#a moment of silence for my posting streak

[arthursfuckinghat]

Wordless, But Heard.

[A small fic based on @pinep-ne's post about exploring Arthur's tb symptoms <\3 also on my ao3]

The fire burned low, its glow flickering weakly as the dying embers waned. It was a rare moment of peace in the desolate grounds that was Beaver Hollow.

Charles sat with his knife in hand, sharpening it with slow, deliberate strokes. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone filled the silence between them, but Charles' eyes flicked up every so often, watching Arthur in the dim firelight.

Arthur, slumped against a log with his hat tipped forward, sat with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. He hadn't taken a drag in a while. Just let the smoke curl lazily into the night air, like he was too tired to bother with it.

Then his body tensed.

It started as a tremor in his shoulders, a small hitch in his breath. Then, suddenly, the cough took him- deep, wet, rattling. He lurched forward, his free hand gripping his knee as his chest heaved. It wracked through him, violent and merciless, his entire frame shaking under its force. His lungs burning like he's drowning on dry land.

Charles stopped sharpening his knife.

Arthur pressed a hand to his chest as the fit passed, breathless and shaking. He spat into the dirt, a dark, ugly streak staining the ground, then swiped a sleeve across his mouth. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.

Charles turned the blade in his hands.

"You alright?" His voice was even, careful, measured.

Arthur waved a hand, dismissive as always. "Fine," he muttered, but his voice cracked, raw and frayed at the edges.

Charles didn't take his eyes off him.

Arthur had always been a strong man, built solid, a force of nature when he needed to be. But now, as Charles looked at him, he saw how the firelight cut sharp angles across his face. His hollowed cheeks, the deep shadows under his eyes, dampened by sweat that never seemed to ease. His clothes, once snug, hung looser on his frame. His fingers, resting against his thigh, twitching subtly. Tremors.

Charles let out a breath, setting his knife down.

"You haven't eaten much today."

The older man cleared his throat, shaking his head. "Not hungry."

"You're never hungry anymore."

Arthur didn’t meet Charles' gaze. He stared into the fire, watching it slowly die as he absently rubbed the soreness in his neck.

Charles watched him a moment longer. Then, without a word, he stood, walked to the stew pot, and ladled out a small portion. It wasn't much, but just enough to keep Arthur from wasting away any faster than he already was. He crouched down in front of him, offering the bowl.

Arthur eyed it, then looked up to Charles with an empty smile. "Ain't a kid, you know."

Charles didn't move, he didn't say anything, just held the bowl steady.

Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before reluctantly taking it. He didn't eat right away, just held it in his lap, staring down at the contents like he knew the effort was pointless.

Charles sat back down. "You've lost weight."

The older man huffed a laugh, short and dry. "You callin' me pretty?"

Charles ignored the ache that suddenly deepened in his chest. "I'm saying you need to take care of yourself."

Charles could hear the exhaustion in Arthur's sigh, the effort of it, the weight of it. He stirred the stew absently, then took a small bite. It wasn't much, but Charles counted it as a win.

Arthur didn't mention how much it hurt to eat, to chew, to swallow. How the pain in his throat was unbearable, how his stomach rejected most of what he ate, how uncomfortable it all was. Instead, he just tried, he tried for Charles.

For a while, they sat in silence again. The fire popped and cracked, the trees rustled, and somewhere in the distance, coyotes barked. Arthur's breath had steadied, but there was still something off about him- the way he rubbed at his limbs absently, how he shifted in place as if he was never comfortable, how his gaze was distant and unfocused.

Eventually, Arthur set the bowl aside, only half finished, and pushed himself up from the log. He swayed, just a little, barely noticeable, but Charles noticed.

The older man cleared his throat. "Reckon I'll turn in."

Charles nodded. "Alright."

Arthur took a few steps, then Charles spoke again.

"Arthur."

He paused, glancing back. The firelight flickered in his eyes, tired and dull, but still holding something, something unspoken.

Charles held his gaze. "Let me know if you need anything."

Arthur stood silently. Then, he gave a slow nod.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I will."

He wouldn't. Charles knew that. But he'd keep watching. Because someone had to.

Arthur disappeared into his lean-to, and Charles sat back down, picking up his knife again. But he didn't sharpen it further.

Instead, he just listened. To the wind, to the fire, and to the quiet, ragged breathing of a man who was running out of time.

[ato-dato]

No new drawing today due to life and other adult things but maybe tomorrow!!! We will see!!! Who knows!!!

[trulyumai]

Leaving Behind Gold

—Pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader

—Synopsis: Fed up with Geta's priorities, you attempt to leave his side. Only, Geta isn't ready to let you go, and is ready to get vulnerable to get you to stay.

—Warnings: Slight angst, Geta getting nervous and breaking down.

A/N: I’m only posting geta content are y’all sick of it yet? im sorry in advanced there will be more

The moment you step through the palace halls with your packed satchel, it feels like the air around you is a trap—heavy, stifling, suffused with the weight of the decision you've made. Leaving Geta is the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but his obsession with Rome has left no room for you. Your heart clenches as you pass the door to his chambers, but you keep walking, steadying your breath.

He finds you almost immediately.

You hear his voice before you see him, a frantic bark cutting through the quiet corridors. “Where is she?” Servants scatter at the sound of his tone, their whispers falling to silence as his heavy steps echo closer.

Your pulse quickens, and instinct takes over. You veer left, ducking into the library, your sanctuary within the palace—a place where he seldom disturbs you. Slamming the door shut, you throw the latch into place, your chest heaving. The silence presses in around you, broken only by your ragged breaths.

Then comes the pounding.

“Open this door!”

His voice is a snarl, wild and guttural. The sound of his fists against the heavy wood is thunderous, shaking the frame.

“Wife, youre being foolish. Do we really want to cause a scene, hm?”

You press yourself against the far wall, heart racing as you clutch the satchel to your chest. “Go away Geta! You can’t stop me from leaving!”

The words only seem to inflame him further. His pounding grows erratic, each strike like a storm battering the door. “You don’t get to decide such a thing!” he roars. “You’re my wife. You’re mine!”

“Yours?” you spit back, your voice trembling. “I was yours once, but you’ve given every piece of yourself to Rome. There’s nothing left for me!”

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath on the other side of the door, and then his voice drops—a low, desperate rasp. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

You hear him press his forehead against the door, his voice cracking. And then it all comes out.  

“I love you, do you hear me? I love you more than anything. More than Rome, more than the gods themselves. You’re the only thing keeping me sane, and if you leave... if you leave...”

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of his labored breathing. Then his voice returns, hoarse and broken. “I can’t survive without you.”

Your resolve falters, your hand trembling as it rests on the satchel. “Then why do you make me feel like I’m second to everything else?”

He pounds the door again, his desperation boiling over. “Because I’m a fool! A stupid, blind fool who thought Rome would give me purpose—but it’s you. It’s always been you!”

His voice cracks, and you hear him sink to his knees outside the door, his fists slapping weakly against the wood. “Please,” he begs, his tone raw and unrecognizable. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll tear the empire apart if it means keeping you by my side. Just—just open the door. Let me see you.”

Your hand hovers over the latch, your mind warring with your heart. You hear him slump against the door, defeated. “You said you were mine,” he murmurs, barely audible now. “But you’re wrong. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Tears streak your face as you press your forehead against the cool wood. “Then prove it, Geta. Prove that I matter more than Rome.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then his voice, soft but resolute: “I will.”

Your fingers tremble as they slide the latch back. The door creaks, revealing him.

Geta is on his knees, slumped forward, his shoulders shaking. His face is flushed, streaked with tears, his hair disheveled as though he’s been clawing at it in anguish. When his bloodshot eyes find yours, a sound escapes him—a choked, desperate sob that makes your chest tighten. His lips part as though to speak, but they wobble, and no words come.

He’s utterly wrecked.

And it breaks you.

Your satchel falls to the ground, forgotten, as you step toward him. His hands lift weakly, reaching for you, but it’s you who sinks down, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. He freezes for a moment, as though he doesn’t believe it’s real, but then his arms encircle you with crushing strength, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, over and over, his breath hot against your hair. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a fool.”

His words dissolve into quiet sobs as you clutch him tighter, burying your face in his neck. “I thought I’d lost you.” he murmurs, his voice still unsteady. “I can’t—I… You’re my everything. You and my child, dear wife,  I swear it to you, here and now. Nothing will ever come before my family again. Not Rome, not anything. Just... don’t leave me.”

You pull back just enough to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his tear-streaked cheeks. His eyes meet yours, wide and shimmering with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before. “I don’t want promises, Geta,” you say softly. “I want you. Not Rome’s Geta. Not the emperor. Just... you.”

“You have me,” he says, his voice breaking as he presses his forehead against yours. “You’ve always had me.”

And in that moment, you believe him.

There’s a pause, before Geta’s voice breaks through the air.

“Do you… think I'll be a good father?” The emperor's gaze lingers on the back wall, not moving or lingering on your now watchful figure.

“I think,” with a soft kiss to his temple the man leans in, intently listening. “You’ll be the father you always wanted to be.” 

Geta hummed, his ringed fingers carrasses your side. “I want to be kind. Nothing like my father. A drunken excuse of a man.” He spat. 

Catching his face in the palms of your hands, you sighed and began to litter his face in little kisses. One on the cheek, two on each brow. 

“Then you shall be, my husband.” 

[jaysng]

post arguement — yang jungown

PAIRING. husband!jungwon, preg!wife!reader

GENRE. angst, fluff

WORD CNT. 695

NOTE. sorry i haven’t been posting and haven’t replied to anyone in a while, life has been tough and i hope you understand. also been messing with the themes lately. don’t know what looks good. trying.

you woke up in bed, warmth enveloping you in a way that felt both familiar and surprising. your eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the soft blur of the room. the last thing you remembered was curling up on the couch, raw from the argument with jungwon.

the silence of that moment had been heavy, charged with words that couldn’t be unsaid. you had fallen asleep with tear-streaked cheeks and the ache of his voice replaying in your head, cutting deeper each time.

but now, here you were, back in your shared bed. your fingers brushed the comforter, trying to piece together how you’d gotten there. a slight shift behind you made your heart stutter; jungwon was close, his arm resting lightly around your waist, cautious.

his breath was warm against your back, slow but uneven, as if he’d been awake for a while.

the faint nausea that lingered in the mornings pulled at you, a reminder that this moment wasn’t just yours. the baby growing inside you made everything sharper, more fragile.

last night’s argument had felt even more painful because of it, and the guilt weighed heavily on you now.

jungwon’s arm tightened slightly, and you felt him press his forehead gently against your shoulder. the quiet stretched on, the tension humming between you like a current. he took a shaky breath, breaking the silence.

“i’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, almost breaking. it caught you off-guard; jungwon was rarely this raw, this unguarded. “i shouldn’t have let you sleep out there. i shouldn’t have said anything that made you feel like you had to.”

the sincerity, the guilt in his tone, cracked something open inside you. you didn’t turn to face him, not yet. it felt safer to speak without looking into his eyes. “i shouldn’t have said what i did either,” you whispered, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “but it hurt, jungwon.”

his hand moved from your waist to rest on your arm, tentative, as if afraid you’d pull away. “i know,” he admitted, his voice so quiet it almost disappeared. “i was so caught up in being right, in feeling frustrated… i didn’t think about you. about us.”

you felt his breath hitch, and it only deepened the ache in your chest. “and when i saw you on the couch, curled up like that… it felt like everything shattered.”

you finally turned, shifting to face him. jungwon’s eyes were red-rimmed, guilt swimming in their depths. you could see how much he’d carried through the night, how it weighed on him now. “did you stay up?” you asked, noticing the exhaustion etched across his features.

he nodded, a rueful smile touching his lips for a fleeting moment. “i couldn’t sleep. i kept thinking about how wrong it was, having you out there. and with the baby… i couldn’t let it stay that way.”

your eyes filled with tears, and you blinked them back, not wanting to let the moment spiral into more sadness. “thank you for bringing me back,” you said softly, fingers brushing against his. “i didn’t realize…”

“you shouldn’t have had to,” he said, voice steadying but still thick with emotion. “you’re my everything. both of you are.” he hesitated, eyes searching yours as if he needed to find a sign of forgiveness. “i know saying sorry isn’t enough. but i need you to know that i’m here. i’m here, and i’ll be better.”

the sincerity in his voice, the guilt that laced every word, made your heart clench. you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “i know,” you whispered, feeling the first hint of relief loosen the knot in your chest. “we’ll figure it out. together.”

jungwon’s eyes softened, and he exhaled, as if releasing a breath he’d been holding all night. he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the touch warm and reassuring. “together,” he echoed, the word carrying a promise that filled the space between you with something tender, something healing.

it wasn’t perfect, and maybe it wouldn’t be for a while. but as he pulled you closer, careful and loving, you felt that for now, it was enough.

do not copy or repost — @/jaysng

[yaniluvs]

⋆˙⟡ ⌇ 방찬 : UNDERNEATH THE SHEETS ── aftercare with your boyfriend, after a particularly long and rough night.

𓍯 idolbf!chan ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）0.8k ── ༯ HEADCANON, fluff, humour, care, req. by anon, mdni! . ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ okay, this may have come as a surprise since i don't post any mdni content.. however it is mostly unexplicit ! thank you to my lovely anon for requesting this, hope i have written it to your expectations! (╥﹏╥). though i may have had a hard time writing this lmao. comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

“are you sure you’re okay?” his voice was soft, but there was a slight tremor in it — a clear indication of how worried he was.

the room was steeped in a comforting silence, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of soft sheets as his girlfriend shifted slightly. the glow from the moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting silvery streaks over the rumpled bed. chan, who was nuzzled in the curve of her neck, looked up slightly to see her flushed-and-fucked-out face, breath heavy. his eyes, apologetic and half lidded, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness.

her hair was a mess, cheeks flushed, but her eyes sparkled with affection. she reached out, cupping his jaw in her hand, thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “i told you, i'm as good as ever, chris.”

he frowned, clearly unconvinced, his brows furrowing in that adorable way that always made her heart flip, as he lifted himself slightly to look at her better. “was i too rough? did i hurt you? can you walk? you don't need to lie i can delay my schedule tomorrow-”

"what? no, no!" y/n frowned, and leaned in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “chan, baby, i literally told you it was amazing, like, five times already. you didn’t hurt me, at all. i told you i was okay with it and i really am.”

“if anything, i’m kinda hoping for a repeat performance sometime soon.”

that made him flush a deep crimson, his ears turning a shade of pink that she absolutely adored. he groaned, burying his face in his hands, muttering, ���oh my god, you’re gonna kill me.”

"really, can't believe that you're all shy now considering how you were practically cho-"

he groaned, falling back down and nuzzling into her neck as his hands covered his crimson ears, while the girl under him only laughed.

she tugs his hands away so she could see his whole face. “i mean it, though. you were incredible.” her fingers traced gentle patterns along his forearm, grounding him. “but,” she added with a small smile, “i do love seeing this side of you, too. all soft and caring and…” she paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “a little overdramatic.”

“overdramatic?” he echoed, feigning offense, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “i’m just making sure you’re okay! is that a crime?”

“not at all,” she said, leaning in to kiss him softly. her lips lingered against his for a moment before she pulled back, resting her forehead against his. “but seriously, chan. i’m okay. i feel… happy. loved. really, really good.”

he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing a little. “okay,” he murmured. “if you’re sure.”

“i’m sure.” she smiled, tucking herself closer to him, her head resting against his chest. his heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, a soothing rhythm that made her feel completely at ease.

chan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer. his fingers trailed up and down her back in slow, gentle strokes, the gesture both comforting and intimate. “you’re amazing, you know that?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “i don’t deserve you.”

y/n tilted her head to look up at him, her expression softening. “don’t say that,” she murmured, reaching up to brush her fingers through his curls. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, chris. i’d choose you a thousand times over.”

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, emotion flickering in his dark eyes. “you’re too good to me.”

“i think it’s the other way around,” she teased, poking his chest lightly. “you’re literally the sweetest, most thoughtful person ever. and, not to mention, ridiculously handsome.”

he chuckled, his cheeks tinting pink again. “you’re biased.”

“maybe a little,” she admitted with a grin. “but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

they lay there for a while, wrapped up in each other. chan’s hands never stopped moving—one smoothing over her hair, the other tracing invisible shapes along her spine. y/n felt herself relaxing further, her body melting into his warmth.

“do you want some water?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. “or hot cocoa to make up? i can get you something if you’re hungry.”

she laughed softly, shaking her head. “i’m good, just tired. just wanna stay here with you.”

his lips curved into a small smile as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “okay. but if you need anything, you tell me, yeah?”

“i will,” she promised, nuzzling closer. “you’re such a worrier.”

“can you blame me?” he said, his tone light but sincere. “i just�� i care about you. so much.”

her heart swelled at his words, and she tilted her head to capture his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. when she pulled back, she rested her hand against his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. “i care about you, too. more than you know.”

they stayed like that, tangled up in each other, sharing soft whispers and quiet laughter. chan’s initial worry had melted away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment. he held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and to him, she was.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 9

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

It felt like forever. He knew it wasn't. It must have been minutes until the car door was ripped open and Charles slipped in right next to him.

It wasn’t until the doors were slammed shut behind Charles that Max dared to look at the Monégasque.

His heart skipped a beat at the sight. Charles was still in his racing suit just as him, the suit itself streaked with sweat.

The moment the car door closed, the car started riving.

"Merde," Charles cursed. Max could only agree. "I am sorry, that it took this long."

Max gave a sharp, jerky shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize," he somehow managed to get the words out. "I’m just..." he trailed off, a shaky exhale escaping him. "How could you make it here so fast?" he asked, casting a quick glance in his friend’s direction.

Charles snorted. "Your press officer had a shouting match with Ferrari's,“ he said simply.

If Max wasn’t so focused on not completely losing it, he might’ve been amused with the mental image. But at the moment, he could only shake his head.

Next to him, Charles let out a sigh. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"No. You?" he gave back.

"I don't have a bad feeling," Charles said quietly. “Not worse than it has been for days at least.”

Twin Telepathy was apparently a thing as far as Charles and Colette were concerned. 

Quite frankly, till this day, it still weirded Max out. They just seemed to know when the other one wasn't feeling well. 95% of the time, they got sick at the same time. They communicated more easily with each other than with anyone else, and regardless of what game they played...they needed to be put on opposite teams, because otherwise nobody had a chance against them.

Max was well aware of Colette and Charles' strange connection. Even if he didn’t fully understand it. They both had some sort of sixth sense when it came to the other one, and it sometimes felt like they were talking in secret code.

"What’s it telling you right now?" he asked, his voice barely above a rough whisper.

Charles turned to him fully at that, and Max saw the way his eyes swept over him, taking in every aspect of his appearance.

Max could only imagine what Charles was seeing. He felt like a walking wreck, and there was no doubt his appearance was mirroring that.

"Colette is in pain," Charles finally said, his voice strangely quiet. "She’s scared."

That answer felt like somebody shoved a knife into Max’s stomach. He inhaled sharply, the breath catching in his throat. “Of course, she is,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Charles seemed to sense what he was thinking, even without being telepathically connected through whatever the hell Colette and him had going on. The Monégasque reached out and took a firmer hold of his hand, the grip almost crushing.

"Don’t," Charles said firmly, his voice leaving no room for arguments. "Don’t go there. We’re gonna get to her as fast as we can."

There was a brief moment of silence, as Max tried to collect himself. He focused all his attention on the pressure of Charles' hand on his, and somehow, it actually helped.

"I feel so goddamn useless," he finally admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to be with her."

"You want to try calling her before we are in the air?" Charles suggested.

That was not a bad idea, not at all. Max let out a low and slightly shaky exhale, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I…” he had to stop and clear his throat. “Yeah, I’ll try to call her.”

His hands were shaking when he pulled out his phone out of the backpack that somebody had handed off to him, already packed. Regardless of all the drama that had gone on in the RedBull garage during the year… if it really mattered, the people in there pulled off minor miracles.

Within minutes, his entire day - hell, his entire week - had been packed for him, with all the essentials of clothes and everything else he would need.

He had almost forgotten about the phone in his shaking hands, but now he just stared at the screen for a moment. His fingers were trembling so badly that just unlocking the phone was a challenge in itself.

Jimmy and Sassy were on his lockscreen...a picture that Colette had once sent him when he had been away for one of his races...the two of them laying on top of her on their couch...

Every other time Max saw the photo, it made his heart do a little funny jump. Now though, it made his chest ache. It felt like a sharp stabbing pain, and for a moment, he just sat there and stared at the picture.

Then he called her.

It rang. And it rang, and it rang again. With each passing second, that horrible knot in his stomach tightened a little more. With every ring of the bell, it got harder to breathe.

Finally, to Max’s immense and enormous relief, the line connected.

"Hey, Maxie. I put you on speaker," Victoria's voice came over the phone, sounding surprisingly calm.

A shiver of something resembling dread ran through Max, at the sound of Victoria’s voice. But he pushed past the feeling.

His thoughts were once again running wild - was it a bad sign that Colette wasn’t the one speaking to him? Or was he just overreacting..?

“Hey,” he forced the word out past the lump in his throat. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pleading for Colette's voice. Was it selfish that he just wanted to hear her tell him that everything was going to be okay?

"Better now," Colette's voice came, sounding slightly hoarse.

The words were like a shot of adrenaline, and for a moment, Max actually felt a little lightheaded. “Liefje.” He closed his eyes, just hearing her voice sending another wave of relief through him. “Are you okay? How is Bébé?”

"Bébé has decided that they would rather be born today, so I would suggest you hurry up," Victoria said drily.

"Seems like the kid already inherited Max's need for speed," Charles quipped. "How are you doing, Coco?"

"I'm good," Colette's voice replied, and Max could only imagine the eye-roll that was currently happening. He knew his girlfriend, and he had no doubt that she had been glaring at Victoria ever since the phone was put on speaker.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice suddenly turning much softer. "You're coming, right?"

"Coming," he assured her, his heart aching. "We're coming, I promise."

"I know. I’m not worried." She sounded like she meant it, but Max could easily imagine the anxiety in her eyes.

"You'd better not worry," Charles said, and then added, "I’m keeping him from doing anything dumb."

Max shot Charles a dirty look at that, bt he swallowed down the annoyed protest and focused back on Colette instead. “Just…hold on a little longer, okay?”

"It's not like I can go anywhere else," Colette replied, her voice slightly amused. "I’ll keep our little speed demon in there a little lo...." She broke off and let out a quiet hiss of pain, her voice once again cut off by what Max suspected to be a particularly painful contraction.

“Colette,” he said sharply, all kinds of emotions washing over him, one by one. “Liefje, just…just breathe through it, okay?”

There was a second of panting, then, he heard her take a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” she finally said. “Just…hurts like hell.”

He swallowed and clenched his free hand tightly into a fist, fighting against the urge to just jump out of the car and start running towards the airport.

Colette being in pain was not something he could deal with.

He heard her take a few more deep breaths, and he just sat there, waiting and listening and feeling absolutely useless.

"How long until you get here?" she asked after a moment, her voice breathless. He could see her in his mind, his sweet girl, sitting on the bed and clutching her belly as another contraction hit her.

"We're not even at the airport yet," he told her, and damn it, why were his eyes suddenly burning. "We’ll get there as soon as we can, okay? Just...hold on a little longer."

"What your dad said..." Colette said with a shaky voice.

"I know," he said simply, the grief raw in his voice. Neither of them were ever really going to get over the two babies they had lost. They had learnt to live with the pain, they had dealt with the heartbreak an grief...but it was always going to be scar for them.

"Max, if something…" she began, her voice a little wobbly. He could tell that she was crying, by the way her breathing got a little more hitched and ragged.

But she suddenly cut off and gasped, letting out an even breath. Another contraction..."Hey, nothing is gonna happen," he quickly said, trying to soothe her. "Nothing. I'll be there soon. I'll be there before you know, and our child will meet their parents. We will be fine, we will get through this. You, and me. Together."

"If something happens," Colette continues. "If..."

"No," he cut her off, the word coming out as a growl. "Nothing is gonna happen. You will not talk that way. You’re going to deliver a gorgeous and healthy baby, and I won’t hear anything else."

"Max..." she protested, but Max wasn’t having it.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said firmly, putting as much steel in his voice as he could. "You will be fine. Our baby will be fine, and I will be there soon and I will hold your hand and you can threaten to geld me and all of it will be okay. Just breathe.” 

He could hear the sound of her breathing, deep and even. She was trying to steady it, and Max gripped his phone tighter. He didn’t know if he was trying to hold himself together, or if he was trying to hold on to the sound of her voice.

The seconds ticked by, and then another contraction hit, and he heard her gasp out another ragged breath. Max felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. The idea of her in pain was like an invisible knife twisting a little deeper in his gut, each time.

"We need to go," Charles said suddenly. "We need to get into the plane." The car slowed down at that moment. "Coco, listen to me. I am going to be absolutely fucking furious with you if something happens to you," Charles told her fiercely. 

"Trust me," Colette’s voice said, sounding slightly tired. "I am very, very motivated to stay alive."

That was good. That was a good sign. If she was still being sarcastic and even a little bit cheeky…it was good.

"Just hold on," he told her again, the familiar feeling of helplessness seeping into his bones. "Just keep hanging on, for me. I love you."

“I love you too,” the words were as immediate and as fast as the sunrise each morning. "Hurry up, dammit."

"I’m trying," he replied, his voice hoarse. "I’m trying. We’re at the airport now. We’ll get there as fast as we can-" he had to stop, when he heard her let out another pained gasping sound, as another contraction clearly hit her hard.

“Goddamn,” he exclaimed, all of his muscles tense with the urge to do something. He wanted to help her, he wanted to be there to comfort her…but more than anything,  he was terrified of losing her. "Liefje, just keep breathing, okay? Breathe and stay calm."

"I’m trying to," her voice was breathless, and he knew that she was probably trying hard to fight the urge to cry out. Oh God, he hated that. He hated seeing her in pain, he loathed feeling this utterly useless.

"Go. Love you," she told him.

"I love you," he told her emphatically, wanting to say something more, but then Charles impatiently gestured at him to hurry up and get out of the car. "I...I’ll see you soon, okay? Just hang on, okay?"

"Yeah," he could tell that she was trying even harder to control her voice, trying to put on a calm and steady front for his benefit. "Just..." she cut off and let out a gasp, another contraction evidently hitting her hard. "...just hurry up before this baby decides to make their way out before you arrive, okay?"

"I will," he promised through gritted teeth. "I will, goddammit, I will, just…hang on."

He heard Colette’s pained panting, and each of her breaths was like a stab in the gut.He hated having to hang up on her

Everything in him rebelled at that. How could he, how could he possibly abandon her like that, how could he let her take on this pain and fear all by herself, without him there to hold her hand...but goddamnit, he had no choice.

He took a shuddering breath and pushed past the urge to scream, to slam his fist into something, anything. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from the desperate need to get to her, to overwhelming panic, to anger at the universe for forcing them apart and for putting her through this pain.

Into the plane they went…it was probably the shortest amount of time between entering a plane and taking off Max had ever experienced. 

Before too long they were up in the air, flying towards Nice.

The minutes ticked by, each one passing by like a century. Max would sit in restless agitation at his seat, his mind racing back and forth. Every thought and memory came back to Colette. He just wanted to be at her side, he just wanted everything to be okay…

And instead he would be stuck on this plane for 6 hours.

He would be stuck on this goddamn plane for six hours. Six hours, each one of them filled with the knowledge that the love of his life was giving birth to their child, and he was not there to support her, to hold her hand and reassure her that everything was okay.

It was driving him absolutely insane. He couldn’t take it, he just wanted to be there, with her. He could vividly picture her, sitting in the hospital bed and gripping the rails, her face screwed up in pain as she fought through another contraction. And he was not there to comfort her.

"Maman is with her. Your sister is with her. Lorenzo and Arthur too." Charles said at that moment. “We aren't there but everybody else is."

"How can you be this calm?" Max asked him, dragging a hand through sweat damp hair.

"Don't mistake calm for not being worried," Charles said evenly, his eyes tracking Max's restless pacing of the plane. "I am worried. For her, for you and for the little one. But freaking out isn't gonna do anyone any favours right now."

"I know,” Max said, his voice still strangled tight with stress. He just couldn't get any of the images out of his mind - her struggling and fighting her way through the pain, looking more vulnerable and pale than he had ever seen her...and he was not there.

“Besides, I shouted at Ferrari’s PR and got it out of my system, so currently, I am feeling quite calm.” Charles said darkly. “I imagine that’s going to change again when I am sure that Colette and the baby are alright.”

Max just stared at him. Charles had done what?

If there was a religion that Charles Leclerc believed in then it was Ferrari.

Charles Leclerc was their golden boy. Their Il Predestinato. There was no good-natured fobbing to be had about Ferrari regardless of what issues there had been had through the years, and there had been a lot.

Charles worshipped Ferrari like a malevolent goddess. He didn’t want to hear any criticism of his team and Max had given up on that a very long time ago. 

Charles and Colette both could be the most stubborn people Max had ever match. The only one who could match their stubbornness were each other. 

"You did what?" Max stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Charles was an absolute Ferrari fan and loyal to the very core…why the hell would he yell at the PR people?

"Why...? What did they do?"

"They weren't even going to tell me that something was wrong with Colette," Charles said darkly. "I knew it. I knew that something was off. But they didn't say anything. It was one of Red Bull's PR Staff that got me out of the cooldown room. Ferrari wouldn't have said anything to me. Ferrari didn't want me to leave either. They wanted to debrief, they wanted me to give interviews,"

Max had to resist the urge to swear. He had been so focused on the fact that he was not with Colette that he hadn't even processed the fact that Ferrari had actually kept her labour a secret from Charles, simply to make him stay and do his goddamn job for them.

"You know that that is not normal, right?" he asked him drily. "I am not telling you that everything is perfect at Red Bull but Christian would never fucking stand for that."

"You know I never expected it," Charles told him, his mouth a thin hard line. "We are the drivers. We are the stars. But we come second. First and foremost, we are assets to the team. What Ferrari wants, Ferrari gets. We drive, we get podiums, we hold the trophies, and we smile for the cameras. Everything else comes second. It doesn’t matter to them. To them, only the trophies matter. "

"That's what they want," Max told him, anger seeping into his voice. "But that's not how it should be. Ferrari is wrong. If something is wrong with your loved ones, they have no right to keep it from you like that. Especially not for the sake of a goddamn interview."

"I know," Charles said, his lips thin with bitterness. "But there's not much I can do about it, is there? We may be the top drivers on the grid, but we drive the car that the teams give us. There's only so much that we can do when the team has power over pretty much every aspect of our career. And believe me, I am going to pay a fucking price for doing what I did. I just don't care at all. It's Colette," he said sharply. "I love all my siblings. I do. I love Lorenzo and Arthur. I would do everything for them. But they aren't my twin. They aren't the second half of me," Charles said simply. "Ferrari be damned."

Max hadn't thought that he was ever going to hear these words out of Charles' mouth but here they were.

"What the fuck did Jos say by the way? What did Coco mean?" Charles demanded.

"He gave an interview to Sky Sports," Max said, fury still embering deep in his gut.

"Of course he did." Charles said, not sounding surprised at all. "What did he say?"

"Confirmed the relationship...and the pregnancy," Max said clenching his teeth. "And if that wasn't enough...he made a...comment about how it had taken us long enough to have a baby."

There was a sharp indrawn breath as Charles absorbed that. "...What?" Charles said after a moment, his voice strangled. "...he made that comment in public? Are - are you serious?"

"I never told him about the two...miscarriages," Max said quietly. "I couldn't deal with whatever well meant advice he was going to have...but I...We lost two babies," Max said weakly. "My father went out there and confirmed our relationship and the pregnancy without talking to either of us. He just made that decision because it's "ridiculous" that we kept it a secret for so long. An it’s making me furious. This wasn't his decision to make. This was ours."

"Yes," Charles said, his jaw clenching. "It was. Your decision. Nobody else’s. He had absolutely no right to do that. Goddamn it, I have never liked that man, but I've never had the urge to punch him as much as I do this very moment."

"You and me both," Max said. The anger he was feeling would have been burning through him like a damn inferno if he hadn't been so worried about Colette.

"This should have come from us," Max repeated quietly. "Not from anybody else."

"It still can come from you," Charles said.

Max paused, looking up at him. "Are you saying we should..." he began uncertainly.

"You want to tell the entire world that you love my sister and that she is having your baby? You have an Instagram account and a phone with an internet connection," Charles said drily. "Tell them the truth. Your truth."

Max opened his mouth and then closed it again. Charles had a point. It was obvious what the news was going to be now if people had seen Jos's interview.

But he wanted to be the one to tell the world. He wanted it to be on his terms. He wanted it to be public but on his public terms. Not his father's.

"Are you ever going to ask my sister to marry you?" Charles asked him suddenly.

The question caught him completely off guard. "...What?" He said blankly, stunned by the change of the conversation.

"You gave her a ring when you were both 18 that you both insisted was only a promise ring," Charles said drily. "Are you ever going to replace it with the real thing?"

He thought back to that ring that still sat on Colette's finger to this day. A simply gold band with a tiny heart-shaped diamond.

He had given it to her in 2016, after his very first Grand Prix win in Spain. He had gone out and bought it that very same day to be exact.

He had bought Victoira a handbag the first time he had scored his championship points...but the first time he had won...he had bought Colette that ring.

"Apparently the baby is only going to have your surname too, because you have an agreement," Charles continued. "Do I actually want to know what that agreement was?"

"We were 18. Both our father's would have probably killed us, if we came to them and told them that we were engaged," Max said with a sigh. The Leclerc's had always been supportive of their relationship but Hervè Leclerc had very much thought that both Colette and him were far too young to get married. 

Jos on the other hand...Max didn't even want to imagine that screaming fit.  "So I gave her that ring and we agreed that..."

"You agreed that..." Charles repeated slowly, silently urging him to continue.

Max let out a deep sigh and dragged a hand through his already messy hair, mussing it up even more. "We agreed that we didn't really need a piece of paper to tell us what we already knew," he said simply. "Colette and I had been together for 6 years at that point, we already knew and accepted that we were going to be together for the rest of our lives. It was just a matter of when. So we decided that we didn't need a damn piece of paper to know that we were committed to each other. We already knew that, without a doubt," Max said simply. "It was a promise ring. To love and to cherish, till death us do part. One day we would do it properly, but till then...that ring was a promise."

Charles stared at him. "Let me get this straight. You have been married to my sister for 10 years?" he asked him sharply.

Max winced. Okay. Put like that, it sounded kinda bad. "We never had the actual wedding," he said sheepishly. "We both know it wasn't necessary for us, so...we kinda just...never got around to it."

"I mean, I did ask your father for her hand in marriage when it was clear that he wasn't going to be there...when we eventually did it properly...but...for us that ring was… It was more than enough," Max said quietly. "I knew damn well that I would be with her for the rest of my life. She knew it. We both knew it. And that ring was a symbol between us that sealed the deal. We both knew that it was going to be for forever and always. It was a promise. A promise to always stay by each other’s side. No matter how badly things fell apart around us. No matter how much the world wanted to tear us to apart. We were going to stay together, come hell or high water. We didn't need a paper to prove that to us or the rest of the world," Max said firmly.

Charles stared at him for a couple of long moments, processing this. Max was well aware that, from an outside perspective, it might sound weird. That they had been so young, but so utterly certain that they were going to spend their lives together.

But he and Colette had been together for years. And he had seen how strongly they had bonded over the years, seen what they had been able to deal with as a team, as one, and how they had come through every single thing that the life had thrown at them together.

"You two are utterly ridiculous," Charles finally said drily. "You didn't get engaged because as far as you two were concerned you already got married years ago."

Max winced a little bit and couldn't really refute it. If he were to be honest, he'd have admit it did sound utterly ridiculous, when Charles spelled it out like that.

But that just...that was how badly they had known right from the very beginning that this was it for them. They didn't need a piece of paper to tell them what they already knew.

"I'll ask her properly," he promised Charles. "I already got the ring. But Colette doesn't want to overshadow Lorenzo and Charlotte and I knew that she wasn't going to want to have a big party while pregnant so I figured I would just wait."

Charles was slightly taken aback by his words, before he gave a small smile. "She'll definitely say yes, you know," he said, the corner of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Max smiled in return. His heart ached with the thought of her. "I hope so," he said quietly, feeling like there was a hole in his chest where his heart was supposed to be. "I really, really hope so."

[stvrboyy]

─── ❝𝓢weet 𝓝othings❞

adrian tepes x fem!reader

─ summary; whispering sweet nothings to one another before bed

word count; 380

cw; pure fluff, castlevania nocturne adrian/alucard

a/n; first post!!

─ navigation

─ masterlist

The night was still, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves outside the window. The gentle glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silvery streaks across the grand bedchamber. You lay on your side, facing Alucard, whose golden eyes shone faintly even in the dim light.

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch as delicate as the brush of a feather. “You look like a dream,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, almost reverent.

A faint warmth bloomed in your chest at his words, though you couldn’t resist teasing him. “A dream, hm? I suppose that’s fitting for someone who rarely sleeps.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. “If I do not sleep, it’s only because I’d rather spend my nights like this—watching you.”

Your breath caught, and you shook your head with a smile, burying your face into the pillow to hide the heat rising to your cheeks. “That’s unfair,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by the fabric.

“Unfair?” he echoed, tilting his head as he gazed at you with soft amusement. “What’s unfair is how you ensnare me so completely without even trying.”

You peeked out from behind the pillow, meeting his eyes. “You have a way with words, Adrian.”

“Only when I speak of you,” he said, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. He shifted closer, his hand brushing along your arm before resting gently against your waist. The simple touch made your heart flutter.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Do you know how much you mean to me? How your presence chases away centuries of loneliness?” His thumb grazed your cheek, his touch as soft as silk. “You’re my light in the dark.”

“Adrian,” you breathed, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his words. “You mean the world to me too. You know that, right?”

His eyes softened further, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I do, but hearing you say it… it’s something I’ll never grow tired of.”

You smiled, your hand reaching up to rest over his. “Then I’ll make sure to remind you every day.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with unspoken promises and the steady rhythm of your breaths. Then, his voice broke the stillness, softer than before. “Sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, Alucard’s soothing presence the last thing you felt as sleep finally claimed you.

© STVRBOYY — do not copy, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work. reblogs are appreciated!

[syluslnd]

While MC and Stylus are looking at the ultrasound and commenting and laughing, how do MC and Sylus react when the doctor turns to them and tells them that they are having twins (I'll leave the gender to you)? Does MC hug Luke and Kieran and tell them the happy news? Luke and Kieran laugh at their boss when Sylus gets a little jealous of the MC and drops the subject, I wonder about that jovial atmosphere. I'm curious about emotions. Later, Sylus and MC go shopping for their twins, and while shopping, they joke with each other about the twins' future and who they will look like. Meanwhile, Sylus softens with the joy of having twins, thinking that MC will make an excellent mother. What happens if Sylus shows he's softening? I love your posts and responses to requests, thank you!!! Sorry for my bad English

sylus reaction when you are having twins

The room was bathed in a warm glow, a soft hum of quiet conversation filling the space as you and Sylus settled in.

The doctor had just arrived, setting up the ultrasound in the private comfort of Sylus’s home—a luxury he insisted upon, wanting the experience to be as calm and intimate as possible.

Sylus kept his hand on yours, red eyes softened as he focused on the screen, his intense attention on every detail. You leaned into him, heart fluttering with excitement and you kept making comments about potential names and which traits you hoped the baby would inherit.

The doctor looked over the images with a warm smile before turning to the both of you. “Well, congratulations… It looks like you’re having twins. Twin girls, to be exact.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to Sylus with a mix of shock and delight. He was clearly taken off guard too but his initial surprise melted into an unmistakable grin. His hand tightened around yours as he gave you a playful smirk.

“Twin girls, huh?” he chuckled, raising an eyebrow as his eyes danced with excitement. “Guess we’ll have double the trouble on our hands, kitten.”

You laughed, hugging him tightly but then caught sight of Luke and Kieran standing at the edge of the room.

The twins,were smiling with a hint of their usual mischief, clearly having overheard. With a little squeal of joy, you bounded over, pulling both of them into an enthusiastic hug.

“Did you hear? Twin girls!” you exclaimed, beaming at the two of them. Luke chuckled, squeezing your shoulders with a warmth rarely seen from him.

“Well, looks like this family just got a little more interesting” Luke said with a grin.

Kieran shook his head, grinning as he hugged you back. “Two mini versions of you running around? Sylus is in for it” he teased.

Sylus’s voice cut in, smooth but with a pointed edge. “If you two are done hogging my wife…” He was smirking but there was a possessive glint in his eyes, hinting at his usual jealous streak.

Kieran held his hands up in mock surrender, laughing. “Alright, alright. We’ll just be their favorite uncles, then.”

You grinned, slipping back into Sylus’s arms. “See, darling? They’re just excited” you teased, giving him a playful look as he pulled you close.

Sylus rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he settled his arms around you protectively. “They can be excited at a distance” he murmured, though his eyes were warm, his grip on you firm yet gentle. “Those girls already have more than enough family to look after them.”

The doctor, smiling at the playful banter, finished up with a few final notes. “You’ve got a lot of support around you both” he said kindly. “Seems like these little girls will be well looked after.”

Sylus nodded, his gaze shifting from you to the ultrasound screen, then back again, with an expression that was rare for him—vulnerable, almost awestruck. “They’ll have the best” he murmured, his voice softer than usual, his hand never leaving yours.

For a moment, you both looked at the ultrasound screen, a comfortable silence falling over the room as everyone processed the news.

Sylus had insisted on taking you out himself to shop for baby clothes,he couldn’t resist with the news of twin girls on the way.

He guided you through the quaint little store, his hand never leaving the small of your back as you browsed the racks of miniature dresses, onesies, and shoes. His usual composed, authoritative presence softened whenever you held up a tiny outfit, excitement lighting up your face.

You smiled up at him, holding a soft, pink outfit against yourself as you imagined how small your girls would be. “Do you think they’ll look more like you or me?” you asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Sylus chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched you. “They’ll have to have some of my charm, don’t you think?” He smirked, though you could see a hint of tenderness in his gaze as he considered the possibility.

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you picked out another tiny pair of shoes. “Knowing you, you’d probably hope they inherit your serious side too, so they’ll never get in trouble” you teased.

“Trouble is in their blood, kitten” he replied, his smirk widening. “With you as their mother, they’ll be far too clever for anyone’s good.”

The two of you continued wandering through the aisles, his eyes following your every movement. He found himself wondering what kind of future lay ahead.

As much as he tried to maintain his usual confidence, the thought of raising two daughters as the leader of Onychinus gnawed at him. He knew all too well the dangerous life he led and the constant risks around him. Would he ever truly be able to provide a safe world for them or even for you?

While he was deep in thought, you held up a tiny dress covered in delicate lace. “Look at this, Sylus!” you cooed, pulling him back to the present. He turned and for a moment, his usual guarded expression faded as he looked at you with rare warmth, eyes softening at the sight of you envisioning your future with him.

“Perfect” he murmured, brushing a thumb along your cheek as he took in the moment. He had never imagined himself here, yet now, the thought of two little versions of you tugged at something deep inside him.

You noticed the tenderness in his gaze and leaned into him with a soft smile. “They’re going to be just like you in some ways, you know—strong, resilient.” You reached up, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “And maybe a little bit stubborn” you teased, laughing as he rolled his eyes but wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Well, if they’re half as stubborn as you, I’ll have my hands full” he smirked, though the gleam in his eyes was unmistakably fond. In this quiet, almost surreal moment, he realized he’d do anything to protect you and the life you’d soon be building together—even if it meant learning how to be softer, just for you.

[hhughes]

⭑     …     ❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 ❞ ; jack hughes

𝓹airing , fem!gf!reader x jack hughes

in which jack’s gf is worried about her boyfriend and his injuries. contains some curse words. mild angst.

꒰ 𝓷ote , this has to be one of my favourite things i’ve ever written. oh to take care of jack after a rough game . . . ꒱

you release a shaky breath, the tip of your thumb between your teeth as you bite your nail nervously. the lump in your throat only grows twice the size as your eyes stay locked on the devils' bench where a trainer was talking into Jack's ear, an uneasy expression on his face as he holds his hand out so they could tape it.

there was no doubt that he was gonna go out there again. they could tell him his fingers were broken, or on the verge of falling off and he'd still want to finsish the last 5 minutes of this game. and a part of you understood that. it was the Rangers, it was the first home game after a horrible road trip and Jack wanted to finish the game off strong.

your heart remained in your throat the remaining minutes, unable to appreciate the rest of the game until the buzzer sounded, the Devils' winning 6-2. this was only Jack's 3rd game back from a previous injury that you knew he wasn't completely healed from. you had urged him to take a few more games but when the Devils' losing streak extended to 7 games, Jack had insisted that he was ready to return.

this wouldn't be the first time you're anxious over Jack playing through an injury, or getting one during the game and just acting like it never happened. nor would it be the first time the two of you would inevitably have an argument about it later. however thoughts of arguing were pushed far back when Jack and Luke made their way out of the locker room, the usual post-win spark missing from your boyfriend's eyes as he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your neck.

you give Luke a quick smile over Jack's shoulder before pulling out of the hug and grabbing both of Jack's hands, unsure which one was the victim of tonight's escapades.

"I'm okay baby. It's just a little slash. they're not even broken, look," he says and wiggles his fingers in a little wave that gets him an amused little smile from Luke, one he was hoping to get from you but instead your lips pull down a little further and you pull away from his touch completely.

"This isn't funny Jack. I don't care if they're not broken, you were obviously in pain. And there was no reason for you to go out and play those last six minutes. You guys were leading by four." you try to keep your voice steady while berating him but by the way his eyes soften he probably heard the worry in your tone.

Jack sighs as his gaze moves from you to his little brother akwardly shifting around, trying to make it seem like he's not listening but obviously hearing every word.

"Let's not do this here, we can talk about it at home," Jack pleadingly states, dropping a kiss on your cheek as he interlocks your fingers and make your way towards his car, Luke trailing silently behind you two.

The silence from the drive follows the three of you into the apartment, Luke mumbling something about going to bed and you and Jack retreat to your bedroom as well.

"Are you gonna say what you wanna say or are you gonna continue throwing death glares my way the whole night?" Jack asks, exhaustion prevelent in his gaze as he takes a seat on his side of the bed.

"I'm not gonna say anything, we both know you never listen when it comes to this anyway. It's pointless, can we just go to bed please?" you say and Jack's eyes widen at the resignation in your tone.

After getting into night clothes and brushing your teeth, you and Jack lay side by side, your breathing the only sound in the room. Usually Jack would pull you closer to him by now, falling asleep the moment the smell of your shampoo fills his nose, but he's not sure you want him to touch him right now.

"This is my job. You knew how much I loved hockey when you started dating me." Jack says quietly, staring at the ceiling.

"Do you love it more than you love yourself? More than you love me?" you whisper, the words getting caught in your throat because you're afraid the answer might be yes.

"Are you asking me to choose between the sport I love and the woman I love? Because the answer would be you in every lifetime. And I'd give it up for you, but I can't promise you a little part of me won't resent you for it." Jack whispers back, the words barely audible as if that's a confession he's never even thought about, never mind verbalized.

"I'm not asking you to give it up," you answer and you hear his relieved sigh.

"I'm just asking you to love yourself a little more. Take the extra game off if you need it. Spend the last six minutes on the bench when your team is winning by 4 goals and you're injured. You only have one body Jack, and you're not going to be 22 forever, take care of it. You don't have to do everything by yourself you know? You can't win on your own, let your teammates carry some of that burden. Let me take care of you. Is that too much to ask?" you ask desperately, turning your head to look at him.

"No baby, it's not." he says, pushing himself up on one elbow so he's laying on his side and looking down at you, resting his other hand on your stomach.

"I don't want you to feel like I'm not supporting your dreams," you whisper, tearing up a little and Jack's heart squeezes tight.

"You're my number one supporter, babe. Always. I know that. It's why you're so worried about me. And I understand and I can't promise you I won't do what I did tonight ever again, because I'm me, and I'm bound to mess up, but I promise I'll try my hardest to be careful and take care of myself okay?" he says softly, kissing your tears away, and pulling you on top of him as he lays on his back.

"I love you so much," you say kissing his chest.

"I love you the most," he whispers back, squeezing you tight, as both of you drift off the sleep.

The next morning Jack leaves you sleeping in bed, and sneaks out to the kitchen where Luke's already making pancakes.

"What are you doing?" Jack asks, not bothering to say good morning.

"Giving you a head start on your apology breakfast," Luke answers and Jack can't help but feel a pang of affection for his little brother.

As much as Luke likes to pretend he was doing this to help Jack, he was really doing it to help you. Luke could see how upset you were last night and he wanted to do something nice for you.

"Aww Lukey," Jack coos ruffling Luke's hair on his way to the fridge.

"If you didn't make my sister upset every weekend, we wouldn't have to get up at this ungodly hour each time," Luke mumbles and Jack freezes at the word 'sister'.

"Sister?" Jack asks

"I uh- may or may not have accidentally saw that you ordered her ring." Luke stutters and Jack's eyes narrow.

"Saw it where?" Jack questions walking closer.

"Um-" Luke swallows nervously

"Saw it where?" Jack asks again, picking up the spoon and holding it towards Luke's throat like one would a knife.

"Jesus Jack. Fine Quinn told me." Luke admits, breathing a little easier when Jack lowers the spoon, even though it was never really that threatning.

"How the fuck does Quinn know?" Jack whisper-yells.

"Trevor told him."

"Fucking Trevor. Can never tell him shit. I'm gonna kill him," Jack replies, while Luke silently questions why Quinn and Trevor were even talking to each other.

"For what it's worth, I can't wait until she's officially part of the family. I think she's perfect for you and I'm so beyond happy for you." Luke says and Jack immediately pulls him into a bone crushing hug.

"Thank you," Jack says softly as they hear soft footsteps approaching.

"Aw," you say taking in the sight of the two brothers hugging.

"What are you doing up? You're supposed to sleep in on your off days," Jack says walking over and pulling you into his arms.

"So are you. I woke up cause your phone was ringing," you answer handing it to him.

"Who was it?" he asks, putting it on the counter without even looking at it and leaving kisses on your neck.

"Trevor," you reply

"Fucking Trevor,"

[adancingalien]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Benjicot/Davos Blackwood x bracken!reader

summary: after learning of your impending betrothal to another, you and Benji make a plan to stop it

warning: smut 18+ no use of y/n this fic revolves around pregnancy and has some light breeding kinks towards the end. the reader in this is able to get pregnant and is described as a woman.

word count: 3.9k

note: its finally here! i've really enjoyed writing this fic, its been a while since written one and i've never written smut so if its not the best sorry lol. thank you for everyone's support! i hope you guys like it <3 next time I post it will be on this account @dancingaliensfics so if you like this follow that account. also a couple people asked me to tag them so here you go x @alifeinspiredd @gotranting

It's Early in the morning when your father gives you the news. The sun had risen only an hour prior, the days growing short as winter approached, and your mother sat across from you. 

Marriage.

You spend some time considering the thought whilst eating your porridge. In any other case, it would have been good news. The list your father had created so far was filled with well-suited men. You recognised some, two Bracken cousins you knew well, a Mallister boy you’d met at a tourney. They were all reasonable ages, only one was older than thirty and he seemed to be an afterthought. Your father assured you that he'd consider your opinion in his choice. 

Truthly you were lucky, if it was a year earlier you'd be excited. But the one name you wanted, the only man you would ever consider marrying, wasn't on the list and never would be.

Benjicot Blackwood.

Heir to Raventree Hall, the seat of your enemy house, the man who'd captured your heart 10 moons ago.

And so you sit in silence, eyes distant, as your father speaks to you of balls and meetings and gifts. Your mother watches you quietly, although what goes through her mind you cannot say. Eventually, the conversation fades to noise as you watch the last streaks of pink fade from the sky. 

You meet with Benjicot in the same spot you always do. A field of clover and wildflowers, sheltered from the gaze of Stone Hedge by a small patch of woodland. He brings you a bouquet of dandelions, dittander and hedge bindweed he picked himself along the path. Every time you meet he brings you one and each time he hands it to you with that grin before hiding his face in your neck. You love it, and after all this time you still feel your heart flutter at the sight, no matter how torn and pathetic the blooms themselves usually are. 

Gods, you love him. And you're certain you'll never love anyone else the same. Still, you hope he hasn't found the bindweed from near your gardens, it's beautiful but so quickly consumes all other plants.

He flops onto the grass and then beckons for you to do the same. Benji wraps his arms around your side and you lean your head on his chest as he begins to tell you about some skirmish at the hedge stones.

“Those Brackens think they can do whatever they please whenever they choose. You’d think they'd have learnt their lesson after the beating we gave them last time.”

As he speaks you pluck at blades of grass beside you, tearing the seeds from the stem. He often forgets your heritage, as you do his, and the reminder makes you anxious.

“Still,” you mutter, “I wish you wouldn't rush so quickly into battle.”

Benji turns his head to look down at you and you feel his breath on your face. He pauses for a few moments, watching you closely before responding.

“You needn't worry, dove, I can hold my own, especially against some Bracken bastards.” His words are harsh and said with a grin but you can feel the sentiment behind them. Still, his answer doesn't satisfy you.

“You're not the only person I stand to lose in a battle.”

The two of you tend to speak little of the different sides you sit on, choosing instead to focus on your shared qualities. But since your father's announcement that morning, you find your heritage is all you can think of.

His hands tighten on your side and he begins to shift in the way he often does when unsettled. “Tell your bracken brethren to stay on their side of the lines then.”

“Yes because it is such a simple thing, to announce our ties to my whole family!” You turn from him with a huff pulling hard on the piece of grass in your grasp. You regret your words immediately but find yourself unwilling to apologise.

Benji pulls his brows tight, running his fingers over the hem of your skirt. He looks like a scolded dog, his face sullen and eyes moving quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He looks at you softly for a moment. “Will you tell me what's bothering you love? You've been down all day.”

You pause for a while, having pulled away all the grass in your little patch, leaving your fingernails stained green.

“My father gave me news.” You lift your head to look at Benji, his eyes watching you closely. “He's finding me a husband.”

“No.” The response comes quickly and with strong conviction.

Baffled by his response, your brows furrow. “What do you mean no?”

“I simply won't let it happen. You're mine and I'm yours and we were destined to be together, I know it. You will not be with anyone else.”

You pull a pained face, turning away from him. How can he say that with such certainty? That he simply won't let your father marry you off as though it's such a simple thing. It's both endearing and irritating.

“It's not so simple you know.” You look out at the setting sun as you speak, “I've been trying to think of ways to avoid it but truthfully, I have nothing to complain about. What can I say to stop it? I've spent so long thinking of options but nothing seems right.”

Benji takes hold of your hands, gazing at you with such intensity it catches you off guard.

“We'll run away together, you and me, right now.”

Your eyes widen and you stumble on your thoughts. What an idea. It's a pleasant thought really and part of you is compelled to accept, to leap up and run away with Benji in that moment. But it is not this part of you that speaks.

“What- Benji- I cannot, we cannot! Where would we even go.”

“Essos, the free cities, the North, gods I'd go to the Iron Islands if it meant I could marry you. Anywhere in the world where the names bracken and blackwood mean nothing.” your heart skips at the thought, that Benjicot Blackwood would abandon his title and land and family to be with you. Travel to an unknown land and begin again. It's a feeling that quickly spreads through your body leaving you warm and filled with a joy so strong it again compels you to accept and leave in that moment.

You run your fingers over his knuckles, feeling the healed cuts and scrapes that cover them. You consider your own family, of your mother, sat at her window, waiting for you to return home. Your father, sending out his men to fruitlessly search across all of Westeros for his beloved daughter. 

“I can't Benji.”

“Then we'll go in a few days instead, you can pack your things, and I'll think of a plan of where to go-”

“No Benji.” you look into his eyes. You see in them a future and a path you cannot take at this moment. “I couldn't do that to my family, couldn't leave them forever and you couldn't either. It would break your mother's heart.”

Your words sour his mood and he visibly shrinks. You take his hands fully in your own and reach over to kiss him softly on the cheek. You can feel slight stubble and realise he must have rushed out after receiving your letter. How you love this man. 

It isn’t long before you see a new thought arrive in his mind and it's clear he does no further thinking before sharing it.

“I'll just take you then!”

Truthly, your expectations were not high but you still find yourself floored by the stupidity of his ‘plan’.

“What.” You can simply find no other words.

Benji turns to face you fully, squeezing your hands tightly. He has a crazed look on his face and you wonder if this is what your Bracken brethren see on the battlefield. 

“Listen, I’ll simply take you with me to Raventree Hall and we will wed there.” He must notice your unimpressed look as he quickly continues. “That way you don't have to go too far and your family will know you're safe. Sure it'll take some time for those Bracken curs to accept it but eventually they'll have to and then you can see them when you please.”

“Safe? Benji, you've come up with some terrible ideas but this is a new level. It would be war! You really believe that my father, that any bracken would simply accept a blackwood taking their daughter in the night?”

“Then war it would be. I'd kill a thousand men to keep you.”

“A thousand of my men, my blood! Yes, what a beautiful honeymoon it would be, setting the funeral piers of my family.”

He falls silent at this and looks down at his hands. You can see him thinking but he has the sense to keep his thoughts to himself. After a few minutes, you sigh and take his hands back in yours, having dropped them at some point during your rant. Leaning over, you capture his lips in your own for just a moment and when you pull away he follows after you.

“Just… leave it to me. I shall think of a plan for us. We can keep yours as a last resort, yes?”

He brightens at this, happy to trust in your judgement. He agrees quickly before closing the small space between you.

It's a week later when you send a raven summoning Benji. As a child, you had discovered passages within Stone Hedge which had long been forgotten and often used them to pass in and out of the castle. Now you and Benji used them to visit each other in secret. It's a few days before he is able to make his way to Stone Hedge, having been corralled by his father into some dull political nonsense you couldn't care less about. By the time he makes it to you, slipping into your chambers using the passage hidden behind large tapestries, you feel truly desperate for him.

It's overwhelming really, how much you love him. Your entire body aches for him, your mind thinks of him at all times. The thought of marrying another leaves you ill and to imagine laying with a man that isn't Benji is truly mad. He knows you in ways no other has, and, if you get your way, never will. So really it's not a surprise that upon seeing you waste no time in pressing yourself to him. As your lips meet you can feel all the stress of the past days leave your mind and you quickly forget what it was you summoned him for. It seems Benji has found himself in a similar position to you as his hands begin to explore your body through your evening gown. His soft touch turns rough as you run your fingers through the coarse strands of his hair. 

You pull away, moving toward to settee. He trails after, lounging next to you with his around your shoulders, fingers toying with your hair.

“I’ve had much time to think,” you say hands resting on your lap. “And I believe I've thought of a solution. It’s mad truly, but it is the best chance we have. I am certain I want it but if you do not you must say and that will be final. It is not a decision to take lightly.”

At your serious tone, Benji straightens and looks at you fully. You are nervous, such a proposal is hardly made easily and yet you feel certain in your bones that he will accept. You know he loves you, there is no doubt about it. You only wonder if he is truly ready for a life together.

“I would do anything to be with you, dove. Tell me and it'll be done.”

You sigh at his words, both from frustration and adoration. 

“Do not say such things before you hear the proposal.”

“Then tell me it so that I may say them with informed certainty.”

You look him in the eyes then, struggling to find a way to say what you mean.

“I would have your child.”

Benji pauses at this, and you can see confusion in his eyes before he speaks.

“Yes. when we wed we shall have many children, as many as you wish.”

“No Benji,” you squeeze his hands tightly and push yourself to speak. “My father will never choose you as my husband so we must give him no choice. If I was with child, with your child, he would have to accept a marriage or risk shame upon myself and our house. I know my father well and I am sure he would choose my happiness over tradition.”

At this, Benjicot stops and his face falls blank. It's as if his mind is —- and you wait patiently for his response.

“It is…” he stops and then restarts “I would love nothing more than to have a child with you. It is something I have dreamt of and I truly believe myself ready for such responsibility. I do not doubt the longevity of my love for you. So please do not think it is commitment with gives me pause. It is just…” he begins to play with your fingers, nervous energy flowing through him. He stands quickly, releasing your hands though you are used to his restlessness and simply wait for him to return. He paces in a small circle, running his hand through his hair and then returns to his seat. 

“I would not do that to you,” he says finally. You look at him in surprise, his answer seeming nonsensical to you.

“You have done it to me many times.”

“No not that,” he says quickly, covering his face in his hands as he thinks again how to phrase what he means.

“I wouldn't put you through such treatment! As an unwed woman to father a child by you. No, I couldn't dishonour you like that.”

“Dishonour me? Benji, you have dishonoured me more times than I could count. By simply being here in this room you dishonour me. We have laid together, many times. If this was a concern of yours, you should have voiced it long ago.” your words are tinged with amusement.

Benjicot stands again, moving his arms wildly. 

“And what of how you would be treated? Not just by your parents but every member of the court, the servants, anyone who knew of it. You would be shamed and shunned by others.”

“You think I care what others say of me?”

“I think you will care when it happens.”

“Do not make assumptions on my behalf. I am my own woman, I can make my own choices. And I do not need you, Benjicot Blackwood, to decide such things for me.” 

You pause, breathing deeply in an attempt to remove the heat from your voice. It isn’t your intention to force Benji to do this with you and you fear if you continue to argue your meaning will be lost.

“If your reasons to not go forth are your own, because you do not feel ready or because you do not want to, then that is fine and I will accept it.”

Your attempt to calm the situation backfires miserably and your words light a fire inside of Benji.

“Of course not, didn’t say I would marry you in that field? That I would give up everything to be with you. Do not doubt my love.”

“I do not doubt it, Benji. But if you are willing to give up your titles and home, go through battle and fight hundreds to have me, why can't you trust that I would endure the shame of a pregnancy outside of wedlock for you?”

At last, Benji returns to his spot next to you. He looks into the fire but his gaze is distant.

“I can protect you from danger, from enemies. I can kill any man that threatens you. I can stand with you in fire and pain. But I can’t save you from cruel words and shame. This is… it's something you’ll have to bear alone. And I hate the thought of it.”

At last, you understand his meaning. Benjicot Blackwood is not a man who often loses control. He is fierce and strong and can slay any man who comes in his path. 

“I am strong. And I can protect myself, just this once. And you will be stood with, at my side, to give me strength when I fail.”

“I know, I just fear you aren’t ready.”

“I am ready.”

A coy smile spreads across your face.

“Let me convince you.” 

At that you kiss him, one hand placed on his cheek and the other on his chest. He quickly reciprocates and you move closer until you can throw one leg over his lap. His hands find your hair, attempting to undo your intricate braids before pulling away in frustration and glaring at the strands. You laugh lightly, moving to remove your pins as he reaches for your neck, leaving a firm bite before his tongue lathes over the area. His ministrations pull a soft moan from your mouth and as he lifts your skirts to run his hand up the soft skin of your thigh, your hair is released.

His other hand quickly finds its way into your hair, fingers weaving into the strands before your head is pulled back allowing better access to your neck. As Benji continues trailing kisses across your neck and chest, you begin to move yourself on his lap, grinding against him as you feel his cock harden beneath his breeches. How you long to feel him inside you, and the thought of him staying even as he reached his peak, seed spilling inside you, has you moving with increased vigour. Benji begins to let out his quiet groans and pants to match your soft moaning and it's not long before he has your behind held firmly in his grip. 

His mouth reaches the neckline of your dresses and begins to suck marks onto your skin while you fumble with the fastening of your gown. Once the bodice is undone and the stays are loosened, he pulls them down, taking your breasts into his hands. His mouth quickly latches onto one of your peaks and his tongue swirls around them. He shows you no mercy in his actions, hands pressing so tight they are sure to leave bruises. Benji moves his hand to your core, fingers covering themselves in your wetness before pressing against your clit. They move quickly, circling your bud for some time before travelling towards your hole. His thumb moves to take its place, pressing firmly against you as it rubs. His fingers prod gently at your hole, before one slips inside. He stays like this, easing his finger inside of you until you're ready to take another. His fingers move inside of you for a few minutes, your walls clenching around them as they stroke, before they increase in speed, beginning to curl deep inside of you. Benji continues to assault your chest, relishing in the moans and whines he pulls from your lips. 

It isn't long, however, before he pulls away from your chest to speak.

“I need you, my love.” he lifts your chin so that your eyes meet. You lean forward and kiss him, giving your answer through your actions. He removes his fingers from you, wiping them on your dress much to your disgust before standing, holding you with his hands beneath your ass and your legs around his waist.

 He moves quickly towards the bed and, though he's strong, you can see him focusing on not dropping you. You take the chance to join your lips to his neck, leaving your marks there. Although you know him to be faithful to you, you can’t stand the thought of any Blackwood whore making a pass at him and the hickeys serve to claim him as yours. Gods, you think, you must stop thinking in such ways, you’ll be a Blackwood yourself soon. The thought leaves you giddy and you grin at his neck. Benji drops you rather unceremoniously onto the bed before staring at you with a bemused look on his face.

“What you grinning about him?”

“Just the thought that I will soon be your wife.”

His grin widens at that and he leans down to capture your lips once again. 

“Yes, my wife and I'll be your husband.”

You kiss him again, biting his lip and tugging on it slightly.

“All mine.” your words pull a deep moan from him.

It isn’t long before both of you have stripped completely and you find yourself lying back on the sheets, Benji between your legs. He moves quickly above you, rubbing his cock against your folds, the head catching perfectly on your clit with every stroke. You moan wantonly, fingers reaching up to pull Benji towards your lips by the hair. Your firm grip causes him to groan deeply into your mouth and his movements increase in speed. It isn't long though before you pull away.

“Benji, darling, I need you inside of me please.”

You're expecting him to tease you, and make a joke about your begging and neediness but instead, he lets out a long breath, before reaching down and taking himself in hand. He runs the tip of his cock along your wetness once more before pressing inside of you. Your body accepts him eagerly and it isn't long before he fills you. How could you ever marry another when even your body is moulded perfectly to him? The sounds of your pleasure harmonise as Benji begins to move inside of you. His thrusts are fast and deep as always, his hips snapping against yours with every thrust. You feel your mind slipping as your sounds increase in volume. Your hands roam his whole body. Filthy words spill from your lips.

“Benji please my love- ah- I must have you. Please”

“You have me sweet one, you have me.”

You pull roughly on his hair at his words.

“No I must have all of you, please I need your seed. I want you to cum inside me.”

His hips stutter before his thrusts continue with increased fervour.

“Fill me please Benji, it will feel so good.”

Benji lays his head in the crook of your neck moaning without restraint. You feel yourself reaching your peak quickly and want him to cum with you. You lift your legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, moaning, turning to shrieks.

“I love you so much Benji,” you cry out, fingernails leaving scratches down his back. “I love you and I want your baby, please cum inside me.”

At your words, Benji lets out a choked sound, hips pressing firm against you, and feels the warmth of his release spill inside of you, pulling you to your peak alongside him. Your eyes squeeze shut, but if they hadn’t you would have seen the most delightful look on Benji’s face and he finished inside of you. It takes some time for his cock to stop twitching and even longer for the both of you to come back to the world of the living. Benji begins to lift himself off of you, but you tighten your legs.

“Stay.”

A simple command that he follows without question.

[antinousletmehit]

ight, here me out...

What if y/n gets hurt along with the other suitors since Antinous dies in the Ithaca Saga? I mean, she terrorized poor Telemachus so she slightly comes as an enemy.

I didn’t know whether you wanted me to write a fic for this or just yap but I’ll just yap and later post maybe a short Drabble on this.

Okay so Aphrodites gamble was written and completed WAY before the Ithaca saga came out so the end part isn’t gonna be like the Ithaca saga in the slightest, besides the challenge.

Okay so y/n was definitely in the room when hold them down happens in this scenario. She SAW her brother die but before she could grieve the suitors picked her ass back up and said “wtf do you think you’re doing, FIGHT WITH US??” And she basically gets forced to tag along with them while she’s still sobbing.

Yk when Telemachus kills that one suitor guy? After he tells them to throw down their weapons he spots her and is like, “wait is that my bae—I meant enemy??” So he sees her crying and feels. A little bad before getting jumped by the suitors.

Cue Odysseus killing them after trying to jump Telemachus, and as soon as he goes in for the kill for y/n, Telemachus stands in front of her and is like “wait dad this one’s okay, don’t kill her” his dad will be confused but he lets it slide as he kills the others.

Then Telemachus will be like “soo…” while y/n is trying to finish her breakdown about her brother dying, and now is somewhat scared of Telemachus.

————————

She was crouched in the corner, her back pressed tightly against the stone wall. Her knees were pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. Her hair was disheveled, her face streaked with dirt and tears. She was trembling like a frightened animal, her wide, glassy eyes darting around the room as though she expected another attack at any moment.

Telemachus blinked, his chest tightening at the sight. He hadn’t expected to see her again. He thought she’d run—escaped into the night as soon as his father had lowered his bow. But here she was, a shadow of the girl he remembered.

The girl who used to tease him mercilessly.

For a moment, he couldn’t reconcile the trembling, broken figure in front of him with the Y/N he’d known. The Y/N who had always been by Antinous’s side, quick witted and sharp tongued, throwing barbs at Telemachus with a smirk on her lips. She’d always been confident, playful in her cruelty, almost like a cat toying with a mouse. He could still hear her mocking laughter in his head, the way she’d roll her eyes when he tried to stand up to her brother.

But this wasn’t that girl. That Y/N had been untouchable, proud, unflinching. This Y/N… this Y/N looked as though the world had broken her.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence like a crack in fragile glass.

Her head snapped up, and for a moment, her gaze locked onto his. Her eyes were wide and wild, filled with fear. She flinched, pressing herself further into the corner, as if trying to disappear into the stone itself. Her hands gripped her knees tightly, her knuckles white.

“Stay away,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and trembling.

Telemachus took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said quickly, his tone gentle. “It’s over. The fighting is done.”

Her breathing was shallow and erratic, and her eyes darted to the sword in his hand. Realizing how threatening it must look, Telemachus immediately sheathed it, the motion slow and deliberate. “See? I’m unarmed now,” he said, his voice as calm as he could make it.

But Y/n didn’t relax. If anything, she seemed to shrink further into herself, her shoulders shaking. “I… I didn’t want this,” she stammered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want any of this. I just want my brother back, I don’t care for those idiots, I don’t care for the throne, I don’t care for the blood soaking the palace halls. I just want my brother”

Telemachus felt his heart clench. He had no idea what to say to her, no idea how to bridge the chasm between them. A part of him still burned with anger, this was the girl who had stood against him. But another part of him couldn’t ignore the way she looked now, so small and lost, like a bird with a broken wing. Telemachus felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Antinous, despite everything the older boy had done. He had been Y/n’s anchor, her protector. Without him, she was adrift.

——————

Idk then they kiss. But anyways, yea I think that would knock her off her pedestal for a while.

[halfmoonaria]

the only way out

pairing: vada cavell & female reader

summary: you wake up and find the purpose you thought you'd lost.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: heavily described mental health struggles, overdose, intense emotional themes

author’s note: this piece was originally written for suicide awareness month, but I never ended up posting it because it touches on extremely serious topics that may be triggering for those who are struggling.

please don’t hesitate to message me if you find this overwhelming or upsetting—it was never my intention to harm anyone, and i’ll take it down if needed.

The fan above you moved in lazy, uneven circles, its blades clicking faintly with every turn. The sound wasn't loud, but it filled the room in a way that made the silence even more suffocating.

You'd always hated that fan. Its hum was just a little too low, its clicks just a little too sharp. It had never been comforting, not even on sleepless nights when you'd stared at it for hours, willing it to lull you into unconsciousness.

The sheets beneath you clung to your legs, warm and slightly damp where they had twisted around you in the night.

They smelled faintly of laundry detergent, a clean scent that felt too normal, too at odds with the weight pressing down on your chest. Your pillow was heavy with last night's tears, the fabric stiff against your cheek.

Outside, the world continued as if nothing had happened. Birds chirped in short, rhythmic bursts, their songs sharp and insistent.

A car rumbled by in the distance, its engine fading into nothing before you could place where it had gone. Somewhere, someone's dog barked—a quick, restless sound that echoed faintly through the thin walls of the house.

Your eyes drifted to the sliver of sunlight sneaking through the curtains, the soft golden streaks crawling slowly across the floor.

They didn't light up the room so much as they highlighted its stillness, casting shadows on the cluttered desk in the corner and the pile of clothes you'd meant to put away but never had.

It all felt so ordinary. So painfully normal.

You shifted slightly, the movement sending a faint breeze from the fan across your skin. It made you shiver, but not enough to shake the heaviness that sat in your chest like a stone.

You couldn't bring yourself to care about the mess, the sunlight, the sounds outside. None of it mattered.

Your gaze wandered lazily, drifting across the room until it landed on the nightstand.

And then you froze.

The bottles were still there.

It wasn't immediate, the way the realization crept up on you. At first, you just stared at them, the small orange containers sitting perfectly upright, lids tightly screwed on. They looked almost... innocent, like they didn't belong in this room or this moment.

But the sight of them sent a chill through you, cold and sharp, as the memories of last night began to flood back.

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as if a hand had wrapped itself around your ribs and squeezed.

The bottles. The pills.

You'd been so sure. So certain. You'd counted them out one by one, your hands trembling but your resolve steady. You'd swallowed them all, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue even after you'd drained the glass of water you'd set beside your bed. And then... nothing.

Your stomach twisted violently, shame and panic bubbling up all at once. It hadn't worked.

You were still here.

Your hands gripped the sheets, the fabric bunched tightly in your fists as your mind raced. It didn't make sense. How were you still here? Why were you still here? The questions hit you like punches, each one more suffocating than the last.

Even this, you couldn't do right.

The thought slammed into you, heavy and unforgiving, and you couldn't stop it from spiraling. You'd failed.

The tears came now, hot and burning as they spilled over your cheeks, but they brought no relief. If anything, they made it worse, each drop a reminder of your humiliation, your weakness.

What if someone found out?

What if Vada found out?

The fear struck you like ice water, cold and paralyzing. What if she saw the bottles? What if she pieced together what you'd tried to do? Would she pity you? Would she call you selfish? Would she even care?

The room seemed to shrink around you, the walls closing in as your breaths came faster, shallower. You tried to focus on the fan, the birds, the sunlight—anything but the pills on the nightstand. But you couldn't look away.

They sat there, mocking you, a silent testament to everything you hated about yourself. The shame was unbearable, seeping into every inch of your body until it felt like you might explode from the weight of it.

You curled in on yourself, your knees pulling up to your chest as the sobs finally broke free.

They were ugly and raw, the kind that made your throat ache and your head pound. You pressed your face into the pillow, desperate to muffle the sound, as if the silence around you could somehow judge you for breaking it.

But the silence didn't care.

You couldn't stay here. Not in this room, not with those bottles sitting there like a neon sign screaming the truth you didn't want anyone to know.

You stumbled out of bed, your legs heavy as if they were weighed down by concrete. The air in the room felt suffocating now, each breath shallow and uneven as you made your way to the mirror above your dresser.

Your reflection stared back at you, raw and unfiltered. Your eyes were red and puffy, the skin around them swollen from the tears that had carved paths down your cheeks throughout the night. Your lips trembled slightly, the faint outline of tear tracks still visible on your pale skin. You looked like a ghost—fragile and hollow, a faint echo of the person Vada thought she knew.

Vada.

Her name alone made your chest tighten. She thought you were fine. She'd asked you earlier this week if you were okay. She said you looked tired. And you'd lied. You told her it was school, the endless exams and assignments wearing you down. She believed you, because why wouldn't she? She had no reason to think otherwise.

You reached for the concealer on your dresser, your hands trembling as you twisted the cap off. The familiar scent hit you as you dabbed it onto your skin, carefully blending it over the dark circles beneath your eyes and the splotchy redness of your cheeks. It didn't work. No amount of makeup could hide what had happened. No amount of foundation or powder could erase the evidence of the night before.

Still, you tried.

It was mechanical, the way you moved through the motions. Concealer. Powder. Mascara. Each step a small barrier between you and the truth, between you and the possibility that someone—anyone—might notice. But the mirror didn't lie. You still looked hollow, your eyes distant and glassy no matter how much makeup you applied.

You didn't bother with your hair. You didn't bother with nice clothes. What was the point? You weren't supposed to be here today. You weren't supposed to be anywhere.

You grabbed the first things you could find—a hoodie that hung loosely around your frame and a pair of faded jeans that were crumpled in a pile by your bed. They didn't match. You didn't care. You just needed to get out of the house, to get away from the suffocating quiet of your room and the heavy presence of those bottles on the nightstand.

As you pulled the hoodie over your head, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again. It was strange, how normal you looked in the clothes, how easy it might be for someone to glance at you and think everything was fine. Vada thought everything was fine.

But it wasn't.

Your backpack was still by the door where you'd left it yesterday, and you slung it over your shoulder with a heaviness that had nothing to do with its weight. You didn't double-check if you had everything. You didn't care if you forgot something.

You just needed to leave.

But when you walked out, the bus roared past you, its brakes squealing faintly as it disappeared down the street. You barely flinched. It wasn't the first time you'd missed it, and you doubted it would be the last.

The walk to school wasn't far, and the early morning air bit at your cheeks as you shoved your hands into your hoodie pockets. Each step felt heavier than the last, not because of distance, but because of the weight pressing down on your chest.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, squinting at the screen. Vada.

Her name lit up across the screen over and over, a chain of messages sent throughout the morning.

good moring

are u fine

why aren't u answering

Guilt curled in your stomach, but you typed out a quick response anyway.

sorry i slept in too late

Another lie. One of many. You hovered over the screen for a moment, then hit send.

The streets were quiet, the faint sound of cars in the distance blending with the rhythmic thud of your shoes against the pavement.

You passed the same houses you always did, their curtains drawn tight, some with faint outlines of people moving behind the windows. You passed the convenience store on the corner, the one with the flickering neon sign that always said "OPEN" no matter the time of day.

It was all so normal. So utterly mundane. These were sights you weren't supposed to see again. The thought hit you suddenly, and your steps faltered for just a moment before you kept walking.

A bird perched on a power line above you, its chirping sharp and insistent, and you wondered briefly if it was the same bird you'd seen last week in this exact spot.

You watched it for a second too long before looking away, your throat tightening at the thought. You weren't supposed to be here to notice that.

The school building came into view as you rounded the corner, its brick walls looming ahead, unchanged and indifferent.

As you walked through the gates and up the steps, you kept your head down, letting the hood of your sweatshirt shield you from any curious glances. Not that anyone was paying attention.

Nobody looked your way as you entered. Not one person.

It felt like a relief. For now. You knew it wouldn't last. The whispers would start eventually, and the glances would follow. Someone would find out. They always did. It was just a matter of time. But for now, in this moment, you were invisible.

You thought maybe you should've felt grateful for it, for the anonymity. But all you felt was the heavy ache that had settled deep inside your chest, the same one you'd woken up with, the same one that had refused to leave.

Vada wasn't in any of your classes today, and that felt like both a relief and a weight. A relief because she'd know. She'd see through the layers of concealer smeared over your face, the uneven coverage that couldn't quite hide the red, puffy skin underneath.

She'd notice the exhaustion in your eyes, too deep to pass off as just a bad night's sleep. She'd figure it out—how many hours you hadn't slept, how "sleeping in late" was just another excuse.

You didn't have the energy to face her today.

The hallway buzzed faintly with conversation as you walked to your locker. Your feet moved on autopilot, weaving through the small clusters of students without bothering to acknowledge any of them.

When you reached your locker, the cold metal felt grounding against your fingertips as you twisted the dial of the combination lock.

Everything about the moment felt routine, but you couldn't shake the heaviness pressing down on your chest.

You gathered your things—textbooks, a notebook, pens that rattled faintly in their pouch—and slammed the locker shut, the sound louder than you expected in the noise-filled hallway.

Your first class was in the far corner of the building, and by the time you reached it, most of the seats were already taken. You scanned the room quickly, your eyes locking onto the one in the back. It was perfect—out of the way, unnoticed.

You slipped into the seat without meeting anyone's gaze, tugging your hoodie tighter around you as if it could make you invisible.

Nobody paid much attention to you, and for that, you were grateful.

Nobody asked you for notes. Nobody asked you to repeat what the teacher had just said. Nobody asked you for an extra pen. You didn't even get the usual forced small talk about the weather or the weekend.

Some students glanced at you, their eyes lingering just a little too long. It wasn't concern. It was something sharper—curiosity, maybe even judgment.

You told yourself it was because of your outfit, the loose hoodie and jeans that didn't exactly scream "put together."

They weren't supposed to know the real reason.

Even the teacher didn't ask you a single question, which was a first. Normally, they loved calling on you, loved asking you questions you could barely answer on a good day.

But today, they barely glanced your way. You didn't know if it was luck or some twisted mercy, but you weren't going to question it.

You sank lower into your seat, your notebook open in front of you but untouched. The words on the board blurred together, and the voices around you faded into the background, just another layer of noise.

All you could focus on was the faint pulse of your own heartbeat in your ears, steady and unrelenting, a reminder of everything you couldn't escape.

The day dragged on slowly, the minutes stretching into hours in a way they always did when Vada wasn't around to fill the silence.

Usually, you didn't mind her endless chatter, even on the days you weren't in the mood to respond. It gave the day some rhythm, something to hold on to. Without her, everything felt sluggish, each second creeping by with unbearable stillness.

Nobody noticed you in your other classes either. You stayed in the back, kept your head down, and only looked up when absolutely necessary. Nobody asked for your help, and you didn't offer it.

Teachers barely acknowledged your presence, and classmates didn't even glance your way. You were just another body in the room, blending into the background.

By lunchtime, the emptiness in your stomach wasn't enough to convince you to eat. You knew Vada was probably out with Nick anyway, laughing about something trivial while you sat alone in the cafeteria or pretended to be interested in your phone.

The thought made your chest ache, so you didn't bother going at all. Instead, you slipped into the nearest bathroom and locked yourself in a stall, sinking down onto the closed lid of the toilet.

It was quiet there, apart from the occasional shuffle of feet and the murmur of voices that echoed faintly off the tiled walls. You stayed there until the warning bell rang, telling yourself you'd move when you had to.

By the time the last period rolled around, you decided to skip it altogether. It wasn't like anyone was going to miss you. You grabbed your bag and left through the side doors, the weight of the day pressing harder with each step.

The walk home felt longer than usual, even though your feet carried you along the same route they always did. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the pavement, and the air had turned cooler, biting against your skin. You didn't rush. There was no point.

When you finally reached the house, the familiar creak of the front door greeted you as you stepped inside. You dropped your bag onto the floor with a thud, the sound cutting through the quiet like a knife. But the moment your shoes hit the mat, you froze.

Your mother's voice drifted from upstairs.

From your bedroom.

Her voice wasn't sharp, but shaky and filled with desperation. Loud, panicked sobs cut through the stillness, her words fractured, broken.

It was the kind of sound that made your stomach twist in ways you couldn't explain, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise your ribs.

For a moment, you froze at the bottom of the stairs, your mind racing. She had to have found the bottles, you thought.

She must be crying to your father, frantic, trying to piece together a story where you were some addict. The shame burned through your chest at the thought, hot and unbearable.

Before you could think twice, your legs moved on their own, carrying you up the stairs two at a time. Every creak of the steps matched the pounding of your heart as her voice grew louder, more raw, more guttural.

Yet you still couldn't make out what she was saying. The words were a jumbled mess of sobs and gasps, broken by her breathing that was shallow and uneven.

You reached the top of the stairs, your breaths coming fast and ragged, your stomach churning with something you didn't dare name. And then you saw her.

You stopped cold in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as the world tipped on its axis.

There she was. Your mother.

Her entire body shook as she was clutching something, someone. Her hands trembled violently as she smoothed a strand of hair back, her voice raw and pleading, "Please... please don't leave."

And then your eyes focused.

It was you.

Your own body, limp and lifeless in her arms.

The air was ripped from your lungs in an instant, leaving behind an empty, crushing silence in your chest. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but watch as your mother cradled your motionless form, her tears falling onto your face—the same face you had seen in the mirror just hours ago.

Her phone was pressed against her ear, her knuckles white from how tightly she gripped it. Her other hand moved with heartbreaking tenderness, smoothing down your hair as if trying to soothe you awake. But her voice was anything but soothing.

It was frantic.

Desperate.

Begging.

"Please, just hold on," she sobbed, her words stumbling over each other. "Please, God, no."

The voice on the other end of the call was calm, distant, detached. It was a woman, instructing her to start CPR—how to position her hands, how to count the compressions, how to breathe for you.

But your mother wasn't hearing her. Or maybe she was, but she couldn't bring herself to let go of you long enough to follow the instructions. Her free hand shook uncontrollably as she tried to do everything at once—hold you, call for help, fight to keep you here.

The sound of her anguish filled the room, swallowing everything else. It was a sound you had never heard before, and one you knew you'd never forget. It was pure, raw, unfiltered grief, the kind that clawed its way out of her chest and spilled into the air, suffocating everything in its path.

And all you could do was stand there, frozen, as you watched her world crumble beneath her.

Time lost all meaning. It felt like hours passed in the span of a single breath, each moment slipping through your fingers like sand. You couldn't remember what happened during those hours. You didn't know where you were supposed to be, or if you were even still yourself.

Was that why nobody had noticed you at school? Had you even been there at all?

Your head spun, your thoughts tripping over one another as you stared at nothing. Everything felt detached, distant, like you were watching someone else's life unravel from behind a glass wall.

Your phone buzzed incessantly, the vibrations pulling you back into the moment. It was still clutched in your hand, though you didn't remember picking it up. The screen was lit with a cascade of notifications, the words blurring together until you forced yourself to focus,

One notification after another, the screen lighting up with endless messages from Vada. She was spamming you, practically hysterical.

y/n. oh my god.

whats happening?

why didn't you tell me?

why didn't you say anything?!

pls answer me. im losing my mind.

pick up the phone.

y/n please.

you can't be serious right now. u can't.

i don't believe this. i won't believe it.

tell me it's not true.

this doesn't make sense. it doesn't make sense.

you were fine. u told me you were fine.

i believed u. i shouldn't have believed you.

how could i not see this?

Nick's came following.

There is no way.

I just heard. What the hell is going on?

You didn't think about whether they cared. Why would you? It wasn't something you had allowed yourself to dwell on, not for a long time. You thought you knew they didn't care. It wasn't just a fleeting insecurity or a passing thought; it was a truth you had accepted. It was the narrative you had told yourself over and over again until it became fact.

Nobody cared. Nobody noticed. And nobody ever would.

But now, the cracks in that truth were splintering wide open, and it hurt more than you thought it would. Every frantic message, every unanswered call, every agonizingly real expression of fear—they were like tiny daggers, cutting away at the lie you'd built to protect yourself.

You were wrong. Completely, utterly, heartbreakingly wrong.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You weren't supposed to be here to see this. You weren't supposed to witness the aftermath. You weren't supposed to feel this unbearable mix of regret and confusion.

You didn't want to die. Not really.

And you weren't supposed to.

The realization hit like a tidal wave, the weight of it crashing down all at once. The noise of your thoughts drowned out everything else—the pounding of your heart, the quick, shallow breaths you didn't realize you were taking. It was all a mistake. A terrible, irreversible mistake.

Your surroundings blurred as you stumbled forward, your body moving on autopilot. Before you even realized what was happening, you found yourself in the living room, the soft flicker of the television pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts.

The room was dim, the glow from the TV stretching across the walls and furniture in uneven patterns. The hum of the screen was the only sound breaking the silence, and the air felt heavier here, like it was pressing down on you.

Your eyes moved to the screen, and you froze.

There it was.

Your school picture.

Your face, staring back at you, bright and sharp, unnervingly lifelike in contrast to the hollow ache growing in your chest. Seeing it felt like a punch to the gut, like someone had taken everything inside you and twisted it into something unrecognizable.

You barely registered the voice of the news anchor, speaking over the image in that detached, professional tone that made your stomach churn.

"High school student Y/N L/N was found—"

The words stopped suddenly as the screen went dark. The TV turned off, leaving the room shrouded in silence once again.

Someone had turned it off.

The darkness disappeared in a flash of blinding light as you jolted awake, your chest heaving with desperate, gasping breaths. It was as though the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving nothing but a suffocating weight pressing against your lungs. You couldn't breathe.

Your body felt damp, your skin clammy with cold sweat that clung to every inch of you like a second layer. The sheets beneath you were twisted and soaked, tangled around your legs as if they'd been fighting to hold you down. The heat of your panic mingled with the chill of the sweat, leaving you trembling uncontrollably.

Your heart pounded like it was trying to escape, every beat so loud and erratic it drowned out the faint hum of the ceiling fan above. It was everywhere—in your chest, in your throat, in your ears, threatening to burst out of you entirely.

Your hands clawed at the sheets, desperate to anchor yourself to something solid as your mind raced to catch up with the sudden shift from nightmare to reality. The dream—if you could even call it that—lingered like a shadow, so vivid it didn't feel like a memory at all but something that had truly happened.

Your throat burned, a dry, aching sensation that made swallowing feel impossible. You tried to suck in a breath, but it came out shallow and shaky, as if your body didn't trust the air around you.

Then, with a surge of instinct, you shot up.

The movement was so abrupt that the room spun around you, the blurred outlines of your furniture and the faint slivers of light from the window smearing together in dizzying streaks. Your stomach twisted violently, and for a moment, you thought you might throw up.

Your hands flew to your chest, clutching at the fabric of your damp shirt like it might somehow keep your heart from breaking free. Each breath was a battle, shallow and uneven, like you were still fighting to wake up fully.

The silence of the room was deafening now, a stark contrast to the chaos inside you. No news anchors, no voices, no TV glow—just the dull hum of the fan, creaking with its every turn. It felt wrong, too quiet, as though the room itself was holding its breath alongside you.

Your eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—that could ground you, but everything looked the same as it had before you closed your eyes. The same ceiling, the same walls, the same nightstand with its faintly glowing alarm clock. Yet, none of it felt right. None of it felt real.

The realization hit slowly, like a distant wave building strength as it rolled closer. You were awake.

It was just a dream.

A nightmare.

But your heart refused to believe it, pounding and twisting like it knew something you didn't.

Your breaths began to even out, though your chest still felt tight, like the remnants of the panic were gripping you by the ribs. You blinked, your surroundings slowly coming into focus. But something was off—this wasn't your room.

The posters on the walls weren't yours, the fairy lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling weren't yours, and the faint smell of lavender mixed with vanilla in the air was distinctly not yours. You scanned the room, confusion clouding your mind until it clicked.

Vada's room.

You remembered now—the sleepover. It was Saturday. The fog in your brain started to lift, and the pieces began to fit together. The dream wasn't real. None of it was.

At the foot of the bed, Vada sat cross-legged, her arms propped on her knees, her face lit up with the kind of mischievous smirk she always wore when she thought she was being particularly clever. She looked far too awake, like she'd been sitting there for hours, waiting for the exact moment your eyes would snap open.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening into a sly grin. "Wet dreams?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery as she leaned forward slightly, clearly relishing the opportunity to tease you.

You stared at her, still trying to pull yourself fully out of the haze of the nightmare and into reality. Her casual, almost playful tone felt like a slap in the face compared to the gut-wrenching intensity of what you'd just experienced.

"I—" Your voice came out raspy, cracking on the first word. You cleared your throat and glared at her, but the redness creeping up your neck betrayed you. "Shut up, Vada."

She let out a laugh, tilting her head back dramatically as though you'd just handed her the best material she'd heard all week. "Oh, c'mon! You can't just wake up looking like that and not expect me to ask questions."

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "I hate you." You muttered, feeling the last remnants of panic still clinging to you, but Vada's laughter quickly swallowed it up.

She burst into laughter, practically falling over herself with how much she was enjoying your discomfort. "Oh my God, you totally did have a dream like that, didn't you?"

Before you could respond, she launched herself at you, pinning you to the bed with the same unstoppable energy she always had. You could barely catch your breath as she started teasing you relentlessly.

"Was it about me? Was I in it? Tell meee," she demanded, her voice high-pitched with mischief as she started tickling you. Her fingers danced on your sides, making it impossible to stop the laughter that erupted from your chest.

You squirmed beneath her, gasping for air as you tried to push her off, but she was way too strong, and you were already out of breath from the sudden onslaught.

"Stop!" you pleaded, but it only made her laugh harder, her fingers finding every sensitive spot on your body.

"Tell me! I need to know!" Vada practically shouted, her grin wide as she dug her fingers into your ribs. You couldn't control your laughter, your body shaking as you tried to wriggle out of her grasp, but it was no use.

The weight of everything you'd just dreamt about—the nightmare that had felt so real—began to fade, dissipating into the background as Vada's chaotic energy filled your senses. The harsh memory of panic and fear started to blur, replaced by the sounds of her teasing, the warmth of her body pressing against yours, and the simplicity of just being here, in her room, laughing despite yourself.

It was like all the weight of everything you'd felt—the desperation, the hopelessness—had suddenly lost its grip. You found yourself smiling, genuinely smiling, for the first time in what felt like forever. The laughter that had started as a reaction to Vada's teasing transformed into something more.

You realized, in that moment, that life wasn't a burden. It was messy and complicated, full of pain and confusion, but there was something else, too. Something worth sticking around for. Maybe it was the way Vada laughed, or how her teasing, though relentless, felt like a reminder of the bonds you still had. The world, your world, wasn't done with you yet.

It's easy to forget, when you're lost in the darkness, that there's always a way out. That no matter how much the weight of everything pulls you down, there's always something, someone, ready to help you stand again.

People care. Even when it doesn't feel like it, there's always someone who would miss you if you were gone. Life isn't just about surviving—it's about being. And being means you have a chance to change, to grow, to find purpose, even in the smallest moments.

The things you felt in your darkest moments—the belief that no one cared, that you didn't matter—were lies, and you were starting to see that. There's always a purpose. There's always something to keep you going, even if you can't see it right now.

You might not know what your purpose is today, or tomorrow, or the next day, but it's out there. And you'll find it, slowly, piece by piece. You don't have to have it all figured out, but that's okay.

And even on the days when the darkness threatens to swallow you whole, remember this: your story isn't over. You are so much more than the darkest moments of your life. You are worthy of love.

You are worthy of peace. You are worthy of happiness, and you have every right to live, to find joy, and to keep fighting, even when it feels impossible.

You don't have to do it alone. You're never truly alone. There's always someone waiting to help you see the light again.

And no matter how many times you falter, it's never too late to rise again.

[huhmiya]

WISHING STAR | matt sturniolo

pairing: crush!matt x f!reader

summary: where you both go stargazing for a casual hangout, taking a break from everyone else but later matt spots a shooting star and makes a wish, which later comes true.

warnings: fluff, use of y/n, pet names (darling, love), swearing.

a/n: not my photos, on pinterest. sorry for not posting and this is short but I’m busy for a few months so I don’t have time..

WORDS: 1.1k

huhmiya on wattpad

you - pink | matt- blue

-

It was late at night, and both of you wanted to clear your minds. You both had planned to meet because you could talk about anything and feel better afterwards.

With your head resting on his chest, you both gazed at the stars while conversing, alternating between talking and comfortable silences. Right now, silence prevailed as you sought clarity in your thoughts.

Matt had recently been in a tense argument with his brothers, leaving him feeling overwhelmed. Meanwhile, you found yourself in yet another argument with your parents, the third in a row, over something seemingly trivial that escalated unnecessarily.

His arms enveloped you, pulling you closer to ward off the chill of the night. Despite knowing he shouldn't be so attached, he cherished your touch, even though he wants it more than a friend.

Unspoken feelings lingered between you both though while he thought you think of him as a friend.

"Are you cold?" he asked softly, as his warm hands met your skin, causing faint goosebumps. You nodded slowly in response.

He gazed at you briefly, taking in the details of your face before tapping you on the shoulder to indicate that you should move your head off his chest. You followed his instruction without hesitation.

With a gentle smile, he moved and handed you his hoodie once he took it off. “Are you sure?" you asked, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. He simply nodded and helped you put it on without you having to ask.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he pulled you into a hug once more, prompting you to snuggle against him with his jumper on as you both gazed up at the stars.

There was a peaceful silence between you, a sense of safety emanating from his presence. You knew that you could be honest with him without fear of judgment, as he seemed to understand and possibly agree with you.

"What would you do if you were a star?" you inquired after a moment of silence, causing him to furrow his brows in confusion, finding it hard to believe your question was serious.

"What?" he questioned, unsure if he had heard you correctly, though he knew deep down that he had. "How would I know y/n? That's such a random and bizarre question," he remarked with a small laugh then brushing your hair away from your face.

"It's actually a serious question," you corrected him as he just rolled his eyes and pulled you closer which was impossible since he had you so close to him.

"Well, I guess I'll just be the same as any other star love- y/n," he shrugged, pretending he didn’t say anything he wished he could say.

He looked at the stars once again, trying to picture any that he recognised but finding nothing yet.

You chuckled slightly, glancing at him and then back at the sky. There wasn't much to say, as you both always talked and knew the situations you both be in so well, and always gossiping about someone.

He bit his lip gently, focused on the sky, trying to spot shapes or words but finding nothing still.

His blue eyes scanned the sky until he spotted a shooting star, moving his hand to show you. "I spotted it first," he said quickly, indicating that he would make the wish.

You looked at the shooting star as it streaked across the sky, a smile playing on his lips as he likely made a wish. "You're such a kid," you teased him, but he playfully covered your mouth as he finished thinking of his wish.

He chuckled and gently rubbed your back once he released your mouth. "Shut it," he teased, looking into your eyes.

His wish was silly, as he knew it was unlikely to come true, but he was willing to try anything except asking you out, afraid of rejection, especially from a girl who is pretty.

You shifted to face him more comfortably, and he smiled back at your smile. "What did you wish for?"

He heard your question but hesitated, unsure whether to tell the truth. Eventually, he decided to fabricate a lie.

“I didn't wish for anything... I just ignored it," he said casually, though his voice betrayed a hint of uncertainty, causing you to laugh as he looked slightly perplexed. "Tell me your real wish," you insisted.

He glared at you before shaking his head no, prompting a soft groan from you as you gave him a pleading look, but he just huffed. “You can’t be serious,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh as he kept his glare on you, quickly stifling your laughter upon noticing an emotion on his face that you couldn’t quite discern.

“Wanna know what I wished for? Actually, forget it. I already know the answer,” he said once he stay silent for a few seconds, sounding like he regretted his words already but still continued speaking.

Confused, you sat up, though he still had his arm around you. “I hate that I have to keep this hidden, but I love you so much. I always have and always will. It’s just so difficult because I know you only see me as a friend. So what I wished was for you to be my girlfriend,” he blurted out.

You stared at him in disbelief, about to speak, but he silenced you with a kiss. You froze momentarily, but then kissed him back. “I mean it... I love you, darling.” he whispered against your lips.

You couldn't help but pull away, albeit not abruptly. He glanced at you, a hint of guilt in his eyes before shifting his gaze to the stars above.

You shook your head, let out a soft chuckle, then gently took his chin in your hand, guiding his eyes to meet yours. At first, his blue orbs wandered everywhere but to you, until finally locking onto your eyes, his heart pounding.

"I love you too... and if you want, I'll be your girlfriend," you whispered, causing him to stare at you in disbelief, his eyes brimming with love and passion. "Are you serious?"

You shook your head in affirmation, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

He was at a loss for words, finally overcoming years of hesitation, feeling somewhat foolish for waiting months for you to reciprocate his feelings.

"Okay, well then, will you be my girlfriend, y/n?" he asked with a hopeful smile, anticipating your response..

masterlist! guidelines & information! wattpad! socials!

[kckt88]

Jilted.

Summary:

After Y.N is jilted at the alter she recieves comfort from an unlikely source.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Mention of Infidelity, Smut, Kissing, Fingering, Oral Sex (F Recieving), P in V.

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 8278

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

Y.N sat on the soft grass, her knees pulled up to her chest as she stared out at the river flowing in front of her, the bottle of champagne gripped tightly in one hand.

It had been meant for a toast on what should have been the happiest day of her life—her wedding day—but now it served a different purpose entirely.

Her mascara ran in dark streaks down her cheeks, mixing with the tears that continued to fall as she wiped them away with an angry swipe.

She raised the bottle to her lips and took a deep swig, the bubbles burning her throat.

She wasn’t sure if the burning was from the alcohol or from the bitterness that welled up inside her. Jacaerys, she thought, her lips curling into a frown as his name echoed through her mind. Her fiancé—no, her ex-fiancé—had come to her before the ceremony and confessed to being in love with another woman.

He had left her here, heartbroken and humiliated, without so much as a second thought.

"Fucking coward," she muttered bitterly under her breath, taking another swig. He hadn’t even had the decency to tell the guests himself that the wedding was off.

No, he’d left that task to her, left her to stand in front of their family and friends and break the news.

The memory of their shocked faces, the murmurs of confusion and pity, was still fresh in her mind. She had never felt more embarrassed.

From the distance, she could hear the faint sounds of music drifting from the estate.

She had insisted everyone still attend, considering everything had already been paid for.

At least someone’s having a good time, she thought bitterly.

The life she had imagined with Jace, the children they had talked about, the future they had planned—it was all shattered now.

She let out a huff of frustration, bringing the bottle back to her lips for another long drink.

“How could he do this to me?” she whispered, her voice trembling. She thought they had been happy.

What had gone wrong?

As she wiped her face with the back of her hand, she heard footsteps approaching from behind. Her shoulders tensed, and she let out an annoyed sigh.

"I thought I said I wanted to be alone," she called out, her voice rough from the crying.

She turned her head, to see Aemond Targaryen, her ex fiancé’s uncle.

He stood there, his long silver hair shimmering in the moonlight as he casually leaned against a tree, lighting a cigarette.

He took a slow drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the evening air before meeting her gaze with his cool, ever-watchful eye.

He was dressed impeccably as always, but there was an unreadable expression on his face as he watched her.

“Well,” Y.N said, wiping away another tear and taking another sip from the champagne bottle. “Come to gloat?”

Aemond raised a brow, but said nothing for a moment, simply taking another drag before responding. “Hardly.” His voice was low, calm, as though nothing in the world could ever rattle him. He let the silence stretch out before he added, “Just thought you could use some company.”

Y.N snorted at that, shaking her head. “I’m not exactly great company right now.”

"Neither am I," Aemond replied dryly, his lips curling into the slightest hint of a smirk.

He moved to sit down beside her, still keeping a comfortable distance, the smoke from his cigarette curling up into the air.

She glanced at him, unsure whether to be annoyed by his presence or grateful for the distraction. “You don’t strike me as the comforting type.”

Aemond chuckled softly, the sound almost surprising in its warmth. "I’m not. But for you I shall make an exception” he said, glancing out at the river.

Y.N stared at the cigarette Aemond held loosely between his fingers, the smoke swirling into the air in lazy patterns.

Without a word, she reached over and plucked it from his hand, bringing it to her lips for a long, deliberate drag.

The familiar burn of nicotine filled her lungs, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, savouring the feeling she hadn’t allowed herself in years.

Aemond arched a brow, clearly surprised. "I didn’t know you smoked."

Y.N exhaled the smoke with a scoff, her lips curling bitterly. "I used to. But I gave it up because Jace didn’t like it." She took another drag, the resentment heavy in her voice. "But he’s not here, is he? So, fuck it."

Aemond huffed a low laugh at that, when Y.N offered him the cigarette back he shook his head, before pulling another from his pack and lighting it effortlessly. "Fair enough."

Y.N watched the flame briefly before taking another long drag from her cigarette, letting the smoke slip from her lips in a quiet sigh.

The music from the distant reception still played faintly in the background, a cruel reminder of the day that should have been hers.

“Has Jace’s mother and stepfather left yet?” she asked, the bitterness creeping back into her voice.

Aemond took a drag before answering, his tone as nonchalant as ever. “Yes. They couldn’t get out of there quick enough.”

Y.N scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “No doubt Rhaenyra’s gone to coddle her darling boy. It’ll all be my fault, of course. I drove him into another woman’s arms, or whatever bullshit excuse she decides to come up with.” Her voice was sharp with resentment. “Seems to be a talent of hers—blaming others for her sons’ actions.”

Aemond’s lips curled slightly as he glanced at her. “I’ve experienced that myself.”

Y.N knew exactly what he was referring to. Her gaze lingered on the scar that marred the left side of his face, the reminder of the day Jace’s younger brother, Lucerys, had slashed out Aemond’s eye when they were children.

Aemond had never received an apology. Lucerys had never been punished. Another one of Rhaenyra’s sons shielded from the consequences of his actions.

She took another drag, feeling the cigarette burn down to its end before stubbing it out in the grass. Her thoughts swirled darkly, anger and confusion twisting together.

She unscrewed the champagne bottle again and took a swig, then wordlessly offered it to Aemond. He accepted without hesitation, taking a drink before handing it back.

“There’s one thing I can’t understand,” Y.N muttered, staring at the bubbles rising inside the bottle.

Aemond flicked ash from his cigarette, giving her a sidelong glance. “What’s that?”

Y.N shook her head, her brow furrowing. “If Jace is in love with someone else, it’s obviously been going on for a while-why not just end things with me? Why ask me to marry him? Why go through all the planning, the ceremony, spending all this money—for it to end up like this?”

Aemond took a slow drag, his expression contemplative. When he spoke, his voice was cold and matter-of-fact. “Because he’s a fucking spineless coward.”

Y.N huffed in agreement, her lips tightening in frustration. "You got that right." In a sudden, angry gesture, she reached up and ripped the veil from her head, throwing it to the ground beside her.

The delicate fabric fluttered briefly before settling in the grass, forgotten.

Aemond stifled his cigarette in the dirt, watching her with a quiet intensity. Then he noticed the way her shoulders had started to shake ever so slightly, her body trembling from the cool breeze now settling in for the evening.

Without a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Y.N blinked in surprise, turning her head slightly to look at him. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice softening.

Aemond nodded, his sharp gaze lingering on her face. He noticed the fresh tears that were sliding down her cheeks, the pain evident despite her attempts to mask it with bitterness and anger.

For a brief moment, he hesitated, unsure if she would accept comfort from him.

He shifted slightly, reaching out but pausing just before his arm could settle around her shoulders. “Is it okay?” he asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

Y.N gave a small nod, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

With that, Aemond wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into a warm, firm embrace. Y.N didn’t resist.

She leaned into him, burying her face into his shoulder as the tears came faster now, her body shaking with quiet sobs.

He held her tightly, letting her cry without saying a word, offering her the kind of quiet strength she hadn’t known she needed.

After a few minutes of quiet sobbing in Aemond's embrace, Y.N suddenly pulled away, furiously swiping the tears from her cheeks.

Her jaw tightened as she shook her head, her voice firm with newfound resolve. "I’ve shed too many tears over that man today, and I refuse to cry anymore."

Aemond, watching her closely, reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief. "May I?" he asked, his voice as gentle as it had been all evening.

Y.N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.”

Aemond shifted closer, lifting his hand and gently placing it under her chin, tilting her face up toward him.

His touch was unexpectedly soft as he wiped away the stray tears that still clung to her cheeks, dabbing at the streaks of mascara with deliberate care.

His fingers brushed against her skin, and for a moment, their eyes locked, the spark of something unspoken passing between them.

Neither of them moved for a moment, but then their faces inched closer, the tension in the air palpable.

Y.N’s breath caught in her throat, and Aemond’s hand paused under her chin, his gaze flicking briefly to her lips—

Then his phone buzzed, shattering the moment.

Aemond blinked, his expression shifting as he reluctantly pulled his phone from his pocket.

He glanced at the screen, his thumb brushing across it to check the message.

It was a text from Helaena: Heading home with Aegon. You coming?

Aemond’s lips thinned for a moment before he typed back a quick response: No. I’m staying with Y.N.

He waited a moment, then Helaena’s reply came through: Take care of her.

Aemond slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back to Y.N, whose eyes were still clouded with the remnants of her earlier emotions.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

"It was just Helaena," Aemond said with a small shrug. "She’s heading home with Aegon and asked if I was coming."

Y.N gave a half-hearted smile, her tone self-conscious. “You can leave if you want to. You don’t have to stay with me.”

Aemond looked at her, his gaze unwavering. "I’ll stay if you want me to."

Y.N’s eyes softened at his words. “I’d like that”.

Aemond glanced down at the empty champagne bottle between them, an amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "We might need more to drink, though," he pointed out, his tone light as he lifted the bottle, giving it a little shake.

Y.N huffed a quiet laugh, the tension in her chest easing ever so slightly. "I’ve got a mini bar in my room," she said, standing up slowly.

She clutched his suit jacket tighter around her shoulders, the warmth of the fabric still clinging to her.

Aemond stood up as well, slipping his hands into his pockets as he gave her a small, knowing smile. "Lead the way."

Y.N met his gaze for a moment before turning toward the estate, her steps steady, the weight of the evening still heavy on her—but somehow, with Aemond beside her, it didn’t feel quite so unbearable.

As Y.N unlocked the door to her room, Aemond’s sharp eye immediately took in the sight before him.

The rose petals on the bed, arranged meticulously in the shape of a heart, a cruel reminder of what this room had been meant for.

The honeymoon suite. He glanced over at Y.N as she kicked off her heels without a second thought, crossing the room and draping his jacket over the back of a chair before heading straight for the mini bar.

"Don’t you have to pay for that?" Aemond asked, raising an amused eyebrow as he watched her pull out a handful of miniature bottles.

Y.N flashed him a mischievous smile. “Yes, but it’s not me paying. It’s Jace-he used his credit card to pay for the room-”

Aemond let out a genuine laugh, the sound rich and deep as he crossed the room. “Well, in that case-” He grabbed a handful of the tiny bottles, particularly all the whiskeys.

He poured them each a drink, watching as Y.N downed the amber liquid in one go, grimacing at the harsh burn it left behind.

Y.N sat down on the bed with a soft thud, laughing as Aemond handed her another drink. He tilted his head, curious. “What’s so funny?”

She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “When I woke up this morning, I never imagined I’d end up in the honeymoon suite-with Jace’s uncle.”

Aemond smirked as he leaned against the bedpost, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Could be worse. You could be with Jace.”

Y.N burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Yeah, and none the wiser to his cheating.”

Aemond’s expression darkened for a moment before he gave a slow nod. “Blessing in disguise, then.”

Y.N raised her glass, her eyes locking with his. “Here’s to spending the night in far better company.”

Aemond’s smirk widened. “Here, here.” They both downed their drinks in unison, the liquid burning all the way down, and Aemond poured them each another.

As the silence settled between them, Y.N leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting over him with a curious intensity. “You know,” she said slowly, “I always thought you didn’t like me.”

Aemond looked at her, caught off guard. “No-why would you think that?”

She shrugged, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. “You never looked at me when I was around. Never spoke to me unless you had to.”

Aemond sighed softly, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s not that I disliked you,” he said quietly. “I just-find it easier to push people away.”

Y.N tilted her head, her expression softening. “That’s not a healthy way to live.”

Aemond gave her a wry smile, his gaze flickering with something like understanding. “Neither is changing who you are to suit someone else’s idea of you.”

Y.N blinked at that, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Aemond took another sip of his drink before speaking. “I mean how you changed when you started up with Jace. You stopped being-you.”

Y.N scoffed softly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What would you know about that?”

Aemond’s voice was steady, unflinching. “Oh, I know plenty. Like how you gave up smoking because he didn’t like it. How you turned down that dream job offer because Jace threw a tantrum about you being away too often. And how you stopped dyeing your hair because he didn’t like the colour.”

Y.N opened her mouth to argue but quickly closed it, swallowing hard as she looked away. “That’s not—”

Aemond cut her off, his voice firm. “What happened? Of course it is. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. Any man who treats a woman like that is no man at all.”

Y.N looked down at her glass, biting her lip. “Maybe…”

Aemond scoffed, sitting down on the bed beside her. “There’s no ‘maybe’ about it,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “You don’t need to change yourself for anyone. You are perfect just the way you are.”

Y.N turned to face him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You think I’m perfect?”

Aemond downed the last of his whiskey, his gaze intense as it locked onto hers. “Yes,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I always thought so.”

Y.N’s heart skipped a beat at his words, her pulse quickening as she leaned forward just slightly, her voice barely audible. “So, you wouldn’t change me?”

Aemond shook his head, his expression sincere. “No. I like you just the way you are.”

The air between them shifted, thick with tension as Y.N slowly leaned in closer, her gaze drifting to his lips.

Without thinking, she pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Aemond froze for a moment, caught off guard, but then responded, the kiss deepening as something ignited between them.

After a breathless second, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against hers. “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with restraint.

Y.N shook her head, her hand cupping his cheek as she looked into his eyes. “You’re not. I want this. I want you.”

Aemond’s resolve crumbled at her words. He leaned in again, and this time, the kiss was urgent, filled with all the emotions neither of them had spoken aloud.

Aemond’s hands began to roam over Y.N’s body, his fingers gripping the fabric of her wedding dress.

In his desperation, he tugged too hard, the sound of ripping fabric breaking the silence. He froze for a moment, pulling back, eyes wide with regret as he muttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

But Y.N shook her head, a wicked smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “Rip it some more.”

Aemond’s breath caught, a soft laugh escaping him as he eagerly obeyed. His hands found the delicate silken fabric again, tearing at it with abandon.

The sound of buttons popping off echoed in the room, the gown splitting further under his grasp, until the once-pristine dress hung in tatters from her body.

His eye darkened with lust as he took in the sight of her, and before she could say another word, his mouth was on hers again, kissing her with a fervour that sent heat coursing through her veins.

Y.N moaned against his lips, her arms winding around his neck to pull him closer, pressing his lean body against hers.

As their kiss deepened, her fingers tangled in his long, silvery hair, tugging gently, and Aemond groaned into her mouth, his hips shifting toward her at the sensation.

Her hand trailed up to the leather strap of his eyepatch, her fingers brushing it tentatively. She broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “Can I take this off?”

Aemond stiffened for a moment, hesitation flashing in his eye. "It’s-unsightly," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to scare you."

Y.N shook her head softly, her thumb brushing over the strap reassuringly. “It’s okay-you could never scare me”

He closed his eye, giving a small nod of consent, and Y.N carefully removed the patch, letting the worn leather slip from his face.

She gazed upon him, her breath catching as she took in the sight of the jagged scar that bisected his face, the brilliant sapphire gleaming where his left eye once was.

Y.N didn’t flinch or recoil. Instead, she reached up, cupping his face gently in her hands.

She pressed a soft kiss to the scar, her lips brushing over it with reverence, and whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

A single tear slid down Aemond’s cheek, and he pulled her into another kiss, this one tender and full of unspoken emotion.

Y.N responded with equal fervour, her hands running down his chest, fingers slipping beneath his shirt, feeling the hard muscle underneath.

As their bodies pressed even closer together, her hand drifted lower, fingers brushing over the bulge straining against his trousers.

Aemond’s breath hitched, a low groan vibrating in his throat as she cupped him, the pressure sending a rush of heat through him.

“I need you” exclaimed Aemond quietly as he pulled Y.N into his arms and ran his nose up and down her cheek, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“Then take me” whispered Y.N as the rest of her ruined dressed slipped from her body.

“Not wearing a bra, you naughty girl” muttered Aemond as he pressed a firm kiss to Y.N’s shoulder and directed her to sit on the bed.

Aemond’s singular blue eye roved over Y.N’s body, thinking how beautiful she was.

“Open”

Aemond smirked as Y.N obediently opened her mouth; he ran his thumb slowly over her plump lower lip before slipping it inside her mouth.

Without further prompting Y.N closed her mouth and began to suck, her tongue sliding along his thumb, Aemond watched as a small trickle of drool made its way down her chin.

He leaned forward and ran his tongue over her chin as Y.N continued to suck the thumb he had in her mouth.

“Such a good girl”

He removed his thumb and grasped Y.Ns chin, holding her mouth open as he leaned forward and spat in her open mouth.

“Swallow”

Aemond growled as he watched Y.N obey and swallow, her eyes never leaving his.

“Give me your hands” ordered Aemond as he slowly slipped off his tie and his shirt.

Y.N placed her wrists together and held them towards Aemond.

Aemond pressed Y.N backwards, so she was laying on the bed, he loomed over her as he hooked his long fingers on the tie and moved her arms above her head.

“Aemond” gasped Y.N.

“Don’t move your hands” said Aemond sternly.

Aemond pressed a series of delicate kisses to Y.N’s neck before he nipped at her ear lobe.

“Be a good girl for daddy” whispered Aemond as he moved his lips to hers.

Y.N whimpered as Aemond pulled away and began moving down, pressing kisses and running his tongue over her body as he went.

Aemond could still smell vanilla infused lotion that she had no doubt massaged into her skin earlier in the day.

When Y.N began squirming, Aemond knelt down beside the bed, reaching to remove her knickers, he bunched them up his hand before he pressed the white lacy material to his face, inhaling the scent of Y.N’s arousal, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

After stuffing the underwear into his pocket, Aemond slid his hands up Y.N’s smooth legs and held open her thighs as he moved forward and teasingly pressed his nose against her slick folds.

“A-Aemond”

“Hm, so wet for me baby” rasped Aemond.

“P-Please”

“Please-what?” asked Aemond.

“Please daddy. I’ve been so good” moaned Y.N as Aemond’s mouth descending on her cunny.

Ravenously, he pressed into Y.N’s core with his tongue, in and out.

Remembering that Aemond had ordered her not to move, Y.N clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers digging into the fabric.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core and lashed hard at her clitoris with his tongue, pulling on it with his lips.

He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Y.N ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

“That’s it come for me baby” urged Aemond, his fingers reaching forward to caress her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N arching off the bed as she peaked.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to Y.N’s inner thighs.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Y.N.

Aemond rose from the floor, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped the back of his hand over chin and then ran his tongue over his hand, savouring the delicious taste of Y.N.

Aemond reached forward and manoeuvred Y.N onto all fours, pressing her face into the mattress,  as she braced her weight on her arms.

Y.N was a delectable sight indeed, her arse in the air, her wet cunt on display, gods he needed to be inside her, but first he reached over her body and quickly untied her hands.

Throwing his tie over his shoulder, Aemond squeezed the meat of her arse before he slapped her, delighting in Y.N’s squeal of surprise.

He then bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his large hands kneading the soft pale flesh, before he sunk his teeth into her.

“AEMOND” squealed Y.N.

“Hmmm”

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Y.N, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond stuck his finger in his mouth before he ran it over her puckered hole.

“Is this alight?” breathed Aemond.

“Y-Yes. Put it inside me. I can take it” whimpered Y.N.

“Tell me-Tell me if it’s too much” replied Aemond as he slowly pressed his finger inside her.

“Ooh Aemond, yes. Please. More” babbled Y.N as he moved his finger in and out before adding a second.

“Your doing so well-my darling” moaned Aemond as he moved his fingers inside Y.N.

“I want you-please Aemond”

“Now baby, I’m going to fuck you until you scream” said Aemond, delighting in the way Y.N began nodding and whimpering.

“Y-Yes” whimpered Y.N

“FUCK” groaned Aemond as he removed his trousers and took his cock in hand and began rubbing it along Y.N’s wet folds.

“Please, daddy. I want it-I want you, please don’t make me wait anymore” begged Y.N.

“Fuck, that’s it” moaned Aemond his hard length filling her cunny in one smooth stroke.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Y.N, his fingers in her arse and his cock deep in her cunt was so good.

Aemond began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts, his fingers moving in rhythm with his cock.

“Harder-more-please” wailed Y.N

“My dirty girl” growled Aemond, his fingers moving faster.

“Aemond-” whimpered Vaelynn.

“That’s it-take it-take all of me” muttered Aemond as he removed his fingers, and grabbed hold of Y.N’s hips and increased the pace of his thrusts.

Y.N took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it to the back of her head.

Knowing what Y.N wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching.

His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Y.N’s arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Y.N’s cries of pleasure were muffled by the mattress, her face buried in the soft fabric.

Her body arched in response to Aemond’s relentless rhythm, each cry escaping her lips in a series of desperate moans that reverberated through the room.

Aemond’s grip on Y.N was fierce, his movements relentless. He drove into her with a force that seemed almost brutal, but Y.N took every thrust with an almost frantic eagerness.

Her body trembled under him, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrendered completely to the intensity of their coupling.

“Fuck-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He released Y.N’s arms and then took hold of her hair, twisting his fingers into her messy tresses before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Y.N tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Y.N her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder, her arm reaching behind her to tangle in his hair as their lips connected in a messy, passionate kiss.

Aemond felt his balls draw in; his peak was approaching.

But he didn’t want to finish like this, he wanted to see her face as she came around his cock.

Aemond withdrew, ignoring Y.N whimper of protest as he rolled her onto her back and slipped inside her again.

Y.N wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, drawing him closer as he began to thrust inside her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“A-Aemond, I’m close-please” begged Y.N.

He snaked a hand down Y.N’s body and played with her clitoris, teasing it with his fingers.

“Oh gods” moaned Y.N as her whole-body began to shake.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond, his thrusts starting to jerk.

He was close. So close. Just a little more-

Y.N screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Aemond’s own peak nearly took him off his feet. The sensation took over his body as he spilled rope after rope of his seed, he had no recollection of what he did or said for the good minute it took for his peak to crest, then subside.

He had never come so hard in his life.

For a moment he held himself over Y.N’s body, as his cock softened inside her.

After a few minutes Aemond gently pulled out and rolled onto the mattress beside Y.N, he reached forward and enveloped her into a tight hug.

“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Not at all” replied Y.N smiling.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as Y.N slowly stirred awake.

She felt the warmth of Aemond's body pressed against hers, his arms wrapped securely around her, holding her close. For a moment, she just lay there, taking in the strange turn her life had taken.

Yesterday, she had woken up believing she was about to marry the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with. But instead of the dream wedding she had envisioned, Jacaerys had cruelly abandoned her, leaving her humiliated and heartbroken.

And now, here she was, wrapped in the embrace of his uncle, having spent what should have been her wedding night in a completely unexpected way.

Y.N bit her lip as she thought back to the events of the night before. She could still feel the ache of Jace’s betrayal, but perhaps Aemond had been right—it was a blessing in disguise.

Better to have been spared more pain in the long run. As hurtful as Jace’s actions had been, Y.N knew deep down that the relationship had been built on shaky ground.

She had been bending herself to fit into his world, while he had been unfaithful and deceitful.

Her mind drifted to the night she’d spent with Aemond. A smile tugged at her lips as she remembered how incredible it had been.

It had been a long time since she had felt so wanted, so fully satisfied. Shamelessly, she couldn’t help but think that Aemond’s prowess in bed far surpassed Jace’s by miles.

The thought made her giggle softly to herself.

Aemond stirred beside her, pressing a lazy kiss to her shoulder. His voice was still heavy with sleep as he asked, “What’s so funny?”

Y.N turned slightly in his arms, her smile widening as she looked at him. “Just a thought I had.”

Aemond hummed, his interest piqued. “And what would that be?”

Y.N smirked, biting her lip playfully. “How skilled you are in bed,” she teased, watching as a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though his cheeks flushed a faint pink.

He chuckled, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with amusement. “Not too bad yourself,” he added, his tone teasing as he pressed another kiss to her shoulder.

Y.N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of satisfaction at the compliment.

She shifted in his arms, feeling his warmth against her skin. “Do you fancy some breakfast?” she asked, her voice light. “I can order room service.���

Aemond’s lips grazed her shoulder again, and he hummed in consideration. “Sure,” he said, but then he shifted, his hard cock pressing against her body. “But in a little while-there’s something else I’d rather have first.”

Y.N giggled as she felt his hard cock pressed against her, his desire unmistakable. She turned her head to meet his gaze, eyes bright with amusement and anticipation. “Oh?” she teased, her voice playful.

Aemond leaned in, his lips brushing against hers, the heat between them quickly rekindling as his hand slid down her side, pulling her closer.

“Mmm,” he murmured against her lips, “definitely.”

Y.N giggled again, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him deeply, already feeling the sparks of another passionate encounter beginning to ignite.

Perhaps this wasn't the wedding night she had imagined, but in Aemond’s arms, she felt a sense of comfort and desire she hadn’t known she was missing.

And as they lost themselves in each other once more, Y.N realized that maybe, just maybe, the unexpected turns in life could lead to something far better than what she had planned.

Y.N sat across from Aemond at the small table, the remnants of their breakfast spread between them.

The atmosphere was quiet, but not uncomfortable, until her phone buzzed, vibrating against the table. She glanced down, her face stiffening slightly as she saw Jace’s name flashing on the screen.

Without a second thought, she rejected the call and set the phone back down, picking up her fork as if nothing had happened.

Aemond raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you answer?”

Y.N shrugged, keeping her gaze on her plate. “I have nothing to say to him. If he’s calling to apologize, he can stick it up his arse.”

Aemond huffed a laugh, his lips twitching in amusement. “Fair enough. But you’ll have to talk to him at some point, won’t you?”

Y.N shook her head, her expression firm. “Not really.”

Aemond frowned slightly, curiosity evident in his face. “Don’t you live together?”

“No,” Y.N said, taking another bite of her food. “We still have our separate apartments. We planned to move in together after we got married.”

Aemond cocked his head to the side, a hint of confusion on his face. “That’s a little odd, isn’t it?”

Y.N let out a small sigh, her fork stilling on her plate. “At the time, I didn’t think it mattered. But looking back-I guess it was just Jace’s way of keeping his affair hidden. Separate lives, separate apartments. Made it easier for him to lie.”

Aemond noticed the sadness in her eyes, the way her posture slumped ever so slightly as she spoke.

Reaching across the table, he gently took her hand in his. His thumb grazed over her knuckles, and his voice softened. “If you wish to forget what happened between us last night and this morning, I’ll understand.”

Y.N looked up at him, shaking her head immediately. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t want to forget. I just-I’ve realized I’ve been living a lie for so long and I’ve spent years with the wrong man.”

Aemond smiled softly, his grip loosening as he let go of her hand. “The right man is out there somewhere,” he said, his voice low and sure.

She smiled at his words, though there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. Checking the time on her phone, Y.N bit her lip in thought.

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, sensing her change in mood.

Y.N hesitated for a moment before answering, “I, uh-was the one who paid for the two-week honeymoon in Italy. It was supposed to be a surprise for Jace, but obviously, he’s not going anymore.” She gave a soft, bitter laugh. “But I’m not about to waste all that money. I still plan to go. The flight leaves later tonight, so I’ve got time to go home, grab my suitcase, and head to the airport.”

Aemond nodded. “That sounds nice.”

She was quiet for a moment, her mind clearly racing, before she suddenly blurted, “Would you like to come with me?”

Aemond blinked, surprised by her offer. “Me?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice growing quieter. “I have an extra ticket, after all-”

Aemond hesitated, an apologetic expression crossing his face. “I’m grateful for the invite, truly, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The embarrassment was immediate, and Y.N could feel her cheeks burning. “-Oh, it’s okay,” she said quickly, forcing a smile as she pushed her plate away. “I-I shouldn’t have asked.”

She began fiddling with her fingers, her appetite suddenly gone. Aemond watched her closely, noticing the way her mood shifted, her body tensing with the sting of rejection.

His gaze followed as her hands moved to her engagement ring. Without a word, Y.N slipped it off her finger and placed it gently on the table, the small band glinting in the morning light.

“Have I upset you?” Aemond asked softly.

Y.N shook her head, though her eyes remained downcast. “No,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “It was my mistake. Last night was obviously just a one-time thing, and I let my imagination get the better of me.”

Aemond’s heart sank, guilt gnawing at him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, though he knew his apology would do little to ease her pain.

“There’s no need to say sorry,” Y.N replied, wiping at her eyes discreetly as she gathered her things. “It’s my fault.”

Aemond’s chest tightened as he watched her silently cry, her movements hurried and full of hurt. She stood up and walked over to the corner of the room, grabbing her ruined wedding dress, now nothing more than shredded fabric, and threw it into the bin without hesitation.

Once all her things were packed, she picked up the spare plane ticket—the one meant for Jace—and crumpled it in her hand before tossing it in the bin as well.

The tears were falling freely now, though she tried her best to keep her composure.

Y.N turned to Aemond, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Thank you-for everything,” before quickly leaving the room, the door closing softly behind her.

Aemond sat at the table, his fingers toying absentmindedly with the engagement ring Y.N had left behind.

The silence of the room felt suffocating, and the more he thought about what had just happened, the deeper the pit in his stomach grew.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

His mind drifted back to the first time Jace had introduced him to Y.N. He remembered the surge of jealousy that had ripped through him, a sensation so raw and unexpected.

Jace had Y.N—and he didn’t. She had been more than just beautiful, though her beauty had certainly caught his eye.

It was her intelligence, her wit, and her infectious laugh that had captivated him. He could still hear it in his mind, the way her laughter lit up a room and made anyone within earshot want to join in.

Aemond had tried to bury those feelings. He had told himself over and over that if Y.N was happy with Jace, then so be it. He cared about her enough to wish her well, even if it meant stepping aside.

But the more he tried to forget her, the harder it became. His feelings for her had been relentless, unyielding, and he hated how they refused to fade no matter how many other women he took to bed.

None of them had been her. None of them even came close.

When Jace and Y.N’s wedding had been announced, Aemond had dreaded the thought of attending. The idea of watching her marry his nephew, of seeing her in a dress meant for someone else—it had been too much.

He’d almost convinced himself not to go. But in the end, he had decided it would be the perfect opportunity to say goodbye, to let go of whatever foolish hope he had clung to for so long.

Then the wedding had been called off. The moment he had heard about Jace’s cowardly confession, something inside him had snapped.

He had always disliked Jace, but now, now he hated him.

Jace had cheated on Y.N, broken her heart, and abandoned her on the day they were supposed to be married.

The bastard had left her alone and humiliated in front of everyone. Rhaenyra and Daemon, of course, had rushed to coddle their darling son, leaving Y.N to fend for herself.

It made Aemond sick.

When Y.N had run out of the room, her voice thick with tears as she insisted that everyone should still enjoy the reception, Aemond couldn’t just stand by. He had to find her. He had to know she was alright.

And when he did find her—sitting by the riverbank, her hair a mess, mascara running down her cheeks—she had still been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

But seeing her there, so broken and alone, had torn at something deep within him. He knew she didn’t have any family left to lean on, her parents long gone, and her grandmother recently passed.

She had no one. So, he had sat beside her, intending to comfort her, to offer whatever solace he could. He never expected how the night would turn out.

It had been one of the best nights of his life.

Taking Y.N to bed hadn’t just been a fleeting moment of lust. It was something Aemond had fantasized about, but actually experiencing her, feeling her trust, her passion—it had been indescribable.

The way she responded to him, the way he could bring her pleasure—it was something he had dreamed of for so long, and the reality of it was far better than he ever imagined. Even that morning, waking up with her in his arms, he had felt something he hadn’t in years.

But then he had ruined it. He had ruined everything.

His words, his hesitation—they had shattered the fragile connection they’d built in the span of one night.

He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, the way Y.N had pulled away from him, the hurt in her eyes when she asked him to come with her to Italy.

He cursed himself for not saying yes. He’d watched as she silently cried, throwing the wedding dress in the bin, discarding the plane ticket, and leaving him behind with nothing but regret.

Aemond stood up suddenly, his chest tight as he walked over to the bin. He reached in and picked up the crumpled plane ticket, smoothing it out in his hands.

As he stared at it, the weight of the decision he knew he must make pressed down on him.

Y.N stood in the queue at the airport, clutching her passport and boarding ticket. Despite the whirlwind of emotions from the last 24 hours, she was determined to make the most of this trip.

It was supposed to be her honeymoon, but now, it was a chance to truly move on from Jace—and perhaps even from Aemond.

The thought of him stung more than she wanted to admit, but she knew she had to clear her head, away from all of it.

The boarding attendants had just opened the doors, and people began filing onto the plane. Y.N took a deep breath, ready to step forward when suddenly, she heard her name being called.

Her heart skipped a beat. She turned, and there he was—Aemond, rushing toward her, his long strides quick and desperate.

Before she could say a word, he was in front of her, wrapping his arms around her. His apologies poured out between kisses—on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—as he held her tightly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept saying, breathless and frantic.

Y.N blinked in surprise, her brain trying to catch up with what was happening. "Aemond, what—what are you doing here?" she asked as he finally pulled back, his eyes full of urgency.

Aemond took her hand and gently pulled her out of the queue, leading her to the side. "I would've gotten here sooner, but I couldn’t find my damn passport,” he explained, almost laughing at himself, “and then I had to pay to change the name on the ticket.”

Y.N stared at him, still trying to comprehend. "But you said it wasn’t a good idea—coming with me," she reminded him, her voice tinged with confusion. “What changed?”

Aemond let out a breath, shaking his head. "I shouldn’t have said that," he admitted, regret heavy in his voice. "Because I’m a complete idiot."

Y.N crossed her arms, raising a brow. "You can say that again."

He smiled, but it was fleeting, his eye soft as he looked at her. “I’ve spent too many years watching from the sidelines, Y.N. Letting my feelings fester and pushing you away because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought you were happy with Jace, and that was enough for me. But I was wrong. And I know it’s probably going to take time, but I want to prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Years?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond nodded. “Years. But I kept it to myself because-I thought you were happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for you.”

Before Y.N could respond, the flight attendant interrupted. "Ma'am, are you getting on this flight?" she asked, her voice professional but expectant.

Y.N looked back at the attendant, momentarily torn. She handed over her ticket and passport. “Yes,” she said, glancing back at Aemond.

As the attendant checked her details and nodded, Y.N turned back to Aemond, her heart racing. “What about you?” she asked softly, her emotions all over the place.

Aemond’s hesitation lasted only a moment. He met her gaze, and the vulnerability in his eye was unmistakable. “Please,” he said quietly, “give me a chance.”

The attendant turned to Aemond. “Sir, are you getting on this flight as well?”

Y.N smiled at him, her expression softer than it had been earlier. “Yes. He’s coming,” she said confidently.

Aemond's lips lifted in a relieved smile as he handed over his ticket and passport. The attendant checked his documents and smiled back, nodding as she cleared him to board.

As they walked toward the plane together, the reality of it all sank in. Aemond draped his arm over Y.N’s shoulders and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

For the first time in a long time, Y.N felt something close to peace. Maybe this trip wasn’t about running away or moving on anymore.

Maybe it was about finally finding what was meant to be.

Two years later, Aemond stood tall and proud, his eye never leaving Y.N as she walked down the aisle toward him. She looked radiant, her smile glowing under the warm sun, her white dress flowing like waves with each step.

Aegon walked beside her, grinning as he gave his brother a playful wink when they reached the altar.

The sound of the sea crashing gently against the shore created a perfect backdrop for their beachside wedding. The sky was clear, the soft breeze carried the salty air, and everything about the day felt like a dream.

Aemond held out his hand, his heart swelling with love and disbelief that this moment was finally here.

As Y.N took his hand, their eyes locked. He stared at her, his chest tightening with emotion. She was everything he had ever wanted, and now she was about to become his wife. He mouthed softly, "I love you."

Y.N blushed, her smile growing even brighter as she mouthed back, "I love you too."

Their small, intimate ceremony had only his siblings—Helaena, Aegon and Daeron—his mother Alicent, his grandsire Otto, and a few close friends. It was exactly how Aemond had always imagined it. Simple, quiet, perfect.

The priest began to speak, but Y.N’s mind briefly wandered, filled with gratitude for the strange twist of fate that had led her to this very moment. She thought about Jace jilting her two years ago and how, in hindsight, it had been the best thing that could have happened to her.

If not for that heartbreak, she wouldn’t have Aemond. The man who now held every piece of her heart, who made her feel seen, valued, and loved in ways she never thought possible.

As they exchanged vows, hands tightly clasped, Aemond’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles, a silent reminder of his unwavering devotion.

Even during the ring exchange, they couldn’t stop smiling at each other, their gazes filled with tenderness and joy.

Everything felt so right. Aemond slipped the ring onto her finger, and she did the same, feeling the warmth of his skin as he squeezed her hand in reassurance.

When the priest finally proclaimed them husband and wife, Aemond wasted no time. He cupped her face in his hands, pulling her in for a deep, passionate kiss as everyone cheered softly around them. His lips moved against hers, full of love, full of promise.

When they finally parted, his voice was filled with pride and happiness as he whispered, "Mrs. Targaryen at last."

Y.N laughed, a sound so joyful it made his heart leap. "At last," she echoed, gazing up at him with all the love in the world.

As they stood there, hand in hand, the sun setting behind them over the ocean, they both knew that this was only the beginning of their forever.

TBC

[cqsuanla]

say smth nice to me honey // i love you please i-

pairing: (dark?)nat/f!reader

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and you blink your eyes open, staring down at her blearily. “I just want to hurt you so bad, baby.”

notes: legit don't remember writing this or if i posted this before. posting it the way i found it in my notes app (except added bullets for non-prose sections)

If you hadn’t already known Nat’s certifiably insane then her idea of what constitutes a reward would have done a good job of convincing you. It’s really quite twisted but everything is, with her. All you’d done was offer to make dinner—and a mediocre one at that—and she’d taken it to mean you were finally accepting your circumstance, so here you are: sweaty, panting, naked, of course. And denied. Four times denied. Some fucking reward.

Your nails dig into the back of her hand, fingers interlocked with hers. She doesn’t even wince. “Please,” you say sounding suitably wrecked. “Nat, please, please, please-”

She groans into your cunt, her breath hot and moist, and— gone because she pulls away just as you’re toeing the edge. Tears spring to your eyes. Maybe you scream; you’re not sure, awareness shot as it is.

“Why?” you ask, and you keep asking, crying, begging.

She shushes and coos at you, stroking your sweat-damp forehead. “It’ll feel good in the end,” she keeps telling you.

And you believe her. It’s always all right in the end; one way or another, Nat always makes you like it by the end, but before then, it feels so very-

“Bad. It feels bad,” you moan out.

You wish you could just shove her face back down but she’s got both your hands linked with her vice grip. You think she must have known you’d get frustrated enough to entertain taking charge, known that you might even have had the gall to try it if she didn’t have you restrained. When she’d demanded to hold your hands before she went down on you, you’d actually been quite endeared by her. Oh, how quickly that particular emotion fled from you.

“Last one, then. Just one. You’re such a good girl for me. My pretty baby.” Nat crawls up your body and cradles your head in her hands. Your shared body heat is nearly unbearable right now, but she makes it better. Always makes it better. She kisses you, pets you, and combs your hair. Lets you whimper into her shoulder, teeth scraping at her skin with every pant you huff out. “You can take one more, sweetheart. I know you can, obedient little thing. My good fucking girl,” she rasps into your neck.

Fuck if that doesn’t do it for you. Still: “I’m too sensitive.”

She traces a tear track with the back of her finger, licks up the streak on the other side of your face. So sadistic, your Nat. “I know.”

For the next few moments: silence aside from your persisting hiccups and her ragged breathing. Her excitement, her morbid fascination with the limits of your boundaries, is palpable. Infectious in a way. You do want to be good for her. For her. Your lover, keeper, owner, mommy.

She always takes care of you.

Slowly, you calm. Then, you grip the back of her shirt and, in a small voice: “Just one? Promise?”

She hums, hands reaching out once again to lace with yours. “Just one, sweet girl.”

You’re not sure if you trust her. Regardless, you have no real say in the matter.

“Okay.”

On her way down, she lays kisses down your chest, your navel, the height of your pubic bone. She tuts and you make a pathetic keening sound.

“Down, baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and, when her thumbs keep pushing insistently into the bones of your hips, you slump fully into the mattress with a soft groan. You receive punishment for that in the form of a nip to your inner thigh. Your skin, tender and bruised already from her previous attention, sinks under the points of her teeth and you yelp.

But then her mouth moves up and the slick heat of her mouth meets the one between your legs, forging a brain-melting fire in your center. You’re overstimulated to the point that you can’t tell if you’re really experiencing those aching, throbbing sensations or if it’s some sort of phantom feeling your overshot nerves are expecting. After all, Nat’s just ghosting her lips over your cunt, tip of her tongue teasing up the curve of your labia. Mewling in the way she likes, tensing and squirming your legs around her shoulders, does nothing to encourage her. She just keeps fucking with you, not enough literal fucking you.

You squeeze her hands until you can’t anymore. She makes a contemplative noise which sends a tiny shiver through you when you think you feel the sound vibrate near your clit. Then, she abruptly dives in, a guttural sound clawing out of her throat into your cunt. The flat of her tongue drags roughly from your leaking hole to your clit, and you can’t think anymore. She keeps groaning with your desperate begging, pleading, and it keeps going directly into your clit when her tongue passes over it.

The world—it’s just Nat. It’s just Nat and you, and the bits of sheets and mattress and corner of pillow that you’re lying on. The damp air where your bodies can’t meet and the sweaty, sticky skin from where you meet. She’s everything; the endless white of a foggy horizon. Something that can swallow you whole. Something you wish would swallow you whole-

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and you blink your eyes open, staring down at her blearily. “I just want to hurt you so bad, baby.”

It takes you a moment to process that. To process that she is no longer sucking and licking at your cunt like her life depends on it.

Tears prick at your eyes again. Your lip wobbles.

She doesn’t even pretend to comfort you this time. “Oh, you’re pitiful.”

“You promised!” You try to twist away from her, furious and betrayed. Her hands clamp down, bruising. Your stubborn leg kicks at the bed. “Mommy, you promised me. You said-”

“I know what I said,” she cuts you off, an edge to her voice.

You go limp instinctively, yielding, even if you’re still in emotional turmoil. You always end up letting her do what she wants. Even so: “It’s unfair.”

“Nothing’s ever fair,” she mutters into the feverish skin of your thigh, nosing at a bruise she’d left in the beginning. “It’s fun if it isn’t fair. You’re so easy to look at like this, baby. So beautiful this way: used up and crying. Pathetic for me. Good for me.”

“Why?” You stare down at her through a film of tears. In that moment, she cranes her neck so she can rest her cheek on the top of your leg and her eyes catch the glint of the bathroom lights. “Why hurt me? Why me?”

“It feels good. You feel good.” The corner of her lips sharpen into a smile against your leg. “Don’t think too hard. I can make it hurt more.”

You shake your head. How can you even reply to that?

Her smile widens. “Say something nice to me, honey.”

This one is easy. “I love you,” you murmur. Defeat.

“Again,” she rasps, spurred into action again. To the victor goes the spoils. Her tongue covers your entrance, dips in briefly.

“I love you,” you choke out. It’s too much. You wish she’d get this over with. You wish she would keep you here forever.

Her lips wrap around your clit, tongue probing harshly at it, and her hands tug at yours.

You take the hint. “I love you.”

She laves at your clit again, your pained whimpers falling on deaf ears. A tug on your arms.

Again. Again and again and again until you can’t speak anymore. Something inside of you stiffens, then it’s splintering into pieces, and it hurts intensely but it’s nice to let it all go, but you’d never want to go through this again. When you come back to yourself, Nat’s still licking at you but this time, your sound of discontent prompts her to pull back.

“Worth it?” At your head shake, she snorts. “What do you say?”

You take a moment to make sure you’re capable of movement, inhaling sharply and watching the rise of your own chest. Then: “Thank you, mommy.”

“Any time, sweet baby.”

later run ur fingers over the indents in your thigh, mark of her bites

imagery of ambulance driving by outside w the sirens and the blue-red-blue-red of nats skin

it’s like letting the dog socialize with other dogs at the park. but i prefer to keep mine at my feet (kicks u over) …clearly

come along hound

“It’s been a week,” you say quietly, meekly. Your hand tenses on the door knob, searching for something sturdy to hold onto.

“It has,” Nat notes evenly.

She stares and moments pass, her blinking just slow enough to unsettle you.

You shift, mustering the courage to release the handle and shuffle forward a few steps. “Please? You said- it’s been a week. You said you’d take it off in one week.”

“Did I?” Nat raises an eyebrow. “I don’t recall.”

“Mistress, please. Please.”

All of a sudden, her expression sours. She stands. You shrink back, your heel hitting the door loudly and making your heart drop even more.

“Sorry,” you say in a rush.

Contrary to what you expect, she doesn’t round the desk to seize you. Instead, she leans on her desk and pins you with that searing scowl of hers. “Dumb slut. I’ll forgive you when you learn your goddamn lesson, mutt.”

You open your mouth to apologize again but she glares harder and you snap your jaw shut with an audible clack.

“Now get out.”

You do so with haste even if you ache to stay.

leave her alone for a bit obedient af she fucks ur cunt like it’s her job and gives u aftercare and ur like that’s good. duh—nat always knows, that’s why she makes the decisions, she’s in charge always

she shows u a big dildo and is like ur taking it dry and ur like ok and she thinks u finally learned the lesson and tells u to get on ur hands and knees

“Do you get it now?” Nat asks, voice rough, chest heaving. She drapes herself over your back, can’t get enough of you. Her hands roam over your body, grasping at flesh, leaving behind bruises. Runs so hot, you begin to feel sticky from perspiration, uncomfortable but in a kind of familiar way that you immediately embrace in an instinctive response. She’s all around you, cocooning you, possessing you. Squeezes tight. “Do you get it?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“What do you get?”

Your arms shake from your combined weight. She bears down and smoothly maneuvers you onto your shoulders, arms bent up on the bed in surrender. Her hands tighten around your wrists, demanding your attention.

You soak in the feel of her on top of you. “You know best,” you answer into the duvet. A hand in your hair guides your head to the side. “I just listen.”

Nat hums. You think she sounds pleased. You hope she is. Anyway, by now your over sensitive cunt has produced enough slick around Nat’s cock for this to be somewhat enjoyable no matter how rough she plans to get. Its heavy presence inside you makes you want to squirm, delights you and scares you. You’ll take anything she gives. It’s what you’re for.

“I’m yours,” you say.

And she thrusts suddenly, humping her front into your ass so the head probes farther into your cunt.

You gasp and your fingers stretch out before clawing into the sheets. Yes, you’re wet enough. It hurts, the girth, the length, but you’ll bare it because it’s enough.

“Yes,” Nat hisses on the next thrust. “Your pleasure, pain, all mine.”

You nod, jaw fallen wide as you moan and mewl beneath her. As she forces her way in, stuffing you full, and tears her way out, leaving you empty. Not once does she let up off your back, and you love the feeling of your bodies sliding together, sticking against the friction of your movements.

“I fuck you when I feel like it, baby, in whatever way and for however long I want it. When I tell you to come, you do. When I tell you to sit pretty, you do. When I tell you to shut the fuck up,” she growls into your ear, the front of her body slapping particularly loudly and obscenely into yours on every syllable of those last four words.“You fucking do.”

“Yes.” Your voice sounds foreign, strangled. Your nods are frantic, runny nose rubbing against the sheets. “Yes, yes, yes.”

It’s meant as a response to her words and as encouragement for her to keep going, not that she has any intention to stop.

“Say something nice,” she pants into you. She sounds different too; demanding and harsh, of course, but there’s something desperate about it.

Not that you really register it anyway, since you’re shrieking, “I love you,” before you can even think about it. It’s not something you need to think about. Loving Nat is a fact of life, a part of life. As natural a thing as breathing. As being short of breath. Life is hard and easy, and loving her is the same. It’s being in sweltering heat and frigid cold. It’s too much, way too fucking much, and then, all at once, in the next moment, not enough.

Her teeth close around your shoulder, though not hard enough to break your skin. You’ll bruise, though. She bites deeper on every inward movement. Her mouth is wonderfully moist and warm on your skin.

God.

“I love you,” you cry out feverishly, “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Indents of her canines remain in your sweat damp skin. Her breath is laboured, adjacent to pained, and it fans across one side of your face. Humid near your ear.

“I’m sorry. Thank you. I love you,” you babble. “I’m yours.”

“I love you,” she says back, over the wet sounds of your fucking. She’s relentless. “My girl. My baby. Come with me, okay? My good girl.”

It hurts. You’re numb. You’re burning up. She pants hotly into your ear, and you pant into your own spittle, face as leaky as your cunt.

Nat lurches in again, your bodies jolting forward, and you slam your eyes shut, seeing nothing but the dark and, briefly, a pang of colours from how hard you’re squeezing them shut. You cum, maybe. The sensation isn’t entirely new, painful and pleasurable at once. You’re pliant in her arms, twitching sometimes, not really feeling anything. And when you come back to life, she’s still going. The world is just this: the feel of her body on yours, the smell of arousal and sweat and spit, and her voice. A voice like tinnitus. A desperate, animalistic mine, mine, mine rings in your ears.

[ghostodyssey]

Hold Me Like Water, Hold Me Like A Knife | Teaser

Ghost x Soap x Female Reader 1k words warnings: ghoap established relationship, nanny!reader, allusions to domestic abuse, possible references to sexual abuse/non-con in later chapters (not ghoap), eventual smut.

I was born on a day like this, I think. 

Storm-streaked he had called me once. If only he could see me now, wind beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my lips. These days I am more storm than woman. Because who can become the water without inheriting its violence, or its loneliness.

The Greeks said that water is the element of love. That Aphrodite herself was born from the pearlescent seafoam of the Kytherian sea. Born to be cruel and beautiful, and fearless. 

Looking out at the water now, fear is all I know.

The sky is streaked in veins of charcoal, indigo and jade that bleed into the vast, black tapestry of the sky, where the horizon meets the North Sea. A cruel wind tears through the narrow streets of the small, coastal town like a maelstrom and I cast my eyes skyward at the peal of thunder. When I was a girl, my grandfather taught me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flashes of lightning that flower like bruises along the skyline, so that I knew how many miles away it might be. I know now that I am standing in the eye of the storm.

In these quiet moments where reality abates me, I find myself adrift. Lost in a sea of memories. The mournful recollections of a home long gone. If it was ever real to begin with.

I clutch at the folder in my arms, cradling it in a vain attempt to protect it from the elements. The documents and references inside are all I have left. My destination looms in front of me like a taunt. 

The townhouse is nestled into a quiet corner of the sleepy coastal town, its slate facade rendering it rather unremarkable at first glance. However, at closer inspection, I notice the care with which this house has been made into a home. The large bay windows on the ground floor have been wreathed in greenery. Climbing ivy and primrose, which douses the house in the smell of honey and petrichor. A short wall fences off the small garden from the road. The yard itself is well maintained. If a little clinical, save for the myriad of childrens toys strewn about the lawn. 

I remain for a moment a solitary figure at the entryway of the property, contemplating the unfortunate series of events that had led me here. Further North than I have ever been. With little more than the clothes on my back and notes stashed frantically in my worn leather purse. The thought occurs to me then, that I have made a mistake in coming here.

The job posting had been painfully vague. Full-time nanny wanted. Room and board can be provided. Prior experience preferred. The distant postcode and generous wage had quickly assuaged any lingering doubts that had festered in my mind. 

I approach the townhouse’s pale, blue door tentatively. I knock thrice and the resounding silence gives me leave for my mind to wander. I stare down at the sleeves of my faded navy dress as it clings uncomfortable to my arms; the threads around the cuffs have begun to fray, the fabric falls strangely around the swell of my hips, and it is missing its top button. Shame pools in my stomach at its unsightly reflection, discoloured and sunbleached from years of use. 

Memory comes back with the swiftness of the tide. I am a girl again, coloured in the seraphic, blue light of a hospital room. I feel his hands, marred and mottled with rage, holding me down. The sounds of my screams as my dress is torn away from my heaving chest -- I had been a dreamer then. Aching and sentimental. Filled with the kind of naivety only possessed by green girls and soft-hearted poets. 

The girl I was is dead now. The woman that stands in her place had been forged of blood, and splintered bone-- made strong by violence and tempered by time. 

I’m still staring at my reflection in the glass when the door to the townhouse opens and all thought and sound eddies from my mind. The man standing in the doorway is a thing of lovely beauty. He’s built like some Greek Adonis, or perhaps Atlas holding the weight of the world on those broad shoulders. He looks as though he is carved from marble and mountain stone. The dark tresses of hair frame his fine, high cheekbones and the aquiline slope of his nose. Like something out of a painting. At last, I meet his gaze, a flash of sapphire against the pallid light of the afternoon.

For a moment silence permeates the air between us. 

“It’s bloody freezin’ bonnie, here come inside.” He welcomes me inside with the flex of a broad hand, stepping back from the door to let me in. I smile politely as I cross the threshold of the home. The smell of honeyed pears and cedar, tainted with something inherently masculine, floods my senses.

 The foyer of the spacious townhouse is beautiful; a testament to the care that has gone into making this house a home. The porch is lined with paneled wood, painted in a shade of navy only found here, in the coastal towns dotted along the Scottish border. The walls are hung with picture frames that map the long history of the family that lives here. I catalogue each one of them; candid shots of the dark haired man that span the globe, a series of drawings completed in a myriad of colourful crayon, pictures of a newborn, swaddled in pink and cradled in the tattooed arms of a masked man. By the staircase are three sets of shoes. I take it all in with a careful reverence for the love which has been contained between these walls. This place is a home. One that has been truly cherished by the people that live here. 

“You’re here for the nanny job, aye?” He asks, the calloused pads of his fingers ghosting my arm as he maneuvers me into the centre of the foyer. 

“Um ye-yes, you must be Simon?”

“He bloody wishes,” The dark haired man muses lightly, “ - nah bon, you can call me Johnny.” he says, holding out a broad palm to me. I take it tentatively and introduce myself rather clumsily. 

“So Simon is --” 

“Just through there.” Johnny interrupts, settling a hand on the small of my back and guiding me into the next room, where Simon must be waiting.