#The Hills Have Eyes Part II

[fanofspooky]

The lucky ones die first…

[splatteronmywalls]

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

SUMMARY: A group of bikers, heading to a race, become stranded in the desert and find themselves fighting off a family of inbred cannibals who live off the land.

[trashmouth-richie]

dulcis ut rosa { sweet as a rose 🥀}

part 1 1/2– dulex (the gnat🥀) pt ii: vitiosus + deliciosus

pt iii: frangere me 🥀pt iv: ad caelum vel infernum, tecum sum

emperor Geta x female servant reader || word count: 4.4k || smidge of caracalla x reader

summary: brought to Palatine Hill as a gift from your village to the new Emperors— Caracalla claims you as his own, but Geta has his own plans for you when the moon crests into the sky.

tw: anal, p in v, rough inexperienced sex, oral m receiving, use of the word whore, caracalla is a whiny bitch, geta is fuckboy of the era. i googled a majority of the historical events, timelines, roman names for things, and latin translation— if it’s wrong, oh well. bad at feelings! geta, insane! crybaby! caracalla. idk geta is an unhinged mother fucker but what if he wasn’t so bad?

It had been months and many cycles of the moon ago when you were sent as a token of goodwill, a gift to the new Emperors in exchange for peace for the small village you resided in. 

Other Virgines and yourself were taken in the dark ebony of twilight, shackled side by side into the wobbly wagon driven by the village's strongest oxen. You didn’t dare object, instead you held your chin high, awaiting fate as the cart swayed this way and that, heart racing and blood pulsing as your journey to the Palatine Hill began. 

Some nights were still spent awake, remembering the crippling fear in your chest as you watched women from your village being gifted to generals as their personal servants. 

Some were given to soldiers as a sense of “release.” No better than a common whore being passed from soldier to soldier, fitting their needs.  The others were pillaged and picked like grapes from a cluster— and finally you had stood alone, defiance pooling in your eyes, pushing back traitorous tears.

Emperors Geta and Caracalla sat on ruby and gold twin thrones, identical in size and power. The tension between them was palpable— so thick you could reach out and stroke its ugly head. Where Caracalla’s grin was full of mischief, Geta had a snarl curled on his upper lip. 

You should have known then. The difference between them.

From where you stood, Geta’s dark eyes looked empty. Every so often they twitched as he spun the rings adorned on his left hand. His eyes rolled when his older brother giggled as the gifts from whatever poor village gave away their ripe, untouched women. 

Bare toes standing on the marble floor— unable to even grab shoes before you were heaved into the cart— you felt a heat from dark eyes that you were certain would drive someone mad if they dared look back. Like the boiling flames from hell itself were simmering in the coal of his irises. 

Caracalla jumped up, stepping forward from his throne, a wicked sense of evilness piercing from the iciness of his stare. His golden tooth caught the sun’s rays and you nearly vomited as he strode forward, eyeing you like a meal. 

A feminine laugh bubbled from his throat,  he clasped his hands together, bangles clanking in a sick harmony, a childlike grin spread on his pale face, “she’ll do.” 

You remember the first night in his chambers. Caracalla himself was bathed in ivory, same as the stone walls that were covered with flowing draperies. Although it was meant to be beautiful, the air felt choked, tight in your chest as you tried like hell to calm your frazzled nerves. 

The same giggle you heard in the throne room all morning now reverberated off the walls. He sat on a chaise lounge in only his dressing robes, sweat dampening his temples, that same damning stare as he slid his tongue over that disgusting gold tooth. Was he nervous? Drunk?

You had thought an emperor of his caliber would be used to this sort of thing. Maybe not. 

You had been cleaned by the palace servants, hair untangled and dirt scrubbed from under your nails. Hints of jasmine and honey perfumed from your gown as you tiptoed toward him. You watched as beads of sweat trickled down his brow, and he wiped at them hastily. 

“Sit.” 

The singular word seemed to give him trouble, as if he had never been in the presence of a woman before. 

He was clumsy, unthreading your gown with clammy hands, dragging across your skin like a damp sponge. Your skin crawled under his touch. 

His lips were stained with wine, thin and shriveled as he pecked at your skin. When you reached for him, hurrying this task along, he recoiled from your hand, shaking his head, a pained expression on his face as he held your wrist in a death grip. 

His eyes squinted shut and he screamed for you to leave. “Out!” “Get out!” Chalices and gold cutlery were tossed in your direction as you sprang for the door. 

Throwing open the heavy wood and running smack into the bare chest of the other Emperor. Emperor Geta. 

Although younger, he was taller than Caracalla. His chest was more broad, shoulders stretched tight with muscles. The same death-like stare on his face as he shoved you from him, having you stumble onto the stones into a wall. The cords of his neck strained as he took in your appearance.

He didn’t soften his features as you peered up at him with a fear stricken expression. He snarled, flaring his nostrils at the pathetic look of you, practically in rags. 

“Ah, and what do we have here? My brother’s whore in tears outside his chamber door. Can’t say I'm the least bit surprised.” He leaned into you, his eyes burning into your skin as he ripped the last of your gown to the floor, leaving you naked before him. 

“Tasteful thing, aren't you?” he gloated, pinching your bare nipple between his thumb and forefinger, laughing when you yelped in surprise and tried to cover your decency. 

He crowded into you, pushing your further down the hall way until you reached a dead end, his groin pressed into your middle. 

“Pathetic.” he sneered, enunciating every syllable the word held.  “Every single one of you.” His voice slithered like a snake against your ear, his breathing was forced, almost erratic and strained like he was holding himself back from bashing your skull into the wall. 

“Brought in here like some glorious stuffed hog on a spicket, trying to impress the Emperors so your village would be overlooked..” he clicked his tongue and grabbed the nape of your neck, his mouth only an inch from your own, “I don’t miss anything. Even though my sniffling brother may, I do not.” 

“Emperor, please.” 

“Do not speak!” he shouted loud enough to wake the entire palace, the veins in his neck stood at attention, throbbing,  “a whore will never open her mouth to me unless asked, or you are given something to fill it— understood?” 

You nodded feebly, a single tear trickling down your cheek. Geta placed the tip of his tongue to your skin catching the salty wetness, “if you can not please my brother, you will please me… otherwise what good are you here?” 

He shoved you to your knees, bits of sand biting into your skin as you hit the ground with a thud. His eyes were ablaze as he pulled out his cock. Veiny and impossibly thick, you’d never imagined one to be so large.  

Geta stroked himself, already hard and velvet beneath his palm, “open for your Emperor,” he demanded, the same snarl on his lip you noticed earlier today. 

You did as you were told, tongue out mouth agape waiting for him to slide against your mouth. Forcing himself inside, he filled it full until the pink head slithered into your throat, his groans vibrating through your bones. 

He rocked his hips into your face, panting and groaning some more as you gagged on his length— spit dripping down your bare chest and down his sack. 

He spoke nonsense to himself as you tried to breathe, squinting out tears from your eyes as you peered up at him. “The virgin mouth is fuck, yes, too good… impossibly sweet, untouched by another man, fuck, never get enough.” 

His large fist gripped your hair, pulling at the root as he bludgeoned himself further into you, fucking your head into the wall surely to leave a bruise or knock you unconscious, he wouldn’t care either way. 

“Stupid sniffling Caracalla,” he choked out between thrusts, “incompetent bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a whore if one fell on his cock,” he laughed and scrubbed at his face, reaching with his free hand to press the column of your throat, feeling himself deep beneath his thumb, “lucky for you, I do.” 

He came then, loud and shaky, holding you to him until your nose was tickled by his patch of dark pubic hair. He pulled out, leaving a pearl against his slit to rub against your mouth. 

“You might belong to Caracalla, but you will bow to me, and you… my sweet rosa, I have plans for you.” 

And that was how it started, how every night you would meet with Caracalla only to be summoned by Geta in the corridor upon your dismissal. Spilling secrets of his brother before pleasuring him with your mouth. 

In the light of day, you were ignored by him as you catered to Caracalla’s beck and call, and you often wondered if Geta had another servant he preferred during the sunlight hours. 

You were a midnight affair, a servant to one Emperor, a secret to the other. Caracalla was a strange man. Your time with him mostly was spent with him whining about the day's woes. 

How hard it was to be an emperor, the many expectations he had, the palace wasn’t large enough, his brother was too mean. Night by night his paranoia spread like wildfire, and he became gaunt, refusing to eat thinking Geta poisoned his food, his cheeks began to hallow. 

During all those nights he never once gave in to his own sexual temptations, he laid his head in your lap like an infant, whimpering and sniveling. One particular warm night you were sitting on his bed as you did every night before, listening to him sob about his mother and how he felt her attention was elsewhere. 

It took a single second of you being unresponsive for his switch to flip. Caracalla raged, flipping over furniture, ripping his draperies from the walls and pulling at his own hair. You were terrified, scared of him for the first time since the night you came to the palace. 

Caracalla bound your wrists above your head, and took force between your legs as you silently let him, disassociating from the entire situation, as he kissed a bruise to your collarbone, and scratched your thighs with his bitten fingernails. His inexperience was evident in his approach, in the way his hips held no rhythm, in the way he screeched like a midnight owl when he was close to release. 

He repeated the same thing over and over until he spilled against your stomach, a plea to either himself or to the Gods above, I am worthy. 

You shook violently, not with pleasure but with fear. You had thought of spitting in his face, but realized death would be your only future if you were to humiliate him during this catastrophic performance of what he would assume to be lust. 

Caracalla finished with a sweaty brow, laying down to fall asleep like a babe, an arm wrapped around your middle. A gaudy rouge colored his pale cheeks as drool slipped from his lips. 

You felt sick, defiled and disgusting. 

You’d rather be fucked by thirty men at once than have to endure that pathetic, cry baby fit from Caracalla. Gently placing his arm on the pillow, you fled. 

Missing your village, your family, the man who you were supposed to marry someday, your tears clouded your vision down the winding corridors of the palace. You would have fought to stay behind, should have pleaded to the men that you could be useful to them. This whore’s life isn’t what you had bargained for, death would be swifter— easier than this. 

The sweet scent of the balneum made you take a detour to the right, and you sobbed upon seeing the moonlight glint across the soft bathing water. 

Desperate to scrub his filth from your skin, the water was barely warm but you couldn’t care less as you sunk deep into the marble stone basin. Scrubbing your skin with anything your fingers could get ahold of. The jasmine soaps the servants washed you with the first time was tucked into its cradle and you slathered until your skin shined like an apparition. 

Tears dropped from the apples of your cheeks hitting the massive pool like a rainstorm over the ocean. Caracalla was a coward, a nuisance to Rome, to the Gods themselves. You damned his name as you scrubbed and lathered, repeating feverishly. 

For how long Geta stood in the doorway, you weren’t sure. You weren’t where you should have been, and he was irate upon your absolute disrespect of his time. He wanted to shout, plunge his way into the water and drag you out by your hair, bring you to the coliseum and make everyone watch your death against whatever animal he saw fit. 

You broke his rules, his laws, his heart raced with anger at the sight of you casually washing yourself. Nobody in the palace bathed in the moonlight, and when he heard commotion from the tepidarium room, he stomped towards it to find whoever the culprit was idiotic enough to disobey. He was alarmed to find you in there. Frantic, shooken up, no doubt from the hands of his flaccid brother.

“The lamb strayed away from the flock, I see.” his voice was like a snake, cool and calm but dripping with acidity that could kill at any given time. Jumping at his voice you nearly shrieked at his sudden appearance. 

“The moon has passed the mountains, yet you do not seek me out? Instead I find you here, helping yourself to the royal bathing quarters, as if you deserve such luxuries.”

Your voice trembled, as you climbed from the water, “I wanted… I needed to be clean.” 

His eyebrows twisted inward, confusion riddling his features until he stepped further into the room and noticed the marks across your skin. Caracalla’s mark. The marks of an hungry, untrained runt, trying to prove himself to the litter. 

Geta’s face boiled with sadistic rage as his eyes scanned down your body, the scratches of an novice beast unable to pleasure a whore. Bruises from a limp man who deserved a knife to his throat.

“Come.” he demanded, not waiting for you to follow as his stalked from the room, tossing a long cloth behind him to your awaiting hands. 

—

Water trickled behind you and down the length of your body as you padded on bare feet to catch up with Geta. 

This part of the palace was foreign to you, a set of stairs leading to a dark tower that you didn’t know existed, and then you realized why. He was leading you up to his chambers.

Geta and Caracalla lived on opposite ends of the palace, their hatred splitting them apart as far as it could allow. 

He thrust open a concealed door and stomped down a few stone stairs leading into his chamber. 

It was decorated in hues of deep ruby and scarlets, black linens flanked his walls. His bed was massive, alluring in the dark majesty of its presence. A single candle flickered beside his bed, casting shadows in the deep night. 

His hooded eyes seemed to strike with a ripple of psychotic light when he came back to the doorway to pull you inside by your wrist. 

Sitting on a lavish wooden chair he leans back, spreading his legs wide, reaching for a wine filled chalice downing it in one gulp, his eyes never leaving you. 

“Let me make myself clear,” he stated, “I do not care what Caracalla does in his chambers I never have nor will I now.” 

Geta wiped at his chin and set down the glass, his finger rounding the rim, “You came here knowing what your life would hold as an Emperor’s servant or a soldier’s fuck sack. The little amount of freedom you were once born with has vanished, and what a pity that must be…but quite honestly,” he gleamed leaning forward his face warmed by the light, casting shadows of evil on his brows, “I am not a savior to the fucked raw whores of this palace who weep after fulfilling their master’s needs.��

Your eyes casted downward at the patterned marble floor. “I told you the night we met that if you aren’t pleasing my brother or myself, you have no purpose here, did I not?” 

Your head shook up and down, knowing every word he said was true. 

“I will grant you gratitude where it is due by saying that you have done everything I have asked of you, sharing my brother’s secrets, using your mouth to fill my needs— it is all very pleasing…”

For the first time you look into Geta’s eyes, the shadows inside flicker with the candle light, and you are drawn to them like a moth. 

“… however, I find myself enraged thinking of that shriveled weasel dick not taking you to bed in a proper manner. It is not my style to fuck like a lover would—I use women to my needs and that’s it.” 

He rubs his jaw, as if the stubble was itching him, suddenly stopping to look at you dead in the eyes as his narrowed to slits, “but you, are a gnat. An annoyance I can not seem to get rid of, and I can’t decide if you are a woman version of the plague or something else…” His eyes glimmer for a second before he shakes his head to clear his mind, “Get on the bed.” 

“Emperor?” 

His voice boomed as he slammed down his cup, “do not make me say it twice, I find myself to be quite angry when I have to repeat my words.” His throat pulsed in wrath, and his knuckles turned white from his fists being clenched. 

You do as you're told, gingerly making your way to the enormous frame and mattress, sitting rigidly. Geta undresses himself, standing bare before you, that glorious length springing freely. 

“The difference between Caracalla and myself, is I know how to use my God bless-ed cock to pleasure a woman, and I’m damn good at it.” 

He’s on you in a flash, his breath sweet from the wine he had consumed. His body was solid on top of yours, pale skin never exposed to the sun. Enormous shoulders dressed in muscles that were hidden with robes daily. He sniffs loud, taking in your scent you feel his body shiver above you. 

His teeth nip at your earlobe, piercing through the flesh releasing a trail of hot blood onto your neck. It’s swiftly lapped away by his tongue, a low groan following as he tastes you. 

“If your blood is this sweet I would hate to know how you taste between your legs.” 

You squirm beneath him as he bites your lip the same way, his canines piercing your plushy flesh and he moves his mouth over the bites, enjoying the iron-like taste. A flood of wetness rushes to your core and you suddenly feel hot everywhere… something Geta doesn’t miss. 

“My brother’s whore is quick to becoming wet.” he says with a chuckle, sweeping his fingers between your folds, his rings collecting your arousal on his knuckles before he pulls them into his mouth,  “mmmm leave it to Caracalla to fuck a bitch when she’s drier than a well.” 

His mouth assaults your neck. Sweeping circling as he groans into you, his cock rutting against your sex as you pull him further into you, a hand coiled in his golden hair, yanking slightly, a traitorous moan escaping his lips. 

Your hips widen to try to sneak the tip of him into your cunt but he only laughs at your attempt.

“Look how desperate you are, pathetic thing… so eager to be filled by a man who knows how to fuck.” He groans when your nails scratch down his back, and he licks his lip to not get too carried away. 

That pitiful excuse for a human couldn’t satisfy his own hand, let alone a whore who begs to be brutalized.” You moan his name when he skims blunt nails around the peaks of your nipples, running his palms along your rib cage. 

“You're teasing me, Emperor, te necessito.” 

The snarl that seems to be a permanent fixture on his face curls on his lip, “begging is a good start, we both know how good you are on your knees, but I like the pity showing in your eyes, as if I’m your God.”

With that final word and title, Geta thrust himself into you, shredding your walls with each delicious inch of his cock buried inside of you. All breath is expunged from your lungs as you stare into the devil’s eyes, a chokehold to your own.

“Ora pro me, Deus meus, pray for me God,” he grunted as he pistoned back into your heat. Your screams filled his chambers, the tower shaking with seduction as he matched your shouts with grunts and moans of his own. 

He pawed at your tits, squeezing and claiming every inch of skin he could get his hands on. Your thighs were wrapped around his waist, your hips circling to meet his rhythms. A large hand wrapped tight around your throat, and you licked your lips letting a grin spread against them. 

Geta was leaned forward just enough for you to put a hand against his own throat, squeezing as tightly as you could. He wasn’t expecting this, wasn’t expecting someone to match his own sadistic fantasies.. let alone a commoner from a village he didn’t care to know the name of. 

His eyes embellished like a dark jewel in a burning hell before he snarled and backhanded your cheek. He had never been more turned on, practically fucking you stupid as the welts from his rings raised on your skin. 

“Puella pulchra, pretty girl,” Geta whispered into your ear after flipping you over, his cock wedged between your ass cheeks. “Mea es, mea es, you’re mine;  no one else’s.” 

His rings bit at your sides as he positioned your ass upwards, leaving his dental records in each cheek before slapping them hard in unison, mocking your yelp as he dribbled spit where he needed it to be. 

With no warning he entered your other hole at a bruising pace. You saw black when Geta bottomed out and you swore you were near passing out from the stretch of his giant cock stuffed tight inside of you. 

Your pussy throbbed to his commands as he pulled you by your neck with one hand, so your back was leaned against his chest. Thick fingers slotted themselves in the heat of your core until his rings were nestled against your clit. “How dare you let Caracalla have at you first, this cunt is too sweet, too sinful to not be mine.” 

Babbling along to everything he said you simply screamed yes over and over, as your head lolled back on his shoulder. You came so hot and bound tight that it flooded his fingers and spread down your legs as he kept pounding inside of you. 

“Oh fuck,” Geta grunted, shoving your forward to gain leverage on your hips as he pistoned into you a final time. A great yell breached his throat as his seed flooded your ass, filling it full and spilling over both himself and you, down to the laundered sheets. 

You collapsed onto his bed, legs shaking and quaking struggling to catch your breath. Geta fell onto his back beside you, his skin glistening with sweat, his release coated thickly on his softening cock and pasted into the curly hair. 

“Dulcis ut rosa,” he murmured with his eyes closed, licking his lips to savor your taste once more. 

Tumbling on shaky knees, you lift yourself up just enough to eye his length, wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking off his spend and yourself from him. Moaning as you devoured him.  

He hissed at the contact, reaching out to stroke your cheek with his thumb “you’ve made a fool of me, you wicked thing, I’m nothing but a fool.” 

When you were finished, Geta laid in silence beside you. His thumb strumming along his torso his eyes wide staring into the ceiling, deep in thought. 

Noticing a decanter of wine you asked if he’d like another glass. “No,” he said, still staring upward, unable to look at you. “I’m tired, leave me now.” 

Removing yourself from the bed you find the dressing robe he was wearing when he found you in the bath and slipped it over your shoulders. 

Leaving his chambers left you feeling rotten. 

It was strange how he looked at you during and after, he was talented just as he said he was, and you knew you’d never forget the night the other Emperor bed you in his sheets. For tomorrow was another day, back to Caracalla and his blubbering whines of the hardships of royalty.

Geta lie awake for hours. Eventually seeking refuge on his balcony staring into the pale ivory moon, silently asking the Gods for answers he himself didn’t know. He had bedded hundreds of women. Every shape, size and color. But you. The little gnat. You had been buzzing in his ears every night since you had gotten to Palatine Hill. 

Since the day he laid his eyes on you and scoffed to try to denounce his admiration, Geta silently wished death on Caracalla when he claimed you as his own. His original plan was to spoil the apple from the inside out, use you as a spy to gain information about his deranged brother— but it became more to him, you became more. But why? 

The God’s didn’t have the answers tonight, just like they hadn’t the night before, or every dawn since the night you showed up here. Guilt struck him like a bolt from Jupiter’s mighty hand and he pushed it down with the remaining wine he had stashed beside his bed. 

The facaded mask he wore these days almost slipped off tonight when you lay beside him. How he wanted to reach out and touch your skin while you laid in euphoric bliss. And he shut you out to avoid something he couldn’t risk. He didn’t know how to love a woman, his love was for war and power, blood and gold— still the gnat buzzed, unrelentless. 

Laying in the sex sodden sheets, he knew what his dream would be of tonight. It hadn’t changed in the months of you arriving here: Caracalla dead by his hand, and you, the gnat, sweet as a rose…his empress.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

latin translation:

virgines— virgins

dulcis ut rosa— sweet as a rose

balneum— bathing room

te necessito— i need you

ora pro me deus meus— pray for me my God

puella pulchra— pretty girl

mea es— you’re mine

tagging some moots: @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @etherealxwitch

[wileys-russo]

in the blink of an eye (3) II a.putellas

part one part two

in the blink of an eye (3) II a.putellas

"alexia?"

your eyes almost fell out of your head in shock at the bewildered looking blonde stood at your front door.

you shouldn't have been surprised she remembered your old apartment given this is where the two of you first set down roots.

the place itself had been owned by your sister, rented out to you for next to nothing while you were drowning in student debt.

you'd kicked and fought and argued with natalia to charge you what she would a proper tenant, determined not to be a burden and take the handout, but your sister forever stubborn had dug her heels in and refused.

you owed a lot to natalia.

the two of you were always thick as thieves despite the fact she was five years older, if anything that just meant you idolized her more.

you had always looked up to her, wanted to follow in her footsteps and make something of yourself just like she did.

your sister had been drawn to helping others since she was a child, performing practice 'surgeries' on dolls and toys, giving CPR to your teddys and tending to and bandaging up every little scrape, bump, bruise or paper cut you'd had without a second thought.

which given your track record of being unable to sit still, instead found climbing trees, riding cardboard down hills and racing your bike everywhere without a helmet on, were not exactly few and far between.

right out of high school natalia had already been accepted into university on an early entry offer, and with impeccable grades and a resume of volunteering and community work near 4 pages long, it was to nobodys surprise.

she'd studied to be a paramedic, also with those same genes of being unable to sit still the thought of being stuck in a hospital all day long was not on the cards for her.

she'd met her husband on her first week of university, and you were the first person she told after he kissed her goodbye on the first date, something natalia never did.

you'd teased her for the way her cheeks flushed pink and she stumbled over her words, giggling like a school girl and giddy with delight it was a stark contrast to her normally rational and stern demeanor.

so maybe you'd known he was the one for her before she did.

you were her maid of honour at their wedding two years later, and alexia had been your date, in fact that was the first time the poor girl had been subjected to meeting your extended family and you'd been so nervous you downed half a bottle of champagne before even leaving for the ceremony itself.

you owed a lot to your sister.

she was, even if you refused to ever tell her so, a huge factor in why you'd pursued law so fiercely.

you could have dropped down to a part time degree to ease the mental load it took on you, but determined to show everyone that whatever she could do you could too, you pushed on.

you would make something of yourself and make her proud of you.

only now, now it was a shame you hadn't finished that degree. you hadn't graduated.

when you left barcelona for madrid you’d dropped down to a part time degree, doubling the time it would take to finish, choosing to fill your time wallowing in your own self pity party.

when your mami’s health had started to decline you’d missed exams, seminars, your first set of placement hours.

you’d fallen behind, the mountain you needed to climb to catch up growing bigger by the day as did the mental load that stretching yourself so thin between home and heart took on you.

so you’d deferred, pushed it right to the back of your mind which was already a mess with everything going on, not unlike that one drawer in everyone’s house where all the crap you never use goes, abandoned and lost but still there, somewhere.

and now you were back living under natalias roof, her handout. and even though you knew it wasn't true and that natalia was always proud of you no matter what, your sister now wouldn't ever be there to tell you so herself.

when you and alexia broke up you withdrew from everything, from everyone. you retreated inside the four walls of your own mind because with those up nobody could get in to hurt you again.

out of a cocktail of both guilt, fear and pain you pushed everyone away, fled to madrid and started over by yourself, changed universities, transferred your degree and started part time and rented a tiny little shoebox above a bar that thumped and pulsed and kept you up all night.

but you didn't care, didn't reach out for help when things went from bad to worse, because if nobody was close then not only could you spare yourself more pain but it meant you couldn't hurt anyone again.

like you knew you'd hurt alexia.

your sister had tried to pull you out of that shell, pushing on forward despite how many barriers you put up to try and slow her down. because thats not who natalia was, giving up when things got hard was not what she did.

but then she'd fallen pregnant and your mami’s health dropped and just like after that date all those years ago you were the first person she called, seven times before you finally picked up to be exact, and finding out the news began to change things.

your icy outer shell began to melt away. you'd come back home for holidays and birthdays, and then for weekends, and then just because.

when mariposa was born you saw a whole new side to your sister. she'd always been one of the most empathetic and caring human beings, and natalia was the best sister you could have asked for, however, natalia was made to be a mother.

your own mami was shocked at how easily she adapted, days on end without sleep seeming to not phase her as routines were cemented and bonds formed, and posie had been drowned with love and affection from the moment she entered the world as natalias daughter.

but now, now she was gone.

you wished you'd called her more, told her how much she meant to you instead of just assuming she knew, told her you loved her, how proud you were of her.

your sisters job as a paramedic had been to save lives, and yet within seconds her own was gone and there wasn't a single thing anyone could do about it, and that feeling of helplessness, it had broken you.

but your life and your feelings and your grief didn't matter anymore. your sister has entrusted you from the moment mariposa was born to be not only her tia

"alexia?" you repeated yourself as she looked like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, guilt in her eyes and mouth slightly agape ready to hurry out an excuse about why she was doing what she was, calves tense like she was ready to bolt in the other direction at the drop of a hat.

only really, alexia had no excuse, had no words.

at the sight of you up close and personal, a real living breathing person and not merely a haunted figment of her imagination, after it had been so long the girls mouth ran dry and her head drained like a bathtub of any and all logical thought.

"eh...hola?" the blonde managed out, jolting slightly as there was an ear piercing scream behind you and you moved to push the door closed a little more, clearly sheltering away whatever was going on behind you.

"hola." you replied back in shock, both of you just looking one another up and down, until the crying behind you grew louder and you seemed to snap out of the haze which had befallen you in your ex girlfriends presence.

"alexia i- lo siento now is really not a good time." you cringed as posie screamed again and there was a clatter where she threw her cup across the room, having an absolute meltdown over the fact you'd refused to let her have a chocolate muffin for dinner instead of the chicken and rice you'd cooked.

as much as you did struggle to say no to her and you really wanted to give her everything she wanted and more, you also knew part of your role as her guardian was to make sure she was eating right and staying healthy.

plus the three year old was already long overdue a nap, her normal schedule thrown off with the mid afternoon meeting with ana, and you knew if you pumped her full of sugar she'd not go down and the rest of the day would be a nightmare.

"i-no lo siento i should have told you i was coming. well i mean i could not have but i just saw you today and i do not have your number and i just-well i-" alexia struggled to string together a sentence and an ever so slight glimpse of a smile made its way to your lips.

"-and here you are." you finished it for her as the catalan blushed slightly and nodded. “lucky guess.” you forced a smile, and at the rosy pink flush tinting her tanned skin you had a strange feeling settle in your stomach.

it wasn't something new, but it wasn't something exactly all that familiar. it felt like someone was trying to tie up all your innards into a balloon animal, twisting and pinching and tugging at parts that felt both foreign and peculiar.

you couldn't quite make heads or tails of it but the one thing that was obvious was the cause of all these strange new feelings, was alexia.

though just like before you were yanked out of your haze by the sound of something smashing, head ducking around the door to see your niece had managed to kick away the top of her high chair and was stood up and screaming now.

"oye, vuelve a sentarte!" you yelled to her as she screamed and wailed unhappily, tiny face glowing red as you began to worry she might pass out as the colour in her cheeks grew brighter by the second.

"te odio tía! te odio!" posie screamed and your heart broke to see her so distraught and not know the right way to deal with it. however so focused on the girl you missed the twelve different emotions which flashed across your ex's face as she was sure she'd misheard what was going on inside.

tía?

"i-dame un minuto." you excused yourself quickly, the door closing back in alexias face before she could even process her thoughts let alone say a single syllable.

"mariposa. i am trying my best here nena! por favor you need to eat real food." you begged, grabbing her under the arms and trying to sit her back down though the moment you touched her she began to thrash and kick and yell.

"posie-" you grunted as her foot dug into your stomach and exhaled shakily trying to keep your head as calm as you could. but when nothing you said or tried worked, and with still finding your comfort ability with discipline, you went for plan b.

giving her what she wanted, rewarding her bad behaviour. but you were a bleeding heart on your worst days and when she started to cry for her mami, you crumbled.

"vale! you can have the muffin posie just stop crying and screaming! and we do not kick and hit people!" you yelled, the girl falling silent for a moment as you exhaled when she rag dolled and went limp in your arms.

but it would seem you let your guard down too soon.

you hissed and almost dropped her as her little teeth sank into the flesh of your hand, grunting in pain and placing her down on the floor where she stomped her foot and her eyes welled back up with tears.

"bebita-" you inhaled sharply and squatted down to her height, lowering the volume of your voice and readying yourself to soothe her.

but it was too late, the damage was done and with another yell that she hated you she took off, little feet thumping against the floorboards and you winced as her door slammed.

and people thought only teenagers did that.

you knew what your sister would do, which was to not even have gotten into this situation in the first place.

mariposa had been a near perfect baby, hardly ever crying, hardly ever throwing a tantrum.

of course there were times she would become grizzly or overtired or upset, but natalia always knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say, she always knew exactly what everyone else needed from her.

but you, you were clueless.

you knew rationally what you should do, go after her and check in on the three year old who'd just locked herself in her room in a fit of emotional turmoil.

but selfishly just needing a minute for yourself you sank to the floor with your forehead pressed against your palms, blocking out everything and everyone for just a brief moment of reprise, a glimpse of delusion that this wasn't your reality now.

if you stopped for just a second you could convince yourself you were simply babysitting.

natalia and her husband were off having some well earned alone time together, a date perhaps they'd have called it because your sister was always telling you that just because you got married not to let the romance or the spontaneity of the relationship die off for a routine.

but you never did get married, you couldn't even handle an engagement. and you weren't babysitting, your sister wasn't away on a date, she was never coming back, and you needed to swallow that pill and stop deluding yourself.

so with a deep inhale through your nose and a shaky exhale from your mouth, you pushed yourself up to your feet and forcing them one in front of the other made your way through the carnage of your apartment and toward posie's room.

thankfully it didn't have a lock, however you struggled to open it, hitting it lightly with your shoulder as something was clearly blocking it.

finally wiggling it open enough for your body to slide through you realized it was your nieces blanket, and your heart broke at the sight of her toys and bedding all flung around the room.

because though you could stop and take a moment and process your thoughts and emotions, the reality was that mariposa was three years old and didn't quite yet that ability.

you supposed it was your responsibility now to provide an environment where she learned, and where you set a good example.

great job you were doing of that so far.

you were drowning and struggling to tread water enough just to keep your head from going under all together.

"oh mi amorcito." you sighed quietly, your stomach twisting with guilt seeing your niece had clearly exhausted herself, slumped down in the corner buried in a small mountain of her softer toys with her favorite teddy clutched in a death grip to her chest, thumb of her other hand jammed in her mouth and passed out asleep.

quickly hurrying to re-make her bed you very gently picked her up, not even breathing as you feared you'd wake her, but she slept on soundly as you carefully tucked her into bed, resisting the urge to just lay down with her and hold her so tightly, and to never let go.

kissing her forehead you brushed her hair out of her face, just staring at her for a moment in adoration.

up close she really looked so much like your sister, her mami.

the downward slope of her little button nose, the dimples in the corner of her mouth where she smiled, the little cowlicks in her fringe.

materialistic objects aside, mariposa was really all that you had left to tether you to natalia. your sister clearly trusted you even if you couldn’t work out for the life of you why, and you knew that even if you couldn’t see her anymore, that she was looking down on you and on her daughter.

and you’d never been so determined in your whole entire life, not to let her down.

with a soft smile you tucked her in a little tighter and slowly backed out of the room, leaving the door just ajar and exhaling a deep breath you’d not even realised you were holding.

then as you stared at the semi destroyed living room, food and toys and parts of the high chair flung all across the room, it clicked.

alexia.

“hijo de puta!” you cursed in realization, hurrying back to the front door and tugging it open, not surprised but maybe just a little disappointed to find not a soul in sight.

then again it has been easily a half hour since you slammed the door in her face, perhaps even more. had she really even been there in the first place?

given the lack of sleep you were currently navigating, delusions and apparitions certainly weren't off the table.

with a sigh and what seemed like the millionth shake of your head just that day, you softly closed and relocked the front door, rubbing your temples to soothe the splitting headache you felt coming on before it had even arrived.

you wanted nothing more than to sleep. to simply curl up into a tiny little ball under the covers, creating a little cocoon just like when you couldn’t have been any older than posie. just holding yourself and sleeping until all of this went away, or perhaps until they invented a time machine.

but you now had responsibilities and needs and a little human that relied on you that were far far more important than any of your own, and you’d be damned if you let a single other bad thing happen to that little girl, or to taint the legacy of your sister which mariposa held in her tiny little fists.

so with a nod and shifting your mindset you set off, picking things up and placing them back where they belonged, trying to create even a false sense of organisation and like you absolutely knew what you were doing.

however you were interrupted before you even had much of a chance to begin, knocks sounding at the door as you had an armful of toys and frowned in confusion.

you prayed to every god you knew that it wasn’t ana with a surprise drop in, but normally off the record she let you know when she was coming.

though having learned how the system worked from your time in law school you knew that if someone found out it would mean a change of caseworker.

and you couldn't afford mistakes like that, you would make this work, you had to.

dropping the armful of toys in the little basket where they normally lived you hurried to the door, flicking the deadbolt off and peering out the little peephole, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at who looked right back at you.

"alexia?" you repeated yet again, the blonde stood back in front of the door with a paper bag tucked under her arm and a tray of two coffees in hand, rubbing the back of her neck with an odd look on her face.

"oye, you uh you seemed like you may need this." the girl smiled awkwardly holding up the trays of coffee and you almost threw up that after all of these years she still remembered how you liked yours.

always iced, two sugars, oat milk.

in a different time there would be a teasing remark on her rosy pink lips about how she never understood no matter the weather it was always an iced coffee, your strange aversion to warm beverages of all kinds forever amusing to her.

you almost lay in wait for her to hold the tray above her head, tap her lips with her free hand and demand a kiss in thanks before she'd hand over the caffeine held hostage.

many a time you'd been far too grumpy and simply tried to tackle it out of her grasp, not in the mood for her games but that usually just resulted in her effortlessly holding you off with a smug little smirk.

or ever so occasionally...the two of you would end up on the floor and doused with coffee, a pause of silence before one of you would crack and laugh, holding your stomachs as you'd just laugh. and laugh, and laugh and laugh, until eventually you'd both roll into one anothers arms, giggling and exchanging words between the meeting of your lips. words which were normally poking fun at your impatience.

you wondered if she had found someone else to laugh with now.

"i-gracias." you exhaled with a slight smile, subtly pinching your hip beneath the fabric of your shirt to make sure you weren't having some sort of sleep deprived manic episode and conjuring her up in your mind.

because subconsciously you don't think she ever left, not really, and it wasn't for a lack of trying to kick her out of your memories and your head on your behalf, that was for certain.

"do you...want to come in?" you winced at how forced it sounded, a flicker of insecurity and doubt in the footballers eyes for a second.

"maybe this was a mistake. lo siento i just saw you and-" alexia struggled to string her words together, cursing inwardly for how tongue tied you still had her.

if the girl was really really honest with herself, you still had her wrapped right around your little finger.

"-and here you are." you finished for her once more, alexias stomach flipping at the soft smile sent her way. "you came all the way here, you brought coffee. please, come in." you spoke a little more sure of yourself this time, opening the door a little more and moving aside.

"you are sure?" alexia questioned, hovering right in the door way. "no, are you?" you rebutted as she opened and closed her mouth before shaking her head and returning your smile, stepping inside.

"i do get dibs on whatever is in that bag though." you joked with another small smile as she placed the coffees down on the kitchen counter and you locked the door again, trying to bait yourself into a false sense of security that this wasn't a terrible idea, and a bizaree one at that.

only as you turned back around you realised the state your apartment was actually still in, the same fog from before having hazed your mind in the presence of your ex.

"oh dios mio. uh just give me a second!" you blushed with embarrassment and rushed around, shoving things away and kicking them into corners, desperately trying to pull the cover back over the hot mess express your life really was.

"no no alexia por favor you do not need to-" you begged as you noticed alexia had grabbed some paper towel and started to clean the table where the remains of posie's lunch had been flung across it.

but a firm look from the older girl stopped you in your tracks and you knew better than to try and argue with her, mumbling a quiet thank you as a silence fell between the pair of you.

it wasn't exactly comfortable, but it certainly wasn't as tense as you'd have thought as you finally put away the last of the things scattered across the living room, well as best as you could anyway.

"lo siento i do not mean to-it has been a day." you admitted with a small sigh, accepting the coffee alexia held out to you as the pair of you took a seat at the table across from one another, purposefully avoiding making any actual eye contact.

"so, how are you?" you broke first, swallowing your mouthful of coffee and stirring it absentmindedly. "bien, y tú?" alexia answered as you nodded. "bien, bien."

"really?" "really?"

at your shared thought you both looked up and blushed as your eyes met, a small smile curling into your lips as you sipped on your coffee. "i mean it has been a long time ale." you admitted as the footballer hummed.

"almost four years."

"look alexia you heard the screaming, and you saw me at the cafe. i am sure you have questions, just ask them." you encouraged, the girl feeling your eyes burn a hole in her forehead.

"she is very cute, the nena." alexia started, still scrambling to try and piece together any logical thoughts as her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a freight train.

"mariposa, but we call her posie." you smiled, glancing behind you to the bedroom where you knew she was soundly asleep. "she is not always that loud either." you attempted to joke, wincing at the painful awkwardness of your delivery.

"is she yours?" alexia blurted out, her mouth and her brain missing a step in which they communicated about what the other was doing, a short bark of laughter leaving your lips at her forwardness.

"no, she's natalia's." you answered and alexia couldn't even begin to describe the odd sense of relief which flooded her body. "oh i did not-the woman you were with, i thought-" alexia's brain finally kicked in at that point and she clamped her mouth shut again.

"you thought?" you tried to coax the rest of the sentence out to her but it would appear under lock and key as alexia shook her head with a polite smile. “nothing, sin importar.”

“you thought she was mine.” you realized a split second later, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. the blush which returned right to the catalans cheeks across the table from you all the confirmation you needed.

"you thought ana-oh no, no no." you shook your head firmly, not missing the ever so slight flash of relief which flickered through alexia's eyes like a lightning strike, there one second and gone the next.

"there is a lot to explain." you sighed, dragging your hands down your face tiredly. "you do not have to, por favor i did not come here to interrogate you." alexia promised, hand starting to just inch toward yours before she stopped herself, immediately shoving it down into her lap with a frown.

"i want to." you pushed a little firmer as you caught your exes eye and she paused before nodding. "where to even start?" you laughed humourlessly, running a hand through your hair and looking off across the room.

"the woman i was with, her name is ana, she is a social worker with child services." you began after a moment. "she is in charge of the...well the investigation, into if i am the best full time carer for mariposa." you continued, alexia listening attentively to your every word.

"natalia-" you squeezed your eyes shut, looking up to the roof and as she suddenly put the pieces together alexia's heart shattered.

"oh. no por favor you do not need to-" "está bien." you quipped shortly as alexia fell silent again and you took a very deep breath.

" they went to the movies, out for dinner, a normal night. i was home for the weekend and i babysat posie, to give them some time together." you continued, swallowing the sob which sat poised and ready to strike.

"they were driving home-" you paused and exhaled shakily, looking back up to the roof as tears brimmed your eyes and you quickly wiped them away.

"there was a man who was very drunk, he was driving, fell asleep at the wheel and swerved into the other lane where a truck was coming." you inhaled sharply as you felt a sharp stab to your side.

"the truck also swerved, lost control and went into the other lane and...and drove right into them. they were both killed on impact." you forced out, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on your breathing.

you weren't sure how long that horrible silence lasted, but alexia didn't even trust herself enough to breathe, worried of what you might think and ignoring every urge she had to climb across the table and take you into her arms.

"when mariposa was born, i was named as not just her tía but also her godmother. natalia's husband, he has no family around. my mami, she is too old and her arthritis is too bad to look after herself let alone a child." you revealed, steadying yourself slightly now as you glanced up and chanced a look to your ex.

"so posie lives with me now. but it is all temporary until we have family court and i can legally adopt her, which is why child services is involved, why i was meeting with ana, why i moved back here. barcelona is all posie has ever known, where natalia....was. i will not rip her away from what little anchors she has just for me. and i will not see her live with strangers. i will not fail her, i will not fail natalia." you whispered, swallowing with a determined nod that alexia matched.

"please do not say you are sorry. i-i have had enough of the pity alexia, of the sympathy. por favor i cannot take any more!" you cut her off before she even began, the apology dying in the older girls mouth as her features softened and she nodded.

another silence fell, suffocating and awkward, as alexia wracked her brain for where to go next, what to say next.

"can i, can i say something?" alexia asked hesitantly as you nodded this time, finger tracing circles against the cool plastic of the coffee cup in your hand.

a habit which had alexia practically feel the ghost of your touch across the back of her hand, the place where your fingers used to absentmindedly touch and poke and trace when you were anxious.

"i know it has been years but, i owe you an apology." alexia swallowed the hardened lump in her throat, nearing the edge of the cliff of her comfort ability, ready to dive headfirst into what was likely going to be a very awkward conversation.

"i should not have pushed you, about the engagement. i should not have left that night. i should have waited, listened, i was selfish. i would like to say i was just young and hurt but...i would be lying if i said i have not regretted it for many many years." alexia forced out, pushing the straw around her cup as her eyes were trained down to the tabletop.

"oh alexia." you sighed out, a pained smile on your face and a storm cloud of emotion brewing behind the surface of your features, only visible through your eyes which alexia looked up and found herself lost in.

"i should have listened to you, heard you out. you do not need to be sorry, you were ready to take that next step and, and well i think i was just scared of what that meant. overwhelmed and nervous, but i should known it only came from a place of love, of your love for me." you admitted, both of you falling quiet as you just stared at one another, the longing look you gave one another maybe saying more than any words could.

"i still love you." oh alexia could have kicked herself in the head at that, the words tumbling out from her lips before she could clamp them shut, the panic which flooded your face having her wish the floor would suddenly swallow her up.

"ale-"

"oh dios mio, lo siento mucho! i just-i just meant i still have love, for you?" alexia tried rapidly to backpedal, but any attempts she made would be just as useful as trying to shove back the toothpaste of her words back into the tiny tiny tube of her mind.

"alexia. i do not think you have ever really left my mind but-" you paused to sigh deeply, sinking down into your chair as you carefully thought out your next words.

"-but my life is a mess right now ale, un desastre. i can barely care for myself, meet my needs. everything i have needs to go to posie and making sure she stays with me and has the best life possible it is the least i can do for natalia and-" you were shocked into silence as a hand reached out, a slender finger wiping the tear which threatened to fall from the corner of your eye, one you hadn't even felt coming but alexia saw long before it appeared.

your skin tingled at her touch and her thumb ever so lightly traced the curve of your jaw before her arm was pulled back and she gave you a small smile and a nod of understanding.

"i know, you do not need to explain yourself to me." alexia promised, still nodding as you found yourself joining her, jolting slightly at the scrape of her chair against the floorboards and you hurried to stand as well.

you watched as her eyes flickered around the room for a moment, landing on the paper bag of pastries which was now likely cold and still untouched.

her head turned again and she grabbed the whiteboard marker off your fridge, tearing off a section of the bag and scribbling something down.

as she moved again your feet followed with a mind of their own to the door where alexia now hovered, fist clenched tightly around the small scrap of brown paper in her palm.

"i know you, and i know that you are struggling with this. and i know that you would rather send yourself under and push mariposa up to float. but there are life rings you can reach out for, help that there is no shame in taking." alexia spoke firmly but not unkindly as you quickly used the back of your hand to wipe away another tear which threatened to fall.

"i will always have love for you. and if you need a friend, i am always here. if you need help, i will always be there. please do not drown yourself for the sake of your pride amor, you need to look after yourself to be able to look after posie, sí?" you found yourself nodding at her words, feeling her slip the piece of paper into your hand from her own.

"so take care of yourself, if not for anyone then for her, and for your hermana. natalia would be so proud of you, no matter what. she chose you, she knew posie would be best in your care. she chose you! you could never let her down." alexia's voice dropped to barely above a whisper as all you could do was nod and within seconds you were melting into her tight embrace.

"please look after yourself, call me if you need me, en cualquier momento." her lips softly kissed your cheek, lingering there for a moment with one final squeeze of your smaller form against hers, and then you blinked, and she was gone.

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

did i say this would only have three parts? yes.

did i lie? …yes.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Natalia II

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: Talia and her obsession with your hands

For as long as Talia can remember, she's noticed people's hands first.

Usually, it's as simple as a handshake.

You can tell a lot by people's hands, Talia thinks. If they're rough and calloused or soft or if they're big or small. The way people throw. The way they catch. The way that someone squeezes her hand slightly when they shakes.

There is a lot about hands that Talia finds interesting.

Yours especially.

She has different answers to questions depending on who asks. If someone asks her your prettiest feature, she'd say your eyes. If you asked her that same question then she'd say the way you smile when you see someone you love.

If someone asked her your hottest feature, she'd say your abs. She's not wrong. You have good abs, from all the sits ups and planks you do at training. If you were to ask her then she'd confess and say it was your hands.

You have large hands. A big palm topped off with long fingers. They're rough but not too rough, rough enough that on the occasions where you pin her down, she can feel each callous. They're strong too. Strong enough that you can dangle from the climbing wall with one hand and strong enough to squeeze her throat just how she likes when you fuck her.

They're a little bit veiny too, enough that she can see them clearly when you flex and Talia can always count on being distracted by them when you do weights.

Your hands are the most perfect hands in the entire world and she will die on that hill.

She'd noticed them when you first met all those years ago, pulling off your gloves to shake her hand. They'd been less rough then, less strong and less big but she'd still been impressed by them.

Still been impressed enough by you to go back to the hotel and watch your matches with Linköping again and again. Impressed enough to follow your career at Arsenal.

The birth of her secret fan account happened then. It started off as a burner Twitter account that had been sparked when against Aston Villa, you pulled off your gloves and ran a hand down your throat.

To this day, Talia can't thank that camera man enough for staying on you.

You'd dragged your entire hand down the expanse of your throat and Talia was treated to the slight flex of it as you curled your fingers around your own neck for reasons unknown.

Her burner Twitter account very quickly became a little shrine to you and your games that carried on even after you'd come to Barcelona. The TikTok account using the same handle had been born during the World Cup.

Talia hadn't really been expecting much when she randomly posted an edit about you but it had blown up a little bit and as Sweden's first choice keeper, she was given a lot of video footage to go off of.

There was even a shot of you at training with your team as they poured water all over you and you stripped off your shirt displaying your abs.

That had been a very popular edit.

"You're both quite popular on TikTok," Pernille mentions one evening over dinner.

You're all at home a day after a match, enjoying one last meal together before your parents fly home.

Prins sits at your feet happily, mouth open waiting for any food to drop while Reina lazes on the back of the sofa and Kung bounces around the room with a stick of celery.

"What? With the edits?" You ask," Yeah, I've seen a few of them. I think they're kind of cool."

"I don't." Magda, as always, sounds grumpy and Talia wonders briefly if she was this grumpy when you were growing up. "You're a baby. You shouldn't have people thirsting over you."

"I've not been a baby for a while," You reply but Magda just huffs.

"You're my baby," Magda insists," And I've had enough for edits showing up of your abs."

"She has good abs," Talia can't help but put in and she smiles as the tips of your ears turn red. Only for a flush to go through her body as you pick up her beer bottle and flick off the top with one hand.

It's unbelievably hot when you do that and you don't even know it.

"Of course you would say that," Magda replies before somewhat smugly saying," She got them from me."

Pernille rolls her eyes. "Yes, Magda," She says, slightly patronising," You have good abs too."

Talia would usually tease Magda for the way she turns red after the compliment but she's once again focussed on your hands as you easily lift Prins up onto your lap, your good boy wagging his tail happily at being included.

"It's the hand edits though," Magda continues," I just don't get the hand edits. They're just hands. I think I've saved one to show you."

Talia's heart drops as Magda shows the table what edit she's talking about.

It's one of hers.

Very clearly featuring a game a few weeks ago when you'd gotten uncharacteristically wound up and had fisted the shirt of an opposing play and dragged her away from you, pushing her further back to keep some distance.

Again, the camera man was a godsend because the image was still clear even as Talia zoomed in on your hands.

You watch the edit, unaware of the crisis that Talia's currently in next to you.

The caption is even more embarrassing.

'I'd let her manhandle me like that any day 🥵🥵🥵'

Just when Talia thinks it can't get worse, it does. Magda starts scrolling through the account and each caption is worse than the other.

'Just want her to pin me to the mattress 🥵🥵🥵'

'I'd love to have finger shaped bruises from her 🥵🥵🥵'

'I bet she spanks super hard 🥵🥵🥵'

You stare down at your hands in confusion, clenching and unclenching them as Talia tries very hard to stop the blush from her chest rising up to her face.

"Are they good hands?" You wonder aloud, brow furrowed. You turn them over to inspect before getting distracted with Prins trying to lunge forward to lick the sauce off your plate.

"They're reliable hands," Pernille replies before turning to her wife," God, Magda, it's just an edit. People are allowed to thirst over her hands if they want."

"No they're not! I won't allow it!"

"Unless you're going to cyber stalk the owner of the account, Magda, then there's not much else you can do."

A thoughtful look appears on Magda's face.

"No, Magda, you can't cyber stalk the account owner."

"But-"

"No."

The conversation, thankfully for Talia, is dropped and by the time Magda and Pernille leave for the airport, she thinks you've forgotten about it.

Out of nowhere though, you slip onto her lip, pulling her into a heady kiss.

Talia gasps into it when you slip your tongue into her mouth as one hand tugs her back by her hair as you have more access.

By the time you pull away, that hand has migrated to exactly where she wants it.

Wrapped around her throat.

"So," You say, whispering in her ear," You'd let me manhandle you any day?"

"You-?"

She can feel your grin against her skin. "It's the same username as that Twitter account you've dedicated to me."

[gynnnicsworld]

REC LIST STEREK PART II

So I was going to make a well-structured rec list, but the more I try to organize it, the less I can find a proper order. So I decided to do it from the most recently read fic to the oldest one in my AO3 history.

__________________________________________

Get You The Moon

BY: AClosedFicIsNeverRead

words: 180.785

Derek looked up in surprise to note that they were taking a private jet. Dread settled into his gut like a stone. “It has a cage, doesn’t it?” he asked quietly, and noted the subtle changes in his family members’ posture. “Is it for me?” Cora gave him a pleading look and nodded. “Is it because of what you’re going to tell me?” he asked, voice like gravel. Another nod confirmed it. Stiles. Oh, GOD. It had to be Stiles. Derek would not lose control over anyone else in Beacon Hills and they damned well knew it.

- OR - The one where Derek has been gone for 6 months building a new life, finds out that Stiles is being assaulted by Theo, so he comes back to Beacon Hills to kick some serious ass and rescue the loudmouthed human who stole his heart. (You will need ALL the tissues, but it will have a happy ending by the time all is said and done!) Title inspired by song: ‘Get You The Moon’ by Kina ft. Snow

(This fic is and always will be one of my favorites, it has a really special place in my heart. It has sensitive topics, so I recommend you read the tags, but it's worth going through all the angst to get to the happy ending, because it DOES have a happy ending.)

True Love's Kiss, Attempted Murder

by: cowboilikeme

Words: 120.040

Beacon Hills has never been the most normal of towns, but recently things have been happening that are getting harder and harder to explain. And it's becoming more difficult to keep the supernatural a secret when something newer, darker and scarier comes to town in the shape of a teenage girl. But she is only the beginning to their problems. And what she brings with her is the worst this town has seen in a while. “What’s so bad about getting a ride in this?” Derek sounded like he was smiling, but as beautiful and unbelievable as that sounded, Stiles still refused to look at the man, “It’s a good car.” “Overcompensating?” Stiles ridiculed, knowing perfectly well that there was no way Derek wasn’t packing something impressive. “I think we both know that’s not true,” Derek was smirking when Stiles finally turned to him, if only in shock by the werewolf’s statement. “I think we both know there is no way I could know that,” Stiles winced at how bitter he sounded, but once it was out, there was no point in trying to suck it back up.

(So this is the most recent fic I read, and I loved it, I really loved it too much, and it makes me really sad that it's not very well known or spread, because the characterization that the author puts to the characters is really realistic, it's literally like reading and imagining a different season of teen wolf, it really impressed me too much. I highly recommend this fic, it's very good, and it may have some other unrelated things but they are not very relevant things, it doesn't affect the fic at all. For real, run to read it! and comment what you think! Give the author a lot of love so that he/she continues writing more works of art in this fandom.)

Lead You Home Again

by;GotTheSilver

Words:49,962

The first time Derek meets Stiles, the kid’s brown eyes are wide, and he’s staring up at him with a mischievous grin as he tugs at the arm of Derek’s first ever Batman figure like he’s trying to separate it from Batman’s body. An alternate take on Teen Wolf, wherein Stiles and Derek are childhood friends, and things unfold from there.

(I don't know about you, but I have a soft spot for fanfics where Derek and Stiles are childhood friends and grow up together, it's like really exciting to read, because this has a certain degree of canon, because it is known that Derek and Stiles knew each other as children but for some reason they have forgotten it? or decided to avoid it? I don't know, but I do know that you will love this fic, it is tooth rotting fluff, Okay, yes there is anguish, but afterwards everything is so fluff)

Fixing What Has Been Broken

by: JustJim & Useless_girl

Words: 102,205

Derek Hale is dead. That’s something Stiles Stilinski refuses to believe even for a second once he gets the call from his dad. He heads back pissed, because he’s convinced that he can fix that mess with or without the help of his old pack, because it is Beacon Hills we’re talking about. A town where no one stays dead for long. But maybe there’s more to fix along the way…

Or our reply to the Teen Wolf Movie's mess.

(we all know how awful THAT movie was, so our beautiful authors use their talents to fix that terrible movie and give us this wonderful fanfic that is everything it should be, we have mpreg (yes beautiful, and beautiful mpreg that explains Eli's precious existence) we have a little bit of feral derek (I know, we all love when derek gets a little bit feral) and we have a damn happy ending which is the best of all.)

Lock All The Doors Behind You

by:entanglednow

Words: 25,960

He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one.

(Yes, sorry, I really do have a guilty pleasure for feral derek, it's just that it's the moment where Derek allows himself to be honest with himself and his feelings, without so many complex thoughts that prevent him from acting on his instincts. And yes, his instincts always tell him that Stiles is his safe place, his anchor, he likes his smell and basically follows him everywhere because he likes him.)

don't know what i'm supposed to do (haunted by the ghost of you)

by: crazyassmurdererwall

Words: 30,926

Stiles sees dead people. Yep. Seriously. (He’s got this. He’s totally got this. So what if one of them is Derek’s mom?)

(This one may seem funny (which it is) but it also has some sad backstories, it's actually a light and very entertaining read, you guys are going to love it, you'll probably get frustrated (like me) that Stiles doesn't tell Derek what's wrong. I really recommend it, those scenes with Talia are painful and beautiful.)

It’s Not Pretend When It’s Real 

by: waterella

words: 32,741

“At least we got this far,” Stiles argued. “Could’ve been worse. For now, they know he’s taken by someone in the pack.” “Mm hm,” Lydia said, giving him a look. “You realize that you are now going to have to pretend to date Derek, right?” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Oh no, what a hardship. That sucks, boo hoo.” He motioned Derek emphatically. “He’s like, my best friend.” “Hey!” Scott insisted. “He’s like, my second best friend,” Stiles amended. “It’s fine, we’ll figure it out. Right?” He turned to grin at Derek, who was scowling at him.

(This is very funny, and just read it it's good, My favorite parts are where Derek keeps making excuses and Stiles only accepts them because they both want to keep kissing.)

The Price

by: theroguesgambit

Words: 18,452

Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

(you guys have no idea how good this fanfic is, please please do yourself a favor and go read it right now, it's painful to read but i promise it has a happy ending for derek and stiles.)

Getting Better

by: The BadassIsIn

Words: 205,156

The season 4 rewrite absolutely no one asked for where Stiles actually deals with his trauma from the nogitsune instead of being a-ok with it all and added Sterek.

(So this is quite therapeutic to read, seeing how both boys deal with their traumas and get better together, it's really nice to read, but of course there is angst, but it has a happy ending, so don't worry, I would never recommend a fic that didn't have a happy ending for Der and Stiles. So feel free to go read it and cry a little, get emotional and feel like a band-aid is put on your hearts as you see how our boys finally deal with their traumas.)

i fell into the moon 

by: Iscar123

Words: 234,122

Laura Hale is arrested hours after returning to Beacon Hills. Derek Hale returns to town to bring his sister back home and together they are drawn into the mystery of a rogue wolf on their family land. They also can't seem to stop bumping into the Sheriff's son, Stiles. Laura is determined to make Stiles her new best friend and Derek just wants everyone to survive so he can get the hell out of the town that took everything from him. Stiles just wants everyone to be happy.

(If you like fics where Laura appears, I really recommend this one, because Laura and Stiles become an amazing duo against Derek, it's very funny, but I recommend you read the one shot from where this fic is inspired first, it's very good too. Derek using his charm with Stiles is my favorite thing ever.)

can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time? 

by: whiry

Words: 120,369

here's something strange about Beacon Hills. Stiles can't really put his finger on it, but the way certain classmates look at him at school and the way certain adults look at him in the grocery store has him curious. And it's not the sort of pitying looks that his mom's coworkers used to give him, but these ones are longer, more searching, like they're looking for something. Not to mention the weird noises that sometimes come from the woods when he runs, too human to be animal and too animal to be human. Plus the way the Hales have seemed to sequester themselves to the wild and give Stiles serious Cullen family vibes. But Stiles, like everyone else apparently, ignores it. Until it becomes too great to ignore and he has to investigate for himself and find out what is actually going on in Beacon Hills. +++ Or, the one where Stiles and Derek meet, hate each other, slowly get to know one another, and fall totally head over heels for each other all while avoiding curious classmates, an angry ex-girlfriend, and, oh yeah, imminent death.

(If you like alternative universe- High School fics like I do, then you have to read this one, plus the entire Hale family is alive, and the werewolves are revealed, and Derek and Stiles have this awkward crush on each other that slowly develops. You HAVE to read this, it's spectacular. And cora is cora haha)

Molten

by: sugareey & wolfspurr

Words: 27,896 

"Stiles, is that you?" He recognizes that voice. He doesn’t know why he’s hearing it here though, in whatever cold, dark cave he’s found himself in. The owner of that voice is supposed to be miles away, back home in Beacon Hills. Unless Stiles is the one that’s ended up further from home than he could possibly have predicted. "Derek?!"

(I like fics where Derek and Stiles are put in a cave or cage, and they only have each other to get out of that scary situation, but Derek's wolf always ends up very attached to Stiles. This is kind of like that.)

Spellbinding Mishap 

by: Wasterella

Words: 45,855

Stiles winced, rubbing the back of his neck, and looked over at Derek again. “So... you know how you told me not to touch anything?” Derek stared at him for a second, not seeming to understand, and then Stiles knew the moment it clicked because his entire face set so concretely it might as well have been carved out of stone. “What?” Scott asked, looking between them, confused. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. What happened?” “Yeah,” Stiles said slowly. “So the thing is, I uh, touched something. In the Witch’s house. And Derek came in and grabbed it from me. So he also touched it. And now it uh, it seems like whenever the two of us are a certain distance apart, we start getting sick. Or like, double over in pain. Or, you know, start dying.”

(Derek and Stiles are cursed and consequently can't be away from each other, so if you want to have a laugh, you can read this fic.)

Not So Boring

by: wasterella

Words: 69,062

“It was an accident!” Stiles continued, trying desperately to explain that this was all a huge misunderstanding and that the Demon clearly had to cut him some slack here.

It didn’t seem like he would be getting his wish, because the Demon’s annoyance melted into frustrated incredulity and he said dryly, “You summoned me by accident.”

“Yes!” Stiles insisted.

“How is that even possible? How do you accidentally summon a Demon?”

“You know, by accident!” Stiles argued.

“So you accidentally drew the summoning sigil into the floor, and you accidentally had an offering available, and you accidentally stood in the circle while accidentally reading the summoning spell?” the Demon asked dryly.

Okay, well when it was said like that, Stiles could understand the skepticism.

(And I close this rec list with another fic of our beloved westerella, and this is one where derek is a demon and stiles accidentally summons him. And it's really funny honestly, you have to read it, it's great!)

After months and months I finally bring you these recommendations, and I promise to bring you more, but I won't commit to saying that it will be soon.

Please tell me if you've already read any of the fics I put on the list, and tell me what you think of these recommendations, is there anything in particular that you would like me to recommend? Please let me know.

And if you have any to recommend to me, I would really appreciate it, tell me which is your favorite fic and I will read it.

[pixelnrd]

Mac and Hugo sat out the front of a cafe in Windenburg, sipping their coffee. Their investigation into Schiller had come up short - they still didn't know who Daisy was, or have any lead to another member of the family. They were both disheartened - it felt like they had come here for nothing.

'It feels like the trail has gone cold,' sighed Mac. 'I guess this is as far back as my family history goes.'

'You're retracing your family history?' Mac and Hugo looked up to find the cafe waitress standing next to their table.

'Yeah,' said Mac. 'But I don't think there's anything more for me here in Windenburg.'

'Have you tried checking out the Harrington Museum?' asked the waitress. 'It's got heaps of local history, it's this old mansion up the hill that used to be owned by the Harrington family who were these big rich aristocrats. They pretty much originated with Windenburg.'

Mac had no other leads, and so they and Hugo decided to check out the small history museum. Maybe it would unearth some niche local history relevant to their cause.

They arrived at Harrington Manor, a big beautiful old house that had been restored into a museum. The first foyers were filled with photographs of the historical Harrington family.

'Welcome to the Harrington Museum,' said a woman. 'I'm the current caretaker and curator of the Museum and a direct descendant from the Harrington family. Feel free to ask me any questions!'

'Who were the Harringtons?' asked Hugo.

'The Harringtons were a wealthy family who owned much of the land that is now modern day Windenburg. Back then they managed majority of the landholding in the Windenburg estate and built Windenburg into what it is today. The family had to sell off parts of the estate during the Great Depression, and eventually went bankrupt due to inept management. Even the surname eventually died out. Let me know if you have any more questions!'

Mac and Hugo began to peruse the pictures on the walls. There were handpainted portraits and old, faded photographs. Mac approached one set of photographs, and noted the captions beneath them.

The first photograph they noted was of a young couple. The caption below read:

Wedding of Patrick Thomas Harrington and Marigold Joy Langston, circa 1916

Langston. There was that surname again. How was it connected to it all?

On the left side were some photographs of groups of people. The first photograph showed the same married couple, Patrick and Marigold. The second photograph read:

Wedding of Walter Andrew Harrington and Sybil Helena Langston, circa 1919

Langston, again. But there was no information on who any of the other people in the images were.

Mac traipsed around the room, reading the captions eagerly, searching for more photos of the Harrington men who married Langston women. The next photograph they came across was of a young family in the 1920s. The capton below read:

Walter Harrington, Sybil Harrington, Walter Harrington II and Ruth Langston.

Mac couldn't believe their eyes. There, in the photograph, was a girl named Ruth Langston. The same Ruth Langston whose gravestone they had found in the Henford cemetary with her husband Theodore. The daughter of Daisy. What was she doing in this photograph? How had she come to be here?

And yet, next to the photograph of Ruth was another family photo, this time of Patrick and Marigold again. The caption below read:

James Harrington, Marigold Harrington, Thomas Harrington with Primrose Weston and Daisy Weston.

Here it was. The golden nugget that Mac had been searching for. Daisy Weston, a young girl, immortalised in a faded photograph. She was somehow related to this Harrington family. Primrose was her mother.

But who was Marigold? Why was Ruth a Langston and not a Weston? Why was she with the Harrington family? Mac thought about it long and hard, and soaked in the faces from all the photographs. They thought about what it all must mean.

Leaving the museum with Hugo, feeling like they had at last had a breakthrough, Mac revealed their theories.

'What we know is that Ruth was the daughter of Daisy... and that Daisy was daughter of Primrose. I think Primrose and Marigold are sisters - Langston sisters. If you look at their faces, they seem so alike. So maybe they continued living together - there was no husband in those photos of Primrose's, so she must've been a Great War widow.'

'It makes sense,' said Hugo encouragingly. 'Althought I still don't understand why Ruth was a Langston, living with the Harrington family.'

'Ok ok... hear me out... what if, Ruth was born out of wedlock? And was hidden in secret with the Harringtons? These women were all Langstons, who married Harringtons... they must have used their maiden name to protect her.'

Hugo laughed. 'How salacious,' they smiled. 'Talk about family drama.'

Mac smiled contentedly. 'Yeah it's dramatic but... I dunno, I have a good feeling about this theory.'

As they walked on past the old country houses, Mac knew where their search needed to go next.

'Now we need to figure out who the Langstons were.'

[alreadyblondenow]

▸ Assassin Jaehyun x Assassin Female reader ▸ Smut, Smut, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Gore, MATURE ▸ JAEHYUN SMUT SERIES: FUCK, MARRY, KILL ▸ VOLUME I: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3 ▸ VOLUME II: PART 1, PART2

Summary: A new life without being an assassin. A chance to run away and forgive. A chance to do it all again and not fuck it up. How can Jaehyun protect you from his world now?

WORD COUNT: 7,000K

Warnings: THIS FIC IS FICTION ONLY, Smut, smut, smut, MATURE THEMES, Heavy description of killings because most of the characters are assassins, mentions of blood, character death, A LOT OF NCT MEMBERS WILL D WORD IN THIS FIC, unprotected sex, mentions of condoms, mentions of pill, pregnancy, swearing, mentions of alcohol. HEAVY CHEATING, FICTONAL MURDER, CAR CRASH, Not everything is proofread, apologies again. I hope I did not forget anything. PLEASE !!! DON'T READ IF IN ANY WAY YOU WILL BE UNCOMFORTABLE.

A/N: This is the fluffiest part of the series. The part 2 will have the gore and other shit heheheheheee. Thank you so much for waiting for Volume II ! I know how its so ugly to wait for an unfinished fic but I am doing my best huhu I'm sorry. I would like to mention that I changed the story, so if you read the teaser for FMK, I CHANGED THE PLOT A LOT SO - THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING

If a person really loves you, they will have a hard time choosing whether to stay and fight for the relationship or just let you go because it's what you want. It’s between respect and what you want. 

Jaehyun wanted to lock you inside this apartment. He was planning to keep you like a thing that he loves for safe keeping. He wanted to make you stay, and not give you a choice anymore. He wanted to own you. He didn’t want to let you go. You’re not leaving his life. Not now. Not ever. 

That’s what Jaehyun wants. 

But Jaehyun loves you, that’s why he did not chose what he wanted to do. Jaehyun indeed loves you. You can see it in his eyes. Now that you’ve finally broke your silence and told him that you wanted to leave. And not just leave this place… you we’re talking about leaving his life. This life. For good. 

He was silent. He didn’t know what to say. But you can see in his eyes, he’s hurt. He even turned his back against you because he didn’t want you to see him cry. It’s not that this relationship grew out of love, but love was the problem all along. You and Jaehyun have this love for each other but life is doing it’s best to stop you two from pouring it. 

At this moment, Jaehyun is so frustrated, thinking about the time where it all started. Where did everything went down hill? 

Hendery? 

His father’s death? 

Mark’s death? 

“I know you’re deep into thinking right now” you disturbed his thoughts, sobbing, and struggling to speak for yourself but you have to. “But I have respect to you Jaehyun, until this very end, I need you to let go of me. Were tired of fighting, I can feel it. I’ll leave once you approved or accept that this is our end” you said and left the room. 

For Jaehyun hearing those words from you hurt. He wanted to hold you, stop you and grasp for every love that you have left for him. But he couldn’t. He was like a stone, he looked heartless on the outside for making you leave the room, but on the inside he was burning with want to make you stay. 

For three days, you waited patiently for his decision. And in those three days, Jaehyun was just gone. He wasn’t working, he didn’t attend any meetings, gone. Just gone. You packed your things as slowly as you can just so you could keep your calm composure.

And by the time he finally arrived, you knew that the day was today. You will finally leave and will be granted freedom. 

“I’m not going to try and win you back im not going to beg for you to stay. I want you to stay… but that’s not what you want “ 

He looked calm now you thought. He looked so tensed, mad and hurt the last time you were on the same room.

“But at least give me the chance to let you go properly in the way you deserved. Its the least I could do”

In the days he was gone, he did his best to think straight. He did his best to understand your part, why you want to leave and what good is this going to give you both? But to every question he asks himself, all answers just ends up putting you in good position. He can imagine you with a good life, perhaps leaving his life will give the peace he can’t give you. And besides… having a peaceful life was all you ever dreamed of. He has already become the villain in your life he can’t continue to do that.

You allowed him to help you pack.

You allowed him to drive you to your new place. 

You noticed he still wears his ring. 

You thought that this day would be awful, heavy and full of tears. But you can see right through Jaehyun that he made sure not to give you a hard time especially today.

“Hmm the place is small are you sure you dont want a bigger one?” You just gave him a look and shook your head no. 

Surprisingly Jaehyun looked like a normal person today. He still wears black though, all his tattoos are covered with thick clothing at least you get to see him like this one last time. Like a normal person. One without blood in his hands.

While you two were busy unloading your stuff, it was obvious that Jaehyun was taking his sweet time with you, he doesn’t normally move so slow like this, he even checked every inch of your new place and made sure you were safe. If you’re being honest… you’d kill to make time slower for this specific day. 

But after eating quietly at your empty living room floor, it snowed and the room became colder than it already is.

“Jaehyun I want to thank you for today,”he nods his head, looking at you straight in the eye while listening to every word you say, “You know where I live now. But please I hope you keep your word. Let me go” you just said that to avoid him spying on you. Who knows? 

He just nods.

“I hope you get to have warm nights now that I’m out of your life” Jaehyun said before finishing his beer.

“Im off now” He said with a cold tone. 

That night. You watched him get in his black car without even making a second look to you. He started driving the moment the car was ready to go. 

For almost 2 decades of being together. For the love you thought no one could ruin…. Everything went back to square one, on this cold and quiet day.

A year later 

Who would have thought that living a decent and innocent life would be something… so challenging. 

Challenging because now you realize killing someone just because you can… is not normal. It’s necessary and it can be avoided. 

You found a decent job at the library and youre a part timer at a convenience store… everything felt normal. You love it. Even if its boring.

“Well… you’ve been an assassin for far too long” Yuta laughs through the phone, “you should practice self reflection and do some meditating perhaps it could help you” Yuta suggests. 

“Hows Taeyong? Is the baking classes paying off?” You asked. 

“Yeah, surprisingly he bakes really good. But the guy is a perfectionist… nothing he makes make him happy” 

“Well tell him he’s doing a good job already” 

After that sweet call with your friend, you headed to your second job, a convenience store not too far from your place. It’s already 9PM, the person before your shift should be ready to head out. The job is kinda lonely, late hours can be so boring, but you figured its quiet. Plus you can eat peacefully, that’s what matters. Now that you’re alone,  eating peacefully with the food you made while looking at the window and watch the snow fall… 

You remember the night you and Jaehyun parted ways. You haven’t thought much about him. Youre lucky moving out goes hand in hand with moving on… but are you moved on officially?

Everyday, you come home and congratulate yourself for having a kind of life like this. A peaceful and quiet life. 

And everyday… you can’t help but think about sharing this kind of life with Jaehyun. Will he like it too? 

As you prepare to go to bed, it was a really cold night and you wanted to make sure you’re well rested by the morning comes. But just before you close your eyes, a loud bang at your gate woke every bit of you. 

You got a kitchen knife just to sure, funny how not being an assassin for a year can wake every instinct and skill you have with just a loud bang. 

By the time you open it, you were quick to point the knife to the person banging at your gate in this ungodly hour. 

It was Jaehyun. Covered in blood. 

He smiled before he could even speak a word and fell into your arms. Helplessly.

You carried him inside and took care of him. 

He lost a lot of blood already but you knew better, of course you can’t call the hospital or the police. “Fuck Jaehyun what am I supposed to do?” But you come your senses and just did whatever you can. 

You removed the bullets, stitched him up, cleaned him and made sure that he’s not in pain. Of course… he never removed his wedding ring.

When the sun came out, you went out to see his car and parked it inside. It was full of bullet holes and it seems like he really got lucky last night. 

He slept the whole day, it was already sunset when he woke up. He saw you sleeping beside him and didn’t even have second thoughts about hugging you even though every part of him hurt. 

“What the fuck happened?” You asked gently. 

He can clearly remember how you held a knife on his neck the night he arrived. He just smiled. “Still an assassin, you still got it” he teased you. 

“That was just for protection you idiot— answer me what happened” 

“Well, a business meeting did not end well, what’s new?” He smirked as if he didn’t just almost died. 

“You need hospital by the way… can I call someone to pick you up?” You asked with concern. 

“So eager to get rid of me huh?” 

“No Jaehyun. I don’t know how to keep you alive— please. Call someone” 

“But I like it here… I seriously thought that I’m gonna die last night, and all I could think about is seeing your face again. I’d die happily” 

That explains the smile before he collapsed. 

It’s hard to reason out with someone in this state, especially with Jaehyun. So you left him and prepared for dinner. But Jaehyun as the hard headed man he is, got up with all his strength to be with you in your small kitchen. 

“I shouldn’t be here” he said weakly. 

You walked towards him and hugged him gently, thankful that he is indeed alive. But you have to understand that you cant keep coming back to what hurt you. 

“Stay for dinner, we’ll figure this out” 

That night, you two talked like you didn’t you didn’t grew apart for a year. You were still the comfort that he longs for and he’s not ashamed to show it. While he was talking he didn’t hide anything from you for he was sure that you will never judge him. He admitted that he’s not in great shape, business is not well, drugs was all he had when you left, and that he was depressed. “My father left me with gold, money and a legacy… but not a happy life y/n” he scoffed and finished his meal. 

 When he was fetched by his new assassins, it was harder to leave than he thought. He feels sick, he never wanted to leave your place ever again, just like the night he left you here for the first time. The night he let you go.

“I bet you’re disappointed in me. I promised to never disturbed you but here I am…” he says with weak eyes.

“You can always visit me Jae… but not this way” you joked and kissed him on the cheek. 

Little did you know that your invitation made him happy, a push to be a better man again. He didn’t want to face you again like this, broken,  an addict, lost. He wanted to be better. And so he stepped into his car with hope, with motivation, a better drive to live a new life and bring back the mighty Jaehyun. 

Months passed by and you find yourself thinking about Jaehyun again. Waiting for a sudden visit, waiting for him again. Maybe it’s because you heard his story now? That he ruined himself because he lost you, it’s not your fault of course, you’re not responsible. It’s his own doing and free will! 

But when your waiting has finally come to an end, Jaehyun surprised you in an unexpected way. 

It was night time you just got home from a tiring shift and you barely can’t keep your eyes open while doing your dinner. When the doorbell rang, it woke you up in an instant because…. Who would visit you at this hour. You hid the kitchen knife behind you, as you open the gate with one hand. And there he is. Holding flowers in his arm while the other has a pizza box. 

“I bet you have a knife behind you” he chuckled and received a warm hug from you, welcoming him like he’s not a stranger to your life. 

He looked well, better than a few months ago. He told you he’s 3 months sober now, and that looking forward to see you is something that pushed him to do well. “Thank you” he said warmly. It wasn’t an easy battle, but he still loves you too much that he never wanted you to see him broken and lost.

The night was sweet, you didn’t expect to spend it so close with each other. Almost as if you two were still a happy couple. But that’s what forgiveness is all about. What happened in the past can’t be changed, but it happened already.

“You’re not mad at me anymore?” Jaehyun asks, why he’s slowly caressing your back while you lay on his chest comfortably like you’ve done it a thousand times. 

“About what exactly Jae?” you giggle, “About ruining our relationship? Your father’s death? all the betrayal, Mark’s death?” 

“Everything. Every little thing” he admits. 

“Ever since you set me free, I can’t help but think, ‘can Jaehyun live a life  like this? Peaceful and slow?’ I think about it everyday Jae. That’s how much I forgave you already”

Hearing your answer made him tighten his hug, as if he thanked you silently. As if telling you, he’s truly not worthy of your love but he will stay in your life. 

“You’re not just here for dinner, am I right?” The question shocked Jaehyun and caught him off guard. He didn’t expect that you’d see right through him. It’s not right to suddenly invite your ex lover (ex wife) to have sex after everything that’s happened in your life. 

You watch him become shy, ears red as fuck and dimples flashing before your eyes, “If somehow I put you in the mood” he answered shyly, but bravely, his hand still holding yours fondly “but nonetheless my intentions are good. I really wanted to see you again” he admitted. 

And as a prize for his cute honesty, you started kissing him softly. Testing waters. But of course, the man longs for you. He accepted those small kisses and returned some to you too. You feel his heart pounding against his chest, “nervous?” you teased him licking his lips before you proceeded and started to kiss him deeply. You feel his hands roam around your body, your night dress slightly lifted and your lacy panties, his tight pants are the only barriers that are stopping you two to fuck then and there.

“we shouldn’t be doing this” he whispered in the most frustrating tone, you just giggle and accepted every hungry kiss and bite he gives you. 

You two soon ended in your bed, hands with each other, lips to lips and bodies immensely closed. But Jaehyun didn’t want to ruin a perfect day, you didn’t have sex, but there was passion and intimacy happened in your bed that night. 

“We can have sex, hopefully next time?” He smiles sweetly while you continue to kiss him. Holding his hand and keeping him close. 

Jaehyun slept like a baby that night,  he hasnt been sleeping well ever since your relationship went downhill even more when you left, but tonight he slept like a baby. Peaceful, deep, worry less. Truth be told he didn’t want to sleep that night. He wanted to just stay beside you, look at you and bask in this feeling of being near you again. But he was just so comfortable beside you that he can’t help but sleep. 

“Good morning” you kissed his exposed back, tracing his tattoos which tickles him. He smiles sweetly his ears turning red. He missed this feeling. The feeling of waking up happy, looking forward for a beautiful day, seeing you and getting to hold you first thing in the morning. 

It feels like a dream. 

“Am I dreaming?” He asks sweetly, reaching out to you for kisses, sweet and hungry ones. Kisses on your neck, kisses on your lips. good morning indeed. 

“You know when you left, you never even visited in my dreams. It feels like my life was in constant punishment when you left” he said while touching your lips. Still can’t believe that you’re somehow…. Back together now. “By the way, I haven’t slept that good for a long time” he added.

You can really see that he’s well rested. ”Is it because of me?” You asked sincerely Jaehyun can see the guilt in your eyes. He just pulled you in for a hug and kissed you good morning, He didn’t want to ruin such a beautiful morning. 

“How about, I make us breakfast and you hug me from behind?” He suggests. 

“Sounds like a plan” you answered and placed a kiss on his head before you got up from bed. 

Both you and Jaehyun can’t believe that you slept on the same bed last night… he was looking at your ceiling with high hopes that maybe, if he could make the right things now, and make it up to you… maybe? You can come hone with him in 127 house again? Start a new life? And try again.

“Jae, what time are you going to leave today?” You disturbed his thoughts. 

“Uh… afternoon. I have to fly to Italy… for work” you already know what kind of business that is and you didn’t bother asking. What’s important is, he’s here. 

Nothing is clear with this relationship yet. Welcoming Jaehyun in your life again is like coming after what broke you. How did this happen? After today? And then what? You're back to 127 house and become a Jeong again? 

You were in deep thoughts while you watch him move around your kitchen, while he prepares a breakfast for two, while he makes your morning drink. You look at his healed tattoos, the ones that are new when you told him you wanted to leave. Maybe that’s a sign? Maybe you needed both to heal and be far from each other in order to realize that you two are meant to be. No doubt. 

“Hey,” he asked sweetly and disturbing you with your ugly thoughts. “You okay?” He asked as he hands you your food. A plate so full that it made you remember how he used to take care of you back then. 

“I was just thinking how suddenly you’re back into my life. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not thinking about it… I mean the whole idea of me leaving is to be away from you” you said as gently as possible. Jaehyun is not an unreasonable man, he understands where this is all coming. Theres no need to argue for sure, there’s no need to comment to what you said for every part of it is true. He just smiled at you. 

“Your placed changed so much, I see you really put into work on every corner. I even saw your garden, was that lemon tree I saw?” He asked with a smile, genuinely curious. 

“Yes, Taeyong planted it for me. They visited once. I suck managing this place Jae, but I love it” you chuckled, “who would have thought that I would have my own place”

“Who would have thought that I wont be part of this too,” he smiled and took a bite, “Its been what? A year already? Almost? I almost didn’t recognize you if I’m being honest you look free, you don’t look scary anymore” 

You couldn’t believe what you’re hearing, he’s just making you laugh. He loves seeing your smile. 

“While me… I’m still the same Jaehyun, the same Jaehyun that fell in love with you-“

“No Jaehyun you’re different. Every part of you is different now” Jaehyun didn’t argue further because its true. Maybe it was a compliment? Maybe not? He looks at his reflection through the dark coffee and see his face. His neck full of tattoos, he can see through his eyes that he’s broken and lost. But alas a happy man, at this point of hour.

By the time Jaehyun left you didn’t expect it feel so heavy. You wanted to ask when can you see him again? But you sure do know that doesn’t work that way. He comes when he comes. And you’re just crazy in love while waiting for him. 

“I’ll be back” is what he said before he placed a kiss on your lips, a deep one. A kiss that wanted you to pull him back to your arms and stop him from leaving your house. But no. 

What the fuck is this? Why are you jumping back to what hurt you?

“How’s everything while I’m gone?” Jaehyun asked sternly to his bodyguard. 

“We lost a few men but the deal is sealed sir. Might I add sir that your fiancé is already waiting in your private plane” 

The mentioned of the word “fiance” made him miss you already. He lets go a deep sigh and took one last look to your house before he orders his bodyguard to drive. 

When Jaehyun arrived at his private airplane, there, a lady same as your age is waiting for his fiance to arrive. She is Jaehyun’s fiance that he got into a relationship with because he’s sad and depressed because you left him. He did tried to love her at some point… but he just ends up looking for pieces of you in her that she will never have. 

Jaehyun thought that marrying himself away will eventually make the heartbreak go away… but it never did. The relationship evolved between lust and pure passion only… at first. Until her father, a powerful like Jaehyun made a deal with him. “Marry my daughter and we will be 2 families that is so powerful that no one will dare piss you off anymore”

Jaehyun agreed. Proposed and gave himself more troubles and problems. And that is the start of his fall. His mighty reign being shaken. But that is when he became honest with himself too. He needed you back in his life. 

Before the accident that brought you two together again, Doyoung is the one who suggested Jaehyun to see you and try to win you back, simply because he can’t stand what’s happening now with everything. “Maybe y/n can bring the old Jaehyun back” Doyoung said to his boss.

Not long before Jaehyun left to see you, his fiancé staged an ambush and tried killing Jaehyun. She was well aware that Jaehyun will not be easy to kill, its fun for her too. She’s crazy like that. One of the many things Jaehyun liked about her… but not anymore. 

Present time

“Well are you two together again? What does that make me?” The girl started while she poured a whiskey for herself. 

“Don’t even bother touching her. You’re aware of who she is and what she’s capable of. You’d be dead by now if she knew about you… and what you did” Jaehyun said before closing his eyes, just soaking in with the feeling of the calm you brought to his life again.

“Why cant you love me Jaehyun?”  The girl cries. 

“I tried” is all Jaehyun could say.

“Then why are we still doing this? Why are you still marrying me?” The girl asked, sobbing like a helpless person. 

“Business is business babe” he reaches for the woman’s face a caressed it like he admires her. But Jaehyun just closed his eyes and slept the whole flight. But the desperate girl went down on her knees and unbuckled Jaehyun’s belt, pulled out his cock and gave him a blow job. This girl is crazy, desperate for Jaehyun’s love and attention, but all she could have right now is lust. 

Jaehyun may be an angel inside your home, but outside of it’s four corners, he’s back to being heartless. Well, you can’t blame the man who loves you. This world that he lives in will eat him alive if he continues to be soft in front of other people. 

“Is that the best you got?” Jaehyun moans and held on to the girl’s head before thrusting slowly and deeper. Reaching low inside the girl’s throat, thrusting inside out until he cums.

Jaehyun was away for a couple of months, no calls, nothing. Taeyong and Yuta managed to visit again over the months that Jaehyun is away, you loved every moment of it. You just wish that Jaehyun could be present too, and he could spend time with the others too just like old times. Watch the sunset together. But you all know that it’s not that simple anymore. Jaehyun is different and will not understand the word friendship anymore, for he’s not looking forward to rekindling with Yuta and Taeyong too. All he cares about is… you.

“Now that you two are back…” Yuta started. 

“What’s the plan?” 

“It’s up to him. If he leaves the life that ate him whole, then maybe we can really start again. But if not… I’ll leave for good. I’ll hide from him this time. I’ll never go back there” 

“But do you think it’s going to happen now?” Taeyong adds. 

“No. Honestly. I think I’m giving myself a big trouble. You guys… I don’t even know when is he coming back, he’s not even calling? I can’t see the real Jaehyun yet. The one that I loved, the one that I married… but, now that I’m not an assassin anymore… I’ll let myself love him as my true self… you know?”

“Speaking of marriage, did you divorce him when you left?” Yuta asked. 

“No. I was hoping that… eventually, we can put it into good use? He loves me. I know enough that he will not marry anyone else besides me” 

“So you’re ready to be a Jeong now?” Yuta asked, “now that the Jeongs dont own you, are you ready to be a Jeong? … you know, like a normal person”

Assassin or not, Jaehyun’s world is crazy. And that is why you can’t answer Yuta yet. 

“I need some time” that’s all you can say and Yuta respects that.

Meanwhile… Jaehyun is celebrating for 3 months straight with his engagement. A fake happiness of course. But a good time is a good time. He will endure everything until all of this is done and he can come back to you. 

“How’s Y/n?” Doyoung asks quietly beside Jaehyun while his boss watches the sun goes down. It’s beautiful here in Italy Jaehyun thought. But the situation he’s in right now is ugly. 

“She’s good… For the first time of my life I slept soundly… beside her. During the time that we were together, I just cant help but think that… letting go of her is the best decision I’ve ever made, and I’m happy I let her go and build this life that she has right now. A life without me, without the killings, dodging bullets….” 

“So you’re giving up?”Doyoung asks calmly, “If she can’t bring your might back then what can? Who can?” 

“I’ll think of something else, but for now… I would have to keep him away from this life. She doesn’t deserve this”

After 6 months of faking happiness, never ending parties and business arrangements, finally Jaehyun arrived again at your place. Unannounced and alone. 

You just finished taking a shower, humming happily a song that you heard from the radio. You bathrobe is what covers your body, hair still wet from the warm shower when suddenly… 

“Nice song,” Jaehyun whispers beside your ear with his deep voice. 

Which startled you and made you threw a punch which he of course can dodge. He covers your mouth when you realized that its Jaehyun. Hugging him tightly in your dark room. He didn’t missed the fact that you’re only wearing a robe and you’re both happy about seeing each other again. 

“Is it a good time?” Jaehyun asked like a gentleman. He was talking about having sex. He just wanted to make sure that you’re okay with this. 

“Its a perfect timing” you said and kissed him, helped him remove his clothes. He was dressed in Prada from to toe, you already knew that he came from an important event that ended very late. A business meeting? 

“Stop it with your thoughts,” he whispers and made you focus on him by revealing you left boob and proceeds to licking your nipples. Pushing you against the wall and continues to lick and suck on your left boob until your nipple is sensitive and you’re to left to want more on the other side. He has the changed a bit when it comes to stupid shit you thought. 

He motions you on your bed without breaking what he’s doing to left boob. He bits it playfully before he stops and pushes you to your comfort. You watch him undress the last few garments he’s wearing. Specifically his expensive watch and his boxer briefs. 

And when he’s all naked on top you, kissing your exposed neck, he swiftly removed your robe and positioned him in between your legs. 

“Do you like it?” He asked first before he proceeds. 

Of course you love it. Everything he does. 

You feel him smile in between kisses. But not because of lust, he’s just happy that he’s making love with the love of his life again. 

“I love you. Always have. Always will Y/n” 

He left those words before licking the folds in between your legs, making you moan and say his name over and over again because of the things he makes you feel using his tongue. You feel him lick you slowly, from time to time and proceeds to spreading your folds and finding sensitive spots in your cunt that only he know. He has always been your weakness. 

When he was done giving that great oral, he finds your lips kisses it endlessly, down to your neck, the valley between your boobs, giving both of your boobs a good lick… as if he has kissed and marked evert part of your body. 

“I don’t have condoms with me,” he whispers while he continues to kiss your neck. “Am I lucky?” He playfully bit the shell of your ear. But you were quick to teas him. 

“After all the shit you put me through? — I have condoms by the drawer” you teased him and watch him roll his eyes but happily reaches the first condom. 

You watch pump his cock a few times while his fingers runs up and down you wet slit and watch you shiver. He rolls the condom and lines his tip on your cunt, his lips were quick to find yours as he pushes through your walls oh so slowly. Like he’s savoring every second that he’s thrusting. 

When was the last time you two made love? 

Probably the night of your wedding? 

Jaehyun hates that thought. So he thrusted deeper, watching you melt with every sensation he gives you, catch every moan you let out and grant everything you asked. 

You want him to kiss you while he fucks you? Sure. Jaehyun made sure that you’re breathless with his kisses, leaving you wanting for air. You want him to go deeper? Sure. He pins your legs down on the mattress making sure you wont close them so he could go deeper. 

“Dont stop” you moan out. And Jaehyun got excited and put you in a new position that you loved. Lifting one leg up on his shoulders as he goes deeper while fucking you. You said dont stop right? He felt you cum already, but you were so into the sex that you don’t care if you came already. You want him to keep going while he overstimulates you, putting you in all fours, pulling your body against his chest and squeezes your boobs while he fucks you.  

After a few more rounds on different corners of the bed, you and Jaehyun rest and catch your breaths after using all the condoms you have in store. “If it wasnt for the condoms” Jaehyun giggled and placed a kiss on your lips. 

“Are you staying for the night?” You asked as you cling onto him. The man keeps you around his strong arms. 

“ I will. I want to stay. Can I stay?” Jaehyun asks sweetly. 

“Of course” you answered. 

“How about your life?” You feel him keep you closer as if he’s not ready to let go if you wont allow him to come back in your life. “Can I stay in your life?” 

“Id love that” you answered him sincerely. 

And you saw the same smile he flashed the night he asked you to marry him. 

That night you realized that he loves you. And no one can ever make him happier. 

After that night, Jaehyun made sure he will not make the same mistakes again. 

Whenever he leaves, he leaves with a promise, may it be small or something big like, “I’ll fix you porch light when I come back, don’t get someone to do it” or “lets go see a movie, a musical perhaps?” 

He made sure that even though you can’t contact him through phone, you have this certainty that he will come back. 

He never brought work whenever he’s with you. This time, its you whom he saves from over working. Like now… 

Jaehyun just arrived with groceries in his hand and he you were on the phone with your boss from the library, you were talking about your updated schedules when Jaehyun just placed a kiss on your lips. You thought that … that was it. But no. He looked you in the eye and kissed you deeper, he can hear your boss through the other side of the line, reciting the dates of your schedule. When the call ended and you were breathless the whole time you were kissing, you smack his shoulder and placed a kiss on his cheek and marking the dates on your calendar. 

“Wow you’re one busy librarian…” Jaehyun says, “I’m happy for you” he smiles and kissed you one last time before unpacking the groceries. 

“How long are you going to stay? Its been three days since we last saw each other… I just noticed that you’ve been coming here more often” you smiled and hugged him from behind. 

“I’m staying longer this time because I will be away for much longer… BUT but.. don’t worry, we will have so much fun” Jaehyun felt your embrace became tighter and grow silent, but what can you do? 

“I have something for you.. its a trick to make you stay.. I hope it works tho” you blurted out and told him to go in your room. The gift is big so he can see it immediately. You didn’t go inside with him. You figured that… when he sees that gift, he will need those special seconds all to himself. 

And by the time Jaehyun saw it… you heard him play the piano again. 

He never touched one when he started training to become an assassin. But you knew that music was his first love not you. 

He went back to where you were standing, he leaned on the wall beside you and crossed his arms. “Its working… “ he smiled and kissed you deeply, thanking you countless of times for bringing music back to his life. 

Your relationship with Jaehyun went on like this for a year. Celebrating each other’s birthdays together, countless of beautiful nights and mornings of him playing the piano you gave him, giving your house life, and enjoying holidays together. Sometimes Jaehyun comes home to you with blood in his hands, but you’re well aware of what kind of person he is outside your home. You never fight or argue, Jaehyun was the one who’s so quick to stop you whenever a conversation is getting heated. The flashback of the nights during your marriage kept flashing in his head. And he will do anything in his power to stop it from happening again. 

“Mmm one more?” Jaehyun requests after you two finished your nth round for tonight. He will leave first thing in the morning so he is doing everything he can to keep you awake. 

“Jaehyun I’m defeated” you chucked and kissed him. You feel his cock go hard and you feel him hump your thigh, all you could is complain… but you love every second of it. He’s been fucking you deep and slow lately, it feels extra good because its raw. “But can you please be faster or rougher this time?”

“Why? Don’t you love it when I go deep?… and slow?” He teased as he pushes in back to your cunt. Making you moan a little louder, he bit your should and slapped your ass. Spreading your ass cheek while he pounds hard. 

“Fuck Jaehyun I’ll break-“ you struggle to tell him as he fucks you deep and rough. 

“You asked for this.. just a minute ago” he kissed your neck and bit you again, “make up you mind” 

The round ended with his mouth on your left boob, his right hand on your right boob and his cock continuously shoots loads of cum inside you. He was out of breath, you look at him and he was just as ruined as you are. 

He removed his cock slowly, kissing you all over body. Everything that he sees a little red on your skin, “sorry for this” he apologized and kiss you. 

“This is nice right?” He looks you in the eye. “Life has been so much better for us right?” 

“Yeah” and you proceed to sleeping in his loving arms. You didn’t hear it but he told you he loves you. 

On the next day, you find no Jaehyun in your bed but a note with red roses instead.

“I’ll be back by the time these roses withered. Just in time to give you fresh ones” - J 

Little did you know, he was gone early this morning because he’s getting married. 

“You told me you would be back last night?-“ Doyoung was quick to tend to Jaehyun, his cousin, his boss whom he needed to deliver at the altar in approximately half an hour. 

“The sex was good-“ Jaehyun teased Doyoung. 

“Okay shut up before you put her in trouble,” Doyoung says as he helps his boss put in his coat. 

“I need a tequila shot, I can’t do this sober” Jaehyun demands, and in a matter of second 3 tequila shots are ready for him. 

The wedding was grand. It was the biggest wedding of the century and every public platform is updated with the happening of the great Jeong Jaehyun’s wedding to the country’s darling. A power couple in the eyes of the public, but they know so little of what’s really happening. 

Every powerful businessman is invited. Every assassin that the Jeongs own is present, theres no safer place in the world right now. And Jaehyun just wants to get this over with and come home to you. And lay out his plan to you. But this is going to be a long suffering, he still have his “honeymoon” in Italy. 

Jaehyun knew that you will eventually hear about this marriage, how could you not? It’s all over the news.  Jaehyun just hopes and prays that you allow him to explain first before you curse him and leave him again. Nonetheless, he will fight for you this time.

It was a long painful waiting for Jaehyun’s return. Maybe it’s for the better so you could have time to feel the heartbreak and have time for yourself before he comes back and feed you with lies again. 

You remember the night that you two got in an argument because he thought you were accusing him of cheating, he told you, “I am many things but I will never cheat on you” 

Look at you now Jae. 

It’s obvious that the marriage is for business only. But who knows? You still have your doubts. 

It also… doesn’t change the fact that you’re the mistress now. Yes you got married but… who would believe you. He married this girl in the eyes of the world… everyone would believe that I’m a home wrecker now. 

And then you felt it….

You came running to the sink to throw up out of nowhere. You felt weak in an instant. 

Maybe its because the thought of Jaehyun? Just thinking about him makes you sick to the core. 

Or your period is late? 

“It can’t be” you thought and ran to the nearest drugstore to buy a pregnancy test. 

But as you walk your way there. You kept on thinking about the things that will happen after this. 

Jaehyun will not let you go.

Everything will be complicated again.

It can ruin his marriage, it can ruin a lot of business deals.

It will ruin him. 

This peace that you have right now will be taken away from you and bringing a baby in this scary world is the last thing you want to do now. 

But the thought of…. “what if everything works out? Jaehyun loves kids”

And all this overthinking made you miss the stop sign at the side walk and you were hit by a car in a matter of seconds.

Thank you so much for reading this work of mine! If you love what you read, please leave something in my inbox and tell me how you feel! CLICK THIS LINK. I hope we can practice, give and take.

Stay tuned for the next part! -B.

[punk-in-docs]

A song of brides and hounds: part III

— Emperor Geta x Reader (Salacia)

— 4.3k words.

— Read all parts here: Part I — Part II — Part III — Part IV

Summary: You were raised outside of this Rome. Born into peace. To know of fathomless deep seas, and skies so big, they wrapped around your whole sight. The way that at night all you can smell are lemon trees kissed by salt. The jasmine plants wound around the white walls of the villa. Salacia. And now you are sent to Rome for your father in the Senate. There you will catch the attention of Geta; in all the wrong and darkest of ways— any reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated 💙💙💙

TW: for this chapter - mainly violence and some gore, also Caracalla being a nasty little bitch -- enjoy!

The servant girls’ hands are kind.

They undress you softly, and handle you with such reverence. Strip from you the ruined stola and tend your wounds.

They wash your feet, ply your cuts with a herbal paste of yarrow and uva ursi, wrap you in bandages. They rub new sweet smelling oil onto your unwounded skin.

Pick off your old jewellery and finery to be discarded. Slip you out your shoes. Lay you bare. Stood before them in naught but your skin as they tend you.

One is wetting, oiling and combing your netted hair to silky serenity again. Another is cleaning the wound on your elbow. All traces of dirt - and your previous life along with it - slowly removed.

Stood you in a shallow golden tub of warm water that laps at your ankles. Milky with oils and soaps. They put rose petals in the water. You watch them swim and dip.

You beg for one of the girls to keep the fibulae broaches that held your now damned dress to your shoulders. Your very last essence of home. Venus was enshrined in those very broaches. They gave you hope. Carrying a small kind piece of goddess with you. Laying your devotion to the majesty of the ocean on your simple shoulders.

They guided you to rooms draped in blue and gold. Stars moulded on the ceiling with the ornate marble that drips from every wall and corner. Giving the false illusion of a night sky. The flat ceiling between them clouded with bursts and puffs of dark blue that indicated churning night clouds. Boundless skies. Endless seas.

It felt like showing all the maps of the world to a caged bird.

Soft feminine blues befit these chambers. Statues and devotion to goddesses crown the walls and doorways. Urns of large stemmed white flowers. One wall holds a table lined with a huge offering of fruits, dried and fresh. Some bread and cured meats and oiled small fish. And an amphora of wine and goblet for after your bathing.

The air in here is scented all floral herb and clean. Too clean. No hint of sea salt or dried weed that tumbles on the shore to bake in the sun. It’s unfamiliar.

The huge slab of the cushioned bed is draped with silks and gauzy canopy curtains the colour of dove feathers. You don’t want to look at it. You dread thinking what will happen in it tonight.

A large maw of balcony gapes at another side of the room. This shows you the wall of rain outside. The violent tumble of thunder that must be shaking the very hills and peoples of Rome.

You feel as if the sea is raging because you’ve been stolen from it. Now it seeks vengeance on the land. Lashing and storming mercilessly until you’re found. Back where you belong.

Unlikely. It will have to rage on.

You stand, undressed, unseeing. Uncaring for the wealth of the room you’ve been pulled into.

The maid behind you, Oriana, a sweet and silent blonde, is scooping your hair back from your neck to comb and ply it with vanilla and orchid oil. Dark sweet musk.

Geta had specifically requested it.

Your head servant is a maid called Aeliana.

She has an accent you can’t place. It’s pretty, her tone husky. She had wonderful raven hair spilling silky and free over her shoulders, eyes dark as cassia bark, almond shaped. Long lashes. The epitome of tranquil beauty.

The colour of her dress is different to the rest of them. Indicating her higher status. Rusty red and it readily compliments the natural darkness of her skin. She wore golden bangles threaded on each wrist, and her touch is cloud soft.

She has a scar that intersects down from the middle of her forehead, across her left eye and cheek and ends there. Skin twisted and healed shiny. An old wound. It makes her striking to look at.

Worse still; She catches you staring.

Lowers her eyes as she tended you. Layering the sticky wet herbal treatment to your wounded elbow.

“Does my appearance displease you, my lady?” She lapses into silence for a moment or two.

“If you’d prefer I could send for another handmaiden to come tend you-“ She asks. Not harshly. There’s a hint of shame to her tone.

You look to her. Fearful of offence.

“I am not displeased. Forgive me. To stare so openly is rude.” You mutter. Eyes falling to your feet again. You watch rose petals sway on the water. You swallow thickly.

If she’s amused at your asking her, a servant, for forgiveness, she doesn’t show it. She calmly counters;

“You are Empress Salacia of Rome. You are allowed to stare at whomever you wish.” She tells you plainly.

Your eyes water. You bite inside your lower lip before you respond.

Not yet I’m not. And I don’t want to be.

“How came you by the scar?” You ask. Knowing full well you won’t like the answer. She gently washed your shoulder with a cloth.

“The Emperor.” She tells frankly.

At your doe eyed expression of horror she elucidates.

“Not Emperor Geta. His brother, Caracalla. Emperor Geta’s temper may be foul and quick to boil. But, Caracalla he is… far crueler.” She explains.

Your mouth purses into a thin line.

Oriana has finished oiling your hair. Now she was styling it into waves. Decorated with ornaments of netted gold. Geta requested it down as opposed to the normal bridal style. Emperors have what they want.

“What was the reason…” You sought. Fearing the answer.

“I was too slow in bringing his wine one night.” She offers. Plucking a vial of oil from the side table and coming back to rub it into your bare arms.

You squeeze your eyes closed. Ignore the tickle of tears that threaten your scrunched eyelids.

This is the savage world you must inhabit now. Try to navigate with sharper hungrier teeth and deadlier instinct. You don’t feel ready. You must become lionhearted and fierce. Carry knives. Be ruthless.

You hear your mothers reverent voice in your head. Sweet sea child. You were not made that way.

“I am sorry for your pain. Aeliana. But I am grateful for your warning.” You decide.

She nods. “I thank the goddess’ for you. Empress.” She smiles at you.

Before going to the side to fetch your tunica recta, and the belt you’d wear on your waist in a knot of hercules. Which tradition dictated only Geta was allowed to undo.

Your husband.

You wince. Aueliana notices.

“Your majesty?” She seeks. Sensing your unease.

“I am nervous.” You tell her. You confide your worry in this woman with kind eyes and soft hands.

“It is expected of a bride to be nervous.” She awards you.

“I’m not a normal bride.” You confirm fearfully. She can see them shaking in your gaze. Threatening to breach your lash line.

She nods in understanding. You’re sure they all knew. The reason that placed you here. Spread like wildfire on dry plains through the servant halls.

“I know little of managing a husband. Of… starting a family.”

“If I may, your majesty. Your family is a noble one, yes?” She asks.

You nod. You lived in one of the richest houses in Corsica. You were never lacking in money or ribbons and new jewels. But at best you were a senators daughter. Not the ideal stock for an Emperors wife. Not the type to be governing one great nation.

“My grandmother is a well known seer in these parts. A healer. Purveyor of white magic. Many a time she has seen things that have yet to come to pass…” She explains.

“She foretold your arrival. Said the future of Rome would be written by rain and storm, when blood spills on the ancient serpent stone.”

Serpent. Synonymous with the Traitor. Two faced and shedding skin. Blood spilling, the death of your Brother. Rain on the rocks- this storm hammering down. You can’t believe it.

“What if Rome is your destiny?” She explains. Her voice kind and brave as the candles flicker and the storm rages on.

“Then I pray the goddess’ convey me the strength to survive it.”

“I will pray too.” She takes your hand. It feels like kinship.

They stepped you out of the tub and began to pat you dry with cloths and then dress you.

With each pass of their hands wiping the water from your skin, it removed you further and further from yourself.

Aeliana rubs a sweet balm like texture onto your pebbled nipples before she robes you. Said it was to increase your fertility. She also lines your eyes with burnt kohl.

They pulled your dress on around you. Let it fall into beautiful waves. You stood sedately and let them manoeuvre you. Aeliana wraps the belt around your waist. When it cinches tight - so does the last vestige of your freedom.

Your skin positively draped with as much fragrant oil as it could take. Anointed with your new life as it drips off you in unbearable sweetness. Decorations not of your choosing put into your hair, on your ears, around your neck, on your arms. Strangled by someone else’s finery.

Slid fine golden sandals onto your feet. Aeliana brought a flame red veil and pinned it in place over your head. It floated down to your shoulders. Securing a crown of myrtle flowers over it.

It may have been gauzy fabric; rich and fine. But it felt like iron to you. Iron veil and a crown of thorns.

When they finish readying you, they bow and leave you alone to eat the fresh bread and fruits. Drink the sweet wine. Night closes in around you.

You didn’t ever picture the night before your wedding being like this. Alone and noiseless save for rain. You pictured the noise and gaiety of your sisters, dancing in their fine dresses. How they’d carry golden stalks of wheat to signify your prosperous marriage - how it would bear fruit. Be blessed by gods and fortune.

Your mother would bind your hands to the man you’d marry. To the man you’d love.

And you are here. Miserable in cold indifference. Clothed in perfumed oil and silence. With only your dour thoughts for company.

You pick at your offering of food. Feeling the milky eyes of those female deity marble statues watching you carefully. Judging. Maybe even disappointed.

When the doors next shudder open as the guards outside push them open, a divine older woman comes striding slowly, surely, into the room. Confidence woven into her steps like the very fine lavender purple cloth folded around her shoulders. A beautiful sage green palla. Her hair is dark and braided masterfully on her head. Shot through with bolts of silver.

You recognise her from coins. From statues. The Dowager Empress of Rome. Julia Domna.

She looks wise as Minerva. Goddess of education indeed. All of Rome had heard tale of not only her beauty, but her mind. Sharp as an arrowhead. A gentle mediator between her rabid sons.

Out of sheer politesse and nerves, you bolt out your seat and bow your head to her. Words shrivel on your tongue. Royalty is stood before you. Here you are plucked from the dungeons. You feel unworthy.

“Rise, my child.” She bids you. Holding out a hand laid with jewels on nearly every finger. Standing before you. Close enough to discern some of your beauty through the veil.

She examines you. Not unkindly. The way you’d expect a mother to examine the vessel that will carry her sons legacy. She’s discerning.

“Let me see my sons choice then…” she bids. Hands crossed in front of her, diplomatically, as she lets her deep set, serious eyes become acquainted with all of you.

Choice? Or chattel?

She walks around you. Eyes your hair. Your build. Your hips. The way you’ve been presented like a prized sacrificial swine before the crowds on Saturnalia.

And she doesn’t appear to find you lacking

“Goodness. You really are beautiful.” She says. It sounds mournful. Introspective. As if she didn’t intend on you hearing it.

“He’s made a fine choice.” She lauded

“Corsica, I hear you hail from?”

“Yes, Dowager.”

“I want to know one thing.” She says. Voice hard as newly forged steel. A shiver runs your spine. So she could be terrifying if she wishes.

“Are you a traitor against Rome?” She demands. “There are spies who would conspire to align themselves with this great house, under false guises, to murder my sons.” She speaks, crossly. Eyes aflame.

She has bite after all. Lions teeth and knows full well how to use them.

“I am no spy. I am not a murderer I have no guise. Like you. I only want to protect those whom I love.” You answer calmly. Placid easy waves. Gently now.

She smiles. Though something curious still lurks in her eyes.

“Then we are on the same page.” She awards slyly. You feel as if you’ve passed a test.

Her smile crooks on one side. Relieved.

She turns to the doors. The great sway of her earrings are big as chandeliers as she moves. Stunning gold. Bands of gold also cross her well formed upper arms. Every inch a woman of gentility and riches. She is perfumed with lavender. Oil made from dried plants fetched all the way from purple fields in Aquitania.

“My son grows impatient to see his bride. Come. Salacia. It is time.” She offers her arm to you.

Apparently your destiny lays in wait.

~

The wedding was a short and simple affair. The Dowager Empress led you to the grand rooms where they were to be held.

Grand, just like the rest of this humongous sprawling palace.

When you see Geta, he is clad in so much gold and armour. A blinding white cloak draped off his form. Armour golden. Carved with gods and victorious hero’s of battle. Golden laurel crown adorns his head. His smile at the sight of you makes you blush with attention.

You are suddenly grateful for the veil. It manages to hide you from every stranger in this room. You can make out Caracalla. Some other senators. Other guests you’ve no idea who.

The celebrant, a rather portly priest, ordered the evil spirits away. Asked for the fire spirits to bless you. He invoked Janus to watch over you from single people to a joined couple. New beginnings.

When it is time, he takes your hand and carefully threads an engagement ring on your finger. It is weighty, pure gold. An imitation of two dog heads joined together. A round sapphire cradled between their mouths. As if they’re fighting for it.

Remus and Romulus. It reminds you of him already.

You dare to meet his eyes as he does it. He looks ravenous. Umbra catching you where you stand. Swallows you whole. You don’t think you can get used to it yet.

“Wherever you go, there also go I, as your wife.” You speak.

The dowager Empress binds your hands together with blood red linen as the rest of the vows are read. The way his fingers turn and grip the inside of your forearm - firm pressing, hot like a brand - it makes you shiver.

Then comes the time for the marriage to be sealed with a kiss. Hands freed.

Your stomach is squirming unpleasantly as your stranger of a groom steps forwards to lift your veil. When he lifts the red gauze from your vision, you keep your eyes lowered until the last moment.

You feel the urging of his eyes. You could hear the fierce nature of his words as if he’d spoken.

Look at me. Salacia.

He looks entirely too boastful. His perfect little nymph. Caught and landed at last.

Hepulled you in by your waist. Locked his hand around your back. Gave you a kiss that was certainly gentler than before. Softness of his lips was maddening when the rest of him was all armour and metal. But you still felt the edge of his teeth on your lower lip. Bursting new pain from where it had split.

It was official. You had been dragged out a golden net cast in the sea. And now property of the Emperor of Rome.

You had no time to let your thoughts wander. There’s been quite the celebration planned for after. He walks beside you as congratulations ripple around you from nobles, senators, generals and high officials of the courts.

You ignore the way Caracalla sneers a particularly vile look your way when you pass him. Plotting.

You are lead to an opulent triclinium. Open to one huge side, guarded by pillars, which overlooked a garden where fountains trickled and plants bloom even in the storm that’s still brewing. Spitting rain on the landscape.

There are torches at the sides of the rooms, huge bowls boasting orange flames that lick at the walls, and freshly plucked flowers, still green branches and fronds sit in urns to the side. Filling the room with petals and heady nectar scent.

There’s a huge swarm of lectus’ in the centre of the room. Bronze laid with cushions. All pointing towards a huge table were bread and wine goblets awaited. You’re not used to how the room echoes. Unused to the sheer amount of people and formality that fills it.

The wine is poured freely by silent servants who sweep in and out. Some of them carrying plates as huge as carriage wheels. A whole roasted boar with grapes spilling out its mouth is brought in. Trays upon trays of cooked moray eels, cod and oiled anchovies. A whole platter of stewed nightingale birds, arranged around stalks of herbs and plums.

There’s fruit and bread the like of which you’ve not seen before. White bowls filled with cut purple figs and waxy oranges. Apples and yellow golden pears on tiered stands. Grapes and dried apricots heaped in dishes. It’s dazzling. So much wealth thrust before you.

You have a cup of sweet honey wine and take some of the unleavened bread. Watching as others around you gorge and toast with their goblets. Drinking strong wine and telling jokes and bawdy stories.

You feel disjointed from it all. You feel the Emperors eyes pass over you. The dowagers too. You are a source of mystery and intrigue.

Plucked from misfortune and placed here at the feet of gods.

You do feel when your new husband slides some pieces of fruit, or fresh breads onto your plate. A small bunch of sweet red grapes. His head may be cocked to conversation in this room. But his attention remains somewhat on you.

“Eat. Wife. I do not wish to force you.” He commands you. Prodding food and more wine in your direction.

Nursing his own cup and barking at the servants when he wanted more. You know his tongue must be stained with the taste by now. Sour purple. You wonder if you’ll taste it later in another of his animalistic kisses.

It feels like there is a boulder in your stomach. You swallow. You sip. You try to breathe. It all feels too restricted.

“Refill my wife’s cup.” Geta demands of the nearest servant. You flinch at his cutting commands.

You meet the servants eyes for a second and flicker them a smile. They look to the ground as they fill your cup. Their poor hands shake. You thank them. They don’t respond.

You’ve a feeling his plying you with wine has more than one ulterior motive. To make you loosen. Make you pliant. Make you slip down easier in his crushing grip.

“I have no appetite.” You admit weakly.

You can’t stomach the way the fat on the meat before you glistens. These poor stewed birds with clipped wings. The gutted boar. Glistening fat and dead meat. Same as the way of those poor flayed men in the coliseum.

Butchered animals. One and the same. The way blood sprayed out on the biscuit brown dirt under the sun. The way viscera glistened bright when spilled free from once living flesh. How these animals looked served on a platter. There’s no difference.

You take some grapes. Pick them from the vine. Bite into some apricots. The fruit rots on your palate. Fine sugary flesh and it bursts on your tongue like ripe putrefaction. You place it gently back on your plate.

“Do they not have fruit in Corsica?” He asks. It’s vaguely mocking.

“We had lemon trees in the gardens. An olive tree in the courtyard. Over 200 years old.” You state quietly. Not taking your eyes off the plate in front of you. You picked and prodded at it.

“You have more now. You are Empress. You have anything you want.” He impressed on you.

“I miss the ocean. The sun on the shoreline. My sisters.” You mutter.

“Don’t risk sounding ungrateful.” He threatens.

Geta followed the path of your reluctant hand with his eyes. He then scans across all of his guests. People of the senate. Rich merchants. Fellow royalty.

They come to snipe and drink wine and watch this new wedded spectacle.

“They are all dull.” Geta decided.

You wonder if the only source of amusement he could delight at was seeing people being beaten to black and blue paste in the coliseum. To have to see the spray of blood to feel something.

“They are intrigued. Their Emperor has placed a traitor in his marriage bed.” You comment.

Geta turned to you. “That sounds like treason to my ears.” A warning.

“Perhaps.” You answered. Boldly.

“But is it inaccurate? It is what they are all thinking.” You add. “You’ve wedded yourself to someone disloyal. Someone who is not their kind. They are curious.”

Geta scans his eyes over everyone again. Their laughter. The flow of wine. The way they stab and cut into food and fruit like they’re half starved. None of them quite meet your eyes.

Perhaps they don’t wish too.

His hand finds the meat of your thigh. Flesh firm and warm.

“They will believe what I tell them too. Wife. You only need worry about your loyal duty to me. Nothing else.” He makes clear.

You go back to pushing bits of fruit around your plate. Taking no more sustenance.

“No doubt you are unused to such finery.” Caracalla pipes up. Seeing you toy with your food. “I wonder what they eat in Corsica. Peasants sea food?”

You meet Caracalla’s eyes across the tables and mountains of rich food.

Getas eyes were dark. Fired by lust for you. That’s what you saw in them when he looked at you.

The same could not be said for Caracalla.

You saw nothing. Just darkness and his love of cruelty. Geta unnerved you. But it was Caracalla who scared you most. It was like gazing into a tomb. A bare skull eye socket. You’re certain nothing but darkness refracted back. Splintered twisted darkness. The purest distilled form of malice.

“Perhaps you are jealous, brother. The fact that I will have heirs meant for the future of the empire. And you will… not.” He snaps. Petulant.

“If she makes it that far.” Caracalla sneers. Daggering a smile right at you. A sneer that make you feel cold. He’s twirling a dagger in his other hand. Eyeing you with sick lustful interest.

He wants your goodness too. He wants it so he can spoil you for himself and ruin Getas legitimacy. By whatever means necessary. Geta has cruelly inserted you into this feud.

“And who’s to say the heir will be yours… who knows where her eyes will stray.” He jabs. Eyes widening as he leers.

Geta stabs into his food. Glaring at his smaller twin all the while. Eyes dark as shadow cloaked black jewels.

When some servants near you move from pouring wine, the sight of the persons impeded by them, slowed your world to a halt, ringing gongs in your ears when you caught sight of someone you recognized.

Macrinus.

The food in your mouth turns to ash which you can hardly stomach swallowing. Your gaze locked on the man as he lays content at your wedding feast. Drinking wine and roaring laughter with Caracalla. Garbed in robes of rich Aquarian blue trimmed with gold pattern.

Exactly the gracious easy way he had been when he dined with you and your father in his home.

His smile remains as he locks eyes with you. And raises his glass in a toast in your direction. You hear him drink to your new name with a blazing smirk aimed your way. “Empress.”

You mumble a pithy excuse. You don’t know if anyone hears you or if they’ll even look up from their plates when you get up and rush to leave.

Caracalla snorts as you race from the room on the verge of tears.

“She’s a flighty one. Your Empress. So full of tears.” Caracalla comments loudly. Cruelly. Turning his head to meet the acid stare of his brother - and the Dowager Empress as she lowers her goblet from her lips. Eyes cool as metal.

“Maybe if you shoved your cock into your broodmare, brother, as you doubtless plan to do this night. Maybe that would settle her down? Or maybe a good beating from the guards will see her right, make her see her place… maybe let a few of the guards bend her over a lectus and see to her first? Loosen her up a little for your uses.”

“Caracalla. Enough.” The dowager snaps. Lightning power in her voice. Tone fashioned from a fury storms could envy. Her dark eyes glow with it.

She turns to Geta and lays a gentle pacifying hand to his arm. “See to your bride, dear. She looked unwell.”

Geta sighs a snarl. Glaring at his brother as he does as mother suggested.

She watches him leave. Turns to her other son with barely concealed ire.

Caracalla snorts into his wine with the other guests. Making sneering, high handed remarks.

“Such marital bliss.” He mocks to the guests. Twirling his favourite silver dagger in his other hand. Laughing as he played with the dead meats on his plate with a sneer. His tooth winked golden in the light.

~

Tagging in the hopes this finds its way to the right people- thank you--

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[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

hi! could you maybe write reader x sleep token and how they met?

ps. i love all your works!! 🫶

Thank you for your kind words lovie🤍✨

Vessel

He’s a pretty calm, not at all in-your-face kind of guy. No longer big on parties and going out so his bubble of meeting new people had shrunk. So I think you two would meet at an odd space. Like a grocery store. Late at night. Not too long since it would have to close. He would be out to buy a snack after playing video games with the boys. Loving the quiet aura of the store so late.

That’s until he hears light curses. Stopping ever so slightly. They aren’t loud but the person is not enjoying the late night shop as much as he was. A part of Vessel just wants to turn and go check out. But another part is urging him to round the corner and at least catch a glimpse as to what’s going on.

That’s when he sees you, practically climbing the shelf as you try to reach a box of instant noodles. Usually, Vessel walks past things like this but no one is there to help, and the fact that the shelf wobbles slightly has him reaching his hand out to steady the construction. You jump back instantly, the tall frame lurking over you. But then you’re met with the most beautiful blue eyes. “You need a hand?”, his voice is horse since he practically talked to no one the whole day.

You nod, backing away. “If you don’t mind”, you mutter, “I swear the owner put them higher on purpose”. Vessel simply reached out. The top shelf did not give him any trouble as he grabbed the noodles, offering them to you. “Would be extremely rude if he did”, he mused, letting his eyes drift back to your frame. The messy bun. The oversized hoodie. “Guess you’re my knight in shining armor, huh”, chuckling slightly, you extended your hand towards him, “Y/n”. “Vess”, he chimed in, his much bigger palm drowning your hand.

“Do you want some noodles?”, you asked, watching him frown slightly, “Now?”, surely you weren’t inviting him into your home at midnight of the night. “I could be a serial killer you know?”, he stated, raising his eyebrows. “Well, a beautiful death I would die”, you shrugged. “Reach for one more pack, I will treat you to pot noodles Y/n style”. And the rest was history.

III

No, I just can’t get over this man in vintage fairs and shit. I can’t. I will die on this hill. So in my mind, you meet at a little thrift shop open fair thingy. He often goes or more like goes as often as his schedule allows him but he has his favorite sellers and they have some decent pieces.

He’s off to his favorite spot when he sees you standing next to the stand. Looking over a vintage player. The green case glistening in the sun. “One thousand and I won’t go lower”, the guy shrugs. iii watches your face fall as you shake your head. “Come on now, Garry, you’re ripping the girl off”, iii cuts in, making you glance his way and fuck if you’re not the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. “You and I both know that shit doesn’t even work”, he crosses his hands over his chest making Garry frown. “You’re out for my throat today lad”, the old man grunted, “I won’t go lower than six hundred”.

“Deal”, iii shakes on it. “Hey, I saw that first”, you huff, “And I’m also willing to pay six hundred, make it six fifty”, you cross your hands over your chest. “The lady is playing fair”, Garry rubbed his palms. “Six seventy and I’m buying it for you, sweetheart, so don’t make the dent in my wallet even bigger”, iii mused before winking your way, leaving you standing there speechless.

ii

Yeah, you got the guy distracted through the entirety of the show. Never had he been so entranced with someone in the crowd. He caught a glimpse of you before the show had even started. Standing alone by the barricades as you gazed at the stage. It was the fact that you had no phone on you maybe. Just there to sway to the beats of the music. Maybe the fact that you knew most drum parts by heart it seemed as if you taped against the metal with your fingers.

So there wasn’t even a question as he leaned over the edge to hand his drumstick to you. You watched him in surprise, clearly not believing that he would do that. Almost immediately turning to give one of them to the girl next to you. “Not this one”, ii cut in, stopping you from giving the one with a paper wrapped around it, “This one is for you only”. He could see your cheeks getting bright red even in the dim light.

“You’re a fucking awesome drummer”, you shouted over the crowd. “And you’re really pretty”, he winked, “don’t loose that”, he pointed to the paper before jumping back on stage. You kept your hand wrapped around it till you walked out of the stadium, gasping when you saw a phone number scribbled there.

Ivy

Look, he might be all cool and sassy but this guy ain’t that forward when it comes to girls. He was always shy and man did he hate making the first move. Not that his schedule left much space for casual dating. “Nice bike”, Ivy turned his head to the sound of the voice behind him. Glad he was sat and with a helmet on because he would have been red as a beet. “Ah, thanks?”, he muttered, pulling the visor up. He had stopped by a local bookstore to buy iii his birthday gift. “Sorry, it’s probably so strange but I just saw you and I like bikes and…”, you rambled on, “No, actually forget it, I look stupid”, you clasped a hand over your face before turning away from him.

Ivy watched you for a moment before shouting, “Hey, hold up, you want to go for a ride?”, the words had left his mouth before he had even realized it. But one thing was clear he didn’t regret it. “You don’t have to”, you shook your head, “Don’t need no pity ride”.

“I actually never backpacked with anyone”, Ivy shrugged, “It might be fun”. You blinked slowly, “Are you being serious?”, “I don’t have a helmet on me now but we can meet up tomorrow?”, he suggested, “A sunset ride?” You couldn’t hide the smile any longer, “I would love that”. You couldn’t really see his face but from the way his eyes glistened you could assume he was smiling. “Give me your phone and I will pick you up”, he offered and once again the rest was history.

[written-with-clouds]

I Found Love (Where It Wasn't Supposed To Be) Pt. 2

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/ Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You and Aemond had always been close, even after he lost his eye and your mom moved your family to Dragonstone. What will happen when your grandsire dies and Aegon takes the throne from your mother? Will you and Aemond be able to stay together? Or will family drive you apart?

Authors Note: Cross posted on AO3, Aemond and Reader are of legal age during all spicy scenes.

CW: Uncle/Niece, Secret Relationship, Minor Character is badly injured

Part 1 Part 3

You stand alongside your brothers, watching as your mother and Daemon burn your dead-born sister. Joffrey clings to your legs, unsure of the sadness that permeates the air, and you pet a hand soothingly through his mop of brown hair. A few stray tears running down your cheeks. 

The wind carries the sound of armored footsteps approaching. You turn, seeing a lone Kingsguard, not one of your own, carefully approaching your mother where she stands atop a small rocky hill. He bends the knee before her, holding out your late grandsire’s crown.

“I swear to ward the Queen, with all my strength… and give my blood for hers.” The Kingsguard starts, Daemon approaches him, taking the crown from his hands, as he continues. “I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

 You hold your breath, watching as Daemon slowly returns to your mother and gently places the crown upon her head. He kneels before her and you watch as the other inhabitants of Dragonstone follow, kneeling down before her in a show of fealty. You and your brothers follow suit, bowing your heads to your mother.

The next days go by in a blur. Jace is sent north to secure the support of House Stark and the Eyrie, Luke sent to Storm’s End. Rhaenys leaves on Meleys, to patrol over the barrier made to cut off all sea trade to King’s Landing. Beala patrols over Dragonstone with her sister, Rhaena, on their dragons. 

You, on the other hand, are left to watch your youngest brothers. You spend your days trying to entertain a seven year old Joffery, corral a four year old Aegon III, and keep a two year old Viserys II from eating loose stone. And even with the help of the wetnurses and maids, it is a daunting task. 

During the night, your mind wanders to Aemond. At first you were angry, fuming, at the fact that he could stand aside and let his brother usurp the throne. That he would then, in turn, ask you to leave your own family behind. Then, you were sad. You would sit in your bed night after night and reread all of the letters he had sent you over the years. From the beginning, when you had first moved to Dragonstone. When he had first asked to meet with you in private, in the very same spot you had just days ago said goodbye to him. To the few letters he had sent in the days following your last meeting. 

Meet me at the island, please. I need to see you one last time. 

I waited for you. I will wait again tonight. Please come.

I am to leave King's Landing tomorrow, please meet with me tonight. Kostilus, ñuha jorrāelagon, (Please, my love,). I will be waiting, as always.

I leave today. Avy jorrāelan (I love you)

Luke was the first of your brothers to return. 

He had been badly burned. The right side of his body had taken the brunt of it, the skin peeling and red. Arrax was only slightly better, his wings and scales singed and ash covered. Luke’s screams echoed throughout the whole of Dragonstone as the Maester’s worked to help him. After hours of listening to him cry and scream, you had had enough. 

You walked along the coastline, fighting to keep your composure. In the end, it was a losing battle. You screamed, chucking rocks into the ocean and kicking sand around until you exhausted yourself. Collapsing to the ground, you wailed. For you or for Luke, you couldn’t tell. You cried for what must have been hours, every frustration and tension leaving your body. Over time you tired, curling into yourself, your eyes drifting closed.

You woke up in your room, laying overtop the blankets of your bed, still clothed for the day. Glancing outside you could see that night had long taken over, the sky filled with a crescent moon and glittering stars.

“You’re awake,” you turn to find your mother sitting in a lounge chair by the hearth. Rhaenyra stands, walking over to you and placing the back of her hand against your forehead. “Are you feeling alright, darling? We hadn’t seen you for hours and then Ser Erryk had carried you inside. He said he found you on the shore, asleep and trembling.” Her voice was laced with worry. 

“I went for a walk to get some fresh air and grew tired.. I must have fallen asleep.” You say, “I’m sorry to have worried you.” 

She sits next to you on the bed, pulling you against her in a hug and petting your hair. “It’s alright darling, I’m just happy you're safe.” The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the night. 

Rhaenyra speaking breaks the silence. At first, you don't realize she had asked you a question. But when she repeats herself, your blood runs cold. 

“You were close with your uncle Aemond… weren’t you?” You pull back from her, sitting up to look at your mother. 

“Why do you ask?” You inquire, heart beating loudly in your chest. 

“In truth, I’ve noticed that something has changed in you. I had no hope of knowing what it was without you telling me and had long resigned myself to not knowing… until tonight.” Your mother paused, standing from your bed and walking over to the small table next to the lounge she had been resting on. Your heart beats impossibly louder inside you as she picks up the letters Aemond had sent you. You had forgotten to put them away. “I read some of them… it’s nice.. that you had formed a good relationship with your uncle. You are perhaps the only one of us that could…” 

You watch as she measures her next words, thinking over the best way to say them. 

“But, I hope you will understand that this cannot and will not continue.” 

You stand abruptly, “What! Why? Because of Aegon? Because of this fight between you and Queen Alicent?” 

“Not just that dear.” She walks over to you, running her hands down your arms and grabbing your hands gently, “It’s–“ 

Interrupting her, pull your hands out of her grasp, walk out onto the balcony, and cross your arms over your chest. Turning to face her as she follows you, “It’s what? I need a reason, an explanation. A good one, not just some excuse about who his family is.”

“Aemond is the one responsible for Luke’s pain,” she says calmly. 

Whatever anger you held in that moment shattered. “He… n-no.. you’re lying! He may have had his problems with Luke when they were children.. but he’d never give that sort of command! Aemond wouldn’t do that!” You wrap your arms around yourself as you begin to pace. “It isn’t true,” you whisper as if trying to comfort yourself. 

Your mother stands in place, watching your inner battle. Her expression shows nothing but sympathy as she speaks again, “He didn’t just command it, dear..” Her words are gentle. 

You abruptly stop, facing away from your mother. “You don’t– He didn’t–“ you struggle to find the words, tears clouding your vision. 

“He… Aemond was the one to burn Luke.” Your mother’s words are drowned out by the ringing that fills your ears. Letting out a sharp cry, you drop to your knees sobbing. You jerk away from your mothers touch when she tries to console you with a hand placed on your shoulder. “Leave.” You whisper, crying into your hands. You listen as Rhaenyra’s footsteps recede and the door to your room opens and closes.

You didn’t leave your room for days… maybe even a full week. Servants brought food to you, even if most of it didn’t remain in your stomach. Most days you didn’t dress, remaining in your sleepwear and staring blankly out across the sea. When you weren’t transfixed on the water, you were sat at your desk. You wrote what must have been dozens of short letters, none of which would ever be sent. 

How could you?

Did your hatred for Luke outweigh your love for me?

Why did you do it? 

I hate you. 

I’ll never forgive you. 

I still love you.

It’s when Jace returns from the North that you finally decide to leave the safety of your room. Dressed for the first time in days, you join the council to welcome your brother, much to your mothers surprise. 

“Welcome home, Prince Jacaerys.” Your mother spoke warmly. “What news do you bring us?” 

Your brother bowed his head in greeting, one hand resting over top the hilt of his sword. “The Lady Jeyne Arryn has pledged her support to you. In return, she requests a dragon be sent for protection.” 

Your mother nods approvingly, “and the North?” 

“Lord Cregan Stark has promised two thousand men…” Jace hesitates slightly, glancing to you and then to your mother. 

“Does he request something in return?” You ask.

He nods, answering. “Yes, He asks for (Y/N)’s hand in marriage.” 

Your eyes widen and you watch your mother. Nothing in her expression gives away what she is thinking as she replies with a gentle, “Please send a raven North. Let Lord Stark know we will accept the terms of his offer.” 

“What?” You say loudly, “Mother you can’t be serious!” 

“We need to secure-“ Your mother starts, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“-Secure all the support we can.” You finish for her. “I know. But marrying me off to someone… a stranger at that? Sending me North? You’re okay with that?!” 

She sighs deeply, placing her hand against the table. “Give us the room.” At her words, everyone in the room left. All but you and Jace, who hovered by the door, unsure of what to do. “Jacaerys, you may leave as well… go get cleaned up. Visit your brother.”

“Mother I–“ You start to say. After the door thuds shut behind your brother.

Rhaenyra shushes you, standing and walking over to you. Her jaw is clenched as she takes your hands in hers. Exhaling sharply through her nose and closing her eyes briefly to gather her thoughts. “I don’t want to send you away. I don’t want you to be seen as a prize or bargaining chip.” She reaches up to cup your face, “You are my daughter.. My first born… But I have to make choices I don’t want to make.” 

Her voice cracks and you can see a tear fall down her cheek. Your brow furrows as you step away from her, shaking your head in disbelief. “No…” you say softly, almost in a whisper. 

“We need the men,” She follows after you carefully, like you’re a wild animal that she is trying to tame. “The Starks are good people… they’re loyal and just… you’ll be safe there… protected.” 

“But I won’t be happy.” You spit. 

“You don’t know that..” Your mother bargains. 

“I will be miserable. I will be nothing more than a trophy won in a war. A bargaining chip. A piece of the puzzle. A pawn in your game to move as you wish!” You scream at her. 

She eyes you sympathetically, her expression holding nothing but pity. She sighs deeply before calling for Ser Erryk. “Take her to her room. She is not to leave Dragonstone until I have given explicit permission. I want one guard posted outside her door and her dragon is to be supervised at all hours. She goes nowhere without a guard or me. Am I understood?”

“Mother–“

“Yes, My lady.” Ser Erryk grabs your arm firmly, not enough to hurt but enough that you can’t twist out of it. He escorts you back to your room. Muttering a quiet apology before shutting the door.

You spent the next week pacing in your room. Throwing things against the door while screaming until your throat was raw. At first, your mother would try to visit only to be turned away with insults or ignored completely. Jace would sit with after night had fallen and update you on Luke’s recovery. The only happiness you felt was in hearing that Luke was fine. He would scar, but otherwise be okay. Even his walking was expected to recover nearly completely over time. These conversations were possibly the only reason you hadn’t gone insane. 

On the seventh day of your confinement, you overheard the guards outside your door speaking with each other. 

“How long do you think this’ll continue? I’m gettin’ bored of standin’ outside a door for hours.” One whispered. 

“Not much longer I think,” There was a long pause where all you could hear was the slight shifting of metal. “I heard that Lord Stark is sailin’ here to claim his prize.” The second guard jokes, groaning after what sounds like he got hit in the stomach. 

“Don’t speak about the Princess like that.. she could hear ya.” The first guard whisper-yells. 

At the mention of Stark, you paled. Your heart stuttered and your breathing increased. Stepping away from the door you rushed out to the balcony, hands gripping the short stone wall so hard you cut your hand in a few places. You can’t feel the pain though, as you struggle to catch your breath. Tears cloud your vision for the thousandth time in the past three weeks. Slumping to the floor as your legs give out, you draw them towards your chest. Wrapping your arms around them tightly. 

You sit there, gulp down whatever air you can for what feels like forever. You distantly hear a knock at your door. And another when you don’t answer. A few moments pass silently before the sound of a door opening startles you. You quickly push yourself backwards, attempting to hide within the shadows of the setting sun. Fearing that Lord Stark was closer than you assumed, that he had arrived at Dragonstone to take you. 

Instead, in the archway leading to your balcony stood Luke. He walked with wooden crutches to support his weight and he had bandages adorning his right leg and most of his right arm. He carefully made his way to you. Unable to crouch or kneel, he leans back against the short wall. 

Looking at you with concern and confusion, “What’s wrong.. am I so horribly disfigured that you hide from me?” He tries to joke. Hoping to lighten the mood and set you at ease.

You don’t move, only lifting your head to meet his eyes. “I can’t stay here…” you whisper, it’s barely audible over the breeze that passes through. When Luke doesn’t respond you speak again, “I need to leave… please Luke, I need help.. I can’t be forced into a marriage.. please– please help me..” you beg. 

Luke considers you for a moment, deep in thought, before he speaks again. Sighing loudly, “Fine…” he says finally. “Tonight, after the guards last check, tie your sheets together and anchor them to the balcony. Climb down them and get to the shore line on the far east, there is a small boat tied to some rocks. No one will see you with how dark it gets, and by the time they do you’ll be gone.” 

You take in his words, committing them to memory, before standing slowly. “Thank you, Luke..” You hug him, mindful of his wounds. 

By the time Luke leaves your room, the sun has set completely and the moon is visible. As he leaves, you thank him one last time and ask how he knew of the boat. Luke simply turns to look at you over his shoulder and mutters a quiet, 

“I have my secrets like everyone else.”

The moon was at its highest by the time you reached King’s Landing. You pulled the hood of your cloak over your head to conceal your face as you carefully walked through the streets. 

Quietly you slinked through hidden hallways of the Red Keep, following the same winding path you have for years. Stopping only once you stood in front of the familiar backing to a painting. You strained your ears, listening for movement in the room on the other side of the painting. When you heard nothing after several minutes, you slowly pushed the painting away from the wall and climbed out into the room. Before you can put the painting back into place, you’re shoved against the wall with a dagger placed at your throat. 

“I thought you’d be happy to see me..” You joke weakly. The dagger hits the floor with a loud clink and your hood is yanked off of your head. Hands grip your biceps tightly, as if afraid that you’ll run the second their grip loosens. 

“Is it– Are you really here?” Aemond whispers into the space between you. He isn’t wearing his eyepatch, the sapphire gem reflecting the light from the fireplace. 

You reach a hand up and gently trace along his scar, just as you had so many times in the past. You give him a small smile as tears well up in your eyes like they had so many times these past weeks. Although, unlike the other tears you’ve shed, these are tears of joy. 

“I’m here…” you reassure Aemond, resting your forehead against his. “I’ve missed you..”

Aemond breathes a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he relaxes. His hands move from your biceps, one cupping the side of your face and neck while the other rests against your hip. The two of you stand in silence, enjoying the peace of being near each other. Of being in the other's embrace. 

“I wrote to you…” he whispered.

“I know.” You respond equally as quiet. “I wrote many responses.. and even more questions… none of which I could bring myself to send.” 

Aemond took a shuddering breath, pulling back to look you in the eye. He cupped your face in both hands, his thumbs rubbing against your cheeks, “I’m sorry… about Luke, I– I didn’t mean to hurt him…” 

You shush him, bring your hands to rest on his forearms. “I believe you,”

He swallows, Adams apple bobbing, carefully asking “Did– is Luke… dead?” 

You’re shaking your head no before he finishes his question. “Luke is alive and healing. He will be fine.” 

Aemond nods. It’s a small, barely there, movement that had you not been so close to him you wouldn’t have seen it. 

As silence falls over the two of you once again, you gently remove his hands from your face. Releasing them only to remove your cloak. You grab one of Aemond’s hands and guide him to his bed, softly instructing him to lay down. You climb into the bed after him, curling up alongside his body with your head resting against his chest. He holds you against him with an arm around your back that rests on your hip. His other hand lays flat against his stomach. 

“Why did you come here?” Aemond asks. You can hear his heart beating against his chest, a dead giveaway to how unsure he is. “Why return to me? When I waited for you… I was sure I’d never see you again..” 

“I needed to leave…” you say simply. Your hand traces nonsense along his torso and over the back of his hand. “Dragonstone was becoming a prison…” 

You feel Aemond tense beside you. “What do you mean?” He asks carefully. 

You sigh deeply, “While my eldest brothers were off on their dragons, securing allies for our mother, I was stuck on Dragonstone babysitting my youngest brothers…” as if he can sense your hesitation in continuing, Aemond squeezes your arm reassuringly. “When Luke returned… my mother practically doubled the workload of the guards. Especially those that protected my brothers and I.. it was all very suffocating.” 

“And this caused you to leave?” He asked carefully. You shifted in his arms, propping yourself up on one elbow. 

“Yes… but not just that…” You trail off again, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Aemond watched you worriedly as you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “What is it, Issa jorrāelagon (my love)? What happened?”

“Lord Cregan Stark asked for my hand in marriage… and in return, he promised two thousand men. My mother accepted and, when I refused, she locked me inside my room.” Your jaw clenched as anger welled inside you, Aemond’s arm tightening around your waist. “I sat there for a week… trapped and miserable, with guards outside my door and under my balcony all day and all night. I could do nothing but sit and wait. When I heard that Lord Stark would soon be arriving.. I decided, for sure, that I needed to leave.. funny enough, it was Luke who helped.. whether or not he knew of us I couldn’t say…”

Aemond was quiet for a moment. Taking in what you had experienced, the fact that your own mother would do this surprised him. He expected it from his own mother… but he always assumed yours cared more for her children than Alicent. “What matters is that you are here now. And I will not let you go again.” Another beat of silence. “Marry me, Issa jorrāelagon (my love).” 

You breathe out a quick laugh gazing down at Aemond. “That alone would start a war, Aemond… our families would never allow it…”

“Then we won’t tell them.” He sits up hastily, nearly knocking his forehead against yours in the process. “We can leave. Leave Kings Landing… leave Dragonstone.. hells, even lease Westeros if need be.”

“Aemond–“ he continues to speak, cutting you off.

“We can start a new life together.. just us, our dragons… maybe a kid or two somewhere down the line..” 

“I–I would really like that..” you say, smiling dreamily as you imagine it. “We should leave soon.. they’ll notice I’m gone come sunrise..” 

“Then we will leave before that..” Aemond guides you to lay back against the bed, smirking as he kisses along your jaw.

“We should leave now.. no one is awake… no one would notice.” You whisper. You gasp as he licks along your neck. Your skin heats up from the warmth of his breath as he sucks against your pulse point, likely leaving a mark. You feel him hum a ‘no’ against your skin as he continues to kiss gently along your neck and collarbone. “Aemond~” you drawl. 

Stopping his assault on your neck, he lifts up to meet your gaze, “We will leave… as soon as I’ve had a taste of you..” 

Aemond returns his attention to your neck as his hands work deftly to remove your dress. The feel of the soft fabric sliding down and off of your body elicits goosebumps and the chill of the room hitting your skin causes you to shiver. Aemond kisses every newly exposed part of flesh, marking his way down your body. Sitting back in his heels, he tugs the dress off of your legs and tosses it aside. Your underwear follows suit. 

“This feels a little one sided,” you joke, looking through half lidded eyes. 

He simply laughs to himself, tugging his own shirt up over his head and tossing it to join your dress. His pants follow soon after along with his underwear. Quirking an eyebrow he smirks at you, “Better, issa jorrāelagon (my dear)?” He teases. 

Aemond hooks his arms under each of your thighs as he makes himself comfortable between them. He lays his hands flat against your stomach and gently kisses your inner thigh. You watch with bated breath as he sticks out his tongue and runs it through your folds. The tip barely manages to push inside you before it is removed again. He groans against you, the vibrations causing your hips to stutter. Aemonds hands held you in place, trapped against him as he devoured you like a starved man. 

“Aemond! Fuck.. oh gods, it feels good!” You moan. Despite the hold he has on you, your hips manage to grind against him with small circular motions. One hand fists the sheets below you as the other tangles into his hair. 

Aemond lifts his head to look at you, licking his lips before saying, “Nyke jorrāelagon se sylutegon hen ao, issa dōna (I love the taste of you, my sweet),” One of his hands shifts down so that his thumb lays overtop your clit. You gasp as he begins to circle his thumb around it. “It’s sweet and far more addictive than any wine in the whole of Westeros.” 

Your breath catches on a moan as Aemond continues to ravish you. He thrusts his tongue into you as far as it will go while his thumb quickly works over your sensitive clit. You writhe against him as you bring your hand up to cup your breast, flicking and pulling at your nipple. Your eyes shut as your head falls back against the pillows, back arching, as two fingers join his tongue. His fingers curl inside you, coaxing moans and shuddering gasps from your mouth. Heat pools in the bottom of your stomach as your climax rapidly approaches, Aemonds name falling from your lips like a prayer, begging for more. His tongue and fingers working in earnest as you writhe against him feverishly. The hand in his hair gripping and anchoring him against you. Your thighs tremble on either side of his head as your orgasm explodes through you. Your eyes rolling back and head falling limply to the side with a drawn out moan flowing from your mouth. 

Aemond works you through your climax, thumb gently rubbing over your clit as his tongue and fingers slowly continue to stretch your entrance. It isn’t until you’re whining and struggling against him from overstimulation, that he stops and pulls back. Making a show of sucking his fingers, soaked with your release, into his mouth and moaning around them before pulling them out with a pop. 

He looks over your body, skin glistening in the candle light. His eyes darken and he smiles. You meet his gaze as he crawls up the length of your body and captures your lips with his own. You moan into him, your tongues dancing against each other and you can taste yourself on him. Your arms wrap around his middle, hooking up to rake your nails down his back. You smirk into the kiss, hearing his sharp intake of breath and feeling his muscles spasm under your hands. You break the kiss, pulling his bottom lip with your teeth gently. He growls, chasing after your lips. You smile, chuckling lightly at his failed attempts to recapture your lips as you turn your face away from him. You position your mouth next to his ear, biting the lobe gently.

“Nyke jorrāelagon ao isse issa, sir (I need you in me, now).” You whisper into his ear before licking the shell of it. “Kostilus gaomagon daor mazverdagon issa umbagon (Please do not make me wait).” 

Aemond shifts above you reaching a hand down and running it through your folds before quickly fisting his cock, using your arousal to slick himself. He guides his length to your entrance, prodding against you. “Skorkydoso kostagon nyke vestragon daor skori ao epagon sīr sȳrī (How can I say no when you ask so well)?” 

Slowly, He pushes in. “You’re doing so well, issa jorrāelagon (my love).” Aemond praises. He runs his hands soothingly over your body, trying to help you relax as you adjust to his size. “You’re taking me so well… sīr vok (so perfect)... made just for me,” He groans, bottoming out inside you. 

He remains still, placing kisses against your shoulders, your jaw, your temple, any part of you his mouth could reach. Whispering praises into your ear and against your mouth as he kisses you softly. 

After a few moments of his gentle kisses and featherlight caresses, you shift your hips against him. “You- you can move now…” 

Aemond sets a slow pace. Languidly thrusting into you as he continued to kiss the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder. Your hands roam over the expanse of his torso, feeling the muscles shift under your touch with each roll of his hips. You move a hand up to cup the side of Aemond’s face, pulling him to you. You lightly press your lips to his scar before kissing his lips. Pulling away from the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours. His forearms, placed on either side of your head, support him as the two of you enjoy the feel of being so closely entwined. You roll your hips to meet his with every thrust in, moaning as you feel him sink deeper into you. 

As Aemonds arms tire, he repositions the two of you. He now lays behind you with his arms wrapped around your torso as he rocks into you from behind. In this position Aemond can freely run his hands over your body. One hand coming down to work over your clit, matching the speed of his thrusts. You cant your hips back against him as best you can, growing closer to release and seeking out more pleasure. The sound of Aemond’s breathy groans next to your ear only spurring you on. 

Aemond finishes first, hips stuttering as he releases inside you. His breath is hot on the back of your neck as he groans before panting against you. You follow soon after, climaxing around his cock as his hand still works over your clit. As your body relaxes into his, Aemond pulls out. 

He untangles himself from you, standing from the bed with a hushed promise of returning as your whine. When he does return, it’s with a rag and sleepwear. Aemond gently cleans his spend from between your legs before cleaning himself off. He tosses the rag into a wicker basket, quickly dresses himself and then helps your sluggish body into the garments. Finally, he climbs back into the bed behind you, pulling a blanket up over your bodies. 

You turn to face Aemond, tucking yourself against him as he wraps his arms around you once again. He kisses your forehead, whispering promises of the future you two will have. “Rest for now, issa jorrāelagon (my love), We’ll leave soon.” He whispered to you, his own eye feeling heavy. It wasn’t long until you both had drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

You stir slightly at the sound of a door opening and armored footsteps rushing into the room. In your sleep dreary state, you think nothing of it. Snuggling back against Aemond. 

It isn’t until you are being forcefully pulled from the bed that you comprehend that something is wrong. You scream and thrash against the man that is holding you, kicking your feet wildly and twisting your body to try and loosen his grip. The man's grip remains secure throughout your flailing, and eventually you give up.

Aemond is on his feet in seconds, dagger in hand, as he watches the men that had entered his room. Kings Guards. He scowls, taking notice of the several fully armored guards now standing in around him. His gaze shoots to where you stand when he hears you whimper. Shackles had been placed tightly around your wrists. Aemond starts to walk towards you, but is stopped by two Kings Guards as they each grab an arm. He fights against them, trying to pull his arms free only to stop at the sound of heels entering the room. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Aemond snarls, fighting against the guards' hold. 

“She is a traitor to the crown.” Queen Alicent responds calmly, her hands clasped in front of her. “We have it in good faith that she is here to either spy or harm the king and his family. Neither are risks I am willing to take.” 

“She is of no concern to you.” He manages to free one arm, “She will not harm anyone here, you have my word, mother. Let her go. She will leave Kingslanding and not return. This need not go any farther.” Aemond bargains, pleading with his mother with more emotion than Queen Alicent had seen from him. 

Queen Alicent considers her son for a moment, watching as his gaze shifts to yours. His eye softening as he tries to reassure you silently. The hand he had pulled free twitching at his side as if fighting to not reach for you. She turns her gaze to you, shaking slightly in fear but trying not to show it. Your eyes, wide as a doe, never leaving Aemond’s as you take in rapid breaths. 

“Take her to the dungeons,” She spoke authoritatively. 

“No!” Aemond roars, fighting harder against the guards trying to restrain him. 

“Aemond!” You say, panicking as the guards force you out of the room. Aemond yells, just barely managing to free his second arm before a guard punches him in the stomach. He doubles over with a groan, coughing roughly. 

Queen Alicent calmly walks over to him and places her hand against his cheek. “This is for the better, my dear. This will pass with time.” She quietly says before turning and leaving the room. The guards release Aemond and he drops to the floor. 

When the door to his room shuts, he slowly stands. Grabbing the nearest object, a vase of black and gold, he throws it as hard as he can. It smashes against the far wall of his room, shattering to pieces before it can even touch the ground. Aemond continues his rampage until there is no part of his room left untouched by his rage. Until he sees something laying on the floor.

Stopping dead in his tracks as he goes to smash another object, there on the floor lays your dress. Discarded carelessly earlier in the night, when Aemond still held you in his arms. 

The object clatters to the floor as Aemond follows, his knees giving out beneath him. Gently and with more care than he has ever shown to anyone but you, he lifts the garment in his hands. Bringing it to his face, he inhales. He can still smell your perfume, the hints of rose intertwining with the scent of ash wood from Dragonstone. 

Silent tears soak the fabric as Aemond cries, still holding the garment to him. He never thought himself a religious man, but in that moment, Aemond prayed. He prayed, to any god that would listen or care, for your safety. And that you would return to him.

Aemond stood on shaky legs and walked to his bed, uncaring in shards of glass cut his feet. He lay on top of his sheets, curled around your dress protectively. Aemond remains there, on the bed, crying silently until he is unable to keep his eye open.

Part 1 Part 3

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Word count: 13.5K

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

I invite you to listen to the playlist I made that goes along with the story.

Notes: **please read** This story is told partially from John Pruitt's pov and partially from readers, as such, when it's John's (Paul) it will refer to him as John, seeing as he had no need for the alias when it's from his pov. But when it's from readers, she will be referring to him as Paul Hill. Thank you!

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Crude oil is destructive to say the least. It is thick, and cloying; dense and dark and it holds no mercy for anything it touches. It kills and pollutes and fuses itself to anything it touches like some dependant parasitic bond. Not that it knows any better.

At one time, Crockett Island was a home off the Eastern coast to close to 500 residences. There was a harmony and calmness to that time; back when the island had summer visitors, and talks of an airport, and no one had to worry about how to pay for their groceries or if they could afford to pay for house repairs after a bad storm. Back when people were alive and helped eachother and laughed.

As the Breeze approached the marina of Crockett Island, there was a passenger who stood outside, leaning against the railing as he remembered Crockett when it was a secret haven. Then that horrible accident…Now, it was more akin to a shelter to the last 127 souls who remained. The brisk maritime wind tousled his black curled hair and flickered into his eyes.

Not that he minded too terribly- he didn't mind much of anything.

John Pruitt sucked in a full breath of the sea air- something he hadnt been able to do in decades when his old self's lungs had began to weaken. It nearly brought tears to his eyes to have been blessed with this second chance as he took in the mass of land before him. His home. His duty. John knew what he had to do. A needle of anxiety poked at him as he hoped his large cargo was still safe in the hold of the small ferry. Of course it was, but he couldnt help but worry until it was safely tucked away in the rectory.

His gift.

“I’m here to help…just here to help…” He repeated in his head.

The ferry lurched as it docked, though his sturdy frame barely flinched. John blinked, and adjusted his satchel one last time before coming to the off-boarding ramp. He slowly and shyly looked at the other passengers, and had to press his tongue to his teeth to keep from acknowledging a familiar face that stood only a few feet from him.

Riley Flynn.

It had been years since he had seen that face, and he felt a swell of happiness at the prospect of having another addition to his flock to receive this gift he so eagerly wished to bestow upon them. He could hardly wait to see each face and see them properly with his rejuvinated sight. See how they’ve grown and aged. He couldn’t wait to help them.

John stood off to the side after exiting the boat as he waited for his trunk.

"Whatcha waitin' for?" Came a gruff voice that John knew well.

He turned to see the island handyman, Sturge, and a small smile pulled at his cupids bow, "My trunk…should be the largest thing on there I’m afraid." John said.

Sturge huffed a little, but nodded, "Yeah its comin', you need a hand gettin' it to where your goin' we got a..." The man droned on about helping the man transport his precious cargo, but unfortunately John had inadvertently tuned him out after something had caught his eye; someone to be precise.

It was the shrill chime of a bicycle bell that had initially drawn his attention, though now he was entranced by the young woman riding the very bike that had made it.

The same wind that had combed through his own hair was now blowing yours back as you came to a stop by the small marine building for the fishermen; a large parcel was fastened to the back of your bike. In fact you were so engrossed in calling to the fishermen on the dock, while unfastening the goods from your bike that you didn’t notice the supposed stranger with his brown eyes glued to you. Staring at how the men approached you and tried to sneak a look at what you brought for them; of course he also was not blind to the evident leers you recieved from the same men. Men he knew were married and had children who he had baptised over the years.

Yet here he was practially on their same level as he watched you; transfixed by the way your hair would get caught in the breeze, and how your cheeks were a lovely pink from the cold. how you had a certain incandescence to you that brought up the spirits of the worn down fishermen.

In John's old age, he hadn't been able to see you properly since you were born; cataracts and dementia coupled with a few other ailments made you into a foggy memory for him, even now. But he knew you. He knew you had been a lovely little girl, and had decided to remain on the island and open a small bakery; John could recall Bev mentioning it a few times that you made food for the Crockpot luck each year. He remembered thanking you...not that he could properly appreciate your gift. You were a familiar face to St. Patrick’s, too.

It was only now that he could recall baptising you some twenty years ago when he had just broached 60 years...and he could see what a stellar young woman you had grown into.

Beautiful.

John had mumbled something to Sturge about only needing help to get out of the marina, and his hand gripped the top of his bag absentmindedly as his eyes flickered over you handing out pastries and sweet treats to the men.

You smiled so brightly that it truly must have been one of the many gifts you were given in life from God. Your calling to brighten up the cloudy days of Crockett island.

A patch of sunlight.

As John pulled the crate up the stairs to the rectory and pushed it across the floor, the solitude finally let him start to think. He knocked on the trunk twice, and slumped against the side as his mind began to wander. John Pruitt had been a priest for well over 60 years; he had seen and heard and dealt with just about every scandal, thought, sin, doubt and joy you could think of. Which was why he knew that there was a divine reason behind your delivery to the fishermen coinciding with his arrival.

It was no random coincidence that your face was among the first he saw upon returning. God’s plan was at work, and John felt anticipation fill him at the thought.

You were a good girl, just like your parents raised you to be, and it wasn’t as if you had a reason not to be. You had made a comfortable life after your family had either left or passed. Moving was expensive and you liked the quiet. It was a simple life and an easy one. Habitual and concise.

You went to church on Sundays and attended daily mass with Leeza. She loved your cinnamon rolls, and you liked to sneak a few into her bag. John remembered noticing that after daily mass one day. It made his chest swell with what he told himself was pride and admiration; not pining and adoration. It excited him to see someone so full of life, even if it was quietly. But that excitement was a double edged sword, after all it too made the Father dread it when he felt it in him. That excitement would settle low in his stomach and make him lose his train of thought.

A test. It was all a test.

The first time you saw the man was when you were leaving the dock that morning. It was strange to see a new face on Crockett, let alone a handsome one at that. You had wished you were heading in his direction so as to give him a welcome; he had such a large trunk with him that you wished you could have given him a hand too. But alas you were needed in the opposite way back down Main Street.

You petalled down the road, and dropped off a few more deliveries down the island to the elders who couldn’t venture too far. Your routine every other day from 10:30 in the morning for an hour.

John knew that too. He remembered feeling someone cycle past him with a soft greeting everytime he visited town after mass. Everything was starting to click back into place as his memory was replenished.

You finished your route, and hopped off your bike as you came to the little bundle of shops in town.

You knew Monsignor Pruitt was returning the next day, and you found yourself hopeful that he hadnt exhausted himself…you were also excited for Bev to calm down after weeks of her relentless, poor moods…and that was saying something for a woman who already lacked a pleasant temperament. The Monsignor always seemed to calm her…perhaps it was that she was able to abuse his position for herself-

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as your temper flared at the thought.

The following day, Saturday, was your day to yourself. Your little shop remained closed until Sunday afternoon, and your appreciation for the downtime was great. You took extra time for yourself, and sat down to read that book that you had promised to read last year; tried a new recipe for dinner and baked yourself a fresh batch of cookies. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but it was easy, and you liked that.

As you brushed your hair out for sleep, your thoughts wandered to that strange face you had seen exit the Breeze the day previous. You wondered if he was visiting someone or if he was some kind of inspector for the island…so little happened on Crockett that new faces were so obvious. You were surprised no one had mentioned him during your day at the shop.

You shrugged it off.

It wasn’t your business.

The rosary you clutched as you prayed beside your bed dug into your skin as you squeezed it unconsciously. Some nights your worship came with difficulty…you mind wandered and you wondered if you were doing the right thing…praying to the right god. Not that you would tell anyone that.

You didn’t sleep well that night. Somehow you repeatedly awoke every few hours to a deep sinking in your gut and prickle up your neck that kept you from returning to sleep. The restlessness had you surrendering just before dawn, and you wrapped a thick blanket around yourself as you sat in front of your window that just peaked over the water. Your bleary gaze was heavy, though you felt yourself sober when you swore you saw a dark figure move into the thick bushes. You jumped, and felt your blood freeze, but when you leaned a little closer to look out, there was nothing but the gentle sway of the trees in the wind. It was so easy to dismiss what you had seen as simply your tired mind playing tricks on you.

You rubbed the heels on your hands into your eyes, and sighed as you stood.

Coffee. A coffee was needed.

The dirt road was muddy with the approaching storm that would be on the horizon in a few days. You hoped this one wouldn’t be too damaging.

You followed behind Leeza with Dolly, and told them what you had baked that morning for your shop, while Erin and Wade listened; enjoying how the air smelled of petrichor and pine. There was a comfortable chatter amongst everyone as they grew happy to welcome their Monsignor back to Crockett.

You sat yourself in the middle, in the same seat you always took. After months of Father Pruitt being gone, you routine was beginning to settle again.

The small organ began playing, and you stood to start singing with everyone else, but then as the alter boys passed you and you watched them, there was an unfamiliar voice behind them. You slowed your singing as you were once again distracted; sure enough, there was a much younger man who passed down the aisle in a gold chasuble and his hands held in prayer.

That same man from the dock.

You felt confusion fill you, and evidently you weren’t the only one as the churchgoers exchanged confused glances with eachother. You looked over at Wade, hoping he might look a little less confused as the mayor, but he mirrored every other face.

Knowing you weren’t getting any answers from your peers, you directed your attention to the pulpit as the stranger walked up to it.

“Good morning,” the man began, “I know I’m not who you expected to see this morning. I’m Father Paul Hill, and I was sent by the diocese to fill in for Monsignor Pruitt. Just know that I’m only here to help, and I look forward to meeting you all.”

You blinked in surprise at his explanation, thought you supposed it wasn’t entirely strange- just unexpected. Had something happened? You remembered how so many islanders had advised the Father not to make the journey, and now you were wondering if you all should have insisted harder.

The man looked a little nervous, but hopeful as he looked around to his new flock. But as his gaze passed over yours, you noted it paused for a moment. You smiled a little a him in hopes that it might make him feel a little welcome, and you briefly wondered if he recognized you from the marina.

There was a lilt to his strong, low voice that made you listen. He was compelling and direct; certainly not what you were used to with Monsignor Pruitt. He had always been a wonderful preacher, but for the last decade, he had grown slow and drawling.

You remembered your mother saying something about “It’s not about the sermon or who’s giving it, it’s just about being reminded of god and our mortality in this life.” And while you had always agreed with the sentiment, there was something about being invigorated while at church that was making your fingertips tingle.

You could already tell that Father Hill was appreciated amongst the churchgoers. There was a softness in their weathered faces as he spoke, like he was indeed connecting them to God.

As everyone filed in for the sacrament, you fell in line and felt your palms start to sweat. A part of you was thankful that Bev was there to provide the wine and your…replacement; you didn’t want to have to stop the church proceedings just to explain why you couldn’t drink the wine.

The discovery of your ethanol allergy had come as a distressful lesson when you had first drank the sacrament as a child. You still remembered what a fuss everyone made and how you had been rushed to Dr.Gunning who had only graduated from medical school recently. From then on your Monsignor had been very understanding and blessed your separate cup of grape juice every mass from then on.

When you accepted the wafer, and accepted the smaller cup from Bev, you noted in the back of your mind that the priest before you looked a little shaken as you drank. You paid it no mind- he was new and he likely had his quirks.

But it was no quirk. The Father felt his shoulders sink, and blood drain from his face as he watched Bev hand you that cup. He felt his idiocy fill him, then the subsequent dread and horror that followed his realisation.

You couldn’t drink the communion wine.

You never had.

A flash of the first day you tried it made his head hurt as he recalled how distraught your mother was upon learning what had happened. He tried to push the worried expression on his young face away but he was sure it was now more of a grimace.

You couldn’t accept the gift.

Panic clouded Johns mind as he continued to give the sacrament to each of the islanders. The devil on his shoulder proposed that it simply wasn’t your fate to be given the gift. But John had learned to ignore that horned heathen well, and he knew he must do something to guide you with the rest of his flock.

No lamb left behind.

As you filed out to leave, you walked behind Annie Flynn and her son Riley.

He had left years ago when you were still in your mid teens, and he didn’t exactly leave a lasting impression on a teenager. They stopped for a moment to speak with the new father, and while you wanted to say hello to the pastor, you hated to linger and get in people’s way; you knew you would see the Father again, and so you went to skirt around Annie, but as fate would have it, their conversation ended quickly, and the older woman took you by the arm as her son left.

“This is the beating heart of Crockett herself!” She beamed at you while you stood there suddenly locked in conversation with the young priest.

Annie had always appreciated your positive attitude and good nature. You found yourself always trying to cheer her up on her worst days while she worried herself sick about her husband and her son on the mainland. She was a mother through and through, and you often held her as a place-holder for your own flesh and blood since you saw your family only a couple times a year since they moved away.

And Annie seemed content with that. She had always wanted a daughter. The way she gushed about you then to the Father and introduced you had you trying to brush off the praise with a few failed “Oh no I-“ and “I’m not-“ and so forth. Your flushed cheeks had another agenda entirely however when you finally looked up at the Fathers gaze.

It was those soft brown eyes of his that struck you first. So focused and yet so…sad. Like he might cry at any moment. You wondered if his eyes stung.

He was handsome in a weathered, timid sort of way; couldn’t have been more than mid forties. He looked as if he had seen years of life beyond his age. Perhaps years of absolving sins had taken a toll.

“She is our baker here on Crockett…helps liven up the plain variety of food we have.” She half joked, thought it was mostly truth. Crockett was a place of bread and butter- basics. So a treat of some kind was greatly appreciated, and you were happy to deliver just that.

“Ah yes…the Monsignor mentioned his love for your pastries.” He smiled genuinely and nodded as if recalling being told, “I’ll be sure to stop by.”

There was a boyishness to him that endearing enough to settle your nerves.

Your eyes widened in surprise, “He did?” You asked.

You were certain Pruitt wouldn’t be able to recall something so insignificant in his declining health and old age. It had only been a few years that you had been running the shop, and you knew he hadn’t been fully coherent long before that. A poetic connection between him and Crockett Island you supposed.

Father Paul seemed delighted by your shock though, and the crows feet around his eyes deepened, “Yes he was quite adamant I assure you. I believe you’re also a regular face I will be seeing and that it may just be you and Leeza at times.” He added.

You clasped your hands in front of you to keep from fidgeting.

“I- well I try to be.” You looked away timidly, and shuffled your feet as Annie smiled at you. You weren’t used to someone being so passionate about small things- let alone a man.

“Oh she’s just modest.” The older woman said.

Father Paul chuckled, “Modesty is a virtue. Now, I noticed you weren’t able to drink the sacramental wine, is there something I should know?” He seemed so curious and invested.

You nodded, “I’m afraid I’m allergic to something in wine- ethanol. I’ve always been given plain grape juice instead…the Monsignor was always kind enough to have it ready. I hope that won’t be a problem-“

Father Paul shook his head as he rushed to put your mind at ease.

“-no no not- not in the least I assure you. Your presence and dedication is more than enough…you still receive the lords blessing even if it is from a sweeter drink.” He mused.

“Thank you, Father.” You replied and looked down again so as to hide the warming of your cheeks again.

Annie smiled and hugged you, “Well then, not to cut this short, Father but I’m starting my shift in a half hour. I’ll see you then?” She asked you.

You nodded, “Sure will. I’ll make us some coffee. I’m sure the sheriff could use some too.” You called after her as she walked away and bid the father farewell. Leaving the two of you to stand together. You turned back to Father Hill as he towered over you, and fought to find something to say as your nerves kicked in. You were usually good at finding conversation but you felt like you were a kid being forced to talk to some family member your mom insisted you knew.

You took a deep breath. “It was-“

“I hope-“

You both spoke over each other, and both looked at one another apologetically. You shook your head and smiled a little to ease his embarrassment, “Please you first, Father Hill.”

He looked at you for a moment for confirmation to ensure that he wasn’t being rude then he began again, “I was only going to say that I hope to see you here again…it’s enlightening to see a youthful face in a church.” He grinned- a curl of his dark hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

You returned his grin, though yours was a little forced in comparison.

Attending church was a routine ingrained in you since childhood, and now it was just something expected of you. You knew the day you didn’t attend would make the talk of the town and you were never in the mood for Beverly to come knocking on your door to berate you.

You could still remember a couple years ago when you were sick and she brought you a batch of soup for you to help…the offer had been kind enough, but the soup itself had made you want to curl into a ball and chew on a dead seagull.

“I assure you.” You echoed his words from earlier, and he smiled. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy the rest of your day, Father.” You said, and slowly stepped past him.

He turned his body to follow you. John told himself it was manners to speak to someone with your whole attention, and while that was true, he simply needed one last proper look at you before you left.

“Likewise, y/n.” He called to you as you walked down the steps. Out of your peripheral, you could see Bev still bending by the ear of one of the community members, and you made quick work of sending her a tight smile then hurrying along the path to the road. She returned the forced expression; not that she knew you forced it. Practice makes perfect.

The hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end as you descended the hill from St. Patrick’s. There was something in the back of your mind that told you not to look behind you, but against your better judgement, you did just that. A pair of soft brown eyes were trained on you as you walked.

The Father’s stare startled you and made your stride stutter.

He was intense and direct. He wasn’t like most of the islanders, and he made you uneasy somehow, but regardless, you cast him a friendly wave, and continued on your way- but that same prickle on the back of your neck simply wouldn’t let go.

John watched you go until your head disappeared down onto the main road and out of sight. He felt his nerves pick up as he said his last goodbyes and returned inside the church. He sat amongst the pews and stared up at the four walls around him. The weight of the gift he was tasked to reveal was growing heavy. He wished so badly to bestow this marvel to every dedicated church goer, and he would.

To every single one except you.

Why you?

Certainly you were in some way special; that had been revealed to him when it had been your face for him to first see upon returning.

Fate.

But if that were the case then surely your way to salvation should be easier…yet here you were unable to accept it; all because of an allergy.

John sighed as he made up his mind to proceed as he did with the rest of his flock. He hoped you wouldn’t taste the blood in your juice tomorrow- if you did he would simply have to find another way for you to accept it.

No lamb left behind.

The walk into town that usually brought you so much peace now came with an impending sense of foreboding. You knew that nasty storm was nearly at your doors, but storms had never bothered you too much. No, there was something in the air that made you all too aware of your heartbeat, and your breath and how your skin felt. You barely paid attention to anything around you as your leisurely pace unconsciously changed into one of hurry.

It wasn’t until you had just passed by the general store, and didn’t respond to Hassan’s greeting that you snapped out of your trance.

“Y/n? Y/n you alright?” He called to you as you strode right past him.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Sh-sheriff, I’m so sorry…” you stopped in your tracks and furrowed your brow as you fought to find an answer for your odd attitude, “I’m…I think I’m just a little out of it today.” You laughed.

The Sheriff glanced you over for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There’s a fresh pot inside.” He tipped his cup filled with black coffee to you. He was a nice man. Exhausted…mistreated, but caring.

You smiled and nodded, “I’ll come by in a few minutes. Thank you.” You hoped your smile would reassure him. You didn’t need to worry an already stressed father and someone you would consider a friend. An awkward older friend who needed a break but a friend nonetheless. “Want an eclair? Got a few extra that I made this morning.” You asked.

He shook his head gently, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to give me my own form of insulation for winter.”

You gasped in faux shock, and shook your head, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The pebbles and dirt crunched under your boots as you stepped up to the little entrance of your bakery beside the general store. As soon as you stepped inside, you suddenly felt a little safer…at ease. As if you had anything to be afraid of.

You suddenly felt very silly.

Ridiculous.

There had only been one change that day, and that was the charismatic Father Paul Hill.

Had you become so sheltered on that little island that you were afraid of a stranger coming into your community? Surely not.

No. You hadn’t felt fear in the man’s presence so who would you feel it now?

Ridiculous.

Stop it.

You closed your eyes and did your best to clear your mind of any ominous thought and any thought about the new Father.

Out of sight. Out of mind. Not your business.

You strode to the back of the shop and prepared your morning deliveries; it was always the same. It was easy. And you knew it was appreciated. Feeling important was a virtue in a small community that was run into the ground.

Making people feel cared for made you happy.

The day came and went just as it always did, but you couldn’t help but feel like the island had turned a little off its axis. Like something had just nudged it into a slight other direction. Your suspicions were only enforced and justified when almost every one of your regulars mentioned the new pastor to you as they selected their desired sweet or savoury treat from your display case.

“Such a striking young man.”

“Too modern.”

“Nothing like our dear Monsignor…but I can’t say I’ve stayed so engaged during a homily in years.”

“How long do you think he’ll stay?”

“Where do you think he came from?”

And so on.

You had hoped any mention of the man would remain in your own thoughts, but it was as if he had swept through the town like a stiff winter breeze.

By the time you sold your last cheese bun and lemon tart, and closed up shop, there was a very real wind that surged right down Main Street. The cool air pricked right through your thick tights under your skirt and made you made a mental note to dig out some warmer ones.

That storm was due that evening. It had been the talk of the town all day, right after the endless conversations of the invigorating preacher. Once you had gotten home, you felt it start to push up against your boarded windows. The wind howled, and the lights flickered as the sky darkened outside; you took that as a sure sign to light a few candles.

There was something ethereal in the light from a candle. So beautiful. If you caught the flames out of the corner of your eyes, sometimes it looked like they had little halos.

You smiled softly at the thought.

You never stayed up late on storm nights. In fact you slept earlier than usual. You knelt beside your bed and clasped your hands in prayer.

“Father, as I lie down for sleep tonight, wash over me with the warmth of Your love. In Your mercy, soothe my pain, whether in my body-“ you paused your recitation when that familiar prickle began its way up the back of your neck like it had for the past two days. You listened intently, but there was nothing but the wind.

“-mind or soul. Grant me a restful night of sleep so that when I awake, I'm strengthened to do Your will. Amen.” You decided against thinking too much of the unease, and settled under your blankets and closed your eyes.

You didn’t dream that night. In fact it felt as if you had merely shut your eyes for a moment before you were opening them again at the sound of your alarm.

The storm had blown itself out by the time you took your wooden shutters off your windows. There was a sliver of light coming over the horizon as you peered out at the water. You stared at it intently, and clenched your hand into an absentminded fist.

You tried the lightswitch in your kitchen, and praised the lord that it worked. You wondered if Sturge had been up even earlier than you to fix the power lines.

The outside of your house was a mess complete with a crab trap hanging off your fence. Nets, ropes, bushes, clothes, coolers, toys riddled the streets as you walked in the dim light to your shop. But then after only a few minutes, your nose picked up a smell. You were used to the strong smell of the ocean, especially after the storms, but this was different. You started towards the beach, and nearly gagged when you got closer. You had to cover your mouth once you stood on the sand.

From left to right, the beach was littered with the corpses of cats. You knew there were quite a lot on the island, and had seen the odd dead feline, but this was as if something had wiped out every cat and dumped them by the shore.

Anxiety filled you as you stared.

“Oh my-…”

You spun around to see Hassan standing beside you; uniform half buttoned and a bag over his shoulder that you knew had his lunch. The two of you exchanged looks of distress, and you visibly started to shake the longer you looked.

“What…what would…Hassan what-…” you looked up at the man, and he only shook his head. At a loss for words.

“Cmon. I’ll walk you in. Gotta…gotta call the mayor.” He wrapped an arm around your back to direct you away from the mess, “We’ll take care of it.”

You nodded and followed his lead away from the beach and into town, but you found yourself remembering that prickle up the back of your neck that night, and wondered if it had had anything to do with the slaughter. Was there some predator that had somehow made it onto the island without anyone knowing? Was someone going around killing cats? Had the solitude of Crockett Island finally made someone snap and rip every feline to shreds?

The call of your name cut through your thoughts.

You looked up and saw that you were ex standing outside your shop, and the poor man who had walked you there looked even more distressed at your quietness.

“Thank you…thanks Hassan…I’ll…let- let me know if you find anything out.” You said quietly but gave him a small smile of reassurance.

“I will. Take care okay?” He said, and you nodded, but he was already disappearing up the steps into the general store.

You nodded to yourself, and unlocked your shop and stood inside.

Then you took a deep breath.

And got to work.

By the time 8:30 came around, your nerves had calmed, and your nose was filled with a far more pleasant smell of muffins, and tarts and sourdough.

You brushed off your hands, and bundled up the deliveries for that day, then quickly locked the shop up and left for mass. As you walked, you found yourself ever so slightly reluctant. Nervous like your first day of school.

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of Leeza and Annie behind you that you snapped out of a daze that had settled over you.

“Good morning, dear!” Annie called to you as you stopped and waited for them.

“Morning. You all survived the storm just fine?” You asked politely and began walking with them.

“Oh we were fine. Just a breeze.” Annie said good-naturedly, “Sure was strange what with all those cats this morning though hey? Heard Dolly saying they’re still trying to work out what happened.” She said a little hushed.

You nodded, “I know…the Sheriff and I found them this morning…scared me half to death…”

“They’ll figure it out I’m sure.” Annie dismissed the conversation; you could tell she was worried. She always worried.

Not wanting that to be the last conversational subject between your little group, you changed the subject.

“Anything exciting happening at school today?” You asked Leeza.

She shook her head, “Nah…but I think we’re starting on this project that I’m excited about…” the girl began on a tangent regarding her science project. It was nice to listen to someone prattle on about something that would be insignificant in a few years…it was somehow refreshing. Somehow you felt like an older sister to Leeza, and having her confide in you so honestly about mundane things made your heart swell.

The three of you entered the church, and just as always, you sat in your usual spot in the middle, across from Leeza and Annie. And you waited.

“Our processional hymn this morning is number 400 in the red hymnal. “Holy, Holy, Holy.” Please rise. “ came the voice of Father Hill from the door of the church.

A shiver made you twitch, and you blamed a draft in the church. You stood just as you always did; not needing the hymnbook but still holding it out of habit.

You sang, and kept your eyes trained on the text as the Father passed, his hands pressed in prayer as he walked up to the pulpit and continued his routine. You could feel the heavy presence of Bev Keene permeating the air, and you subconsciously ground your teeth. You knew if she had her heart in the right place, she could be a magnetic, beloved member of any community.

But sadly she didn’t have a heart to have it in the right place to begin with. Soot and malice was what sat beneath that gold cross she wore.

“Before he was given up to death, a death he freely accepted, he took bread and gave you thanks…”

Your eyes glazed over at you listened to that voice of his. Not that you weren’t hearing his words, or the message behind them; you were paying attention. But just like being read a story by your mother at bedtime versus a babysitter you had only just met, there was a certain comfort to be found in the former. Yet somehow, where Father Hill ought to have been less comforting, he brought great solace to his homily. It felt as if he was the one you were so used to listening to. Somehow he had eased himself into the Monsignor’s shoes seamlessly and had begun to preach his own gospel that melded with the tone you had become accustomed to since childhood and lulled you into a safe haven of worship.

“…He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said…”

There was an effortlessness in his sermon. You wondered if he had started preaching very young.

With only 4 islanders in the church to worship, Father Hill stepped down from the pulpit and began offering the Body and blood of Christ to each. He saved you for last, you noticed, and for good reason as he retrieved your smaller cup and returned to you. You cupped your hands in front of you, and waited dutifully.

“Body of Christ, y/n.” Came that gentle voice of his like he cared deeply that you accept the blessing.

His long fingers graced the pads of yours so slightly as he placed the wafer on your fingers, and you failed to hide the hitch of your breath as you murmured “Amen.”

Then as he held your small cup for you to drink from, you failed to see how his gaze caught the sight of your pink tongue peaking out just over your teeth as you went to drink. John didn’t know why he noticed that; he supposed he noticed many small details now. Seeing your tongue now must have reminded him of any smaller animal with its mouth open- a small rabbit, a mouse, a cat, a-

A lamb.

The juice tasted strange that morning and somehow thicker than usual. You wondered if it was just in your head after being so shaken from the cats…

Annie took it upon herself to walk Leeza to school that morning, which left you to exit the church alone. On a day like that with the sun shining, you found coming out of the house of God almost ethereal. The light poured in through the single-paned windows and illuminated the dust particles that drifted so gently.

Once you stepped outside, the fresh air filled your lungs and you let yourself smile easily up at Father Paul as he stood patiently.

“Good morning, Father Hill.” You said, craning your neck to look up at the man.

“The beating heart herself!” He smiled, reiterating Annie’s analogy of you.

A good memory.

And a good sense of humour.

The warming of your cheeks was obvious , and John felt a little tug in his chest at the sight of it. Little flower pedals colouring your cheeks.

“She- I’m…”you tried to find a way to humble the dramatic compliment, but failed, “I hope you made it through the storm alright, Father. One hell of a welcome.” You said, trying to redirect the conversation, and to your mercy, Father Hill went along with it.

He nodded.

“It was quite nice actually. Being plunged into darkness almost feels like a renewal of some kind.” He said thoughtfully as his mouth seemed to threaten to tug into a smile.

“Quite sobering.” You agreed, “I’m glad it didn’t chase you off. Don’t know how many times I’ve seen someone buy a summer home here then flee the moment they have to endure a storm.” It was true. A little funny too.

The Father chuckled and nodded, “A fearsome thing to behold, but still a reminder of our creator…the power or lord holds, whipping storms against our rocks and shores just to knock on our doors and say hello. Almost reassuring.” He rambled a little.

You tilted your head, “That’s a very thoughtful way to look at it. Certainly more poetic than what you’ll hear from most of the locals.”

“And what would they say?” He shot back playfully.

You breathed out a laugh.

“One too many curse words for my liking, Father. And a couple confusing analogies.” You said.

Father Hill chuckled and somehow you half expected him to pat your head and tell you to run along. The Monsignor used to when you were a child so it wouldn’t be entirely foreign.

“Well we all have our ways of dealing with hardship-“

“Ah you’re still here, y/n!”

During your conversation you hadn’t noticed how the two of you had come to shift closer to one another; but when that cutting voice of Bev Keen startled you, you took an instinctive step away from the man with whom you had been speaking.

You forced a polite smile, “I am. Just asking how Father Paul made it through the storm-“

“The rectory has always been just fine.” She shot at you with a tight smile as if trying to end your time there quickly.

John could see your lips pull down so slightly into a tiny frown when Bev cut you off; he felt a flicker of irritation. Odd.

You recovered, acting like she didn’t mean any harm. “I’m sure it has. But just because a place is safe doesn’t remove fear. The Father here seemed to have handled it just fine though like you said… “In the storms, winds and waves, He whispers “fearnot” for I am with you.”.” You smiled up at the Father, and he returned it gently.

“Psalm 107:29…truer words could not exist for Crockett Island.” Father Paul said fondly to you; he had a way of speaking to those around him like there was a bubble around the two of you as you conversed. Like nothing else could take his attention from you.

You took in a breath and clasped your hands in front of you when you could feel the gaze of Bev scorching you, “Well thank you for a lovely service today Father, Bev…always a pleasure.” You said to both, but only made it several steps before Father Paul called after you.

“You’re always welcome here.” He said you name so gently. You noticed too that his tone was almost pleading…perhaps encouraging. Did he think you would stop your routine one day?

“I appreciate that Father Hill!” You smiled and waved as you turned to continue on your way; Paul’s lingering stare and Bevs look of distain following you as you went.

Your ear ached as a pull in you almost forced you to turn around and look back at St. Patrick’s again…but you didn’t. Somehow you felt it was in poor taste to do so. You had been startled by being watched once, and you were certain your nerves would not benefit from it again.

Instead, you hurried along, and made it down to the bakery quickly. You waved at a few locals who entered the general store and unlocked your door to grab your deliveries for that day. You always felt a pang of sadness when you looked at your list of houses and saw old customers crossed off; having passed or moved, but you supposed you ought to feel joyous for those who remained.

One by one you completed your deliveries. There were only 15 houses to visit, give or take a few from day to day. You treasured those houses.

You peddled up to one of the houses you frequented, and grabbed the order you needed. You almost bounced up the steps and knocked. It didn’t take long before the door was opening after the voice inside called that they were coming.

You were then met with a familiar face.

“Good to see you. Morning going alright?” Sarah Gunning was always a little direct, but kind. You supposed a good doctor ought to be both.

You nodded as you handed her the two loaves of bread and bundle of fruit cakes. “Not too bad…was a little shaken by the…uh…the cats this morning but nothing a sunny day like today can’t fix!” You assured her. “How’s your mother?”

Sarah nodded, “I heard…smelled it too. She’s alright, thank you y/n.” She took the package from you and gave you a tight smile.

“Good…see you soon.” You chirped, and began backing down the steps.

You turned around and strode out the front yard, but sighed when you noticed one of the straps that kept your goods in place at the back of your bike was loose. You knelt down and retied it. You supposed everything on this island was falling apart just a little.

When you straightened, however, you gasped and nearly toppled over. “F-Father Hill! I’m so sorry-“

The man stepped back a little.

“Im sorry I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He put his hand up to show he meant no harm, face apologetic.

“No…no that was on me, I’ve been a little in my head lately.” You said, having a hard time meeting his gaze.

“We all can be a little distracted.” He said. A slightly awkward silence fell between you, but it was he who broke it. “You know the Gunnings well?” He asked, and nodded to the house behind you.

You followed his gaze and nodded, “Not terribly, but I remember seeing Mrs. Gunning in church when I was a kid…I just deliver to them now. Mrs.Gunning’s health hasn’t been the best for years and her daughter Sarah cares for her…I just try to help out where I can.” You smiled.

There was something nagging at you though. Something odd. Of course you hadn’t fully realized that this stranger already knew who lived there; you were so used to everyone knowing everyone.

You did notice how the man before you shifted when you mentioned Sarah’s mother. He seemed almost a little more compelled to listen.

“That- that’s kind of you.” He stumbled a little over his words, “Giving to those in need that’s very selfless…a trait that can be hard to come by though we all possess it.” Father Hill forced a smile that crinkled the sides of his eyes.

“We all have traits in us that we can chose to embrace or not. Good and bad, Father.”

His smile turned a little more genuine then. “Ah yes, the never ending duality of man.”

“ “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.” John 3:20.” You quoted a little absentmindedly as you saw Beverly pass by on the main road. The distraction kept you from seeing how the man towering over you had his eyes go wide, and looked away for a moment.

You both stood there for a moment, then you ducked your head a little and pulled your bike towards yourself. “Well Father, I’ll leave you to it.”

Father Hill nodded, and pursed his lips ever so slightly, “Good to see you…”

You slowly walked past him and back to the road, but stopped when he muttered something that you wondered if he meant for you to hear.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked back at him, brows pitched in confusion.

“For…taking- taking care of everyone.” He ended his sentence a little weakly, and you tilted your head a little to the side. An odd man.

“It’s my pleasure.” You decided on. It seemed to be what Father Hill wanted or needed to hear, and you both parted ways.

You paused at Main Street, and turned to look up at the Father as he ascended the stairs to the Gunning house. This time, it was his turn to glance back at you as you watched him. You waved and smiled, and didn’t wait for his response before you were pedalling away.

John had been standing just out of view of Sarah when he had said goodbye to Leeza, and saw you knock on Mildred’s front door. He stayed there, enjoying how much life you held inside you. Youthful and magnetic. Of course the ease in staring at you had nothing to do with the fact that your dress swayed around your legs and picked up so slightly in the wind.

He watched how startled you were by him when he approached you…so cautious yet so trusting. A lamb weary of wolves just looking for her Shepard.

I will be your Shepard sweet lamb…let me. Bend for me…for God.

Then that quote…oh you were no mere lost soul. No you were thoughtful. John felt excitement fill him at the thought of how you would benefit from his gift. He would be lying if he said you saying his true name didn’t startle him. A coincidence, of course.

Then when he turned back and saw you already watching him. Then that peak of your thigh when you hopped onto your bike…John was…

John was distracted.

An ideal lamb to guide yet so concerning. Not a blind lamb…no you were good. You were caring, and strong. Hopeful…hopeful like a man overboard who knew he had to weather swell after swell of water but kept treading water because he knew he was strong enough despite his muscles wanting to give out.

Instead of staying afloat like that man, John lost his breath.

Then he gasped in the salty sea water and breathed you in. Gulped you down his throat like a greedy boy to nourish his body and fill his lungs.

The next morning was thankfully an uneventful one.

Hassan and Wade had managed to get the dead cats cleaned up by the evening of the day before, and you weren’t sure when the last time was that you were so happy to have nothing happen.

Until that evening.

You were fairly proud of your abilities to make delicious confectioneries for Crockett island, and as you stared down your journal of recipes that sat in your lap, you pondered which to chose for the approaching Crock-potluck. You knew there would be a great deal of food already there, but you also knew that something freshly made for desert changed an atmosphere fast.

You were just looking through your various cookie and sweet bread recipes when a knock on your door made you jump. It was rare that you had visitors, especially at this hour. Certainly Erin had come by numerous times for slow walks around the island in the evening from time to time, and then Annie sometimes ran down to your house if she needed an ingredient…but somehow you felt that the person knocking was neither.

It was soft and timid.

You uncurled yourself from your nest of blankets on the couch, and strode to your door, then opened it with a pleasant smile on your face. It faltered only a little once you saw who was standing there.

“I- I uh…I’m sorry for this intrusion so late but I have a favour to ask of you if I may.” Came that low rumble of the man’s voice as he stood in the dim light of your porch.

You blinked, “What can I do for you Father?”

Father Hill shifted a little- an awkward smile on his face as he looked to the side as he stalled.

“This is my first uh- Crockett Po- crock-“ he stumbled a little and you smiled.

“Crock-potluck.” You corrected him.

He laughed a little, “Yes. And I wanted to have something to bring. Something my mother ingrained in me as a boy and well I was hoping if…if you could lend a helping hand so to speak.”

You bit at your cheek to keep from smiling too wide at his request. Here was this man likely twice your age, taller than most trees, fumbling with his words when he preached for a living. He was endearing.

“Well Father…it is getting late.” You started, and his face instantly turned to that of a kicked puppy.

His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth tugged down so slightly.

“Oh- of- of course how silly-“

“-and I was going to make something for the potluck anyways…so having an extra pair of hands would be a godsend.” You finished.

John chuckled and stared you in the eye when your nose scrunched up so slightly at your tease.

Funny girl.

“Come in, please…make yourself at home.” You ushered him in. You were thankful that Bev didn’t live near you lest she see her dear Father Hill enter the home of a young woman alone.

Of course, John knew that you were indeed preparing to make something. Just like most islanders, you kept your drapes open even at night, and while he had just meant to take an evening stroll and check in on you- his dear lamb- John had found himself standing just outside your window watching you for well past a half hour. You flicked through that book of yours that John remembered seeing on your counter just two days ago when you had tested a recipe from it. You hadn’t seen him that night either. So domestic and sweet in your own space…

It was only when he snapped out of his trance-like state that he felt a little perverse in his current situation and told himself that he must have a reason for being there so long.

Thus the need to make something for the potluck.

John Pruitt had never made something for the potluck.

But he would not just leave your house that night after watching you through your window.

No. No he had a purpose for being there.

Of course he did. Why else would God have guided him there on his walk?

It wasn’t as if he was subconsciously drawn to your little home.

A moth to a flame.

You watched the older man remove his boots, and unzip his grey hoodie, and remove it to fold it neatly onto your couch. He looked so domestic and human.

“We’re going to make a cult classic, Father…I hope that’s alright. Safer for large numbers.” You explained as you flipped to your browned butter chocolate chip recipe. You slowly walked into your kitchen as you reviewed what you needed, and Father Hill trailed after you.

“This might take a couple hour- oh!” You started to say, but jumped when you turned around and bumped right into his chest.

He chuckled, “I think I might need a bell on me…I’m afraid I have a talent for startling people lately.”

You waved it off, “It’s just me…I’m just- I…” you sighed and looked up at the man as he waited patiently for your explanation, “Can I…can I be completely honest with you, Father Hill?” You asked a little timidly.

He nodded- open and calm, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You sucked in a breath, “You’re…well you’re a new presence here on the island…a welcomed one! But because you’re new…you startle a lot of us because we’re simply not…used to you. We’ll get there but in the time being…I think that’s why. I’m- we…we’re glad you’re here.” You stumbled and then when he smiled softly at you you suddenly worried that you had offended him, “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t think that came out right…”

“No no please…it makes perfect sense given how isolated the island is…I take no offence.” He said good-naturedly and waved his hand.

You sighed, and looked down, “Alright well…let’s get started. You might want to roll your sleeves up though it can get messy, Father.” You perked up as you changed the subject, and began to walk to your counter where you had already taken out a mixing bowl and, whisk and measuring cup.

“I am at your disposal, young lady.” Father Paul came to brace himself against the counter edge beside you, looking down at you thoughtfully.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, but kept your head down enough for him to not see, “Can you get me the butter from the fridge? Should be on the door.” You asked, and pulled out a small saucepan.

He nodded, and retrieved the butter for you. As he looked for it, you glanced over at him, and found your eyes drawn to his exposed forearms from him rolling up his sleeves. You looked away almost instantly, embarrassed for having been looking at your priest like that.

“You know this is the first time I’ve done this. Gotta admit it’s a bit exciting.” He said as he popped the butter beside you on the counter proudly.

“Baking is always fun…especially when things turn out yummy.” You smiled and put two large cups of butter in the heated pan. It started to sizzle. “We brown the butter to give the cookies a sort of nutty flavour…makes it a little tastier even if they’re just chocolate chip cookies.” You explained. He watched over your shoulder, enrapt.

“Did you always want to do this?” He asked you.

You blinked, “The- the cookies-?”

“No.” He laughed, “No, being a baker.”

“Oh. Well…not exactly. I grew up here and when you grow up in Crockett you have a lot of time to think…sometimes too much. I guess I knew I would end up doing something here and when I got older I got into baking and in my spare time I got really good at it…took years but before I knew it I was graduating and had a pretty fortuitous hobby. It was actually Dr. Gunning who suggested it.”

“Sarah?” Came his voice behind you.

“Yeah, Sarah was in the general store when I was there to get some milk and we got to talking…I had made her mom a few loaves of bread that she used to like and Sarah said I should make something out of my skill. And here I am!” You laughed, and stirred the butter as it browned and thinned.

“Wonderful…” he said softly.

You nodded, “She’s a nice lady. You’ll get used to her- just a little direct. Think it comes with being a doctor.” There was a moment of silence between you; only filled with the bubbling of the butter, “Alright, can you go into the freezer and pull out the flour, and measure out 3 cups of it into the bowl there?” You asked the man behind you.

“I certainly can.” He confirmed.

“Oh! Can you get 4 eggs as well?” You asked quickly.

He hummed and looked through your fridge for what he needed, and placed everything by the bowl. The counter was so much lower for him that he almost had to hunker over with his height to work.

He looked so…normal. It was sweet. A little odd to see your pastor baking with you but it was nice. Somehow it made him feel more human than just a man who absolved your sins and blessed you every morning.

The two of you worked together, and you came to find that Father Hill was eager to learn. He was methodical and took his time to do things right. Listened. Before you knew it there was a massive bowl of cookie dough on the counter and your oven was full of baking sheets.

“Each sheet should only take about 15 minutes so this shouldn’t take more than another hour.” You said, “If- if you need to take off I can finish-“

“A good man does not abandon his task, not to worry.” His tone was stern but he was smiling. You returned it.

“Well…” you breathed as you looked around for something to do, “I can put some music on if you like? You’re welcome to look around.”

He nodded, and you went to find something to listen to, “This used to be my family’s house. I’m afraid I only have their old records…Hope that’s okay?”

“More than.” He called out to you as you went into the living room.

You flipped through a few envelopes, and settled on one from Jeff Buckley. It was mostly slow, and you could still talk if you wanted to. You set it up, and as the needle sat atop the vinyl, a calm song began.

“Who’s this little ray of sunshine?”

You turned and followed Father Paul’s voice. He was standing in front of a few picture frames hung on the wall that you kept from when your family lived there.

“That was me.” You laughed, “That was right before Easter I think…I was 5.” You said thoughtfully.

“You looked happy.” He smiled.

I was. You thought.

“I loved Easter. Mostly for the chocolate…” you both chuckled a little, “But…now it’s just the time of year that I like. Spring. Revival…blossoming of plants, birds chirping…everything just seems so much more alive. The world starts to hum with God’s greatness during Easter, I think.” You thought aloud, then looked up at Father Hill once you ended your musings.

He was already watching you; hanging onto every word.

He remembered how much you enjoyed Easter. “One more chocolate, Monsignor? Pleeease?” He could still hear that little voice.

“What do you think, Father?” You asked him.

“I have to agree.” He hummed. You noticed that his eyes were almost glassy-that same teary look you had noticed when you first met him. Like he may weep.

“I think Monsignor Pruitt was partial t-

DING!

You both jumped apart and looked behind you at the sound of your timer sounding.

Had it been 15 minutes already?

You both returned to the kitchen and you began removing the sheets of golden treats. “If you can put them on the cooling rack while I take them out that’ll help a lot, Father.” You smiled.

“They turned out so nicely.” He mused as he followed your orders, “I supposed I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

You laughed a little, “It’s just trial and error until you figure out your best method.”

Modest girl.

John grinned at you from the corner of his eye while you placed the last hot sheet on the counter.

The two of you continued the routine until the last round was in the oven, and you were starting to feel more at ease with the man. Almost playful. He certainly was a young priest, and every bit a red blooded man; his humour was dry, and he smiled easily. His laugh was infectious, though you could tell he didn’t do it often. You supposed the church wasn’t exactly a place rich with humour.

The record had nearly finished after almost an hour of listening, and the two of you were leaning against the kitchen counter listening. You swayed gently to the music, but then perked up when a favourite of yours began to play.

“I love this song…” you muttered under your breath and turned your head in the direction of the living room.

John looked down at you in recognition of what you had said, but in the low light of your kitchen, and the softness in your face, he couldn’t help but be reminded of being young. Not just himself but the island. Back when the people who were not partners used to be children he had baptized. Back when there were dances in the old town hall that had since burned down decades ago.

You reminded him of…a better time.

An easier time.

You were so occupied in your little bubble, that it took you a moment to notice Father Paul coming in front of you with his hands out.

You looked down at his palms, then up at him, and he waited patiently. You slowly placed your hands in his, and he pulled you away from the counter and began to sway with you. So gentle, then he tentatively brought your hand up to his shoulder and he brought his other hand to your waist; guiding you through a little dance.

Neither of you said a word.

Not there was anything to say really.

Somehow the two of you just felt very…human.

Your neck hurt from looking up at his dark eyes, but you didn’t stop. He watched you just as closely as you moved slowly through the room in small circles.

“…You know I used to be alone before I knew you…and I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, and love is not some victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The smell of baked cookies surrounded you, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

But in that moment, it didn’t feel absurd.

It felt like two kindred souls enjoying some shared time. Any obligations or expectations melted away as you felt the warmth from his hands meld into your tendons and heat your sinew. His fingers holding yours felt more akin to a cradle and his breath between you was like smelling your childhood.

Your heart ached.

Perhaps it was that no one had held you in years. Let alone danced with you.

Hugs and pats on the back were about the extent.

“…and it’s not a cry that you hear at night, it’s not someone whose seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The two of you slowed until you came to a standstill in the kitchen, simply standing less than a foot from eachother. When the timer dinged this time, neither of you jumped away. The sound certainly brought you down to Earth, but somehow you only found yourself staring up at the man. You weren’t altogether confused, though you were curious and a little nervous.

Why had he done that?

Why did you do that?

You had felt so comfortable…like this was an old friend of yours who you had just seen again after years apart.

John gazed down at you…his mind rich with turmoil and deep contemplation. When he had taken your hands in his, it had been as if God had moved through him.

Compelling.

Like God had told him to embrace the good of the past, and remember what he was working towards. To restore exactly that.

After a few breaths, Father Hill released your hand, and you both quietly walked to the oven.

The last batch now sat on the cooling racks, and you sighed.

“I’ll pack these up and bring them by the rectory before service tomorrow, Father.” You broke the silence.

Father hill nodded, “Thank you my girl.” He said softly.

You nodded and looked down at your hands, “Thank you for your company.” Then looked back up at the man before you.

He tilted his head to you as if to tell you that you were welcome or that it was his pleasure.

He slowly unrolled his sleeves, and you picked his sweater up for him from the living room.

You almost felt bad to watch him go. It might have been nice to talk to him for a few hours more.

He finished tying his boots and graciously took the sweater from you, and slipped it on over his collared shirt.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He murmured as he opened your door.

“Goodnight, Father.” You whispered back.

He stayed a moment longer, and smiled gently at you, then he was gone.

You stood in your doorway, watching him go, and as he left your sight, you found yourself returning to your senses. A wave of embarrassment chilled you when you realised what you had just done. Yet somehow you didn’t feel entirely guilty. It had felt as if some kind of blanket had enveloped the two of you just like when he conversed with his flock after mass- a bubble around you.

You packed the treats away after cooling, and silently went to sleep. You didn’t let yourself dwell.

-

“It’s great to see so many of you here today. But I do have to ask, why not every Sunday? Christmas, Easter, I get that. But there’s also always an uptick around the start of Lent. Why is that? What’s so special about today? Ash Wednesday, beginning of Lent. It’s hardly a crowd-pleaser.The beginning of repentance, making amends for our sins. Sin. This darkness, this blackness that spilled into us. That darkness, we wear it on our forehead today. Just a smudge of it. Uh…A smudge of death, of ash, of sin for repentance. Because of where this is all actually heading, which is Easter. Rebirth, resurrection, eternal life. Life that rises again…” Father Paul stood before you at the pulpit, presence commanding as ever.

“Even out of blackness, love rises again. Even out of sin. And this island, it will rise again. Even out of disaster, rebirth, restoration, eternal life. Jesus sees you. Sees you, best of all, and he sees you true. Because, don’t forget, who did he seek out? Who did he turn to, to build his church?His apostles. Jesus’ first disciples, they were fishermen. One of his first miracles, right? The nets are empty, fishermen desperate. Jesus says, “Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch,” and when they pulled up those nets, a bounty of fish.” You could practically feel the worshipers buzz around you as their heart rates picked up, just like yours.

“He sees you. Oh, yes, he sees you, brothers and sisters, and he will resurrect this island, and he will again fill your nets. It’s great you’re here today, but please keep coming back. Those doors, they’re always open, as the gates are always open. You just bring yourself. God will do the rest. As Psalm 60 tells us, “God, You have rejected us, You have broken us down, You have been angry. Restore us again.” Do you know what psalms are? They’re songs.The word psalm from the Greek psalmoi. It means “music.” Songs of prayer. Songs of praise. That’s who we are. That’s who we must be. That’s what it means to have faith, that in the darkness, in the worst of it, in the absence of light and hope, we sing. “Restore us,” we sing to the sky. And He will, my friends. He will. That same hand that dealt you your hardship, that same hand will make you whole.”

A single tear fell from your eye. God works in mysterious ways, and you could almost feel God working through Father Hill that day. As if God truly was trying to tell you that he was there with you. And Father Hill spoke as if he knew something good was to come- as if God had shown him.

And you believed him.

As you stood, you could hear Annie trying to urge her son to accept the cross of ash, and you gave her a small reassuring smile when she filed in behind you.

“Y/n remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The preacher murmured to you. Your face was bright that day, happy. John suppressed a smile.

“Amen.” You said quietly, flicking your eyes up to his. He stared down at you steadily, calm as ever.

“Bless you my child.” His was was low and serene.

It was a peaceful stroll down to potluck. You watched as birds started to flit in the trees and chirp; bees starting to buzz, the gentle sound of the shore. Rebirth.

You checked behind you every so often as you walked in case you saw Father Hill; you had brought the cookies to the rectory that morning before service, and when you had offered to help carry the three large containers after, the Father had declined.

You had insisted.

But he insisted harder.

It was wonderful to see the islanders enjoy the little festival. Sharing with each other and laughing. It didn’t happen often. It was as if everyone pushed off their exhaustion just to enjoy that day. Problems could wait until the next day.

You made your way through the locals that you knew well, and stopped a little longer with some. Annie stood with Ed, and you noticed them smiling; perhaps it might seem like a strange thing to notice, but you knew all about Ed’s troubled back, and how their marriage was a little exhausted…it made your heart glow a little to see them happy. Most everyone seemed happier if you were honest, and it wasn’t just that day.

Your legs began to ache after a half hour, and you took to the edge of the festival to sit. You liked this. Watching everyone around you.

“Mind if I join you?” You looked up to see Father Hill walking over to you, a cup of juice in hand.

“Please do.” You scooted over to give him a little more room.

He sat with a soft grunt.

“You did your hair different.”

You turned to him. And your lips parted in surprise, “Wha-“

“I’m sorry- I noticed during communion. Just came to mind.” He said a little awkwardly though no less sweet.

Your mouth fell open a little, “I did. First day of lent…I like to do a little extra for it.” You rambled.

John smiled at you.

You looked pretty.

Not that he could say that.

But you did.

“The crockpot luck…I hear it’s a yearly staple for the island.” Father Hill said to you as you both looked out over the festival.

You nodded, “Sure is…”

John turned to you then; your tone was a little more reserved. Like you weren’t saying all you wished to.

“You’re not a fan of it?” He asked curiously.

You thought for a moment. “Can I be-“

“Honest?” He cut you off. Echoing your words from the night before.

You smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

“I-… Lent is supposed to be a time of fasting and repentance and prayer…I just…it seems strange to have a festival on Ash Wednesday.” You said quietly.

He nodded, “Perhaps a little unorthodox.”

“I think I’ve always found it just…a little odd. Our Monsignor was the one who came up with it, you know? Coined the name. I just…I can’t help but wonder if his theology was a little…uh…off.” You mused, looking down at your hands.

Father Hill regarded you for a moment, and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I know you didn’t know him…he was a nice man…but…he was- is just a man. Man has his faults.” You shrugged, then turned to the man beside you, “No offence, Father.”

He chuckled and sipped at his cup, “None taken. I appreciate your candour.”

You pursed your lips.

You weren’t usually so unguarded.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Why did you say that?

This was the second time you had inadvertently said something to insult him within 24 hours. You felt shame start to rise in the back of your throat.

“I don’t want you to worry about offending me, y/n. I’m a friend and an ear to listen…if ever you want to talk.” He said, staring out at the sea of people, then back at you.

You sighed and nodded, “Thank you, Father. You’re very kind.”

He smiled.

Then you remembered something, “Father?”

“Hm?”

You shifted a little awkwardly, “I want to first thank you for maintaining my uh…specialized sacrament, but I just wanted to ask- have you changed the juice?” You asked him.

He thought for a moment, “I don’t believe so. We just got a new shipment…I can check if it’s any different…why?”

“It…it’s just…it tastes very strange. Almost metallic. I don’t know how else to describe it.” You thought back to how the taste stayed in your mouth after only a sip.

John shifted in his seat. You knew. He would have to find another way of give you the gift.

“I’ll find another one to give you. Not to worry.” He said, and patted your hand.

“Thank you, Father.” You chose not to dwell on him touching you.

“Well, I should return to my flock…trying to get to know everyone.” He said, then pushed himself up off the bench.

You nodded. You knew he was only temporary, but it was kind of him to try and get to know the members of the community while he was there.

He was charming and approachable, it wouldn’t be hard for him.

“Of course, enjoy!” You called after him. He waved back at you, and you scrunched your face up as the sun hit your eyes.

You sighed to yourself and after an hour, you began to make another round of the park. The town had truly lucked out with such a beautiful day for such a special day. After such a nasty storm just a few days ago, it was surprising.

You watched at the sun started to lower in the sky. Things were starting to wind down, and some had began to return home-

“Pike!”

You whipped your head around in the direction of the scream. On the other end of the park, you could see a crowd forming. You knew Pike was Joe Collie’s dog, and by the sounds of it, there was nothing good happening. You knew he was old, and loud, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. You hoped he hadn’t bitten someone.

You crossed the field in just a couple minutes, and when you came to stand in the crowd, you felt yourself grow lightheaded. Pike was laying in a puddle of foamy bile and blood- the light leaving his eyes. You could hear Joe accusing Bev, and saw Sarah knelt over the dog…it was horrible.

“Alright everyone…back up.” Hassan waved his arms to try and disperse the crowd. Everyone began to walk away, and you could feel a solemnness come over the islanders. Like somehow they had all been snapped out of a trance and remembered their troubles.

You pursed your lips, but ultimately backed up as well. You wanted to help, but you knew there was virtually nothing to do. Pike was dead.

You kept to yourself for another hour, the as the afternoon dragged on, you started to collect the now-empty containers that had once held the cookies.

“Thanks for that, y/n.”

You looked over at Wade who was taking one last helping of…something brownish. A casserole of some kind.

You smiled, “Oh it was no problem. It was actually a group effort between the Father and I!”

His brows shot up, “Really?”

“Yeah he wanted to bring something. Wasn’t that nice of him?” You picked the empty containers up.

“Yeah…he- he seems like a real nice fella.” He mused, moustache twitching.

You nodded, “This was great, Mr. Mayor. See you Friday?”

He chuckled- you knew he was just fine with Wade, but you also knew he liked when people used his title- made him feel important. And you did your best to remind each person of their importance when you could.

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” He conceded.

You waved him off, then began your way back home.

John stood on the edge of the park watching you go. He had initially taken the spot to gaze at Sarah, but his gaze had been drawn when you were speaking with the mayor.

They really did love you.

And he understood why.

He watched you disappear down the road, dress fluttering in the wind.

•••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian

[devilfic]

omg we need more of the honeymoon shot bruce and reader,, maybe a one bed trope if it’s not too much to ask no pressure obv!!<3

❝honeymoon❞

II. marriage bed.

parts: previously / next plot: the in-laws are in town. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: arranged marriage, friends to enemies to (fake) lovers, implied history between reader and bruce, only one bed trope. words: 1.6k.

"I'm sorry" feels numb to say at this point. You still say it, standing at the foot of what should have been your marriage bed. It's been a long night and you'd wrung your hands of dish soap until your family practically barked at you to get to bed, to get back to your husband.

You can still hear them, cackling downstairs in the living room while your nieces and nephews tumble through the hallway. It must feel alien to have your childhood home, long devoid of familial joy, be suddenly bursting full of it. And have none of it mean anything to you.

Bruce stands shoulder to shoulder with you for a few more beats. Then he walks to the door, and you watch him twist the lock with a firm click. Your heart picks up a bit.

His steps are muted on the carpet and you take in his shoulders, the rolling hills of muscles in his back, and the pants that cling to the divots of his hip bones. The black cashmere is a gift from your mother, something preferable to his "ratty" sweats. He didn't like these very much.

Since you'd started living here, you caught glimpses of him like this. A heavy shadow of a man skulking in the darkness, waiting for you to leave for work before revealing himself. Rarely would you find yourselves crossing paths in the kitchen or catching eyes in the living room. And with each fleeting glance, he would escape elsewhere, receding into the tower the way a frightened cat might hide from strangers. Intruders. Funnily enough, you found avoiding eye contact helped that.

But now there was nowhere to run. Your family was here for the holidays and they were in every room. Eyes everywhere.

"Do you need to work tonight?" You'd started calling it that: "work". It made sense around the family (not so much your mother), and it didn't put him on edge when you skirted around the "B" word. "I can help you get downstairs."

He's half-turned to you, waiting on his side of the bed, so you can see the way his face scrunches up at a thought, "Gordon... told me to take time off. For family."

You snort, "You told him the in-laws were in town?"

"Yes."

You blink, "Oh."

Bruce had told you that between you and Alfred, no one else knew who Batman was. The lieutenant, trusted friend and ally as he were, had yet to join the ranks of your prestigious little club. It felt wrong to be in it when he wasn't; you'd forced yourself into it, and Bruce didn't even trust you.

You round the bed opposite to Bruce, and staring across it at him felt like staring across an ocean—he was so far away. You wondered how many people had shared this bed with him. How many he trusted as little as you.

You understand that the Bruce you remember was still a boy, grieving much differently than he is now, and had liked you just a little bit more.

You're the first to draw back the covers.

Bruce watches you settle in before following suit, reluctant, as if he were still wondering about the cons of sleeping in his car tonight. The weight of the bed dramatically shifts and you glide against the silk to his side when he lays down, your hand going for his upper arm to steady yourself. He jolts at the contact, staring you down like a deer in headlights.

Your second sorry of the night spills from your lips, and you squirm away from the warmth of his side and back to the edge of the bed.

You both lay like that for a while, side by side, neither of you particularly comfortable.

"Why didn't you say no?"

His question rocks the stillness in the air. You almost jolt. You turn your head and ask, as casually as you are able, "Say no to what?"

"The marriage."

Ah. "You've met my mother. It's hard to say no to her. Isn't that why you're in this situation in the first place?"

He remains looking up at the ceiling, but you see his jaw constrict, "The you I knew had a backbone."

He means it to hurt. Reminders of your youth together had not softened with time, it seemed, even if he treated you like a distant memory. You don't muster up the courage to bite back at him. Instead, you tuck your tail and keep the mist from gathering in your eyes, "...Yeah."

He doesn't seem to have expected that response. He finally turns his head to look at you, visibly confused. For a few moments, the two of you just stare at each other. Him, analyzing. You... mourning. "Is this what you wanted?"

It's becoming harder to hold back tears, "Not this. Not with her pulling all the strings. Regardless of what you think about me, or my mother, or my family, I didn't want any of this. I don't... want to be your enemy, Bruce."

You want so badly for him to believe you. You've never wanted anything more than for him to see you honestly, transparently, except perhaps to see him the same. To not have to fight.

He's about to say something when the doorknob wriggles, followed by a tentative knock. The two of you sit up and listen for who could be at the door, until a small voice calls your name through the wood, "My niece." You say, rigid. "She must be lost." You go to stand but to your surprise, Bruce is already at the door letting her in.

She stands at just about his knee, blanket clutched in her chubby arms and mouth hidden by the purple fleece. She has to turn her head all the way up to look him in the eyes, "Uncle Bruce," she says through a lisp, "where's the bathroom?"

You can't fully see Bruce's reaction from the bed. From the side, you watch his shoulders sag and his cheek rise in what you think is... a smile.

Very slowly, he comes to a crouch in front of her, "The bathroom?" He asks. She nods an affirmative. "Why didn't you ask Grandpa Alfred? He knows where everything is."

Her eyes dart to the side, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, "...Grandpa Alfred is scary."

Bruce laughs, actually laughs. He hasn't laughed around you. Hasn't managed more than a smile today, and only to placate your mother. He's warmer too, more open. You watch him. Mesmerized. "He is a little scary, isn't he? But I promise, he's really nice if you get to know him." Your niece doesn't seem so convinced. A moment passes as Bruce thinks of what to say, "How about I come with you to go ask him?"

Her eyes light up, "Really?"

"Really."

Bruce holds out his arms to her, and though she's reluctant, you watch her tumble into them with arms thrown around his neck. He hops back to his feet with her perched on his hip like she weighs nothing—and she probably does, to him—and asks her in a hushed voice if she's holding on tight.

Her little head turns to look at you over his shoulder and he follows, his smile weakening some.

You almost ask if she'd like you to come with, but think better of it. In the time it would take Bruce to complete this task, you could try to fall asleep. Maybe then it'd be easier on him to share the bed with you, "Go with Uncle Bruce. Maybe Grandpa Alfred will show you the fancy swords if you're brave enough to ask."

Your niece beams, urging Bruce to take her to him this instant, and they disappear out of sight.

You're half conscious when Bruce returns and shuts the door, but there is no click of the lock to follow after.

With your back turned, all you have to tell you where he is in the room are his small sighs. He's on his side, closer than you expected him to be so quickly, and you curse the carpet that hides his footfalls. You keep your breaths measured, pretending you're fully asleep, and wait for him to climb in.

One knee presses into the mattress, then the other, and you quickly remember the problem with this bed.

He's just laid on his side when you go sliding backwards, feeling your body collide with his chest. You force your eyes to stay closed but you are chilled with mortification. Should you move? Give up the facade of sleep and scramble for the other side of the bed? Would he shove you away?

You wait for his heavy hand to fall on your back, but... nothing. Seconds crawl forward at a snail's pace. You can feel the heat of his hand hovering over your hip where your night shirt had ridden up, but he never touches you. You take slow, deep breaths. You wait for him to wake you, then, if he won't shove you.

But that also never comes. The tips of his fingers lightly brush the skin of your hip, and then disappear. You feel his arm wiggle between the both of you, feel him shift a bit on the mattress, but nothing more. He doesn't push you away. Doesn't call your name. Doesn't shake you until you're forced to crawl to the other side.

He gets comfortable. Stiff, but comfortable, and he doesn't move you. You wonder, as the heat of his chest makes you conscious of your heart beating quicker, if it's too late to crawl back on your own.

You wait for what feels like hours contemplating it. So long, it feels like he might've fallen asleep behind you. So long, that you melt into his side of the mattress. So long, that sleep comes and morning soon after before you could even make up your mind.

[grugruel]

Masterlist

All my fics are labeled oldest to newest to keep track of how my writing improves!

On requests and asks: I might not write every request im sent, but I appreciate getting them all the same!

I'll write most things if I find the suggestion interesting (supplying me with prompts/ideas/wishes is really helpful).

Consent and appropriate reader age are crucial in my fics, I wont write something that's lacking in either.

And please, if you have any critique feel free to tell me. I really want to improve my writing!🎀

I also really appreciate you guys interacting with- and commenting on my posts!☺️

Personal favs = ⭐️

Angst = 🎭

Fluff = 🎀

Smut = ❗️

Arthur Morgan (RDR2)

Saint, or Sinner. ❗️🎀 XII

Big Iron | bounty hunter!Arthur Morgan x outlaw!f!reader❗️XIV

You've Kissed Me For Less ❗️XXII

Benedict Bridgerton (Bridgerton)

The Artist and the flower ❗️🎀 XX

Bucky Barnes (MCU)

An Affair to Remember | collegue!bucky❓️I

Bad News | dbf!bucky

- Part 1 | Baring Throats❗️🎭⭐️ VII

- Part 2 | Cold Thoughts❗️🎭 VIII

Let the Light in | priest!bucky❗️🎭🎀⭐️IIX

Little bit | roommate!bucky❗️🎭 XI

Movement | mob!bucky ❗️ XIII

Save A Horse | cowboy!bucky❗️🎀 X

The Girl Who Cried Cowboy | dbf!cowboy!bucky❗️🎭⭐️ XV

Your Daddy Know 'bout This? | dbf!cowboy!bucky❗️🎭 XXI

Wicked Game | cop!bucky❗️IX

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul (Fallout)

His little killer ❗️XVII

Say it again ❗️🎀 🎭 ⭐️ XVIII

Quiet on Set | pre-war!Cooper Howard ❗️ XIX

Father Paul Hill (Midnight Mass)

Lust for Vampyr ❗️ III

Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)

In progress

Silco (Arcane)

The Game❓️ II

Sleeping With the Enemy | ❗️🎭⭐️ XXVII

Blue Eyes | young!silco x f!reader❗️🎀 XXIII

Jayce (Arcane)

Can you do that for me? | ruined!jayce x f!reader ❗️🎀 🎭 XXII

Taking Care of Her | ruined!jayce x wife!f!reader ❗️🎀 XXV

Viktor (Arcane)

Keeping Him Company | ❗️🎭 XXIV

William Afton (FNAF)

Fun at Fazbear's❗️ IV

Horrific findings, sweet nothings❗️🎭⭐️ V

Princess❗️ VI

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Black Metal and Bourbon (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, smut, NSFW, sex & intimacy, praise kink, brief thoughts of exhibitionism, p-in-v, fingering, hand job, some sub/dom dynamics, sub!Simon for a bit, soft!Simon, property damage, bike crashes (wear helmets everyone), violence, past toxic relationship, sabotage, attempted murder, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your fingers tighten around Simon’s waist, the helmet you’d been given pressed into his shoulder as the both of you slice through wind—an engine roaring below you from the Honda Rebel 500. The fit was a tight one, Simon not having a proper second seat beside the passenger kit he’d been quick to install not a few hours before when you’d hesitantly asked for a ride into a neighboring town. Your body was directly above the back tire, and Simon had been firm in his words when he’d been adjusting the back suspension in the bustling shop.

“You’re not lettin’ go until we get there, copy? I feel your grip loosen, I’m pulling over.”

You had begrudgingly agreed, needing the high-quality art supplies a twenty-minute drive away. The stores here didn’t have what you needed, and, not owning a car as this town was entirely walkable if need be, this was your only option. 

Once you’d gotten on that bike though, Simon hadn’t needed to reiterate himself about holding on—you did that all on your own. Yet, that wasn’t to say you weren’t enjoying this.

Lips peeled back into a smile, your eyes stare out across the unfolding hills and mountains in the distance; fields of verdant grasses and trees. The vibrations of the Rebel left your head jittering, but this view was the clearest you’d ever seen. 

Chuckling, the driver under your rib-cranking hold blinked at the nearly missed sound, only able to tell from the movement of your chest at his spine. Simon’s sunglasses glinted over the thin sliver of flesh that would otherwise be the only piece of his face visible, and his fingers twitched as he stared ahead at the open road. The man had given you his leather jacket, taking a spare of black coloring like an all-dark cat, his boots and pants matching the theme that carries over. 

You shout above the whipping of the airways. 

“This is amazing!” Simon puffs a laugh at that, though his heart patters ever faster like a dog at the turn of a key. He doesn’t answer, even if his lips itch into a smirk to tell you he’s appreciating the spinal re-adjustment you’re giving him. 

Your laugh echoes out through the scenery, and your heart has never been more full. 

It had been a decent amount of time since Simon and the others had come into town—three weeks since you’d been hired on your off days to go and paint the mechanic’s shop. A base coat had already been applied, then the secondary and the final with the help of a very animated Soap saying that no one could get to the tops of the walls better. Gaz had seen him hit himself with the soggy paint roller not five minutes later after trying to flip it, and that had been the end of the interference on your work.

All that was left was to start the mural.

There hadn’t been a peep from Graham or his goons—they’d even left you alone on your walks back home. As much as you wanted to be elated about it, there was a brief stint of paranoia in the days that had followed the party. Graham Whitaker was a coward, but he didn’t…let things go. 

But holding onto Simon Riley as he pulled into the nearby town made that sharpness at the back of your mind flee in an instant. The mountains and fields dissipate to tiny houses and long stretches of connected businesses—sun-washed bricks surround you as Simon shifts the tires to dodge potholes. 

His head moves slightly to the side, and you hear the call through your borrowed helmet. 

“Where am I headed?”

“East side!” You rest the bottom of the helmet on his shoulder, seeing a sliver of his October browns through his sunglasses as he rips his eyes back to the road. “Look for the rose bushes!” 

“Makin’ me go deaf,” Simon mutters to himself, but he does as you instruct. Parking in the street outside of the art shop, he moves out the kickstand with one foot—the other resting on the ground so you don’t tip. He gives you a look over his shoulder to get off first as the engine cuts and the jungle of keys comes to silence inside of his pocket.

Giggling, you let go of his hard waist and step out to the concrete of the sidewalk, turning around and fixing the strap of your carry bag with a hidden grin. 

“I think I just found a new form of transportation.”

“Then you can forget about it,” Simon smirks, taking off his sunglasses and sticking them to the neck of his compression shirt. “Helmet, Sunshine.” He reminds, looking around for a moment. 

You slap your hands to the side of the item around your head as you continue to giggle like a child, elated and feeling the throws of wanderlust—you’d never felt so alive than when watching the world pass by at your sides. How quickly you can form a routine of boring days, one after the other. You felt…light again. 

A finger grabs at the visor, flicking it up as your crinkled eyes come into view for the gruff man and his raised brow. 

“You drunk?” Simon stares, tilting his head as he looms closer, studying you up and down. 

“No, Brown-Eyes,” you roll your eyes teasingly, waving his hand away as you unclip and pop the helmet off before it’s leveled back to him. He takes it and holds it loosely in one grip, blinking at you slowly. “I’m excited. Can I not be excited, then, huh? Not happy seeing me enjoy your company?” 

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” Simon shakes his head but his amusement is heard, slipping past as you eagerly follow after, expression airy. 

You hum, leaning into him and smirking. 

“C’mon Simon, you’re completely taken with me—I can see it.” There was no question that the two of you had become close. There was rarely a night when he didn’t come to visit you at the bar; had even taken up walking you back home too, though there was little need to. Simon had said it was because he had nothing else to do, but you doubted it. Since the shop had opened, there had been no shortage of work.

The man grunts as he opens the door for you with a shoulder, sending you a blank eye. “Taken aback.”

“Fucking jerk,” you grin at him as you slip inside, face loose with banter. Simon chuckles lowly and follows, standing behind you as his boots clop to polished tile floors. 

This place was exactly how you remembered it—holding an old feel with the beams in the ceiling and the raw brick walls. There are tables with paints and brushes, all neat and orderly with unique looks and designs to them, even the wall has shelves of old wood holding hidden nicknacks and unique wonders. 

Simon gazes around with a glint of interest in his eye, understanding now that the painting was better off in your hands. He has to wonder how you managed to find a place like this. 

“Over here,” you say. Walking to the very back, your hands are already reaching for the quality brushes you’d need for the mural. Simon’s hands slip into his pockets, stance casual in a way he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago. 

It was no secret that Simon trusted very few people. It wasn’t just because of his past military experience, it was his life in general—each turn led to something that could go wrong like a gun in the hands of a criminal. But you had been nearly sly in the way you’d grown on him. 

The quick-witted comments, the way you spoke and carried yourself; your light and unapologetic attitude. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d stared at the bar from his shop’s garage—under the body of some car with grease up to his elbows, legs dangling as his back was on top of the creeper. Brown eyes that can pinpoint your form before his mind blanks and sweat pools at his collarbone. 

It was something that Simon was afraid to name.

“Bloody expensive,” the man mutters in the present, fingers pushing at the price tag of some paints nearby. “You sure you need this shit?” 

“It’s not shit, Riley,” you scoff, grabbing two large brushes and three smaller ones from wall buckets, pointing one at him. “But I have to agree on the expensive part. You should see how much I would spend when I was really into art. You’d puke your blackened guts up.”

Simon hums, giving you his attention as you peer at a table of rich paints in smaller cans a few feet away.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, the soft tinkling of piano music coming from somewhere in the back. 

You pause, your back turned to him as you look at the label of a small aluminum container of enamel paint for vehicle detailing. Licking your lips, you clear your throat and ease out a nonchalant, “Graham,” and end the conversation there with less blood spilled. 

Your Ex had almost sucked all of the individuality from you—you’d barely made it out as you are. 

Simon’s eyes darken, clenching his jaw after a moment as looks away. It's only when you put back down the enamel paint can that he speaks again. 

“He wasn’t worth your time,” he eases out, giving firm advice like orders. As if he wants you to believe what he’s saying to the fullest degree. “You know that?”

You snort, turning back around. “Yeah, I know it. Why do you think I threw the guy out? He ran through women like a damn kid with a stack of new playing cards.” 

Simon blinks from over his mask as you walk to the counter, putting down your brushes and adding in a few containers of nice pigment. As your fingers ding the bell up front, your free hand digs for your wallet. 

Before you can pull out the wads of cash that you’d need to pay, smelling of booze and all, a credit card hits the table. You stare at it in silence for a moment. 

“Simon?”

“You’re putting it on my wall,” he rolls his shoulders to dispel tension from the previous conversion as the employee comes out from the back. “M’not going to make you pay for the tools to get the job done. Not a fuckin’ heartless bastard.” 

“Heartless? No,” you tease, though your face burns and crashes with a fiery inferno of adoration. Inside of you, your stomach flips and your throat tightens. Oh, it was coming on bad, wasn't it? “A bastard…?”

“Shut it,” Simon glares from the corner of his eye as you raise your hands innocently. 

“Alright, alright. A very handsome and generous bastard, better?” You hear a hum, a huff of breath. 

“Getting there.” 

The ride back was much the same, but it still filled you with awe. Your hands were looser now, even with the added weight from your filled bag, but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware of Simon’s presence. Once more your helmeted head was set at his shoulder blade, resting as your lungs pulled in fresh air even if it was a bit heated from the barrier. Simon had pushed the thing back onto your head the minute your leg was about to straddle the bike, firmly grabbing your chin and tilting your face forward as he shoved it on.

“Safety first, Sweetheart.” You had sworn you nearly went weak-kneed at that. 

But the sturdy presence before you made a very comfortable headrest even if the longer ride was beginning to make your legs ache and give you a migraine from the noise. 

Your hand was flat to the man’s covered flesh, the oversized jacket around your frame, and in that moment you discovered that you were almost entirely submerged in Simon Riley until it became impossible to remember who you’d been before him. You were drowned in his scent—his presence an ever-present weight of purpose and prospect. 

Blinking over the view and feeling Simon’s pulse under your fingertips, you realize with a start that Graham had never made your stomach fill with butterflies over a simple word; never made you pause or have to re-think your thoughts because you’d entirely lost them when he entered a room. 

With so much going on, and at the same time so little happening…what exactly were you supposed to make of it? There was no question you liked Simon—there was no question he liked you, either. It was obvious by the looks Price would give the two of you when you came by with lunch for them all; free drinks. 

How the both of you would sit and talk, exchanging stories while Simon showed you the adjustments he had made to his bike. The issue was that you and Brown-Eyes were stubborn. Pigheaded.

Emotionally constipated.

Your eyes drag along the view, but they always shift back to the body that’s stuck in your grip; how his heat moved through his clothes, warming your wind-beaten hands. You’re right there at his back, hanging off him and you feel…good.

There just had to be something to make one of you snap.

Entering the garage, Simon once more parks his bike and lets you get off first, and you unclip your helmet and slip the object from your head with a puff of air. 

“Thank you, Simon,” you breathe, watching him stand. “Drinks on me tonight, okay?” 

“No need for that,” his brows pull in, confused. “If I didn’t want to, I would have told you.” 

Your hands pass the helmet, which he takes as your fingers brush one another's lightly. You repress a sharp inhale, scoffing playfully at him as your eyes soften.

“I’m not going to leave without saying thank you and you taking it, Brown-Eyes.” 

“Well, then I just took it, Sunshine.” Simon motions his head outside. “Now get going ‘fore I come to my senses.” 

Laughing, you shrug and take your leave, all of your items safe in your bag for a time when you could use them next. 

“I’m already gone,” you breathe, and a soft brown gaze sticks to your form as you cross the street and slip inside to clock in. 

A truck parked down the street has its window glinting in the sunlight. It seems to agree.

—

Simon tipped back the last of his bourbon and sighed, putting it down on the bar top as you polished glasses. 

“Anything happen today?” He asks you as you put the sparking material to the light, tipping it to try and find smudges before it passes your acute inspection. 

“Nothing interesting,” you respond, humming. “Had to kick a few guys out, but it was nothing big.” 

Simon’s interest makes his eyes shift to you like a wave, head tilting to stare as the warm light cascades over your figure. He waits for you to continue, but when you don’t, he prods with a slightly concerned undertone.

“Why?” Your lips twitch as you turn to look at him, exasperated. 

“Put a cork in it, Big Guy, it was just a few who had too much to drink—I cut them off and sent ‘em home.”

Simon grunts, “That’s a girl.” 

You ignore the way your heart jumps to your throat and the tingling of your arms. “Anything with you?” Your voice is higher than it should be. “Beat off any bartenders from your property?”

“Can only think ‘o one,” he speaks slowly, his voice wafting about as the both of you were the only people here. Your chuckle makes his heart constrict in on itself.

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in with mock confusion. Your body moves closer as it leans into the wood. Simon’s lips twitch from where they're visible, the fabric of his balaclava pulled over his nose. “Tell me about her.”

“Yeah?” He speaks in a low murmur, eyes half-lidded in that dead-and-buried kind of way—only he could pull that off and still look so handsome. You had said once that he felt like danger, and you suppose that had to be true. Simon Riley was danger, and you had taken those snake fangs and put them directly in between the cross-hairs of your neck and your pulse, waiting, wanting for that fatal strike. 

You had bet that the sting of those fangs might just be the best pain you’d ever felt.

Simon Riley was unabashed freedom.

 “She likes to think that she’s the bloody boss o’ me,” Simon grunts, scars, and tattoos on full display; there’s blackened grease on his fingers, under his nails. You listen with bated breath. “Comes ‘round all the time now, hangs like she’s under a noose. I can’t figure her out. Not for the fuckin’ life of me.”

Simon doesn't know what he’s saying, but he can’t quite help himself when you’re looking at him like that. Your eyes going wider, your usually snappy and quick tongue silent as you take his words in like law. It was addictive to see you gobsmacked—the man has to stop himself from thanking Graham Whitaker for being such a fucking fool even if the thought of ever being near that man again made him want to clench his fists.

“And?” You push, trying to force your mouth into a playful smirk, but anyone can see it for what it is. Your faked emotion falls short, leaving behind only that which Simon can claim to be the sole owner of. 

Astonishment. Admiration down to its base form—a woman gazing at something that should not be, and yet is here among the ashes and ruins of broken earth and open roads. A sliver of sky between the rain clouds.

“And?” Simon mirrors, that numb mock. 

The both of you are closer now, puffs of air hitting the other. Everything in this bar became a backdrop, shifting colors and images like some dream. The dart in the ceiling was nothing to you—the tables that needed to be buffed, the bottles restocked; even the trash that you usually took out at this time was only a shape in the corner of your vision. It all blurred around him, and while you spoke again, Simon understood that he had left the city for something new; something that he could revel in and worship like he had his guns and his duty. 

Your sentence is whispered. 

“Why did you come here?” To this town? There was no answer for that. It was picked at random—even Price knew that. It was nothing special, not even to the bugs. But here…

Simon parts his lips and utters on the lightning of the air particles, all rushing past as if he was still on his motorcycle with you—your hands around his waist and your nails digging into his flesh.

“For a bartender that keeps making my damn head spin.” 

For a long minute, there’s nothing that happens. The AC whirs and the lights outside flicker over the stretch of the empty street. In your chest, your heart hammers with the strength of the Titans. A mechanic, a veteran; a man with broken, October eyes. 

How could he be the one thing you were looking for? 

Your eyes stay locked, those shredded flecks of color holding secrets that you want to know instantly—you want to learn his tattoos and the way he thinks, know Simon's dreams and aspirations. To you, that was better than any physical destination or journey because it was one in and of itself. 

Simon was an enigma. 

“Keep talking,” you mutter, lips so close now that they brush the man’s own. He doesn’t blink as he watches you, his lungs unsteady in his chest as he takes down a deep breath. 

“Why’s that, Sunshine?” His voice is raspy, and his accent makes you shiver. 

Simon’s tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, sneaking back in as your gaze flickers down to watch pupils blown. “Because I like it when you speak to me like that,” you have to admit, a whine trapped in your throat that you won’t let out.

There’s a low chuckle that makes your legs close together, moving like honey through your veins. 

“Can do more than talk.”

This is a game—a test—can either of you go this far? Is it more than lust, is it more than some strange attraction between two people who don’t belong here? A relationship of need rather than want?

You don’t care enough to test it, because if there’s one thing that this town taught you, it's that you don’t need to worry about the future so long as there’s something promising right in front of you. 

And Simon Riley was as promising of a man as you had ever met.

Your lips meet his, and his hand is eager to snap to the back of your skull, pushing you into him as your eyes pull shut and the edge of the counter digs into your guts. Air is exhaled from your nose, mouth heavy, and skin hot as it digs and molds to the rough scrape of Simon’s stubble. His fingers pulse into your scalp, waves of something sawing you open as he stands quickly from his stool and pulls away only to push right back in. 

Your hands move into fists on the counter, stuck in this dance of wet lips and shaky legs. 

Simon groans into your mouth, shifting his head as a purr emanates from his chest and makes you respond with a silent gasp that he takes advantage of. A tongue slips to run over your own as the lights glint outside, pushing itself in before retreating just as swiftly before teeth nip at your swollen bottom lip. Your eyes snap open, locking with deep wells of brown that seem more endless than the depths of space. 

You both breathe heavily, the bar silent to the two souls that seep into one another. Not once do either of you look away from one another. 

The man seems hesitant, and before he speaks, the rasp in his voice is felt as he blinks. 

“These parts in me have been shuttin’ down, Sunshine.” Your brows slightly pinch in for a moment, confused at this turn in tone—cocky had gone to still-stone as if Simon had laid eyes on Medusa herself. 

But you know what he means. You’d seen it in his stature and how he spoke to others; you knew nothing much of his past beyond a handful of stories from his service and none of them had been pretty. And of his childhood, you knew nothing. 

You know it can’t have been good. 

Your head softly tilts, a small, delicate smile forming the words of some long-lost deity.

“I’m sure you have the tools to fix them, Simon.”

He blinks at you, fingers still stuck to your head. “Don’t know if I remember how to use ‘em.” 

Simon’s giving you a way out of this if you want to take it; you know that he thinks you should. 

“...Then you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?” You whisper, stubborn as always. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets, right?” He hums, eyes the most open and soft you’d ever seen them as he melts—forehead connecting to yours as your smile grows wider, truer. “Then I’ll keep yours closest, Brown-Eyes.” 

You both kiss once more, more delicate as the man takes a deep breath of you. Your smirk pulls along his flesh like a brand as he holds in a quiver. 

“What’s a bartender without a bottle of Bourbon on her shelf?” He growls into you, and not wasting a moment rips his lips from yours and wipes at his face with the back of his arm. 

“Such a mouth,” he mutters, moving as you stand there to push open the half-door to let him get to you. You stand waiting, pulse wild and lips tingling. “Cameras?”

Your head shakes without you knowing it, and a finger is hooked under your chin, maneuvering it as he sees fit. Another grabs onto your hip, kneading it slowly as you melt into him. Your hands grasp into the back of his belt and his eyes spark—hips canting instinctually.

There’s a hard prod at your inner thigh. 

“Only one at the door.” You set your chin to his chest, gazing up. “Back room?”

“Won't have you on the floor,” Simon says bluntly, unphased. Your core pounds, stomach tightens as you have a sudden need to get rid of your pants and touch yourself as dampness pools through your underwear. 

“Such a gentleman,” you’re breathless, voice airy. “Guess I’ll have to be on top.” 

Simon’s breath gets caught as you slip past him, sauntering to the back door and pushing it open as you slip inside. You had already started fumbling with the zipped on your pants as the man pushed on the barrier just before it could close, coming in and letting it slam behind him as the click of a lock could be heard. 

With your shoes off, you can feel Simon’s eyes burning into you as your fingers send the zipper down your navel, the sound of the metal teeth being separated from one another a call to action. When your thumbs hook the top, ready to send the fabric down, you let the man watch before your eyes shift back up to lock together. 

Simon’s gaze was intense—unblinking and unmoving beyond the slam of his heart and the pulse of the erection in his pants, begging to be palmed as you stood only feet away. The man’s hands clenched, knuckles going white. 

While holding eye contact, you let the pants—and your panties—drop to the ground with a whoosh of fabric. Simon tenses, but doesn’t look away.

You smirk, taking a few steps forward.

“I’m surprised.” Your hand captures his waist, one moving to stroke along the prominent v-line that’s hidden by his shirt. Simon’s heavy breath meets your head as his blown pupils make his eyes look black entirely. He’s almost in a trance. “Usually I’d be having to snap my fingers.” 

“Better than that,” he grits out raggedly. You have to agree. 

Your mouth finds his neck as he leans back against the door, letting you do what you wish as his hands settle on your hips once more, rubbing up and down as your own eagerness drips from you. Simon clenches his jaw as you bite down, taking and sucking on the skin as he hisses when you give him hickeys, eyes fluttering. 

“‘Such a mouth’ you said,” you comment, hand falling lower to hear the jingle as you unclip his belt. He stares off as your hand rests and cups him, sharply inhaling when you rub your palm over the large tent. Simon fights the sway of his hips, but the widening of his legs is telling enough, pelvis knocking forward as you groan, a line of slick falling down your thigh. “I’d bet you’d like my mouth, Brown-Eyes, wouldn’t you?” Your joke and your teasing of his dick—your hickeys and your sly eyes—they all at once snap something inside of him. 

You find yourself manhandled with a squeak of shock and a jump in your gut as your legs dangle, moved back, and pressed into the very door where Simon had been moments before. Your feet settle as his figure descends.

“Your mouth, Sunshine?” Brown eyes glint, staring you down from where he taps your legs open to the air, kneeling with an open belt and pre-cum staining his pants. “Want to see what mine can do?”  

There’s no more than a dangerous smirk before his face slots itself into the clutch of your pussy. 

You gasp, hands going down to his covered hair as his nose slides along your clit, making lightning go up your spine as you push down on him, grinding as a long stripe is licked, tongue flattening out at the nerve before a loud groan makes Simon’s mouth vibrate as it attaches itself to you. 

Giving you your own medicine, teeth lightly bite, tongue flicking as your cunt clenches over nothing, fingers grasping guilty as your head knocks back with a loud whine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, toes curling as your hips move back and forth. 

Your body can feel his smirk, your juices leaking out to drip at his chin, falling down his throat as this beast of a man sucks and mewls around your clit like he’s possessed. Hands grasped your thighs, holding them open. Well, one anyway. 

Lost in the movements of his mouth, cursing and gasping as he keeps trying to build you up to the point of rapture with every hard flick and measured nip, there’s no way your dopamine-addled brain can comprehend the fingers at your cunt before they’re already inside and curling outward. 

You moan out his name pleadingly, the pace of your hips instantly increasing as Simon’s chuckle makes your lungs constrict. A separate heart-beat lives in your navel, skin sweaty and slick making its way down his fingers. 

“Being so good,” your voice breaks as Simon’s wide eyes from below meet you as your head lolls forward. He stutters, hearing the wet squelching of your pussy as his movements cease for a moment. You whimper, face pulling in, and he instantaneously gets back to it with increased fervor and ferocity as if he’d never just felt his cock twitch in his pants and his abdomen bunch up.

Your eyes widen, rapturous moans falling from your lips in blown-limpness as his mouth and fingers do sinful things to you.

The sounds coming from below were feral and animalistic at best, sopping wetness and loud groaning—it makes it all so much better. 

“So thorough for me, Simon. Making me feel so good Brown-Eyes,” you babble, tightening your core and palming hands shoving him impossibly farther into you. “Such a fucking perfect mouth—perfect fingers, knew you could make me cum on ‘em, please, Simon, fuck, oh God right there,” you break off of the praise into desperate whines. Your quivering body shakes and ruts faster, Simon’s stubble making it all burn in such a way that leaves you gasping, back begging to arch as everything comes to a tipping point.

Simon can feel it by the way your walls flex and pull in, how their slipperiness gets so loose it’s not even a problem to finger-fuck you even as your cunt bares down like a noose. Your fluids drip past his elbow, falling to his pants as his pelvis involuntarily tries to get friction from his zipper by humping the air in broken intervals. 

He’s breathing heavily, but not as much as you are, broken up by groans, grunts, and his open mouth licking of your engorged clit. He’d never admit to you how much your praise was making him want to bust in his own fucking pants. 

“S-Simon,” you knock your head back into the wall, eyes going glassy as the knot in your navel goes painful, a vile itching so very close as your spine begins to arch for the man’s viewing pleasure. “So close, oh God, so fucking good. Need it, Simon, need it from—”

Your breath hitches, fingers twitching into tight fists of fabric and the hair underneath as your walls clamp down. 

Orgasm ripping through you, your voice lets out broken, airy, moans of Simon’s name like a prayer, hips continuing to spasm and toes curling inwards. Not letting up his assault, the smug man’s tongue and fingers draw the entire experience out until your legs are too weak to hold you, having to be pressed back into the wall by white knuckles and fingers stained with your cum. You hear it drip to the floor and see it when your half-lidded eyes blurrily make out the ragged appearance of an arrogant Simon, clear beads falling off of his chin and his lower face decimated by your pleasures. The bottom of his balaclava is stained—sopping with absorbed juices. 

You both stare—you, lust-blown, and Simon, ready to grasp at himself and stave off the near-painful erection that needs to be taken care of. 

But you’re true to your words.

Not seconds after your release had flooded him, your hands pushed at his chest and shoved him to the floor. Simon grunts but lets your hands quickly fiddle with his zipper and send it down. Not a moment is wasted, and the man’s hands move your hips higher as you pull his pants and boxers down just enough to let his dick spring free and slap his abdomen. 

Your hand curls around it and he groans long, pushing up into your hand as you stroke him quickly and mercilessly with the spread of his weeping tip. Simon’s words come out as a way to steady himself, but the work of your hand is easy to get lost in as his voice is a growl.

“Tase so bloody good, Sunshine, yeah? Be needin’ that every day,” his mouth is taken in a kiss, and you tase yourself on his tongue as he shakes and his fingers flex into your flesh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says as you lick his lips, panting below you as he quickly loses himself. “Not gonna…”

Simon’s orgasm builds incredibly fast—and not once does your hand slow in its course. He blinks in a blind panic, mouth letting off soft sounds of confusion as he looks down to see his red cock and how you play with it like a toy. You chuckle at him as his sounds get louder, legs rising, and the slapping of skin on skin addictive. 

“You are good with your mouth—and your hands. Should have guessed really, you are a mechanic after all. Got yourself all worked up.” Simon's hand comes up to your head pressing your lips back to his as his abdomen tightens and quivers, thighs shaking as his hips try to meet your break-neck pace but just can’t.

What were you doing to him? Why can’t he last longer than a few mere minutes? 

You break off and connect your forehead to his, brown eyes fighting to not go blurry and his mouth open with fast breaths. You push out as you feel his tip twitch and spurt prematurely, “Be a good boy and cum, Simon.”

He groans loudly, eyes fluttering as they try to stay locked to yours before the wet splatter of his rapid ejaculation layers yours as well as his abdomen sticky and soaked. It keeps going, not stopping until Simon’s eyes have come back down from where they had fled to the back of his head and his small grunted whine lets you know you should stop pumping him so violently. 

You release his member and go to rub along his abdomen, massaging the skin and laying kisses on his clothed chest slowly. His hands loosen on your hips, thumb pulling back to carefully run circles into the flesh as you hum in appreciation. 

Simon's quivering slows to a stop.

“You sure you only work a bar, then? Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Simon hisses, looking down at himself. “Made a fuckin’ mess, yeah?” 

“Only fair,” you mutter, moving up to press your lips together as you both sigh. Simon’s breath hitches as your stomach rubs him. “I like having you under me. It’s nice to see you look confused.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, and a red sheen comes to his flushed face. “Won’t happen again.” 

Your face goes mischievous, head tilting. Simon growls a weak, “Don’t.” You chuckle and hide your face into his neck. 

“Don’t test it?” You ask into his flesh, your body still pulsing and needy at the display you’d managed to pull from the stoic man. Your tongue licks over your placed hickey with a newfound appreciation for the black and blue mark, blowing on it as Simon feels himself harden again. “Or don’t acknowledge that Simon Riley has a praise kink and when a woman tells him what to do he—”

Your spine settles to the floor, hands stuck on either side of your head and digging into the wood. Simon’s eyes glint primarily, and you keen to him as your arms move to wrap around his neck as your cunt tightens.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me on the floor?” He grasps your chin, moving his face to be above yours so he can speak plainly and dead-like. A surge of power takes over his voice, and you yield with a rising of your legs and a shiver as his fluid-slick abdomen slides over top of yours.

“That was before you made me cum in a matter of fuckin’ minutes by just stroking my cock. Now,” he breathes, “now I’m going to fuck you how you deserve.” 

He grasps your legs and pulls them around his waist, locking them as he lines up his half-hard dick and bullies it inside of you, your arching back bends into him, but your shocked moan is cut off as Simon starts to move. The pressure inside of your pussy is tight enough to feel like it could snap—your gummy walls taking the curve of his veins and the grate of his head as the tip curves upward. On girth and size, Simon is the largest you’d ever taken, and your face pulls in with a mix of pain and pleasure before the latter takes over completely. 

“Get me to be your toy, eh, Sunshine?” Simon keeps your chin grasped, not letting you look away as you try to garble words over the heavy slap of wet skin. “Keep me ‘ere so you can play with me like you’ve been doin’ from the start?” 

“So full,” you seem to have lost that edge, staring up into brown eyes as your spine digs into the wood below you, your cunt taking the fast slaps of Simon’s prod as it reaches every part of you that you could ever ask. Every trust makes your legs tighten, clamping down to keep him there and ring pleasure like water. “Such a big cock, Simon.”

He huffs, but his pace increases, panting at you as your lips meet for a sloppy and slobbering kiss of teeth and saliva. Sweat falls from both of you, coating your faces and lower halves with more liquid to make this dance easier—staining already ruined clothes. 

“Splitting you open, am I? So tight,” Simon grumbles, grunting as his elbows shift to stay beside your head. ��Gettin’ me off so easily, need ta return the favor for making me feel so good, Sunshine. Bloody perfect cunt, takes my cock like it was made for it. Hear that?” Your skull moves to push into the side of his face as he bites at your neck, ravishing you as the forward and backward motion of his body makes your mouth hold back mewls of raw need. So many sounds—so loud and wet it was lewd, borderline obscene with every pump of the man’s hips that more just spilled out of you, pooling with every back and forth spreading of your hole. 

Simon bites a long whine back and angles himself higher, making you shout and cry as a burst of white light explodes in your eyes.

“Making me want to fill you full of myself. Over and over, make you drip with it—go until you can’t walk. You’d take it too, yeah? You’ve got such a good look on your face, you bloody love it when I stretch you open like this—takin’ my dick so well, Sweetheart.”

You were both animals trying to get fix after fix—drunk off scent and a biological urge. 

At the words, your pussy tightens around him even more, Simon holding back a loud groan and letting your little puffs of air grace his ears along with the ravaging dig of his fucking.

“You like that?” You whine, face burning as a hand descends to play with your clit. You gasp loudly and moan, not hiding the way your hips jump and rut and fight to keep Simon’s cock taking you raw.  

“Simon!” You call loudly. “I like it—fuck I love it, Brown-Eyes. Keep touching me, please, please keep going. Keep talking, love it when you talk like that.”  

“Makin’ fun o’ me,” he scoffs, “but the little temptress has the same bastard kink, eh? It’s alright, then. I’ll just help me get you off—”

The front door of the bar opens from beyond the wall. 

The both of you stop all carnal desires instantly, wide eyes snapping back and locking with each other. A pin could drop, fast breaths and fast hips held back even as you both quiver and your nerves plead to keep going. The need doesn’t last long. Simon's fat hand covers your mouth as your eyes glint with panic before getting right back to it. 

You try to speak, to get the words out that you should go out there, but it’s all cut off by the way he rubs you every right way. Your hand anchors to his back as someone walks around the bar, their voice muffled just like yours is, but this person has no idea you’re getting railed in the back room by the mechanic from across the street. 

Simon’s eyes are dark and urgent, but his hands can't as the slap of skin that’s still incredibly loud, and the wetness that follows all but telling. Your moans and whines are hidden, kept back by a tight palm as he smirks down at you. His hips are bruising yours and you can feel the hard bone of his pelvis as it slots itself fully into yours.

“Good girl,” he whispers, accepting the words with hard thrusts that make you whine like a dog, pawing at his gargantuan shoulder blades. “Keep quiet. I’ll make you feel good.” 

Your heart hammers, walls flexing and clamping at the words. Outside the walking continues, searching for you, no doubt. Simon's hips increase, almost cruelly, and your cut-off cries spill from between his fingers. 

The bastard chuckles and watches, letting your hips meet his as your release builds with the added need to finish quickly. 

It was rabid now your back arched, how the person outside mattered so little to you now, in fact, maybe you even wanted them to hear you like this—being fucked so perfectly to the point where you had tears in your eyes and your body was growing numb; mind blanking to only pleasure and the grating press of a foreign entity all the way to where it digs at your cervix and makes you see starts with every addictive thrust.

You can’t hear anything over the previous sounds, that and rough breathing are the only things in this hot room—the air tense and ready; anticipation a drug of the highest order. 

“C’mon,” Simon grunts into your ear, hand flexing as his lungs burn. He wasn’t far away either. “Let me see it—how your face screws up all nice and pretty for me.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you can only stare at the ceiling as the door of the bar slams shut once more, whoever there leaving. Simon releases your mouth and you fall apart with a spine-breaking arch and a high, feral, keen.

Your release is subsequently followed by Simon’s own, his body spasming as he gives three more violent pumps before the warmth of his cum seeps into your womb with a loud groan and a pound of his fist into the floor. He grinds you both through the aftershocks, the sparks of electricity that make both of your hips jerk just a few more times before you fall limp and useless. 

Simon stays inside of you as he shifts to the side, hooking one of your hips over his thigh as you stay face-to-face as your bodies gasp and pant for air. 

When the two of you come back to yourselves, some delirious minutes later, the first thing that you both notice is the tightness of your clothes and skin. Glancing down at the mess you’ve made of yourselves, you both slowly look back into each other's eyes, pausing.

You’re the first one to snort, before you have to hold your loud laughs back behind your hand. 

“Well, I sure do have some more secrets to keep,” you say through your fit, knocking your head to Simon’s chin. The man is smiling, his eyes crinkled and mouth jerking in a series of chuckles.

“Proper few.” The laughter died down to a simmering emotion of amusement. 

You smile at Simon, and he stares back, a hand coming up to touch your cheek delicately before it traces the lines of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?” You ask him, and those browns blink at you in question. “What I said before we decided to fuck. About keeping your secrets.” Simon’s face gets slightly more serious. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the stubble on your fingertips. 

“Simon,” you say, “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, okay?” 

He watches you for any glint of hesitation—of a lie. But there is none.

“Why,” Simon asks. Your answer is simple as you smirk, recalling words from a while ago. 

“You’re just going to have to stick around to find out.”

Simon shoves his lips to yours and drags you back on top of him.

—

You both exit the back room two hours later, clothes ruffled and bodies far dirtier than ever. You have a limp in your step, a pulsing ache between your bruised legs, and yet you’d never felt better. 

Simon presses a kiss into your temple. 

“Walking you home,” is what he says, and you sigh through an adoring look. You were tired, incredibly tired, and you hoped that Simon would share your bed tonight so he could hold you like he did back there. 

“Deal,” you wink, and the man huffs a chuckle, back to that same stoic mechanic that you knew. 

It’s only then that you realize that Celina had never shown up for her shift. Pausing behind the counter, you blink and look around, confused as you flatten out your clothes. Simon catches on quickly, brows pulling in with concern. 

“Something wrong?”

“Celina,” you tell him, “she never showed up.”

A beat. 

“...Probably kept away,” Simon tries to lightly say, implication enough to make you scowl. 

“No,” you utter. “She would have tried to break the door down if she actually came in. She never would have walked away.”

The man hums, pulling down his balaclava and looking about. 

“What do you want to do about it?” It wasn’t mocking—he was being honest. Your lips thinned out in thought. 

“Well…I can’t leave the bar unattended, she needs to be here in order for me to go home.” You motion a hand helplessly, shaking your head and walking forward. Through a sigh you grumble, “I guess I have to call her or I’ll—” A shadow darts from across the street and your head snaps to the dark window. 

Words coming to a swift stop, you gaze outside with blank eyes, mouth open in confusion. Simon stands taller, not having seen the strange event but not liking the shock on your face as he pivots to the view to study it. 

Brown darts over the street lamps and the closed body of his shop, along the sliver of the obsidian street and the tops of bushes in the plant boxes. But there was nothing there and Simon glanced back at you from over his shoulder with furrowed brows. 

“Thought I saw someone in a…” you frown, eyes not leaving the window as your heart tightens. “In a mask.” 

“Mh,” Simon watches for a moment before he grunts and tension seeps into his muscles. “Mask?” 

“Like yours,” you say quietly, suddenly very still. “Without the skeleton.” 

Simon moves back slowly, one foot backing up before he’s behind the counter again and shifting nearer to you—your eyes flicker upward but swiftly return to the view. He pulled out his phone from his wrinkled pants, and no sooner had he put it to his ear that you saw the individual again. This time it wasn’t just one shadow, it was three, and there wasn’t just a flash of black mist and then poof gone again—it was worse than some schoolyard prank. 

There was a bat. There was the swing of a strong arm. The glass explodes with a resounding shatter and the shrill yell falls from your mouth not milliseconds later.

Getting tackled down, Simon keeps your head to his chest as he shifts to hit the ground first, body sliding slightly before you’re forced under him and protected by his bulk. Grasping at him, you clench your eyes shut as large projectiles are hurled through the broken window and make contact with the bar shelf right above the two of you. 

But Simon doesn't move for a second. Not as the bottles shatter and drown him in alcohol and colored glass, not as the bricks fall back from gravity and strike his spine with a loud thump. He holds you to him, curled over your body as if in reverent worship, grunting as he takes the beating without thought to anything else but your safety. Loud shouts and laughter echo in from outside, but your wide eyes only stay and focus on Simon, his fingers gripping across your back and creasing your shirt. You flinch as a spec of glass knicks your arm, slicing through it with a sharp drag of an uneven edge. 

Simon growls into your scalp, but as he attempts to squish you farther into him, the barrage, just as it had come, entirely stops. 

Staying there, breathing heavily and your mind panicked, you have no time to think before Simon shoves himself up and snaps his enraged eyes forward. Like a large beast, his hands are in shaking fists, alcohol dripping from his shirt and glass pinging against the wood. You can smell blood. 

“Simon,” you say in concern, moving to stand up quickly as you try to get your breath back.

What the hell had just happened?!

“Stay there!” he barks, eyes tight as they dart back and forth to nothing until they find something. 

No one was there anymore, but in that absence, the true damage was brought to light. You ignore Simon’s words and shift until you can peek over the top of the counter, fingers shaking and mouth dry. The man beside you is stone-still, his darkened eyes lighting like fire and brimstone as the anger can all but be tasted in the air. 

The mechanic’s shop across the street. Seen through the broken remains of the bar as if a tornado had come through on the dusty air. 

It had been ransacked.

—

The illumination of the police lights takes over everything, pushing the dark away as Sheriff Russel tries to get statements from the two of you. But your attention keeps getting brought back to the stiff-standing presence of Simon. 

He hasn’t spoken beyond clipped sentences, even when he’d called Price, Johnny, and Gaz to explain the situation. 

“Can you explain what you saw?” The Sheriff eases, and your attention is drawn back. 

“It wasn’t much,” you stutter, shaken. “Shadows—men wearing masks. One had a bat and hit the window before they started throwing bricks.”

Simon’s eyes shift over the damage, numb gaze finding more broken glass, thrown paint, and dents in the garage door. The front had been trashed with garbage, and the lobby was ruined—it was by some miracle that the bikes had been left alone for whatever strange reason. 

It didn’t make him any less full of wrath. 

Your hands are still shaking, and your arm still leaking small droplets of blood down your flesh. Simon’s injuries were worse; he’d taken the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all, even as the crimson liquid stains his wet back.

“Simon needs medical attention,” you speak lowly to the Sheriff, head moving forward. “Can we do this later at the station?”  

“I’m fine,” the man in question grunts, voice deep with anger before turning and walking back to the two of you. Not once do his eyes stop searching the area; on high alert even now and not eager to be out in the open. Those old instincts were creeping back over him, and he wanted to get you somewhere safe so he could handle this situation himself.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who was responsible and while property was one thing, your comfort was another. 

How dare anyone do something like that to you. 

“You’re bleeding,” you explain, eyes tight. A hand brushes over your arm, taking it up and inspecting the small cut that you wear. 

Feet shift, and through a clenched jaw Simon utters, “So are you.” 

“You know what I mean, Brown-Eyes,” you try to make him listen, but it’s fruitless. 

“Don’t worry about me,” the Sheriff walks to assess the damage, letting the two of you speak in hushed whispers and firm looks. 

“You sound stupid,” you hiss, and Simon’s fingers rub your skin softly, his study of your body taking place in a slow sweep. “Of course I’m going to worry.” 

“Need to stop shaking.” Your face creases at the comment. 

“I’m not shaking.” Simon grabs your hand and puts his fingers through yours, raising it between you so you can look. Your eyes shift down, and your limb can clearly be seen vibrating like an engine in his hold; the fingers unable to close fully. 

Not speaking, Simon cups it with his other hand and presses, grounding you as your lungs take a deep breath before you can clear your throat. 

“I’m fine,” your words barely make it to the air. 

“...Now who’s sounding like me?” The man mutters eyes creased as he stares. “Breathe.” 

You listen, taking another deep breath and staring at Simon’s chest.

“Up ‘ere,” a finger moves out to tap under your jaw, making you tilt your head up to lock with his browns. “There we are, then. Focus. M’right here.” 

“You’re good at this,” you grumble, put off by your own separation from your body. 

Simon tilts his head. “Had to be.” 

You spare a strangled huff at that. 

How quickly things could go wrong—you had thought that tonight would be the best night of your life, but now it was just one single instant that things had made sense, the rest a stain on your memory. 

“You know it was Graham and his friends?” Simon nods, still watching you and making sure you’re calming down properly, waiting for that adrenaline crash. He knows. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Right now?” The man pauses. “Nothing. You’re coming down with me to the Bed and Breakfast. Staying there.” 

So that was how Simon shifted his priorities, walking you down the road as more and more police showed up—there would be more talking in the morning, you had given them everything you’d known so far. It was also how you were mobbed by three more concerned mechanics as you entered their temporary living situation until houses were purchased, blue and brown eyes blinking at the two of you quickly. 

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Gaz had asked, but you were much too tired to speak beyond leaning into Simon’s shoulder and grunting. 

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny had muttered, only in boxers as he’d shoved out of his room. “Heard the sirens—what’s been happenin’ without me?”

Price had been the one to finally settle everyone and push out a stiff order to leave Simon and you alone for the night. With various glances and tense looks, you were both allowed into your room with little more trouble. 

It was tiny but clean, and Simon had locked the door with a grumble and moved you over to the bed so you could sit, moving off to run a bath. 

You heard the pipes squeak—the whoosh of water as it entered the tub. 

Your mind has still not entirely caught up to itself as Simon leads you forward and begins undressing you; taking off your top and letting you shift out of your own pants. The bathroom tile is cold, and you wrap your arms around yourself when you’re entirely bare as you can’t find the words to speak. That is, before Simon takes his shirt off and you see the damage that’s been done. 

You gasp, hand reaching out but stopping above the cut skin surrounded by a million bruises and large welts. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, delicately touching the skin. None of the slices were deep, but the horror was still there. “Simon…”

Brown eyes soften, and the balaclava is removed as well before a kiss is dug into your forehead. The shade of his hair matched his eyelashes, and now with the full picture, he was as handsome as you imagined him to be, though to all others the scars and the crookedness of his nose might be a shock. You hadn’t expected anything different. 

“Just bruises, Love,” he pets your neck, thumb running over your pulsepoint. 

“You’re all cut up,” your eyes water, but your stubbornness holds them back as you try to take everything in from his willingness to show you his face to the events of tonight. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that he would do something like this, really, he was always a jerk but he was never…never bold like this.” 

Cupping his cheeks, you kiss his jaw, salty water tracking down your face as you hear Simon take in a breath. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly, curling over you as if another barrage of bricks was imminent. 

But there wasn’t going to be any danger here. Not with three other veterans down the hall.

“He ever…?” You shake your head, shakily uttering a quick response to Simon’s trialed-off question.

“No. No, I’d never stand for that.” The man’s broken body loosens, a long sigh exiting his nose in blatant relief. 

“Good,” is all he says. “Deserve better.”

You sniffle, getting a reign on your emotions. “I’ve got better.” 

During the shared bath, you clean the others’ wounds, your back to the wall as you run water over the stretch of Simon’s shoulders, washing away the blood. Your nails drag over his skin as he shivers, not looking back at you as he reaches behind and takes one of your hands into his. The black stain of his tattoos rubs along your bare arm as fingers intertwine, your limb moved and held to his abdomen as you kiss one of the knobs in his spine softly and hum to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin. 

Simon doesn’t respond, only leaning back into you more. 

—

Two days pass with no sign from Graham or his friends—Celine, either. Everyone in town was on edge, and in that time you’d been put on paid leave from the bar on account of your involvement and the potential involvement of your coworker. So, you spent most of the time at the shop with Simon, as he’d asked you to so he could keep an eye out.  

You had thought that maybe this was a one-time event, and had believed it, as well. Graham had made a point, and being the idiot that he was, he’d pay for it. If he was smart, he’d be out of the country by now—there was no mistaking Simon’s vendetta now. Price had to reel him back in the day after the vandalism. 

You’d woken up to an empty bed, having been fitted into one of Simon’s incredibly large shirts and sweatpants for pajamas, and heard arguing. Feet padding like a cat, you had pressed your ear to the door and listened with held-back breath, as if only a peep would make the heated conversation stop.

“He made her bleed, Price. He put her in danger!” 

“Get your head on, Simon, you aren’t in the service anymore,” Price had hissed, shadows slinking along from under the door. “You can’t do anything about it.”

There had been a low growl, an aggravated breath. 

“I can’t sit ‘ere when he’s waiting like a fucking robber. This is my responsibility— happened on my watch.”

“Since when did that fucking happen, Simon, eh? What’s been going on with you two?”

A pause. “...It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it—you’re thinking like a damn soldier.” 

So here you are, fixing the streaks of miscolored paint that had been spattered over the mechanic’s shop as Simon comes out, wiping his hands with a rag. 

“Good thing I didn’t start on the mural yet,” you comment to him, stepping back and putting your roller down. The rag is offered and you take it with a small smile while you slide it over your fingers. “Else I would have tracked him down myself.”

“Would ‘ave helped.” October eyes flicker along the drying paint—the marks still visible. “M’sorry.”

“If you won’t let me apologize,” you raise a brow in challenge. “I won’t let you either.” 

Simon’s eyes crinkle from behind a new balaclava, missing the skeleton details. “Cheeky.”

“It’s called being truthful, Riley.” You sigh through the tilt of your head. “But the bad news is that I had to use up the paint, and I’m not even halfway done with this. It didn’t help that they used a darker color than what I wanted as the backdrop.” 

“Want to take a drive out, then?” The question is swift and honest as it's aimed at you like a distraction from the anxiety. Simon motions his head to the garage. “Got a bit before I’m needed, m’sure you could use a break, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” you utter, moving to rest a hand on his bicep. He almost purrs at the touch, leaning in. 

“Want to,” Simon grunts slowly. “Bikes are still good. Bastards knew I’d skin them if they touched ‘em.” 

“I’m sure,” you chuckle, teasing him through a smirk. “Big Bad Simon Riley.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes at that, turning back around as you follow after, laughing. 

You both get onto the Rebel, and the brown leather jacket moves your way along with the helmet, slipping it over your head not seconds later as Simon grabs his spare. 

“Are you sure you shouldn't ask for another helmet?” You had brought it up the first time as well—the prospect of a crash. 

“Only a small ride—I’ll go slow, Sunshine.” Knuckles tap the top of the helmet in reassurance. “Matters more that you’re the one wearing it.” 

Your face creases up, but you sigh and nod, wrapping your hands around Simon’s waist and tightly holding on as the engine starts rumbling below you. Moving your feet up to the rests, you scoot closer as the man pushes off the ground, flipping the kickstand back up before he leans forward slightly and lets the bike do the work.

As before, the two of you get out of town and nature opens up—but as soon as you really start to let your worries slide away and focus on Simon’s pulse and the freedom he gives you, there’s a cold wind from the west. Coming up and dragging along with it, a dark rain cloud sits over you both about a seven-minute drive in.

“Should we pull over?!” You shout in question as raindrops begin to patter off your helmet. The bike makes a strange chirping sound, and you blink over Simon’s shoulder until your attention is taken away by his answer. 

“Soon!” You nod, trusting him to know, and ease back. Your fingers trace the small bulge of scars at his waist, shivering. 

One minute later, you’re about to say you can see the town ahead when that chirping starts again. Brows furrowing, you grunt in the back of your throat and yell, “What’s that sound, Simon?”

He glances back briefly, unable to hear you.

“The sound!” Simon’s fingers flicker, head moving down to the bike below him—the hum of the engine was too strong up here, he can’t hear anything out of the ordinary. 

“What are you—?!” 

There’s a great shriek of black metal, and the Honda Rebel 500’s front wheel breaks off from the motorcycle fork and the bike flips. 

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