#THE ONE AFTER THAT IS BARELY IN EXISTENCE

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (13/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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They were betrothed.

He never thought that marriage would be something in his life that he would look forward to with contentment – he knew that his destiny would be to wed the daughter of some pathetic lord who wanted a bite of the cake that was the Crown and the Iron Throne.

He couldn't imagine himself in the role of a husband: a man courting the heart and love of his wife, falling asleep and waking at the side of some foreign woman who would suddenly invade his space.

He thought then with relief that indeed, in their wisdom, the measters had acted properly for centuries, giving spouses separate chambers so that they could live apart from each other in peace, except for their duties of bringing their inheritance into the world.

And then he abducted his cousin.

He enjoyed observing her from the distance as she practised archery – in the breaks between sparring with Ser Criston, he watched as she stood sideways to a target in front of her and with a calm, gentle expression on her face, pulled the string to her soft cheek, suddenly letting go, her arrow hitting the center of the target straight on.

He realised that he didn't feel the need to run away from her, as he did with Floris, because she never invaded his personal space – she never tried to follow him, she never begged for his attention, his word or his gaze – she simply existed and graciously allowed him to wander around her, which for him was a refreshing sensation.

He longed to know her, longed to be close to her, but on his own terms – the fact that he decided for himself when he approached her, when they spoke to each other, when they lied in bed together, gave him an surprising sense of freedom and lightness.

Another man might have taken her approach as indifference, but he knew it was otherwise – he could feel it in her fingers clenching on his bare, sweaty skin as he pounded into her with low grunts of pleasure, hear it in her sweet, helpless moans, see it in the hot, warm gaze of her doe eyes.

She spared him no tenderness when they were alone – on the contrary, she was sweet and smiling, beautiful in her wonderful nudity, making neither of them ashamed of their negligee or their desires anymore.

"What is it?" He asked, looking intrigued at the jug with which she had walked into his chamber, wearing nothing but her nightgown and a light blue robe thrown over her shoulders, smiling from ear to ear.

She lifted her chin high, as if proud of herself, a joyful contentment in her dark eyes from which he felt a pleasant warmth in his chest.

For some reason, she was never afraid of him or his cool demeanour, of what he would think of her or how he would react.

His little dragon.

He sighed and twisted in his place, putting the book he had prepared for her aside, lying on his bed in only his breeches, used to the fact that they both no longer even pretended that she was coming to him for anything other than to spend the night with him.

True, he still taught her, but usually only after they had satisfied their desires, lying in each other's arms, reading together short stories written in Old Valyrian.

He looked at her calmly as she approached his bed and reached for one of the metal cups, pouring into it a pleasantly scented, steaming liquid that had a light, brown colour.

"When I was a child I often had trouble falling asleep. My nanny would then bring me warm milk mixed with honey and ground grains brought from distant Essos. I tried to prepare it the way she did and recreate that taste." She said and took her first sip.

She smiled and licked her full, pink lips that gave him the sweetest kisses every night, her face expressing a kind of melancholy.

"I want you to taste it. It's delicious, it's sweet, it's warm, it soothes the nerves and doesn't dull you, unlike the poppy milk you drink." She said softly, handing him the cup.

He took it from her hesitantly and sniffed the contents first, wondering if she might have added poison to the contents – however, he decided that after all, she had tasted it herself first, and the drink did indeed smell good.

He took a tentative sip and swallowed, feeling the smooth taste of milk, honey and something else that melted pleasantly over his tongue combine into a wonderfully delicious whole.

He blinked, thinking he felt like drinking even more.

"These are very expensive cocoa seeds. I found out you have them in the Red Keep, the cooks sometimes add them to cakes. I ground them by hand for you. Do you like it?" She asked uncertainly, as if some part of her feared he would be disappointed and not share her enthusiasm.

"It's delicious. Very tasty indeed." He confessed, handing her the cup, and she smiled happily in the way he loved, her eyes shining warmly as she took another sip, handing the vessel back to him.

"I'm glad to hear it. If you want, I can prepare it for us for a good night's sleep. There are no side effects." She said lightly, and he hummed under his breath, taking another sip, deeper this time, and licked his lips, feeling the wonderful taste of the liquid spill over his palate, a pleasant warmth in his stomach.

"Come here." He hummed, putting his arm around her, and in some natural reflex she clung to him, cuddling her face into his cheek.

"We must decide who will lead you down the aisle." He said calmly, running his free hand down her back, the other hand passing her the cup.

She looked at him surprised and blinked.

"Isn't it obvious? My cousin, Lord Royce. He was like a father to me." She muttered, surprised by the question, swallowing a deep gulp of the liquid, passing the cup into his hand.

He looked away and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat.

"It's impossible, hāedar." He said coolly, drinking the contents of the vessel to the end – he felt her place her hand on his chest, looking at him in disbelief.

"Why? He despises Daemon after what he did to my mother." She said in pain.

He licked his lips and set the cup down on the table next to his bed, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

"He remains a vassal of House Arryn. He is the head of House Royce, which rules Runstone, and that means he won't be able to attend our nuptials. Even if he had received an invitation, he will not arrive." He said, finally looking into her eyes, meeting her horrified gaze full of pain and disbelief.

"He will arrive. Of course he'll arrive, it's my wedding." She muttered in a breaking voice, clasping her hands on his shoulders, stroking them as if to convince him and herself.

"This would mean opposing Lady Arryn's allies. Daemon is in Harrenhal and will burn them once he learns of their treachery. I am sorry, zaldrītsos." He whispered, and she rose from her seat and moved towards the door, startling him completely.

"Hāedar. Hāedar, come back here." He said, standing up behind her, grabbing her arm and turning her around before she could open the door.

"I don't need anyone. I'll walk down the aisle myself." She said coldly, not looking him in the eye, trying to pull away from him – he put his arm around her waist and her body slammed against his, her breath caught in her throat.

She pressed her lips together, her eyes red from the tears she refused to let flow.

"I understand your grief. My grandfather is on his way to King's Landing at my command. He will become my Hand. If you will allow me, I would like him to accompany you on this journey." He muttered, pressing his nose against her warm, soft cheek.

Don't go, he thought.

"He's a stranger to me. I don't want him or anyone else." She growled with rage, finally closing her eyes and bursting into an angry, mournful sob.

"Since he is my grandfather, he is also yours. Our father is dead. Our brother lies in bed, unable to rise. It must be him, hāedar." He whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb, wanting her to finally understand that there was no longer such a thing as her family and his family.

Now there was only their family.

She swallowed hard, looking up at him in shock, her lips parted wide as if it took her a moment to realise what he was trying to tell her.

"Do you understand what I mean, zaldrītsos?" He asked, stroking her chin with his knuckles, and she nodded, snuggling into his chest like a small child.

He exhaled quietly, feeling relieved, enclosing her in the tight embrace of his arms, placing warm, loud kiss on the top of her head.

"– that's my girl – come here –" He hummed and caught her under her hips, lifting her up – her legs crossed over his back, her arms thrown around his neck as he carried her to his bed and lay down with her.

"– I – I'd rather not –" She mumbled in a breaking voice and he kissed her forehead, understanding what she wanted to say to him.

What she needed now was comfort, the tender embrace and safety of his arms, not for him to fuck her.

Though he would never say it out loud, he understood it better than anyone.

"– shhh – sleep – I won't take you, sweet girl –" He whispered into her ear, combing his fingers through her soft, dark hair – she snuggled tighter into his body at his words, her lungs leaving a quiet, sweet sigh.

They fell asleep in each other's arms with their legs intertwined, their faces sunk into each other's bodies in an embrace that was strangely tender and natural, as if they had spent their nights like this not for months but for years.

He dreamt he was a child – he was lying in his chamber the night he tamed Vhagar, howling in pain, feeling his freshly sewn eyelid stripped of its eyeball pulsate, all swollen, tears of horror, grief and sadness rolling down his face.

Where was his little sister?

Why was she not with him?

Why was he alone?

"Hāedar," he seemed to call out in a weak, squeaky, childish voice towards the door, "hāedar, I am scared."

"Lēkia."

He shuddered and pulled himself up on his bed, sitting up, panting loudly as if he had made some great physical effort, cold sweat on his back, his cheeks hot with tears. He glanced sideways, only after a moment realising that someone's hand was stroking his arm – he looked at her sleepy, sweet face, her pleasant, fresh scent filling his nostrils.

"Why weren't you by my side then?" He muttered, feeling himself quivering all over, picking at the cuticles around his fingernails exactly as his mother always did.

He couldn't remember why she hadn't come to him then.

He couldn't remember her face when she was a child.

Their moments together.

Why?

His not fully awake mind could not comprehend it, a heavy grief filled his heart.

She blinked and shook her head, wrinkling her eyebrows, clearly not understanding what he was referring to.

"What do you mean? When?" She asked, her gentle fingers cupping his cheek, her thumb stroking his wet skin seeing that he was crying.

"That night. When I lost my eye. Where were you?" He mumbled, looking at her reproachfully, and she swallowed hard, her brow arched in pain, her dark eyes big with sadness and affection.

"I was very far away from you then, brother, living alone in Runestone." She whispered, and he froze, suddenly remembering who she was, feeling ashamed.

He turned his head away and swallowed hard, laying on his side with his back to her, hugging his face to the pillow, wishing he could sink into the ground, make her simply forget this pathetic, childish outburst of hysteria on his part.

He felt her lay down behind him, a pleasant shiver ran along his spine as her fingers began to run up and down his arm.

"How old were you then?" She asked quietly, nuzzling her face into his hair, her breasts, her legs and womb snuggled into his back as her hands embraced his waist.

His palm involuntarily lowered to hers, his fingers running over her pleasantly smooth, soft skin.

"Nine. Maybe ten. I can't remember anymore." He muttered, and she swallowed hard – one of her hands entwined her fingers with his, the other rose up, stroking his chest, circling around the area beneath which his heart lay.

"Gods, that must have been so painful." She whispered, and he hummed under his breath.

"Mmm. This was the price the gods set for me for Vhagar." He said, and she twisted in her place, rising slightly, looking up at him over his shoulder, her warm breath enveloping his cheek.

"What do you mean?" She asked, and he sighed.

He'd never discussed this with anyone.

Not like this.

"They teased me, you know. Luke. Jace. Aegon. Because I was different. Because I didn't have my dragon. They gave me a big pig with wings and mocked me. They tried to stop me that night too. But they failed." He whispered, feeling a squeeze in his throat, his heart pounding like mad while his thumb stroked her hand.

She was silent for a long moment, but he could hear her uneven breathing, as if she was shocked by what she had heard.

Don't take pity on me, he thought.

Don't give me advice.

Don't try to be my mother.

"Did your brother ever apologise to you for it?" She asked quietly, and he burst into a sudden, short, low uncontrollable laughter.

"Aegon? A king would apologise to his faithful hound? That's what he called me. The hound that barks when he fucks his whore." He sneered and licked his lower lip feeling her embrace him tighter, her nose pressed into the soft skin of his cheek, making him close his eyes, delighted by her closeness and tenderness.

"Does it reflect badly on me that I now regret that your brother did not die in the dragon fire?" She whispered in his ear and he opened his eyes and sighed, his lips parted slightly in a grin of satisfaction.

"No, zaldrītsos. Your soul is pure. Filled with concern for your elder brother." He murmured with contentment, raising their entwined hands to his lips, placing a warm, long kiss on her skin.

She was on his side.

His little sister.

He felt the need to put his feelings into words, but was unable to get them out. Instead, he turned towards her and looked at her – her gaze was warm, full of understanding and care he so desperately needed.

He twisted with a soft purr on the bed and slid his arm under her body, embracing her at the waist, his other hand lifting to her warm, silken cheek. He smiled with the corner of his mouth when he saw her close her eyes, her long lashes glistening in the moonlight as she snuggled her face into his palm.

"Just a few more days, sweet girl. A few more days and everything will be as it should be. I have ordered a larger bed to be placed in my chamber so that my wife will spend all the nights of her life in comfort." He said lightly – she giggled and leaned in, placing a tender, gentle kiss on the tip of his nose from which he felt a pleasant warmth in his chest.

"All of them? Be careful what you wish for, brother. Desires sometimes come true." She said with a glint in her eye from which he grabbed her and turned her with him, forcing her to lie on her back, his lips finding hers in a loud, sticky, greedy kiss of their fleshy lips.

They just kissed lazily for a while, the rustling of their bedding and the quiet clicks of their saliva spreading around them like a whisper, their hands trailing tentatively over their faces, hair, necks and shoulders in gestures that were filled more with tenderness than desire.

He lay down beside her and sighed heavily, embracing her tightly, and her body clung to his instantly, her face sunk into his chest.

"Sleep."

He knew that not everyone in the keep was pleased with his independent decision regarding his betrothal. His mother accepted it, expressing neither objection nor her blessing, while her brother, and his uncle, was more harsh in his judgement.

"You need allies and a fleet, nephew, not a mistress." He told him when they were left alone, approaching him after the finished military meeting he and Criston Cole had chaired.

He looked away and licked his lower lip, then chuckled under his breath as he looked down at his fingers.

"My mistress is Daemon Targaryen's daughter and brings a dragon as a dowry for our army, which means more to us than an unstable pact with the Greyjoys. Meleys has fallen, as has her rider. Daemon is in Harrenhal. Rhaenyra is alone, and Sheepstealer is bigger than Syrax." He said calmly, and his uncle sighed heavily.

"It has come to our attention that three of the bastards have managed to ride dragons great and mighty. Capable of facing Vhagar." Said Gwayne, and he looked at him surprised, feeling his lip clench in rage.

Three?

"Perhaps you should take more than one wife then, like Aegon the Conqueror. Apparently a young girl called Nettles is regarded by Daemon as his daughter, though some whisper that not even the Targaryens would put their cock in their child. And so, opinions are divided on their relationship. Apparently it was because of her that Rhaenyra sent him back to Harrenhal." Said his uncle.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, burying his face in his hand.

The news that their advantage in the sky was melting again made him furious, but it was the vision of his betrothed if she found out that Daemon had taken a young girl into his care that filled him with dread.

Was she capable of enduring even more humiliation?

"Be careful with your words, uncle. I warn you not to try my patience and forbearance again. You may leave."

Indeed, Gwayne no longer broached the subject of their upcoming nuptials in his presence, however, to his fury, he dared to approach his sister in public.

He stopped, seeing their silhouettes facing each other in the courtyard, his uncle's body taking a step too far towards her. He moved in their direction – his hāedar caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye, her calm smile meant to assure him that she was in control of the situation.

He, however, was furious.

"Hāedar. Skorion massitas (what happened)?" He asked coldly, looking at her expectantly and she threw him a soft, amused look.

He knew she could easily see how tense he was, and her attitude was meant to make him cool down and not explode.

"Aōha kēpus jaelagon naejot gīmigon lo nyke gryves aōha riña iemnȳ nyke (your uncle wants to know if I am carrying your child). Nyke udlitan zirȳla bona gaoman gīmigon daor (I answered him that I do not know)." She said without hesitation, and he closed his eyes and turned his head away, feeling his jaw clench in rage.

Who was he to ask her such brazen, intimate questions, reprimanding her in front of others, demanding answers from her as if she were his subject?

"Henujagon īlva, hāedar (leave us, little sister). Jikagon naejot ñuha tistālion (go to my chamber)." He said matter-of-factly, and she nodded and left them alone without a word.

When he looked at his uncle, Gwayne sighed and raised his eyebrows, as if to tell him that he was to blame himself.

"You're straining my patience." He said through clenched teeth.

His uncle rolled his eyes.

"The whole court knows about what you are doing. What was inappropriate about my question? It is merely my pure curiosity as to when the heir to the throne will come into the world." He said lightly, and he grinned in a way that made Gwayne freeze.

"You'd better concentrate on watching over your sister, and my mother. I don't want any more siblings, if you are aware of what I have in mind, much less from an illegitimate bed. I, as her son, will not rebuke her that the Dowager Queen cannot afford to fuck her own sworn protector. Mmm, I leave this matter to you." He hummed and turned away, leaving his uncle with a look of disbelief on his face.

As he walked into his chamber he felt the frustration of seeing that, despite his command, his betrothed was not there – he sighed, pouring himself a bit of wine into his goblet, thinking that perhaps she wanted to take a bath first, as was her custom.

He had no objection to her coming to him still wet and hot, smelling of floral oils, tasting of pure sweetness under his tongue.

However, after the hour he had spent on the book dedicated to the Riverlands and Harrenhal he had lost patience, knowing it had taken too long.

She had never defied his orders before, nor did she seem to be upset with him, so he began to worry that perhaps something had happened to her.

That was why he finally went out into the corridor and walked a few steps to her quarters, opening the door wide – he stopped, looking at her in disbelief when he saw that she was lying on her bed, staring blankly ahead, dressed exactly as before, a small piece of parchment lying next to her body.

A letter.

Who had delivered it to her without his knowledge?

"Hāedar." He said, hearing the guards close the door behind him with a loud clatter of wood.

She did not move or look at him, as if she had not noticed his presence.

He approached her slowly and reached for the rolled parchment, seeing only a few words on it.

Congratulations on your betrothal Kepa

Kepa.

Daemon.

He felt a wave of heat and cold pierce his body at the same time, the sweat on his back and the constriction in his heart testified to the panic rising within him, which immediately turned into rage.

"Where did you find this? Who brought it to you?" He growled, walking over to her, turning her onto her back and pressing her to the bed with his palms.

"Fucking speak. Shall I kill all your servants?" He hissed coldly, and she swallowed hard, looking up at him at last.

"Lysa told me that one of the guards instructed her to give it to me. According to him, it was supposed to be a letter from you, an expression of your affection." She whispered, and he pressed his lips into a thin line, feeling that he was not breathing, but panting with rage.

"Lie." He hissed, and she shook her head.

"No. I know Lysa. She described his appearance to me accurately, and I know he is the man who keeps watch over your chambers. He has heard everything, Aemond. He has passed on to him what you teach me, what we say. That word, kepa, is his mockery of me. He knows that it was not he who taught it to me, but that I know it and I understand what it means." She muttered, tears of pain, sadness and grief one after the other running down the sides of her face, her full lips parted in a ragged, drawn-out breath.

She was broken.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, burying his face in her hand, trying to calm himself.

That there were spies in the Red Keep was obvious, he thought, however, that after what had happened to Jaehaerys the fucking Lord Strong had, as assured, made sure they were all caught.

It appeared that rats were still prowling around them.

"Come here. Come. We'll go to my chamber. You will look at the guards and tell me if any of them fit the description. Don't tell anyone about the letter." He said, grabbing her in his arms and lifted her up, holding her under her buttocks. She threw her arms around his neck and nodded, and he took the parchment in his hand and headed off with her to his quarters.

His guards gave them uncertain glances as they opened the door to his room for him, but they did not say a word. When he laid her down in bed and looked at her he saw that she shook her head.

"It's none of them."

So we can sleep soundly, he thought and sighed heavily, undoing the buckles of his tunic.

For now.

He grabbed the dagger lying on the table and slipped it under one of the pillows, just in case.

"Undress." He commanded.

Let them hear it, he thought.

Daemon and all of Dragonstone.

Let them hear about what he is doing to his daughter.

She looked up at him and nodded, following his lead. When he finally pulled off his breeches and removed his shirt over his head, he saw the blush on her face, as if the sight of his bare body and the fact that he desired her surprised her.

For him it had become natural – his manhood reacted to her proximity and the sight of her without the participation of his will, pulsing greedily in the desire to unite with her.

She raised herself on her elbows as he knelt on the bed before her, his hands loosening the ribbon at the end of her long, complicated braid.

"Untie it." He said, and she smiled sweetly, sitting down in front of him – his hands slipped her nightgown off her shoulders as her hands reached back, curl by curl untangling her hair, letting it fall freely down her back.

Looking at her, at her slightly parted, swollen, glistening lips, at the hot, soft gaze of her dark eyes, at her long lashes, at her smooth face, at her bared body, her shapely breasts and puffy nipples, he thought she was graceful and sweet.

That she was beautiful.

He raised his hand slowly, admiring her like a nymph attending to her daily routine, his fingers stroking her silken, plump breasts in a lazy, soft motion.

"– I crave you – as you can see –" He gasped and rolled his hips so that his erect, hard manhood rubbed tentatively against the space between her thighs – they both sighed as they felt the material of her nightgown was damp, and when he lifted it up he saw the entirety of her pink, glistening womanhood, leaking from her wetness like a stream.

They were silent, tensions all around them, his gaze fixed on what was only his, letting his thumb run over her soft, fleshy folds.

"– ah –" She sighed as he began to lazily tease her small, sensitive bud, the source of her pleasure from where she was melting before his eyes.

"– will you resist me? – will you scream? –" He asked, rocking his hips back and forth, sinking the tip of the fat, smooth head of his cock into her tight slit again and again – her thighs spread wide apart in response, her hands on either side of her head, her gaze locked on the spot where their bodies met, watching what he was doing to her.

"– no, my King –" She whispered, and he looked at her, feeling a wonderful shiver run through him.

My King.

Her words were a betrayal, but a sweet one.

"– your words are punishable by death –" He gasped, feeling his breath grow heavier – they both sighed as he sunk deeper into her warm flesh, each time with the movement of his hips sliding out almost all the way, hitting the same sweet spot deep inside her again and again.

"– punish me then –" She muttered, panting hard, his eye grew large, the need to follow her desires unstoppable.

"– mmm – indeed, I don't want any harm to befall my sister for her words spoken in… ecstasy –" He exhaled, her head tilting back with a sob of pleasure as he forced his way deep into her slick, hot cunt with one, fierce push, each following thrust just a loud smacking of their hips against each other.

"– ah – g-gods, oh, fuck, fuck, yes, save me –" She whimpered, throwing her hands over his shoulders as he leaned lower, imposing an aggressive, sharp pace on her, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow with the loud clicks of her wetness, crushing her body to the bed, which began to creak loudly beneath them.

He looked down, watching in awe as he opened her little cunt wide on the thickest part of his swollen erection, feeling the way her warm, throbbing muscles enclosed it greedily, sucking it inside, begging for his seed.

"– confess your guilt – confess your sin to your betrothed –" He breathed out, grasping her buttocks in his hands, shifting positions so that he lifted himself up on his knees, groaning in pleasure along with her as he felt her from a different angle, savouring the wonderful, ravenous squeezes her walls were giving him.

She looked up at him with effort, quivering and writhing beneath him, her lips parted wide in heavy breaths, her fingers clenched on the pillow under her head while their bare skin slammed against each other with sticky splats.

"– I'm not being faithful to King Aegon, but to his brother – ah – I'm letting him use my body in spite of – i-in spite of the fact that he's not my husband –" She mumbled out with difficulty, just as he being on the verge of fulfilment, sweat running down their hot, naked bodies, his cock all soaked from her wetness, engorged as if it was about to explode inside her.

"– these are indeed grave sins – do not fret – your brother will guide you – fill you with his seed so that you will be pure again – shhh, I know – I know –" He exhaled as she cried out loudly.

She came on his manhood so hard that tears ran down her cheeks – her cunt began to clench around it in spasms of her pleasure, her eyes closed, her eyebrows arched as if he had caused her pain.

He tilted his head back and sighed when, after a few sloppy, sticky, messy thrusts, he reached his peak deep inside her with a loud grunt of satisfaction, feeling strong, invincible, desired, loved.

"– lēkia –" She mewled, panting hard, and he lay down on top of her, hugging her close, her fingers quickly clenching on his back – he could feel her hard nipples, pressed against his bare chest, his cock and her walls pulsing for a moment longer in shared delight and relief.

"– protect me – protect me from him –" She mumbled out.

He swallowed hard and leaned in, placing a warm, tender kiss on the top of her head, his broad hand stroking her hair.

"I will take care of everything. Do not fret. Sleep now and rest." He hummed and she nodded, snuggling into him tighter.

He let her fall asleep in his safe embrace, he, however, looked ahead and thought hard about what he should do with this letter and the informations he had.

Should he kill his guard, or should he interrogate him, torture him to squeeze out of him who he was working with?

Would he be able to get through him to Daemon, to his weaknesses and desires?

Rhaenyra had more dragon riders.

Their advantage was melting once more.

He needed to retake Harrenhal from their hands as quickly as possible, to force the Vale and the rest of the Riverlands to kneel.

He only fell asleep in the morning from exhaustion, snuggled into her warm, soft body, her scent affecting him in the same calming way as the embrace of her arms.

He was awakened by her touch – he hummed, feeling her lazily stroking his hair, his face in natural reflex snuggled between her soft, warm breasts.

Every gentle movement of her fingers, her calm breath, the beating of her heart beneath his cheek was a completion of wholeness for him, something he shared only with her, a closeness that was nothing but a pure need.

They both flinched and pulled away from each other when suddenly the door to his chamber opened wide – he looked there and opened his mouth, furious, wanting to ask who had dared to step inside without permission, his voice, however, stuck in his throat when he caught sight of his grandfather's silhouette walking towards his bed.

Otto stopped halfway and sighed loudly, as if he was disappointed but not surprised – his hāedar quickly covered her breasts with the material of her nightgown, looking at him questioningly, not understanding why he remained silent.

"I was hoping, my grandson, that I would find you alone." His grandsire said serenely, raising one eyebrow in an expression of passive disapproval.

He licked his lower lip, glancing at her uncertainly, her eyes big with terror.

"Henujagon īlva, hāedar (leave us, little sister). Kesan māzigon naejot ao tistālion tolī (I will come to you room later)." He said calmly.

She nodded, quickly grabbing her leather tunic and breeches lying on the floor, stepping around his grandfather without a word, disappearing after a moment behind the door.

He sighed heavily and leaned his back against the bed frame, covering his hips with the fur, looking ahead with a dispassionate expression on his face.

He had done this on purpose.

Nothing his grandfather did was without meaning.

"I heard you wish to become a husband." He teased, putting his hands behind his back, calmly stepping closer to his bed.

"Have you come to dissuade me from that idea?" He asked, turning his head away, for some reason unable to look at him.

He felt humiliated because he saw him in a helpless position, his face cuddled between her breasts, her embrace that he so craved.

He saw his weakness.

"No." He said, surprising him completely. "I came to ask how you can be sure she's faithful to you and the Crown."

He snorted under his breath, grabbing a small rolled piece of parchment that lay on the table next to his bed and threw it in his direction.

Otto halted, and the expression on his face changed – his eyebrows straightened as if he was intrigued, but he did not reach for the note.

"Go on. Read it. She didn't hide it from me." He said defiantly, but his grandfather just looked at him, his gaze gentle.

"I don't need to. I know what it says."

He stared at him in disbelief, feeling his heart stop in his throat, the unpleasant tightness in his stomach making him run out of air in his lungs for a moment.

"Daemon never wrote to her." He muttered.

His grandfather hummed.

"I wanted to see how she would behave. To be honest, I'm positively surprised. I was certain she'd be hiding it for a while, terrified of what you'd do to her and her servants when you found out." Otto said lightly.

He pressed his lips together, feeling that inside he was boiling all over with rage.

"You bribed my guard to spy on me for you?" He hissed through clenched teeth, feeling like a small, deceived child again.

His grandsire laughed at his words.

"I didn't bribe him. I ordered him to watch over my grandson and keep me informed of what was happening in the keep in my absence. Did you think that I simply abandoned you? That I no longer cared about you?" He asked with furrowed brows, stepping closer to his bed.

He swallowed hard, looking away from his eyes, too piercing and wise, feeling like he was ten years old again.

He was silent.

"What happened to your brother. Did you have anything to do with it?" Otto asked finally.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, grinning broadly.

Of course he thought he had something to do with it.

"No. But I don't delude myself that you will believe me. My brother thought he knew everything better and didn't listen to the advice of those wiser than himself." He said lightly.

Otto hummed under his breath.

"Are you planning to follow in his footsteps?" He asked matter-of-factly.

He swallowed heavily, feeling his jaw clench as hard as if it was going to burst.

"I'm going to marry her. It's already decided."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" He growled, looking at him angrily, impatient and embarrassed that he was having such a conversation with him while he was standing over him lying in his bed, bare.

"If you wish me to become your Hand, you must not make the mistakes of your brother. You must listen to the advice of people more mature and wiser than yourself." He said, and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch in a grimace.

"Listen to advices, yes – but do not think that I do not know you and your gift for manipulation." He said and turned his head away. "I know, however, how devoted you are to our family. Mmm, I wish you to be the one to reassure my betrothed – explain to her your intrigue and your reason for it. I expect you to take her father's place during our nuptials."

His grandfather was silent for a long time, looking at him thoughtfully.

"Yes." He said in a way from which he felt a cold sweat on his back. "I will gladly speak with her alone."

[6esiree]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐨𝐱 𝐃𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐮𝐭

Vox likes to be in control during sex, even when he’s completely at your mercy, clawed-hands clenching the supple flesh of your waist as you feverishly move up and down his aching cock, cunt swallowing him in a warm, wet, tight embrace. But in your desperate state, you simply don’t have the ability to entertain him with every little noise you pull from the usually composed man lying underneath you, the sheets rustling and the mattress creaking with your relentless riding and his constant writhing.

“F-F-Fuck—sweetheart, you—you need to—“

He’s desperate, too. Your poor, hapless partner is desperate, but for an entirely different reason. You can hear it through the distortion in his voice, and you can feel it through the way he almost punctures your flesh with those razor-sharp claws of his, legs thrashing around and body twisting and turning away from you as you defy his words by picking up the pace. You don’t listen—you can’t—not with the overwhelming need you have to relieve yourself from your accursed rut.

“—need to s-s-slow down! Pl-l-lease!”

Vox tries to stop you, but as he fixes to lift you up, you grab his hands and pin his wrists above his head, and with a strength he never knew you had, too. Whatever semblance of control he thought he had over the situation ceased to exist the moment you slammed your hips down, sopping wet cunt completely swallowing his cock till it was kissing your cervix. You’d pull orgasm after orgasm from him until your rut was over, no matter how long it took you... hours, and sometimes even days.

“I’m sorry, baby… I’m so sorry,” You practically cry out as you lift your hips up until the head of his cock is barely grazing your folds, his wrists flexing in your vice-like grip. “But I—I can’t.”

And you slam your hips down again—and again and again and again—fucking yourself on his cock and dissolving him into an overstimulated mess underneath you. In any other situation, you would have felt sorry for him, his screen glitching and buffering, his distorted whines mingling with the sound of your squelching cunt from the many times he’s painted your walls with his cum. But you can’t right now, not as your hips begin to stutter and your walls begin to spasm around him.

“Ah, fu-c-c-ck! I do—n’t think I c-can—“ Vox shakes his head with a long whine, cock pulsating inside of your cunt as you ride him through yet another orgasm. “I c-can’t—fuck—please.”

“Just one more, baby, I promise,” You tell him as you rotate your hips, massaging your swollen clit on his twitching pelvis, “You can handle one more for me, right? Hm?”

Vox knew your words were a lie—an empty promise. You’ve been riding him relentlessly for hours already, but how could he deny you when he had volunteered to help you through your seasonal ruts in the first place? As if he had no previous experience with Valentino’s ruts? So, he nods his head to the best of his ability, a broken, distorted groan reverberating throughout his chest as a sultry ‘Good boy’ immediately seeps past your lips. You always knew what to say when he was so close to sobbing—begging for a break.

[fear-is-truth]

౨ৎ OLDER ── bruce wayne x f!reader

⟢ tags: fem!reader・legal age gap・established relationship・mentions of sex・ wc: 470.ᐟᅟ

being bruce wayne’s secret girlfriend was like living a wattpad fanfiction dream, the kind of life you couldn’t have imagined for yourself. you were fresh out of high school, and bruce was...well, older. mid-thirties, but that didn’t matter. not to him, and certainly not to you.

to the world, you didn’t exist. at parties and galas, you were just another nameless face in the crowd, if you were even there at all, that is. bruce was careful like that. he wanted to protect you, to keep you out of the spotlight that followed him everywhere. his perfect, gen-z sex doll. and honestly? you kind of liked it that way. there was something exciting about being a scandalous secret, knowing that the richest, most powerful man in gotham was wrapped around your little finger.

and the age gap? honestly, it wasn’t something you ever thought about much. bruce had this way of making you feel seen, like you weren’t just some pretty young thing on his arm, but someone who mattered. sure, there was an almost twenty-year difference between you, but when you were together, that didn’t even register. more than anything, he just made you feel safe. untouchable.

he spoiled you like no one ever had before. designer clothes, sparkling jewels, trips to private islands—it was all par for the course. but it wasn’t your favourite part, even though he did had impeccable taste. it was the way he looked at you when you slipped into the crotch-high dress he’d bought, how his gaze would darken, smouldering with unadulterated lust. and when you’d parade in front of him wearing the lingerie set he’d bought—delicate lace that barely hid anything—his reaction would make your skin burn. his lips would quirk into a lascivious smirk, one that promised you were going to get fucked brainless. he wouldn’t need to say a word. the tight set in his jaw, the whitening of his knuckles around his glass of bourbon told you everything you needed to know.

bruce wayne was a gentleman in every sense of the word—polite, refined, always in control. well, at least, in public. behind the mansion’s doors, though? let’s just say that was where the real bruce came out. the moment you were alone, the restraint he showed outside was nowhere to be found. he was no longer the playboy millionaire of gotham—he was just a man, with needs and desires that only you could satiate.

you couldn’t tell anyone, couldn’t post pictures or gush about your boyfriend over coffee with friends, but then he’d do something—like fly you to paris for the weekend just because you’d mentioned once that you wanted to see the eiffel tower—then have a romanée conti after passionate lovemaking, suddenly, it didn’t seem so bad after all.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[titania-sleeps]

Wild Roses and Hawthorns (Sub!Bloodbag!Human!Yandere x Vampire!Reader)

hii i promise i didn't forget about adonis, he has TWO whole pieces in my drafts (i just need to be in a specific mood to pump out adonis fics)

in the meantime, here's the aftermath of dion getting the blood sucked tf out of him

spoilers: he wants more. :3

more works featuring Dion: Dion Introduction

warning: mild nsfw, dom reader, biting, asphyxiation (choking), messy feelings, minors DNI pls

A week has passed since you'd last lost your temper with your bloodbag. The look in his eyes never left your mind. The torrent waves of turmoil in his gaze had washed over you, and you were stricken with a sense of fear and... greedy desire. You had immediately fled after that, terrified by what he aroused in you.

Tonight, you lay still as a statue, staring into the ceiling. While you don't need sleep the same way that humans do, it calms you to rest when the sky is dark. It's habitual from your time training to melt into human society (as all vampirekin do for a few decades). However, dawn was nearing in a couple of hours and you've yet to get even a blink of rest.

Every time you close your eyes, even if for a moment, a flash of glistening sweat on caramel skin appears in your mind. Then the sensation of your teeth sinking their way into supple skin manifests in your mouth. The hair on the back of your neck stands and, if you were to look in the mirror at that very moment, what would reflect back is a lonely monster, craving for the flesh of the living.

You are not a common monster, that you know. You are a noble creature, born with veins of blue gold and armed with grace. Yet such a simple bite stirs a primal need in you, one that rivals that of a hungry beast. It borders on something that you'd hope to never experience, especially for your blood bag.

Maybe you need some clear water to reset your thoughts.

As you glide down the stairs to the kitchen, you bump into a shadowy figure. The figure steadies you, and a familiar scent enters your senses.

"...Dion."

The figure responds to your call, a grin on his lips.

"Are you here to indulge in a midnight snack, master?" The comment is teasing and almost enticing, and you know that the snack he is referring to doesn't exist in the kitchen.

Sighing, you push past him and walk to the counter to pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher. He follows you.

"Dion, why are you awake?" you ask, taking a sip of the water. Though you vastly prefer blood over water, as long as the water isn't tainted by any holiness, it suffices to quench your thirst.

Dion's eyes wander for a moment before he responds with a disarming smile. He shrugs, the collar of his shirt falling to the side to reveal his neck. Your eyes flit to it for just a second, and only a second.

"Maybe I was looking for someone," he replies. His vague response irks you, but you don't bother pressing him for more details. The more you know about him, the more you will feel for him. So it is easier to maintain the comfortable distance that you have with him.

You finish the last drop of water and place the cup in the sink. "I hope you find them," you say airily, giving him a lazy wave as you prepare to return to your room.

You're stopped by an encircling grip around your wrist.

You whip your head around and before you know it, you're chasing Dion out the door, down the hallway, and into your room, slamming him against the wall. He lands with a thud and a devious smirk.

You brush your finger across his lips, eyes peering into his. There they are again, the storm that has torn sailors and their rafts asunder, lightning and thunder electrifying even your immortal form.

"Your thirst has yet to be quenched," he whispers to you, eyes swirling. Or maybe you're just imagining that, entranced by him.

"Are you offering yourself?" you ask dryly, with the restraint that you don't have.

Dion laughs, cocking his head to the left. Once again, he bares his neck to you. You aren't so impolite as to reject a gift offered to you.

You sink your fangs into his skin. The same caramel gold that plagues your mind, shining with a thin layer of sweat. And it tastes sweeter than before, with the right hint of despair, just as you like it. Dion's existence at that very moment perforates your senses; the smell of iron and sweat in the air, the sounds of his low moans in your ear, the taste of saccharine goodness in your mouth. And then you open your eyes and he greets you with a loving smile and a tsunami that sweeps you off your feet.

"You're still hungry." It isn't a question but a statement. And he's right to make it a statement because you wouldn't have been able to answer anyway.

You lick the puncture wound with your tongue, gliding gently against the surface. He shivers, his legs struggling to remain standing. Noticing this, you drag him to bed, yet again pushing him down.

He chuckles, laying flat on his back, his hair sprawling out like ripples in a lake. His arms are wide open, and you dive into his embrace, your legs straddling his form.

As you pin him down with your weight, you find yourself caressing his face. A drop of your fingers on his long eyelashes, and then they're slowly trickling down to his jaw. You can feel him become still beneath you and your fingers trail beneath the precipice of his jaw to the jugular juts of his Adam's apple. Your touch bobs up and down as he swallows air, his eyes staring into yours... muddled in something you can't quite place your finger on.

You think you hear him breathe a whisper in your direction, but you don't catch what he's saying. Instead, your hands are clasping around his throat, nails kissing his tender skin. A maniacal grin is stamped on his face, his hands laying peacefully to his sides. He doesn't struggle and instead almost seems to lift himself to meet your grip more.

A flush of power overcomes you as you tighten your hold on him just a little more. He's clasping onto the sheets of your bed with his fingers; it's a shame that he'll have to make your bed again later tonight. You watch, intrigued, as his eyes roll up and drool leaves his lips.

You release him gradually, the skin on his neck blooming in colors of wild roses, hawthorns, and cornflowers. A wreath around his neck, as your prized champion and faithful servant. That's what you've given to him.

When you back away, his hand springs out like a geyser and catches your wrist. His grip is gentle but unyielding, and he's looking at you with a satisfied smile and a dangerous gleam in his eyes. He pulls you down, embracing you fully in his arms. You feel something wet and hard beneath you.

"Only take blood from me," he mutters into your ear, appendages like boa constrictors. "Only from me."

You finally rest your eyes, lips painted in his redness.

i welcome and encourage all psychoanalyses of both y/n and dion

-> masterlist

[janumun]

Nomos (Xavier - NSFW/18+)

Pairing: Xavier/Queen Reader (based on Xavier’s first myth) Word Count: 3.7k Tags: religious imagery/desecration sex, angst, evol bondage, oral sex, orgasm denial, Knight Xavier on his knees repenting to his Queen MC, spoilers for Xavier’s first myth, female dominating, canon divergence, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

Summary: The Queen of Philos had sacrificed her heart ultimately and along with it, part of her humanity, in the wake of Xavier’s failed Backtrack mission; binding it to Philos’ core for eternity. Now, returned to her, centuries after, Xavier seeks his Goddess’ audience, and her forgiveness, within the stone-cold chambers of her castle. 

But centuries suffered alone, and with her heart now gone, she is a former frigid cast of the woman he used to love. Xavier is adamant on repenting, even if it costs him his life this time round. 

[A fic where Prince Xavier manages to return to Philos but he is too late; his Queen has long thrown her powerful core, her heart, into Philos’ centre and now, she has nothing to offer Xavier but her bitter resentment.]

O celestial body of mine, Slumbering adrift in darkness, Which never heeds the whispers of life, Till it fades into oblivion, nothingness. 

The rolling echo of thunder — knelling an approaching storm — was the only sound that rippled across the heavy, cold silence that had settled itself across the throne room. Wan shadows clung to the wide, dismal stone pillars of the great hall. Barely quelled by the flickering protocore lamps interspersed on either sides of the room. 

A looming, stone figure of the Goddess adorned the space right behind her great throne, staging Her chosen Sovereign to rule and obey, for all of Philos to see, placed by Her will upon the throne. The Goddess; doused in cool shadow, her sculpted eyes stared down glacial and unforgiving, set into regal stone. Her great Sword aimed at length towards the altar Xavier knelt at. 

The flagstone beneath his knee was a harsh and frigid reminder; Xavier considered, not for the first time how it too had frozen in on desolate isolation, just like his Queen’s majestic figure in front. She stood tall and silent — the paradigm of dignity she’d forced herself to be, for the sake of Philos... and for the sake of a lover who’d refused to accept the wretched Crown of a King.  

Solitary and unattended — he’d allowed her to experience the empty desolation that came with a Sovereign’s crown of lonely leadership. And yet, even confined to the yawning silence of her frigid throne room, she’d ushered Philos into an era of prosperity. While he— 

Xavier had failed her; her hopes, her dreams... her yearnings he’d turned blind to each time she’d granted him the soft brunt of her affections sifting like stone against his heart. So in love with her — she would never know — and yet, the distance he’d maintained stretched flimsy in between them; closer than friends, stranger than lovers.  

The burden of her past life, their first life, lived in futility, through a heart that brought her no end of pain until it had burned her life out of existence — and in turn, ended his, in spirit — with her untimely demise.  

And he had — in misguided intentions, she viewed them as — refused to let the cycle of tragedy repeat once more, in the sacrifice of her sole being. As Xavier, prince of Philos. And a mere man in love with a woman. The one heart he could never bear to let go. In the name of a ‘greater good’, his father, the previous King had called it such. For Philos.  

To hell with a nation his father and his wretched co-conspirators had painted from the ground up, drenched in the blood of numerous sacrifices before her. Xavier had wanted no part in the perpetuation of that horrifying ritual.  

Desperation had eventually led him to adopt far perilous measures, to prevent her oblation in this lifetime — two centuries spent in between their tentative meetings, and then several countless more spent traversing the stars and through worlds in search of a solution. To prevent Philos’ downfall without the need to hold on to age old rustic customs. 

And he had promised her, his beautiful lonely Queen, a victory he had failed to bring to her feet. Swore to her in centuries past, when she’d still looked upon him with love naked in her gaze and worry taut in her features, that he’d search for a better path for Philos from among his travel in the stars, while she’d resolved to stay behind as their planet’s sole Sovereign; their Goddess incarnate.  

The tender warmth of her skin as he’d traced her features into memory on their last meeting all those centuries back, within the plaza rife with life; a reminder of what they were fighting for. The way she’d layered her own hand against his, letting her eyes drift shut as if she too wished to forget their fast-looming separation. 

And on the day of her coronation, he’d left her, branded as a traitor. Chancing one last, proud look upon her majestic form as she’d leveled the blade of her sword against his shoulders apiece, in their private ceremony of two, knighting him as her Grandis Knight. 

A fleeting, tentative touch of her palm she’d pressed against his shoulder in farewell, determined eyes staring into his from beneath the weight of her crown as she’d wished him well. 

“The fate of our nation rests within your hands now, Xavier. And should you fail, the entirety of Philos shall have to pay the price for the Prince’s failings.”  

Her delicate hand had tightened against the pressed shoulder of his regalia, not caring for the badges of honor there, digging into her skin. “May the Goddess be with you. Goodbye, Xavier.” 

 Xavier’s eyes flitter shut in resigned recollection; the very last touch of her warmth still fresh in his mind. In the flex of gloved digits against the badge attached to the hilt of his sword, one she’d gifted to him, in lieu of her star tassel.  

Now, as he kneels at her feet, she hasn’t even moved to touch him. Hasn’t deigned him worthy enough to afford even the mercy of her hands on his body, even if just to strike him. In ire or curses; Goddess, his heart and body have missed her so dearly. And yet, this is not the time for personal weakness. But repentance. And Xavier has always been one devoted to his cause, his one sole duty; to live and serve, to die or be tortured by her will alone.  

His Demiurge regent, his sole Queen.  

She observes great clemency as is expected of a Sovereign of her stature, when her steps shift closer; the dignified brush of her mantle pooling about her feet. Soft fur fabric brushing against the polished heel of pale shoes, the slip of bare skin through the part of her flowing robes at her legs, filling his line of sight as it remains firm, fixated upon the ground. For she has not allowed him leave to freely gaze upon her form. And Xavier is her Grandis Knight, committed to propriety of duty, if it is for her alone.  

He, however, dares: gloved digits reaching for the sweep of her queenly cape brushing the stone-cold flagstone. The pads of them skimming the soft of fur that lines its edges. And when she does not move to refute his brazen touch, he curves his fingers into the fabric and guides it up to his lips, lashes descending shut as he lays a kiss against the cloth, in show of the proper reverence she deserves. “I have returned, my Queen.” 

Xavier feels her shift above his genuflecting form, a response she utters in the voice he has missed. “Why?”  

“I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary for my failure, your Majesty. If it is my life you seek—”  

“Why have you returned now?”  

“Forgive me, your Majesty.” 

“You are far, far too late.” The first hints of displeasure seep into her intonation, accusing strains of heat Xavier prefers to the thick monotone she’d employed previously.

“Forgive me, your Majesty.”  

An explicable tremor breaks across her still form; minute, missable, were it not for how finely attuned he is to her mannerisms, her emotions, her simmering ire.  

“Why have you returned now, after all this time? You made no promises.” She asks once more, cool resignation in her voice.  

He stares fixedly at the sight of her feet, a response she seeks from him, he has no answer to.  

Silence stretches long and taut, infinite, in between them. 

“After the first five hundred years spent waiting in futility...” she deliberates. “I finally concluded that you’d died. Perished among the unknown.” 

His fist, sunk into the unyielding cold floor at his knee, crushes tighter at her words. “...Please allow me to look upon your Majesty’s face.”  

Her footsteps glide forwards, another step closer. Ignoring his entreaty, she resumes, “I continued to make excuses for your failure to return.” She pauses. 

“It brought me some modicum of comfort to know you had not just abandoned me but that you were simply no more.” The terrifying frigid inflection of her voice numbs Xavier’s heart — cool tendrils of dread coiling vines within his chest, like their first life, he’d held her within his arms. Watched the life pool out of her eyes, leaving her dull and lifeless within his embrace.  

She has lost her heart once more, and the mere thought has Xavier’s nerves driven to near devastation.  

But he is here, he knew of the consequences. And he is here, to bear through them, to accept his Sovereign — and beloved’s — ire; no matter if she remains full or half. She is all he draws breath for, all he fights for, the pinnacle of his existence and his desires. His guiding star, his monarch, his God. 

“Forgive me, your Majesty.” He speaks, once more. 

The first signs of emotion other than cool resentment thread through her low voice: furied indignance. “Utter insolence.” 

The heel of her shoe rises before his very gaze — Xavier’s eyes falling shut to accept the brunt of her oncoming strike. One that does not come. He feels her press the harsh tip of it, instead, underneath his jaw, knocking his face upwards so that his eyes meet hers, glacial turbulence within her gaze. “How does it feel to be demeaned as if you were a mere traitor, at my feet? Do you feel as violated and desolate as I too did all those years ago?” 

She is kind, she remains so gentle; her punishment, she considers it humiliation for him to be put at her feet when it is anything but. As if it could ever be. She offers him her worship instead, and so he follows her regal command. 

Pitching his face to dig deeper against the tip of her shoe, his eyes remain devoted upon hers. Gloved fingers he brings to curl, slow beneath the sole of her boot to support, mouth skimming a kiss of reverence to the polished surface.  

Ire and heat fulgurate within her gaze at his brazen actions, she continues to watch as his mouth parts, pink tongue darting forth to slick a slow, deferential path against the cool leather of her shoe. “This is not punishment enough, your Majesty, when your Grandis Knight has been ever prepared to end his life at your feet, were it your will.” 

The spark of heat within her gaze retreats and shutters itself behind its glacial curtain. “Do you remember what it is I told you when you embarked on your journey, my Knight?” 

“I do.” He murmurs, just as she digs the edge of her heel deeper against his cheek.  

She rips herself away from his worship, sweeping right up close against his kneeling figure, until he can catch the drifts of her perfumed scent emanating from her bone-ivory robes. Can feel the brush of the silken cloth adorning her thighs, against the tip of his nose. 

Wretched, blasphemous desire churns vicious within his belly at having the woman he loves this close, after centuries spent without her — a woman that is not his, never will be. Immoral desires of a sinner for Philos’ Mother. A woman — and their nation — he brought to ruin by his own hand; Philos’ branded traitor. 

“I told you,” she speaks, in the neutrality of a Sovereign, “that were you to fail, all of Philos would have to pay the price for the Prince’s failure.” She stills. “And I am Philos, I am centered to Her core. I am Her life-force as she is mine. Our people paid a hefty price for our peace, oh Grandis Knight.” 

Xavier’s face sinks forward, brushing the edges of her silken robes against his cheek. “Forgive me, your Majesty.” In the harsh clench of his jaw; and when she does not move to spurn him, he devotes a kiss of resigned reverence to the cloth above her thigh. Her body loses part of its stillness at the action.  

“Even after all this time...” she murmurs under her breath. “You refuse to address me by my proper name, like a foolish coward.” A slipping fracture of something akin to torment in her voice.  

Xavier lets his mouth glide further up across the lustrous cloth in begging of her pardon, for the ache he has caused, has continued to cause to her. To Philos. For his protection that he has always known held a double cutting edge to itself.  

He drifts towards her other thigh, mouthing proper worship onto it and his Queen — benevolent, tender in heart still — lets the Sinner at her feet do as he pleases. Canting his gaze heavenwards to watch as she allows; her own eyes that burn into his kneeling form, observing him from her place on high.  

Her legs shift, allowing Xavier the fleeting sight of unblemished skin in between the loose flow of her fabric and like a devotee starved, he’s drawn to the catch of her inner thighs revealed with the slight disarray of her robes beneath his questing mouth. Finding her undeniably warm when his lips brush near the junction of her thighs at bare skin.  

“My Knight—” 

“You may call me by my name, your Majesty.” His hungering tongue slips past his lips to lave gentle at her. “After all, I am no more than servant to your Majesty and her great throne.”  

“Grandis Knight, you are—” 

“I am your Xavier, your sinner.” His hot gaze rolls up towards hers and beseeches. “So, please call me by name so you may curse at me.” 

He feels the fire of her indignant resentment sputter within her gaze, receding the glacial indifference of it. Her cold fingers slink into his hair and wrench harsh at the argent strands, ripping a groan free of Xavier’s throat. The very first gift she makes of pain, to him, one he receives with the reverent ardour it deserves.  

Xavier heaves forward once more to settle in between her legs, nosing at the fabric of her mound, breathing in her scent. Teeth catching at the cloth that keeps her concealed from view before he loosens it apart with a violent jerk of his head.  

Moisture glistens tempting in between her folds — the firm press of her digits against the back of his head is the sole permission Xavier requires to engulf her entirely against an open, hungering mouth, a low moan of desire breaking past his throat at the intoxicating taste of her on his tongue.  

He laps up at her; a man starved — one he is, after the emptiness of her endured in his soul, the burdens of his failures and desires commingled in the wet lave of his tongue from base to hood. Slicking the edge of his tongue against the pearl at her apex. Her low sigh follows the incessant push of his face deep into her mound, his nose brushing at the curls of it, accepting the gift of her benevolence.  

“Did you know, my dear Knight—” her voice skitters mildly in pleasure with the press of the tip of his tongue, cleaving gentle into her slit. “It did get easier.”  

Her wetness seeps past her opening and onto his fervent tongue as he dutifully swallows. He feels incredibly parched, open mouth pressing deeper against her as he works her pleasure, tongue slinking into her depths. She clenches around him at the intrusion, knocking a muffled groan free of his throat.  

“When time finally ran out for your chance to return and Philos neared the end of its life, with our people on the brink of desolate death,” her breath jolts. “I marched out there.” 

His brows knit into a severe frown, stroking his need for her ire to sheath itself deeper into his body. He requires it; his Queen’s rightful anger so that he may take all of it and her, let her bruise her emotions into it, until the moment she’s used him up to her heart’s desires and she finally weeps and hurts no more.  

And so, his lashes descend with the tight spasm of her fingers carded through his hair, steering his mouth however she pleases. 

“And I willingly bound my life force to Philos’ core so that it could continue to live. Cut out the part of me that loved and felt until I turned myself into something entirely non-human for the sake of our people. A true God.” A slow, desolate string of weak sound tapers out of her body before it augments itself into mirthless laughter that rings hollow through the great, empty space of her throne room. “It was all too easy to do so, in a world I knew my Star no longer existed. For my heart had beat for him alone.” 

A heavy bludgeon of agony rips through his chest, tries and clambers its way out of his body before Xavier tamps it mercilessly in the gentle scrape of his teeth against her tight bundle of nerves. Her violent shudders, he feels buffets her limbs before he’s reaching out for her on instinctual, fervid desire in the clasp of gloved palms against the sides of her legs, trekking his touch up her thighs. A low moan parts her lips at the touch. 

Xavier’s audacious attempt at desecrating his God further underneath his obsidian worship is foiled in the twin blades of light that cleave around his wrists, whipping them swift and away from her body to shackle them together at the base of his spine. 

His body jolts through the glaze of his desires, part sense rending through the thick of pain knocking at the back of his breastbone to realize she’s forced his submission in the resonation of her Evol against his. Emulated his Light seamlessly in the binds of radiance — befitting of Philos’ Sovereign — wound tight at his wrists. Even centuries past now, she remembers the precise shape of his Light. 

He tests a flex against his restraints, finding they do not give an inch. “You’ve grown far too bold in your time away,” her voice is a cold dagger that scotches itself right beneath his ribs. She heaves him away from her body, reluctant mouth drenched in the strings of slick and spit that trail from his mouth to the soaked space of her legs. “Grandis Knight, what makes you think you’ve earned even an ounce of me to embrace as you would, a lover?” 

“I have not, your Majesty, forgive—”  

Severing through the rest of his apology in the quiet catch of Xavier’s breath when the sole of her heel comes to rise, knocking a firm, uniformed thigh apart to reveal the indecency of his arousal to her gaze, straining painful against the placket of too tight trousers.  

The edge of her heel trailing the inside of his thigh, she switches towards the heavy length of him. Brushing the underside of his arousal, Xavier’s shoulders tense in heavy need at the barely present stimulation. Before her heel sinks firmer against the length of him, jolting a groan free of him. “Does that feel good then?” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” He breathes heavily.  

“Look at you, coming apart under the mere, filthy touch of my foot.” Her brow bunches in an irked frown.  

“No part of you—” His voice breaks apart into quiet, ragged breaths at the stimulation of her heel against the increasingly sensitive strength of his arousal. “—is filthy to me, your Majesty.”  

Xavier tugs against the leash she’s made of her fist at the back of his head and she allows him, in that moment, to arch forwards and nudge the part of her dress aside. Sink into the wet heat of her; a man imprisoned to her tender mercies and the flood of her taste in his mouth. 

He works her open against his tongue, laving at her desires. Back and forth, he doesn’t let a single drop spill past his hungering mouth until he feels the tell-tale evidence of her orgasm in the insistent clench of her walls.  

Her hips gyrate forward in tandem to the suck of his mouth against her tightened bead and Xavier lets his shoulders fall slack to allow her free reign of her release as she grinds herself against his tongue to a precipitous finish. The gush of her desires Xavier drinks down, humming in dazed arousal, to have let her find her relief; used as her personal seat of pleasure, to be tossed at her will alone.  

Her hands flitter about his head, curling on either side of his jaw to pull away from the heaven of her body, and up as she descends, her mouth settling against his in a violent kiss he receives with vehement pleasure.  

Releasing herself, slow, from him only when her desire to breath turns overbearing. The edge of her thumb slips just past his damp bottom lip, urging his mouth open further. Before she spits against his revering tongue and instructs him to, “Swallow.” 

Xavier’s mouth clamps shut on instinct, working the taste of her against himself. Gaze flittering in darkening, vicious desire at the heat of his Goddess’ gift.  

A low hush of withering laughter leaves her mouth. “I’ve tethered a rabid beast to my side.” 

Her thumb and index cup about his jaw, coaxing his gaze to remain on hers, bright, burning. “Swear to me,” she speaks. “Swear that your loyalty shall never lie with another.”  

He feels his Queen curl a tremulous fist into the robes at his shoulders, crumpling the fabric hard in between her fingers. “Swear that you shall remain mine, my Grandis Knight, for all time. That you shall never abandon me again, Xavier.”  

His gaze quivers in fleeting emotions for a moment’s weakness, steel gray resolve returning once more to utter his vow renewed. 

“I have always been yours to have or reject, your Majesty. This Knight — his Body and Soul is yours alone to wield.” 

Making of himself, a promise, he commits to her in the life she shall have; to end at the sweep of her sword, should he ever dare renege on it.  

Declaring himself, at long last, in his clear devotion; to his one Queen and God.  

Tagging: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas

(Skipping folks who do not have tagging permissions on, so they cannot be mentioned, unfortunately)

I had the angsty pleasure of reading Xavier’s first myth for the first time a few weeks back and with the help of a Xavier main friend and inspiration drawn from Xavier’s prayer pose in photobooth, this fic was born. I hope you enjoyed your read! 

Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated, if you are so inclined, lovelies!

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM! You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

[222col]

second best | part two

★ patrick zweig x reader ★ you're after revenge, wanting to give patrick a taste of his own medicine, the question is, how long will it last? ★ 5.3k ★ 18+ | cw: smut: unprotected sex, choking, spanking ★ an: part one | take a shot every time u see the word thwaccckkkk

"you gonna win for me tomorrow?" patrick mumbles against your skin, his lips against your neck, arms around your waist as his hips buck up into you. you'd made it to the final of the tournament, your first final of a slam, in only your second pro season. biting down on his earlobe, legs wrapped around his waist, groaning into his ear. "yeah? gonna be a good girl and win for me?" he repeats, causing another moan from you. "you're so beautiful when you play, can't wait to watch you." it's as though the only time you and patrick are truly honest with each other is when you're fucking each other, drunk off the sex, too fucked out to play along with any games that exist between you. you can barely form words to respond to patrick, not that you'd need to, he can understand you without them. he mumbles more praise into your ear as he finishes inside you, panting against your skin. "my perfect girl." he whispers, placing open mouth kisses to your shoulder. my perfect girl. you're not even his girl, not really. immediately sliding off him, starting to get dressed as he attempts to pull you back onto the bed with him. "i need to prepare for tomorrow." you mumble, pulling your t-shirt over your head. "why are you being so bitchy these past few days?" he pokes, leaning back on his palms. "you've barely looked at me if i'm not literally inside you." you're biting back your words, holding in your anger that's so close to bubbling over. waiting desperately to chew him out, curse at him, scream every word you can think of at him, but you don't. you simply stand, walk over to the door, and tell him goodbye.

you'd vowed to yourself that your time in new york was the end of your time with patrick, as soon as the us open was over, so were you and him. you'd come to your senses after getting home the night of the quarter finals. you wanted revenge. you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, make him sweat. show him what he was doing to you was wrong, that you deserved better than second best. it might be slightly immoral, but patrick had pushed you past limits you didn't know you had. you knew the easy thing would be just telling his girlfriend, but that was almost too easy. you wanted to see him worked up, wanted to see how far he'd go denying his feelings for you. how long he could go before snapping.

6-3. first set. 5-4. second set. you were one game away from lifting the trophy. one game away from your first grand slam title. 40-15. one more point. thwaccckkkk! the ball bounces onto the other side of the net and straight past your opponent, feeling yourself fall to the ground as the crowd erupts. letting a scream fall from your lips, pulling yourself back up to your feet. patrick's the first you see, stood with your team, wide grin plastered on his face as you walk over to shake your opponents hand. after you collect your trophy, doing all your press junkets, you head into the dressing room. seeing patrick sat there, on the bench waiting for you. "congrats, champ." he sits there smirking at you as you drop your bag to the floor. you walk straight over to him, standing between his legs as he wraps his arms around you. "i'm all sweaty, get off." you mumble, despite his grip only tightening. "no, i love it." he grins, his face pushing into your stomach, kissing the fabric that clings to your skin. "so proud of you." he whispers, inhaling your scent as his hands move down to your ass, underneath your skirt, massaging the flesh through your shorts. his face turns up, looking up to you as you stand before him, ripping your tight top off your body. breathing in deeply, before patrick stands, letting you peel his t-shirt from his body. pushing you up against the wall, his lips attaching to yours. his hands roaming your body, pushing your skort down your legs as you move your feet out from the pool of fabric. "let me look after you, winner." he mumbles into your skin of your neck, undoing his jeans and pushing them down his legs.

it's messy, desperate, the speed in which yours and his underwear are thrown behind you. his big hands lifting you up, laying you down on the bench, his legs either side of it. spitting in his hands, wiping it up and down his length. his hands gripping into your hips, pulling them up to meet him as he pushes himself into you. your back arched at the sensation, choking back moans as he fucks himself into you. his signature smirk across his face, seeing you squirm under his touch. his nails digging into your skin, skin slapping against yours. your already weak body losing more energy, letting patrick take complete control of you. "that's my good girl, let me take care of you." he hums, biting his lip, keeping his groans stuck in his throat. his eyes are glued to you, watching yours roll back into your head as he lifts your hips up even higher. "feel so fucking good baby." he mumbles praise, bringing your legs up to rest against his chest. pressing wet kisses to your ankles. your hands gripping the wooden panels of the bench, head flung back as a loud whimper leaves your mouth. "shush," patrick hums, chuckling almost. "you're gonna get us caught, princess." he leans forward, contorting your body as he moves one of his hands over your mouth. your brows are furrowed, looking up into his eyes as he pounds into you harder. your mouth agape under his calloused hand, his fingers tight on your cheekbones. his grip on your hip moves to bring his hand to your cunt, smirking as he watches you squirm once his thumb starts circling your clit. he loves you like this, a whimpering, sweaty mess under his touch. it's his favourite sight in the world, watching you unravel under him. all his over thoughts disappear the second you're alone with him. he'd live in his state if humanly possible.

your body jolts, writhing under his touch as you fall over the line. moans slipping through his fingers as he works you through your high. his head flinging back, shooting his load into you as he feels you clench around him. "holy fuck." he groans, gripping onto your ankles as he lets his cum drip down from you. both whimpering at the loss of sensation as he pulls out of you, letting your legs drop down to your sides. "jesus, that was fucking insane." he mutters, chuckling slightly. "i know." you smile back, walking over to the shower to clean yourself up as he gets dressed. walking back out in a new skort and matching top, zipping up your jacket as you pick up your bags. "that was the last time." you state, lips flatlined as you look to his position by the lockers. patrick's brows furrowing, kicking himself off the metal lockers to strand up straight. "what?" he questions, his mouth slightly agape. shrugging your shoulders as you open the door to the dressing room. "i'm not second best." patrick's speechless, watching you leave. his body slumping down onto the floor, his head flinging back into the lockers with force. "fuck!"

it's a month before you see patrick again, at the next tournament you're both competing at. a stream of unanswered texts flood your phone, along with a collection of drunk voicemails left by him. swept away by the attention winning your first slam, your focus on your tennis for the time being. half way across the world, you check into your hotel, readying yourself for the players mixer being held. walking into the hotel's function room, the hall already awash with players as you strut over to the bar. "will you just fucking talk to me?" you hear the familiar voice in your ear the second he reaches you. "fuck off, patrick." you murmur, before ordering yourself a drink. "you're killing me." he groans, his voice needy. "why won't you reply to any of my texts?" he questions, as you stand by a table, holding your drink in your hands, not looking to him. patrick's following you around like a puppy, desperate for you to just look at him, let alone reply. when you finally do, look at him, his breath catches in his throat. your eyes are soft, despite the rest of your face being utterly unimpressed by him. "i told you. it's over, patrick. leave it alone." you grumble, your words like knives to his chest. "go cry to your girlfriend." you spit, bringing your glass up your lips, looking away from him. "i don't have a girlfriend." he returns, leaning on the table, facing you. he's drinking in every move you make, every time you blink, inhaling your scent after a month away from you.

that was a new development. you bite back any form of reaction to patrick's words, just placing your drink back down on the table. he opens his mouth to speak again but he's cut off by another player entering the conversation. "hey, i'm jack. can I buy you a drink?" he smiles to you, leaning on his elbow to face you. patrick rolls his eyes, watching your body contort to face the voice beckoning you. "she's already got one." patrick mumbles, before you cut him off and nod your head to the brunette on the other side of you. "yeah, i'd like that." patrick grumbles, rolling his eyes as he watches you walk over to the bar, leaning his back on the table, glancing down to your half empty drink left beside him. he thought things would be easier, seeing you again. thought you'd come running back into his arms, especially now he'd dumped his girlfriend. but you don't. you spit at him, crush him more than the month of unanswered texts did. he sighs, picking up the remainder of your drink, downing it all as he watches you laugh and lean into the guy you're with. he spends the night sulking, drinking, watching you. pushing away the people who attempt to talk to him, too focused on watching your interactions. you're hanging onto jack's arm by the end of the night, letting him lead you upstairs, to his room. all patrick can do is watch. watch you slip further away from his grasp, while drowning his sorrows in more alcohol, that he won't be thankful for tomorrow during the first round of press.

patrick's there, always there, wherever you are the whole weekend of press and promo. following you around, just to see you. even if it means seeing you flirt and shower men that aren't him in your attention. he's lost, dumfounded on how to act if you aren't with him. desperate just to hear your velvety voice, see your lips upturn in reaction to his words, not someone else. he's consumed with need, attempting to distract himself with his tennis, not that it's working. he's panting, sweat dripping from his body on the practise courts when you walk out. seeing jack on the other side of you, carrying both sets of racket bags. throwing the ball down onto the floor a few times, breathing in before serving it across the court, met with a nod of approval by his coach. his eyes coast over to you, setting up your things, ready to play against jack. you've replaced him. you're doing everything you used to with patrick, but with another man. you don't need him anymore. it doesn't help patrick's ego that jack's ranking is much higher than his own. patrick attempts to carry on with his training, ignore the distraction of you only two courts away, but he's struggling. "get it together, patrick. c'mon." his coach presses, shouting over instructions as balls keep flying his way. it's almost impossible to concentrate on anything that isn't you. especially when he hears your grunts as you hit the ball over the net. trying to snap himself out of it, out of the very impure thoughts he's thinking. thwaccckkkk! patrick serves the ball with all his frustrations, receiving eyes on him as he does. "not bad, zweig." you half smile to him across the courts. he swears his heart stops beating.

you'd both made it through the round of 32, you're sitting in the recovery pool a couple hours after the match when patrick walks in. you don't notice the door open, only noticing his presence when his smirk forms in front of you, slipping into the small pool, sitting opposite you. "i see you're enjoying the tournament." patrick teases, his arms spread over the edges of the pool. "it's only just started." you return, pulling your legs closer to your body, away from his. "i meant more the company." he pushes, that signature smirk not leaving his lips. he wants to push you, tease you, how you're pushing him. "not that it's any of your business." you scoff, titling your head over to where he sits in the water, trying to read his expression. his hands raise in defence as he sucks on his teeth. "are you gonna be like this with me for the rest of the tour?" his tone becoming more serious as he gulps. his heart rate quickening, realising how close your body is, in such little clothing. he hadn't been alone with you for over a month, his teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek, holding back his urge to reach out and touch you. you don't respond, just rolling your eyes and looking away from him. "tell me you don't want me and i'll leave you alone." the words leave patrick's lips before he can even realise what he's said. his stomach in knots the second he realises what he's proposed, he wouldn't be able to stay away even if you did tell him that. "i don't want you." the words hit his chest before his ears, his gaze on you intense as his bottom lip is moves between his teeth. patrick's brows furrow, just looking at you as his body floods with emotion. "you don't mean that." he chokes out. all you do is stare back at him, your face unreadable as you do. the water splashes onto your chest as patrick abruptly exists the pool, wrapping the towel around his waist as he looks down to you, your eyes lifting to look up to him. your gaze still soft, as it always is with patrick. "whatever." he mumbles, pushing the door open as he scrambles out of the room.

you distract yourself with tennis, or attempt to. lying to yourself that you don't want patrick. that you don't want to run to him, to be with him, to be his. if it wasn't tennis you used as a distraction, it was jack. he knew your head was elsewhere, so was his, so it worked. you were making your way through the tournament, into the round of 16, as was patrick. a lot of eyes obviously on you after winning the us open, your ranking moving up as well as the media circus that followed you. 'new tennis power couple?' was the article you were sent, with pictures of you and jack attached. rolling your eyes as you scrolled mindlessly through the so called news site. laughing about it with jack as you joined up with him for lunch, hearing the whispers around the hall as you sat together. patrick sat alone, pushing around the food on his plate, seeing the updates come out about you and jack. he should have known not to believe it, he knows how the media can be. you're barely even touching jack in the pictures, he doesn't know you like patrick does. but it doesn't stop the pit in his stomach as he watches the two of you together. it's only when he's alone in his hotel room that he texts you, adding another message to the number of texts he'd sent over the course of the month.

patrick: i know i said i'd back off but just tell me it's not true

sighing at notification on your phone, the bright screen lighting up the empty room. you try to fight off the urge to reply, knowing exactly what he's referencing. eventually, your head wins, turning the phone off and going to downstairs to the hotel lobby, your next match wasn't until the day after tomorrow. the read receipt highlighted on patrick's phone as he sits on the chat. throwing the phone across the room after a while of sitting there waiting. after throwing a shirt on his body, he wandered down to the hotel lobby. you're already down there, sat alone with a drink in hand. patrick quietly orders himself a drink and sits down across from you. "please, just talk to me." he sighs, leaning closer to you over the table. "patrick, i-" your defences are down, too tired, too frustrated. "i know i hurt you, okay? i'll never forgive myself for that, but i miss you." he babbles, his hand inching closer towards yours. "i'm so sorry, i want you, okay, just you." he whispers, his words coming out more like sobs than fully formed sentences. you're about to open your mouth to reply, when jack appears in front of you. you'd texted him to meet you down here. looking to patrick before back up to jack, standing up to kiss his lips. it was a low blow, you knew that, but patrick deserved it. he'd ruined your self-respect, you earned your right to serve his karma to him. patrick doesn't say anything, just watches. watches your hands wrap in his hair, watches your body melt against his, watches his heart get ripped out of his chest. you make eye contact with patrick as you push jack away towards the elevators, his face emotionless.

it was fate. horrible, twisted fate that patrick would draw jack in the quarter finals. everyone was backing jack to win, he was on paper the better player. more pragmatic, less chaotic than patrick. but patrick knew he had a point to prove. his eyes immediately found you in the stands at he walks out onto the court, his smirk present as he sets down his things. you're sat with a few of the friends you've made during the tour, barely able to focus on the conversation around you, eyes darting between patrick and jack sitting before you on the court. thwaccckkkk! your nails are half bitten off by the end of the first set, your heart in your chest at the end of the second. 6-2, 6-4. one set each. patrick was playing more erratically than usual, his curls slick to his forehead, sweat dripping down his chin. thwaccckkkk! patrick's eyes dart to you. "game, set, match, zweig." patrick's body slumps to the floor, his arms resting on his knees, catching his breath before walking across the court to shake jack's hand. his eyes dart up to you again, to your empty seat. his eyes search for you, catching a glimpse of you exiting the stands. slumping down onto the floor again, thinking how it didn't mean anything. his win, to you, met nothing.

it's 10pm when you hear the knocking on your hotel door, jumping up from your place on the bed, opening the door to patrick. ready to close the door on him before he barges in. "i fucking won, and you just leave?" his voice already raised, facing you as you close the door. "so what?" you scoff, arms crossed against your chest. "i won, i beat him." his tone angry, his chest already pounding. "i didn't realise you were playing for my attention." your words are sharp, cutting through to him. "of course i fucking was!" patrick shouts, his body only two foot away from your own. "everything i do is to get your attention." his voice still raised. your lips are flat, just staring at him, but eyes still soft. "you are killing me." he almost whispers. "patrick, this was never going to end well, just look at how we started." your voice starts to increase in volume, fed up of this wounded puppy display patrick is showing. "i don't want it to end at all." you're both shouting now, not caring about who can hear through the hotel walls. "this is fucking ridiculous, i'm not your girlfriend, never fucking was." you spit your words out, arms dropping to your sides. "i'm not the only one who was cheating, you know? or did you forget that when you jumped on your high horse?" patrick's words are pointed, his body stepping closer towards you. "yeah, but i actually dumped my boyfriend! for you, patrick!"

he doesn't know how, he doesn't remember telling his body to move, but he definitely doesn't mind that it did. his hands are cupped around your face, his lips smashed into yours. you push yourself off of him, looking into his eyes before immediately crashing your lips back onto his. it's messy, tongues slipping over each others, your hands grabbing at the fabric around his waist. "tell me you want me." patrick mumbles into your mouth, his hands moving to grip at the hairs on your scalp. a grumble falls from you, your tongue pushing further into patrick's mouth before he pulls your head away by your hair. forcing your eyes to look to his, his fist balled around your hair. "tell me you fucking want me." you want to punch the smirk off his face, your breath heavy as you stare into his half-lidded eyes. "i want you." he pulls your head back further. "tell me again." your mouth agape, a quiet whimper escaping you. "i want you." you moan out, his grip loosening as his lips attach to yours again, only parting to pull your t-shirt over your head. "good girl." he whispers, as your fingers pull his shirt off his body. it's moments before patrick reaches down, hooking your thighs under his grip, lifting you up and walking over to the bed. his lips only detaching from yours when he throws your body down onto the mattress. patrick's eyes are dark as he crawls over your body, his lips kissing up from your stomach before he reaches your neck. propped up on your elbows as his mouth nips and sucks at the base of your neck, quiet hums of pleasure from you rush to his ears like it's the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "missed your skin." he mumbles against your jaw, wrapping his lips around your earlobe. "shut up." you groan, your head angling to expose more of your neck to him.

"oh, you wanna be a little brat do you?" his evil smirk shows again, fingers digging into the sides of your wrists as he pins them up above your head. he manoeuvres to capture your wrists with one of his hands as the other pushes your shorts down to your knees, slipping his hand into your panties, groaning as he feels your wetness. using his knee to push your legs apart, your shorts bunching at your ankles as you free your feet from the pool of fabric. "so wet for me already." he teases, his fingers sliding through your folds as he starts circling your clit. patrick's mouth sucking on the skin of your collarbone as you struggle trying to free your arms from his grip. all he does is push your wrists further into the mattress, his fingers digging into your skin. his eyes glare into yours as he watches every expression you make, not daring to look away as the pace of his fingers speeds up. "mmm, so close," you mumble, your back arching before patrick rips his fingers away, letting go of your wrists at the same time. "what the fuck." you grumble, a slight pout on your lips, only causing an evil chuckle from patrick. "you don't get to cum until i'm inside you." he smirks, ripping your panties down your legs before standing up to pull his shorts down his legs along with his underwear. "you're so fucking annoying." you continue complaining as patrick crawls over your body again, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "why are you so desperate to fuck me then?"

your mouth opens to reply, words inching out as patrick's hand wraps around your throat. "shut the fuck up." he smirks, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck as you fight for breath. your hand moves to grip as his wrist, watching as patrick lets a glob of spit drip from his mouth down onto your cunt. sitting himself up on his knees, your thighs resting against his as his free hand drifts to rub his cock against you. smearing his spit into your wetness, teasing your entrance as he pushes himself in an inch. your head pushing back into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed as you attempt to ask him for more. "look at me." he orders, his eyes dark and half-lidded as you eventually look to him. "good girl." he groans as he slides himself in fully. patrick finally removes his hand from your throat, moving to squeeze the flesh of your thighs as he fucks you without mercy. his nails cutting into your skin as moans echo around the room, his body falling on top of yours as you clench around him. his forehead pressed against yours, open mouthed kisses pressed to your jaw. your arms wrapped around his body, clawing at his shoulder blades as your legs move to trap his body against yours. sucking bruises onto patrick's neck as his hips smash against yours repeatedly. he groans as he slides out you, flipping your body over and pulling your ass up against him. barely being able to register what's happened by the time his cock slides into you again, scrambling to prop yourself up onto all fours. thwaccckkkk! the sound of his open palm against your ass sends a shiver down your arching spine, as loud moans escape your throat. patrick spanks the flesh of your ass again before grabbing a handful of your hair, pulling your chest up closer to his body. patrick's grunts fill your ears as the hand on your ass reaches below you, his fingers drawing circles against your clit. his teeth nipping at the skin on your shoulder as he pulls you closer, your back flush against his chest. patrick can tell you're close to the edge, feeling the way you clench around him and the volume of your moans getting louder.

"cum for me baby, be a good little girl and cum for me." patrick mumbles against your skin, licking the skin of your neck. his words force you to let go, an almost scream leaving your lips as your body nearly crumbles at the sensation. patrick's grip on your hair keeping you upright, humming into your neck. he lets you ride out your high before pushing your chest down into the mattress, his big hands gripping at the sides of your body under your arms as he fastens his pace. your face near enough buried in the mattress as you turn to try and look up to him behind you, patrick groaning louder as you do. "so fucking pretty like this." he murmurs, nails digging into your flesh as he slams his hips against your ass once more, filling your insides with his load. "jesus fucking christ." patrick groans as his body falls flat on top of you, panting as he places sloppy kisses to your back. feeling his load start to drip down you as he slides out and falls to the side of you.

your bodies are bruised and scratched, staring into each others eyes as you both attempt to return your breathing to a normal pace. patrick leans over, kissing your lips sweetly as you manoeuvre onto your side. "i take it that means you and jack aren't a thing, right? or did you just cheat on another boyfriend?" patrick almost laughs at himself, as you swat his arm. "you're such an asshole." you laugh, shaking your head at him. this is what he'd missed. your laugh, the way you looked at him, you being the only person in the world who could put him in his place. the way you put up with him, how you always knew what to say. moving to brush his curls off his forehead, letting your fingers rest against his cheek, slowly caressing his skin. "i meant what i said, that i just want you." patrick whispers, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "i know." you smile, your thumb still rubbing back and forth on his face. the silence is comfortable, eyes locked on each other, peaceful. waking up the next morning, it's as though everything has fallen back into place. patrick joins you training, returns to his regular position opposite you on the practise courts. there's no conversations about your relationship, patrick's too scared to ask. too scared to question, he doesn't want to risk pushing you away again.

thwaccckkkk! sitting in the box with patrick's coaches and the rest of his team, watching patrick play in his first final of his professional career. you'd unfortunately been knocked out during the semi-finals, meaning the rest of your time during the tournament was spent helping patrick prepare. you could tell patrick was nervous, despite no one else picking up on it. to the average eye, he was calm, playing as chaotically controlled as usual. sweat was dripping from every inch of his skin, his black tank stuck to his chest as he rolled the racket between his hands. patrick was a set up against his opponent, he'd won six games to four. his eyes glance over to the box, listening to his coach's advice, letting his eyes wander to you as he does. the silence is almost eery, not that he wasn't used to it during matches, but the silence before serves is when he really considers his surroundings. he's in the final, his first final. he's a set up, he could actually win this. you're a wreck, anxiously watching from the stands as patrick wins another game. a smirk rushes onto your face, watching patrick hit a tweener, to win the match. jumping up to your feet with his team as the crowd erupts. it's as though patrick doesn't register it, until he looks at you. his racket drops from his hands, falling onto his knees, letting the wash of emotion rush over him. he shakes his opponent's hand before security bring him through the crowd to his team. engulfed in hugs by his coaches, shouting how proud they are of him before he escapes their grip. moving down to you, his arms wrapping around you as he lifts you up to the air. "i knew you'd win." you giggle into his ear as he places you down onto the ground, his teethy grin not leaving his face. his hands stay wrapped around you as his lips crash into yours, in the middle of the crowd, in front of cameras from every angle. "i can't believe you just did that." you smile, blush creeping onto your cheeks as you feel every set of eyes on you. "what? i can't kiss my girl after winning my first title?" patrick chuckles, hands pulling you flush against him. "oh, your girl, huh?" you laugh, hands snaking around his neck, his lips grazing yours as he speaks. "you know you're mine."

[ninyard]

do you perhaps have any thoughts on kevin telling wymack about kayleigh's letter? it's just so interesting to me and i'm so sad we didn't get to see it :(

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG <33 I wanted to do this justice and although i feel like there's a different way it could've gone, I feel like this is... one of the options at least

-

Kevin's hands shook so badly when he knocked on his coach's office door, that the first knock of knuckles on wood hardly made a sound at all. That could've been a sign to walk away, but instead he knocked again. David looked up from whatever papers he was rummaging through to see Kevin in the doorway, and he sat back, waiting for him to explain his presence.

It was an age before Kevin found his voice, "Do you have a minute?"

"Am I going to regret it?" Wymack crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his chair over to get a better look at him, while he shut the door behind him.

"Are you busy?" Kevin asked instead, and stepped into the room so slowly he felt like he was barely moving at all.

"I'm always busy," He answered, his eyes following Kevin as he sat down. "But right now, no, I'm not. Everything okay?"

Kevin looked at the floor, his cheeks burning with an unyielding anxiety that he couldn't control, worse for every second longer that he looked into Wymack's eyes without telling him the truth.

"I wanted to talk to you about something." Kevin tried, sitting forward in the chair across from his desk. "But I don't know where to start."

"Are you quitting?"

Kevin exhaled through his nose. "No."

"Is it Edgar Allan related?"

"No, it's not."

"Is anyone dying?"

"No, Coach."

Wymack held out his hands and shrugged his shoulders with a pout, "So, what's there to be worried about?"

Kevin hesitated before looking up at him. He really has no idea. Guilt burnt it's way up his throat, guilt for what he was about to say, for what he was about to do.

Do or die. Now or never.

Kevin took another deep breath and prepared himself for the worst.

"It's about my mom."

David paused for a second before shifting in his chair, a twitch in his eyebrows as he tried to read Kevin's face.

"Okay,” Wymack said. “What do you want to know?”

“No, it’s…” Kevin sighed in frustration. A part of him wished he'd written a script, or perhaps left the letter anonymously on his desk for him to find later. Anything that would save him from having this conversation unprepared. Unprepared still, even after he'd spent years thinking about how he would say it. But that wasn't fair, and the longer he waited, the worse it would be.

At least it was easy to forgive his silence when he didn't physically have the letter in South Carolina, but Neil had pulled away the safety net of distance by delivering him the letter, and he couldn't put it off any longer..

“I actually want to tell you something.”

Wymack didn’t understand, and it was written all over his face - he knew that Kevin never really knew his mom, and what he knew he hardly remembered, and what he remembered only existed in flashes and feelings. What could Kevin possibly tell him that he didn't already know?

It was a moment before he made any movement, but looking at Kevin, he held a hand up and raised his eyebrows, "Well?"

"My mom wrote me a letter," Kevin started, as Wymack slowly leaned back into his seat. "I don't know when, or if I was supposed to even see it, or..." Kevin reminded himself to breathe. "She wrote about you."

David exhales a short laugh from his nose, "And what did she say?"

He smiled like he was waiting for a joke to come, like he knew exactly what she could've said. Kevin wasn't sure if there was something in the look on his face, but as he felt every drop of blood in his body draining down into his shoes, David's small smile faded.

"Can I just give it to you?" Kevin said, after another agonising minute of trying to find the right thing to say. "And I don't know how I want you to react, David, I don't know how you're going to feel or what you're going to think. You don't have to say anything, okay? Please don't."

Wymack straightened up again, his smile gone and replaced with an uncomfortable frown. He repeated Kevin, an inquisitive statement, "You don't want me to say anything?"

"Or do, I don't know." Kevin took the letter from his pocket, and it was only then that he realised just how badly he was shaking. David's eyes flickered down to the practically vibrating piece of paper in his hands. "Just... Don't feel like you have to, I guess."

David extended his hand Kevin's way again, but Kevin felt frozen in place. His heart was pounding in his throat, like this was one of the biggest secrets he'd ever kept being spilled out, right in front of his eyes. And it was just that, really, something he'd kept buried deep. This secret was his mother's, not his, and perhaps that made it worse. She decided to keep David in the dark, her burden to bear that he was left out of the loop, but now, Kevin sat there, the truth in his hands, doing his mother's dirty work.

There was no going back once he handed that letter over. There was no pretending he didn't know, there was no more blissful ignorance. Kevin knew that handing over that letter would change Wymack's life - it would turn everything he knew about himself, and Kayleigh, and Kevin on it's head. In just a minute or two more, he would be a father. It would change his relationship with Abby, his relationship with Kevin. It would posthumously change his relationship with Kayleigh, because once Kevin handed it over, he would be a dad, and she had kept that from him. But right then, before the paper left Kevin's hands, he wasn't. For a moment more, he had no idea what the words trembling in Kevin's hands said. It was hard to soak that in when he could barely focus at all.

"You're freaking me out now, kid." David leaned forward, an awkward laugh behind his smile. He was just about able to reach the paper that Kevin held, but he hovered his hand over it instead. "May I?"

When Kevin meekly nodded, he took the letter, and Kevin's stomach finally gave out. He brought his hand up to his mouth to cover the gag that threatened to leave his lunch on the floor. David didn't notice. He sat back instead, smiling as he read the writing that he recognised, the tone just like how she used to speak, presumably.

"She-" He started, a joke or a memory on the tip of his tongue, and Kevin knew where in the letter he was. He knew where he had gotten to, because David's smile was quickly wiped away as he froze, still like a mannequin, exhaling a breath through his now open lips. His eyes were frantic as they skimmed over words that were almost meaningless after what he'd just read.

He flipped the page over, probably waiting to find "Just kidding!" written on the back. But it wasn't there, and he wouldn't find it, and the words wouldn't change no matter how many times he reread them to make sure. Kevin already knew that to be true.

After far too long, he quietly asked, "Where did you get this?"

"She left it with the Master." Kevin swallowed, his mouth dry. "I found it a few years ago."

"A few-" David said, like he'd been punched in the stomach. His words were cut off in his throat as he tried to find something to say. "Who..."

Kevin shoved his shaking hands under his thighs, and bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from crying. He could feel all of these bottled up feelings bubbling in his chest, but when he said he didn't know how he wanted David to react, he meant it. That didn't mean that he wasn't hurt by the silence that fell over the room, that he wasn't hurt by the worry that painted over his face. David wasn't smiling, but he wasn't angry. He wasn't happy, or upset, either. His face was unreadable. Maybe it would be easier if his feelings were clear. Maybe rage would be easier to swallow than shock.

"Jesus," David sighed, and ran a hand down his face. He dropped the letter on the desk, shutting his eyes for a moment.

"You don't have to say anything," Kevin said again, his voice shaking now too, and finally he looked up. Finally he looked into Kevin's eyes, only visible for just a second until they filled with tears that he couldn't hold back. "I just... thought you deserved to know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," He nodded and looked up at the ceiling. Kevin wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. He didn't look back at Kevin when he quietly asked, "Who else knows?"

"Jean, Riko," Kevin put a hand on his chest. Any longer and his heart would be on the table in between them. "And... Neil. But he hasn't told anyone, I promise."

"You told Neil?" It was almost angry, but more tired than anything else. Like all his energy had been sucked out of him by reading just a few words on a page.

"No, Coach, I didn't," Kevin was quick to clear up the assumption. He sniffed, and David pursed his lips as Kevin tried to talk through the tears that spilled down his cheeks, unstoppable, guilt filled. "He found the letter over the holidays and he brought it back here with him. I'm sorry."

David sighed again, and after a long and terrible pause, he said, "Kevin, I need a minute."

Kevin tried to find just an ounce of something in his words, a speck of relief, or reassurance, or anything that would make Kevin feel even just a little bit better about the decision he'd made. His hand was forced, in a way, twisted behind his back as Neil pushed him into Wymack's office to tell him the truth.

"Okay," Kevin agreed, and picked the letter up to replace it back into his pocket. "I'm sorry."

"Stop that," David clicked his tongue and waved him off. "I just need time to think."

Kevin nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get up. He crossed the room, the weight of the conversation left unspoken pulling him back, begging to be understood and spoken about and explained over and over. But he had to go. David needed space, and he needed time. It wasn't fair to expect anything else from him.

The door had just about closed before he had sighed again.

"Kev," He crossed his arms, and Kevin turned to look at him, holding the door open with an outstretched hand. "We'll talk later."

"Sure." He nodded with a teary exhale. He wasn't sure if what he felt was relief or not, but it was something, as it always was. Perhaps it was just the reassurance of a conversation to be had, instead of a topic that would be buried and forgotten, living on through his mother's faded handwriting and the very few people who knew.

"Just not right now," David clarified with a weak and desperate smile.

"Okay." Kevin's lip trembled. "Thank you, Coach."

David looked between Kevin's eyes for a moment longer before he gestured to him that that was all. He reached for the phone in front of him as Kevin quietly shut the door. The door was too thick and the ringing in his ears too loud for him to eavesdrop on what was being said or who he was talking to. Kevin used the collar of his t-shirt to wipe his eyes again.

They'd talk about it later.

Kevin did the only thing that he knew he could do, and he jogged down to the court. Andrew would kill him for being on the court without gear, a practice racquet in his hands that hadn't been stored away earlier. Coach would kill him for firing shots without a helmet on, but still Kevin dropped a ball in his net, and with his left hand, he fired towards the goal until it lit up red, until all that was left in his head was red lights and loud buzzers, and the bouncing of a ball against plexiglass.

[icarryitin]

Hell Hath No Fury

spencer reid/gn!reader

THE CANYOUNIVERSE RETURNS FROM WAR🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

series masterlist

word count: 1.5k // warnings: a couple of swears, ya boy gets anthraxed bc we’re getting into canon events now, Foreshadowing™️ (is it foreshadowing if i’ve already posted the part that’s foreshadowed??)

summary: Spencer forgets to use his brain (again), puts his life on the line (again), and it’s down to you to remind him (again).

“I’ve got Reid on the line for you.”

Something about the way Penelope’s voice trips over his name makes your blood run cold. It’s not unusual for her to pass someone over, but it’s different this time - you can feel it in the pit of your stomach.

“Hey, you.”

Spencer barely manages to suppress a cough as he greets you over the line, and that’s how you know you’re right. God, you hate being right.

His exposure is minimal.

We can’t be sure it’s the new strain.

He dosed up with the rest of us.

You know why your team leader decided not to tell you just how bad it is but oh, Hotch is getting an earful when this is over - and he’s not the only one. Because while you’re quietly seething, while the remainder of your lunch is rolling around in your stomach, Spencer Reid is asking if you’ll check in on his mother for him. Just in case anything happens. Yeah, like you’d let it. The universe, God, whatever forces that be? They’ll have to go through you first if they want to get to him.

“I don’t think you get a dying wish if you’re not actively dying.” You sound braver than you feel, phone firmly held to your ear as you slide behind the wheel of your car. Nichol’s address isn’t far from here, Emily and Rossi can handle whatever lies within Chad Brown’s house by themselves. You have bigger fish to fry.

Fish that have a penchant for throwing themselves in front of bullets and unsubs and into anthrax riddled houses.

“But you’ll do it?” He asks, choking back yet another hacking cough that sets your teeth on edge. Of course you will, it’s a ridiculous question. You’ll call and you’ll visit and you’ll write, what’s another letter in the mail after every case anyway?

“Obviously I’ll do it,” Your eye roll is audible, you’re sure of it, “But you’re not dying, Spencer.”

You don’t say goodbye before hanging up, because you don’t need to. Because he’s going to be fine. Of course he is, frankly he’s got no choice in the matter. Even if the number of hazmat trucks at Nichols’ house sends your heart leaping into your throat.

“Respectfully, sir,” You call across the lawn the moment you’re out of the car, squinting in the sun, “You’re full of shit.”

Hotch’s face doesn’t move, but you’ve been at this long enough to register his tell. A split second twitch of his fingers grasped around his phone - he meant well, keeping the severity of the situation from you, most likely because he knew you’d drop everything. And here you are anyway, so much for his genius plan.

Speaking of genius…

You follow the trail of CDC officers, suited and booted from top to tail in PPE around you, through the maze of tents until you spot Derek - arms folded, signature eyebrows furrowed in frustration at whoever stands behind the flimsy plastic shield. As if you didn’t already know.

Spencer Reid looks reminiscent of a kicked puppy on a good day, and getting hosed down in a hazmat tent does him no favours in that department. Soaked to the bone and shivering, the state of him does nothing to quell your frustration at his actions. If anything, it starts to boil over because - well, doesn’t he know? That you’d only feel like half a person without him beside you at the round table or in the bullpen? That the early Sunday morning breakfasts keep you sane? That he’s your best friend in the world and if anything, anything, ever happened to him you wouldn’t know how to exist?

“You,” You’re breathless, suddenly, in the face of it all, “Are fucking in for it.”

He has the decency to shrink back a little from the heat of your anger and the accusatory finger you’re pointing at him, even though there’s a layer of protective plastic between you. Even Derek takes a step away from where you’ve sidled up beside him. And you let rip.

Because, for the smartest guy in every room, how could he be so stupid? Walking into a place that is almost definitely poisoned with no protective equipment is basically step one of the ‘How To Die Immediately, For Dummies’ handbook. Staying in that place is even more ridiculous.

Spencer’s relief in seeing you outweighs the anxiety tensing his muscles, even if you are bussing with the fury of a poked wasp’s nest, even if it is his fault. The very real possibility that he might have finally signed his own death warrant is softened by the sight of you, warped as it might be through the tent’s window. He finds the water warmer, the brushes softer, the incessant scrubbing gentler, just by watching you. Even your yelling is reassuring, because it means he’s not dead yet. He gets to watch you a little longer. He’s not so far gone that he misses the sunlight catching in your eyes as you rant and rave at him. It isn’t the first time you’ve struck him as beautiful, and it won’t be the last, but it doesn’t paralyse him anymore. He’s long since come to terms with that fact, Although, the thought might be a little misguided given your anger at his poor decision making.

But it’s not anger, it’s fear.

The same kind of fear that grips his heart in cold hands every time you end up on the wrong side of a gun, it’s not unfamiliar. Although Spencer’s never been on the receiving end of it from you. The fear of a loss that might be just too great to overcome, amongst all the others. You’ve mentioned, in passing, the friends that have moved on or married or simply faded away in the years you’ve been with the Bureau - it’s not uncommon, the job becomes a person’s whole life and anyone who claims otherwise is a liar. He knows it as well as anyone. You have each other, you have the team, they’re your family as much as they are his and - a nudge at his shoulder breaks his reverie.

“Can we talk about this later? I need, uh,” He struggles, there’s no way to put it delicately, “They need to scrub me down properly.”

“Well I’m not finished, so start stripping, Doctor.”

It’s his race against time versus your stone cold fury - unstoppable force, meet immovable object. Because you’re not budging, just standing there expectantly with your arms folded over your chest. Morgan breaks the stalemate after a long minute of eye contact, hands on your shoulders, steering you away with a meet you at the hospital thrown over his shoulder at Spencer. Ever the mediator.

“That was a bit dramatic, I know.”

“A bit?” Derek exclaims, and you spare yourself the embarrassment of looking him in the eye.

You’re not sure how you manage to blag your way out of the final takedown, but you do. An argument made for having a presence at the hospital, making sure the victims have received the suspected antidote, that it’s working; you decide to leave out the fact that the only thing your brain is capable of right now is wondering if Spencer is choking to death yet.

Hotch finds you after it all, sitting on a bench in the hall outside Spencer’s room. Feet tapping nervously on the floor, you’d slipped out as the doctor came in to check his numbers - you made it in the front door, you’re pretty sure you’ll be forgiven for missing out on all the needle sticking. You’re trying to collect your thoughts enough to articulate a sentence, something calm and composed instead of the anger that almost boiled over earlier. And he waits, because he knows. There’s a lot of people in this world who have a lot to say about Aaron Hotchner, but not a single one of them can claim he doesn’t know his team inside out.

“I know why you downplayed things, but this team is my family. I don’t have anybody else,” you look him dead in the eye, unwavering, even though your words tremble ever so slightly, “And I will not be lied to about it.”

There’s a beat of silence; long enough for both of you to acknowledge that he can’t promise you anything, and then he relents.

“Understood.”

You leave him sitting on the bench, digesting your words in the hustle of the hallway, in favour of the uncomfortable armchair at Spencer’s bedside. Derek joins you after a little while, and you greet him with a soft smile as he settles into the chair on Spencer’s other side. One he returns, as he always does, and you settle back into the silence. It’s a waiting game now.

“There’s an ass kicking coming your way, I hope you know that.”

Spencer has barely opened his eyes when he hears your voice, floating somewhere to his left, over the steady beeping of machines and muffled chatter. The hospital, he’s at the hospital. He’s at the hospital, and you’re here, and Morgan’s here, because //of course// you are. Where else would either of you be?

“Can it wait until I’m out of here?” His voice is hoarse at first, but it’s enough to get a giggle out of both his visitors.

“Well yeah,” You couldn’t keep the fond smile off of your face if you tried, relieved that his sense of humour has made it through intact, “I want a fair fight.

if you’ve stuck around for my 3 months of radio silence, i am kissing you on the mouth🧡🧡🧡

[hutchersonsgurl]

Out of the Shadows - Daryl dixion

paring fem reader & Daryl Dixon

summary: you and Daryl have been seeing each other for a couple months but he never said i love you

warning: none

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the world in hues of gold as you and Daryl dipped under the broken fence lining the Greene farm. The tranquility of the countryside felt like a distant memory compared to the chaos that lurked beyond its edges. Surrounded by the chaos of the undead, you had carved out a little corner of normalcy here, even if it was fraught with tension and higher stakes than ever before.

You and Daryl had been through a lot in the last few months, the bond between you stretching beyond friendship into something more confusing—something that sizzled just beneath the surface. When Daryl had first suggested, rather awkwardly, that you two could help each other out in "some ways," it had seemed like a harmless enough arrangement. But now, watching him adjust the straps on his crossbow with that familiar frown etched on his forehead, you wondered if your friendship could ever really go back to what it was before.

“Are you ready?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you. His voice was steady, perhaps a little more composed than how you felt. You nodded, pushing aside your swirling thoughts and focusing on the task at hand. The grocery store loomed before you, a hulking skeleton of its former self, but it was full of potential supplies that could save lives.

As you stepped through the threshold, it felt eerily quiet. The aisles were toppled and littered with cans and wrappers. You took a deep breath, the stale air heavy with the scent of decay, and pushed forward.

After some searching, you began gathering canned goods, medical supplies, and whatever else you could find. Daryl moved through the isles with a predator’s grace, his sharp eyes continually scanning for danger. You admired his focus; it was part of why you were drawn to him.

“There’s gotta be more in the back,” he said, pointing toward a set of swinging doors at the end of the aisle. You felt a thrill of anticipation coupled with a tinge of unease. This was the longest you had been on a supply run in a while, and the store had been silent far too long.

“Let’s check it out; we can’t leave any good stuff behind,” you suggested, heart racing. You wanted to impress him, to prove that you could handle yourself out here.

With a nod, you approached the swinging doors and, with one swift motion, pushed them open.

The sight beyond those doors sent a chilling jolt through your body. A horde of walkers shuffled in the dim light, their grotesque forms shuffling aimlessly. You barely had time to register their existence before Daryl was at your side, crossbow raised, ready for action.

“Back up!” he shouted, shoving you gently behind him. The moment hung in the air before chaos erupted. You seized your knife, your instincts kicking in. Daryl took out the first walker with expertise, his aim true, but there were too many—more than you had anticipated.

You ducked under a flailing arm, slicing your knife into the side of a walker’s head, its putrid weight collapsing to the ground. Daryl's movements were fluid, almost choreographed as he covered your blind spots.

“We gotta get outta here!” he barked, his eyes fierce with determination. You nodded, adrenaline flooding your veins, and together fought off the growing swarm, pushing your way back toward the entrance you had come through.

Each step felt heavy as you battled your way towards the door. You worked in sync, a rhythm established through countless hours at the Greene farm. It wasn’t just about survival now; it was about protecting him, just as he had protected you.

Suddenly, you stumbled, a sharp pain shooting through your leg as one of the walkers latched onto you, its rotten teeth gnashing just inches away. Daryl was there in an instant, wrenching the walker away and dispatching it with a brutal thrust of his knife.

“Get up!” he urged, pulling you to your feet again. You won’t let him down; you wouldn’t let either of you down.

The two of you barreled for the opening, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You felt breathless as you fought to the front of the store and burst through the doors, leaving the throng of walkers behind in the dusty gloom.

Once outside, you sprinted toward the truck, gasping for breath. Daryl slammed the door shut just as a few stragglers lunged at the vehicle. Hearts pounding, you both sank against the truck, the adrenaline slowly fading.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, a seldom-seen relief washing over his features. “Thought we were done for.”

You smiled weakly, still feeling the rush of adrenaline. “I could’ve handled it,” you teased.

“Yeah, like hell you could,” he shot back, a smirk finally crossing his lips, melting some of the tension that had built between you.

Returning to the Greene farm felt surreal. You had faced death together and survived. Only moments later, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the fields, you found yourself alone with Daryl by the barn. The silence wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“Listen…,” he began, his voice halting. He avoided your gaze, focusing on a distant horizon, but you could see the weight of emotions in his expression. “I... I need to tell you something.”

Your heart raced. Was he finally going to say it? Your breaths came in shallow bursts, the entire world narrowing down to just the two of you.

“I never thought I could let someone in like this,” he confessed, finally meeting your eyes. “But I do care about you, more than… more than I thought was possible in this messed up world."

You felt your heart leap. “Daryl…”

“I love you,” he rushed out, the words tumbling from his lips. His gaze was fierce, raw with vulnerability. “I don’t just want to be friends or whatever. I want you.”

It felt like time stopped. You took a slow breath, allowing his confession to wash over you. “I love you too, Daryl,” you admitted, sincerity resonating through every word.

" it took you us almost getting killed by walkers to tell me you love me " you tease

"Hey I told ya I ain't good at these types of things" Daryl answered

First fic in awhile! I'm slowly getting back into this but hope y'all like it

[dwonfilm]

Teaching tech. | Soldier Boy x Reader

Summary: Butcher tasked you with the job of teaching a freshly thawed Ben, aka Soldier Boy, how to use technology. First off you started with teaching him about the iPhone.

Warnings: bit of Solider Boy being Soldier Boy but otherwise, mostly fluff.

“Dammit!” [Y/N] heard Ben’s voice from the other room and she sighed. Next was a smash and that made her rush back into the bedroom. Immediately Ben’s eyes lifted up to see her coming in and he scoffed. “I didn’t break the cocksucking thing this time.” He stated plainly. “Good,” she answered. “I don’t have the money to buy you a fourth phone.” She moved to sit on the bed next to where he was currently sitting. “This shit ain’t a phone, it’s a thin ass rock with futuristic shit inside. Phones have a base and a receiver or they were these massive bricks with buttons—not whatever the fuck a touch screen is-“ Ben ranted, but [Y/N] just laughed. “Yeah, they were those things once but this is 2022. Life’s changed a lot and eventually you’re gonna need to learn all these things.” She spoke, picking up the phone that was on the bed between them, swiping up to unlock it. Bits of her [Y/H/C] hair covered her face while her attention focused on the screen. Ben just watched, a grumpy expression on his facial features. “How’d you get stuck doing this anyway? Where’s the Cum Guzzler or the Cheerio?” She laughed, Ben’s nicknames for people were always pretty humorous. “Hughie is scared of you and Butcher can barely explain anything in the entire history of life’s existence.” Ben gently laughed at her answer. Fingers moved across the screen, making selections that she didn’t think were necessary to explain to him at the moment. “So, the bean pole’s afraid of me huh?” He asked, not really expecting an answer. However it did bring up another question. “Why aren’t you scared of me?” His tone seemed indifferent but there was a hint of something more inside his eyes. Something she was oblivious to since her own were focused on the screen of the phone in her hands. Though, she slowly gazed up from it for a moment. “Honestly,” she began with a pause directly after. It was as if she was attempting to think about how to answer him. “I was at first, a little bit, but I just try to sympathize.” He scoffed almost immediately. “You sympathize with a piece of shit like me? No wonder it’s so easy to get you women in the sack. Jesus Chris-“ She turned her head and shot a glare at him. “You can sympathize with people without wanting to fuck them, for starters.” She rolled her eyes, moving her gaze back to the phone in her hands. “No one’s perfect, not that it’s excusing.. well everything. Despite all that, no one here has any real room to judge too harshly.” Ben quirked a brow at that. “That so? Don’t tell me a pretty lil’ thing like you has baggage!” Part of him was sort of mocking her, though he was getting curious. “Moving on, I made the email for you and set up an account for you to use the phone.” She began to explain, looking over to him but finding a confused expression on his face. “E-what?” He asked plainly, green eyes gazing into her own. “Right, I forgot you have no grasp on the basics.” She turned towards him now.

“Email is pretty easy, it’s like sending letters to people—only digitally and in a much faster time period. It used to take y’know, days, weeks for those to be delivered. Now it just takes seconds—also instead of a home address you just need their email address. Does that make sense at least somewhat?” Her voice was gentle, not sarcastic or cruel. [Y/E/C] eyes meeting his green ones as he was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I guess.. I mean it seems straightforward enough—though doing that stupid shit is gonna be harder than understanding what the fuck it is.” He answered. “Well, yeah, but we’ll get there.” [Y/N] offered a half smile at him. “No one’s asking you to be Steve Jobs after a day,” she tried to encourage him but his face was blank yet again. “Who the fuck is that?” He asked, to which she sighed gently. “…never mind, it’s not important. What I meant is that none of us are expecting you to know how to use it all within the blink of an eye.” She replied before moving her gaze back to the phone. He peered over at the phone while knitting his brows together. None of it made any sense to him. Now the screen was black again, before the stupid symbol popped up. “..the fuck is it doing now?” He asked, moving his glance to her face. “It’s updating the software,” she spoke before shifting it to an analogy he’d understand. “..which is like maintenance on a car kind of—it makes sure everything’s working and also is.. replacing the parts in a sense. Fixing things that weren’t working and replacing them with things that will work and hopefully work better.” It took a second, but the analogy did help. “Makes sense I guess.” He spoke, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes watched for a moment before he became bored, so, he did what he usually did and turned his attention to whoever was occupying the space with him. “So tell me, how’d a gorgeous gal like you get tangled up with a fucker like Butcher anyhow?” She laughed softly but she didn’t look up at him this time. Mostly to hide the fact that she was blushing just a little. [Y/N] knew that she shouldn’t be feeling this way, by all accounts this man was still Soldier Boy. He wasn’t a good person, but the more she spent time with him the more she realized he was letting her see the man behind the persona and maybe.. maybe there was more than what he’s done in the past. After all she was preaching sympathy just moments prior. “Flattery will not get you out of the tech lesson, but since it’s updating you’ve got a little wiggle room.” She took a gentle breath before beginning to tell a very condensed version of events. “Becca, Butcher’s wife, she was my mom’s best friend. When my mom got killed in a car wreck, Becca sort of.. became my maternal figure.” Ben nodded, feeling some of the strings attached to his heart pulling. “I’m sorry about that, doll.” It was the least he could say. “Where the hell was your dad?” He asked, not knowing subtly if it were to bite him on the ass. She sighed gently. “Couldn’t tell you, never met him.” Ben could sympathize with that in a way, his own father being a piece of shit and all. “Sorry ‘bout that too.” He spoke, keeping his gaze on her own. She simply nodded before the phone’s screen lit up in the bright colors again, signifying that the software update had been completed. Picking the phone up, [Y/N] swiped up to begin the process of actually setting things up. “Okay, back to this-“ she spoke but was immediately cut off by Ben’s loud groaning. “Fuck sakes, is this really necessary?” He grumbled, which caused the woman next to him to roll her eyes. “You already know the answer to that.” Again he grumbled, acting like a mix between a grumpy old man and a stubborn child. “If this was forty years ago and some fine piece of ass was trying to tell me I had to do somethin’..” She turned and her [Y/E/C] eyes met his face with a pointed glare. There was a momentary pause as Ben contemplated whether or not to continue.

However, he was mischievous by nature and so he opted to continue on with his train of thought. “..I’d have grabbed her by her pretty little chin and talked her into getting on her knees so I could show her a better way to use that mouth.” [Y/N] again rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she brushed it off and moved on immediately though Ben was wearing a little smirk. “Picturing it, aren’t ya’?” He asked, clearly attempting to make the woman flustered. She turned her gaze back towards him with a blank expression upon her face. “Picturing me, punching you in the face? Absolutely I am.” She answered, which had Ben’s smirk fall completely. “You new age women, chicks in my day would’ve been creaming their panties at the chance to get with Soldier Boy.” Ben grumbled, irritation showing on his face. It was amusing to [Y/N] that he thought he’d get her to crumble so easily. Pushing herself up into a better position she’d lean the phone towards the Supe. “Alright, so I made two emails—one has the Soldier Boy name on it, just in case there’s.. I don’t know people that have business offers or something. Granted, that’s if we all live and you don’t get thrown into jail or whatever they do to other Supes and the other is for, well, more personal shit. That’s the one I was telling you about when I mentioned it initially, the one that’s tied into everything on the phone. I downloaded some stuff but now you need to try it.” She handed the phone over to Ben, praying he wasn’t gonna break this one. It was clear that he was trying to hold it gently, which would’ve made her giggle out loud—however the man was in an overly sensitive state and she wasn’t going to push that. “Alright, so tap the icon that says ‘App Store’ and wait for it to open.” [Y/N]’s voice was gentle and Ben nodded, putting his finger over the square with that name underneath it. However he left it there and so the apps began to all shake. “What the fuck is happening?!” He exclaimed, to which she gently moved her hand and pressed the button labeled ‘done’. Now the apps went back to being still and she sighed. Gently she grabbed his index finger and lightly pulled it towards the screen again, Ben wanted to grumble but he was too distracted by how her fingers felt against his own. Where his skin was rough, battle tested and calloused.. hers was soft, maybe a scar here and there but nothing compared to his and the contrast? It was more enjoyable than he’d ever admit out loud. [Y/N] pulled his finger down toward the screen and gently tapped it against the screen to open the app. “You just gotta tap, see.” She spoke, letting go of his finger. “Huh.” He replied, but it wasn’t very loud. “Now typing on these things is probably gonna annoy you, it annoys us all and we’re used to the technology. Just.. try to not freak out and break it yeah? Shit is easy for you to snap, given y’know..” After she said that, she couldn’t help but to chuckle. When she did Ben felt himself smirking just a little. There was a split second where their eyes met and lingered, before she spoke up again. “Alright, so if you just click on this one it’ll take you to the place where you can download them. I think most things that are necessary for now are already there but I wanted you to know how to do it, so.. you like sports right?” She asked, tone kept gentle. “Uh, yeah, obviously little less on the up and up these days.” He replied, to which she nodded. “Alright well type in ‘MLB’ right there in that search bar, click it first though.” [Y/N] explained and for a moment Ben just stared at her, as if she had three heads. Eventually though he moved his gaze to the phone and tapped the screen over the search bar, which brought up the keyboard. “So.. these fucking things are called apps?” He asked, typing the three letters slowly into the bar and then she pointed to the blue button labeled ‘search’, which he tapped before looking up at her again.

“Yeah, they have one for just about everything these days.” She replied, pointing to the button that said ‘get’. Ben tapped it and the symbol to signify it was downloading appeared. Once it had finished, she smiled slightly before reaching underneath his arm for a second. “So, to close an app, you just swipe up like this.” Gently she placed her thumb on the screen and swiped upward to bring the phone back to the Home Screen. “Now, that closes it for the moment. Swiping up in a short motion brings up all the open ones like this-“ she explained, demonstrating. “Once they’re up like this you can swipe up again and fully close them.” She closed all of the currently open apps to demonstrate to him how to do it. “You really think I’m gonna remember all this shit?” He asked, almost glaring when he looked in her direction. It was a lot of information to take in, so she took a gentle breath and locked the phone. “Okay, fair, let’s take a break then.” [Y/N] placed Ben’s phone on the bed between them and slowly pulled out her own. He couldn’t help it, curiosity took hold and he glanced over. “You can put pictures on that thing?” He asked, noticing her Lock Screen photo of a drawing of the moon. Quirking a brow for a moment, she then figured out what he meant. “Oh, yeah! You can. Did you wanna do that on your phone?” Her voice was sweet as their eyes met yet again, bringing back the slight tension that continued to linger between them. “Fuck it, shit looks better than whatever the fuck it comes with.” He replied after a moment or so of silence. “Do you have anything specific you want?” She reached up with her free hand and tucked some of her [Y/H/C] hair behind her ear. Ben’s expression was pensive for a moment or so as he tried to think of anything he’d like to have as a background on the phone. “I dunno, just find something badass—none o’ that girly shit.” She shook her head before thinking herself, trying to figure out something she could use. “I’m gonna go take a leak.” He spoke up, pushing his frame up and off of the bed before grumbling about something and making his way over to the bathroom door. Once he’d closed it, she thought for another second before smiling to herself. Lifting the phone up at a decent angle, she quickly opened the camera app and primped herself slightly—snapping a couple of pictures of herself right after. Flicking through the few she found the one she liked the most and made it his Lock Screen wallpaper. Thumbs darted across the screen and within another two minutes or so, spent entirely on Google, she’d found a nice photo of Ben’s shield. It worked well for a Home Screen.

It wasn’t long after that [Y/N] heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, seconds passing before the door was pulled open and Ben re-entered the bedroom. Lifting her gaze up to meet him, his green eyes held something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She gently laid his phone onto the mattress and kept her attention on him while he sat back down onto the bed. “Are we doing more of this shit? ‘Cause I think my fuckin’ brain might implode.” His voice was deep, housing a distinct rasp to it. [Y/N] couldn’t help but to chuckle at the old man antics he was displaying before answering the question. “No, I think we’ll save some lessons for another day. After all, there’s much more than just the phone you’re gonna need to learn.” After she’d spoken, he groaned for what felt like the millionth time. “It’s amazing how you bounce between acting like a senior citizen and acting like a teenage boy.” Her voice held a humorous tone as she again chuckled, it was Ben’s turn to now offer her a pointed glare but there was definitely a layer of amusement behind it. Just as he was about to offer up a retort, the bedroom door was pushed open and Butcher popped his head in. “Oi [Y/N], need ya’ to come help Frenchie with a little project.” His accent was thick and his eyes held a wild expression that was pretty standard for the man. [Y/N] sighed and slowly pushed herself up from the mattress, but turned towards Ben with a gentle smile. “If you have any questions just.. come find me.” He nodded, because his brain wasn’t sure how to react to the little smile on her lips. Sure there was a lot of unholy and downright vulgar thoughts swimming around in his noggin about her, there had been since he laid eyes on her—however there was something more that lingered and that was causing a short circuit in his mind. She turned back to the Brit and groaned. “This better not be anything messy because the last time-“ she was cut off by Butcher’s laugh. “It ain’t, I swear.” [Y/N] rolled her eyes as the two left the room, closing the door behind them. After a couple of minutes Ben remembered [Y/N] lecturing him about locking the goddamned phone, but she had left it unlocked. Pushing the button he heard the clicking noise, but tapped onto the screen to make sure he hadn’t accidentally turned it off somehow—and that’s when he saw it. There underneath the time and the other bullshit, was a picture of her and her smiling face. Since he was by himself, he didn’t have his guard up and his lips curled upward into a smile. “Pretty lil’ lady.” He spoke out loud, his heart feeling something he’d not felt in quite some time.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Hi guys! I am soooooo sorry about how long this took. Between writer’s block and my fear of it sucking, I was just struggling for a while. This is my first attempt at writing for Ben so if it’s bad, I’m sorry! He’s a more complex character to nail in writing and hopefully I’ll get better at it over time. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

• —– ٠ tag list: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @stillhere197 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @aylacavebear @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @jc-winchester ✤ ٠ —– • ·

[heartforbangtan]

The only exception | 1

Series Summary: What are the consequences of having your first kiss with your best friend?

Pairing: Park Jimin X Female Reader 

Genre:  Dancer AU, Friends with Benefits, Angst, Smut, Fluff, Romance, Mutual Pining 

Chapter Count: 1 /? (ongoing) 

Word count: 4k+

Content Warnings: anxiety attacks

Tag list

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You got me sippin' on something I can't compare to nothing I've ever known, I'm hoping That after this fever I'll survive  The Heart Wants What It Wants - Selena Gomez 

Current days 

Seoul, South Korea

“Park, you'll be up in 10 minutes”

Jimin hears from his dance instructor as he sits in his dressing room, waiting to perform. He looks in the mirror – his face looks tired, but he needs to give it his all up there on stage, no matter how tired he is.

Agreeing with the instructor, Jimin checks to see if everything is okay with his clothes. The instructor is still at the dressing room door.

“This is your last performance of this season, please do your best.” Jimin hears the man speaking, but tries not to absorb the meaning of the words.

It was always like this. Constantly being held accountable for perfection, as if he didn't already deliver something good enough every time he performed. Deep down, Jimin knew he had gotten himself into this. It wasn't the instructor's fault or the audience's fault for demanding too much. It was only his fault, for having set his standards so high and for having suffered so much to maintain something that is practically impossible to maintain. He’s tired, but he can't stand the idea of ​​failing at something, of not always giving his best.

Jimin sits in front of a mirror in the dressing room while the man stares at him in the mirror, waiting for confirmation from him after his speech. Jimin nods again, silently, praying that he will leave him alone in these last few minutes before the performance. The instructor pats the boy on the shoulder and gives a small smile before walking out the door.

Jimin takes a deep breath and relaxes his shoulders. He needs to concentrate and not focus on what he just heard, so he can do his work without his thoughts getting in the way.

He twists his neck from side to side to crack it. The pain in his neck and shoulder still bothers him, despite the medicine and compresses.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror's reflection. And his face doesn't look pleasant looking at him from the front like that.

Jimin is lost.

When did things become like this?

When he goes up on stage in his all-black outfit, Jimin forgets about all the problems that exist and everything that is bothering him. He hears the voices calling his name in unison and his skin crawls. A feeling that he can't compare to anything else. The only time he is truly happy is here.

He just focuses on the sound of the piano that starts playing, alerting him to start dancing.

And that's how he's been trying not to think about how he no longer sees meaning and purpose in his life. Trying to fool himself with each passing day, with each pain he feels and with each request for more and more perfection.

You sigh heavily and lean back in your chair, stretching. It's almost lunchtime and you're starving.

Before you could get up from your chair to go to lunch early, your boss hurriedly arrived at your desk. You know the way she's acting, and it only means one thing: a new advertising contract for the company.

You take a deep breath and think that at least there will be a distraction to take you out of this endless wave of regrets.

You’re already smiling when she pulls up a chair and sits closer to your desk. Even though she’s your boss, she’s also become a friend, sharing lunches and friday nights after work. So when she comes in excited about a new project, you can’t help but be excited too.

“This well-known agency hired us to advertise one of their dancers.” your boss says with a smile and continues. “And I think you're perfect for what they're asking for, so I've already given them your contact details. This week they're going to schedule a meeting so we can sort everything out.”

You listen carefully and are happy to know that she trusts your work so much that she assigned you directly, without even talking to you first.

“What is the name of the agency?”

“Hybe! Can you believe it?“ Minah continues talking about how happy she was that the company had been recognized by Hybe, which is such a big agency, but you can no longer hear what she was saying.

Your head spins slightly and you feel like you're losing your balance, even though you're sitting in your chair. You try with all your might to focus your eyes on Minah's as she pours all her happiness into you. And you pray that she doesn't notice how disoriented you are by this information.

It was obvious that Hybe had a lot of dancers and just because you could have been assigned to work with any of them didn't mean it had to be him.

“Here, I'll show you a video of their dancer. He's amazing, you have no idea!” Minah was really excited.

She played around on her phone for a few seconds and then pressed play on a video to show you. And the confirmation you needed came like a bucket of cold water. On the screen was a video of Jimin performing on stage. He looked incredible, as always. You had no doubt about that. The black outfit, his hair that was now blond, his dance moves, everything was in perfect harmony. Jimin looked like an angel dancing.

“His name is Jimin. I'm already in love!”

Hearing his name like that was like a knife had been stabbed through your chest.

Your paths went in different directions. You graduated in advertising and continued working in that field, while Jimin decided to study dance at a college far from where you lived. A lot of things happened between you two…

And now you live in Seoul. The same capital that is home to his company.

You hadn't officially cut ties, but a lot had happened between the two of you. It made you sad, sadder than you'd like to admit. Plus, it hurt more and more to see pictures of him with new friends. To know that he was meeting new people and that maybe you weren't missed as much anymore. And you knew that maybe it wasn't healthy to think that way, but you couldn't stop thinking about it.

You know. Deep down you know. Even though you try not to think about it so much and always change the subject when it comes up.

You know that between the two of you it was never just friendship. You also know that maybe it all started on that damn day you decided to kiss. And you also know that the two of you avoid this subject.

Unfortunately, you're too much of a coward to face it and question it. You never had the courage to ask Jimin if he really liked you, or if he wanted something more. To this day you don't know what all that meant to Jimin.

You give Minah your best fake smile and she seems to buy it, still excited about all the news.

“When will be the meeting with them?”

Minah finally comes out of her cell phone trance to look at you.

“Tomorrow!”

You would have less time than you expected to prepare for your meeting again.

It had been a few months since you had stopped following Jimin's performances and news about his life. It was better this way. If you wanted to finally move on, you couldn't stay stuck in this, following his every step every day.

It was a hellish day at work.

When you woke up in the morning you were absolutely certain that it was all just a nightmare and that you wouldn't have to work with Jimin, of all the people in the world.

But your happiness was short-lived when you saw the message on your cell phone, sent a few hours ago.

Best chef 10:44 PM: Hey, I gave your contact to Jimin, okay?? Try to make friends with him, xoxo 😉.

You tried to keep calm by looking at the other unread message you had on your phone.

Unknown Number 03:11AM: We need to talk.

You didn't even need to open the message to know who that number was from that wasn't saved in your contact list. Your eyes closed tightly and you fell back onto the bed with your face buried in the pillow.

You weren't ready to deal with this now. And maybe you never would be ready. Jimin was a sensitive subject in your life. Never in your entire adolescence did you imagine that there would come a day when you would be separated and avoiding each other. Much less did you imagine that you wouldn't even have his contact saved in your list anymore.

By the time the water from the shower hit your body, you had already accepted the reality that you would have to talk to Jimin. If you were going to have to work together, you might as well start interacting. You didn't want this to ruin all your years of hard work. You valued this job and all the opportunities Minah had given you.

As soon as you entered the office, your eyes were drawn straight to the glass-walled meeting room. There he was. Even from the back and with his different hair, you could recognize him. You felt your legs lose their strength and all the courage and determination you had gathered during the morning were gone in the blink of an eye.

Before anyone could see you and say good morning, you ran to the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your breath was getting short. You couldn't afford to have a panic attack in the middle of your shift. You couldn't.

However, as with any other panic attack, the more you think about it, the more you get into it.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you gripped the edge of the sink to keep yourself upright. Your face was red and tears were already filling your eyes, threatening to fall. You thought you had already gotten over that phase of shaking every time Jimin was possibly near or in the same room as you. Apparently the wound was much deeper than you imagined.

The minutes passed by quickly while you were still frozen in the same position, with cold tears streaming down your face. You saw them running down and falling into the sink, not having the courage to look at your own state in the mirror again. You couldn't recognize yourself in those moments.

Outside the bathroom, you could already hear the office getting busier with the arrival of all the employees. You thanked God for having arrived early today, still having a few extra minutes to compose yourself without being late for work.

You took one last deep breath and searched with trembling hands for the bag that you had just thrown on the toilet when you entered the bathroom. You saw on your cell phone that it had already been 15 minutes since the time you arrived.

After taking a few breaths and wiping away your tears, you left the bathroom still a little shaky. You tried to walk silently to your desk, but your coworker could see the expression on your face.

“Good morni-Jesus! It looks like you saw a ghost.” Hana said laughing through her nose and you forced a giggle. This was not a time for jokes.

“Good morning. I think breakfast didn't suit me well’ You lied, sitting at your desk, dropping your bag and turning on your computer.

You didn't have the audacity to look into the meeting room to see if Jimin was still there. But the way you were feeling, you could almost certainly tell that he was still there. Either way, the meeting wouldn't have ended so quickly for him to have already left.

As soon as the computer turned on, you relaxed a little because you had something to distract yourself with, other than thinking about his imminent presence in the same room as you. However, your peace lasted only a few minutes, because soon Hana was already bringing up the subject you most wanted to avoid in your entire existence.

“Have you seen our new client?” She tilted her head to the side.

“Hm, not yet.“ You tried not to give it much importance, but she continued.

“I only saw him from afar, but wow” she made a dramatic pause and you were forced to look at her face. If the situation wasn't like that you would probably laugh at her expression.”He's gorgeous! And he has a beautiful ass!” Hana said more quietly and laughed, putting her hand over her mouth.

You almost choked on what she said. Your eyes widened for a few seconds. You quickly turned your face to the computer screen and pretended to open some tabs to work. No, seriously, this is not the time to think about that.

“I really didn't see it.”Again you tried to show that you weren't paying much attention to the situation.

“As soon as he leaves that room you have to take a look.” She said and you agreed silently, finally putting an end to this conversation that despite being short, was torturous.

She couldn't even imagine how much you didn't want to have to "take a look" at him, but you will certainly be forced to do so. For work reasons!

It was obvious that everyone already knew he was here. What they didn't know was that you were already assigned to work with him. And even worse, that you had known him for years…

Jimin was an unresolved part of your life that you didn't go around telling everyone as soon as you met them. The person closest to you in that office was your boss, Minah. But even she didn't know about your history with him. After all, what good would it do you to tell her about it? You don't even talk about it with your best friends, only with your psychologist.

Focusing on the tasks that were to be done, you tried to forget the tremor that still roamed your body, making your fingers sweat and your feet get cold from time to time.

You don't know how much time has passed since you sat down to work and entered your own world, but apparently it was enough time for the meeting to get going. You were forced to look in the direction of the meeting room when you heard movement coming from there. From the door of the room you see Minah with half of her body outside calling you. Your whole body freezes. You didn't want to participate in that meeting, but it was inevitable.

A few more colleagues head into the room to participate in this part of the meeting. And you thank God that you don't have to go into that room alone and be the center of everyone's attention.

As soon as you took a step towards the room, your feet felt like they were walking on clouds, and not in a good way. It was like you were going to lose your balance and fall at any moment, the environment getting further away from you with each passing second. You knew you were about to have another panic attack, but you really couldn't afford that to happen now.

When you entered the room, everyone was chatting casually, in what seemed like a short break. Minah was sitting down and directing the chair you should sit next to her at the table.

“Y/n! I just found out that you two already knew each other before. That's amazing. Why didn't you tell me before? “ Minah says in a cheerful tone and it almost makes you want to run away.

He told her about you.

Your stomach churns and the room seems to get smaller around you.

You smile at Minah and greet everyone in the room as you sit down at the circle of tables.

“Yes, we were... friends back in school” you feel the word “friends” weigh heavy on your tongue and hope no one noticed that.

Your eyes lift to look directly at Jimin, who was already analyzing you from across the table. His face shows nothing when he sees you. For a moment, you feel angry and want to yell at him, tell him to react in some way when he sees you, any way. So that it doesn't seem like you're the only one affected by his presence, as if you're the only one who has experienced all these feelings all these years. But you know that you can't demand that of him. If you haven't moved on in all these years, the responsibility is completely yours.

‘That's great. We don't need to start with the formalities then, let's get straight to the point.”

Minah opens a PowerPoint projected on the wall and begins to explain what the company offers and how things work. She also explains how you will fit into it and asks you to give a brief introduction of what your job entails.

You know Jimin isn't looking at you any differently than the others in the room, but you still feel uncomfortable, as if he can see through your skin and into your mind. Despite your nervousness, you manage to maintain your composure and present your work satisfactorily.

The meeting finally ends after a few more minutes of conversation and you couldn't be more relieved. The only thing you wanted at that moment was to escape his presence and gaze.

“I think we'll make a great team.” the agency manager says happily at the end of the meeting.

“I agree.” Minah and the manager shake hands, which are then passed to you.

Somehow, you managed to avoid shaking hands with Jimin in the middle of all the people in the room. You excused yourself and said you had to go to the bathroom and took the opportunity to leave. Everyone still stayed inside the room, chatting casually, without rushing. As soon as you stepped out of the room, your body shivered.

You only managed to take a breath outside the room before someone caught up with you. Your thoughts were so disorganized that you didn't even notice the person following you out of the room.

But there would be no way you wouldn't recognize his presence, even if a thousand years had passed.

“I need to talk to you.” Jimin holds your wrist for a brief moment, lightly, and then lets go. Your face turns to him with a frightened expression.

“Not now, please.“ your expression is of pain. And you are feeling pain. In your chest.

You were alone in the hallway that led to the meeting room. The last thing you wanted was for your coworkers to see you whispering in a hallway. You made to leave, but Jimin continued.

“Why didn't you answer my message?” Jimin asks, getting straight to the point.

You were forced to look at him. You hadn't realized that you hadn't replied to his message. The wave of panic was so big that you didn't even open the message, you just looked at it in the notification bar. Your mind worked quickly to come up with a plausible response.

“ I didn't see.” You say quickly, looking away from him and ready to return to your table once more.

“Wait!“ once again that hand on your wrist, just rubbing the fingers gently, like a touch of silk.

This time your body reacts quickly and you pull your hand away from his touch. You didn't want him to touch you, that was for people who were more intimate. And you weren't close anymore. You could even risk saying that you didn't know each other anymore…

Your reaction didn't go unnoticed by his gaze, breaking it a little more without you knowing.

“ What?” you look at his face, hoping Jimin will quickly say what he needs so you can get back to work.

The silence and tension between you is palpable. If you weren't in the workplace, you would probably explode at this moment.

You can't stand being around him like this.

“Please, give me a chance to talk to you“ Jimin speaks softly, pleadingly.

You're surprised by what he says. You expected him to brush it off again, say it was nothing, and pretend everything was fine.

It seems that some things change with time.

You still analyze him for a few seconds, looking for any form of joke behind his words.

You need to answer it soon because people are starting to leave the room.

“Okay, I will”  you agree, but in reality you want to run away from him.

Or beat him up until he understands that you haven't been truly happy for years, and it's all his fault. But that's for another time.

Jimin nods and finally lets you go, watching your back as you walk around the office.

You return silently to your desk. Everyone is busy with their tasks, as if nothing had happened. And indeed, nothing had happened. Only to you.

You were the only one who was shaken by this situation. The only one who seemed to be hiding in a dark shadow, without the strength to get up.

The rest of the day passes slowly. You don't see Jimin anymore that day and you don't know whether to be grateful or not.

However, you weren't able to get Jimin out of your head even if you wanted to. He was the topic of every conversation with your colleagues, and even with your boss, who wanted to go over some information with you.

When you got home at night, it felt like all your energy had been drained from your body. And your work hadn't even been that tiring. It was all emotional exhaustion.

You feel embarrassed and wonder how you're going to tell your psychologist that no, you're not over him yet. And that maybe you haven't made any progress, even with all the conversations you've had about it.

Practice is very different from theory.

Sitting at the kitchen table with wet hair while eating pre-made pasta made in the microwave, you open Jimin's message.

He hasn't sent anything since. You need to take a sip from the generous glass of wine you poured yourself before you write anything to him.

You 08:35PM: Yes. Let's talk Does Friday at 7pm work for you?

Another sip and a bite of pasta. Jimin sees it and your heart races. How fast!

Another sip of wine. To swallow the pasta.

Jimin 08:36PM: Sure. Where do you want to meet?

Shit. You hadn't thought of that.

It takes you a few seconds to think of somewhere that is close enough that you can escape quickly if something happens.

You 08:38PM: Maybe at the coffee shop down the street from the office? Jimin 08:39PM: Sounds good to me

Something about this phone conversation didn't feel right. Maybe it was the formal tone you were using, or maybe it was the way you no longer knew how to talk to each other.

You replied with another message confirming and left your phone out of sight on the table so you could finish eating your meal.

The food was starting to go down your throat with some difficulty after that conversation. You were already starting to think about all the possibilities of this meeting, how it would go, what exactly you would talk about. This wasn't doing your mind any good.

Maybe you wouldn't sleep tonight.

You twirl the pen between your fingers as you look at the notebook in front of you, searching for the right words to write down what you just heard.

Minah leads the meeting with the marketing team, including you. The discussions involve what each person's role will be now with this new contract with Hybe.

“Y/n, I need you to work directly with Jimin” Minah directs to you.

Your gaze is neutral and not surprised. Somehow you have already accepted this reality and no longer try to fight it. Maybe you were dead inside.

You nod and Minah continues.

“You will do everything according to his preferences. I need you to work together on this.” she emphasizes and you agree.

Internally you are screaming. You know that working with any other client would be like this too, but something about her words and about Jimin makes you angry.

You didn't want to have to take orders from him, or have to work alongside him.

You wonder what kind of sick joke the universe wanted to play on you.

The week goes by faster than you would like. All you wanted was the weekend to rest, but that would also mean getting through the day you and Jimin were going to meet. And you didn't want to meet him.

A/N: aaaa finally the first chapter of The Only Exception. I hope you like it as much as I like this story. My idea is to follow the line of: one chapter in the present, another chapter in the past, to explain how everything happened between them. Did that get confusing? I hope not lmao

© heartforbangtan 2024. All rights reserved.

[alpaca-clouds]

Solarpunk Game Ideas: CRPGs

Here I go on with my ideas for Indie Solarpunk games, that are not some sort of building sim or farming sim - and of course I cannot do this without mentioning CRPGs.

Mind you, despite what you might think given that over the course of the last year I have barely played anything but a certain CRPG (BG3), CRPGs are actually not really a genre of game I am super into, even though some of my favorite games are CRPGs. But as a genre in general I usually like faster paced games a lot more. It is just that when I hyperfocus on something that usually is a result of me getting obsessed with a character from it - and that is more likely to happen with a CRPG than with a metroidvania.

But how to do a Solarpunk CRPG?

The Issue:

Look, there really are not any CRPGs right now that are in any way Solarpunk. And I would argue this goes again back to the issue that people struggle with telling stories within a Solarpunk setting, as they are too set in the idea that a) Solarpunk needs to be an utopian setting (or a setting that pretends to be utopian) and b) that utopian settings will not allow for any conflict whatsoever. Additionally there is of course also the issue that most CRPGs do involve violence in form of fighting, which is what a lot of people struggle with - even though some amazing indie games like Disco Elysium have shown very well, that you can do a CRPG without a combat system.

So, let's go over some ideas for Solarpunk CRPGs.

Idea #1: Off-Brand Princess Mononoke

If you follow me for any time, you might know that to me there is no movie or piece of media that is more Solarpunk than Princess Mononoke. And thankfully we can easily build a sort of CRPG around it, either with a similar historical setting or just a fullon fantasy setting. Because remember: Solarpunk does not need to be Science Fiction!

No matter whether you go with a historical setting or just a full-on fantasy setting, the idea is fairly easy: The player character has a magical problem and they need the help of some sort of spirits. As they travel to the place of the spirit, they find out that the spirits are in a war with some group of humans, that are encroaching of the home of the spirits, because they try to access some sort of ressources, driving the spirits nearly to extinction. The player would have the choice in the end which side to join - or whether they will try to broker peace between spirits and humans.

Bonus: You'd have several choices how to play the game - but it is not a clear cut "good" and "evil", especially when the humans might have good reasons to need the ressource.

Idea #2: A SciFi Conspiracy

This idea is very much for a somewhat shorter game. Think a bit more like "Shadowrun Returns". Something that has more like 15 to 20 minutes of a runtime.

We go with the idea I brought up in one of the other ideas before: We have a Solarpunk world, that runs on mainly anarchist principles, and there are some arguments going about over some of the security mechanisms. (Anarchy can after all not properly work, if some people have weapons and others don't have - but you cannot undo the existence of weapons.) Our main character is part of some security force, that mostly are just trained to deescalate situations, but are in some cases allowed to use force.

And when a group of pro-capitalists or maybe even actual fascists start a conspiracy to take over the government, and they already have some co-conspirators in all positions. And the main characters need to navigate this with a mixture of diplomacy and violence, with the player getting a fairly good influence on how this plays out.

Idea #3: A Natural Disaster

Let me take one approach, that is inspired by one of the most Solarpunk movies, that is not by Ghibli: Misaki no Mayogai. That movie takes place after the Tohoku earthquake and is very much about mutual aid in the community.

And here is the thing: No, CRPGs do not need to have combat. So this is an idea for a CRPG without combat. We have a natural disaster of some sort. Honestly it does not matter. An earthquake, a flood, a vulcano... Can be anything. It just did destroy a lot of stuff in a big area. And the game is very much about rebuilding after this disaster, about people helping each other through mutual aid, and then building something better from it. It could feature a society going full Solarpunk if you want to (like a positive post-apocalypse) or just something getting a bit better. Build back better and such.

And if you are interested in creative Solarpunk endeavors, I would love to invite you into the Solarpunk Creatives community! :)

[elysiaheaven]

𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿..? -𝟯𝟬-(The Fox's Wedding)-End ?

The day came when you were supposed to be discharged. The room was quiet, the air still, when Bailu entered, her small figure barely making a sound. She approached your bed, eyes bright with hope. "Are you awake?" she whispered, peering closely at you.

But before she could get a proper answer, your instincts took over. Panic swelled within you, and without thinking, you tore yourself from the bed and ran. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you couldn’t stay. Not like this.

Later, Feixiao received word that you had disappeared. She listened carefully as the messenger explained what had happened, her expression calm yet unreadable. "So, she ran away again…" She leaned back, arms crossed, her eyes narrowing in thought.

One of the knights beside her shifted uneasily. "Should we send someone after her, General?"

Feixiao shook her head slowly, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "No… let her be for now. Y/N needs to decide what she wants for herself today. Maybe this is her way of finding her answer."

She gazed out of the window, her mind heavy with concern but understanding. "Sometimes, people need to run before they can face the truth."

Jiaoqiu sat in his recovery bed, the faint light from the window barely making a difference to his sightless eyes. His once sharp gaze was now a thing of the past, but his other senses were heightened. He could feel every shift in the air, hear the softest rustle of the leaves, and, more importantly, he could sense the emptiness in the room—your absence.

Rayne had just delivered the news, her voice hesitant, as if she were unsure how to tell him that you had run away.

He tilted his head slightly, a small, weary smile forming on his lips. “Such a devious little kitsune…” he said, his voice low but filled with a strange affection. “Always slipping through fingers like sand.”

His hand lifted to his face, tracing the bandages over his eyes. Even though he couldn’t see, he felt you in his mind, as if you were still lingering close, as if you were just out of reach. He knew you ran because you were scared, perhaps even ashamed. But he didn’t blame you. How could he? He understood the pain you carried, the burden of your existence.

“You’ll come back to me,” he murmured softly, his voice carrying a certain patience, as if he had all the time in the world. “It will take time… but you will.”

He leaned back into the bed, sighing deeply. There was no rush. He had been through so much already, and so had you. You were both scarred in ways no one could truly understand, but he wasn’t worried. You would return, as you always did, like a fox returning to its den.

“Feixiao tells me you’re healing… slowly, but surely,” Jiaoqiu continued, as though speaking to you directly, despite the distance between you. “Maybe you’re out there… running, hiding. But I know you’re trying to find yourself.”

He smiled again, the expression soft but full of understanding. “I’ll wait. We still have time.”

He rested, his thoughts wandered to the letter you had written, the words you had left for him. He had not been able to read them himself, but he had heard them—your voice, so full of emotion, so full of something he couldn’t quite place. He clung to those words, knowing that they were his connection to you, a promise yet to be fulfilled.

“Come back when you’re ready,” he whispered, closing his eyes, sinking deeper into the quiet darkness. “We still have so much to say… and so much more to live for.”

A few days passed.....

It was confirmed...Jiaoqiu's eyesight can't be cured. Even if it's cured it would be only temporary plus, these are not advised for long-term species..

And he was unfortunately a foxian.

Feixiao met him, As he was hearing the sound of waves to...give him her promise.

An eye for a eye.

Jiaoqiu's mind was filled with something else too.

You.

"General, Can you..tell about her...medical report?"

She hesitated but Jiaoqiu wanted to know everything in full detail.

Feixiao read from the health report, her voice growing heavier with each passing line. She described the extensive damage: deep cuts, wounds that had left marks of immense suffering. Each detail was a testament to the severity of the injuries and the relentless pain endured. The gravity of her words was clear, each one weighed down by her sorrow.

When she reached the section detailing the poison, Feixiao’s voice faltered. The report spoke of the poison’s cruel effect—how it slowly and painfully ravaged the patient’s insides. Feixiao’s eyes filled with unshed tears, her distress palpable as she continued, her voice quaking with the weight of the revelation.

Jiaoqiu's reaction was immediate. His hand went to his head, clutching it as if to steady himself against the crushing realization. The poison’s grim effects had struck him deeply. He looked away, unable to confront the full reality of what Feixiao was revealing.

In the silence that followed, Jiaoqiu asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper, "Did she really take poison too?" The question hung heavily in the air, laden with disbelief and despair. His gaze was distant, lost in a maelstrom of regret and sorrow.

He then turned further away, his expression one of profound self-reproach. His internal struggle was evident, and he questioned in a choked voice, "What kind of man am I?" The question was a desperate plea for understanding, a reflection of his deep-seated remorse over the suffering that had unfolded.

Feixiao's heart ached as she watched Jiaoqiu struggle with the weight of guilt. She took a deep breath and spoke softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within her.

"It wasn't your fault, Jiaoqiu. None of this is on you." She tried to offer him comfort, to lift the heavy burden he was placing upon himself. Her words, however, seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Jiaoqiu remained silent for a long moment, his hands still cradling his head, eyes closed as though blocking out the reality of the situation. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and filled with weariness. "I… I just need to be alone right now, Feixiao. Please." The words came out strained, each syllable laced with exhaustion, as if he had fought this battle a thousand times within himself.

Feixiao hesitated, torn between leaving him to his thoughts and staying by his side. "We haven't found her yet…" she said quietly, her eyes searching for any sign that he had heard her. "But I know she’s out there… watching, somewhere. Stalking. Always watching."

Unbeknownst to them, you were indeed there, lurking in the shadows, watching the entire exchange unfold. Your gaze remained fixed on Jiaoqiu, your heart caught in the same torment that haunted him. Every word, every movement was etched into your mind as you observed from afar, torn between the urge to reveal yourself and the need to remain hidden.

You kept your distance, carefully avoiding being seen, yet your presence lingered like a specter in the background. Watching. Waiting. Stalking.

You couldn’t stay away any longer. Each step forward, though painful, pulled you closer to him. Even though Jiaoqiu could no longer see, he recognized you instantly—your uneven footsteps, the way you groaned quietly with every step, the sound of your labored breathing. It was as if his senses had adjusted to your presence, like he could feel you coming before you even got close.

"You… Where were you?" His voice was soft, heavy with relief, yet tinged with an unspoken worry.

You hesitated for a moment, standing just a few feet away. The pain in your body was nothing compared to the turmoil inside your heart. "I… I couldn’t be here," you whispered, your voice trembling. You started to turn away, wanting to retreat back into the shadows, but before you could take another step, Jiaoqiu’s voice stopped you.

"I’m glad you’re alive," he said, his voice steady, though laced with a sadness that broke you. "But… I was a mistake." His words came out in a breathless sigh. "I promised to protect you, to take care of you, and now look at me. I’m blind… I can’t do anything for you anymore. I can't even look at you to see if you're alright."

He held his head in his hands, fingers running through his hair in frustration. "If I’m such a mistake… if I’m so ugly in your eyes now…Is that why haven’t you hugged me yet?" His voice cracked on the last few words, a vulnerability in his tone that shook you to your core.

That was all it took to break the dam inside you. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you rushed toward him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. You buried your face into his shoulder, sobbing as you clung to him tightly. "Jiaoqiu… I love you," you cried, your words coming out between broken breaths. "I love you… I always have."

Jiaoqiu froze for a moment, as if stunned by your words, before slowly relaxing into your embrace. His hands reached up to touch yours, holding them gently. Even though he couldn’t see, it felt...connected.

You backed away slowly, your hands slipping from his grasp. The warmth of your touch left him, and Jiaoqiu, sensing the sudden absence, whispered desperately, "Without your touch..." His hand reached out blindly, trying to pull you back toward him, but you stepped farther away.

"No!" you screamed, your voice filled with anguish. "It's because of me you ended up blind!" You held your head in your hands, trembling, overwhelmed by guilt. Every part of you ached, not just from your wounds but from the weight of what you believed you had caused.

"Stop blaming yourself," Jiaoqiu’s voice broke through the air, filled with pain, but there was something firm in his tone. "It’s not your fault."

But his words couldn’t reach you. Your mind was spiraling, consumed by the idea that you had ruined him. "No, no, no," you murmured, rocking slightly as tears streamed down your face. And then, suddenly, an idea formed—a desperate, wild idea. You gasped, clutching your chest.

"Jiaoqiu," you cried out, your voice frantic, almost manic. "There’s still time! You can heal yourself... It's not over yet!" Your eyes widened with a twisted kind of hope. "There's still one more day... one more day before the 20 days are up. I’ll ask Feixiao... I’ll ask her to kill me. If she feeds my soul to you, you’ll live! You’ll be healed... You’ll eat again, see again, heal others again!"

You were smiling now, even as tears continued to flow. The idea seemed like salvation, a way to undo the damage, to give him back everything he had lost. You rambled on, the words spilling out as if they were your last lifeline.

Jiaoqiu remained silent, his face unreadable. His lips parted slightly, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and cutting. "You really are the goddess of betrayal," he said, almost bitterly, shaking his head. "You’d sacrifice yourself without even asking... And you think I’d accept that?"

You froze, staring at him through tear-blurred eyes, not understanding, not comprehending why he was rejecting your plan. "But... you could be whole again," you whispered, almost pleading. "You could—"

"Is that what you think I want?" Jiaoqiu interrupted, turning his face away from you, his expression distant, filled with sorrow. "What did you see when you decided I would want to devour the person I love...?"

Your voice cracked as you asked, painfully, "Why are you doing this?" The confusion in your eyes was unbearable, but the weight of his words lingered heavily in the air. "What do you mean by calling me the goddess of betrayal? Am I really that…?"

He sighed deeply, his face filled with sorrow, but he stood firm. "Yes," he said quietly, almost like a whisper, "you are… but not in the way you think."

"Stop," you pleaded, shaking your head, unable to bear the truth behind his words. "Please… stop."

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. "How long are you going to keep betraying yourself?" Jiaoqiu’s voice rose, but it wasn’t out of anger—it was pain. "Your feelings, everything you are… you're betraying it all."

His words struck deep, and you staggered back, trembling. "I'm not… I'm just trying to fix things!" you cried out. But Jiaoqiu’s expression softened into something unbearably sad as he stepped closer to you.

"And if you keep doing this…" he paused, his voice thick with emotion, "you're not just betraying yourself… you’re betraying everyone around you."

He closed the distance between you, and his hand reached for yours, even though he couldn’t see. "Do you really want me to live in agony? To know that the last thing I ever saw was you… in a bloodied, broken version of yourself?"

You couldn’t answer. You felt the weight of his words crushing you.

"I would rather be blind," he continued, his voice now softer, full of a resigned tenderness, "and just listen to you—hear your voice, your heart—than live knowing that you died… for me."

His words shattered you. You choked back a sob, realizing how deeply he felt for you, how much he didn’t want to see you gone. You collapsed, your legs giving out beneath you as tears fell harder than ever. All this time, you had thought sacrificing yourself was the answer, but in his eyes, it was the ultimate betrayal. You hadn’t just betrayed him—you had betrayed the love that still existed between you.

Jiaoqiu knelt beside you, reaching blindly for your trembling form. He pulled you into an embrace, resting his head against yours as you cried into his shoulder. "Please… don't leave me," he whispered, the pain in his voice cutting through every other sound. "I don’t need you to heal me, Y/n… I just need you."

Jiaoqiu, holding you close, felt the weight of your despair. His voice, strained and gentle, broke through the turmoil of your thoughts. "Why do you want to die?" he asked, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on your shoulders. "Tell me."

You sobbed, trying to make sense of the pain and guilt that overwhelmed you. "I killed everyone who trusted me," you cried out. "I couldn't save them. I couldn’t be useful. I couldn't be of any help to anyone."

Jiaoqiu’s grip tightened, his breath hitching as he fought against his own rising anguish. "Stop wanting to die," he pleaded softly. "You deserve to live. More than those who tormented you, more than those who hurt you."

Your cries grew more desperate, your voice raw with emotion. "I'm a mistake. Look at yourself—you're in such a worse state because of me. It's all my fault. I made a mistake, and it’s eating me alive."

Jiaoqiu's expression hardened with determination. "No," he said firmly. "You didn’t do anything wrong. This was my fault, not yours."

He pulled you into a tighter embrace, as if trying to shield you from the weight of your guilt. "You need to understand," he said softly, "if you want to pass away, I will respect that decision. But if there is still a part of you that wants to live…"

He paused, his voice breaking as he leaned in to kiss you. The kiss was tender, full of unspoken promises and shared pain. When he pulled away, his eyes, though blind, seemed to see into the depths of your soul.

"In that case," he whispered, his voice gentle and filled with hope, "will you still consider living? Will you marry me? Let’s have a proper wedding this time. A good one."

Your tears mingled with his, you gently pressed your forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. The intensity of your emotions was palpable, and you took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking.

"Jiaoqiu," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion, "if you want to get married, you have to let me take care of you. I need to be there for you, to heal you."

His face a mix of pain and tenderness. "But I might be a chore," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips despite the gravity of the situation.

You couldn’t help but let out a gentle laugh, a sound filled with both sadness and relief. "We’re both stubborn," you said, your voice breaking slightly as you continued, "neither of us wants to accept help because we don’t want to be a burden. But maybe… that’s why we’re perfect for each other."

You leaned in and kissed him tenderly, your lips brushing against his with a mixture of love and sorrow. As you pulled back, you saw his ears perk up, his expression softening as he took in your words.

"Let me take care of you," you whispered, your voice filled with both resolve and affection. "If you let me, we can get married. Let's heal together..."

Jiaoqiu’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you both took in the moment. The weight of your shared struggles seemed to lift slightly as you embraced, the two of you finding solace in each other’s presence.

You nuzzled closer to Jiaoqiu, your voice barely above a whisper but filled with nervous joy. "Am I still your wife?"

A small, tender smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Yes," he replied softly, his voice warm and full of affection.

Overwhelmed, you wrapped your arms around him in a tight embrace, holding him as if you’d never let go. The love you both shared felt even more profound now, having weathered the storm of suffering, and found each other again.

With a newfound determination, you tried to stand up, eager to move forward—quite literally—with him. But your legs, still weak from all you had endured, betrayed you, and you wobbled. Jiaoqiu instinctively reached out to catch you, but with his sight gone, he too lost his balance. Both of you fell, landing in a gentle, tangled heap on the ground.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, you both started to laugh, soft chuckles at first, then louder, more genuine. It was a release, a shared understanding of how far you'd come, even if the path ahead was still fraught with obstacles.

"We have a long time to practice, don’t we?" you said, your voice filled with lightness despite the gravity of the moment.

Jiaoqiu smiled, nodding slightly. "Yes, we do. But we’ll get there."

You leaned forward, a playful glint in your tear-stained eyes. "There’s nothing that would make me happier than helping you. It’s my turn now, Jiaoqiu." Your words held a tenderness, a love that ran deeper than any trial you had faced.

You caught his hand in yours, guiding his fingers through your touch, your warmth. You stood, determination in every step, and turned to face him. "Trust me," you said, your voice steady, full of conviction.

Jiaoqiu hesitated for only a moment, his hand gripping yours a little tighter. Then, he nodded, his trust in you complete, his heart open.

Slowly, you led him forward, his steps unsure at first, but with each movement, you both found a rhythm. There was no rush. The road ahead was long, but you were walking it together. You smiled, knowing that now you had the time—time to heal, time to love, and time to rebuild a future where you could both finally find peace.

Bailu carefully wrapped bandages around you, her gentle touch contrasted with the sharp pain you felt. Each layer was a reminder of your struggles, but also of your resilience. The bandages covered your neck, arms, and feet, a protective cocoon that made you feel both vulnerable and strong.

Once she finished, you donned your kimono, the fabric soft against your bandaged skin, a symbol of renewal and hope. You glanced at Jiaoqiu, who stood beside you, his expression calm but filled with unspoken worries.

"Shall we both seek the road of love we lost sight of?" you asked, your voice steady and inviting.

His lips curled into a small smile, one that filled your heart with warmth. "Sounds like a plan," he replied, his voice laced with determination.

Taking his hand, you guided him gently, your fingers interlocking like a promise. With each step, you could feel the bond between you strengthening, a thread woven from shared pain and healing.

Together, you made your way out of the hospital, stepping into the world that awaited you. The sun greeted you, its light filtering through the trees, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of peace.

You walked side by side, you whispered, "No more shadows, only the path ahead." Jiaoqiu nodded, and you could sense the hope in his heart, echoing your own.

together..

[cokoweee]

✨🧚✨

Writing action is so hard :(

~

Obligation sat heavy in his chest, chaining him to the roof. He hated city sweeps with a passion. Sure it was fun to kick around bad guys, but he’d so much rather be in his bed. Sometimes you run just to feel your lungs burn he supposed.

So here he was. On top of a building. Staring at an empty alleyway.

He pressed his face against the wall, his goggles leaving painful imprints in his skull. He grounded himself in the way they cut into his skin. They were doing their job, reminding him of his cruel existence here on this roof.

Wind whipped through his hair as he watched from his perch on the building. He could move of course, find somewhere else where he could be useful. But his limbs refused to listen. He felt like he was made of stone. Just like a gargoyle he thought, amused. Perched atop a building. In theory protecting, in practice, just a decoration.

That’s all he was. A decorative piece of stone, crafted to defend, but nothing more than a hunk of muscle.

A hooded figure ripped him from his thoughts as they wandered into the empty alleyway. Maybe the night wouldn’t be a bust after all. He shifted his weight to pounce as he watched the figure move. They headed deep into the alley, shrouded by the darkness, poorly hiding a package under their shirt. He rolled his eyes and waited patiently for another figure to arrive.

His joints creaked slightly as he leapt, stiff from standing still for so long. Landing silently, he melded to the shadows creeping close enough to hear their conversation.

“-one followed.” The voice said, hushed. “Yes. I made sure no one saw.”

The other voice grunted something unintelligible as they held out their hand. He took notice of the small knife secured in the figure's belt pocket and placed a hand around his bō. He didn’t think the girl would be able to do much damage with it, but it was better to err on the edge of caution.

“I saw.” He sing-songed, stepping into their line of view.

He was already here. Why not have a little fun?

The hooded figures spun around, one brandishing their knife, the other a blunt stick. He stared, unimpressed as they swung their weapons wildly. Until finally- finally, the male figure squared his shoulders and threw himself at Donatello.

He grinned.That’s what he was waiting for.

He held up his bō to deflect the blow and quickly stuck it under the baton and pulled. The figure immediately fell forward, thrown off balance. He repressed a small smile as the figure looked up from the concrete bewildered. Poor guy had probably never fought a day in his life.

Blood rushed through his veins as he brought his bō down swiftly to his head. He pushed away the twinge of guilt as he saw the terror in the man’s eyes. He didn’t like it when they looked like that. He took a deep breath as he set his gaze to the second figure.

Flinching as the staff came flying at her face, she stumbled to the ground, barely dodging and cursing wildly. “What the- Dude!”

He didn’t say a word letting the girl get back up. May as well give her a chance.The hooded girl rushed toward him, a knife held tightly in her hand.

He let it happen.

Her fist collided with his face. His lip split, blood bubbling from his mouth as he looked down stupefied.

He hadn’t expected that. The hit, yes, but for it to break skin?

She raced forward again, twisting as she stopped in front of him, using the top of her foot to land a blow squarely to the middle of his chest. He didn’t move.

He hasn’t been in a fight since the invasion. Little squabbles here and there, sure. But nothing where he was required to use any sort of his past training. She was clearly amateur, but it was the first time in a long time he’d had to consider going back to the dojo.

He watched her move. She had lacked any true power in her kick. Probably better for her to stick to punches he thought dimly as she launched herself at him again.

She punched him again, knife in hand. He balked as she sliced just above his eye. Blinking away the red flowing freely into his eye, he shook his head to clear the funk, and readied himself for another blow.

He was getting tired of this.

She ran at him again, her knife tucked away in her jacket. He waited for her to get within fingertips touch before reaching out and grabbing her arm. Twisting her arm until the heel of her hand pointed toward the ceiling, he pushed her to the ground, placing his right shoulder in between her shoulder blades to force her against the ground.

She struggled against his grip, sticking her arm out in a vain attempt to free herself. She thrashed wildly, throwing pebbles and whatever else she could grab into his face as he pressed her down further. Her knife clattered against the pavement as she whipped around.

He knew, rationally, that he should stop. Leave an anonymous tip to the police that two idiots were selling drugs in the alleyway. But he didn’t. His blood seemed to hum as he moved. This is what he was made for. Destruction. Pain.

The girl had apparently noticed his hesitation and used her freed hand to grab her knife and punch his side.

Hard.

He hissed, tightening his grip around her as she screeched. Something warm trickled down his side as he stood slowly. He brought his bō over her head, knocking her out effectively and grabbing her companion.

He placed them at the entrance of the alleyway, making sure to keep himself in the shadows. He tapped his wrist tech to send an alert to the police force before slinking back into the darkest corner he could find.

Something was wrong.

Asphalt crunched beneath his back as he sank to the ground. He took shallow breaths, clamping his hand against his side. Blood seeped out faster than he could staunch it. He gritted his teeth as he watched it trickle down his torso.

When had that happened?

His hand shook as he tore it from his stomach to inspect the damage. He was hot. So, so hot. It was the middle of September. Why was he so hot?

He stared at his torso reluctantly. There was a small wound right in the middle of his ribs. The actual stabbing had missed any vital organs thankfully, but it looked like it had been twisted at some point. Probably when she had yanked it out he assumed.

With all his mutations he was relatively protected from particularly life threatening symptoms. He could probably make it home if he tried. Probably.

He clasped a hand over the exposed scales of his side and stood up shakily. His legs screamed in protest as he moved, somehow still stiff from hours of perching on the rooftop. His free hand flew to the wall, supporting his weight as he stood.

His fingers filled with warmth as more thick blood oozed from his side. He ignored the way it slipped from his hand and into the ground, filling his ears with a steady drip. He tapped a message to Sheldon, his vision swirling in and out of focus.

He just needed to get ho-

~

Ooga booga 👹

-writing anon

I’ll send the last part ( the fun stuff) tmmr

I KNEW I READ SOMETHING FROM YOU

ACTION ID HARD MAN I FUCKIN FEEL U MAN AAUUGHHH ARARARASRARARARAR

Part 2

[gingiesworld]

I Am Not Matt

Leigh Shaw x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Unhappy ending

18+ MINORS DNI

Taglist : @mothertoall2 @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad @reginassweetheart @machyishere @gemz5 @pawiie @duckiekong (If you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

Ever since Y/N had come into Leigh’s life, she had finally started to believe that she could move on, move past the grief that swallowed her whole. Y/N had always surprised her with flowers when they came home from work, took her out on spontaneous dates and even cooked her her favourite meal. Even though those gestures made Leigh see just how lucky she was to have such an attentive partner, she slowly started to withdraw herself from the relationship. The nights they would spend together between the sheets became little to non-existent, the spontaneous dates never really happened as Leigh always came up with some sort of excuse as to why she didn’t want to do it. Even when she received flowers soon fizzled out, Y/N soon started to realise that she was pulling further and further away. They barely spoke anymore, everytime Y/N would start up a conversation, Leigh would completely shut it down almost immediately.

“I’m off.” Y/N would say every morning when they saw her in the kitchen having her morning smoothie, their heart broke a little when she only shrugged. So they left without a single word off of Leigh. They spent their day working under the hot sun, wondering what had went wrong between the two of them.

“You look like you could do with a drink after work.” Jim stated as he helped Y/N by holding the plank of wood in place for Y/N to drill it into place. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You could say that.” They answered him.

“Then it’s settled, we’re having a drink and you can tell me all about it.” He told them before they both moved on to their next tasks. The day soon went by fairly quickly, work and banter with their colleagues slowly taking their mind off of their failing relationship. Soon they found themselves sitting in a booth at a bar not too far from the construction site. “So, talk to us.” Jim told them once they had their first drink.

“You know Leigh and I have been together for a couple of years right.” Jim nodded and waited for them to continue. “I think she.” They took a deep breath. “She’s pulling away from me and I don’t know how I can fix it.”

“Have you tried talking to her?” He questioned as they just nodded.

“She doesn’t even talk to me anymore. There’s no communication with her and I am trying, I am really trying to do everything I can to try and make it right and make it work.” They rambled on as they played with their glass, swirling the liquid within. “I don’t think she loves me anymore.” They whispered sadly before they downed their drinks.

“How long has this been going on for?” He asked as Y/N shrugged.

“Months.” They told him honestly. “We don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore, I know she gets out of our bed once she thinks I’m asleep.”

“Do you think she could be cheating on you?” He asked them as they shrugged.

“I don’t know.” They looked at him sadly. “I just, I love her more than anything and I don’t think she will ever feel for me the way I feel for her.”

“Well, I think you really need to make a decision, you have got to do what makes you happy.” He told them. “If your relationship is failing, and you’re the only one who is putting in all of the effort, it’s best to jump ship.”

“I was going to propose on our next anniversary.” They admitted. “I already have the ring and everything prepared.”

“I’m so sorry buddy.” Was all he could say before Y/N grabbed their wallet and left, paying the tab beforehand. They hadn’t realized the time when they had gotten home, seeing Leigh sat on the sofa, her eyes glued to the door in which they entered.

“Where were you?” She questioned them angrily. “You were supposed to be home hours ago!”

“So you finally noticed me?” They sneered as they moved towards the kitchen. “You’ve spent months ignoring me, forgetting I even exist.”

“Have you been drinking?” She questioned as they just laughed at her. “Are you cheating on me?”

“Why would I cheat on you, huh?!” They questioned angrily. “You know that is something I would never do! I don’t make promises just to break them, and I am not Matt.”

“No, you’re nothing like Matt.” Leigh seethed. “He knew me! He loved me!”

“If he loved you, he wouldn’t have cheated on you!” They yelled. “I wouldn’t ever cheat on you. You know the kind of person I am, when I want a relationship, I want to know that there is a future. You know very well I don’t do flings and I never saw you as just a fling.” They looked in her eyes sadly, reaching into their pocket. “I wanted everything with you, I wanted to build a life and a future with you. I love you so fucking much.” Their tears started to fall as they spoke. “But I know that you don’t love me, I was just a means to help you to try and forget your pain. It’s more like an addiction to you, and once I wasn’t doing it for you anymore, you go back into this place. You shut everyone out, everyone who loves, when was even the last time you spent time with your mom or Jules these past few months?”

“I see them every day.” She answered them with a scoff.

“At work!” They yelled. “You haven’t seen them at any other time! You go to work and then come home. Maybe you go to the store on some days to get you endless bottles of wine.”

“This isn’t even the point I was getting at!” She yelled in frustration, making Y/N laugh loudly.

“You haven’t spoke a single word to me, and you have the nerve to think I would hurt you.” They told her shakily. “You have no idea how much you have hurt me, you shut me out, I had no idea what I had done wrong, I was trying to figure it out for months. But, I had done things the way I have always done them since I first asked you out. I continued to do all of the things that made you smile, or laugh. I genuinely thought we had a future.” Leigh watched as Y/N had completely detached themselves from her. “I do love you, but I can’t do this anymore.” They told her as they pointed between themselves. “I can’t keep allowing myself to get hurt because I love you so much. It’s not fair on me.”

“What are you saying?” Leigh questioned, the first sound of regret in her voice.

“I’m saying it’s over.” They told her bluntly. “Us, we’re done. I’m done.” They sighed as Leigh just watched as they moved towards their room, grabbing a bag before packing some of their belongings. “I’m going to sign myself off of the lease.”

“You can’t.” Leigh whispered as she watched them from the doorway.

“I have to.” They told her as they zipped up their bag. “I need to leave before what we have kills me, and you need to move on. Just because you’re still alive while he’s not, doesn’t mean that you can’t learn to love someone new. You deserve to be happy Leigh, you just need to heal first instead of hiding from the pain.”

[marionluth]

[...] The room was just as he remembered it. Heavy velvet curtains, crimson Persian rugs, large carved wooden furniture. The marble fireplace in the center of the room looked like it hadn’t been lit in a long time. Alfred had placed a floral arrangement on it, and next to the large framed picture of Martha and Thomas Wayne was now a portrait of Bruce. Jason wondered if a framed picture of his own had ever stood on that mantle, then been taken down—maybe even smashed against the wall.

Several smaller framed photographs hung on the wall next to the fireplace—of Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian. In some, they posed together; in others, alone. A single centrally placed photo was of Jason, sitting in an armchair in this very room. He must have been fourteen at the time, engrossed in a book, his profile softly lit by the floor lamp next to him. Jason stared at it, and bile rose in his throat. He drew his fist back and slammed it against the frame. The glass shattered, shards raining down on the floor along with drops of blood. The frame and photograph remained on the wall, still hanging, his young self’s face now smeared with blood. He raised his fist again and slammed it down forcefully, time after time, targeting different photographs. He snarled and panted, breaking them one by one, tears carving trails down his cheeks without him realizing.

“Jason?”

He stilled at the sound of the voice echoing in the room, his fist hanging mid-air and his breath labored. It couldn’t be. It sounded like Bruce, but Bruce was dead. He’d seen the grave; he’d stood hidden in the shadows, watching the memorial from a distance. He’d broken every finger in his left hand that same night from repeatedly punching a wall. The shiny mahogany coffin flashed before his eyes, but it wasn’t Bruce’s—it was his own, and he was trying to smash it to get out. Panic rose inside him, and he slammed his hand on the frame, letting the pain pull him back to the here and now. No, no, he wasn’t buried, he wasn’t in the coffin; he just felt like he was because he was in the manor, and the manor was a grave of its own kind anyway.

He turned around slowly, searching for the source of the voice. His disoriented gaze landed on Dick. A flicker of movement somewhere on his right caught his eye, and Jason turned sharply, barely glimpsing a black shadow vanish as quickly as it had appeared. Or was it never there? Or was it still there, always had been? The room spun lightly, and his head hurt. Why did his head hurt so damn much?

“What are you doing here?” Dick asked. Jason winced at the sound of his voice, at how oddly familiar it was, even though he hadn’t spoken to him in three months, since the funeral. He stared at Dick, wondering if his brain was playing tricks on him or if Dick really looked that different, all hollow cheeks and tired eyes. [...]

From my new Whumptober story Broken frames on the wall (maybe we never really existed)