?" you sneer nastily. She picked the wrong day for this. "That's really rich coming from someone who couldn't get a single piece published until you stole my manuscript!" the accusation hangs heavy in the air, explosive like a bomb.

"You know," you barrel through any bullshit response she would have had for you, "I've had a lot of time to think since I've arrived home, and something I've come to realize is that the people we surrounded ourselves with..." you shake your head, laughing in frustrated disbelief, "all they care about is status. Money. Who has the 'next best idea'. So what are you going to do once this high wears off? When you don't have a story of mine to refigure as your own?"

You struck a nerve, her stunned silence tells you so.

"Well..." she sputters out, "forgive me for never being able to live up to the Great David Rossi's daughter! Nobody ever paid any mind to me, I had to do something!"

There it is. Your answer. Somehow, it’s not as satisfying as you anticipated. You’re still out for blood with this woman.

"So you framed me for plagiarism and ruined my career because of my father? Awesome solution to your problem there, Kate!" your sarcasm rings clear as a bell through the foyer. "You never considered putting in the work to become a better writer? Nobody paid any mind to you because you didn't have it."

You surprise yourself with your bark and bite, and you thought it'd be much more satisfying to see the tears well up in Kate's eyes. All you feel though, is more guilt, piling itself on top of the endless amount that's accumulated in the past few weeks. The doorbell pierces through the tension, and you whip yourself around to face the door and groan. You swing it open to reveal a wet, sorrowful Aaron, standing on your porch steps in the rain.

You didn't need to ask how long he's been standing there, the pained look in his eye tells you he'd heard most of what you said. You feel like you're digging your own grave in real time, like Ebenezer Scrooge watching his grim future from the tomb.

"Aaron..." you trail off, eyes scanning his face for any sign that he doesn't think you're an awful person, but you come up empty.

"Now who's this?" Kate chirps up from behind you, quickly regaining her attitude with this new arrival.

You whip your head behind you and pierce her with a deathly gaze. "Don't even think about it," you grit through clenched teeth, and her brow raises in curiosity.

"What do you want?" you ask, trying to sound unbothered as you face Aaron once again, "I thought you had a case."

"We do, we don't take off for another 15. I wanted to give you this," he holds out a gold chain with an angel pendant hanging from it. "I wanted to give it to you before I left." The clear reason why hangs between the two of you, and you shakily bring your hands to take the gold necklace from his fingers.

It was your grandmother's, and your mind races back to the night you'd shown it to him. Cuddled on the couch, a blanket draped over your sweaty, naked frames. He'd placed a finger on the pendant sticking to your chest, and you'd taken it off to show him. You hadn't even realized you left it there, another boulder of shame nestling itself on the large pile tearing apart your stomach.

"Thanks," you breathe, eyes snapping up to meet his. His lips roll into a closed lip smile, and he nods stiffly. You sit in the tension, nearly swimming in it as you stare into his dark, sorrowful eyes. Your spine straightens at the snicker that echos from behind you, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a meteor.

"So this is why you haven't come back to New York..." she mutters slyly, pushing you to the side with her shoulder so she can get a better look at him.

Bile rises in your throat at the way her wicked eyes scan up and down his frame. You swallow the lump forming there and flit your eyes back to Aaron. He's still looking at you, which melts your heart and also makes you want to punch him at the same time.

You tear your eyes away from him, a herculean feat as your gaze drags back over to the nuisance now standing next to you. "Kate," you breathe out, "you have no idea what you're talking about." Your eyes shoot her a pleading look, but she has you right where she wants you.

"No, no, no, so let me get this straight,” she holds a hand up in your face, “we all thought you were having some sort of mental break when you up and left New York, quitting on your ‘dream’ of being a writer," she has a scheming smile on her face, and you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop, "I thought you would have lasted a week in Virginia, tops. But almost three months? Hell, I'd stay too if I had someone like this-"

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" you nearly screech, holding both palms out, trying to keep both people in front of you at arm's length. "Everyone here needs to leave, I mean it."

Aaron spins on his heel without hesitation, and you wonder how long he'd been standing there, and if he'd be late for his plane. You let the thought pass, unable to dedicate another ounce of worry to this man who's just now discovering he doesn't know you at all. Kate, on the other hand, takes her sweet time sauntering over the threshold onto the porch.

"Fine," she holds her hands up in surrender, clearly satisfied she got the last punch, "what I really wanted to tell you is that the book tour is going great," she rests a faux-sympathetic hand on your forearm and it's like you're being branded, "I thought you'd wanna know your book is a hit. Thanks for the script, I owe ya!”

She blows a fake kiss just as you slam the door, hot tears welling up in your eyes as you rest against it. How did things go so wrong? You came back to your father's house to find yourself, to shed yourself of the burden of being in New York. All you've found, though, is that running away from your worries has made them exponentially bigger. It seems obvious looking back on it, like a slap in the face. You know you can't make things right until you confront what's wrong. You race to your room, grab a suitcase, and open your laptop. You type in 'one way flights to New York City' and purchase the first ticket you find.

Aaron Hotchner is having a bad week. The understatement of the year, truly. David hasn't looked at him all week, barely talking to him unless it has to do with the case. Even then, it's still sparse. His team grace him with pitying smiles that only make the pit in his stomach grow bigger, acid singeing his organs.

He stares down at crime scene photos for what felt like the millionth time that day, desperate to crack the M.O. of their current offender. He frustratedly gives the photo a small shove, sliding it away from his prying eyes. It's no use, not when his mind is entirely preoccupied.

He can't remember the last time he's acted so recklessly, sleeping with his coworker's daughter. Not just any coworker, but David Rossi's daughter. Guilt twists in his stomach, like he's being eaten alive from the inside out. He's been dragging his feet throughout the entirety of this case, he feels it. It's why he's been marooned to the conference room of the local police station, sent to look over photos and witness statements.

Every piece of him, though, is with her. There's been a pull in his chest since the day they last spoke, a painful yearning that's taking over every part of him. He feels like he's going crazy, the moment he called things off replaying on a loop in his brain. The soft downward pull of her eyebrows, the pained gloss coating her eyes. He knew, logically, that he made the right decision. So why does it feel so wrong?

He then thinks back to the woman who was at the house when he visited earlier this week. He knew so little of her life in New York, and the way she spoke to her was unlike anything he'd seen or heard from her before. It concerned him at first, but once that door swung open, and he saw the way the unnamed woman scanned him, clearly trying to get under her skin, he felt that maybe she was justified in the harsh words she threw at the mystery woman. He needs to speak to her again, that much is for certain.

The case wraps up later that evening, and Aaron takes advantage of the empty seat opposite Dave on the jet. He slides into the leather chair dubiously, Dave's dark brow raising at the sight of him. He quickly looks back to his crossword. Aaron lets out a defeated sigh, and this gets his attention. Dave closes his puzzle and crosses his arms.

"You initiated?" he asks, and all Aaron can do is nod sheepishly.

"David, I'm sorry for lying to you, but I'm not sorry for my feelings," he begins.

"Which are...?" Dave encourages, and he prepares to say something he never thought would be possible.

"I'm in love with your daughter. Keeping our relationship a secret from you was awful, and I am so, so sorry I betrayed your trust. I love her, though. I want to be with her," adrenaline rushes through Aaron as he breathes out the last sentence. To his surprise, the tiniest smile tugs at Dave's lips.

"Don't screw it up," he points an intimidating finger at him, and Aaron huffs out a small laugh.

"You got it," he smiles, thankful to have taken the first step in earning Dave's forgiveness.

Aaron's the first one off the plane when they touch down in Quantico, opting out of team drinks at the bar and going straight to his apartment. He's in desperate need of a shower, and then he's heading straight to see her. He slows, though, when he sees an envelope taped to his door. He knows it's from her before he opens it, the scratchy Aaron on the center of the envelope giving her away immediately.

Aaron,

I feel like I owe you an explanation for the shit show you had to witness, and the full truth of what happened in New York. I had completed a manuscript just after graduating from NYU. It was my best work yet, and my ex-best friend, the woman you saw at my father's house, completely abused my trust. She had found her way on my computer one day, forwarded herself a copy, deleted any trace of it from my laptop, and gave it to the biggest publishing company in the whole city. She claimed it was hers originally, that she found it on my computer in my attempt to 'steal' her work. I tried to fight back, but she accused me of plagiarism, effectively ending my writing career. I've spent the last couple months nursing my broken heart, and I'm sorry you were caught in my mess. I'm back in the city, and I wish you well, truly.

XOXO

Aaron feels as if the air has been stolen from his lungs as he shoves the front door open. He loosens the tie around his neck and has never been more thankful for Jessica having Jack than he is right now. He fumbles with his phone, trying to find the next flight to New York. He knows it's irresponsible, rash, but she's completely turned his life upside down. What's a little more fuel to the fire?

The sun rises on your seventh day in the Manhattan Hotel in Times Square, and the liveliness of the city that would once annoy you, is now a welcomed chaos. You have no idea how long you're going to stay in room 203, whether you'll return back to Virginia or find another place here, but you've found that returning to New York has only done you good.

You're confronting the beast that's loomed over you for months, and it has not only unlocked an array of emotions- many of them Aaron related- but also unleashed your creativity. You've written three chapters so far, a semi-autobiographical tale of reclaiming your power in times of hardship. You're not sure how you're going to work around the plagiarism accusations, how you'll gain any publisher's trust again, but you figure that's an issue for a later date.

Your phone buzzes on the desk of the hotel, and you reach to flip it over. Your heart drops when you see your father's face in your caller ID. He knew you were in New York, but there hasn't been an attempt at communication until now. A trembling finger presses 'accept' and you bring the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" you answer shakily, "Dad?"

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk, Principesa," his familiar warmth floods you with relief.

"Oh Papà," you nearly exclaim, emotion flooding over you as tears spring to your eyes, "I should be the one apologizing, I'm so, so sorry for keeping my relationship with Aaron from you. It was wrong, and I never should have done it. I'm sorry," your voice wells up at the last sentence, and you hear your father coo.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay, I had some extreme convincing from a certain grouch at work," he jokes, but you hear his voice start to shake, too.

The mention of Aaron is like a gut punch, and you can't help yourself, "How is he? Aaron?"

"He was grouchier than normal for a while, but he came to me and we talked. Things are better," he states.

"I'm so glad to hear it," you respond, though you feel there's something he's not telling you.

"Listen, I wanted to tell you something. Aaron mentioned that he dropped by to see you and there was a woman there, and that it didn't look good. I'm assuming Kate?" He asks. Your eyes fall closed, your lashes kissing your cheeks as you recall the moments of her berating you in your father's home.

"Yeah, yeah it was Kate," you whisper out.

"Good to know, because the Ring camera caught some very interesting information on her way out of the door. Something about how your book is a hit?" he mentions slyly, and you're picking up on his tone.

You'd filled him in soon after you returned home, unable to keep secrets from him for very long. He'd told you if there was anything you had to prove that she was truly the one who plagiarized, he'd help you in an instant. It seems the instance has arrived.

"You're kidding," you gasp, covering your mouth with an open palm.

"Not one bit. Sent it in to Good Morning America this morning. She's scheduled to be on tomorrow, y'know?" you can hear the smile in his voice, and it's contagious.

"Papà, oh my God!" you exclaim, the anxiety that's plagued you for months dissipating in a blur.

"Keep working hard over there, and don't be afraid to come back to me, alright?" he asks.

"Alright," you respond, and hang up. You ponder what it would be like to go back to Virginia, to write there. You don't think you'd mind it, whether Aaron is there or not. He'd be a nice bonus, for certain, but you enjoyed fostering a new relationship with your dad, cherished the real friendships you made in his coworkers. You could see a life there.

There's a knock on the door a moment later, and your brows furrow. Nobody knows you're here besides your father and Aaron, and the idea of the latter being behind that door shakes you to your very core. Your stomach drops when you realize that's exactly who's standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Aaron..." you breathe out, nearly speechless.

"Hi," he says back, breathing heavily.

You're not used to seeing him dressed so casually, a Georgetown University t-shirt hanging from his shoulders, jeans snug on his hips. His hair is mussed like he's just gotten off back-to-back flights.

"Your father said I'd find you here," he says, and you wordlessly move to let him in.

"What are you doing here, Aaron?" you ask once the door is shut.

"I'm miserable without you," he confesses, and your eyebrows shoot into your forehead, "I've barely made it through the past couple weeks, the whole time I was just waiting for you. I know it was my idea to call things off, and I don't think I've ever been so stupid."

"So why did you do it?" you question, not so ready to forgive him right away.

"The guilt- your father- it was all too much, I thought the only way past it was out," he admits, and you can understand that. You're not one to judge another for running away. "I'm sorry," he breathes, "I should have fought for you. This wasn't just a hook-up to me, was it for you?" he's breathing heavily, and you waste no time in your response.

"No, it wasn't," you breathe, and he steps closer to you slowly.

"Tell me no," he gives you an out as his hands reach up to cup your cheeks, and you respond by bringing his lips down to yours.

Kissing him again is like the first sip of water after being stranded in the desert, refreshing, renewing, all encompassing. His lips part against yours as he presses himself further into you, causing you to sigh into the kiss.

You reluctantly break away from him before you can no longer control yourself. You're both breathing heavily, your palms flat against his shoulders as you say, "Let's go back to Virginia," a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

"What?" he sputters out, a disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips.

"We're going to take this slow, we're going to do it right. I like you, but I also really like the life I began to create while I was staying with my dad. I can write from Virginia," you nudge his shoulder with yours, moving to pack up your belongings.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to nap while you do this," he lays back on the couch, kicking his shoes off, "after we return home, I'm not getting on another plane for 5 years."

You chuckle as you watch his eyes close, snuggling into the couch. You like the way that word sounded when it came out of his lips, home. You could get used to that.

#AAAAHHHHH #i can’t believe it’s done #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x rossi!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner series

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back2bluesidex · 1 year ago

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J-Hope Fic Recommendations (18+)

If you are already following me for quite some time then you should know that I am a massive masochist and I like to torture myself by reading and writing angsty stories. So, most of the stories that I recommended are angsty as well (might as well have sad endings). So please carefully read the warnings before proceeding. Have a happy reading.

And please don't expect much from me. There are several other rec lists far better than mine. The only motive I had behind creating this list to promote some of the stories, which I think are very underrated. especially angsty ones. These stories are beautifully written so.. I just wanted to let the authors know how phenomenal of a job they have done (As a writer myself I know how much this actually means). Thanks to these amazing writers and I am grateful that they decided to share their work here with us.

[Minors please stay away from my blog!]

Key: F - Fluff, A- Angst, S- Smut, Y- Yandere, *- Personal Favorite

Oneshots

1. Ash from his fire by @filmcrystal - A, implied S, cheating au

It will break your heart so please proceed with caution.

2. Forbidden Fruit by @deepdarkdelights - A, Y

This one deals with several triggering topics. Hence, read the warnings carefully. But I can say that you will love this twisted mafia Hoseok way too much!

3. Shadows by @borathae - A, exes au

One of the most underrated stories I have ever read! Yeah, it is very angsty and Hoseok is so cruel but... we all are masochist here. lmao!

4. Heaven sent by @aquagustd - A, F, S, f2l au

Sexy soccer player Hoseok is just another name for perfection.

5. Bound by @explicit-tae - S, kinda f2l

Talk abut BDSM! GOOOD Sweet Lord!!!

6. Jigsaw by @sunshinejunghoseokie - A *

I remembered crying after reading this one. So damn underrated that it physically hurts me!!

7. Delta Disorder by @bangtanintotheroom Y, S, Supernatural au

I don't usually read supernatural stuff but this demon Hoseok is way too sexy to skip!

8. Systems of Touch by @yeoldontknow - S, F, tiny A, S2l au

Beautifully written! The author used 100% of their capabilities to write this one. Perfectly drawn Professor Hoseok with a very attractive character of reader. Certainly a treat to read.

9. 2:00 AM by @likeastarstar - A, fuckbuddy Hoseok

Part of a series but can be read as a standalone. and Hoseok is a dick in this.

10. Love Quarrels by @mirahuyooo - A, F, mafia au

A cold yet soft mafia husband Hoseok chases behind his angry wife... could there be anything better than that?

11. The Hook Up ft. JK by @minisugakoobies - S

A little bit of a triangle.. but not love? if that makes sense.

12. Entelechy by @drmflm - suggestive (I believe)

Can't call this one angst and neither is this about Hoseok (he is there, don't worry). This one is more about the reader and her growth and it's beautiful.

13. Orgasms on the verge of a nervous breakdown by @sluttyandere - S, Y *

This is very dark and quite triggering, so please don't read unless you can handle those stuff.

14. For the night by @aseaofyoongi - A, S

I cried. that's all.

15. We Shouldn't by @beahae - S **

Hands down to one of my most favourite Hoseok smuts ever!!! This one has a Jimin follow-up so make sure to read that too.

16. Real or not real by @nmjoo-n - A, S, F **

Again one of the most exquisite Hoseok fics I have ever read!

17. Checkmate by @sunshinejoon - A, S

This was supposed to have a sequel but it is perfect regardless.

18. Do I wanna know - @yoongiphoria - A, f2? ****

Now, MJ knows how much I love this one. I often read this story and I never ever get bored of it! I love this to the core and you should too!

19. Scrap - @silv3rswirls - A, Y, S

Dark and sexy. Read the warnings carefully please.

20. It's a Promise by @sahmfanficbts - S, A, Arranged marriage au

Just read it.

21. Three by @hamsterclaw - S

Again.. VERY UNDERRATED!

22. Wonderwall by @kiara-ish - A with an open ending

Might not be for the faint hearted.

23. Infatuated by @bangtanfancamp - F

If you like high school love au then this one is for you.

24. Constellations of You by @persphonesorchid - S, F, established relationship au

This is so domestic that my heart almost exploded while reading!!

25. Burning flames or paradise by @/yoongiphoria - A, tiny f ****

MJ does magic.... that's all I can say.

26. Alone again by @archivedkookie - A, F

I loooove these kinds of stories. Just the right amount of despair with the right amount of hope... beautiful.

27. Feeling Good by @bonvoyagenoona - A, S

Everything I write about this will fall short.. so I will just shut up and let you enjoy the goodness.

28. Distracted by @dilfhoseokie - S

Ahem..

29. Drink Champaign in my airplane by @/bangtanintotheroom - F, S, F2l

Perfectly embodies a rich hot CEO friend Hoseok... a fun read.

30. Keynote by @missgeniality - S **********

MY MOST FAVORITE HOSEOK ONESHOT TO EXIST IN THE PLANET. yeah.. (this has a follow-up but I like this one better)

Series

The thing is that I don't usually read series. I just don't have that patience. So this list is pretty small and forgive me for that.

1. Transference by @dark-muse-iris - A, S, F, S2l *********************

[Completed]

I wasn't the same after reading this. I can't talk about this trantric therapist Hoseok, 'cause I will never shut up if I start.

2. Kanalia by @xjoonchildx - A, S, f (?) *********************

[Ongoing]

Honestly, who isn't a sucker for Lord Jung? You must be sick if you are not. (On a side note.. Kanalia is keeping me alive from jumping off trains on tough days)

3. Guarded by @/xjoonchildx - A, S, F, S2l

[Completed]

Mafia Hoseok with dogtags. I think that's enough of an introduction.

If you want to read the Hoseok stories I write, you can checkout my Masterlist.

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leonastarry · 8 days ago

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hiii! i’m the anon who asked for the guild conference request! absolutely loved it❤️ it made me really happy😆

i’d like to req another, where jinwoo introduces wife!reader to his entire army of shadows, specifically during the part after bellion appears and jinwoo trains his shadows in a desolate island (around chapter 167?). reader is a bit shy and soft but absolutely has a soft spot for the shadows cause of how cute they all look to her haha, she’s been asking jinwoo to meet em for awhile because of that! thank you once againn!

[ Req 16 ] Shadow Soldiers. ✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭husband!s.jinwoo x wife!reader

Jin-Woo stopped, and the 'monster' also stopped. And then… the 'monster' looked at Jin-Woo and suddenly knelt on the ground. And at that moment, the soldiers behind him also knelt at the same time.

Chut.

The sight of more than a hundred thousand soldiers bowing at the same time carried an incredible, overwhelming shock value. After a brief silence passed, the 'monster' kneeling right in front raised his head and spoke.

"Grand Marshal Bellion, here to humbly welcome the Sovereign with his Shadow Army."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The waves gently lapped against the shore of the deserted island, their sound a soft soundtrack to the distant clash of weapons as Jinwoo’s shadow army fought in the distance.

You stood at the edge of the training grounds, your hands fidgeting nervously as you glanced at your husband. Jinwoo smiled encouragingly at you, his grey eyes warm as he held your hand.

“They’re happy to see you,” he said softly, his voice carrying the soft, steady tone you loved.

“Really?” you asked, a shy smile playing on your lips. “I thought they’d… be indifferent to me.”

“Not at all,” Jinwoo chuckled. “To them, you’re their queen.”

Your cheeks heated up at the title, but you didn’t have time to react as Jinwoo stepped forward, his imposing presence immediately drawing the attention of every shadow in sight.

“Everyone, gather,” he called, his voice echoing throughout the arena.

From the shadows, they emerged. Bellion was the first, his tall figure radiating power and authority. Beru followed, his graceful movements and the sound of his teeth clattering giving him an almost regal air. Behind them were Igris, Iron, Tusk, and countless other soldiers, each stopping at a respectful distance from you and Jinwoo.

“Everyone,” Jinwoo said, gesturing toward you with a rare proud smile, “this is my wife.”

A whisper—or what could be considered a whisper in the darkness—spread through the gathered army. You could feel their collective gazes on you, a mix of awe and curiosity.

Bellion was the first to step forward, bowing deeply. “My queen,” he said, his deep voice echoing with reverence.

You blinked, surprised by the formal greeting, before waving shyly. “H-hello,” you stammered.

Jinwoo patted his shoulder. “This is Bellion. And that’s Beru, Igris, Tank… You’ve met them before.”

Beru clicked eagerly, his large frame bowing slightly. “The presence of the Queen… is wonderful,” he declared, his tone almost enthusiastic, which was a bit unexpected considering his imposing appearance.

Though you seemed nervous at first, you found yourself smiling. “Thank you, Beru,” you muttered, earning a series of almost amused clicks from the ant-like shadow.

As more shadows stepped forward to introduce themselves—or offer some form of acknowledgement—you couldn’t help but notice how… adorable they were. From Iron's slow but eager demeanor to Tusk's shy bow as he presented a small flower he had summoned with magic, each of them seemed to have their own charm.

"They're… cute," you whispered to Jinwoo, your eyes sparkling with genuine joy as you watched Igris kneel before you, his knightly demeanor melting your heart.

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Cute?"

"Yes!" you said, a little more enthusiastic now. "Look at them! They're all so different, but they're all so loyal and serious. How could anyone not find that adorable?"

Jinwoo chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist as he watched you interact with his soldiers. Seeing your so at ease, your shy demeanor replaced with genuine warmth, filled him with quiet joy.

As the shadows slowly returned to their training, you found yourself standing with Bellion and Beru. Bellion had called you “Queen” in every sentence, while Beru hovered nearby protectively, purring happily whenever you praised him.

“Didn’t I say they would love you?” Jinwoo said, leaning in to kiss her temple.

You smiled at him, eyes soft. “You’re right. They’re amazing.”

“They think the same of me,” he replied, his voice filled with affection.

As you stood there, surrounded by shadows that were no longer scary but an extension of Jinwoo himself, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with happiness.

This was your family now—even the shadows.

Hope you like it 💗

#dream.✧˖*°࿐#leona.star #solo leveling #sung jinwoo #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x y/n #sungjinwoo #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jin woo #sung jinwoo x you

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sosa2imagines · 8 months ago

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Broken Hearts.

Each part will have different warnings. There's only one love interest and it is not Steve. He is dark and mean in the series along with one more character. As for the rest, they are good friends.

New part every second day. (Hopefully)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 (Epilogue)

Complete. ✅

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angelremnants · 2 months ago

Text

Of Stormbound Hearts l L. Laufeyson

summary : In the midst of a storm of emotions and unspoken longing, two souls collide in a moment that blurs the line between desire and fear. The tension between them disguised under quarrels has been building for months, and when it finally unravels, neither can escape the pull of what they’ve both denied for so long. But as their connection deepens, so do the questions. Will they be able to handle the storm they've created, or will it consume them?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (+16), intense emotional tension, physical intimacy, angst to eventual fluff, vulnerability, character conflict, suggestive content. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 4.9k

author's notes : This is loosely tied to my A Tales Of series—which is why there is no previous plot explaining what led to their dispute—but can be read as a stand alone.

(ao3 version)

The dimly lit room trembled under the weight of unspoken words. Tension hummed like a taut wire, each breath you drew amplifying the storm raging outside the windows. Thunder cracked sharply, rattling the walls like an impatient herald of unresolved truths. Yet neither of you blamed Thor for the horrid weather—after all, he had fled the chaos of your ongoing quarrel, retreating to find solace a few doors away.

The argument had collapsed into a suffocating silence. The air between you was raw and electric, sparking with the aftershock of words that could not be taken back. Loki’s composure was shattered, a pale reflection of his usual elegance. His chest rose and fell unevenly, dark locks falling across his face in wild disarray, evidence of his frustrated hands. His arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers twitching with restrained fury, the kind of control that seemed like a punishment, as though it physically pained him to keep from destroying something—anything.

You fared no better. You tugged tightly at your hands behind your back, a futile effort to quell your trembling. Although your voice had been quieter than his during your shouting match, the magnitude of your confrontation rippled through you like an unstoppable tide, leaving you breathless.

You wanted to say something cutting, to twist the knife just enough to force him to react. But his silence unnerved you. The tension in his body and the way his chest rose and fell unevenly—it wasn’t anger. Not entirely.

“What now, Loki?” Your voice sliced through the quiet, intransigent and bitter. “Another lecture about how I’ve derailed your grand, masterful plans?”

He stood motionless, his silhouette framed by the storm’s flickering light. His shoulders were tense, rigid beneath the weight of everything he didn’t say. You shot daggers at his back, daring him to respond. The distance between you felt impossibly vast yet suffocatingly small.

“Are you going to speak?” you pressed, your words razor-sharp. “Or is this the part where you brood in silence, as if the world owes you something? How very godlike of you.” Your tone dripped with mockery.

His muscles tensed at the provocation, every inch of him vibrating with restrained energy. The air around him grew thick, crackling with the kind of dangerous power you recognized all too well. Your instincts screamed at you to retreat, to stop provoking the storm brewing before you, but a deeper, reckless part of you pushed forward, daring to test the limits—perhaps as a way to prove to yourself that you could withstand it.

Yet instead of unleashing his fury, he closed his eyes, drawing in a shaky breath, as though the very act of restraint was excruciating.

“You think this is a game?” His voice was low, trembling with barely restrained anger. “Do you think I stand here, unraveling because it amuses me? Don’t mock me, [Y/N]. I am holding on by a thread.”

The vulnerability laced through his fury struck you like a lightning bolt, but you wouldn’t let him see it. Folding your arms, you threw his anger back at him with a defiant glare.

“Control. That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Your fragile ego.” You scoffed bitterly, crossing your arms to mask the nervous tremor in your fingers. “Honestly, Loki, if you’re so desperate for control, maybe you should stop being so insufferable—”

His head fell forward slightly, his sharp laughter echoing bitterly around the room. The sound was devoid of joy, just a hollow crack in the façade he fought to maintain.

“Stop.” He abruptly turned to you, his eyes unyielding and blazing with darkness. The storm within him mirrored the one outside, each word trembling with unrestrained venom. His lips curled into a joyless smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. The shadows carved harsh lines into his face, and his gaze burned with a fury that made your pulse quicken.

“You ruin everything,” he snarled, taking a step toward you. The intensity in his gaze forced you to take an involuntary step back. “Every plan. Every strategy. Every ounce of control I’ve fought to keep. You invade my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment.” He laughed bitterly, his voice trembling with fury and despair. “You don’t get it, do you? How maddening, how utterly unbearable you’ve made this for me. You’ve undone me. Me! The God of Lies, of Mischief, reduced to this—this pathetic shadow.”

Your defiance faltered. There was no venom in his words, only a bone-deep frustration and something else—something raw and unspoken.

"Please don't do this," you warned, your voice now softer. But he wasn't paying attention.

"Do you know what it’s like? To crave someone so deeply that it consumes you?" Loki continued, his voice cracking slightly. He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him palpable now. "To loathe them for it? To want to destroy them because it would be easier than feeling this—this madness?"

Your anger wavered in the face of his raw emotion. You noticed his hands twitching at his sides, his fingers curling into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His brow furrowed, veins straining visibly beneath his skin, as if his emotions were about to burst forth. The tremble in his voice betrayed the turmoil he fought to contain.

"You terrify me." His voice softened as he whispered your name in an almost pained tone, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his façade. The vulnerability he had buried so deeply now spilled over. "You've taken the one thing I've always had—control. And you've destroyed it without even trying. I hate you for it. I despise your existence."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and the armor you had so carefully built around yourself began to fracture. It felt like a physical blow, a sharp breath escaping you as if you had been struck in the solar plexus.

"Then leave," you whispered, your voice thin and brittle. The word felt like ash on your tongue. "If I’m such a burden, leave."

“Do you think I haven't tried?” His voice was a mix of anguish and fury. “I have fought gods, defied realms, burned my own bridges to the ground in the name of my freedom—and yet, I can’t walk away. I am shackled, chained to this unbearable ache that you've submitted to me.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as his words sank in, each one unraveling the control you thought you had. You had believed yourself to be the one in charge, teasing him, testing his limits. But now, faced with the depth of his emotions, you realized how little you truly understood him.

“Loki…” Your voice trembled, softer now, filled with uncertainty.

“No. Let me finish. Let me finish,” he insisted, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and vulnerability that gleamed in his eyes. “You will hear this—I deserve the least of it. You infuriate me,” he growled, suppressing emotion as he took a strained breath, pressing a trembling hand to his chest as if in pain. “Because you’ve invaded every part of me. You’ve stripped me bare, torn me apart.”

He took a step closer, the heat of his body almost overpowering your train of thought. Your back pressed against the wall, and as you opened your mouth to reply, no words came out. The tension in the room was suffocating, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.

“I hate it,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I hate how much I need you, how much I—” He broke off, his words choking in his throat. “I can’t even hate you properly. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything. This burning torment consumes me every time I look at you, every time I hear your voice and know I can never—” He exhaled suddenly, as though the admission physically pained him. Lowering his head, he gripped his hip with his other hand as if to steady himself. “You make me feel like I’m falling apart from the inside out. You haunt my thoughts. It hurts, and it bewilders me beyond recovery to hear you call for me, to hear you say my name.”

The storm outside roared, and the lightning illuminated his face as he towered over you, his forehead nearly brushing yours. The tremor in his hands pressed against the wall on either side of you, trapping you without making contact.

“I am weak, and you are the one thing I cannot resist. It pains me, irritates me, and yet—and yet, I crave it. I crave you.”

You stared at him, rendered speechless, as the weight of his emotions crashed over you. His hands trembled at his sides, and his voice dropped to a near whisper.

“I’ve known nothing but pain and suffering my whole life, but never have I suffered like this. Every moment I’m near you is agony,” he confessed, his breath warm against your cheek. “But every moment I’m away is worse.”

He pursed his lips, his throat constricting as if swallowing the pain. Then, slowly, almost as though it was the last shred of his pride slipping away, he sank to his knees before you.

His shoulders slumped forward in silent surrender, as if his pride and strength had been stripped away in that single motion. Your heart raced as you saw him like this—so proud, so untouchable—now laid bare and vulnerable.

"I am begging you," Loki murmured, his voice trembling. "On my knees, if that’s what it takes. Tell me to leave." He shut his eyes tightly, as if even the thought of it would scar him. "If you feel nothing, say the word, and I will disappear from your life, no matter how much it kills me. But if there is even the smallest chance that you..." He stopped, his voice breaking completely as he looked up at you, his stormy green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"If you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you... please. End this. Free me from this torment—or let me stay as I am. It would be an honor if you could accept me as such." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I am already painfully yours. But I beg you, please, tell me what to do."

For a long moment, the only sound was the storm, echoing the chaos between you. You stood over him, and for the first time, you saw him—not as a god, not as an agent of chaos, not even as your acolyte, but as a being, raw and vulnerable, utterly at your mercy. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy with unrestrained emotion, making your heart race—and, shamefully, stirring something deep inside you.

"I..." you started, your voice barely a whisper, but Loki shook his head. His hands curled into fists against the earth as he slowly lifted his gaze, stormy green eyes locking onto yours. "No," he breathed, his voice thick with anguish. "If you’re going to reject me, say it directly—don’t give me hope first."

Your heart felt heavy, a tight knot forming in your throat as Loki's words cut through the air like a cold breeze. Each syllable lingered, wrapping around you like a shroud and igniting a tumult of emotions within you. You hesitated for a moment before brushing your fingers over his trembling shoulders. You couldn’t stand to see him like this. He had always been a god of power and control—and now, he was breaking in front of you.

"Loki," you whispered, your voice low but steady, "please, don’t kneel. Get up. It pains me to see you like this." But like a child being reprimanded, Loki shook his head categorically, his body rigid with refusal. His hands clenched into fists against the earth.

"Look at me, Mischief," you said softly, your tone coaxing, as though your voice alone could undo the weight crushing him. Your hands hovered for a moment before finally resting on his trembling shoulders—gentle but firm. "You don’t belong on your knees. Not before anyone, and certainly not before me."

His jaw tightened, and he averted his eyes, an abashed expression crossing his face like a shadow. How wrong you were, not to know that it was one of the finest luxuries in all of the realms for him to be found in such a compromising position for you. Only for you.

Sighing, you resigned yourself to match his position and lowered yourself to your knees in response. Your fingers rose to his face, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness he wasn’t sure he deserved. Though he didn’t return your gaze—probably out of shame, judging by the flush staining his alabaster cheeks—you could see the turmoil in his eyes, mirroring your own.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. Yet, even in the overwhelming intensity of the moment, a mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes, and a small, teasing smile curled at the corners of your lips. Leaning in slightly, you brushed your fingers lightly against his temple before flicking his forehead. “You really do have a way with words, don’t you? Twisting my thoughts around like one of your tricks.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, flickering with a mix of disbelief and indignation. His mouth opened, a protest forming on his tongue, but it faltered. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of exhaustion. His jaw tightened as he looked away, his hands clenching against his knees. Yet, even in his silence, a small tremor betrayed him—enough to reveal the cracks in the armor he so desperately tried to maintain.

You sighed softly, leaning closer, your breath brushing against his cheek as you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze again. “You’re impossible, Loki,” you murmured, your tone quieter now, almost tender. “Completely and utterly impossible.”

With that, Loki’s walls crumbled. His head fell gently onto your shoulder as his body surrendered to the weight of his emotions. He was spent, utterly drained, and you held him close, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hands slid through his hair, fingers gently brushing through the tangled mess as a soft gesture of comfort. You glided your hands down his back, letting the tips of your nails graze his spine before tracing back up, repeating the process; each touch sent shivers of pleasure through him.

“You’re cruel,” Loki huffed with dry humor, his voice barely audible yet tinged with something like relief.

You let out a soft laugh, your lips brushing the crown of his head. “If anything, I think you’re the cruel one for making me care this much,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “You push, you pull… you twist me into knots, Loki. And still…” You paused. “Still, here I am.”

His breath hitched at your words, his body taut beneath your touch. Slowly, you pulled back, cupping his face once more. Your thumbs grazed his cheekbones as your eyes roamed over his features—the furrow in his brow, the way his lips trembled slightly, the flush on his alabaster skin.

“Honestly, I should be the one angry with you, Mischief,” you said, your voice softer now but laced with frustration. “I never did anything wrong, yet you let it all spill onto me—your anger, your pain. You teased me, belittled me, and made me feel like I didn’t matter. And yet, here you are, breaking down in my arms and asking me to understand.”

Your words cut through him, and he swallowed hard, the storm in his eyes flickering with uncertainty. With a sigh, your expression softened, your lips twitching into a small, understanding smile. “But you’re a beautiful soul, Loki—complicated, yes, but beautiful all the same. And I can’t help but be pulled in.”

A shudder ran through him at your words, his vulnerability deepening. For a moment, he looked as though he might shatter entirely.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tangling your fingers in his hair. You leaned into him, intoxicated by his warmth, your lips brushing over the shell of his ear. “I want you to look at me, sweetheart,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding.

Loki’s sharp intake of breath betrayed his surprise, his stormy eyes snapping up to meet yours. His reluctance was palpable, a flicker of resistance flashing through his gaze, but he obeyed nonetheless, the weight of your words rolled onto him.

Your teasing nature returned, a discreet and sly smile tugging at your lips as you pulled back slightly. Your thumb grazed his jaw, your touch soft and deliberate as your gaze roamed over his face. You admired every detail, letting your fingers trace his lips, cheekbones, and the curve of his jaw.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, your words cutting through the veil of confusion and tension that had clouded his mind. He buzzed with delight under the weight of your gaze and the soft but insistent touch of your fingers; it was almost too much to bear. Battling to stay still, he fought against the urge to jump on you and ravage you senseless for speaking those words and treating him like he was the finest ornament.

You replaced your hands in their original positions and brushed your eyes over his face, taking it all in. Loki’s features were a portrait you wished you could engrave in your mind forever. His brow furrowed slightly, expressing the intensity of his emotions and uncertainties. His lips, which you teasingly traced with your thumb, parted in a shallow, desperate breath, trembling ever so slightly as if on the verge of confessing something left unsaid, although everything had already been spoken. The sharp, high points of his cheekbones, usually so regal, now appeared softer, flushed a deep crimson from a mix of vulnerability and desire. A single drop of sweat traced down the side of his face, catching the light and adding to the tension in his gaze—and oh, those eyes.

His eyes, darkened with longing, swirled with a storm within—flickers of green shimmered with desperation, burning with desire and uncertainty. The depths of his irises seemed to pull you in, reflecting not only his internal struggle but also his raw need to be seen and understood, and more importantly, for you to accept him wholly. Beneath the intensity, you could sense the vulnerability in his eyes, attracting you like would a siren song.

Your fingers glided down the length of Loki’s neck, lightly grazing his skin as you leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. The faint teasing smile on your lips never faded, even as you sensed the tension building in his body, each gentle touch adding to the pressure. You reveled in the way he reacted to your every move. It was a delicate game, a playful form of payback for the emotional torment he had caused you during your journey, and perhaps a way to steady yourself against your growing desire to close the distance between you entirely.

Your thumb traced his jaw, your fingers lingering near his lips, as if daring him to break the silence. The heat between you thickened, charged with unspoken need. For a fleeting moment, you almost forgot his boundaries, lost in the thrill of the game and definitely too enthralled by the gorgeous being in front of you.

However, you failed to notice the shift in his posture. The practiced stillness that once defined him wavered, giving way to a sense of danger. His breath hitched, and his mind snapped back to the person he truly was. The weight of his identity surged through him like a tidal wave, breaking the fragile restraint he had been maintaining. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and his eyes burned with a warning you failed to heed.

In that moment, you overlooked the reality that you were not dealing with an obedient being, but a depraved and hedonistic god who always took what he wanted. A god whose desires were as boundless as his patience was fragile.

In a flash, Loki shot out his hands, seizing your wrists and yanking them away from his face. His grip was firm and unyielding, forcing you to pause as you felt the rising tension in his body, with barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“Enough,” he growled softly, a whisper of danger hanging heavily in the air. You blinked, momentarily stunned by the shift in his demeanor. You found yourself captivated by the intensity of his gaze, unaware that his restraint had snapped and his longing had surged to the surface all at once. Hunger radiated from him—raw and primal—as his hands tightened around your wrists, pulling you closer with an urgency born of days filled with loneliness and yearning. The heat between you burned brighter, almost unbearable, as the space between your faces dwindled.

“You should know better than to toy with a god,” he warned, his voice thick with desperation, sending shivers down your spine. You leaned in slowly, your lips hovering just a breath away from his. Your warm breath teased him, a subtle dare to close the distance. But at the last moment, you hesitated. Something inside you faltered—not out of fear, but from an instinct to stretch the moment, to savor the tension. You drew back ever so slightly, your lashes fluttering as you caught your breath.

The flicker of hesitation was his breaking point. A low, feral sound escaped his throat as his hands moved swiftly, cradling your face with a reverence that trembled with need.

He surged forward, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was both relentless and heartbreakingly tender. It was fierce and all-consuming, as if every ounce of his pent-up longing was poured into that single moment. You thought you heard him sigh in relief as he pulled you closer, as if the weight of your shared emotions connected you in a way that words never could.

His trembling hands released your wrists, one sliding to the nape of your neck, the other tracing down your silhouette before settling at your waist, pulling you firmly onto his lap. Your bodies aligned, his center flush against yours.

You tried to speak, to say something—anything—but the words were trapped in your throat, lost in the overwhelming intensity of his kiss. His lips were insistent, each press a force that left no room for thought, only the sensation of him, of this. Each kiss felt like a claim, a demand you couldn’t resist. Your breath caught in your chest, and before you realized it, your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as his kiss deepened.

Your mind raced faster than your heartbeat, torn between the fire of his touch and the fear gnawing at your insides. How did we get here? you wondered, your fingers pausing against his skin as confusion tugged at your thoughts. Is this what I’ve been waiting for? The line between longing and fear blurred in your chest. You felt yourself being pulled deeper into his orbit, yet a quiet voice in the back of your mind warned you not to lose yourself in this moment.

“Loki...” you whispered, your voice heavy with the vulnerability you could no longer conceal. But before you could finish your sentence, his lips claimed yours once more, and you found yourself powerless to resist. He couldn’t stop; his mouth moved over yours with a desperate passion, and you surrendered to him, lacking the strength to pull away.

"Don't pull away," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. "Not now, please."

The world outside your embrace faded away, leaving only the sensation of his lips against yours and the heat of his body seeping into yours. You could feel his heart racing in his chest, pounding as fast as your own. Every kiss was a question, and every touch confirmed that neither of you could walk away from this—no matter how much you might want to, and no matter how much fear lingered in the back of your minds.

You felt a flicker of doubt—you knew you should stop, should hold back, but the pull of him was stronger than anything you had ever known. The quiet voice in your mind warned you not to lose yourself, but it was drowned out by the heat building between you, a magnetic force neither could deny.

You could feel his pulse racing in his fingertips as they traced the line of your spine, grounding you in the whirlwind of emotions. Everything around you seemed to be speeding up, charged with an urgent, desperate energy that neither of you could control. For a fleeting moment, you understood: this wasn’t just about passion; it was something deeper, something you couldn’t articulate. It was months of tension and longing finally unraveling between you.

When you gently separated, your bodies reluctant to lose the closeness, Loki still had the clarity, even amidst the storm of his desires, to give you space. His forehead brushed against yours, and your breaths mingled as you both tried to steady the rapid beating of your hearts. Loki’s hands lingered on your skin, holding the moment without pulling you back immediately. There was a vulnerability in that—a tenderness within his hunger.

Your heart pounded against your chest, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you gazed into his eyes. There was a quiet intensity there, a storm brewing in the depths, and you knew, with terrifying clarity, that neither of you could walk away from this. Not now. Not ever.

He whispered, his voice raw and desperate, "Stay." The word was barely a breath against your lips. It wasn’t a request; it was an unspoken promise, a silent vow.

Your cheeks flushed deeply as you felt the weight of his gaze and the heat between you. Timidly, you nodded, your lips parting in a barely audible "Yes"—a whisper of surrender. The vulnerability of your gesture only spurred him on.

Without a word, Loki's lips found yours again, his kiss more urgent than before, as if claiming what was now his. His touch was demanding and desperate, overflowing with everything he had kept buried. It wasn’t a tender kiss; it was a claim, a release for all he had confined within. It burned with the intensity of your unspoken words, consumed by the hunger you could no longer deny.

He took everything you offered, his lips moving hungrily against yours, ragged with desire. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that spoke of months of longing. One hand slid back to the nape of your neck, while the other traced the curve of your waist, stationing to their rightful places, savoring how your bodies were leaving no space between you.

You felt a stronger pull towards him than ever before. As you surrendered to his embrace, you realized there was no turning back. You let your instincts guide you and continued to kiss him, your focus narrowing to the sensations of his lips, his touch, and his breath.

His hands trembled as he gripped you tighter, sliding over your curves, anchoring himself to the reality of your touch. He explored with deliberate slowness, tracing the length of your spine and backside, teasing as you had done to him earlier. He relished in this an unspoken dance of hunger and need, in the feeling of your fluttering eyelashes against his cheeks, the thundering beats of your pulsing heart under his palm, the shared heat as your bodies almost united as one.

You tugged at his hair, attempting to slow him—but oh, he couldn't, not now, not anymore. He groaned, unrelenting, lost in the feeling of you. He was too far gone, too hooked up on the feeling and the taste of your sweet lips. He shuddered pleasurably when he chased your mouth even as you gasped for air, even when he too needed to breathe.

It felt as though he could travel to Hel and back with the fire in his veins, ignited by the scent and taste of you. You only spurred him further when you bit his lip and gratified his back by raking your nails down. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest as he shifted his grip and lifted his hips in reflex, pressing against you with relentless hunger.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for oxygen, Loki's forehead rested against your temple. His breathing was uneven, and his hands still trembled from the raging storm inside him as they lingered on your skin. Although his grip loosened, the raw intensity remained, demonstrated by the furrow of his eyebrows in pleasure.

"Careful," he rasped moments after with his voice hoarse, having taken his time to clear his mind a bit from the foggy sensation in the febrile hope he could somewhat behave himself not to go rampant. He backed away to admire his handiwork, his eyes roaming over you to appreciate the flush in your cheeks, the pink of your swollen lips, and the dazed look in your eyes. "You've already tested my patience. Keep this up, and I won't hold back."

Your heart thundered, your body vibrating with exhilaration and need. A small sly smile tugged at your lips as you leaned forward, biting his lip once more in defiance. Loki’s control slipped further. With a swift motion, he pulled you down against the concrete of the ground, his lips finding yours again in a renewed storm of desire.

The storm hadn't passed. It had only just begun.

ending note : I honestly almost turned it into a smut— almost. It was tempting, but I haven't reached that level yet.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

dividers ©️ @strangergraphics-archive + @enchanthings .

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a-leg-without-fear · 5 months ago

Text

Because of You (pt.1)🩸🌧️

angst angst angst angst angst this is only angst

Ship: Worst!Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 4.3k

Warnings: angst, main character death, violence, blood, cursing, child endangerment, death of children, alcohol abuse, grief, gun violence, a little platonic fluff, depressive thoughts

Series: Because of You

The coppery scent of blood coated Logan’s entire world in red. Pierced his sinuses and left him reeling, dizzy and nauseous. It dug deep into his chest and made his heart hammer at his adamantium ribs. Thick ichor coated his arms to the elbow, stained his white tank top, dotted along his dark beard.

“L-Logan,” you spluttered, more blood leaking from your parted lips. Your yellow suit-adorned chest was riddled with smoking bullet holes. Blood leaked from the wounds and coated you in a waterfall of crimson. A pained wheeze rattled your throat, “Logan, please.”

“I got you, baby,” he whispered into your sweat-soaked hair. He held you close to his chest, unperturbed by the blood soaking into his clothes. One hand buried in your hair at the base of your neck, the other wrapped around your midsection.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fucking fair. When the humans did their attack on the mansion, you were the one to be targeted. Forget the rest of the X-Men, forget the professor, forget Wolverine. You, “Bleeder,” were the one that drew the humans’ ire.

Though you’d abandoned that moniker, and the life it meant, long ago, those fucking cowards targeted you all the same. Chased you through the mansion and shot you ‘till you’d stopped running. By the time Logan had caught up with them and killed every last one, it was too late. You were in a crumpled heap on the ground. Ribs broken, chest and stomach practically swiss fucking cheese, blood coating your entire body.

“Don-Don’t leave me,” you begged through gritted teeth. Blood steadily dripped from between your lips and down your chin. Trembling hands clutched at Logan’s shirt.

He shushed you, pressing a gentle kiss into your hairline, “I won’t. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

Shivers started to overtake your body. Tremors quaking your limbs and making your teeth chatter. Logan squeezed you tighter to his chest, tears pricking at his eyes.

Why? Why the fuck was it you, and not him? He could recover in no time from this, wounds mending themselves and making the bullets cascade from his chest to the floor. The balls of lead killing you would be nothing more than pinpricks to him.

All he could do was watch as life slowly drained from your broken body. Eyes darting between his hazel ones, chin coated in blood, fingers scrabbling at his shirt.

“I’ve got you, doll. I always do, don’t I?” he asked with a brief chuckle. Logan lifted a hand and brushed a stray hair away from your sunken face. It wouldn’t be long now. Before you breathed your last, before you would leave him. Grief tugged at Logan’s stomach.

“Yeah… Always, Lo,” you replied, a small smile stretching at the corners of your lips. Your fingers traced along his jaw, blood stained digits carding through his beard. Logan laced his hand in yours.

“I need you to stay with me. Can you do that?” he implored. Desperation clawed at his heart, anguish crawling up his throat and nearly choking him. He pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “Stay with me, vampire.”

“I-I’m trying, Lo,” you said shakily. Another tremble coursed through your frail form. Logan adjusted his grip around your back so your head could rest on his shoulder. He traced soothing circles into the back of your hand.

“I know you are. You’re doing so good, doll,” he breathed, sobs wracking his chest. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks and dripped down onto you.

A warm hand squeezed Logan’s shoulder. Palm larger than yours, fingers digging into the muscle, “Logan…”

Scott. It was Scott, voice laced with fucking pity. Logan bared his teeth and snarled at him.

“Back the fuck off!” he growled over his shoulder. The intrusive hand disappeared from Logan’s senses. He looked back down at you. Eyelids drooping, blood slowing in its rapid escape of your body, hand curled in his losing its grip.

“I love you,” you mumbled, words slurring into one another. Logan held your palm to his cheek.

“I… I love you too, doll. You stay with me, you hear?” he demanded through gulps of air. He tuned his keen senses in to hear your heartbeat. Slow, uneven, strained as it tried to pump life through you. Logan squeezed his eyes shut.

“Logan…”

He opened his eyes just as yours started to close. The light behind your usual joyful gaze was snuffed. A final, rattled breath escaped your parted lips as your hand went limp in his. Your head lolled into the crook of his neck.

“Vampire? Hey, stay with me,” Logan begged, gently shaking your unresponsive shoulders.

The air fell still around him. Usual hums of electrical appliances silenced, crickets chirping just outside ceased in their music, wind battering the windows eased in its barrage.

Your eyes fell closed for the last time.

Anguish gripped Logan’s chest like never before. Cold, brutal jabs dug into his heart and choked the breath from his lungs. Tear-filled eyes raked across your lifeless body. A strained sob kicked out of Logan’s throat.

He buried his nose in your hair, desperate to fill the rapidly growing hole in his chest with your scent. Desperate to keep some piece of you with him. Desperate to cling to you for just a little longer.

“Logan. She’s gone,” Scott said from behind him. The accursed hand found its way to Logan’s shoulder again. Anger bubbled in his stomach like boiling lava.

“Don’t say that,” Logan muttered, steam practically pouring from his ears. Your scent filled Logan’s mind. He squeezed you impossibly tighter, tears soaking your hair. You couldn’t be gone. He had you in his arms. You were here. Still warm, still smelling like you. As long as he held you, as long as he was with you, you weren’t gone.

Rage licked up Logan’s body like branding, blazing flames. Those fucking humans. They thought they could take you from him. Thought they could storm into the mansion and kill what’s most important to him. What kept him alive all these fucking years. Swirls of wrath and grief chased each other in his clouded mind.

“C’mon, bud. Let her go.”

Those humans will fucking pay for this. They’re going to pay for covering your scent with blood, for stealing the air from your lungs, for taking you from him. Logan will make sure every single fucking human pays.

For you.

~~~~

Your boots pounded into the blood-soaked grass as you raced over to them. Heart thumping in your ears, breath ragged as it coughed up your throat, clothes torn and bloodied from the fight that’d just ensued. Body after body flew by as you sprinted. Blood pooled in thick puddles in the dry dirt.

“Logan!” you screamed across the clearing. You had to get to him. You needed to.

X24 had Logan’s tank-top gripped in its bloodied fist. Logan’s boots dragged across the grass as his clone hauled him over to a dead tree. Sharp roots pierced the air and dug deep into the mud. Pained grunts fell from Logan’s chapped lips, hands scrabbling at X24’s vice.

Time seemed to slow as the clone hefted Logan’s body into the air. Raising your lover off the ground and above the tree. Dread filled your stomach like a lead ball.

Logan’s yell of pain echoed around you as a large root stabbed through his abdomen. A wooden spear jutting from his bloodstained tank-top, fresh ichor leaking from the sizable wound.

Fury like you’d never felt flooded your mind like oil in water. Clouding all reason, choking your thoughts and leaving a flaming rage to fuel you. Blood seeped into your eyes as you ran.

Your consciousness slipped beneath the clone’s form. Tracing his veins and the chemicals powering his actions in a split second. You followed the labyrinth of his body until you reached his brain. Pure, unadulterated hate filled your lungs as you destroyed his hypothalamus.

The clone remained standing. It shook its head, only swaying slightly, before it reared back and stabbed its claws into Logan’s chest.

“No!” you shouted, feet so fucking close to carrying you to the pair. You could barely breathe. All you were was fury, unbridled rage filling your lungs like black smoke. You focused on the clone again.

Just as you crushed its entire brain with a thought, its head exploded from a gunshot to your left. You glanced over, seeing Laura holding a pistol in her hands, then focused back on Logan as you finally reached him. The clone collapsed, dead, next to your feet.

“Logan,” you said. He groaned beneath you, wide, hazel eyes looking at you in pain. Each grunt that left his mouth gurgled harshly. The red clouding your eyes dissolved as you assessed his situation.

Pale wood protruded from the right side of his ribs, a single spear piercing his abdomen and making spurts of thick blood course from the wound. Numerous stab wounds and bullet holes coated his body. His once white tank-top was quickly becoming red. Logan’s aged face was screwed up in agony, eyes rolled back in his head and shaking hands reaching out to you.

Quick footsteps circled around you until Laura stood on the other side of Logan. Her jean jacket and unicorn t-shirt were just as torn and bloodstained as your own clothes. Quiet mumbles of “no, no, no,” whispered from the desperate frown on her young face.

“Cut the tree,” you instructed as grief bubbled up your throat. You needed to stay strong. If not for Logan’s sake, then for his daughter’s. You swallowed down the tears threatening to overtake your vision.

Both Laura and Logan yelled as she used her claws to cut at the root. You squeezed Logan’s hand in yours.

“Hey, Lo, look at me,” you said, using your free hand to tilt his face towards yours. His brows furrowed as he met your gaze. Another chop, another pained yell. You ran your fingers through his gray beard, “Keep your eyes on me. I’ve got you.”

One last swing of Laura’s claws and the root broke free. Logan squeezed his eyes shut as he grunted. You quickly looped your arms under his shoulders and lowered him to the ground as gently as you could. Rough, agonized groans filled your ear.

Laura gripped at your jacket as sobs wracked her chest. She looked between the root speared through Logan’s midriff and his bloodshot eyes. You set Logan down on the wet grass beneath the dead tree. He looked up at you, clutching at both you and Laura.

“Take the kids, and run,” he breathed through strained gasps. An immediate “no,” came from Laura as she twisted her fists in both your jacket and Logan’s tank-top. He swallowed thickly, “Run. They’ll keep coming and coming.”

“We’re not leaving you,” you replied sternly. You wiped a bead of sweat off his wrinkled brow.

Logan nodded slightly, the action making him screw his eyes shut, then he turned his head to look at his daughter.

“Listen, you don’t have to fight anymore,” he said, taking Laura’s hand in his. She ran her fingers through his gray hair. Logan breathed heavily for a few heavy moments, then whispered, “Don’t be what they made you.”

Sorrow leaked from your eyes as you wrapped an arm around Laura’s shoulder, keeping your other hand against Logan’s chin. Your entire world, your lover and his daughter, clutched in your arms. You blinked your tears away.

“I’ll watch over her, Lo. I swear,” you solemnly promised. Logan’s eyes fell closed, a relieved smile spreading over his chapped lips. You pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of his head, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Laura… Laura,” he muttered like a prayer. His eyes wrinkled in the corners as he looked between you and her. Laura sniffled, cradling Logan’s hand to her chest like a precious treasure.

“Daddy,” she murmured softly. You ran your thumb along Logan’s cheek, smoothing the digit into his leathery skin.

“Go ahead, Lo. You can rest now,” you said, his eyes meeting yours one last time. You gave him a small, reassuring smile, trails of tears streaming down your face. He breathed a rattled sigh. Serene melancholy lingered over the three of you like a dark rain cloud.

Logan’s fading gaze landed back on Laura. Immortal experiments, bonded in both blood and trauma, looking at each other in understanding. In love. His grip on both you and Laura loosened.

“So… So, this is what it feels like,” Logan uttered quietly.

“No!” Laura cried, clutching his hand bruisingly tight. You pulled her into your side while whispering reassurance into her hair.

Logan’s smile faded, darkening eyes trained on you and Laura, as he breathed his last. Hazel eyes staring blankly at the two things that mattered most.

You choked back a sob as you enveloped Laura in a tight embrace. She cried against your chest, gasps of “daddy, daddy, no,” spilling from her and fueling the despair that slinked up your throat. You did your best to bite back your emotions. This wasn’t about you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” you said, rocking her back and forth.

As you glanced back at your lover, his aged face finally relaxed, your promise filled your mind like a budding flower. Laura would never face the challenges you and Logan had. She would never starve, or suffer, or feel alone. She would wake every morning to a loving mother, would spend her days at your side, and would go to sleep knowing she’s loved.

For him.

~~~~

Logan grunted as the toe of his boot caught on a stray branch. His ankle twisted, drunken body falling like a cut tree, and collided with the dew-kissed grass. The green blades dug into his face and tickled his nose. His head swam as he screwed his eyes shut.

Another day gone by. Another night spent drinking his feelings away. Another minute without you.

He’d spent the day at The Last Drop, a greasy bar ten minutes from the mansion. Ass planted in a bar stool, downing shot after whiskey-filled shot, mind drowned under three bottles worth of alcohol. It had taken the owner eight hours to kick Logan out. By that time, the Wolverine was thoroughly shit-faced.

Pathetic.

He was pathetic.

What right did he have to say he was an X-Man? He couldn’t even protect you, the immortal love of his life. He’d let you die in his arms and didn’t do shit about it. Just held you and watched the light in your eyes snuff out.

The anger that’d filled Logan like a raging house fire, making him pledge to avenge you, had dispersed the moment you’d been buried behind the mansion. Cement headstone embedded in the grass where your head would be, an engraving of your face decorating the front along with your name and how long you’d lived. 1905 - 2020. 115 fucking years. And not nearly enough.

Absolute misery had flooded him like a tempest. Swirled and churned in his mind, washing away any cognitive thought, leaving him wrecked like a ship after a hurricane. You were the lighthouse that had guided him through the constant storms battering his mind. Without you, he was lost at sea.

A piercing wail broke Logan from his drunken stupor. Young, feminine, bouncing across the mansion’s expansive yard and cutting through the midnight air. He pushed himself to his knees, head still reeling, as he tried to listen closer.

Another scream. A child, a boy this time, crying out into the night. Logan’s lungs seized behind his adamantium ribs.

He took off in a sprint across the damp grass. Pale moonlight shone from the cloudless sky and bounced off the claws now stretching from between Logan’s knuckles. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest.

Thick, brown boots made deep footprints in the dirt as he raced toward the mansion. More screams echoed ahead of him, urging him on, driving his legs to run faster and faster.

Gunshots.

Fiery pops silencing the screams. One after another after another. Like a landslide of thousands of rocks hitting a tin roof. Flashes of bright lights illuminated the darkened windows.

It was happening again. The humans had come to the mansion to kill Logan’s people. Mutants, both children and adults, were being slaughtered all because humans couldn’t learn to tolerate those different from them. So emboldened by their piety that they killed anything different from them.

The same had happened the night you’d died. Logan grit his teeth, his jaw clenched as bile burned the back of his throat. Just the brief flash that passed his mind of you held in his arms, dead, was enough to make him swerve in his steps. Stumbling over his own feet in his grief.

“Fuck,” he grunted, catching himself on a tree to his right. The rough bark beneath his palm helped ground him to the present. You were gone. Have been for two years now. Nothing could change the gaping void you’d left in his heart.

Who was he kidding? He was pathetic. Logan could barely muster up the energy to get out of bed and trudge to the bar, let alone save the mutants in the mansion. All he’d do was make things worse. That’s all he was good for.

Logan’s back collided with the tree. A thunk rattled his foggy mind as he rolled his head back on the bark. The memory of you cradled in his arms drowned out the gunfire and screams. Your rattled gasps, the fear in your wide eyes, how you gripped at his shirt like he had the power to keep you alive. Like he was worth something.

In the drunken haze of his mind, Logan landed on the thought that had swirled consistently ever since you’d died.

He wasn’t worth shit.

~~~~

It was eight years after Logan died.

After you’d made sure Transigen was thoroughly redirected from Laura and the rest of the children, you’d decided to settle down. Bought some land in Vancouver and started a farm. A small farmhouse, white wood with gray details, filled to the brim with mutant children and various knick-knacks you’d gathered over the years, sitting in the middle of a few acres of grass fields and dirt paths.

You did your best to give the children a good childhood. Taught them the way Charles had taught you, gave them unwavering support, made sure they were always fed and loved. The kids would spend their days in the classroom to learn everyday skills, would work in the barn and in the fields to take care of the flock of sheep, then would train in the evenings to harness their abilities.

A worthy successor to Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters if ever there was one.

The setting sun cast streams of golden light across the yellow grass field. Soft breezes created ripples and waves. The occasional call of a bird in the surrounding green forest, chirping cicadas creating an underlying tone beneath the serene sounds of nature. A gentle waft of baking bread floated from inside the farmhouse and across where you sat on the sheltered porch. Utterly tranquil.

“Goddammit, Haymish!” Laura shouted from inside the red-wood barn. You smirked, pushing yourself to your feet from your rocking chair. Heavy work boots thumped along the porch as you descended the front stairs.

Frantic scrambling came from the open barn doors. Tracks of strewn hay scattered across the dirt ground feathered out from the opening. Typical barn smells covered the baking bread that had surrounded you like a warm halo.

Your shoulder leaned on the doorway, arms folding across your flannel-adorned chest, as you observed the scene in front of you.

Laura, dark hair pulled in a frizzy bun and clothes muddy, was attempting to wrangle a rather upset looking sheep. Strings of curses flew from her deep frown. The woolen animal, named Haymish by Chloe, was struggling against Laura’s arms.

“Need any help?” you called to her, a smirk spreading across your lips. Seeing Logan’s daughter frustrated only reminded you of how similar they were. Easy to anger, violent, softies on the inside. You loved them both more than you could ever express.

“Puta madre, no. I’ve almost got him,” she grunted in response. With one last shove, the sheep was corralled into where you kept the younger sheep. A smaller stable, the floor lined with a thick layer of hay and plentiful troughs filled with water and food hung on the wooden walls. Laura held the ten miffed sheep back as she latched the metal gate shut.

“How’s Ray Toro doing?” you asked, watching as your daughter worked. Laura heaved a bucket full of water over the waist-high wall and dumped the contents over the top. The sheep funneled away from the gate and over to the trough.

“The infection on his ear has gone down,” she said as she set the empty bucket on the ground. A calloused hand ran over her sweat-slick forehead. You pulled the clean rag you always kept in your back pocket free, holding it out to her.

“Here, kid,” you offered with a grin. She took the rag with a quiet “thank you.” Your eyes trailed along the metal gates of the other stables. Each doorway had a plaque nailed to the side with the sheep’s names. Q-Tip, Bartholomew, Edward, Tina, Baxter, Phillis, Brick, Christoph, Harold, Marino, Charles, Woolverine, Buttercup, Woolie, Doug, Gordon Ram-say, Meryl Sheep, Wooly Wonka, and Gerald were written in scrawled marker on the plaque next to the adult sheep’s pens. All names chosen by the kids you’ve been raising.

“Is Amanda cooking tonight?” Laura asked while slinging the rag over her shoulder. You hummed in response.

“Yup. Bread bowls and soup,” you replied. A relieved sigh came from your exhausted daughter. You laughed, shaking your head, “Go wash up. Sam’ll take over for you.”

“Thanks, mama,” she said as she approached the door. You took the damp rag from her hand and tucked it back in your pocket as you walked, together, to the farmhouse.

Light conversation flowed between the two of you. Out of all of the kids in your care, Laura was your favorite. You’d known her the longest, having met her in Mexico and traveled across the country with her and Logan, and she reminded you of him every day. Her smile that dug dimples into her cheeks, her heavy brows that cast shadows over her hazel eyes, her dark hair that almost always ended up messy. She was the spitting image of Logan.

Laura stooped to grab her backpack off the front steps. Made from green cloth and weathered around the edges, it was the same bag she’d carried all those years ago. Seeing it slung over her shoulders pumped a wave of nostalgia through your chest. You placed a hand on her jean vest-clad shoulders. Her eyes met yours, crinkled at the edges from an easy smile, and pure adoration flooded your chest.

“I love you, kid,” you breathed, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes. Her smile widened, pointed teeth peeking out from beneath full lips, as she enveloped your waist in her thick arms. You buried your face in her hair as your arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Love you too, mama,” she mumbled against your chest.

The two of you remained like that for a while. Laura’s head tucked under your chin, rocking slowly, hums occasionally buzzing your lips. A little ritual the two of you shared. Every night, when the two of you found time and were alone, you’d hold each other and let your affection pour into one another. You’d both been through so much. In the time you’ve known each other and before you’d met. Solace from the stresses of your lives was found in each other’s arms.

A strange sound behind you broke the comforting silence. Electric, alien, like a quick whoop in the evening air. You immediately spun on your heel, pushing Laura behind you, as you confronted the noise.

Intruders.

Men and women, clad in thick body armor and wielding batons, stepped through a handful of glowing, orange doorways. About a dozen armed intruders. Anger gripped your throat in a tight vice.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? This is my home. These are my kids. You think you can just barge in unannounced?” you shouted to the group.

One of the men towards the front, with darker skin and a deep scowl etched across his face, stepped forward. The tip of the baton clutched in his hand extended and glowed orange. He shouted your full name, then Laura’s.

“You both are sentenced to The Void due to a probability of resistance in your timeline’s decay. You will come quietly, without altercation, or we will be forced to retaliate.”

A sharp growl rumbled from Laura’s throat. Her claws shot out of her fists with a snikt. Your eyes flooded red as blood clouded your vision.

“Leave. Now,” Laura roared through bared teeth. Your consciousness slipped beneath the skin of the intruders. You traced the millions of veins snaking under their skin, following pumping blood and flowing chemicals as they coursed through them.

“Last chance. Comply, or we will use force,” the man commanded again. A cacophony of electric hums echoed around him as the rest of the group’s batons extended and started to glow.

“No fucking way,” you said, finally reaching the frontal lobe of most of the group. With a flick of your fingers, half of the group’s brains were squashed inside their skulls, making them crumple to the grass. Blood pooled from their bodies and seeped into the dirt.

Just as Laura raced in front of you, claws brandished and furious shouts bellowing from her chest, you heard the same whoop behind you. A sharp sting met your back before you could react. You cried out, back arching, as the world around you faded to black.

first part in a new series!!! hope y'all like :)

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#marvel #wolverine #logan howlett #hugh jackman #wolverine fanfic #logan howlett fanfic #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #worst!wolverine #worst!wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #x23 #laura kinney #this will be filled to the BRIM with angst #this is just the start babes

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oceandolores · 6 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 4

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴,"

summary: life has been perfect, just you and him, but the shadows of both of you and Joel's past has been haunting you again...

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, r4p3, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 4

masterlist of the series

previous | chapter 3

next | chapter 5

The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter these days, casting a warm glow over your life since Joel had become more involved in it. His presence brought a newfound sense of safety and comfort, not just for you but for him as well. Joel, once a cold and distant figure, began to soften, melting into a warmer, more open person whenever you were around. It was as if the world belonged to just the two of you, and the bond you shared illuminated both your lives in profound ways.

Joel was now a regular at church, attending Sunday services and every fellowship event with renewed purpose. His participation didn't go unnoticed, especially by Tommy, Ellie, and Maria, who observed the positive changes in him. Joel still remained a man of few words, guarded and cautious, but your presence had undeniably brought a light into his life, guiding him out of the shadows.

For you, Joel became the protector you desperately needed. Whenever your father’s temper flared, you could escape to Joel, finding solace in his arms. He calmed your storms, just as you eased his burdens, becoming each other's anchor. You often sneaked out together to the lake or climbed into the back of Joel’s truck to gaze at the stars. Those moments felt like the world stood still, with only the two of you and the infinite sky. Joel found himself no longer lost in the darkness; instead, he had found his light in you.

However, you both had to maintain a facade, keeping your relationship discreet to avoid the prying eyes of the community. Sneaking out, lying to your father about being at a friend's house, and stolen moments of intimacy became part of your routine. While you hadn't taken your relationship to a sexual level due to your trauma from Jamie, the nights spent cuddling, kissing, and talking were enough for Joel. Though he sometimes felt the stirrings of desire, he respected your boundaries, focusing instead on the depth of your connection.

Joel sometimes took you out of town, exploring Austin or Houston. You visited night markets, played in arcades, and strolled through bustling streets. Joel despised arcades, but the sound of your laughter and the sight of your carefree smile made every annoying game worthwhile. Every time you smiled, it was as if a sunbeam pierced through the clouds in Joel's heart, warming a place he had thought forever cold.

"Got another project comin' up," Joel said one evening as you sat together in his truck, overlooking the hills. "A big one. Tommy thinks it's too much work for the crew we got, but I reckon we can handle it."

"Tell me more about it," you prompted, even though construction details often went over your head. You loved hearing Joel talk about his work; the passion in his voice made you feel closer to him.

"It's an office building downtown. Gonna be a challenge because we gotta keep the old facade. Means a lotta careful demolition, precision work. Gotta bring in some new folks, too, ones who know their way around older structures."

You nodded, trying to visualize it. "Sounds complicated."

"It is," he admitted, a touch of pride in his voice. "But we got a good team. Tommy's been talkin' to some contractors. We need people who can do the job right, you know? Can’t afford any mistakes."

"I believe you can do it," you said earnestly. "You’re amazing at what you do."

He chuckled softly. "You’re sweet." Joel's hand reached up, his rough fingers gently caressing your chin. His touch was like a warm breeze on a chilly evening, comforting and electrifying at the same time. Joel’s gaze held yours, his brown eyes deep and intense, like molten chocolate, filled with something you couldn’t quite decipher but felt deeply within your soul.

Every touch, every look from him, made you melt. It was as if you were a snowflake landing on a sun-warmed pavement, vanishing into a pool of warmth under the intensity of his presence. You giggled, the sound light and musical, breaking the silence.

"What?" you asked, a smile playing on your lips.

Joel shook his head slowly, his smile spreading across his face, tender and genuine. "Nothin', darlin'," he said, his voice calm, gentle, and sincere.

Joel couldn’t fully grasp his feelings, but being with you made him feel alive in a way he hadn't in years. He knew this might be wrong, but it felt so good, like a burst of sunlight through storm clouds, casting colors on a world that had been grey for too long. Ever since Sarah and his wife had passed, his life had been a landscape painted in shades of grief and loss. Ellie had brought back some light, but what he felt with you was different, something more vivid, more profound.

His world had been a desolate canvas, splashed with only the darkest hues. But you were the burst of color, the brush of a vibrant dawn, illuminating the shadows that had consumed him. You were his beacon, guiding him from the darkness, painting his existence with the brightest of shades. And though it scared him, it also filled him with a warmth and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time.

***

After school, you found yourself in the familiar warmth of the kitchen, the comforting scent of vanilla and sugar filling the air. Your mother, in her element, was bustling around, gathering ingredients for a cake and cookies.

"Can you grab the eggs from the fridge, sweetheart?" she asked, her voice gentle.

You nodded, reaching into the refrigerator. As you handed her the carton, her hand brushed against your back, right where the still-healing bruises were. You flinched, unable to hide the sharp intake of breath.

Your mother's eyes widened, guilt flashing across her face. "I'm so sorry. Does..does it still...um hurt?" she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly.

You forced a smile, shaking your head. "No, Mama, it's okay. It's getting better."

She hesitated, her eyes lingering on you with a mixture of worry and sorrow. "I know I haven't... I haven't done enough to protect you," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for that. I'm just... I’m so afraid of your father."

You placed a hand on her arm, trying to offer some comfort. "Mama, it's alright. I understand. Let's just focus on the baking, okay?"

Your mother nodded, her relief palpable. She turned back to the counter, trying to regain her composure. "So, have you noticed how Joel’s been coming to church more often lately?"

You tensed slightly at the mention of Joel, careful to keep your expression neutral. "Yeah, I noticed."

Your mother smiled, though it was tinged with curiosity. "You know, he’s changed a lot over the years. He used to be so different when Sarah and his wife were alive."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity. You knew bits and pieces about Joel’s past but had never heard the full story. "What was he like back then?"

"Joel was a wonderful father and husband. He adored Sarah and Jane," your mother said, her eyes softening with nostalgia. "Jane and I were good friends. They were high school sweethearts, you know. Joel got Jane pregnant in high school, and they got married right after graduation. He worked so hard to provide for them."

You listened intently as your mother spoke, the rhythm of her words blending with the sounds of baking—mixing bowls clinking, the oven humming softly. Joel had never brought up his past daughter and wife when he was with you. It was as if a part of his heart was still locked away, guarded against the pain of revisiting those memories. You felt a mixture of sadness and curiosity, wishing he would open up to you but understanding his need to protect himself from that pain.

As your mother continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Joel’s heart was still closed off, like a house with the windows shuttered, sunlight struggling to seep through the cracks. "After they died, Joel was never the same," your mother said softly, her voice carrying the weight of her memories. "He isolated himself, barely spoke to anyone. He stopped coming to church, buried himself in work and alcohol. It was like the light went out of him."

You continued to bake, your hands moving automatically as you processed your mother's words. The more you learned, the more you understood the layers of grief and resilience that made up the man you had come to care for so deeply.

"Did you know his wife well?" you asked, curious about the woman who had once been such a significant part of Joel’s life. You felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that Joel had once opened his heart fully to another woman, something he hadn't done with you yet.

Your mother nodded, her smile tinged with sadness. "Yes, she was one of my closest friends. Jane was kind and loving, always had a smile on her face. They were perfect together. Losing her was a blow Joel never really recovered from."

You felt a pang in your chest, imagining the life Joel had once had—a life filled with love and happiness that was abruptly shattered. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, understanding the depth of his loss and the strength it took for him to keep going.

Your mind swirling with thoughts. Joel had been through so much, yet he found the strength to care for Ellie and, in his own way, for you. He was like a fortress, strong and unyielding, yet vulnerable to the storms that battered him.

Your mother’s voice brought you back to the present. "Since he adopted Ellie, he's shown glimpses of the old Joel. But he still struggles. He’s still grumpy and distant. It was as if he built a wall around himself, shutting out the world to avoid more pain."

You couldn’t help but feel a surge of empathy for Joel. He had been through so much, yet he found a way to care for you and Ellie. "And now he's starting to come back to church," your mother said softly.

"It's good to see him more involved again. He deserves some happiness."

You smiled, though your heart was heavy with the knowledge of what you shared with Joel. "Yeah, he does," you agreed, hoping that somehow, against all odds, you could both find the happiness you deserved.

Your mom glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "I wonder what’s changed in him," she mused. "Maybe he’s finally opening up his heart for another woman."

Your body tensed at her words. She continued, "Ever since he became a widower, there have been plenty of women interested in him. It’s a small town, you know. Everyone knows everything. But he's always been so... cold and distant. Joel is handsome, successful, and a gentleman. Don't tell your father I said that." She chuckled, and you just smile to her.

Inside, you couldn't help but agree. Joel was indeed handsome and a gentleman, so different from your father. Your father, who should have been the epitome of kindness and morality as a preacher, was anything but. His exterior was polished and righteous, but inside, he was rotten. Joel, on the other hand, seemed rough on the outside but was truly good at heart.

Your mother sighed, "It’s good for Joel, though. It’s about time he moved on and built a new life. Maybe he’ll find a nice woman his age, someone who can be a good mother to Ellie. Adam needs his Eve, after all."

Her words made you uncomfortable, a knot forming in your stomach. You couldn’t bear the thought of Joel with someone else. The jealousy gnawed at you, knowing your mother would lose her mind if she ever discovered you were the reason for Joel’s recent change. You also felt a pang of insecurity, realizing how much older Joel was, how he could practically be your father. There were so many women in town who were more age-appropriate for him, attractive and mature, whereas you felt small and insignificant in comparison.

You focused on mixing the batter, trying to push away the uncomfortable thoughts. "Yeah, maybe," you mumbled, not trusting yourself to say more.

Your mother didn't seem to notice your discomfort. She continued to chatter about the town gossip, but your mind was elsewhere. You wondered if Joel ever thought about these things—marry a nice woman and built a new life? You knew he cared for you, but could he see a future with you, or was this just a fleeting moment in his life?

As you finished the cake and placed it in the oven, you couldn't shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. Joel was a beacon of light in your life, but the future felt uncertain. You wished you could ask him, but the fear of his answer kept you silent.

The cookies were done baking, and your mother placed them in two jars. "Take these over to Joel’s house and then to Tommy's," she said, handing you the jars and placing them in a sturdy tote bag to make it easier to carry on your bike.

You nodded, appreciating the excuse to see Joel. As you rode your bike through the familiar streets, the wind swept across your face, carrying the sweet scent of summer and the promise of evening. The sky was a canvas of blue and orange, painting a picturesque scene straight out of a movie. You loved this town—the southern charm, the way everyone knew each other—but part of you hated it, longed to escape its confines and the shadows that lurked within your home.

Arriving at Joel’s house, one of the bigger ones in the neighborhood, you parked your bike in the driveway and grabbed one of the cookie jars. Knocking on the door, as you always did instead of using the bell, you expected Ellie to answer since Joel’s truck wasn’t in the driveway.

The door opened, and instead of Ellie, it was Joel standing there. His face softened the moment he saw you.

"Hey, Mr. Miller," you said, deliberately using his formal title to tease him a bit.

Joel chuckled, his eyes warm. "Hey, doll."

You lifted the jar slightly. "Mom sent some cookies. She thought you might like them."

Joel took the jar from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. "Oh, that's nice of her, well, do want to come in?"

"Maybe for a little," You followed him inside, the familiar coziness of his home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. Joel set the jar on the kitchen counter and turned to you, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"You alright?" he asked, sensing your unease.

You smiled, trying to brush off your worries. "Yeah, just... thinking about stuff."

Joel stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your chin. His touch was rough but tender, sending shivers down your spine. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

You nodded, looking up into his eyes. They were deep pools of warmth and safety, and every time you looked into them, you felt like you could melt. "I know," you whispered.

For a moment, you just stood there, lost in each other's gaze. Joel’s eyes held something you couldn’t quite decipher, a mix of emotions that made your heart race. You giggled nervously, breaking the silence.

"What?" you asked, feeling self-conscious.

Joel shook his head slowly, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Nothin'."

You giggled again. "You have to stop looking at me like that."

Joel raised an eyebrow, still smiling. He's leaning in to kiss you, "Like what?"

You blushed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Before Joel could kiss you, you both heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Quickly, you stepped away from each other.

"Oh, hey, I thought I heard someone knocking," Ellie said, entering the kitchen.

"Hey, Ellie," you greeted her. "My mom and I made some cookies, and she sent you some. I thought I’d drop by for a bit."

Ellie grinned and walked over to you and Joel. She glanced at Joel, noticing his slightly flushed face, and raised an eyebrow. "You okay, Joel?"

Joel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, just, uh, a bit of dust or somethin'."

Ellie opened the jar and took a cookie. "These are great. Thanks!" She turned to you. Joel took a cookie as well, taking a bite and nodding in approval.

"You made this?" Joel asked, looking impressed.

You blushed a little. "Well, I just helping my mom."

"I take that as a yes and this is good," Joel said, his eyes warm.

"Thank you," you replied, feeling a rush of warmth from his compliment.

Ellie turned her attention to you. "So, how’s school? I haven’t seen you much lately."

You shrugged. "Just busy with a lot of things."

Ellie nodded. "I heard you’re in charge of the church dance troupe for the event next week."

"Yeah," you said, smiling.

Ellie smirked playfully. "And I heard Pastor Ben picked you as soon as he saw you. I think he likes you."

Joel’s expression changed, his jaw tightening slightly. "Who's Ben?"

Ellie glanced at Joel, oblivious to his jealousy. "Pastor Ben is the new young pastor who’s going to be taking over while Father Gibson is away for a couple of weeks."

"Yeah," you added. "He’s just helping out while my dad is on a trip to New Orleans for the church."

Ellie nodded enthusiastically. "He's super popular with the girls at school. They all think he’s really handsome."

You laughed lightly, trying to diffuse the tension. "He’s just being friendly, Ellie."

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he forced a casual tone. "How old is he?"

"Not sure," Ellie said, shrugging. "Maybe late twenties?"

"Oh," he said.

Joel's face remained impassive, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his emotions. He didn’t want to show too much, to let on how much it bothered him that someone else might have an eye on you. After all, anyone would notice your beauty—your presence was like a beacon, drawing people in with your pure, radiant light. Men and boys alike found themselves captivated by you, your allure almost heavenly. Joel, despite not being religious, found himself silently praying that he could keep you to himself.

He knew that your beauty wasn’t just skin-deep. There was something about you that felt untouched, ethereal—a stark contrast to the gritty world he had come to know. You were his salvation, a glimpse of purity and hope in his otherwise dark and turbulent life.

Ellie changed the subject, sensing the awkwardness. "Anyway, are you excited about leading the dance troupe?"

"Yeah, it should be fun," you replied, grateful for the shift in conversation. "It’s a lot of work, but I think it’ll be worth it."

"Maybe you want to join, Ellie?" you said teasing her, "Oh hell nah," Ellie answered making a disgusting face, you chuckled.

Joel remained quiet, his eyes flicking between you and Ellie. You could tell he was still processing the idea of Pastor Ben, but he seemed to be trying to push it aside.

"Well, thanks for the cookies," Ellie said, taking another bite. "They’re delicious."

"Glad you like them," you said with a smile. "I should probably get going. I need to drop the other jar off at Tommy’s."

Joel’s expression softened as he looked at you. "Let me walk you out," he said. As Ellie remained engrossed in the cookies, Joel gently took your hand, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"When is your father leaving for New Orleans?" Joel asked in a low voice as he guided you towards the door.

"Tonight, around eight," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Joel’s eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Can you sneak out tonight?" he whispered, his hand lightly caressing yours.

You smirked and nodded, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

Joel’s eyes darted around, ensuring no one was watching. "I’ll pick you up behind your house at nine," he whispered, his voice a mix of excitement and caution. His rough hand felt like a contrast to your soft skin, a stark reminder of the different worlds you both came from, yet a perfect match in this moment.

You felt a flutter in your chest, a combination of anticipation and desire. His touch was electric, sending a rush of warmth through your veins. You wanted to hold onto this feeling, the thrill of the forbidden, the secret moments that were just for the two of you.

Joel leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to your cheek, ensuring no one was watching. You felt your heart race, the sensation of his lips lingering on your skin.

"I’ll see you later," he murmured, stepping back slightly. "Take care."

You nodded, trying to contain your excitement. "You too," you said softly, your voice tinged with the happiness you felt inside.

The whole way to Tommy’s house, you couldn’t stop blushing. Riding your bike, you felt the wind rush past you, the world around you vibrant and alive. The sky was a brilliant canvas of blue and orange, the southern landscape unfolding like a scene straight out of a movie. Each pedal felt lighter, the anticipation of the night ahead filling you with a sense of freedom and exhilaration.

Reaching Tommy’s house, you parked your bike and grabbed the jar of cookies. Knocking on the door, you took a deep breath, the smile on your face unshakeable. Tonight held the promise of something special, and you couldn’t wait to see Joel again.

The house was a quiet, still tableau of ordinary life, its corners cast in the muted hues of nightfall. Your mother’s soft, tired footsteps echoed as she busied herself with the last-minute preparations for your father’s departure. From your vantage point in the dimly lit room, you could hear the rumble of his stern, authoritative voice as he issued his final instructions for his absence.

“Behave yourself, Evelyn. Take care of your duties.” your father’s voice cut through the air like a blade to your mother, “Make sure the house is in order," He said to your mother.

Your mother then called you from downstairs. “Come say goodbye to your father before he leaves.”

You descended the stairs with a heavy heart, each step a reluctant march towards the formality of your father's departure. His figure loomed large in the dimly lit foyer, his stern face illuminated by the flickering light from the chandelier above. The space around him seemed to shrink under the weight of his presence, a constant reminder of his authority and control.

Your father, already dressed in his traveling attire, turned to face you as you approached. His expression was as impassive as ever, his eyes scanning you with a critical gaze that never quite softened. “I expect you to behave while I’m away. Keep things in order, take care of your house duties with your mother and don’t let any mischief slip through. Pastor Ben will be in charge for the next two weeks."

You offered a formal, almost mechanical embrace, your body stiff as you pressed against him. The touch was brief, a quick and emotionless exchange that spoke more of obligation than affection. His words felt like a final checklist, a list of expectations that you had long learned to adhere to.

With a nod, you managed a polite, “Yes, daddy."

As he turned to leave, he gave one last instruction, his voice trailing off as he stepped toward the door. “Remember, be a good Christian girl. Stay close to God. Make sure you’re not a burden to your mother.”

After he had gone, your mother’s weary voice called from the kitchen. “Sweetheart, would you like something to eat? There are leftovers in the fridge. I’m quite tired and I think I'm gonna go to bed early,”

You shook your head, feigning a lack of appetite. “No, I’m full, Mama. I’ll just head to bed.”

“Alright, dear,” she replied, her tone soft but tinged with fatigue. “Don’t forget to pray before you sleep.”

You watched her retreat to her room, her movements slow and burdened. The house felt emptier as she disappeared from view, and you knew it was time to execute your carefully laid plan.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped out of bed and crept to your window. The night was still and serene, the air cool against your skin as you pushed the window open. The backyard, bathed in the soft glow of the moon, felt like a secret world just waiting to be explored.

You carefully climbed out of the window, landing softly on the grass below. The night sky was a canvas of stars, each one a twinkling reminder of the possibilities that lay beyond the confines of your everyday life. The cool breeze ruffled your hair, carrying with it the scents of the garden—jasmine, freshly cut grass, and the distant promise of freedom.

In the darkness, Joel’s truck waited, a silent sentinel against the backdrop of the night. The vehicle was cloaked in shadows, its lights off to avoid attracting any unwanted attention. Your heart raced with anticipation as you approached, the thrill of the forbidden making your steps lighter and faster.

Sliding into the truck, you were greeted by Joel’s familiar presence. His face, partially illuminated by the dim interior light, softened as he saw you. A warm smile spread across his lips, his eyes sparkling with the same excitement that you felt.

Before you could say a word, Joel’s lips met yours in a passionate kiss. It was a moment of pure, unrestrained connection, the outside world falling away as the heat of his touch enveloped you. The kiss was fervent, a melding of stolen desires and whispered promises, each touch a testament to the intimacy you shared.

Joel’s hands were rough and warm, their contrast to your soft skin sending a shiver through your body. As he pulled away, his eyes held a deep, unspoken affection that spoke louder than any words could. “Hey there, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the quiet cabin.

The truck’s engine roared to life, a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through the seats. The world outside seemed to blur as Joel drove through the empty streets, the city lights casting fleeting golden streaks across the windshield. Each streetlamp was a beacon in the darkness, guiding you through a night that felt like a dream.

With every mile that passed, the weight of your ordinary life lifted, replaced by the vivid colors of this stolen moment. The night sky above was a tapestry of dreams and possibilities, a perfect backdrop for the intimate adventure you were embarking upon.

The truck rolled to a gentle stop at the top of a secluded hill, its path winding through the darkened landscape like a secret road leading to a hidden sanctuary. The night sky stretched out above, an endless canvas dotted with twinkling stars, their cold light a delicate contrast to the warm cocoon of the truck's interior. Joel’s touch was a constant comfort, the warmth of his hand against yours a promise of the intimacy you shared.

You and Joel made your way to the truck's open bed, where a soft blanket had been laid out. The fabric was cool beneath you, but the warmth of Joel’s body beside you quickly dispelled any chill. You settled in together, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace as you both lay back to gaze at the sprawling expanse of the cosmos.

The night was a silent witness to your closeness, the stars above flickering like distant, celestial eyes. The moon hung low, casting a soft, silvery light over the landscape, making the moment feel surreal and dreamlike. Joel’s presence was a soothing balm, his breaths steady and calming against the backdrop of the night.

As you both lay there, the peacefulness of the night was punctuated by your conversation. The topics ranged from trivial to profound, each word a thread weaving the tapestry of your shared moment. The serenity of the night made every laugh and whisper seem more intimate, more precious.

Then, Joel’s voice broke the quiet, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. “Tell me more about this Ben,” he asked, his tone light but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You chuckled, rolling onto your side to face him. “Ben? Oh, he’s just this new pastor. He’s always paying attention to me, it's weird...my friends keep telling me like he likes me, but he's not really my type. He's...too boyish,” you said, trying to convey your disinterest.

Joel’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Boyish? He’s an adult.”

You smiled, playfully snuggling closer. “Yeah, but he’s not you.”

Joel’s eyes flickered with something akin to jealousy, though he quickly masked it with a nonchalant shrug. “Jealous?” you teased, noticing the subtle shift in his demeanor.

Joel gave a soft chuckle, his laughter mingling with the ambient sounds of the night. “I’m not jealous.”

You continued to tease him, your light-hearted jokes breaking through the quiet night air. Each laugh and playful nudge seemed to draw you both closer, your bond solidified by the shared humor and intimacy of the moment.

However, your mind wandered back to the conversation you’d overheard with your mother. The stories of Joel’s past, of Sarah and Jane, lingered like shadows at the edge of your thoughts. A wave of curiosity and a tinge of apprehension washed over you.

“Joel,” you began tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper, “how come you never tell me about your life?"

"What do you mean, doll?"

"About Sarah and Jane,"

Joel’s body stiffened beside you, his hand retracting from its position on your waist. The shift was palpable, a stark contrast to the easy closeness you’d just shared. His face hardened slightly, a veil of discomfort settling over his features.

He looked away, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “What do you want to know?” he asked, his voice guarded and distant.

You felt a pang of regret, your heart aching at the sight of his discomfort. The stars above, once a symbol of wonder and possibility, now felt like distant witnesses to a moment of unspoken pain. You struggled to find the right words, the metaphors of your own emotions becoming tangled in the reality of Joel’s guarded heart.

“I...I just want to understand,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “I know about your life, but it feels like there’s so much more you haven’t shared.”

"And you knew about mine, all of it," you said again.

Joel’s silence was heavy, a deep, almost tangible weight that pressed against your chest. The night seemed to stretch on forever, the stars above a cold, indifferent audience to the emotions playing out beneath them. The warmth of Joel’s touch was still there, but it now felt like a fragile thread, tenuous and delicate.

Joel’s gaze softened, but the weight of his past seemed to anchor him, pulling him into a place he wasn’t ready to share. “It’s not easy to talk about,” he admitted, his voice trembling with a mixture of regret and sadness. “Some things are just too hard to revisit.”

Your heart ached at his vulnerability, and you reached out, your voice gentle. “You can open up to me, Joel. I want to listen. You always listen whenever I’m down. I’m here with you,”

Joel’s eyes flickered with a storm of emotions, a mix of frustration and something else, but he remained quiet. You pressed on, your fingers lightly grazing his hand. “Do you ever think about them?"

A tense silence followed, Joel’s expression darkening. He clenched his jaw, struggling with the weight of his emotions. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his voice strained and edged with anger.

You tried to close the distance, your hand still resting on his. “Joel, it’s okay to open up.”

But before you could say more, Joel’s frustration erupted. “I just don't want to talk about it!” he snapped, his voice sharp and louder than you’d ever heard.

You flinched, your heart racing as the sudden intensity of his reaction hit you. The night, once a haven of comfort and connection, now felt oppressive, the stars above seeming distant and indifferent to the turmoil unfolding below.

Joel’s eyes widened as he saw the fear in your gaze, and his anger dissipated almost immediately, replaced by regret and sorrow. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to—”

You tried to steady yourself, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. “It’s okay,” you whispered, though your voice wavered. “I’m sorry."

Joel’s face crumpled with remorse, and he pulled you into a tight embrace. “No, no, it’s alright,” he said urgently, his hands trembling as they held you close. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

You let yourself sink into his embrace, the warmth of his body a balm against the sharp edges of your fear. Joel’s arms were strong and reassuring, his apologies sincere as he gently stroked your back, his touch a contrast to the harshness of his earlier words.

The night around you seemed to settle, the tension easing as Joel’s grip tightened, holding you as if he could shield you from the weight of his own emotions. The stars above continued to shine, their distant light a reminder of the vastness of the world and the smallness of your own worries in the grand scheme of things.

Joel’s voice was soft now, filled with the weight of his remorse. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just...I just can’t talk about it right now.”

You nestled closer against Joel, the warmth of his body enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort. “It’s okay, Joel,” you murmured softly, your voice a gentle caress against the backdrop of the night. “I’m sorry to push you, but I want you to know that I am here. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be right here, just like you are for me.”

Joel’s fingers brushed against your hair, a tender gesture that spoke volumes. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, a whisper of affection that traveled down to your cheek and finally to your lips. The kiss was brief but sweet, a promise of connection and understanding. He pulled you back into his embrace, both of you gazing up at the star-speckled sky.

The vastness of the night felt like a canvas, stretching out endlessly before you. You could feel the weight of your desires and dreams mingling with the cool night air, and a yearning for freedom began to take shape in your heart. “Joel,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “I want to go out. I want to get away from all of this. Will you come with me one day?”

The sincerity in your voice carried a longing for escape, for a fresh start where the past could no longer cast its shadow. You wanted to run away, to leave behind the chains of hurt and disappointment and start anew with Joel by your side. The dream of leaving it all behind, just the two of you, was intoxicating—a chance to be free from the constraints of your everyday lives and the ghosts of your pasts.

Joel’s eyes met yours, a flicker of determination lighting up his features. He could see the raw honesty in your gaze, the hope that shimmered like the stars above. “I promise you,” he said, his voice steady and sincere, “one day, we will. We’ll get out of here and start fresh. Just you and me.”

You felt a flutter of relief and happiness at his words, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your heart. The idea of a future together, unburdened by the past, seemed within reach now, a possibility painted against the backdrop of the night sky. Joel’s promise was a beacon of hope, a light guiding you through the darkness.

You lay there, side by side, under the vast expanse of the universe, the stars shining brightly above you. The night felt endless, full of potential and promise. The warmth of Joel’s presence, the softness of his touch, and the certainty of his promise wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, making the future seem just a little bit brighter.

In the quiet moments that followed, you allowed yourself to dream of a different life, one where the past was a distant memory and the present was filled with endless possibilities. With Joel by your side, the journey ahead felt less daunting, and the dreams of escape and freedom seemed like they could one day become a beautiful reality.

***

The sun cast a warm, golden light over the school grounds as you and your classmates, including Emma, practiced your dance routines for the upcoming church event. The afternoon air was filled with the sounds of music and the rustle of your movements as you and your friends rehearsed, perfecting every step and spin. The new Pastor Ben, fresh from Mexico with his wife Jemima, observed with an encouraging smile, his presence adding an extra layer of excitement to the practice.

Pastor Ben, young and charismatic, was the center of attention for many of the girls. His charm and good looks had quickly made him popular, and you could see why. Though you knew he was married, the admiration from your friends was palpable. Jemima, his wife, had been less present in the community, focusing on settling into their new life. You hadn’t interacted with her much, and you were more familiar with Ben’s friendly demeanor and the sparkle in his eyes that made him somehow likable among your friends.

As the practice came to a close, you and Emma walked outside the school, discussing the day’s rehearsals and sharing your thoughts on the choreography. The conversation was light-hearted, filled with giggles and the occasional sigh as you both reflected on the challenges and progress made.

Suddenly, Pastor Ben appeared beside you, his presence both surprising and pleasant. “Afternoon, girls. How did the practice go today?” he asked, his attention clearly focused on you.

You could feel the warmth of his gaze as he continued, “Any difficulties? How are you finding the choreography?”

You answered, your voice steady but with a hint of nervousness, “We’re making good progress. There were a few tricky moves, but we’re getting there.”

Ben nodded, his eyes never straying far from you. “You’re doing really well. I’ve noticed you’ve been putting in a lot of effort. It shows.”

Emma, ever the enthusiastic friend, chimed in, “Oh, we’re just working hard! It’s been a lot of fun, though. Don’t you think Pastor Ben has been so encouraging?”

Ben smiled at her but turned his attention back to you. “I’m glad to hear that. I just wanted to check in and see how everyone’s doing. Is there anything you need help with?”

You felt a mix of emotions—flattered by his attention but also a bit uncomfortable given the context of the situation. Ben’s genuine interest was clear, but it was hard not to feel like you were under a spotlight.

“Thank you, Pastor Ben. I think we’re okay for now. It’s just a matter of practice,” Emma said.

He nodded, “If any of you ever need any extra guidance or just want to talk, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m here to help.”

As Pastor Ben walked away, you felt a twinge of relief mixed with lingering confusion. You were still processing the interaction when Ellie’s familiar voice broke through, startling you slightly.

“Oh, that’s Pastor Ben,” Ellie said, a playful tone in her voice. She tapped you on the shoulder, making Emma and you turn to face her.

Emma grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yep, that’s the new hot pastor,"

Ellie looked between you and Emma with a knowing smile. “So, what’s the gossip on Pastor Ben?”

Before Emma could answer, you asked Ellie if she was heading home. Ellie shook her head, her excitement palpable. “Nope, I’m going out with Joel. We’re going to practice shooting. You know, for deer hunting. Joel and I usually do this.”

Just then, the sound of a truck horn pierced the air, and Ellie waved enthusiastically. “Ah, there’s Joel now. See you later, guys!”

You watched as Ellie walked toward the truck, your gaze meeting Joel’s for a brief moment. You tried to hide your blush, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest whenever Joel was near.

Emma then suddenly said, "Ah the town's DILF,"

You choked caught off guard. “What did you just say?”

Emma laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “You know, DILF—‘Dad I’d Like to’—you know the type. Joel’s like the ultimate Southern gentleman. He’s got that rugged charm. He looks like he works with his hands, and I bet he smells like Marlboro Reds. Everyone’s talking about how lucky Ellie is. Goddamn, he's just hot,"

You felt your cheeks flush deeper, a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. “Emma, stop. He’s much older than us.”

Emma raised an eyebrow playfully. “Oh come on, you’re telling me you’ve never thought about Joel that way? I mean, he’s your dad’s best friend in high school, but just tell me you have right?”

You glared at Emma, trying to hide the twinge of jealousy you felt. “Emma, that’s inappropriate."

Emma pouted in mock innocence. “Oh, come on! Don’t be so uptight. We’re just talking. I’m sure you’ve had some thoughts, especially with how close you are with Joel right?"

You shook your head, trying to suppress the tumult of emotions bubbling inside you. “Seriously, Emma, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Emma grinned, undeterred. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But you have to admit, Joel’s a pretty interesting guy.”

You gave her a half-smile, trying to brush off the teasing. “Emma..."

Emma’s grin remained as she walked alongside you, her excitement infectious despite your lingering discomfort. You both made your way home, your thoughts tangled with the events of the day.

As you approached your house, Emma’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Hey, you know what? My parents are out tonight. How about a sleepover at my place? We can hang out and have some fun. It’ll be a nice break before graduation.”

You hesitated, “I don’t know, Em. I’ve got a lot to prepare for graduation.”

Emma’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun. Jim will be there too, and he’s a blast. Plus, you’ll have me to keep you entertained. What’s the harm?”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask your reluctance. “I don’t want to be the third wheel.”

Emma’s expression softened as she playfully pleaded. “Oh, please. It’ll be fine. Just come hang out. If you don’t, my parents might not let Jim over if it's just both of us. Pretty please?”

You sighed, weighing your options. Emma’s persistence was hard to resist, and you knew it would be a good chance to take your mind off things. “Alright, alright. I’ll come. But let me ask my mom first.”

Emma’s face lit up with joy. “Yes! Thank you! I promise we’ll have a great time.”

As you walked inside your house, you found your mom in the kitchen, preparing a simple dinner for herself. The smell of food filled the air, a comforting reminder of home.

“Mom, Emma invited me to a sleepover at her house tonight,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Is it okay if I go?”

Your mom looked up, her face reflecting mild surprise but also understanding. “A sleepover? Well, I suppose it’s fine. Just be sure to come home early tomorrow."

You nodded, relieved by her response. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be back early.”

With your mother’s approval, you quickly gathered your things and headed back outside to meet Emma. Her excitement was palpable as she waited for you by the front gate.

“Great! Let’s go!” Emma chirped, grabbing your hand and leading the way.

As you walked to Emma’s house, your mind was still clouded by the earlier events. The thought of spending the evening with Emma and Jim was a welcome distraction from the swirl of emotions you had been feeling. You hoped it would be a chance to relax and clear your head before facing whatever came next.

Hours later, the three of you were lounging in Emma’s cozy living room, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls. After an exciting board game session, you settled down to watch "Gone with the Wind." Emma and Jim sat close together on the couch, their whispered conversations blending with the movie's dialogue. You tried to focus on the screen, but their growing intimacy was hard to ignore.

Emma giggled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. You glanced over just in time to see them exchanging a tender kiss. Their kisses grew more passionate, and soon they were making out fervently. You turned your attention back to the movie, trying to block out the sounds of their affection, but it was no use.

"I'm going to take Jim to my bedroom," Emma said, her cheeks flushed. "Is it okay if you stay here alone?"

You nodded, your heart pounding. "Yeah, it's fine. I want to finish the movie anyway."

Emma smiled and led Jim to her room, leaving you alone in the dimly lit living room. The hours passed slowly, the film a distant backdrop to the thoughts swirling in your mind. Their muffled voices and occasional moans filtered through the walls, filling you with a mix of curiosity and discomfort.

The next morning, you woke early and decided to make breakfast for everyone. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the kitchen as you worked. Emma was the first to join you, her hair tousled and eyes bright.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, giving you a warm smile. “Did you have fun playing board games last night?”

You returned her smile, feeling a genuine sense of friendship. "Yeah, it was fun. Thanks for inviting me."

Emma smiling to you, "You're a good friend," you smiled at her.

You hesitated at first, then asked the question that had been on your mind. "So, uh... about last night... did you and Jim...?"

Emma blushed slightly but didn't shy away. "You mean, am I not a virgin anymore? Yes. and I'm really in love with Jim. He's so kind and supportive. We’re thinking about getting married after we graduate, moving to a big city like Austin or Houston to start our lives together. He can work in a garage, and I'll stay home."

Her words made you think of Joel, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. "Have you ever been in love?" Emma asked, noticing your pensive expression.

“I don’t know,” you replied hesitantly. “I think about someone a lot, but I’m not sure what it means.”

“And have you ever... you know, had sex?” Emma asked.

Your body tensed, the memory of Jamie’s forceful actions coming to mind. You decided to lie and shook your head.

“Typical preacher’s daughter, stay pure, hon,” Emma said, her tone sincere rather than mocking.

You swallowed, feeling a mix of discomfort and curiosity. “How does it feel like?”

Emma’s expression softened. “Well, when you’re with someone you truly care about, it can be really special. It’s not just about the physical aspect, but the emotional connection. It’s like sharing something deeply personal with someone you love and who loves you back. It can feel very intimate and fulfilling.”

You nodded, trying to understand her words. “But isn’t it scary? Does it hurt?”

Emma smiled gently. “It can be, especially the first time. But when you’re with someone who respects you and makes you feel safe, it’s a lot easier. It’s important that you feel comfortable and loved.”

You took in her words, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “What if I’m not ready for that yet?”

Emma reassured you. “That’s completely okay. There’s no rush. It’s important to wait until you feel ready and comfortable. And remember, there are other ways to show affection and care for someone.”

You felt a bit of relief. “Like what?”

Emma leaned in slightly, her voice gentle. “Like, for example, giving him oral pleasure. It’s a way to show that you care about him and want to make him feel good. But it’s really important that you’re comfortable with whatever you choose to do. Communication and mutual respect are key in any relationship.”

You blushed, feeling a mix of curiosity and embarrassment. “I don’t know much about that. It sounds kind of… complicated.”

Emma smiled warmly. “It can seem that way, but you’ll learn what feels right for you and your partner as you go along. The most important thing is to have open conversations and make sure you’re both on the same page.”

You nodded, absorbing her advice. “Thanks for explaining."

Emma’s words lingered in your mind as you processed what she had said. The idea of intimacy was something you hadn’t explored deeply, shaped by the teachings you’d grown up with. Your father’s sermons had painted it as an ultimate sin, a taboo wrapped in layers of guilt and religious doctrine. The notion of sex had always been shadowed by the fear of moral failure, a breach of sacred promises that could never be undone.

Emma’s perspective, however, was a stark contrast. She spoke of intimacy as a beautiful, shared experience between two people who cared deeply for each other. It wasn’t just a physical act but a manifestation of affection and connection. It was a way to express love, to show that you cherish someone in the most personal and vulnerable way.

You thought about Joel, and how his kindness had touched you. His presence was like a gentle light breaking through a stormy sky—offering warmth, comfort, and a sense of security you had rarely felt before. The idea of pleasing him, of sharing something deeply intimate, seemed like a way to express your gratitude, to show him how much you valued his care and support.

It was as if you were standing at the edge of a beautiful, uncharted garden, its entrance hidden behind a veil of mist and uncertainty. The garden represented a space of connection, where the blossoms of affection and mutual respect could flourish. The thought of stepping into this garden with Joel was both thrilling and daunting. It was a step into the unknown, where the flowers of shared experiences and emotional intimacy awaited.

You contemplated the possibility of finding a way to share this garden with Joel, to offer him a gesture of affection that went beyond words. Maybe through a physical expression of care, you could bridge the gap between your feelings and his, creating a shared space where love could grow and flourish.

Emma’s reassurance and gentle explanations provided a new perspective, one that allowed you to see intimacy not as a forbidden act but as a potential expression of love and appreciation. You wondered if perhaps, in time, you could navigate this new terrain with Joel, guided by mutual respect and deep affection.

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cha-melodius · 4 days ago

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#16, Alex/Henry?

(Also requested by @firenati0n. I feel like there were two obvious options for this one: post-leaks in canon, or post-rescue mission of some kind. You can probably guess which one I chose. 😂 read all the hug ficlets)

Firstprince, 16: The “it’s okay, I’m here” hug.

Add’l note: This is more or less a tiny sequel to So Close to Something Better Left Unknown. You don’t have to have read the fic to read this ficlet, but it does contain minor spoilers for the very end of said fic.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

When Henry gave him the watch, it was half a joke and half because Henry’s in love with him and his hopeless heart latched onto the slim chance to keep an eye on him, at least from a distance. He’d expected Alex to leave it behind, or disable the tracker, or at the very least not wear it, but as far as he can tell, Alex had done none of those things. The tracker bops around the globe, giving Henry far too much information on CIA missions merely through its location. Not that Henry would ever pass on that information to his own agency, or anyone else for that matter.

That Alex trusted him not to, to keep his secrets… Well, it means a lot.

He assumed that at some point his own work would bring him within striking distance of Alex again, and he’d make use of the tracker to find him and… oh, hell, he doesn’t know. Say hello? It sounds absurd for a spy, but it’s pretty much all he could hope for. But before that happens, the tracker gets stuck for a week in a remote part of Guatemala, and Henry starts to get worried. Maybe Alex just lost the watch, or abandoned it for some reason. That’s the most reasonable explanation. Even so, Henry quietly requests recent satellite images of that area and zooms all the way in on the watch’s coordinates.

It’s a high-security compound of some sort. Not good.

He tries not to let his imagination run wild. The tracker he’d left in the watch is extremely high resolution, and he watches it occasionally move around the compound, as if someone was wearing it, though mostly it stays in one place. Alex could have traded it or gifted it as part of an operation; it was a valuable watch, after all. Still, it nags at Henry. He’s not going to be able to rest until he finds out what actually happened. The most straightforward way would be simply asking, but he has no way of contacting Alex except a burner phone he has no reason to believe Alex would be monitoring.

He sends a message anyway, but after a few days without a response, he can’t take it anymore.

It’s completely mad, he knows it is, but he makes up an excuse about tracking down a lead on a long-cold operation and books a ticket to Guatemala City. He covertly watches the outside of the compound for three days, keeping track of the men who come and go, and sends photos of them to Bea with a request to run facial recognition and not ask any questions. (She does, of course, but she doesn’t push, even when they come back with the names of some very bad people.)

Finally, once the compound’s primary resident leaves and takes with him what should be the majority of his armed muscle, Henry makes his move. The watch is still inside, and Henry follows the tracker’s signal down into the basement of an outbuilding, taking out a handful of guards with tranquilizers as he goes. The building is dark and dank, and the series of locked metal doors he finds do nothing to help the cold, hard knot that’s settled into his stomach. His hands don’t shake as he picks the lock on the one the watch is resting behind, but that careful composure slips when the door finally swings open to reveal a miserable lump curled on a thin mattress, a head of matted curls just visible through the murky darkness.

Alex flinches away when Henry first reaches out for him, scrambling into the corner, but then his eyes land on Henry and his mouth drops open. He blinks rapidly, scrubs frantically at his eyes, and blinks again.

“Henry?” he croaks in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you, love,” Henry tells him, holding his hands out in front of him as he slowly moves closer. “I’ve come to get you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then another, then Alex surges toward him. Henry almost shies away himself, unsure of what Alex means to do, but then Alex is grabbing him and wrapping him up in a hug so tight it squeezes the air out of Henry’s lungs, and Henry can do nothing else but curl his arms around the trembling man now occupying his lap.

“It’s ok, I’m here,” he murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand down Alex’s back.

“How?” Alex chokes out. “How did you…?”

His voice trails off as he raises his left arm and looks at his own wrist, where a bit of watch strap peeks out beyond the filthy cuff of his shirt. Inexplicably, his captors had let him keep it, though that becomes more understandable when his sleeve slips further down and Henry sees how he’s smeared it with mud. The exquisite Patek Philippe now looks like a beaten up piece of junk.

“I didn’t want to lose it,” Alex says, his voice cracking over the syllables. He drops his arm and tries to bury his face in Henry’s chest. “That probably sounds dumb.”

“No, love, it doesn’t,” Henry says, holding him tighter. It’s torture to pull away, but eventually he must. “Come on,” he says, tipping Alex’s chin, now covered in a scraggly beard, up so their eyes meet. “Let’s get you out of here.”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fic #my fic #hug ficlets #sctsblu #i reserve the right to expand this later lol

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aethon-recs · 3 months ago

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This Week (x2) in Tomarrymort (11 – 24 October 2024)

Bundling 2 weeks’ worth of updates together, sorry for missing last week! In terms of ship happenings, @exquisite-tomarrymort-telephone has been posting a series of fics loosely interconnected by prompts, which started this week and will wrap up next week.

As before, please feel free to add some extra context to your fic update in the reblog, ie, a little bit about the chapter(s) updated, and I’ll throw it in the update for next week. See below for a recap of the author notes from last week:

friend of the devil (a friend of mine) by @shyinsunlight (E, 17k, WIP) “Red flags are good party decorations, and love can be blind if you keep your eyes shut tight enough. Rodolphus discovers team spirit, and Abraxas finds that his home is no longer his castle.” a pound of flesh by @ictyn (M, 21k, WIP) “Harry, trapped and undying in his own mutilated corpse, must turn inward to find his salvation. Inside his very soul is the key to annoying his nemesis into returning for him. In the end, he'd much rather lose his mind to torture than to eternal boredom.” the precarity of virgin souls by @izharmilgram (M, 4k, complete) “The second part to on line sex & rabbit stew. It includes dueling, cooking (the rabbit stew!), a first kiss, manipulation, and a horcrux reveal.” the alchemy by @cindle-writes (E, 2k, WIP) “A college AU rom-com wherein Harry is the star of the college baseball team, and tries to convince Tom to go on one, just one, date with him.” Anytime, Anywhere, Always by @moontearpensfic (E, 18k, WIP) “In this last update of AAA, Tom explores how he feels about his attachment to Harry. Very fluffy chapter!” Infinite by @moontearpensfic (E, 4k, WIP) “Infinite is a prequel fic to Love, Murder, Horcrux. In chapter one, the boys start their first year of Hogwarts together, and Harry is Sorted Slytherin. I love playing with the dynamics of Harry in Slytherin House in the 90s! We usually see it in time travel fics, but it's great to explore it here.”

I’ll also highlight newly completed multi-chaptered fics, as it’s a wonderful thing to celebrate with the authors as their work comes to an end! 🎉

Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer (M, 187k, complete) Many things are different and many are the same as Harry begins his fifth year at Hogwarts. Here, living with Dursleys that aren't just neglectful but outright abusive made Harry unable to withstand more than a few weeks of Trelawney's "predictions" back in his third year. Instead, he took Ancient Runes, and uncovered that he had a prodigious knack for runic magic, which opened the door to the darkest of rituals and the magic of mind and soul. A year later, Harry uncovered something horrible within himself - a parasite. So, when Voldemort sends him dreams of corridors and doors, Harry sends him pieces of hell in return.

Tomarrymort One Shots and Completed Fic

Chapters 38 and 39 (Completed) of Part One - The Solitude of Suffering by @iseliljathedreamer

One Shot | To be Guarded by @cyandenial

One Shot | nineteen (ten years apart) by @midsummersins

One Shot | compromising positions by @virgil-anon

One Shot | time and a rabbit foot for luck by @izharmilgram

One Shot | Aliquot by @crowcrowcrowthing @cindle-writes

One Shot | Pink Shorts by @crowcrowcrowthing

One Shot | Premium Pussy by @hopeforthewitch

One Shot | as sweet as blood red jam by @cindle-writes

One Shot | Locked in Focus by @v33r00

Tomarrymort Ongoing Fics

Chapter 22 of What In Me Is Dark, Illumine by @telelli-writes

Chapter 16 of Sits the wind in that quarter by @mosiva

Chapter 10 of Ills of Murder by @shadow-of-the-eclipse

Chapter 37 of With a resolute heart by Act_Naturally

Chapter 5 of some like it hot by @duplicitywrites

Chapter 2 of Touch of Death by @moontearpensfic

Chapters 128 through 130 of Liquida Tenebris (Remastered) by @dymis

Chapters 18 and 19 of Outrunning the Villain in You by @zenyteehee

Chapter 17 of with eyes like these (who sees anybody else) by @cealesti

Chapter 1 of every step I choose to take begins to set the world aflame by @boyneptunee

Chapters 8 through 10 of Hole in the Wall by tomrddle

Parts 1 through 13 of Broken Tomarrymort Telephone by @exquisite-tomarrymort-telephone

Chapter 1 of throne sex by @xxx-codtyl-xxx

Chapter 113 of In Willing Sacrifice by @hikarimeroperiddle

Chapter 6 of i am anonymous, you are a concrete wall by Pensievable

Chapter 6 of Syzygy by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 5 of Memories of a Killer by @chemfreak89

Chapter 4 of doublethink by confunded

Chapter 4 of i might be the writer but you'll always be the words by @wixen-writes-tomarry

Chapter 1 of If I were you by @onehitpleb

Chapter 5 of Dreams Beyond Blood by @hikarimeroperiddle

Chapters 3 and 4 of What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries

Chapters 19 and 20 of Learning to love by @l-archiduchesse

Chapters 3 through 5 of Venom or Valor by @lightningant

Chapter 7 of Like we were before by tzutzutrain

Chapter 20 of Date Ideas for the Linguistically Inclined by Antique_Mango

Chapters 1 and 2 of Solitude by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 23 of Time Stumbler by @wintumnly

Chapters 13 and 14 of Saint Harry by @alenablack @chaos-bear

Chapter 6 of Fetters of the Damned by @sc0rpiflow3r

Chapter 2 of A Murder by Crows by @iseliljathedreamer

Chapter 8 of God is a Wizard by @onehitpleb

Chapter 2 of Auror Potter by @albondiguilla

Chapter 15 of A Dead God's Faith by @selfishrot

Chapter 8 of Actus Reus by TimaeusKosmou

Chapter 8 of These Fragments We've Shored by @rowena-rain

Chapter 5 of Dream a little dream (of me) by @cenedrariva

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #tomarrymort recs #aethon recs #tomarry recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs #hp fic recs #harrymort recs #tomarry weekly #this week in tomarrymort

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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

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Right Kind of Wrong (17)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and Y/n try to outsmart the situation. wc: 3.5k Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA A/n: this took longer because trying to come up with a climax scene was SO hard, I hope I did some justice here

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

HER BODY ACHED. Every muscle seemed to join a protest, sending out persistent signals of pain. The cold air seemed to snake through her limbs, and the chains that bound her wrist seemed to cut into her flesh. The bed underneath didn't do much to ease things—it was as stiff as a board, offering about as much comfort as the floor.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been here. It was likely no more than a week, but it felt like months. Maybe hunger messed with her head, making everything feel fuzzy. The lack of nutrition had her feeling delirious. For someone who claimed to be in love with her, Eric showed no mercy for her well-being.

Of course, he didn't, she thought, because there was no love in the first place, no genuine care, no honest affection—just an illusion crafted by his distorted mind.

Her eyes drifted shut, and a sigh escaped her lips. The air in the barn was thick, almost suffocating, with its heavy, musty scent. It offered no peace for her tonight—or was it already early morning? The darkness seemed to stretch endlessly, blurring the line between night and dawn.

But something felt different.

The atmosphere shifted abruptly, a quiet change that quickened her heart. The unmistakable sound of a vehicle reached her ears before it abruptly stopped on the other side of the wall. A car door creaked open, accompanied by distant voices. Then came the purposeful footsteps, growing louder with each step as they approached her.

The barn door groaned in protest, creaking open slowly, letting in a thin ray of dim light. Her breath caught as Eric stepped in. Yet, it wasn't his presence that shocked her; it was the man he dragged along, someone she least expected to see.

Her eyes widened. Spencer?

He was here. He was really here, right in the flesh, making it harder for her to breathe. Because he looked worlds apart from the last time she saw him—his shirt dirty, bruises marking his face, clear signs of whatever ordeal he'd been through. It also seemed like he hadn't slept for days. His eyes appeared hollow and vacant, yet as they met hers, she noticed a glimmer of relief.

Tears welled up in her eyes. All she wanted was to run into his arms, find comfort in his embrace, and let out the tears for everything that had gone wrong. But she couldn't do anything when she was bound with chains while his hands were tied behind his back. And as glad as she was to see him, it registered her to why he was even here. Anger suddenly flared through her body as she leveled her gaze on Eric with a glare.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He pushed Spencer forward, forcing him to stumble, landing him on his knees. "A little present for you," Eric taunted. "Aren't you glad to see him?"

Spencer looked at her with concern, his eyes slowly assessing every inch of body. His stomach churned when he took in how fragile she looked. She seemed so weak, so helpless, being held captive with those repulsive chains binding her wrist.

“Are you…” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Are you okay?”

It was a dumb question. Of course she was far from being fine. But he had to say it, he needed to interact with her to make sure she understood how much it pained to see her like this.

But before she could respond to him, Eric noticed the interaction and pulled out a knife. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him circle Spencer, the glint of the blade caught in the dim light, sending a chill through the air.

The cold steel of the knife traced sinister patterns in the air, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the dangerous dance. "What do you want?" she demanded, her voice shaking but defiant. "Let him go. This has nothing to do with him."

Eric chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, but it does. He's hurt you, and I need to do something about it."

"Eric, please," she pleaded. "You don't need to do this."

He ignored her pleas and narrowed his eyes on Spencer. "What do you think, Dr. Reid? Should I let you go? Let you free while I'm left alone with her, doing anything that I please." Spencer glared at him and Eric's smile grew wider. "That's what I thought."

He started pacing between them again, casually playing with the knife in his hands. "You know, I usually kill my victims before I write anything on their bodies, but tonight I'm making an exception." His eyes glazed over to her. "I think it'll be fun to do the other way around."

The ominous threat hung heavy in the air, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Spencer's eyes flashed with defiance, though his bound hands limited his ability to physically intervene. She locked eyes with him. They both knew the odds were stacked against them.

“You don't have to do this,” she begged once more, desperation lacing her voice.

"But I do Sweetheart, I really do." He focused his attention back on Spencer. "Now, what do you reckon I should choose for you, Dr. Reid?"

Eric continued to circle, a predator reveling in the vulnerability of his prey. "What do you think of Proverbs 11:21?” He spread his hands out as if he was imagining the words were written in the sky. “'Be sure of this: The wicked will not go unpunished, but those who are righteous will go free'."

When he was met with silence, he approached Spencer with a menacing glint in his eye. "No? How about Proverbs 21:15 then? 'When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but terror to evildoers.'"

Spencer finally looked up and retorted, "Justice isn't about inflicting pain for the sake of satisfaction."

Eric glared back with a sadistic resolve. "The only way to cleanse the evil here is through suffering. Proverbs speaks the truth, whether you like it or not."

At that moment, Spencer's mind suddenly shifted gears, deciding to try a different approach. His narrowed eyes showed he was honing in, not just reacting but strategizing. He was about to do what he did best—understand people, especially those on the brink. Instead of just reacting to the danger, he aimed to get inside Eric's head. He wanted to observe Eric with an intensity that went beyond the immediate threat.

"You're a smart man, Eric,” he started, his tone measured and analytical. “I can see that you've been through a lot, maybe more than most. I don't think this is about justice anymore.”

He noticed Eric stopping from his casual pace around the narrowed space, and Spencer continued. “It seems like you want to reverse the roles. To be the one inflicting pain instead of receiving it."

Eric, though still wearing a facade of defiance, couldn't completely mask the flicker of unease that danced in his eyes. Spencer's words seemed to hit a nerve.

"What do you even know about my past?" He retorted, a hint of vulnerability seeping into his voice.

Spencer, maintaining his calm and analytical demeanor, continued his probing. "I don't need to know the specifics to recognize the signs. People who inflict pain are often trying to regain control over a part of their lives where they feel helpless."

Eric's grip on the knife tightened, his jaw clenching. "You're making assumptions, Dr. Reid. You don't know anything about what I've been through.”

Spencer met his gaze evenly. "I actually do, Eric," He paused, letting the words linger in the air. "Or should I call you Henry?"

The name hung in the air, a heavy silence enveloping the barn. Y/n’s eyes darted between the two men, her confusion mirrored in the furrow of her brow. Henry? His real name was Henry?

"Henry Wyatt," Spencer continued. "Troubled childhood, juvenile records. You changed your name and tried to leave the past behind."

There was a moment of silence as if Eric was weighing his next words. "I no longer associate with that name," he finally insisted, the defiance in his voice trying to mask the vulnerability that lingered beneath the surface.

"I don't think so,” Spencer remarked. “You're still him despite having a different life now. Your current action shows how you're still bound by the past."

Eric vehemently shook his head. "No."

"Your attempt to leave it behind is what brought us here."

"No," Eric shot back, frustration lacing his voice. “You’re wrong.”

"Your sense of betrayal is the root of your actions," He pressed. "Are you deeply hurt by Oliver that you seek revenge this far?"

A growl rumbled in Eric's throat, the grip on the knife tightening. "You have no right to bring that up," he spat out.

"I do, because I want you to realize that your need for revenge is a sign of weakness," Spencer continued with a calculated intensity, his words aimed at striking a nerve. "Not strength."

Eric shot a fierce glare at Spencer as his frustration reached a crescendo. "You know nothing about me. Don't pretend to understand."

"I do understand that inflicting pain won't change anything." His words hung in the air, a challenge that dared Eric to confront the truth.

The subtle tremors of Eric's clenched fists betrayed the storm within him. The knife, once held with purpose, now seemed almost precarious in his grip. Spencer's next move was strategic, pressing on despite the mounting tension. "Romans 12:21—Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

Eric's anger boiled over. "Stop talking."

But Spencer saw an opening and seized it. "Hurting others won't bring you the closure you seek."

"I said," Eric snarled, his patience wearing thin. "Stop. Talking."

"Ask yourself, Henry," Spencer goaded, deliberately emphasizing the name. "Is this really about justice, or is it about masking the pain you refuse to confront?"

"Fucking shut up!"

Eric's outburst reverberated through the barn as he grabbed onto the only source of lighting, an old lamp sitting on a nearby crate. He smashed it onto the floor towards Spencer, the crash of the lamp echoing like a gunshot.

Fragments of glass sprayed across the floor, some landing dangerously close to his knees as the room dimmed further, the broken lamp's feeble glow casting eerie shadows on the walls.

"You thought you could defy me?" Eric seethed, his voice low and menacing, closing the gap between them. "You're fucking wrong."

With a sudden, swift motion, Eric brought the knife dangerously close to Spencer's face. Y/n’s mind raced. She couldn't let Spencer get hurt. She had to do something, anything, to protect him.

"S-Stop!" she stammered, trying to intervene. The chains rattled as she tried to move. But Eric kept going, and she tried again with a desperate plea.

“Eric! Look at me! Please!” She begged. “I-I'll do anything!"

There was a slight halt in his steps. "What?" Eric paused.

"What are you doing?" Spencer's voice filled the air.

She glanced over to him, prepared to see the panic in his eyes. But despite the concern in his voice, he responded to her gaze with a silent plea, as if urging her to keep going.

He was onto something; she was sure of it, even if she wasn't sure of whatever plan he had in mind. She could tell by the slight shift in his demeanor before he quickly looked away. She sent him an understanding nod and redirected her attention to Eric, who was slowly turning toward her, oblivious of their interaction.

"I-I'll do anything you want," she repeated her words.

A sinister smile played on Eric's lips. "Really? Anything?" he taunted, a cruel glint in his eyes as he considered her offer.

"Yes, just—please, let him go.”

Eric's gaze shifted between her and Spencer, contemplating the power he held at that moment. "You'll do anything to save him?"

Her nod was hesitant but determined.

Eric's eyes gleamed with a malicious delight as he absorbed her desperation. "Anything, you say? That's quite a tempting offer."

"Just tell me what you want," she pressed, her voice quivering. "I'll do it, but you let him go. He doesn't need to be a part of this."

A wicked grin etched itself on his face. "Oh, it's not that simple, Sweetheart. You see, actions speak louder than words. I need a demonstration of your commitment."

Her mind raced, searching for a way to navigate through the situation. "Tell me what you want me to do," she pleaded, her eyes pleading for mercy.

He bent down and picked a shard of glass from the broken lamp scattered on the floor before throwing it to her feet.

"First, you're going to have to convince me that you're willing to endure pain for his sake." Eric gestured toward Spencer with the knife. "Hurt yourself, and maybe, maybe, I'll consider releasing him."

A chill ran down her spine as she comprehended his twisted demand. She shot a quick glance at Spencer. He met her eyes with a subtle nod, indicating that he was ready to seize the opportunity when it presented itself.

As Eric watched her, a maniacal excitement burning in his eyes, she knew she had to play along, at least for now. With trembling hands, she reached for the shard of glass, but she hesitated for a moment.

"Come on," Eric urged, the sadistic anticipation evident in his voice. "Prove your devotion."

Summoning every ounce of courage, she finally pressed the glass against her palm, wincing as it broke the skin. A suppressed gasp escaped her lips, but she fought to maintain a facade of resolve.

"Now, that's dedication," Eric mused, enjoying the spectacle of her distress. "But we're not done yet. I want more."

She fought back the nausea, the pain in her skin throbbing with each heartbeat. With a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the glass shard, her hands trembling as she looked up at Eric.

"What more do you want?" she demanded, desperation still present in her voice.

His eyes glinted with sadistic pleasure. "Cut deeper. Prove to me that you're willing to sacrifice for him."

Spencer's eyes widened in silent horror, but she shot him a reassuring glance. The shard pressed against her skin once again, but this time, she hesitated. The internal struggle was evident on her face.

"Do it!" Eric barked, reveling in his perceived triumph.

With a swift motion, she sliced the glass across her skin again, the pain intensifying. A muffled cry escaped her lips as she felt warmth seeping through her fingers.

"That's more like it," Eric praised, his eyes gleaming with madness. "Now, drop the glass."

She complied, releasing the shard to the floor with a gasp, her eyes never leaving Eric's. The room felt heavy with tension as he considered his next move.

"Now tell me you regret nothing, that you'd do it all over again for him," Eric demanded, the twisted satisfaction evident in his tone.

In a desperate attempt to stall him and buy time, she played into his game. "I regret nothing," she forced the words out, her voice steady despite the pain and fear. "I'd do anything for him."

Eric's triumphant grin faltered for a moment as if he expected her to break. But then, a cruel glint returned to his eyes. "Well, well, well. Seems like we have a devoted lover here.” A chuckle followed through. “But the night is still young."

A chilling silence took place as Eric continued to stare at her, his eyes traveling the line of blood dripping down her skin. His gaze traveled upwards to her shaking body before it settled on her pleading gaze. A sinister smile took hold of his face and she shivered at the sight.

"You know," he began, taking a step forward. "You look rather tempting covered in blood."

Her skin crawled at his words, and she fought to maintain a façade of compliance. The barn seemed to shrink around her as Eric advanced, his eyes fixated on her like a predator closing in on its prey.

"Look at you, all frightened and desperate." Eric continued, walking closer to her. "I'd say you're quite adorable now."

Every step he took sent a chill down her spine. Eric's sinister smile widened as he reveled in her discomfort. "You thought you could outsmart me, didn't you?" he sneered. "But here we are, and you're at my mercy."

In response, she swallowed her fear and shot back, "Your twisted games won't break me. I-I won't let you win."

His laughter echoed through the barn, a haunting sound that seemed to reverberate within the walls. "Oh, I'm afraid you've already lost, Sweetheart."

Her stomach dropped when she saw him unbuckling his belt with his free hand, the sound of its clinking metal echoed through the suffocating silence. Fear gripped her as Eric's intentions became painfully clear. She struggled against her restraints, her mind racing for a way out of this nightmare. "Y-You promised to let him go," she pleaded, her voice shaking.

"I said I'll consider releasing him," he corrected her. "And right now I'm considering giving him a show."

She felt a wave of nausea and revulsion. Fear clutched at her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. Every inch of her body ached, both from the physical torment and the psychological torture. The chains that bound her seemed tighter, cutting into her wrists.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He taunted. "You'd let me use you while he watches how good I can make you feel."

He unzipped his pants.

“How you’d be screaming my name,” he grinned. “Secretly begging for more.”

His looming figure cast a shadow over her, his attention remained fixated on her. He was too focused on her that he didn't notice Spencer's stealthy movement behind him, and just as she braced herself for the worst, the unexpected happened.

"What do you think, Spencer? Let me—"

A sudden shot echoed in the room. The deafening sound rang through the barn, causing a momentary freeze in the air. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating in shock, as she watched a dark stain spread across Eric's shirt before he crumpled to the ground.

The gunshot rang in her ears and she blinked her eyes, trying to focus her attention on her surroundings. Then Spencer took over her line of sight, sitting on the floor with one leg stretched out. The time she had bid managed to help him escape from his restraints.

Her gaze then shifted to the subtle holster snug in his sock, revealing the hidden firearm he was carrying all along. Her eyes met his, his expression a blend of exhaustion and concern, and a heavy breath escaped him as he slowly lowered the gun.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. The weight of the situation hung in the air, and she couldn't find words to express the whirlwind of emotions coursing through her. The fear, the desperation, the relief—they were all tangled together. It was like a tornado had torn through, leaving her standing in the aftermath.

Spencer moved on instinct. Without saying a word, he stumbled towards her, sinking right on the mattress as he reached for her face. His hands were warm against her cold cheeks, and his eyes held a depth of regret as she stared into them.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing he said as he held her gaze. When the first cry escaped her lips, a raw and unfiltered release of the pent-up anguish, he pulled her into his arms without hesitation. Her wails echoed in the hollow space of the barn as he held her close and continued to utter his apology like a desperate prayer.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked, his voice sounding strained. "I'm so sorry."

Her sobs vibrated against his chest. She clung to him, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, her blood staining the material. The scent of hay and the earthy musk of the barn intertwined with the warmth of his presence.

"S-Spence.." she murmured, her voice a mere whisper.

"Shh, I've got you." Spencer continued to cradle her, his lips pressed gently against the top of her head. His fingers traced soothing circles on her back. "It's over. I'm right here."

Between her cries, she managed to nod, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. And maybe it did. She wasn't sure she could function properly without his presence. So she focused solely on him—the rise and fall of his chest, the soft beating of his heart against her cheek. She shut out everything around her, not even bothering to ask how the authorities knew their location when she heard a faint siren coming from the distance.

The sound of people entering the barn didn't even faze her moments later. Or the way someone came up to them, insisting the two for a medical check. Instead, she shook her head and tightened her grip, and Spencer reassured the medics they’d come to them in a while.

Time seemed to stop at that moment as she pressed herself further into his arms. The world outside could wait, but for now, all that mattered was him.

>> NEXT PART

a/n: his escape scene is kind of a nod to that truth and dare episode, idk i felt like putting it into the plot :D

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flowerandblood · 7 months ago

Text

The Lost Haven (7/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: uprotected sex, incest obviously, smut, the angst, manipulation (partly unintentional), violent description of suicide attempt (blood), injection of a sleeping drug, violence, imprisoning, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He could have become a father.

Could was the key word in his life: he could do a lot of things theoretically, but for the most part the line between what was accessible to him and what was not was clearly drawn.

He couldn't escape the world that was consuming him.

He couldn't change who he was.

He couldn't marry his niece, at least in the light of social morality.

But he could become the father of her child because she hadn't taken the pill.

This news thrilled him so much that for a moment he forgot that his own father was dead.

And the complications that came with it.

Looking at his body in the morgue, he thought that perhaps a good thing had happened: Viserys looked sick and tired, his face expressing relief.

He was with his first wife now, the one he really loved, he thought with regret, and felt a squeeze in his heart, seeing his niece's face in his mind then, as she laid beneath him, panting loudly, seared, warm and wet only for him.

He grunted, shifting from foot to foot, recognising that he shouldn't be thinking about it right now.

Only Rhaenyra, Helaena and his mother wept over his body.

Neither he nor Aegon shed a single tear.

The next day he felt excited like a small child and terrified at the same time: it was the first time he was to see the University from the inside, to talk to the professor and on top of that, to see her, again.

If it worked out, they would study together.

Perhaps they would even go on excavations, just like when they were children.

Maybe there was some part of their lives that they could get back.

He texted her that he would come and was relieved when he spotted her silhouette waiting for him in the car park. As soon as he stepped out of the car he felt uncertainty and fear, wondering if this was a good idea.

What if his grandfather found out?

If he was putting her and himself in danger?

He involuntarily reached into the pocket of his jacket, wanting to soothe himself with a cigarette.

"There's no smoking allowed on University premises." She said, furrowing her brow, making his hand drop in a gesture of helplessness and impatience.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes. Let's go. We'll find my professor in the teachers' common room, he's just having a break between lectures." She sighed, ignoring his tone and demeanour, moving ahead.

He had to admit that the whole campus impressed him: the lawns and the huge park around which the gigantic nineteenth-century brick building towered were full of students sitting on the grass, reading books and talking to each other.

They had no worries except their exams, he thought regretfully, concluding that they didn't even know how lucky they were.

The conversation with the professor was overwhelming for him: he had never been able to find himself talking to strangers, even less so when he couldn't leave or defend himself when he heard a difficult question.

The man sitting in front of him was not a man transporting cocaine by ship, but an old man with big glasses who was telling him that if he were able to participate in the excavations, part-time studies would be possible for him.

"Well, if that's the case, then please prepare yourself for the exams. Then we'll see what comes of it." Said the professor and stood up, nodding, letting them know that their meeting was over.

"Is that it?" He asked in disbelief, looking at her with big eyes, wondering if it was a joke, but she only smiled.

"Yes." She replied. "Thank you, Professor."

As they left, he felt discomfort at the thought that he didn't know how to act. He guessed that he had interrupted her class and should leave, but that meant there was no telling when he would see her again.

He wanted to simply spend some time with her, but he didn't know how.

"If you'd like, I'll wait and drive you home." He said offhandedly, glancing at the poster hanging on the wall right next to him, hiding his hands in his trousers so she wouldn't see them tremble.

She blinked and looked at him, surprised.

"No need. Mum will pick me up." She muttered quietly, as if embarrassed. He felt an unpleasant sting of disappointment at her words and in a subconscious reflex he wanted to hurt her because of it, if only a little, to be sure she felt what he felt.

"They pick you up and drop you off like a little girl?" He asked with a sneer, glancing at her, but the smirk disappeared from his face when he noticed the way she looked at him.

She was angry and bored.

"Ever since someone put a rape pill into my drink, yes." She said coldly, and he froze, thinking he was an awful person.

How could he forget about it, say something so ill-considered after what had happened to her?

He suddenly realised how it worked in his mind, how he reacted involuntarily to pain wanting to automatically cause it to another person, even if they didn't deserve it.

This thought terrified him.

Some part of him wanted to make it up to her, to prove that there was a part of him that wanted to change.

"Do you know who did this? I can take care of it. For your comfort." He asked, feigning indifference, involuntarily scratching his chin, unable to look her in the face.

"Larys Strong."

He looked at her, furrowing his brow.

"What?"

"I already told you. He was telling me about my father."

"But it wasn't him who put it into your drink, it was one of his people, right?"

"He asked me if I wanted a drink. I said no. Then he ordered water for me. I took a few sips from it and struggled to get to the bathroom."

He looked at her, feeling how slowly a picture that seemed to him to be just scattered shards suddenly came together, the fact that Larys had dragged her there was never supposed to be an accident, and his grandfather knew about it.

This is the last time you interfere in their affairs.

They hoped she'd call for Daemon.

That, knowing his explosive nature, there would be a shootout in which they would kill her step-father before Viserys died, so that he and his half-sister's businesses could then be easily taken over.

"Son of a bitch." He hissed out, feeling that he was breathing heavily through his mouth, that his hands were clenched into fists, that his heart was pounding like mad.

Only after a moment did he realise that his niece was looking at him with big eyes, horrified that what was happening in his mind had not escaped her attention.

"Don't interfere. Go home." She said, making him feel a squeeze in his heart for some reason.

"And when are you going to teach me?" He mouthed, realising only after a moment that he sounded like a little boy. She shook her head, as if she didn't understand what he was saying.

"What?"

"For the exams. I need you to help me. How do I reconcile what I have to do at night with studying if I don't know where to start?"

He watched as she sighed heavily and ran her hand over her face, praying that she would agree, that she would not abandon him, that she would not leave him in the dark room that was his heart.

His little lamp.

Yes, he thought, feeling a pleasant, gentle warmth in his chest.

That's what she was to him.

"Okay. Okay, I'll help you. I'll pass you the study books somehow." She decided at last, distraught and tired, making him swallow loudly with relief as he looked down at her.

He wanted to touch her.

He wanted to embrace her, to kiss her, but it seemed inappropriate.

Not after what he'd done to her.

"Can I touch your hand?" He asked in a trembling voice, feeling like an idiot, a weak, quivering child begging for a moment's attention, a moment's tenderness.

She looked at him in a way from which his throat tightened with affection, her hand extended towards him made him grasp it in his own.

He watched, breathing hard, elated as his fingers entwined with hers in a pleasant, soft embrace, her skin warm, smooth and soft, exactly as he remembered it.

He felt both moved and aroused at the same time by this sight, by the feeling of her bare body in a way that was not purely sexual, yet so intimate, private, reserved only for someone close to her.

"Walk me out." He whispered.

To his delight, she didn't let go of his hand until they reached his car. He couldn't find the words to say goodbye or thank her for what she'd done, feeling only shame, so he just got in the car and drove away.

He knew it was wrong.

He knew it was wrong and he couldn't stop.

The forbidden fruit tempts most, he remembered her words and swallowed hard, driving ahead in silence, wondering if that was indeed all this was about.

The thought that maybe not terrified him, because it meant that there would be no moment in his life when he could let her go, allowing her to live at last.

It meant that he would devour her, choke her in his own darkness.

The next day, everyone was nervous: the meeting with the notary was going to be groundbreaking. Otto was certain that Viserys had divided his wealth equally between each of his children, which would mean that Rhaenyra's share would also belong to Daemon.

"I don't think he would leave his daughter the brothels or the clubs where the crimes took place to avoid burdening her. This means that a real estate company and our money laundering business could fall to her. We will have to make steps to take it over, peacefully or not." Said his grandfather when he spotted him standing by his car alone having a cigarette.

He nodded, feeling discomfort and uncertainty, not knowing what he should answer.

"You are not yourself since the death of your father. What's happening to you?" Otto asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow, making him press his lips together in displeasure.

Another fucking interrogation?

"I'm tired." He said coldly, taking a drag on his cigarette impatiently, looking at his family home, wondering if his father would take it away from his mother.

"Where were you the night he died? When Aegon woke up, you were not in the room."

He froze in mid-motion, letting out a loud puff of smoke through his nose, feeling his lower lip begin to tremble, his heart and stomach clenched in fear.

He couldn't remember if he had ever felt peace.

Maybe then, that night, when he felt the warmth of her body and fell asleep beside her, drunk and happy, he thought with regret.

"With my niece."

Otto laughed low, shaking his head.

"This is no time for jokes, Aemond. I don't want you to hide anything from me." He said slowly and calmly, as if trying to explain something to a small child.

He looked at him in a way from which his grandfather's expression changed, twisting in a grimace of shock and disbelief.

"Good God. What did you do to her?" He mouthed.

He grinned involuntarily at his question in a way from which Otto swallowed hard and clenched his eyes.

"Have you completely lost your mind? What has that poor girl done to you, hm? What if she tells her parents, accuses you in front of everyone? For God's sake, you're her uncle." He hissed quietly, stepping close to him and looking around, as if he wanted to make sure no one could hear him.

For some reason his dismay, his disgust, his disappointment gave him satisfaction.

The fact that he was arousing such feelings in him and other people seemed to him the most natural state he knew.

"We were just talking. About the past and the future." He lied, knowing that his grandfather didn't believe him, that he'd seen in his gaze what he'd done to her, what he'd done to her twice, and how fucking pleasurable it had been for him.

He decided that he wouldn't try to explain to him that she had peaked with him each time.

He wouldn't believe him anyway.

"We'll talk later." He hissed as his mother, Helaena and Aegon came out of their house, saying they were ready.

When they arrived Daemon and Rhaenyra were already waiting for them inside in a large, spacious office with windows overlooking the great city skyline. The notary greeted them, offered them coffee and tea, and then showed them to their seats.

He tried not to look at Daemon, feeling his gaze on him, knowing what he thought of him and that he had every right to do so.

He felt bad about it, but fuck, he wanted to be close to her and have a family with her.

He wanted to be able to love her.

Just her, just this one time in his life.

Was he asking for so much?

The notary, in the presence of the lawyers of both parties, unsealed the envelope in which was secured his father's last will, which he knew he had consulted with his grandfather.

Nevertheless, he felt anxious, felt the cold sweat on his back, a complete, tense silence all around them.

And then he began to read.

"I, Viserys Targaryen, present my last will as follows. I bequeath our family home to my wife, Alicent Targaryen, which will belong to her until her death, and then pass according to her will to one of our children. I bequeath all my other estates and properties to my children Aegon, Aemond, Helaena and Daeron to be shared equally between them. All of my investments and all premises under my business that I owned I pass to my daughter, Rhaenyra."

He stared at him dully, feeling as if he had gone completely deaf, his heart beginning to pound like mad as his hand clenched into a fist, his grandfather beside him twisting in his chair, shocked.

"This is some kind of misunderstanding." Otto said, on the other side Daemon laughed out loud, hiding his face with his hands.

He mocked them, he thought.

His father had mocked them for the last time.

He didn't understand why he felt tears burning under his eyelids, why his lips were trembling, why he expected anything else.

His appreciation, his trust, a gesture that would indicate that he understood what he was doing to ensure the well-being of their family.

Did he really think that he was taking money out of people by force, that he was cutting their faces to please his grandfather?

Yet it meant nothing.

Everything he did, everything he became apparently only made his father disgusted.

Because he was disgusting.

They all were.

"Unbelievable. We're not going to leave it like that. I'm sure this is Daemon's doing. FUCK!" Growled his grandfather, sitting in the passenger seat beside him, slapping his palms against the dashboard of his car.

He drove ahead, feeling a complete emptiness, feeling neither disappointment nor anger, wondering if he should pull over and hit one of the trees.

He wanted his father to see him as a cold, unbreakable man, one who would always defend his and his family's interests, one who could make sacrifices.

And he didn't even notice it.

All the wicked things he did turned out to be worthless.

He destroyed himself for nothing.

He had nothing.

In his mind, in his heart, in his wallet.

A fucking property by the sea.

"We will attack their family. If our clients find out, no one in the industry will care about us. We have to show strength, we have to act." Otto said, and he swallowed hard, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

We will attack their family.

We have to act.

His grandfather called a meeting in his office, which was to be attended by him, his brother and his mother. He paced around the room gesticulating, speaking quickly, Aegon as well as his mother sat in their seats flooded with tears.

He thought they looked pathetic.

"We need to give him a warning. Force him to come out with another, more acceptable offer for us." Said Otto, circling the room with his hands placed on his hips, analysing everything.

"You saw him. He laughed. He knows that he won." Mumbled Aegon, all swollen from crying.

Otto stopped and pressed his lips together.

"Leave me and Aemond alone." He said finally, making him freeze, his heart pounding like crazy.

Some premonition told him what he would want from him even before it left his mouth.

He was not mistaken, and as soon as his mother and brother left, his grandfather began to speak.

"Does Rhaenyra's daughter trust you?"

He stared dully ahead, answering him with a protracted, uncomfortable silence, feeling like throwing up for some reason.

"Aemond."

"No."

"No, what?"

"Don't drag her into this."

His grandfather pressed his lips together, leaning over him, resting his hands on his armrests.

"She's been dragged into this for a long time. If we don't take our chances, someone else will." He said calmly, making him feel an unpleasant sting in his heart.

"You knew."

"What?"

"That Larys had plans for her."

"I knew that he would act. Daemon's presence on the scene isn't to his liking."

"He put a fucking rape pill into her drink." He said coldly, clenching his hands into fists.

"It wasn't about rape there, at least that's my opinion. However, now, if he sends his people to her University, I cannot vouch for what will happen to her. With us she will be safe. We would lock her in a room in our house for a few days and treat her with respect as if she were our guest. My issue is with Daemon and Rhaenyra, not with her. Her harm is not my desire."

He looked at him, feeling a void in his mind, no longer knowing for himself what he thought of this, what was right and what was not.

"Are you going to let everything you've worked so hard for be taken away from you? For this man to laugh in our faces? What are we to use to maintain the estates your father left you? Even if we sell some of it, how many years will it last? We have to think about our future. I trust you to do the right thing."

He pressed his lips together, swallowing hard, thinking with disbelief that if he didn't, the part of himself that he had lost, that he had killed to become who he was, would turn out to be a sacrifice in vain.

Some part of him naively wanted to believe that she would understand.

"Only me and Helaena will have access to her room. I will be by her side the entire time, and my duties for that period will be taken over by someone else."

Otto smiled in a way from which he felt discomfort in his stomach and nodded, patting him on the shoulder.

"That's my boy."

He looked at his phone, at the message he'd sent her while sitting in his car two streets from her house, wondering how he could be doing this to her.

She wanted to help him change, she made an attempt.

Perhaps she was pregnant.

Hundreds of feelings mixed in his head, fear, grief, disgust, sadness, hatred and despair devoured him from the inside, forming one black mass from his thoughts.

She's not coming, he thought with a strange calmness.

She was not naive.

Daemon had certainly warned her not to trust them.

He'll return home and tell his grandfather that it just didn't work out.

But what will happen to them then?

They will have nothing to buy new goods with, or they will buy them, but they will have to raise their prices.

They will stop being competitive in the business.

They will lose customers.

They will go out of the game.

They will cease to count.

They will have no way to pay the police.

They will go to prison.

He shuddered, hearing rustling and someone's footsteps, his eyes big when he saw her breathless, flushed figure, her dark, loose hair in disarray.

She looked so beautiful.

He opened the door, unable to believe that she'd run away for him, just for him, watching as she pulled her backpack down quickly and handed it to him.

"Take this and get out of here." She muttered, but he only looked at her lips, parted in accelerated breath, soft and full.

He thought with horror that he wanted to feel her.

He wanted to be reassured.

He wanted to make love to her.

"– come here –"

"– I have to –"

"– come –"

"– I –"

"– it won't take long –"

Her gaze full of warmth, affection and trust, her parted lips, her hand that allowed him to pull her closer made him feel like his cock would explode with desire.

"– good girl – such a good girl –" He praised her when she sat on his lap at last, closing the door behind her. He slided his hands to his belt, panting hard, releasing his fat, long erection, leaking with desire at the mere sight of her.

He could only watch in disbelief as she took off her shorts, wordlessly allowing her to guide the thick, glistening head of his manhood against her slit, all pulsing with heat, slowly sinking it into her body.

He gasped at the ease with which she welcomed him into her warm, moist interior, how simple and proper it seemed.

It made him forget for a moment who he was and what he was supposed to do.

All that mattered was her, her face, her eyes, her forehead pressed against his, her warm buttocks under his fingers, her swollen, sweet lips, her slick tongue invading between his teeth, her little cunt that convulsed around his throbbing cock in ecstasy.

"– fuck – fuck, baby –" He muttered, unable to express otherwise how good she made him feel, why his hips were pounding into her so fast and so greedily, why he couldn't slow down, why he wanted it so desperately.

"– ah – G-God –" She mumbled, making him gasp, pleasant, tickling warmth in his lower abdomen.

Her soaked pussy squeezed and sucked him inside, making him pant loudly into her puffy lips, feeling his whole body grow hot, in some subconscious, natural reflex returning to where he felt good, where he felt safe: back deep, deep inside her.

He knew it wasn't just about sex: there was too much tenderness in in their movements, the touch of their hands too thoughtful and too gentle, too soft, their embrace too close, too intimate, their moans too helpless, too vulnerable.

"– Aemond –" She mewled into his throat on the brink of orgasm, bringing her clenching, moist, fleshy walls to the point where he felt a squeeze in his testicles, indicating that he was close too.

"– do you hear it? – do you hear how well you take me? – only you – fuck –" He gasped, listening to what he was doing to her, to his own niece, how loudly her sweet, little cunt clicked as he rooted into her again and again, how perfect she squeezed his cock, how warm she was, how wet she was, for him, only for him.

"– where? –" He muttered, wanting to be more responsible this time, slamming into her with a quick, sharp, deep thrusts of his hips, helplessly chasing his own fulfillment that he so desperately needed.

He didn't want to hurt her.

Never.

"– here – right here, uncle –" She breathed out and something in her words, in the way she said them made his body quiver as he reached his peak inside her, panting hard along with her. He gasped, resting his head against the backrest, trying to be quiet, feeling their bodies pulsate and shiver against each other.

He snuggled her face to his neck, feeling a wonderful pleasure and relief as his warm seed filled her insides at last, her scent, her closeness, her hot, pulsing interior calming him.

It felt so good.

So right.

"– I think I'm in love with you –" He whispered in a trembling voice, stroking her bare buttock with one hand, sliding the other between the seat and the gearbox, feeling the needle syringe under his fingers, from which he slipped the cap.

I'm sorry.

He heard her draw in a loud breath at his words, but he didn't let her answer.

He was afraid he would change his mind then.

"– forgive me –" He mumbled in trembling voice, heartbroken, her body tensed all over as he jabbed the needle into her neck and let the sleeping drug spread through her insides.

She whined quietly, terrified and surprised, reminding him of a small, innocent animal. He embraced her, feeling the remedy take effect after a moment, and her body relaxed in his embrace, a faint, weak cry escaping from her lips.

I'm sorry.

"– shhh – shhh, sweet girl –" He hushed her tenderly, feeling his whole body tremble as tears of shame, disgust and regret ran down his cheeks along with the knowledge of what he had just done to her, his soft manhood still pulsing deep inside her.

He used her because she trusted him, because she wanted to help him, because she really cared about him.

He sobbed quietly, closing his eyes, and cuddled his face against her neck, feeling her fall asleep, thinking that he wanted to take it back, that it was a mistake, a mistake, a mistake, that he just wanted her to forgive him.

Maybe he could carry her home?

Leave her at the gate and run away?

But what if someone found her unconscious, what if she fell ill from the cold, what if someone abused her in his absence, hurt her?

He realised that there was no way back.

Despite this realisation, he treated her body with gentleness and tenderness: he lifted her and slid out of her slowly, placing her shorts over her hips, laying her on the seat beside him, fastening her seatbelt. He took the unruly strands of hair from her face with his trembling hand, looking at her through tears, whooping with his own cry.

He thought she would never forgive him for this.

When he got home he went inside through the back door, carrying her in his arms, cradling her to his chest. He told his bodyguards that no one was to disturb him, ordering them to inform his grandfather that everything was sorted out.

"Aemond?" He heard his mother's voice behind him and stopped in half-step, looking at her over his shoulder with big eyes.

His mother was looking at him with her mouth open, disbelief and horror in her gaze.

"– Aemond – what is she doing here? –" She muttered, placing her hand on her chest, trying to calm herself down, breathing loudly as if she were going into some kind of panic attack.

"– we'll sort it out, Mum – don't worry –" He whispered. His mother furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"– you kidnapped an innocent child –" She said with regret and pain from which he felt a squeeze in his throat.

She was disgusted with him.

He understood her.

He longed for her to think of him like that.

He desired to suffer.

"– yes –"

He took her to the room where he had spent his entire youth until he moved into his flat and laid her gently on his bed, sitting down beside her, covering her carefully with the duvet. His hand rose slowly and hesitantly to finally stroke her soft hair, her face calm, immersed in deep sleep.

Vhagar, whom he had taken with him from his place, rose from the floor and ran up to them, sniffing him and the newcomer he had laid in his bed.

"– good girl – you will watch over her with me now, hm? –" He asked, stroking her soft fur.

Vhagar squealed, shifting from paw to paw beside him, concerned, as if she sensed that her sleeping state was not natural, something in her scent, in the drug he had given her made his dog restless.

Even she knew what he had done to her, he thought with regret.

He pulled off his shoes and placed them on the ground, laying down beside his niece, putting his arm around her. He pressed his forehead against hers, inhaling deeply her scent, letting his fingers run over the soft skin of her cheek, thinking that he was surely doing this for the last time in his life.

He felt a sting in his heart at that thought, his eyebrows arched in pain as he pressed her body against his, weaving his hand into her hair, burying her head in his neck, trying to calm himself.

"– I will always watch over you –"

In the morning he was awakened by her babbling: she was mumbling something under her breath, her hand clenched on the material of his black Tshirt, he could feel her trying to stand.

"– shhh – lie down – don't get up –" He whispered in a trembling voice, feeling only horror, only despair, only shame.

She would never forgive him for this.

"– where – mghmm –" She muttered, involuntarily falling into his arms again, recognising him and his scent, her fingers closed on his back, snuggling into him in a tender embrace from which he felt his body begin to quiver.

"– easy – easy, little one –" He said, kissing the top of her head again and again, her hair wonderfully soft and smooth under his hand.

"– what's happened? –" She asked, and he remained silent, as he had no idea what to answer her.

His lack of words clearly worried her, for she raised herself on her arm again: she looked around, her gaze hazy, dreamy, her brow furrowed as she did not recognise where she was.

"– Aemond – what's going on? –" She asked wearily, slowly understanding that something was wrong, her breathing louder and heavier, her eyes large and filled with fear.

He lifted himself onto his arm, moving closer to her, his free hand stroking her cheek as he pressed his forehead to her temple.

"– forgive me –" He whispered in a weak, trembling voice, thinking he sounded pathetic.

She sucked in a deep breath and squealed, covering her mouth with her hand as if trying to stop the sound, her eyelids clenched shut as she cried out loud, bursting into tears.

"– oh, baby –" He muttered pleadingly, kissing her red, plump cheek, embracing her tightly despite her hands trying to push him away. "– it will only last a few days, I promise –"

She pulled out of his embrace, moving away to the other end of the bed, looking at him with wide eyes, catching her head with her hands as if she couldn't believe what was happening, her mouth parted wide in a heavy, terrified breath.

"– I – I let you – you touched me, and then you – oh God – oh my God, no no no no no no –" She whimpered hiding her head between her knees, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was trying to create a fortress, and he could only sit and watch, trying to remember that he needed to breathe.

"– we just need to talk to Daemon – I promise no one will hurt you –" He muttered quickly, but it seemed to him that she wasn't listening to him, plunged into complete hysteria.

"– I helped you – I ran away for you – I brought you books just as you asked – so why did you do this to me? –" She mumbled out, choking on her own tears, her fingers clenched on her hair as if she wanted to rip it out.

He felt like he was drowning, like he was sinking deeper and deeper to the depths with every breath.

"– I know – I know, baby, I'm so sorry – but my father left us no choice – fuck, I know you understand me –" He choked out with difficulty, looking at her hopefully, for some reason naively believing that she would find justification in her heart for his horrible act.

She, however, looked at him dully and froze, her trembling hands raised at the level of her cheeks, her lips parted in a half-breath.

He was sure that she was going to say something, that she was going to shout in his face that she hated him, that he was a monster, a nobody, a disgusting creature, everything that he so needed to hear in order to find himself in the state to which he always returned in the end.

She, however, turned her back to him, hugging her body and face to the wall, tucking her legs under her chin and froze so still.

"– Rhaenys? – please – please, say something – I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear –" He mumbled, trying to touch her calf, but she flinched and moved further away from him, as if his touch had burned her.

He burst into sobs, thinking that her silence, her wordless rejection was worse than any word from her, and he was like a child who longed for the parent he had failed to look at him with a sympathetic eye again.

"– please – please, say something –"

But she said nothing.

For the next few days she did not look at him, she did not answer his questions, and when he tried to touch her she moved as far away as possible, hiding her head between her knees.

He took away her phone out of fear that she would try to contact someone and all the things out of his room that she could use to hurt herself or others.

She ate and drank only the things Helaena brought her.

When he tried to feed her, she would snatch things from his hand and throw them at the wall.

On the one hand he felt rage at that moment, a subconscious need to hurt and punish her, and on the other he felt relieved because he wanted to suffer, because he knew he deserved it.

"– you have to eat –" He sighed, looking indifferently at the big stain of soup on the wall and the shards of the broken bowl thinking it was them.

Like the shards that couldn't be put back together again.

"– what did it feel like, cutting their faces? – did you feel like the Mighty Vhagar then? –"

Her voice, cold and harsh surprised him and made his heart stand in his throat, his body stop breathing for a moment, as if expressing its desire to die of shame.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, feeling that he was trembling, and met her gaze, sad, tired, aloof, embittered.

"– I had no choice –"

Lie.

"– you are lying –" She stated dispassionately. "– I don't want to see or hear you – I want you to pretend that you don't exist, just like you did with me for eight years – you're good at it –"

He lowered his gaze, feeling a complete void in his mind at her words, and got out of bed, kneeling on the floor to pick up the pieces of the broken bowl as if nothing had happened.

The only being she touched was Vhagar.

He watched from the sidelines as these two slowly established a relationship with each other. His niece would reach out to her, lying on his bed, and his dog would lean out and sniff her from afar without touching her, looking at her with big eyes.

Vhagar did not like strangers and was fussy, but apparently her calm approach and the fact that she did not impose herself on her made his dog express interest in her. When she would get up to reach for one of his books on the shelf, Vhagar would rise and follow her, keeping an appropriate distance, looking at her curiously.

She would lie down in her place only when his niece sat back down on the bed.

He first saw them lying together when he came home late one evening. He had shopped for her, bought her favourite sweets knowing that she would not eat them anyway, and when he walked into the room he saw her lying with Vhagar on her dog bed.

She was crying and cuddling into her fur as if she was a big teddy bear, and his dog, despite the fact that she usually got up at the sight of him, just looked at him with big eyes, not moving from her place.

Something about the sight broke him, and although he knelt down next to his niece and wanted to touch her back, he stopped mid-motion when he heard his dog growl at him for the first time in his life.

She knew.

Daemon and Rhaenyra's fury was great: the very next morning after it turned out that she had disappeared there had been an incident at one of their clubs, where his sister's husband had stormed in with her son and several men, threatening to shoot everyone present if he did not find out where his daughter was.

As planned, it was relayed to him that their child was safe and that Otto was waiting for contact from him when he had cooled down to discuss everything calmly.

As proof that they were not lying, they gave him her backpack – the same one in which she had brought him books.

Due to what happened, after his father's body was burned, there was only a short funeral ceremony in the cemetery, attended only by his mother and sister: his grandfather was afraid that Daemon's men, who had been watching them all the time, would lead to a shooting if they appeared there even for a moment.

Despite his niece's reluctance, he spent his days in her presence, sitting on the mattress on the other side of the room where he slept at night. He knew she didn't want to feel him next to her, but he preferred not to leave her alone knowing how frightened she was.

He suggested several times that they could go out together for a walk in the garden, but she didn't even look at him.

She was simultaneously closer and further away from him than ever before.

One night he was roused from sleep by someone's scream: he pulled himself up on the mattress, involuntarily reaching for the penknife in his sweatpants and looked around the room, only after a moment noticing her shivering figure sitting on his bed.

He sighed quietly and swallowed hard, trying to calm himself.

"– Rhaenys? – Rhaenys, what happened? –" He whispered, and she twitched at his words, turning towards him, looking at him with big eyes, all drenched in tears.

"– did you have a bad dream? –" He muttered, but she answered nothing, her lips parted in a heavy breath, her fingers clenched on the sheets.

"– hey – hey, baby – it's okay –" He whispered, rising slowly from his seat, tentatively approaching the bed. She raised her shoulders in a defensive gesture and moved away a little, but when he sat down next to her and raised his arm she didn't push him away.

Slowly he placed his hand on her shoulder and stroked her skin reassuringly, with the other cuddling her face into his neck.

"– shhh – easy – easy, little one – no one will hurt you –"

She was silent, and he prayed that this moment, her warm body in his embrace, his nose snuggled into her soft, fragrant hair, would last forever.

"– I'm not sure I want to live anymore –" She mumbled out finally, startling him, his stomach knotted tight in discomfort and horror.

"– no – don't say that – it won't take long – my grandfather is in contact with your mother – they will soon come to an agreement and you will return home –" He said, forcing himself to be calm, stroking her shoulder and back with one hand, the other combing his fingers through her hair, rocking her in his arms like a small child.

"– you broke my heart –"

Her words, the way she said them, what they meant made him gasp aloud, trying not to burst into a sudden sob of despair and grief.

He had broken her.

"– forgive me – I regret this like nothing else in my life, I swear – I will spend my life trying to make it up to you –" He muttered, tentatively kissing her warm temple, her cheekbone, her ear, everything that was familiar to him, beloved to him, his.

"– I love you – I love you in every sense of the word –"

"– I don't believe you –"

He pressed his lips together, swallowing hard, feeling a sort of high-pitched, trembling squeal come from his throat as if he were a little girl, tears one by one began to run down his cheeks to the top of her head, his fingers tightening on her delicate flesh.

"– I understand it – and I don't dare ask for it –" He whispered with difficulty, sinking his face into her soft, warm cheek, feeling that he was not the only one who was crying.

Her body trembled in the embrace of his arms, her small hands clenched on his shirt in a gesture that testified at once to her anger and her suffering from which his heart was breaking.

"– that feeling I had inside me was the only thing that allowed me to breathe – and you took it away from me –" She howled into the skin of his neck, and he burst out sobbing at her words, not knowing how he could react differently to what she had said.

"– I love you – I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you so fucking much –" He mumbled out in a breaking voice, cuddling her tightly into him, placing loud, wet, hot kisses on her face, her jaw, her neck, her arms, leaving sticky, wet marks on it.

He heard her sigh full of pain and pleasure, feeling with shame that his erection swelled all over and hardened, pulsing painfully under the material of his sweatpants, betraying how much he longed for her, how much he yearned for her.

Her quiet moan surged through the skin of his neck as his broad hand slipped lower, sliding tentatively under the material of her shirt, touching her naked back at last, her bare skin, making them both tremble, breathing heavier and louder.

"– I love you –" He assured her, running his fingertips over the wonderfully smooth skin of her back, making goosebumps appear in the places he ran his fingers over. Her body snuggled into him tighter, allowing him to feel her breasts hidden under her tshirt against his chest.

"– you hurt me –" She sobbed through her tears in a breaking voice, at which his lips clung even harder to her shoulder, his kisses even more greedy and wet as his lips again and again brushed and teased the delicate structure of her skin.

"– no more – I swear – all I want is you –" He breathed out, feeling lust and desire pulsing through every nook and cranny of his body, filling his lower abdomen with a pleasurable, tickling tension from which his heart pounded like mad.

He moaned helplessly when he finally felt her warm, puffy lips brush his neck, her cheeks wet from tears as his hand pressed her closer.

"– please – please, baby, please –" He mumbled out, wanting only to feel her again, without her being just an empty part of an incomplete whole.

However, as his hand tentatively slid from her back to her buttock, she pulled away from him suddenly as if burned, hugging her back to the wall and shook her head.

"– no – no, no, no, you're doing this to me again –" She cried out loudly, looking at him with big, terrified eyes. He shook his head, heartbroken, leaning down, placing quick, warm kisses on her bare knee, stroking her calf with his palm.

"– no, I swear – I want you so badly –"

"– your grandfather told you to do this? – to soften me up so that in case my mother didn't agree he would get shares in her companies through me? –" She blurted out, wrinkling her eyebrows, breathing loudly. He swallowed hard and shook his head again, shocked, understanding how far her lack of trust went and who she now saw him as.

"– no – I was the one who demanded that I could be by your side – that no one but me could bother you – to make sure you were safe –" He muttered, trying to calm his breathing, feeling like his whole face had swollen from tears.

"– I want to go to sleep – I want to go to sleep –" She mumbled out and turned her back to him, hugging herself to the wall again exactly as she did then, the first time, making him whimper, choking on his own tears. He pressed his face against her back, wailing loudly, his fingers clenched on her waist.

"– I'm sorry – I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry – please, don't reject me – I promise I'll be good now – I'm studying, I'm going to take my exams, I'm going to go to university – please, be there for me – it doesn't matter without you – my life doesn't matter if I can't share it with you –" He whined like an animal into her shirt and heard her weep loudly, but she answered him nothing.

However, she did not push him away or tell him to step back, so he fell asleep cuddled into her body, and the next day she again did not speak to him or look at him as if this conversation had never happened.

In her presence he cried all the time and didn't even hide it anymore.

Looking at her, he saw exactly as if in the reflection of a mirror who he had become and what he had sacrificed.

However, it turned out that his grandfather was partly right in his assumptions: Daemon just wanted to kill them all, but his wife didn't feel like risking her daughter's life for a fortune and was willing to talk to them if they let her see her.

"– tomorrow you will go with us to meet your parents – perhaps we will come to an agreement and you will return home –" He said, swallowing hard, standing over her small figure sitting on the sill of his window, looking out at the setting sun.

Her profile was gentle and pleasant, her eyes surrounded by a fan of dark lashes large and bright, her lips seemed wonderfully soft, full and sweet, made only to be caressed.

She closed her eyes, resting her temple against the glass, and did not even bestow a single glance on him.

He prepared himself for the fact that she would answer him nothing and wanted to sit down on the mattress, going back to reading one of the textbooks she had brought him, but he froze when he heard her voice.

"I'd like to take a bath." She said.

He swallowed hard, looking at her over his shoulder.

"Of course. I'll call Helaena." He replied, wanting to go out into the corridor.

They never left her alone.

For her own safety.

"No." She said and looked at him.

"I want ten minutes alone."

He looked at her, feeling anxiety and doubt in his heart, but he couldn't say no to her.

"Very well. I'll wait by the door."

She nodded and stood up, taking the towel that belonged to her from the chair and went outside. He followed her, walking towards the bathroom next to his room – she looked at him with frustration as he took the key out of the lock and shook his head.

"No. I won't come inside, but I won't let you lock yourself in." He said. She swallowed hard and nodded, and he closed the door behind her.

He leaned against the stair railing, hearing the sound of pouring water, and looked at his watch, sighing heavily.

Ten minutes, no more.

He heard her step into the bath and closed his eyes, thinking that perhaps this was just another ordeal they had to wait through together.

He wanted to believe that she had seen his sadness, shame and remorse, that by his behaviour and calmness he had proved to her that he was capable of being different, for her, only for her.

However, ten minutes passed, then eleven, and she still did not come out of the water.

He didn't want to invade her privacy and make her uncomfortable, but he felt impatient and became concerned that he didn't hear any movement in the room. He walked closer and knocked, sighing heavily.

"– Rhaenys – time's up –" He said matter-of-factly. He pressed his lips together when he heard no sound on the other side and knocked a second time, louder this time.

"– Rhaenys – please –" He sighed, running his hand over his face, deciding that whether she wanted it or not, he had to do it.

"– I'm coming inside – cover yourself –" He said, grabbing the door handle and stepped into the room.

It seemed to him that what he saw before him was some kind of frame from a film, not reality: the snow-white tiles around her head and dark hair, her half-open eyelids and mouth, her hands lying on the edge of the tub, her slit wrists and the crimson water in which she lay, his sister's T-shirt on her body.

He looked down and saw a tiny blade from a bookbinding knife lying on the floor.

For a moment he just stared at it, afraid to move, thinking it wasn't really happening.

"– Rhaenys? –" He muttered, approaching her slowly, but she didn't even flinch, staring ahead as if she was thoughts somewhere far away.

"– Rhaenys, what have you done? –" He mumbled as if he was afraid that if he said the words too loudly they would turn out to be true, and yet it could not be true.

"– God, baby – oh my fucking God –" He whined, pulling her by the shoulders out of the water with a loud splash of red liquid that spilled out.

He sat down on the floor, placing her between his legs, letting her head and back rest against his chest, his fingers tightening on her wrists in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"– baby, what have you done? – hm? – what have you done? –" He whispered to her ear in a trembling voice, kissing her soft, warm face, feeling the initial shock begin to be replaced by a growing panic and the realisation that this was really happening.

He began to breathe loudly, as he always did when he was terrified and when he needed help calling out to the only person he trusted.

"– MUM! – MUM, HELP ME! –" He shouted like a helpless, broken child and burst into tears, clasping his fingers tighter on her wrists, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

"– oh God, oh God, oh, God, no, no no no, please, baby, please, please, don't leave me –" He whimpered, rocking her in his arms, cradling her to himself, again and again kissing her bare shoulder, her long neck, her sweet cheek.

He heard someone run up the stairs, the screams of his mother and sister at the sight they saw before their eyes made him look at them.

"– Mum –"

Even though he knew his grandfather would be furious, he and his mother called the ambulance. While waiting for the paramedics to arrive, she provisionally bandaged her hands together with Helaena, as well as dressed her in a clean shirt and underwear.

He did not let her out of his arms for a second, and when the ambulance arrived he told his mother that he would go with her.

He looked at her as he sat in the car, feeling his hands were sticky with her blood, thinking it was his fault, his fault, his fault.

She just wanted to run away, she just wanted to go home, but she didn't know how.

He made her do this.

When they arrived at the hospital it turned out that her condition was critical: because of how little she had eaten she had become anaemic and needed a quick blood transfusion.

"– take mine –" He said without thinking, and when the doctor asked him what blood type he had, it turned out that he and she had the same.

He could have done something that mattered.

He could have saved her.

He held her hand, lying on the bed beside him, staring dully at the ceiling, the other clenched again and again on the soft ball as he watched his blood fill the plastic bag.

When the doctor came inside, he asked him about what he had been thinking about for a long time.

"– there's – there's a possibility she's pregnant – and –" He mumbled, not knowing how to put it into words. The man looked at him, surprised.

"– she's definitely not pregnant – the tests didn't show it –" The doctor replied, and he swallowed hard, feeling for some reason a great disappointment and sadness.

If he became the father of her child, he could be a part of her life.

He would have an excuse to talk to her, to see her.

He tightened his fingers around hers, stroking her soft skin with his thumb, trying not to cry, thinking he deserved it.

What child would want to be born into such a world?

When it was all over he informed the doctors who they should contact, giving them his half-sister's phone number. Before he left the room, he handed her back her phone and slipped a letter into her locker, which he wrote hurriedly on a piece of paper with a pen the nurse had lent him.

For his own conscience he waited in the distance, watching as Daemon's Mercedes pulled into the car park, he and Rhaenyra ran inside the building without noticing him. He sighed heavily and licked his lower lip, glancing at his phone, seeing twenty missed calls from his grandfather. He dialled his number and put the phone to his ear, feeling strangely calm and relaxed.

"She's alive?" He heard Otto's voice on the other end.

"Yes." He replied dispassionately.

"Thank God. Why didn't you call for me? You ruined everything. Our doctor would have taken care of it. You…" He continued, but he hung up, not feeling like listening to his smart-ass bullshit.

His mother picked him up from the hospital.

"How is she? Will she survive? Have you contacted Rhaenyra?" She asked quickly as they set off, afraid that anyone would notice them.

He swallowed hard, leaning the back of his head against the backrest, looking at the road with empty eyes.

"I gave her contact details to the hospital staff. They arrived, I saw it with my own eyes. She's safe now." He explained.

His mother breathed out loud, her big brown eyes simultaneously terrified and full of relief.

"You did the right thing, Aemond. No money is worth it. This poor girl." She muttered, shaking her head, trying not to cry and concentrate on driving.

"I destroyed her."

Alicent looked at him, then back at the road, her mouth open slightly in an accelerated breath.

"What do you mean?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, feeling his brow arch in pain and shame.

"I went to her room the night my father died. We had sex, Mum." He muttered in a breaking voice, covering his face with his hand and burst out crying like a little boy.

His mother sighed loudly, shocked, twisting restlessly in her seat.

"– but – why – did she – did she want this? –" She asked in a trembling voice full of terror, indicating that she really believed he might have raped her.

He was not surprised.

"– yes – but I don't think that makes it look any better –" He mumbled, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, leaning his head forward.

"– we did it twice – and then a third time before I –" He didn't finish and cried out loudly, making his mother breathe heavily as if she was in the same state as him.

"– oh my God – oh my God, Aemond, what have you done – she's your niece –" She choked out finally.

"– I know, Mum –" He mumbled, running his fingers over his face, thinking he already understood where her desire to end her life and this perpetual sense of unfulfillment and emptiness came from.

"– me too – I'm no saint either –" She muttered finally, looking up at him with big eyes. "– me and Criston –"

He swallowed hard and shook his head, recognising that it wasn't the same.

"– I know, Mum – you won't hear a word of condemnation from me –"

His mother drew a loud breath and wept, as if she felt both relieved and sad at the same time.

"– nor will you hear them from me, son – since you both wanted it, it was simply a mistake of youth – you are both lost and have sought comfort – but it must not happen again – do you understand? – for your sake and hers –" She said with confidence and conviction that this was the best possible decision.

"– I keep thinking about her – since that holiday eight years ago – I've tried, but I can't stop –" He choked out at last, wiping his red cheek, feeling as if he were ten years old again, complaining to her that someone had beaten him up at school.

Alicent ran her hand over her face before placing her palm over his.

"– sometimes – sometimes we have to leave certain things to ourselves – the shameful desires of our hearts – and fulfil them when no one sees – do you understand? –" She asked in a trembling voice, and he nodded.

"– yes –"

"It is not love itself that is sin –" She said finally. "– but what we do with it."

408 notes · View notes

sunofpandora · 1 year ago

Note

Heyyy so I saw your requests post and I’ve been dying to get this one off my chest, so how about a neteyam x omaticaya! warrior! reader where reader’s a fierce warrior (maybe a protege of one of the higher ups). And we all know Neteyam (the mighty warrior lol) is strong and also one of the best their age, but what if Neteyam had such intense feelings for her that all he wants to do is impress her but whenever she comes around he gets all klutzy and flustered? And of course she finds it funny and cute and all that jazz. Just fluff I NEED FLUFF

P.s. The decision to fulfill this request is yours and I won’t be upset if you decide you don’t want to. As long as you’re comfortable, all’s fine by me.

But yeaaa have a good day/night :)

Authors note:

Hi babes!

So I loved this request so much! So I decided to make my very first actual long series! ‘Virago’ is going to be an original work and one of my first long projects. Unfortunately, I will not have a TON of time to do smaller requests in between chapters but i will def try! I’m very excited for this and i wouldn't have even considered this without the request so thank you so, so much.

V I R A G O

Part 1.

The Day the Sky Turned Red.

8.7k words.

𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓼/𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼/𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼/

‘Y/n was made of fire. Oh, a goddess girl with lips of lightning and a caged Phoenx under her skin. Neteyam is just the ashes and remains of the heavens she crushed under her heel.’

When grief plagues the young warrior, Neteyam gives her a gift. But it is enough to console the flames in her heart?

Neteyam and reader having a sun x moon relationship (hello 'diaphanous’ readers <3)

Warnings: Descriptions of death/ parental death/ reader is a war orphan/ as always, spider, the reader, and Lo’ak are a trio/ Lo’ak and Reader being platonic soulmates?/ Spider and Reader being trauma twins/ Neteyam being lovesic/ Neteyam being nervous and shy around reader/ Neytiri being mother/ Jake being the husband i wish i had/ Tuk being a little sister and looking up to y/n/ Mentions of grace’s school.

Mentions of insecurity, blood, war, guns, reader being mommy/

I think that’s it?

Oh right, Reader fell first but neteyam fell WAY harder.

Extra info:

Y/n is one year younger than neteyam, the first part of this chapter is a flashback to when y/n was 15. Kiri, Lo’ak and Tuk are the agesthey are in atwow for the first part of the story. They age up in part 2 (in story)

(Ka’lik is the name of Y/ns father, her mother’s name is Zensira. Both were warriors, but Zensira was the best songstress in the clan. (Ninat go cry to the plant in the corner))

Super important note for the request sender:

Hey gorgeous so ik you asked for fluff and don't worry babes. I hear ya loud and clear. Unfortunately the first part of this chapter will be a bit angsty bc the creative juice were flowing and i got carried away but I swear on my grave the rest is nothing but fluff and lovey dovey shenanigans,

Not proofread

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

To some, surrender was a comfort. A sanctuary of softly spoken submission.

To Y/n? It was a ‘bitch move’

3 years ago.

Day the sky people returned.

Y/n is 15-16

The Na’vi say, every person is born twice.

That we can redeem ourselves in the eyes of the great mother.

That being truly evil doesn't mean just craving the pain of others.

That the life of a single diseased root does not kill the whole tree.

That darkness is deadly, because like the brothers and sisters of bountiful green that dwell in the great mother’s garden, we too need sunlight to grow.

Your mother always told you monsters aren't born from a seed.

They grow when they are deprived of light.

But sometimes, we find solace in even the darkest of places.

That sometimes there's comfort in the dense night. Where others see hell, you build a home.

Sometimes we thrive in darkness because we feel we do not deserve the glory of sunlight.

Is it wrong? Is it terrible of you?

To see light where the great mother’s grace and the violence of the sky demons collide?

Things that were not meant to tear the ground of our great mother’s delicate skin.

Their metals and turning wheels, their combat boots and weapons that scream and spit fire.

But did it belong in your hands?

Your father would say,

“Each person is a thread, weaved within a tapestry that tells a story.”

The thing about stories is that sometimes, they may not always end well, or worse, they end too early. Some people stretch the thread as far as they can, too unsettled to be spread too thin, too soon.

Change is fundamental. Mo’at reminded you “there is no death, only change”

A moral structure that refuses to be severed. You believe that's whats what distincts na’vi from the sky people. Humans are quite flawed creatures. Humans love to dream and dance about stars and rain because their planet refuses to cry for them any longer. Humans dwell with memories that are haunted with light that only exists in the past, lingering behind desire to relive. Humans are afraid of grief, or loss. Of the empty void that lingers behind the shadows. Humans love to selfishly cling to the fantasy they don't live in.

You will never understand why they put themselves through such violent tendencies. To torture themselves. To provide reach towards an unseen daydream just to rip it out of their hands.

Humans remain. Na’vi evolve.

Na’vi find solace within the endless sky. Burning with color, blazing infinite. Na’vi dance on the precipice of the clouds.

Grief came over like the waves grazing the tide, promising reassurance and return.

Violence was never a necessity. A lingering intrusion of a spark that refused to become a flame.

But what lies beyond the sky? Was there truly a shadow behind the sun?

When the embers refused to settle.

You found yourself infatuated with open spaces. Abundance found within indecipherable notions.

Cracks in the mountains. Small tears in the tapestry where light leaked through the canopy of the trees.

Nothingness was never a threat.

Not when the promise of warmth remained.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n met grief when she was only a child.

When she was 15, the RDA returned.

The day the sky turned red was the day the air smelled of sulfur and blood.

Gray and red were never a pretty combination.

The demon ship’s wings stirred the trees and a storm of dust arise,

Screaming, everyone running, the distant screeches of ikran and war cries.

The night your parents went out to gather some herbs, and never returned.

When the pale light of the moon became a blazing, scorching, blanket of blankness that simmered into a forest engulfed in white flames.

You found your mothers songcord on the ground the next morning.

Her body stained with red.

You stood next to Neteyam at your parent’s funeral.

You watched as Mo’ats hands guided the delicate floating Atokirina to rest upon your mothers chest as she murmured a prayer.

People have this inherent conception that the hardest part of grief is change.

The loss of warmth in the safest of places, when the shadows loom rather than live.

In reality, it's this unnamed feeling of a void.

Love is the amplification of a connection. Love distracts. It paralyzes you within its sanctuary of promises.

Grief feels like a shield with a hole blown through the middle. When the connection is shattered, and the sky is no longer protected without the scattered solace of the stars to veil the blank spaces.

Emptiness no longer infatuated you.

The sky without the stars is not a mystery anymore.

Neteyam held your hand. It didn't aid the hollowness within the cup of your palm. Guilt revenues in a realization, that even the great mother’s solace could not soothe this wound. This ache. This pain.

Neytiri’s soft sobs scorch the air with a soreness, the morning mist. Her fingertips, victims of bow strings and arrowhead edges gently brush the flowers placed around your mothers body.

Neytiri was your mother’s sister. Not biologically. Preservations in our blood don’t always remain unsevered when a bond is born.

Your mother sobbed with her when hometree collapsed. Helped unbraid her hair for her night with Jake. Your mother had saved Neytiri’s life.

All those years ago when the RDA invaded Grace's school. When her body trembled at the sight of sylwanins blood that painted the floor and the walls, your mother walling as she desperately tried to drag Neytiri away.

To have such a bond. The heartbeat of one another emplaced in your bones, to sing a goodbye song with cruel unmeasured melodies.

Jake held neytiri, gently rubbing circles onto her back, his own grievances had been paid due to earlier.

Kiri’s tear stained cheeks didnt go unnoticed. She stood close to her father, Tuk’s tiny body squished between them as Kiri sobbed into Jake's shoulder . Kiri had always admired your mother. Chasing her shadow like wisp catching the breeze ever since she was a child. A woman of eywa. A healer. A hunter. Her heartbeat reserved for her home. Her people. Her daughter.

Lo’ak had placed his own tribute to the small spread laid out before the gently laid corpses.

A small carved arrowhead.

Your father took over your mother’s job when she had other jobs to attend to, as being the one who trained a young group of warriors. Lo’ak included. He was patient with Lo’ak. Never discouraged him. A father liek mentorship had bloomed. So when his time came to join the great mother, Lo’ak contributed his own item of remembrance.

Lo’ak gave his arrowhead.

Tuk gave a small flower.

Kiri gave a small bundle of herbs the omaticaya believed was to aid the departing spirit on their journey.

Neytiri added a few carved beads from an anklet she wore. One your mother, Neytiri and Sylwanin had shared over the years, each of the three contributing beads or small trinkets to the piece.

Jake gave some beads as well. From a necklace your mother helped him make Neytiri when he struggled with the stringing of the oddly-shaped beads back when Jake was training for iknimiya, attempting to woo the young blue-skinned warrior he knew as neytiri.

All the omaticaya came to bear their gifts. Neteyam included, who gave you the gift of his warmth.

He cradled your hand in his, he raised it to his chest when the roots covered your parents bodies.

You’ve loved Neteyam for many years now. Watching him grow from a boy to a man.

You grew up next to the sullys. Your heights measured next to theirs as a child. Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri, even little tuk had built a circle around you. You were a part of their lives. They were piece of yours.

You found him in an irregular-shaped void in your heart that only he could fit in. Nights were filled of him. His voice. His eyes. His hands. The curve of his nose and the coves of his lips.

His voice was made of tender summers. His eyes were liquid gold.

You saw him. You truly, truly saw him. Not the evascent shell of the perfect warrior or son made of stone.

You saw him in the bleak day and in the night. When reality rivaled your thoughts of him, when the warmth of his touch seemed ephemeral, the invisible interstellar you swore was not a figment of your fantasies. You settled yourself from afar. Sullied yourself with stains of shame from the secrets you kept from him. The thousands of words you harbored, right next to the stars you swore you would steal for him.

This unrepeatable pattern became tiring, something you yearned to touch but your hands couldnt reach.

To tug on the silver string that dangled from this disguise he wore. This mask. This ruse of your heart.

He was to find the perfect mate. The perfect woman, A women to be the closest to an eywa incarnate. That wasn’t you. That could never be you.

Perfect with no edges. No uncalled for curves and no outward coves.

So you settled once again with the itching of your palms and the aching of your heart.

He was not yours.

Distance became a familiarity because distance was safe.

There was a time where the itching in your palmsd for his. Now, his had felt hollow as it held yours now.

Grief was a funny thing.

You stood here, your skin feels more like a shell. Your mirror feels more like a window.

Staring at yourself with pity.

Such a weak thing she is.

Sobbing.

What once was warmth and abundant is now hollow and overcast by anguish.

You start to resonate with the corpses that once rested in your line of sight before the roots of the tree engulfed them.

Why is it that the sunlight denies you shelter?

Why must your whole become hollow? The ashes of what it once was line a new path.

Is the sun falling? Have the stars collapsed? Will anyone catch them for you?

What is this? This pain? This agony? Why must it overcast your morals? Your rationality of peace? This homage harbors the resdiual of what little warmth is salvaged from this sunset of black.

You feel the merciless fire in your veins. You want revenge. The cage of a Phoenix becomes an eternity of warmth.

Even with neteyam at your side, the stars are falling. And the sunlight feels cold.

⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆⋆｡☁︎｡⋆｡ ☾ ｡⋆⋆

Later that evening, the clan settled after Jake announced that his clan had to relocate to the Hallelujah mountains, where everyone would rebuild a stronghold and dwell with the loyal humans. To avoid any more bloodshed, Where the humans couldn't find you.

You sat in the Sully’s Marui, Neytiri behind you as you sat infront of the fire.

She rebraided your hair. You had mo’at and kiri unbraided for the funeral. Neytiri’s soft humming soothes you a bit, but your hands haven’t ceased their small tremors of shaking.

She gently runs her hands through your locks, placing a few beads on each braid.

Th hut is silent, Neteyam sits in the corner, he hasn’t spoken since after the funeral.

Tuk perches on Jakes lap asleep, Kiri at your side, rubbing your back. Lo’ak sat on the other side of you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“My sweet”

Neytiri’s melodic whisper whisked through the heavy gray.

“We leave in a few days time, at first light for our new home,”

She paused, her thought lingering behind a wall of hesitation, she exchanges a look with Jake, who nods at her, gently taking tuk off his lap for a moment,

“Y/n, hon, with what's occurred..-”

He waved one hand around, flicking his wrist against the air to try and demonstrate some kind of invisible concept.

But you know he was referring to your parents deaths.

“We don’t think you should be alone.” Jake adds. Neteyam nods with his dad’s words, attempting to gain some kind of partaking in this conversation without speaking.

Neytiri rests her hand on your shoulder, making Lo’ak lift his head to peer at you.

“What are you saying?”

It comes out as a breath, the unveiled remnants of the traumatic experience you had endured still fresh on your still-processing mind.

“Ma yawntu…We want you to stay with us when we settle in our new home. To stay in our home. We can take care of you.”

The warmth of the fire feels pale for a moment. I’ts vulnerability. Its shallow. Yet, Its deep, and dark, and you can’t see the bottom. Your’e left unguarded for a moment.

“I’ll be fine on my own-“

You pause when you realize how hoarse your voice sounds. you clear your throat, your gaze meeting Jake’s. His eyes soften a you an you can tell its pity. Something you would have considered affection becomes an insult. A weakness.

“I’ll be okay. I’m not helpless. I can provide for myself.”

Jake sighs and shakes his head, his words calm.

“Y/n. I know you are strong. Hell, you’re one of the strongest i know, kid. But This is not something we’re going to let you carry alone, I made-”

He pauses, taking a breath, his head tilting down a bit and his eyes squeezing shut before he raises his head to continue.

“I made a promise. To the people. To the clan. To keep everyone safe. And to your parents, we would look out for you if anything ever happened.”

The lump in your throat is dry as you swallow.

Neytiri kisses your head gently.

“Ma yawntu, we will look after you..we will guide you on this path.”

She gently guides you to look at her bow in the corner.

“My father. He gave me that bow as he laid dying.”

The air becomes thick, even the moonlight seems to freeze with its slow creeping up the wall.

The only sound is the soft 3-beat melody of Tu’ks soft breathing as she sleeps, but her heavy eyes flutter open now and then as she nuzzles into jakes side.

Neytiri squeezes her hand on your shoulder to keep her voice from breaking, her chest tightening.

“He told me to protect the people.”

The pain in her voice breaks through the cracks in the walls that kept the shadows out, cages that kept the anger in.

“I owed your mother my life. I could not protect Zensira.

I have let the demons take another from me.”

The red in her voice stained the shadows behind ehr words, the sharp syllables in ‘demons’ evident, Kiri closed her eyes and winced at her mothers words, still holding your hand.

She took a breath and gazed at you.

“But yawntu, i will not let them take you. I will protect you. You have always been one of my own at heart. The skyships will not take that from us.

The familiar sting you felt only a few hours ago returned to your eyes along with the ache in your chest.

Jake nodded.

“We can be stronger together, Y/n. Let us look after you.”

The wisp of shallow aches still burn behind your heart but you nod, silently.

Lo’ak smiles in an attempt to lighten the load.

“Just like old times, sis. We used to have sleepovers all the time, now we get to have them every day.”

Neytiri was about to scold Lo’ak for his bluntness until she heard you chuckle,

Tuk’s big eyes blinked open as her tired voice mumbled.

“Now you can play with me more..and braid my hair..”

She mumbes as she smiles to herself. Jake chuckles and ruffles her short braids.

Kiri squeezes your hand and Neteyam’s gaze hasn’t left you since the beginning of the conversation.

You took a walk that night, creeping around the hammocks of the sleeping sully family as you quietly ventured outside the small camp village.

You stand under a tree, the moonlight leaks through the canopy as you start to count the stars. You wondered how the sky and the heavens could still be standing when your whole world had collapsed around you just earlier that day.

When you were small your mother would tell you not to pull on the loose thread of her tapestries she wove. Because the more you pull, the faster it will fall apart.

Thats how you felt. One loose string being mercilessly tugged and then all the colors were fading away, you chased them, you chased them along with the falling stars but no one caught them for you.

Your heart has been thieved. Your light has been stolen.

Sin and soul seem to have a war under your skin, and the soft lllabies of the creatures of your planet seem to have more of a shriek-like quality.

Why did the colors go away?

Did they chase you to the place i cannot follow when you went away?

“Y/n.”

You jump slightly, the chill in the pale air becoming a prick of awarness as you reach for the knife on your hip, turning around quikcly.

Neteyam stands before you, his wooded-honeyed scent fills your nose, you blink as a breath of his name leaves your lips.

“Neteyam-

Oh Neteyam you scared me, you asshole.”

Usually he would have laughed. But not today, not with the shadow that looms.

He gently touches your arm.

“I’m sorry, truly-

What are you doing awake? Are you hurt? Are you in pain? Did something-

Did someone-”

You laugh at him. But its bitter and its thin. Its forced.

“For eywas sake why does everyone think i am the weak link suddenly-

I am fine. Stop looking at me like i am wounded-”

Neteyam cuts you off.

“Y/n, i would never think such a thing about you, ever. You know this. I want you safe, you can’t expect me not to be concerned when you wonder off in the middle of the night, syulang”

The nickname from whe you were children is a warm familiarity at the least.

You huff and lean against the tree bark.

“I just needed air.”

Its small and muttered.

A shaky breath left your lips.

“I’m trying to find ways to endure my own thoughts.”

Neteyams eyes soften as he steps forward, he gently takes a place y beside you, back against the tree as he stands next to you. Your hand brushes his, but your fingers refuse to interlace.

The two of you stared up at the stars for a moment.

“Teyam?

“Yes?”

“Do you think it’s ungrateful to feel as if you have nothing, even when others orrond you with love and promises?”

“I’m not sure I follow…”

“Is it wrong to feel alone when your in the arms of others?”

As it falls into place for neteyam, he gazes at you as if you were a mystery in the moonlight.

He tries to see past your walls, to place himself in your shadow.

He glances at you, then back up at the sky.

“No. It’s not ungrateful. I think we’re all born with some sort of circle around us.”

You pause for a moment, looking over at him.

“A circle?”

He nods.

“A circle. The people we love and care for? the people we would do anything for? The people who make our home, they all belong inside our circle.

My father, my mother, Lo’ak, Tuk, Kiri, they're all a part of my circle.”

He pauses for a moment, his tail swishing behind him.

“And…you are too. You’re apart of my circle, Y/n.”

You gaze at him and he withers under your eyes, averting his eyes and fidgeting with his necklace.

After a moment, he speaks again.

“I can’t imagine loosing people in that circle…things must become so…empty. As if the world seems too small all of the sudden.

So no, it’s not selfish to feel alone when that circle is gone.”

His words spark comfort. The hollowness within your palm seems less heavy.

“Thank you.”

You whisper, and he nods at you.

“You don’t have to be alone, y/n. My family…when they spoke to you tonight about staying with us when we travel to the mountains, it was not because there’s a need to replace what you once had. Y/n, we want you to embrace this new circle-“

“What if I’m not ready to find a new circle?”

The vehement tone you were bearning stunned neteyam for a moment.

“Your mother was right. The sky people will take, and they will kill, and they will hunt, until everything under the sky of pandora is either dead or theirs..”

Your eyes hardened for a moment and Neteyam was still as he took in your words.

You look up at the moon once more; taking a breath.

“I do not wish to fear them anymore, Neteyam.

I want them to be the ones who fear us.”

There was a new found devotion in your heart.

A bitter song of fire and desolation.

Vengeance.

Each note a new mockery of blood and ash. Every chorus an unfamiliar revelry of hunger.

That night, under the fallen stars and the cold moonlight, the inextinguishable plotted purpose was born within you.

Neteyam sighed; his gaze fitting back to the moon.

“And so you will..”

No.

Don’t.

I don’t want to loose you in the fire.

But he didn’t dare speak it aloud.

After a moment, he spoke again.

“I have something for you.”

He felt his heart flutter when your eyes met his.

He reached into the pocket of his loincloth.

“It was a gift I planned on giving during the ceremony.”

You felt twitch of anguish as you recalled the memory.

“You already contributed your gift..you gave that armband my father taught you how to weave.”

He gave you a tender look. The kind whispered in the solace of summer and soft secrets.

“It is for you. Not for your loss.”

His words unclouded a new warmth in your chest.

For a moment, your anger ceased to simmer.

“I made this, for you a long while ago..but I never found the right time to give it to you.

Then..the incident happened and I knew it wasn’t a good time..I was planning on giving it to you on this day..but the plans changed.”

He opened his palm to reveal a small carved wooden spiral, polished and smooth. 3 strings with little charming dangling.

The first charm was 2 purple colored crystal, the second was a wooden bead that wore a Maude color, with a tree carved on it, the last was a stack of small purple beads with marbled colors.

He placed it gently in the palm of your hand, and you cradled it with such delicacy.

“Oh it’s beautiful…”

Your breath truly caught itself in his trap.

“When we were young your mother made you that necklace out of those crystals and small jeweled beads, the one she found in the river?..you were so happy to wear something so colorful..I remember the purple ones were your favorite. You always placed them so that they were in the middle. I’d thought I’d add them as a small bonus.”

He smiled at the memory.

You hugged him, your cheek pressed against his chest, he was stunned for a moment but hugged you back, you looked up at him and your breath caught for a moment, your faces mere inches apart.

You both Depart slightly and avert your eyes.

“Thank you. It’s lovely, Neteyam.”

You said softly, he nodded and smiled at you.

“The spiral suits you. Even now with this great loss you bear. It’s a connection. Even to those who are no longer with us.”

You smiled at him back, and the two of you started to walk back to the village.

How could you not see it? The spiral. A sign of support? Of friendship? Of trust?

No my dear Y/n.

It was how he felt like his soul was steadily orbiting around you. Thoughts of you never ended.

His circle.

His spiral.

You were the center.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓

Years later….(y/n is now 18.)

(her code name is “X” neteyam’s name through comms is canonically ‘pathfinder’)

Jake yipped to Neytiri as she raised her bow and looked over her shoulder.

Her face is adorned with war paint, much like yours. She had painted you for the day. Red, purple, blue, the colors of your ikran worn proudly like a hyde of victory.

“Remember the plan.”

Jake says through his throat comms, his volume fighting the wind. You held your two fingers to the small mic on your neck so you could hear through your earpiece.

“Neytiri and I will strike from above, X, you're my Archer. I want you to hit em’ quick and move out fast. Eagle Eye, pathfinder, you two are spotters. Do not engage in close range, or air combat, understood?”

You heard lo’ak groan through his comm.

“Bro, why does Y/n get to have all the fun!?”

You felt a tinge of pride. Knowing you were Jake’s right hand out in the field. Higher ranked than either of his son’s. A skilled Archer.

“Because I'm older and I have more fun.”

You quipped back, unable to hide the smile in your voice.

“Ya know what'd be fun? If you were to crash straight into one of those mountains and fall in your cocky as-”

“Both of you! No arguing on the comms!”

You refocused as the smell of ash and metal was fast approaching. YOu and the war party arrive on the scene right on time

You flew up above the train tracks and watched as the vehicle crashed into a collision of smoke and ash on the derailed tracks. The air scorched to sting your flesh with an uncomfortable heat.

Neytiri let out a ululating sound to signal to you as she flew down to help Jake. Behind you were 3 smaller aircrafts.

You grabbed your bow from the side saddle, mentally commanding your ikran to dive.

Everyone who witnessed Y/n fight swore the wind under her ikran’s wings were grazed with fire.

She was made of red-ribboned rainstorms in a scarlet blaze of uncharted wind and wildflowers.

For a moment it’s all too real. The encore of your arrows, the satisfying stretch of your bow string, Like the last note before the chorus. You dive down, sliding down the neck of your Ikran ever so slightly as the wind stings your cheeks, the sunlight strong. You draw back, a loud call escaping your throat, and the arrow flies.

Its in a blink of an eye the cockpit window is shattered, the pilot now sporting an arrow of yours through his neck as the metal gray bird ceases it’s flight and collapses in a cloud of smoke and sulfur.

You’d usually be celebrating if two bastards weren't behind you.

You grasp two arrows this time, the long wooden shaft in your clutch as you line them up properly for the next shot.

The pilots pathetically attempt to surf with the wind beneath you, scattering your duo targets into far off spots.

Thats the thing about humans. They tiptoed on the wind as if it was uneven ground. Na’vi warriors like you danced upon airstorms and harsh rains. A swirling spiral of helix grazes your skin as you feel one of their shots fly past you the heat just missing your ikran,

You soothe him before regaining your position, you mentally make a new command to your ikran.

‘Drop’

In a moment, the settled feeling of security that once shaved your bones seems to wither away.

Your ikran free falls, rolling against the wind that whips and wails. Your chest heaves as you ready your shot, the reverberation from your bowstring sings to your fingers as the two arrows fly, hitting both pilots as your irkan regains a flying position instead of a falling one, all adrift in a fleeting shot.

The aircrafts fall together, crashing against the ground.

The ground team jake had arranged comes into view frm the side forest clearing, all watching in awe as if you were the embodiment of phoenix.

They raised their bows and let out warcalls, you pridefully returned, raising your bow above your head and releasing a war call of your own.

Neteyam watched from afar. His ikran synced with Lo’aks as they circled the scene below, na’vi led by Norm gathering all the weapons they could.

But he couldnt let himself focus on the world below when all he could see was the woman made of exquisite inferno and grace was scorching the sky with her blaze.

Neteyam felt the wind brisk through his braids as he looked up, squinting against the sunlight in hopes to catch another glimpse of you.

The light of day made you seem grazed with gold that brushed the cobalt hues.

He watched as you shot down the aircrafts, he watched you shoot two arrows.

To Neteyam, you were made of fire.

Remnants of moonlight and high-tided sea storms. A hellish radiance and a scarlet soul.

Neteyam remembered the night he saw the flame embed itself in your soul. The night he gifted you that carving that was now a charm that rested tied to the long expanse of your bow.

He hated it. How inconsolable he feared you were, how he feared this new alit flame would burn his touch away from you. Useless was an understatement, of how he felt that night, even the stars above refused to guide him down teh right path.

He knew you were angry.

He was angry too.

He wanted to fight just like you did. His hatred for these sky demons simmered beneath his skin. He was a warrior. He wanted to fight next to you and his father. He was a protector of the people.

He had seen what they had taken from his home, from his parents, his family, from you.

At first, he thought it was jealousy.

The way Jake encrusted you to be his main archer. To shoot down sky ships.

Neteyam? He wasn’t anywhere near the fighting. Not anywhere near you.

He knew his father thought him and Lo’ak were “too important” to be fighting.

Jake was trying to salvage the sons made of stone before the heat of war can melt the rock.

Were you better than him?

Stronger than him?

Why did his father trust you more than he trusted his eldest?

As he watches you now, the archer who had her arrowhead aimed at his heart from day 1.

He knows its love. It must be.

It keeps him awake at night. The devoured feeling that gnaws at his heart. You were the center of his sky in all your celestial glory and he wished he would have gifted you the entire universe but instead he gave you that carved spiral.

He loved you because where other struggled to see in the dark you danced with dusk. You were a paradox. Detached, but focused. Because you somehow made the most dissolute and reckless seem graceful. You were real. Imperfect. Unconfined hunger bordered by each beautiful bruise blemish and scar that covered your skin.

You haunted him.

“Bro!”

And funny enough, it seems eywa created little brothers for a different kind of haunting.

Neteyams eyes flickered to where Lo’ak circled around him on his ikran.

The cold colors tattered across the ikrans purple and blue skin, trapping the yellow large speckles of shapes of the banshee’s skin.

Lo’ak’s echoes dwindle in the gust of wind, the war paint he wore proudly on either side of his face, Neteyam had watched Y/n paint Lo’ak after his begging back at high camp.

Something about Lo’aks smile in situations like these always found ways to disquiet Neteyam.

His eyebrows hover above his eyes as his fangs bare through his smile.

“Bro! We have got to get down there!”

Neteyam shakes his head, a warning look traces his features.

“No way! Dad will skin us!”

Lo’ak shakes his head, the wind uplifting his braids as he dives.

“C’mon! Don’t be a wuss!”

The flushed first notes of an uncertain heartbeat ablaze neteyam’s mind as he dives as well.

“Shit! Lo’ak! Get back you dumbass!”

Lo’ak dived blow into the musk of what might as well be no man’s land. The air wailed and whipped around him as he hopped off his Ikran. Yanking his kuru from his banshees and running towards the chaos in question.

He looked over his shoulder to see Neteyam following suit. He laughed, waving his hand through the dust and smoke.

“C‘mom bro!”

“Lo’ak!”

“Lo’ak come back!”

Lo’ak faltered momentarily when he saw Norm directing some navi’s into a brigade to gather all the weapons from the train’s supply cart. Swiftly swerving to stay out of the dream walkers sight, he joined the forming crowd where around where Tarsem had just opened a new cart of guns.

“Here boy- take this weapon! Go!”

Lo’ak let put a silly war cry and puffed up his chest,

Neteyam came to a halt.

“Lo’ak, you don’t even know how to use it.”

Lo’ak waved the gun around like it was weightless, handling it like one of Tuk’s toys.

“Nah bro. Dad taught me!”

Neteyam rolled his eyes, done with Lo’aks bullshit.

“I’m sure he did-

Let’s go-“

He grabbed lo’aks bicep but Lo’ak shrugged him off.

“Or maybe I’ll just be like y/n and shoot down some sky demons!”

Above the clouds, you circled the ensuing hustle below. Watching the brigades, monitoring the ground team. Your bow at the ready in its position on your saddle sheath.

And then you saw them.

“Son of a bitch!”

You hissed quietly, swiftily diving down to where the duo of your headache embodied currently argued about something stupid.

Lo’ak smiled as he saw you, but it faded as he watched the shadow of your Ikran (which was larger than the average Ikran, granted)

Loom over the both as you hopped down, glaring at them.

“What are you two shitheads doing here!?”

The feathers on your raid top gently shook in the breeze, a few of your beads clanking together in your braids as you made your descend.

Neteyam seemed to straighten, but his breath seemed to form a blockade for his own voice.

Maybe it was the way the brightly covered beads and feathers of your top accentuated your skin. Or maybe it was the way the fathers in your braids matched your waist beads Kiri had made you.

Maybe it was the way your loincloth seemed a bit more perfect than usual as it hugged your hips.

Maybe it was the way the red, blue, and purple war paint on your face outlined your eyes like wings and shed down your cheeks like tears, sorrowed in starlight for you had just been warrior of the wind.

I guess we’ll never know.

Lo’ak spoke for him.

“We wanted to help! C’mon, we have the ground team to be spotters! They don’t need us! I’ve been practicing the trick you taught me with the bow, just let us fly with you- we promise we’ll-“

You shot Lo’ak down before the words flooded further, the scarlet hues ablazed and begged for nothing but obedience in your voice.

“Kehe! You will do nothing-! Go back to your post. Both of you. Now!”

You swatted Lo’ak with your bow, hissing at him, Neteyam tried to drag Lo’ak away.

“Bro let’s go!-“

The sound of heavy mechanical whirring instilled the heightening of your awareness in the moment, your ears pining back as you saw the larger ship approach.

“Gun ship inbound!”

Jake shouted, you saw neytiri hiss and take off on her Ikran.

“Shit! Run!” You cursed, shoving Lo’ak and Neteyam in the opposite direction and making a break away from the approaching enemy.

As it would seem time was not in your favor, your Ikran had already been spooked away by the blast, Neteyam grabbed your hand before you could run,

“Come with us, now!

Go-!”

He shoved Lo’ak ahead of him as they ran, Neteyam’s hand clutching yours as you kept pace with the two.

The 3 of you climbed over the derailed debris, Neteyam and you scaling the bright yellow RDA logo train doors,

“Bro come on!” Lo’ak called.

A flash of light invaded your vision, the scorching heat of the blast incircled you.

You feel Neteyam attempt to reach for you, but instead all you feel is a tug on your wrist as your senses start to numb.

Your airborn for a moment, then your body collides with the uneven ground, the rocky surface below.

You groan, your vision blurring. The embers and ash clash against your skin in the harsh sting of the hot air.

You winced in pain as the adrenaline started it’s course of abandonment. The aching sensation swallows your body.

Scarlet etched its way in a jagged scratch on your side. The world seemed to darkn as the scarlet hues slowly faded to black. The sky’s golden and blue game of chance changes its rules as your eyelids become heavy.

Neteyam’s eyes shoot open as his vision readjusts itself clearly.

Lo’ak is above him, shaking him awake. Panic in the half-notes of his jagged breaths.

“Bro!? Bro! C’mon, get up we gotta go!”

Neteyam stands to his feet, groaning, but quickly regaining his senses.

He looked down at his hand to see where something small and beaded made its home in his clutch.

A bracelet?

Your bracelet.

It hit Neteyam like a tidal wave.

“Shit! Y/n-“

Neteyam tried to run past when his body collided with a taller one, Jake stood looming over his son’s, placing one hand on each of their shoulders “Hey! Easy, easy, where’s Y/n?! Are you hurt?!”

Neteyam tried to speak but all it was met with is stuttered breaths and a poor panicked exclamation.

“That way! I meant to grab her arm and I grabbed this instead-

The blast-“

Jake didn’t hesitate as he started running in the direction you were in, Lo’ak seemingly still in shock and Neteyam following his father without missing a beat,

“Stay behind boy! Get your brother out of here!”

“But sir-“

“That’s a direct order!”

Norm, quickly dragged Neteyam and lo’ak away to the sidelines of the forest to make their quick escape.

The sound of a screech flooded your ears, the footseps barely audible over the smoke and wind.

“Y/n! Oh child, Eywa please no.”

You reached for your knife with the last ounce of motor control you could muster, before a hand gently lifted you on your back, the sun’s blinding silver line halo of heat scorched your eyes, you hissed and winced in pain.

The hands were familiar, it calmed you rather quickly.

You knew it was neytiri when the blurry shape of gray purple and green, faintly recognizable as her bone collared-top.

You groaned, the raw rushes of pain encased your vision.

“I’m sorry-”

You mumbled.

“Shh. No apologies, my dear girl. Come, we must go. Quickly.”

The last thing you remember is the gently shrill of her Ikran and her hand around your waist was she settled you in front of her on her ikran. The Scarlet hue no painted the wind.

☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾𖤓✮⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓

When you awake, its to the sound of herbs grinding soflty in a boil. The reverberations of the grinding tool against the small wooden bowl make your ears twitch.

Your vision settles. Mo’at sits infornt of the small fire in the tsahiks tent, Tuktirey by her side.

Her big eyes blinking at her grandmother’s handy-work, her much smaller tail swishing to the beat of each sound.

You sat up slowly, with a small wince. But the pain was significantly better.

Tuk gasps

“Y/n! You're alive!”

She wraps her arms around your waist, nuzzling her little head into your chest. You smile at the smaller girls, roughly a few of her braids, kissing the top of her head.

“of course I’m alive, yawntu! It would take a million Sky People to take me out.”

You teasingly mocked the position of an archer, holding a pretend bow and arrow made out of thin air as Tuk laughed.

Mo’at gently cleared her throat, making her way to you as she placed a hand on your shoulder.

“ Child, your wounds were deep, but they shall heal quickly with the salve. Kiri shall be back with more herbs soon. But please rest, simply until the bandages are removed.”

You nodded greatfully, squeezing her hand in a gesture of thank you.

She was the closest thing you would have to a grandmother, even before your parents began their journey with Eywa. You never got to meet your actual grandparents. They died in the attack on hometree. The only memory you had of them was through the clans' stories.

You wore a choker that was strung with river pearls and brown leather, a small navy-blue colored stone in the middle. A treasured piece your grandmother once wore.

Tuk snuggled up to you in the hammock, and you gently rubbed her back.

A soft rustling made your ears perk up when Kiri slipped through the tent flap with a basket of herbs.

“Tsmuke, (sister)

You are awake.”

Her expression softened, as if tensed up since the moment you returned unconscious. It probably was.

She handed the herbs to Mo’at and kneeled at your side, gently brushing a few of your braids away from your face.

“How are you feeling? Better? I used yalna bark when grandmother wasn’t looking. Was it Lo’ak again? It’s always Neteyam getting in trouble and you getting hurt when that sxkwang gets bright ideas-“

You gently stopped her mid rant. Holding her hand gently to your chest.

“I am fine, Kiri. A few scratches and bruises has never done much harm.”

She chuckled softly, standing back to her feet to assist Mo’at with the rest of the preparations for other wounded warriors.

As the hours passed, and the sun started to set, Kiri had to drag Tuktirey off to bed and Mo’at left the tent for the night. Leaving you alone to find sleep.

Mo’at had insisted you sleep in the Tsahik’ s tent tonight. Get some extra rest.

You didn’t argue. It was better than sharing a hammock with Lo’ak. The boy snored more than what you were almost certain was normal.

It was an understatement to say you nearly killed someone when you heard the tent flap rustle. You jumped, instinctly reaching for your knife.

It was well after hours.

Everyone should be asleep.

Who was it? Were you followed when you left the train?

Was it a sky demon? An animal?

You slowly felt your heart steady once again when you saw a small pale figure enter your tent, the small glimmer of his mask dances in the firelight. Lo’ak is behind him, looking less hyper than usual. Instead, a subtle tinge of gray flickered past his eyes, but it quickly gilded itself to green and gold once it settled on your form. He released a breath of relief and spider smiled.

“See? I told you she was okay.”

It took you a moment to realize that Lo’ak was worried about you.

You gave him a small smile opening your one arm that wasn’t aching, and he slipped himself under it, sitting next to you in the hammock, resting his head on your shoulder.

Lo’ak was your best friend. But really, he was so much more than that.

He was your family. Your ride-or-die.

Your right hand.

It made you feel a bit guilty, that Lo’ak seemed to prefer you over Neteyam sometimes.

Lo’ak wanted you to be his teacher when it came to his archery training and sparring. Lo’ak wanted it to be you who he went on hunts with.

Yet again, he also only lets you braid his hair because apparently neytiri pulls too hard and Neteyam doesn’t know how to tie them off properly.

Spider was a bit of a different case.

As you grew older, you realized how much you envied your motehrs sense of lightness.

Her entire being seemed to be made of golden hour gardens and softly whispered summers.

She was strong. The strongest woman you knew.

But she was kind.

She wasn’t like Neytiri in the sense that she resented all humans.

Your mother always felt a sense of protectiveness over Spider. A small, pale boy who used his heart instead of brain, chasing shimmyflys and tripping over vines that were larger than him. She welcomed him into her circle. She shielded him from the storms of strange staring and pesky fears.

Your mother always cared for Spider. Helped him re-twist his locs and make him new loincloths and hair beads. Some of your earliest memories were you and spider playing with the small carved toys in your family’s tent, or giggling after dark under the blankets after your father told you both to go to sleep.

She argued when spider had to go back to his foster family, and ended up making bargains with him to stay overnight every few days.

You’re almost positive it’s the only motherly love spider has ever known.

He cried when your mother died.

You think he might have cried more than you did.

Sobbed for days with you, and it brought you closer together.

You smiled as Lo’ak fidgeted with one of the bracelets on your wrist.

When you were about 8, Lo’ak was 7, spider was 9, your mother carved you these special beads for the three of you to use.

You three decided to make bracelets and your father helped you string them together, all collecting charms and gifting them to one another to add.

The two biggest stones were carved river crystal the two boys collected, Lo’ak rolled the beads between his two extra fingers, sporting a bracelet of his own you and spider made him.

“So, I heard you got your ass kicked.”

Spider snickered. Sitting down in front of you.

You whacked him with your tail.

“Fuck off. Those sky demons ate my arrows.”

Spider groaned,

“I’m so pissed. I heard you fell down in a explosion and ate shit-

And now one took a picture for me!”

Lo’ak threw and arm around your shoulder and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah. And her Romeo was panicking because he didn’t save her in time”

You flushed, shoving him away.

Spider laughed, standing up.

“I can only imagine-“

He cleared his throat, before making his voice go an obnoxious pitch higher, twirling his locs around his fingers and batting his eyes, mimcmking what was supposed to be you.

“Oh Neteyam! My big strong warrior man! Come save me!”

You hissed in annoyance, but couldn’t help but bite back laughter at the back of your throat.

Lo’ak stood to his feet, puffing up his chest and taking his braid out of the way he tied them back, letting them hang, deepening his voice and stomping towards spider, dramatically holding him in his arms as spider collapsed with a loud rehearsed sigh.

Lo’aks Neteyam imitation sent you over the edge, you were now cackling and had rolled out of your hammock.

“I’ll save you from the demon ships with my bow and arrow!”

Lo’ak, you, and spider all break into a fit of laughter, rolling around on the ground. Lo’ak steadying himself by burying his face in your shoulder as spider banged his fist on the ground, finally, as the laughter died down, the three of you stared at the top of the tent, out of breath, the only sound being the gentle wheezing endnotes of your breaths.

“Glad you kicked some ass today. Those fucking RDA pilots didn’t stand a chance against you and that bow of yours.”

Spider whispered. Nudging your shoulder gently.

You smiled at him, Lo’ak squished in between you.

The three of you said your goodnight s, and you watched the two missing parts of your circle leave the tent before they could get caught after lights out.

You nestled back into the hammock, staring up at the ceiling.

The aching in your arms hasn’t completely vanished it’s fortification of pain in your shoulder.

You gently rub circles around the small carved spiral you untied from the long shaft of your bow when spider dragged it inside.

You played with the small crystals and the beads, gently humming to yourself.

Your fingers traced along the shape, Neteyams eyes invaded your mind.

It was fascinating, really. How a warrior such as yourself had won today's battle and yet the one thing you truly yearned for was still not within your grasp.

It hurts sometimes, to think about how beautiful he was.

The way his irises encompassed golden hour in all its starlight sessions.

The air was thicker in the mountains like this, up here in high camp. Perhaps that’s why the sweltering residual warmth that rippled across your skin like lillies to a pond every time you thought of him

You wondered if he tasted like the sun. Sweet, possibly bitter. Bleak and addicting, such a delicacy deserved to never touch your lips.

Alas the stars did not align for you.

Not tonight.

You trace the spiral one last time before letting your eyes flutter closed.

Your tail flicked as you heard yet another rustling.

The sound of footsteps, slightly heavier than last time.

You groaned.

“Spider did you forget something again?..”

When no answer was heard you grumbled. Standing to your feet and untying the tent flap, only to be met with two two golden hour orbs that had just plagued your mind.

“”Neteyam?..”

authors note:

I’m finally done! I haven’t slept in two days but I’m finished. I can’t decided whether I like the way this turned out but I LOVE some of the smaller little details. Y/n is such a badass and she’s serving left and right. We love to see it 😩👏 this first one was a lil angsty but I PROMISE y’all, this series is NOT angst. I’ve got a ton of stuff planned. I’m thinking maybe a little bit of jealous Neteyam? Some humor? Spider and Lo’ak being the captain of the ship? Mo’at being a sassy Granmda? Maybe some sister bonding with Kiri? AHHH IM SO HYPED. I, about to pass out and I can’t feel my fingers but that’s it for now! Stay tuned for part 2 🏹

-Sol

Jan 2024

“Virago” series, chp. 1.

Taglist:

@plooto

#neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #jake avatar #kiri sully #avatar fanfiction #lo’ak x reader #neteyam x you #neytiri

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