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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 months ago

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Miller's Christmas Tree Farm

Part One - Driving home for Christmas

Summary: Wanting a fresh start after your husband died, you and your nine year old Step Daughter Ellie move from San Francisco to Noel, a small town in Colorado where you, looking for a job are found by Tommy Miller, who offers you a place to stay and a new job at his family owned Christmas Tree Farm that is in dire need of some fresh ideas to make some money. There is only one problem, his brother Joel Miller, who, judging by the google reviews of the Christmas Tree farm, is an asshole. But you like a challenge. And Joel? Joel can only try to pretend to be grumpy for so long until he finally realises that you might just be what he needed.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Rating: G

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warnings: no outbreak AU, major Hallmark movie vibes, fluff, working through grief and heartbreak, character death, a lot of Christmas planning, a Husky called Edward (after Edward Cullen)

Co- written with @jennaispunk 💜

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist // Miller's Christmas Tree Farm Masterlist

“So you’ll start on Monday?” Tommy was looking at you with a bright smile.

You were new to town and looking for a new challenge.

Which apparently came in the form of Tommy Miller.

He had overheard you talking to the lady at the bakery that you were looking for a job, as he waited behind you in line.

And Tommy not only had a job but a place to stay. A small apartment on his brother's farm that would need some work, the kitchen having to be remodelled.

For you and your Step Daughter Ellie.

You needed a fresh start, having lost your husband, her dad, in an accident at the beginning of the year. An accident that almost took Ellie from you too, with her being in the car with him. This year had been the most difficult one of your life. Taking care of Ellie had become your sole focus, even more that it already had. The hospital stay, physical therapy and countless doctor appointments had taken its toll on you, physically and emotionally, but it had made you realise how much you’d come to love Ellie and what was really important.

It took months for her to get better and once she was she asked you if you could live somewhere where there’s snow.

Which led you to this tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Far away from the big city of San Francisco. You weren’t cut out for city life. You were like most small town kids, convinced that there was something better out there in the big city. You left for college with big dreams but those same dreams faded into a reality that was cold, harsh and nothing liked you’d envisioned. As the years flew by you found yourself longing for the quiet of a small town, like the one you grew up in, one where you really knew your neighbours and you could count on them if you needed a hand. You’re mother had been right all along.

Tommy did not give you any red flags. He let you ask as many questions as you wanted and after an hour you felt like you had known him all your life.

Sure, moving in with a him and a man you had not met yet on a farm outside of town could be a recipe for disaster. But continuing to pay for the hotel until you found a place to stay would end in bankruptcy for you so… you chose to trust Tommy.

And you were about 98% sure he and his brother weren’t axe murderers.

That all the people around you greeted Tommy with a warm smile was a plus too.

He and his brother were known all over town, he couldn’t be an axe murderer, right?

“I’m excited. Are you sure it’s going to be okay with your brother?” you asked and Tommy hummed, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Let Joel be my problem. We need help. The last two years worked somehow but we need… He needs a bit of fresh air. Even if he doesn’t see it this way yet. It also helps that he’s my brother and his only remaining family so…. Yeah. It's gonna be fine,” Tommy winked.

He also told you that you could just stay for a trial week or two and if you didn’t like it you could still get back to the hotel or he would personally help find you a new place to stay. When you asked him if his brother would be okay with a child staying in his home he assured you that he would be okay.

He might need a couple days to warm up to her and you, but he wasn’t a monster. He was just…. A grumpy asshole. His words, not yours.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself,” you chuckled, taking a sip from the tea he had ordered for you after inviting you to the cafe.

“Joel is…. All bite but no teeth. He’s… a little rough and… complicated but I think you can handle him. Plus deep down he’s a softie, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“You’ve known me for an hour, how would you know that I can handle him?” you asked with a laugh.

“I just do,” he shrugged, emptying his cup of coffee.

You huffed a laugh.

“All right. I’ll be there at 9 tomorrow after breakfast. I already have a few ideas. I mean, selling Christmas Trees? On a Farm? With this much snow? Sounds like a dream to be honest. I’m thinking snowman building competitions and a… snow maze…. Or something like that.”

“I think you’re just what we needed. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Tommy smiled and got up from his seat. He got into his thick jacket, putting his hat and gloves on.

“Thank you for the tea. And… for the job and place to stay?” you smiled, standing up and taking his outstretched hand to shake it.

“Let’s see if you’ll be thanking me once you meet Joel,” he winked and you rolled your eyes.

“I will,” you smiled and he chuckled, nodding once before he turned around and left you to finish your tea.

Already plotting ideas in your mind, how to help Miller’s Christmas Trees out of the red numbers.

“Come on, get the damn ball,” Joel nodded towards the ball he had just thrown, Edward, his trusty Husky just stared at him in disinterest.

Sarah had named him, being in her Twilight phase before she… he took a deep breath, looking up at the sky. He remembered it like it was yesterday. They had been out in the woods, Sarah collecting pine cones. They were on their way back home when she changed the direction, having heard something.

And she did. A tiny husky puppy hiding against a tree.

Joel did not think it would survive the night, but once Sarah had put her mind to something….

Edward looked at Joel and looked as if he was sighing, making Joel roll his eyes.

“Stubborn dog,” Joel grumbled to himself, before he nodded towards the truck, making Edward get up slowly before he jumped up on the open hood. He closed the back and leaned against the truck, looking up into the darkening sky.

It smelled like snow.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Joel would never admit it, but he was scared this would be the last winter he spend here. On this farm where he had spent so much time of his life at.

He came here almost fifteen years ago when Sarah was born and his parents were still alive. It had been easier to have some help with a new born while his wife had left them without a word.

His father had made a name out of this farm.

Miller’s Christmas Trees.

And Joel had tried in the last years to keep it as best as he could but…. After his father and mother died and shortly after Sarah died…. Something inside of him died too.

At this point he didn’t even know how his life would look if he wasn’t here.

He heard his phone ring and he muttered to himself before he jumped into the truck, seeing Tommy’s name light up on his phone.

“Yes?” he barked.

“Hello sunshine. Come home. I made dinner,” his brother said.

“You sound like my wife,” Joel joked.

“Ha Ha. That would require you getting out to actually meet a woman. Get your ass here. I have…. News.”

“I don’t like your kind of news.”

“You are not going to like this one either.”

“Great,” Joel groaned and ended the call before he started the truck.

Joel knew something was up, but the longer he sat at the table, his favourite dish cooked by his brother Tommy sitting on the table, the more suspicious he got.

“So,” Tommy began, after he had sipped on his beer.

Joel only raised his left eyebrow.

“I hired someone to help us out at the farm. She’s starting on Monday and she’ll live with her daughter in the apartment on the other side of the house.“

Joel tilted his head at his brother, processing the words he just heard.

“And you did not think I should have a say in this?” Joel asked after a while, irritated.

“What would you have said?”

“No! Of course I would have said no you annoying little…” Joel’s fingers rubbed frustrated between his eyes, already feeling a headache approaching.

Tommy rolled his eyes as he watched his brother scowling at him.

“See? This is why I didn’t ask you. She just moved here from the city with her stepdaughter and is staying at the inn. She was looking for a job and we kind of had one.”

“We can not pay anyone. You know about this,” Joel stressed. Deep down he knew they needed… something to help get the farm back on track but he was out of ideas and more importantly, money.

“She agreed to work for a place to stay and food.”

Joel frowned.

“Why would someone do that?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Did you check at all who this woman is? Maybe she’s running from something or the police are searching for her.”

“Of course I ran a fucking check on her after I got back you idiot. Who do you think I am? She’s been living in San Francisco for the last ten years, married for six of those years. Husband died earlier this year in a car accident that almost killed her Step Daughter too,” Tommy said and Joel’s expression fell, his heart breaking for you.

“Joel. We need help. I don’t want this to be the last winter this place exists. And you’re not really…” Tommy searched for the right words “known to be the festive type anymore.”

“I put on Christmas lights last year,” Joel grumbled.

“I am not talking about the decoration, though this has to change too. We sell Christmas Trees, it should look more festive around here.I am talking about whatever your face is doing when you talk to people.”

Joel rolled his eyes.

“I am perfectly nice to people.”

Tommy laughed.

“In your own… way you might be but you don’t like people.”

“Who does?”

“People tend to notice it when you look like you want to murder them when they ask you if you could help chop down a tree.”

“They didn’t pay for it. And they didn’t want to pay for it either, what was I supposed to do? Work for free?”

“They were in their eighties, Joel! Be nice for a change! You do want to save this farm, don’t you? It’s what she have wanted. Sarah was happy here,” Tommy said.

„Don’t,“ Joel warned him and Tommy sighed.

Joel took a deep breath.

“Then at least listen to the woman. She not only has ideas for Christmas but all around the year. And she did some PR work back in San Francisco. So she should know what she’s doing.”

Tommy got up from his seat to grab another beer, getting one for Joel too.

“And try to at least be nice when she gets here. Maybe…. Tame whatever is going on with that beard and hair so you do not look like you live in the woods.”

“Fuck you, I am living in the woods,” Joel called after him, hearing Tommy laugh.

“Love you too, asshole.”

Practically abandoning your whole life and starting over in a tiny town where everyone seems to know everyone was not an easy decision, but it was looking more and more like the best decision you ever made.

You had been here for four weeks and you were already loving the small town life once again.

The baker already knew you by name, the barista always grabbed your favourite tea when you came in, the owner of the inn you were staying at, shared town gossip with you. Which was why you were excited to tell her that you got a job and a place to stay at Miller’s farm. You did not miss the surprised look on her face.

“You are gonna work at Joel’s?” she asked, seemingly in disbelief.

“I mean yes? He does not know about it yet, but Tommy assured me he will handle it.”

The inn owner, Donna, an elderly lady sighed. You were sitting with her in the big kitchen that was open for everyone who stayed at the inn to use, a mug of hot chocolate in front of you.

Ellie had went herself upstairs a little while ago, wanting to read. She had started school at the beginning of the week and already joined a book club. It made you feel better knowing that she was settling into this new life you were trying to build so far away from everything you both had known before.

“Tommy is a good man,” she said with a fond smile on her lips.

“What do you know about the farm? And the owner?”

She sighed.

“Ernesto, Joel’s father came to town almost 20 years ago. He came here from Texas. The farm had been abandoned for many years but he restored it. He was a good man, Ernesto Miller.”

“What happened? To the farm?”

“Ernesto died of cancer almost five years ago. I don’t think Joel ever really worked through his grief. He changed a lot in the last couple years. But he decided to stay and take over the farm. But… It’s not working.”

“Why do you think it’s not working?” you ask.

Donna chuckled.

“You haven’t met Joel yet,” she said and you shook your head.

“He changed a lot, can’t blame him. He came here almost fifteen years ago. Just him and his little one. Apparently his girl back in Texas wasn’t interested in being a mom so Joel grabbed his little girl and everything he owned and came here to raise his little girl”

You brought the mug of hot chocolate to your lips as you listened to her. If Joel had a kid, maybe Ellie would find a friend?

„In the last five years Joel’s father and mother died. And then his girl, little Sarah, got sick close after her twelfth birthday. She passed before her thirteenth,“ Donna said sadly and you felt your eyes water, thinking about the amount of loss the man, Joel had went through.

„If it wasn’t for Tommy I don’t know if Joel would still be around," she added quietly, before she took a deep breath.

„I don’t think I have seen Joel smile once since before the funeral. He comes in weekly to get some of the bread I bake. I used to own the local bakery before my daughter took over. I always pack him a sweet treat. He’s nice to me, but I heard a lot about him arguing with other shop owners. Only last week he almost got into a fight at home depot,“ she sighed.

“Grief can change you but he also sounds a bit like an asshole,” you mumbled and Donna chuckled.

“I will keep your room for you, if you like,” Donna said.

You shook your head.

“I dealt with assholes in my job all day. I can handle Joel Miller. And I need is a place I can settle down with Ellie in. She’s been through so much, she deserves to be happy.”

You did not tell her that the biggest asshole you had to deal with had been living in your apartment with you for six years, cheating on you in your bed with probably every intern his company ever had before he got into drunken accident, almost killing Ellie who was in the backseat with him.

You had been in a meeting with your divorce attorney, finally having decided to leave him and sue him for custody of Ellie when you got the call about the accident. You had never been as thankful as the moment you stepped into the hospital that you had adopted her a year before.

“I will be rooting for you,” Donna said, before she got up, squeezing your shoulder once. You watched her go.

Joel Miller seemed to be known all around town, which should be good for his business. But he seemed not to be the friendliest person. Something you could understand with the amount of shit he had to deal with in the past.

You felt a strange urge to help him and his family.

You sighed, emptying your mug before you put it in the dishwasher to make your way up to your room.

„Hi Ellie Bellie,“ you smiled as you unlocked the door, Ellie sitting in the armchair near the window, a book in her lap. She didn't look up as you entered, giving you just an acknowledged hum and you walked over to her, seeing her sketching into her notebook she had on top of the book, sketching the landscape in front of your window.

For a nine year old, she was incredibly talented.

„Ready to move tomorrow?“ You asked and she looked up at you.

„Do I get my own room?“ She asked and you smiled.

„According to Tommy we will get our own little apartment, so chances are high there’s a room for you,“ you winked and she nodded with a small smile. Her hair fell out of her messy ponytail, her hair finally long enough to put it back into one after the doctors had to cut of some of her hair after her injuries. Part of the back of her head had to be shaved in order for her to get surgery. It had been the longest four hours of your life, waiting for the doctor to tell you that she would be okay and survive.

„I like this town. It’s…. It’s quiet,“ she whispered and you leaned down, hugging her carefully.

„I like it here too.“

Once Ellie was asleep you packed her stuff together so you could be out of here first thing in the morning. It would be the weekend so she would not have to go to school tomorrow.

From what she told you she loved her first week in the new school and already had made some new friends. You hoped you would be able to invite them over to your new place once you had settled in.

Something you had to talk about with Tommy. And Joel.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a little anxious to meet Joel Miller. You had spent a little time researching him and the farm after dinner, the reviews on google making it sound like he was an absolute nightmare to be around.

You just hoped his brother Tommy was right and Joel would see that he needed some help with the farm.

Your bags were already packed for the big first day tomorrow. Deciding to take one last bubble bath in the old bathtub you got out of your clothes, not knowing if your new place had one too. You sank into the hot water, sighing loudly as the heat seeps into your skin. This had to work, for you and for Ellie. This was the chance you needed to make a real life for the two of you, one where you could be finally be happy. You had some great ideas for the Christmas tree farm, you could make it into the thriving business that Joel and Tommy wanted it to be. Tommy seemed to have your back, you just had to win Joel over.

Which left you with nothing but anxious excitement for the days to come.

Meanwhile Joel was sitting on his porch on the other side of town, looking up at the night sky, the stars flickering in the far distance where he imagined his little girl watched over him.

He knew that whatever he was doing with the farm wasn’t working. He knew he needed help. And he knew he would never ever search or ask for help himself.

He was a big part of the problem and if he wanted to save this place, he needed some change. And maybe that change could be you.

So he decided to try to meet this woman with an open mind the next morning.

Not knowing meeting her would be the beginning of something that would change his life forever.

#my fic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #Pedro Pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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asumofwords · 2 years ago

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Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: 10.2k

NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3

The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.

Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer.

The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you.

The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.

It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.

Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property.

You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked.

They always were.

You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready.

But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.

It had been months since you left.

Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here.

Not that he would even try.

You hoped.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.

The lies, the secrecy, and then, her.

You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view.

But that time had been different.

That time, something had changed.

You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire.

An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.

It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.

But this was different.

She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.

Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear.

You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong.

Off.

Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later.

You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes.

But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.

But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.

And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.

As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.

Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long.

Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss.

But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.

And that’s what you had done.

Questioned yourself, over and over.

Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.

The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.

That was all it had took.

You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along.

Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire.

It was almost smug.

And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.

Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.

And you were right.

Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.

They hadn’t even heard you at first.

But she saw you.

And she had smiled.

You will always remember his face.

He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.

You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.

You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.

Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.

You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.

But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages.

At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.

You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on.

It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.

And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end.

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious.

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage.

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs.

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again.

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind.

‘See you soon.’

You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.

But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed.

So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.

You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.

Comes with being descended from royalty.

But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.

So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence.

And that’s where you had been ever since.

You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day.

It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed.

It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.

The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.

In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.

There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.

That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers.

But every Sunday was the same.

“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.

“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”

You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily.

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

Something about it made your skin crawl.

Those messages, those calls.

The ‘See you soon’ text.

Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit.

Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.

“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again.

But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce.

When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels.

The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.

It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue.

It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.

The week went by, much the same.

The same routine.

The same walls, and floors, and rooms.

Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.

By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to.

It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.

Today was no different.

“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.

You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.

The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”

You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her.

Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”

You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.

You would never win anyway.

“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”

The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”

“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”

“Got to be when yer married to my husband.�� Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.

You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye.

You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.

It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions.

Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.

Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling.

Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.

You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.

Not even Sara truly knew where you were.

You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.

“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”

He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you.

He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.

And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.

“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.

“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”

Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.

Stop that.

“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”

Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”

Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”

Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”

You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

Oh gods. Why did you say that?

A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”

Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”

You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”

“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”

You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“

“-Please. I insist.”

You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism.

Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.

Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.

“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.

You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”

His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”

“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”

A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”

Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.”

“What can you make?”

“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.

“Can you make a good scone?”

You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”

Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”

“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”

The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper.

Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.

“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you.

It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy.

It had been so long.

You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.

Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”

You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”

You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you.

Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”

You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.

“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.

“Sar, what’s wrong?”

You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”

Chills ran over your body.

“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“

“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”

You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”

“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”

“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.

Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”

You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”

Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“

“Sar, you’re cutting up.”

You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.

Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.

“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.

You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”

“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”

Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”

You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”

“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”

“Sar, you’re scaring me.”

She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”

“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.

Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach roiled.

“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”

Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs.

Oh gods.

“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”

“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”

You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“

You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view.

When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.

“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.

“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”

A cry flew from your lips.

The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.

You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself.

This wasn’t unusual.

Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare.

Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch.

Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.

You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back.

Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.

But they were just that.

Trees.

You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you.

They were right, winter had come early this year.

You would have to thank her later.

When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside.

The main switch was flicked off.

For fucks sake.

The broadband must have blown it out.

The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.

As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You never liked coming out here in the dark.

It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon.

The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

I’ve just worked myself up.

Gods.

It was probably just a deer or something.

You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze.

Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.

You looked to the house.

Still dark.

You groaned, and did it again.

Again, nothing.

No hum of the motor kicking back on.

“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.

The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks.

One, two, three, four.

You sighed a breath of relief.

See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.

You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door.

You needed a glass of wine.

That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.

“Took me a while to find you.”

Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you.

You blinked.

And there he was.

Standing in your lounge room.

He had found you.

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat.

He had found you.

Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”

Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.

“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes.

You were right, you were being watched.

“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”

You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.

“Fucking bitch.”

Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.

Your husband stood over you, sneering.

“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”

His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.

You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.

“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”

“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.

Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”

“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?”

Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.

Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.

You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.

Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.

You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.

Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room.

Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”

You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it.

“Get off me!”

“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at him.

Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”

His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”

His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart.

Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!”

Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.

Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.

“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”

You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.

You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.

Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.

He was still wearing it.

He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.

“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”

But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.

You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.

“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.

You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black.

In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.

Give you time.

And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.

Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.

Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you.

You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.

It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.

Just the feeling of not being there.

But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion.

There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core.

And then, pain.

You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix.

You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.

“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.

You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.

He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help.

The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.

Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.

You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use.

He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room.

Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.

You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.

Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”

You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips.

Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.

Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.

“There she is.”

“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.

Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”

Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you.

The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame.

Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”

The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.

It was all too much.

Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.

“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.

“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”

You weeped.

“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter.

It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.

A slick thumb pressed down on your bud.

“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”

His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down.

You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.

Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you.

You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over. For him to just finish.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”

You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.

His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure.

“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.

You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over.

You were so tired.

So tired.

You just wanted to sleep.

Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.

“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

You sobbed even harder.

Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.

But you didn't fight it.

There was no point.

No escape.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide.

You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.

And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to.

It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning.

Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man.

Someone you didn’t even know.

This Aemond was not the man you married.

Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”

You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.

“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”

A chill rolled down your spine.

You knew now what he was willing to do.

And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again.

A wave of mourning crashed over you.

Mourning your past.

Mourning your future.

And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.

Him.

You inhaled his scent deeply.

He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home.

How long had he been out there?

How long had he been waiting?

“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.

“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”

A shiver rolled through you.

“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”

You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.

Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.

Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness.

“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.

His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.

And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with.

The man you had been on the run from.

His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.

“Til death do us part.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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at-wicks-end · 3 months ago

Text

in another life (you still would've turned my head) ; jw

vampire!john wick x reader fluff !! (lowkey a reincarnation au) ~2.5k words

notes: this fic is written for @treedaddymcpuffpuff for the keanuverse secret santa event hosted by @97keanu <333 i hope you like this!!! this is probably the longest thing i've written on this blog 😵‍💫 happy holidays🩷

John cares little for the snow. It’s not that he found it cumbersome or annoying; it’s just that when one has lived for as long as he has, shoveling the snow from the driveway becomes a little too tedious, even for one well-versed in tedious matters. Such was the nature of immortality—given enough time, even the most unique, spectacular experience becomes boring after a century.

This task becomes herculean (or Sisyphean, John corrects himself) when said driveway was practically a third of the length of his entire estate, which was also in the middle of the woods. His eye twitches at the thought of the snow that would inevitably impede the driving of his beloved Mustang to the nearest town. With a heavy sigh, John casts one longing look at his car, as spotless and as pristine as the day he got it decades ago. He’ll wait for the winter to pass before he brings out his car for a drive. For now, he thinks reluctantly, he’ll walk. He has more than enough time anyway.

It doesn’t take long for him to get ready. All he does is put on his long coat and wrap a scarf around his neck before heading out. He has no need for it, but it’s easier to pretend to need it than to deal with the constant concerned looks from the townspeople as he walks around. It also helped him blend in with the rest of the people walking around, doing some last-minute gift shopping for loved ones at those ridiculously overpriced boutiques. John blows out the candles in the hallways as he walks to the foyer, running a mental checklist of the things he had to put out or turn off before leaving.

Dog—yes, Dog. Comments about his creativity are not welcome—approaches him with a wagging tail, the soft clicks of his claws on the hardwood floors reminding John that he had to trim them again soon.

“Hello,” John says warmly, squatting down to pet Dog. “You can’t come with me tonight. I’ll be walking, and it’s too cold.”

Dog woofs once, as if to complain. John chuckles to himself, ruffling his soft fur before straightening himself. “You’ll be fine. I’ve already fed you dinner, haven’t I? I’ll be back later.”

After one last brief round through the manor, John mildly regrets killing the last butler, if only so he had someone else to do the tedious tasks instead. But then again, the last butler turned out to be some vampire hunter wannabe who slipped silver oxide in his tea one night. That gave him quite the sore throat, John thinks bitterly, locking the doors behind him. The poor man was stupid enough to think that a little silver oxide would be able to take him down completely, and didn’t even bother to bring a weapon. Truthfully, it was a bit insulting.

John trudges through the snow, out of his estate and into the woods. It would take him half an hour to get to town, and by then it’ll be almost ten in the evening. The town and its warm lights strung through trees and lampposts will be winding down by then, shop lights shutting off one by one. All the better for him; the fewer humans around him, the safer it was. At almost three centuries of existence, John was already well-versed in resisting temptation, but it didn’t mean he was fond of placing himself in situations where he could potentially snap.

Behind him, his manor fades into the darkness, looking abandoned and more dilapidated than it truly is. For a moment, John squints at one of the towers. Hm. he’ll have to take a look at the top window sometime soon; it looked to be on the verge of falling apart.

He walks through the forest in silence, with no other sound to accompany him other than the sound of crunching snow beneath his boots and the occasional birdsong. John allows his thoughts to wander, his mind flitting from events that had happened over a decade ago and wondering what he would do a week from now. The year was coming to an end, and Winston no doubt is itching to drag him to the Continental for the Winter Ball.

Yeah, right. John snorts. Invite a bunch of vampires to one place. Never ends well.

The previous year, the D’Antonio siblings caused quite a scene by bringing untrained, unmarked humans into the venue. The younger vamps could barely resist tearing the poor things apart. At the very least, it had provided enough entertainment for the rest of the evening, according to Koji, an old friend of his.

He should probably give him a call this Christmas if only to check in, John muses. And send over a gift for Akira. What does one give to a young vampling these days anyway?

He’s snapped from his reverie at the sound of grumbling. He freezes, straining his ears to understand what the voice is saying.

“...this is so stupid. Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea? God. I’m gonna get eaten by wolves…”

There are no wolves in the area, John can attest to that, but this human seemed lost. And most certainly not a local, if they were out in the woods at night. He purses his lips, turning his head from the direction of the voice to the general direction of the town. He should be close by now, and the blood dealer was likely there already. John could just leave the unknown voice there to fend for themselves and potentially freeze in the dark.

But what the hell, he thinks. It’s Christmas. This can be his good deed of the year.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he takes a sharp turn to the right and makes his way to the voice. His eyesight meant that the dark of night wasn’t truly dark to him, but he supposes that to a human, this was close to pitch black. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a figure huddled by the root of a tree in the dark, angrily poking at what looked to be their phone. Humans and their smartphones, John sighs internally.

“Hello,” he says slowly, not wanting to scare them. “Are you lost?”

The human flinches, looking up at him with wide eyes. Moonlight shines on their face just so, and John swears his undead heart would be pounding if it still could.

Oh, he thinks, breathless. It’s you.

You really shouldn’t have come here, you think mournfully. Your roommate brought you along with her for the holidays, feeling bad that you were going to be left in the apartment by yourself. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until you got to her hometown and she promptly dropped you off at the local inn and said goodbye for the week. After asking around for fun activities to do (that had nothing to do with the holidays, thank you very much), one of the younger locals suggested geocaching, now that quite a handful of people were developing an interest in it too. He told you to download an app that should explain things better, and you spent the better part of the afternoon looking things up.

This is supposed to be your third spot to check out, but the signal got worse somewhere along the way, and now your phone is dead too. Just your fucking luck. Somewhere, someone must be actively praying for your downfall because what do you mean you’re now stuck in the middle of the woods at night? You groan, angrily poking at the black screen of your phone when a voice calls out to you.

“Hello. Are you lost?”

It’s a true testament to your strength, your bravery, your iron will, that you did not shit yourself at the sound of the voice. You look up at the tall stranger with wide eyes, noting that holy shit this man is gorgeous and you probably look like you’ve been crawling through all sorts of nooks and crannies all afternoon. Which you have been. So.

“Hi,” you squeak. Okay. He doesn’t seem like an ax murderer, judging by his nice clothing…? Every bit of information you learned in those true crime podcasts you listen to has flown out of your brain, leaving you looking up at the stranger with your mouth parted.

The tall, dark, and handsome stranger looks at you for a moment before offering you a hand. “The town is that way,” he gestures somewhere to the left. “I’m… John.”

You mumble your name, taking his hand in a daze. Of course, you would meet an absolute Adonis on the worst day of your life (an exaggeration). You try not to swoon at his firm grip, or how he easily pulls you upright without so much as a sharp exhale. Whew. This is a man, you think dreamily, nothing like those slimy finance bros back in the city. Perhaps it’s your turn for a Hallmark movie romance. You, the city slicker with a hatred for the holidays, and this man, the local who’ll teach you the true meaning of Christmas.

He repeats your name quietly, nodding. “I’m headed to town. We can walk together, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” you respond, feeling breathless all of a sudden. Get ahold of yourself, you think desperately. You can’t fold for the first hot man that you see in the woods!

Your dreams of a budding romance, are crushed, however, when no further words are exchanged. Stealing glances at John’s (very handsome) side profile does nothing for your flushed cheeks, and his shy smile whenever he catches you staring makes you melt internally. The distant lights of the town coming into view make your heart sink.

He appears to take pity for your plight and breaks the silence first. “Are you only visiting here?”

“Yeah,” you reply quickly. Too quickly. You swallow thickly, trying to play off your embarrassment. “I mean, yeah, My roommate just brought me along, so…”

“I see.” He nods. “How are you liking this place so far?”

“It’s like a Christmas village,” you say with disdain. The corners of John’s lips quirk up.

“I’m hearing some distaste in your tone.” He notes, amusement in his voice.

You scrunch your nose. “I don’t like Christmas.”

“Oh?”

“I just don’t like it,” you shrug. “You?”

John pauses, thinking for a moment. “I don’t mind it. I don’t think too much of it.”

“Pretty hard to do when it’s so… in your face,” you quip.

“I’m good at focusing on what truly matters,” he says coolly, his gaze suddenly serious. Your cheeks feel hot again.

“Oh. That’s nice.” You mumble, looking away, feeling strangely flustered. Are all handsome men just way too intense for their own good? “Are you a, uh, local?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, tilting his head towards you with a small smirk. “A local of the Christmas village.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” You laugh, caught off guard by his sudden teasing. “It’s just not for me, I’m sorry!”

He laughs with you, his deep voice almost melting into the cold winter breeze. Something inside you feels warm at the sight of his smile, and it’s not just because you think this man is hot. He doesn’t feel like a stranger, you think curiously. He feels strangely familiar, as if you’ve known the sound of his laughter for years. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s begging you to take his hand, to savor the warmth of his skin against yours and⁠—

“We’re almost there,” he states, looking straight ahead.

Oh. Right.

“Thanks,” you say softly, looking at him. “For helping me back there.”

John only shrugs, his features warmed by the light from the lamppost just straight ahead. “I have a knack for helping strays.” He smiles as if joking. “And I think you’ll find that you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “‘Cause I met you, is that it?”

He gives you that smile again, as if he knows something you don’t. As if you should know what he’s talking about too. It should unnerve you, but it doesn’t. “Something like that.”

The two of you eventually stop walking just in front of the stall selling mulled wine. “Well, this is me,” you say reluctantly. As charmed as you are by this man, you’ve retained enough of your common sense to not reveal just where exactly you’re staying for now. (If he wants to come up to your room for a late night something, well… maybe you’re not totally against the idea.) “I’m gonna go walk around before I turn in for the night. You?”

“I’m meeting an acquaintance,” he replies, putting his hands in his pockets. Strange. He isn’t wearing gloves.

“Good night, John.” You smile, reluctant to leave his side for some godforsaken reason. “I’ll see you around?”

“You will see me around the Christmas village, yes,” he replies, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Good night, solnishko.”

Little sun.

How do you know that?

You wave goodbye, dazed, watching as he disappears into the crowd. Your chest aches at the sight of him leaving, but you ignore it, deciding it’s time to turn in for the night after all. It’s been a long day of gallivanting, and getting lost in the woods did no favors for your poor feet. Sighing softly, you imagine the relief of finally taking off these godforsaken boots and warming up by the fire. You’re gonna sleep so good tonight.

Giving one last longing look in the direction John went, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again. It’s just because he’s hot, you tell yourself. Yes, that’s just it. Nothing to do with how his voice makes your stomach do somersaults.

(You will see him again, one way or another. Like John said, you have a knack for being in the right place at the right time, even when you don’t remember him. John only allowed the night to slip from his grasp knowing that the universe will inevitably bring you back to him, as it has many times before.)

(As it will continue to do so, for as long as your soul remembers him even when your mind does not. For now, John is determined to make you fall in love with him all over again until you have to leave.)

John watches you walk to the local inn from afar, hidden in the shadows. So you hate Christmas this time, he chuckles to himself. That’s alright. So long as you still like him, he can make it work.

He’ll make it work.

post-fic yap: there we go!! i have never actually experienced snow in my life so i'm sorry if it's not super accurate :')) i really wanted to add some more stuff but my health has been in the dumps so i just did my best🥲 again, happy holidays! i hope i did your prompt justice🥹

#keanuverse secret santa #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick #keanu reeves #vampire john wick

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ilium-ilia · 1 month ago

Text

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Nine: white light and holly

tw: none

Just as promised, Simon picks you up the following afternoon.

Jack Frost paid you a visit last night, leaving intricate, swirling designs on your windows, obscuring the grey cityscape beyond your apartment in prismatic light. It diffuses your vision to the point that you don’t recognize Simon when he pulls up, and you nearly jump out of your skin when he knocks on the door. Shoulders scrunching, muscles tensing; you turn to the door with a grunt as your cramps jolt through your body. They’re worse today than they were yesterday. They always seem to grow more intense with time. You wish it would remit—but it’s a familiar pain you know how to push through now.

Shouldering on a coat, you open the door only to be immediately scrutinized under Simon’s gaze. Dark eyes flicker over your body, checking for irritated scleras, perspiration, and general fragility. Though you are loads better than when he saw you last week, you’re certain your crossed arms and the slight hunching over your stomach isn’t convincing. Judging by the tight line of his lips, he’s not entirely impressed.

Mustering a smile, you glance behind him, prodding him into action. “Hey. Ready to head out?”

He hums before nodding, boots clomping against the floor as he moves out of the way. “Got the car all warmed up for ya, sweetheart.”

London looks magical around this time of year, especially from the passenger’s seat of Simon’s car. Warm white lights twist up the trunks of every tree, spiraling along branches where stray snowflakes glint in their glory. Evergreen garland adorns street lights with faux holly and winter berries, giving your eyes a break from the otherwise barren concrete jungle. It’s beautiful. Picture perfect. Something you’d expect to see on a postcard or in a movie. The glass of the window fogs up with your breath as you lean closer to get a better look at the streets.

With only one more week until Christmas, the pavement bustles with last minute shoppers. Children in too-large coats and fluffy caps trot behind their parents as they squeal in delight at window displays in flashy shops. The holiday has a way of illuminating everything and casting a warm, yellow glow on the wonderstruck faces peering through the glass. It bathes the streets until they’re lively and buzzing, banishing the gloom of the city—you almost don’t recognize the foreign scene before you.

Once Simon finds a place to park, you’re able to step out into that wonderland yourself. A soft breeze nips at the tips of your ears and nose, rubbing them raw with crystalline shards like sandpaper across your skin, but you ignore it in favor of the toy shop display flashing through the window. A model train travels through a tiny village dusted with synthetic snow. Tiny villagers go about their tiny lives as they attend church and visit family or throw snowballs at one another. Each of them are hand painted with care—complete with rosy cheeks and colorful winter attire.

Simon’s reflection dances in the glass as he approaches your side, looking down at the scene you can’t help but gawk at. His arm brushes against yours as he inspects the paintwork on the figurines, and you glance at him with a smile. His face glows in the light, bringing his skin to life, scars and all. It casts shadows on his face perfectly, defining the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones.

You can’t help but swallow as he rubs his chin, and you force your attention back on the model village before you. “I wish it would snow more in London.”

He hums, feet shuffling on the pavement. “Would be a lot of shoveling.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have to snow a whole lot,” you chuckle. “Just enough to stick around. Thick enough to make snow angels out of.”

You pause to watch the train travel through the tunnel. A small light fixed to the front of the locomotive cuts through the darkness, and you watch it grow brighter as it nears the exit. In your head, you can imagine its whistle and the huff and puff of smoke as the engine burns coal to transport presents just in time for Christmas Day.

“My dad and I used to make frost angels instead. The grass at the park would always glisten with frost, especially in the mornings, so we’d lay in the field and make angels.” You laugh at the memory as a fit of giggles erupts behind you. A small group of siblings pass by with toys in hand. For a moment, you almost feel warm. “They never looked really pretty, but he’d always finish them off with halos anyway.”

“Could always blend up some ice for ya,” Simon patronizes.

You mock laugh at him. “Oh sure, thanks. Think you can get all of London covered by Christmas?”

He shrugs. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Ignoring the way your palms begin to sweat, you quickly change the subject, suggesting that you get to shopping before you freeze to death. Thankfully, Simon bites and leads you inside of the toy shop where you’re welcomed by a jovial clerk with a kind smile. A green elf hat sits on his head, leaving the children nearby to gawk and titter. Christmas music plays softly through the radio on the back counter, and it fades in and out as you wander between shelves where spiced cinnamon and pumpkin wafts in a trail behind you.

A variety of toys adorn the aisles, but Simon appears to be on a mission for something in specific. He completely bypasses the frilly princess costumes, fancy dolls, action figures, and craft supplies in favor of toy cars and model ships. They’re cute; impossibly small. Made perfectly for little hands and fingers.

Then, you make the mistake of looking at the price tags.

There’s a special aesthetic that surrounds this time of year. Something beautiful and kind. It lurks in incandescent light bulbs and wrapping paper. It tops gingerbread cookies and their matching homes. There’s a mawkish joy that tugs at your heart and leaves your stomach churning beneath your diaphragm as an orchestral version of Jingle Bells blares on the speakers overhead.

Despite it all, there’s always going to be something that will separate you from everyone else. You’ll never be the one bringing home gifts to family members. Never be the one to splurge on a desperately wanted present. Each year you can hardly scrounge up enough to give Aelin something. Hell, you’re not even sure if you’ll have enough to buy the sanitary products you so desperately need.

“What kind of present are you looking for?” Push it out of your mind. You can’t mope forever.

“Somethin’ my nephew’s been wantin’ for a bit. He’s been talkin’ his parents ear off ‘bout it for the last few months,” Simon replies, eyes scanning the shelf in front of him. He hums as his fingers ghost over the box of a model plane. “Been obsessed with planes lately.”

“Nephew?” you repeat. “So, you have siblings then?”

“A brother. Thomas. Everyone calls ‘im Tommy. I like to call him a pain in the arse,” he humors.

Chuckling, you crouch down to assist Simon’s search for the perfect gift. This movement—curling in on yourself—temporarily eases the cramps that still fester deep in your abdomen, and you sigh. No matter how little the reprieve is, it’s always welcome.

“Big or little brother, then?” you ask.

“Older. Certainly isn’t bigger than me.”

“Yeah, figure it’s pretty hard to be bigger than you.”

Falling quiet, you put in more effort into searching through eye-catching toys flashy enough to steal away any child’s attention. They’ve got everything from small sets made out of metal, to build-your-own models. It’s certainly fancier than anything you remembered from when you were a kid.

“Oh! This is cute,” you coo.

Your hands reach out for a large box padded with smooth cardboard. For its size, it’s incredibly light, so it’s easy work to slide it off of the shelf. A precious, design-it-yourself RC plane, complete with paint and all. The box depicts what you assume is supposed to be a father and his son painting designs on the body of the plane together.

You hold the box up for Simon to see, giving it a little shake. “Look, he could design his own little plane!”

Simon’s eyes widen in recognition as you straighten yourself out, box still in hand. “That’s the one.”

Holding it out for him to take, he relieves you of it. Large hands dwarf the box as he flips it around, reading the description on the back. He smirks, then chuckles before shaking his head.

“As seen on TV,” he quotes. “They play the commercial for this between his favorite cartoons. Been begging his mum for it ever since.”

“What’s his name?” you ask.

“Joseph.”

Before you have the chance to comment further, Simon slides the box underneath his arm while his free hand retrieves his phone. The screen flickers on, casting a dim glow on his face as he clicks through applications.

When he turns it in your direction, you’re met with a half fuzzy photo of a young boy and a woman. They’re outside, sitting in a pile of leaves, their dying colors of red and yellows vibrantly declaring the autumn season. A few torn leaves stick to the boy’s bright blonde hair as he attempts to shove a fistful of them into the woman’s hair. They don’t quite stick to her copper locks, but she grins at him anyway. With bright blue eyes and beautiful smiles, they’re near carbon copies of one another.

“Tom sent me this a few months back. That’s little Joey there, and his mum, Beth,” Simon shares.

“He’s adorable,” you coo. “How old is he?”

The very moment Simon answers, an unforgiving contraction rips through your abdomen. Muscles cramp and tighten, pulling so taut you fear they’ll tear each other apart. In a pitiful attempt to soothe yourself, your hand presses right above where your uterus is wreaking havoc on your body. With enough pressure, you’re sure you can phase through your organs and reach into yourself to remove the nuisance straight from the source. Instead, you fight back a grimace as you feel your organs collapse in on one another.

No matter how hard you try, you’re unable to hide such vicious pain from Simon. He catches on quickly. Sniffs it out like a cadaver dog. His phone shuts off yet stays firmly in his palm as he presses the back of his hand against your forehead. Taken aback, you stare up at him, mouth trying to form words, yet nothing falls from your lips. There’s something about this touch that feels familiar. Something that leaves you feeling empty when he moves his hand away.

“Sure you’re feelin’ alright?” he asks. “Still a little warm. Don’t look like you’re feelin’ too good, sweetheart.”

Maybe it’s due to what your body has been going through as of late, or maybe it’s because of the way he’s looking at you, but your mouth grows dry. Like a desert. Devoid of the oasis of words you so desperately need. There’s no use in beating around the bush—or at least you try to tell yourself as much—you’ve followed him out here for a reason.

“Yeah, I’m just… you know. On my menses,” you explain, trying to make it sound humorous, but it comes off as more awkward than anything. “That’s, uh, one of the reasons I came with you today. Was sorta hoping I could drop by the pharmacy to pick some stuff up.”

You hoped the concern etched into his face would melt away with your explanation, but if anything it only gets worse. “You shoulda said something. Would’ve dropped by there first.”

“It’s no big deal,” you attempt to assure. “I mean, it’s not like this stuff goes away with a magic medication or something.”

God, you wish it would. A simple pop of a pill and a quick nap to have this all fade away sounds heavenly. It would save you from the odd look Simon gives you as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made him uncomfortable. Some men get… squeamish around this type of talk. You have a very vivid memory shoved in the back of your mind of one of the cooks getting on Bee for walking in the restaurant with a box of tampons in hand. She told them off with a bravery you can only dream of mustering. They have yet to mention anything since, but the image of their tense faces is forever burned into your mind.

You wonder if it’s the blood or the body it comes from that disgusts them so much.

“C’mon,” Simon urges as he nods towards the end of the aisle. “Should be a pharmacy on the end of the block.”

“But what about presents for your family?” you ask.

“This was the last thing I was lookin’ for. Everythin’ else is already covered,” he assures you. “We’ll go up to pay then get you what you need, yeah?”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Simon Riley over the last few months, it’s that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Of course, you’ve known this fairly early on. He’s the apotheosis of strength. You felt it from the way his hands held yours when he taught you how to shoot pool, how firm and unwavering they were against yours. It’s a force that evolves. One moment it’s as soft as a whisper, and the next it’s sharp enough to send a man as terrifying as Andrei whimpering and running for the hills.

You wonder if he brings that same heat to Terminus. Doing grunt work in the club, fighting off men gathering around the innocent like flies drawn to rot and decay. How often have those teeth been redirected at him, causing the puffy scars that trace the features of his nose and jaw? Are his claws only razors because someone else sharpened them for him?

Too many times have you seen men like Simon deteriorate. They shatter; fracture into warped reflection of themselves as they become nothing but self-centered beasts who don’t fear spilling blood. Strength and power corrupts even the kindest of people—turns humans into monsters; into men like Marco.

Simon should terrify you, but he doesn’t.

You don’t fully realize why that is until you reach the pharmacy.

Even with your obvious apprehension about him accompanying you inside, he does anyway. Simon trots behind you like an obedient dog as you weave through aisles with your eyes trained on each item you come across. He doesn’t flinch at the hygiene products. Instead, he watches intently as you peruse, counting numbers in your head and quids in your hand. It’s this counting game again. Barely scraping by—not having enough to buy supplies that will last you more than a few days, forever stuck with travel sized versions of what you require.

When he catches that disconsolate expression on your face, he insists on paying for you.

“I’m not gonna let you go without what’cha need. These prices are robbin’ you blind,” he says when you try to argue.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” you retort, guilt eating you alive.

“I’m not buyin’ you a pony here, sweetheart. They’re pads and tampons. Necessities.”

Stubborn as an ox, he doesn’t budge. Simon is persevering, and certainly has more stamina to argue than you do. Saving yourself from any further embarrassment, you finally allow it. You keep a mental note to remind yourself to buy him something when you get the money.

If you get the money.

Bundled up in his arms, Simon carries the items up to the counter himself, even going as far as to sneak some over the counter painkillers in the process. You follow behind him like a wounded animal; or, at least the clerk looks at you as if you are one. A wet stray cat. A fox caught in a trap. Some pathetic, bleeding bitch—it’s like he can smell the blood that stains the insides of your thighs. Shame mixes with the embarrassment coursing through your veins, lighting you on fire until you’re nothing but a boiling mess of a woman.

Suddenly, the only thing you see is Simon’s back.

“Get paid to stare, or are you gonna ring us up?” he grunts.

Simon cares ferociously, you realize. Unabashedly an altruist. That’s why you’re not scared of him. It would be so easy for him to take—to scrape up everything he wants and shove it into his pocket like it’s always belonged to him—but he doesn’t. Simon likes balance. Enjoys peace. When he snarls, it’s done with sharp teeth; just enough to get the glares and smirks to dissipate, and when he looks back at you, they’re dull. He doesn’t speak about the tally. There are no numbers written in the back of his mind. No debt to pay.

He doesn’t keep count. Simon cares because that’s what he wants to do, and if it’s not, then he is the greatest pretender you have ever met.

You’re only able to breathe again when you’re back in Simon’s car with your seatbelt fastened and menstruation supplies are in hand. Dusk settles in the sky with a soft lilac hue as you’re taken back home, but the streets refuse to darken. Christmas joy bathes the pavement, illuminating the concrete with bright lights that diffuse dreamily through the car window—they almost look like stars. You squint and try to pick out a constellation—it makes a good distraction for the cramping and humiliation that festers in your stomach.

“Got plans for Christmas?”

Neither of you have spoken in so long that you nearly jump at the warm baritone resonating in his chest. Glancing at Simon, you quell your heart as you watch him for a moment. Hands carefully on the wheel, safely maneuvering through traffic—your stomach drops.

“Oh, uhm, not really. Usually I spend it with John and Aelin, but they’re headed out of the country for the holiday. My parents passed when I was a kid, so… uh, otherwise I think I’ll probably spend it at home? Relax, or whatever,” you explain.

An eternity passes by as you wait for his response. As the engine hums and the radio plays old Christmas tunes, you feel his words before they even form on his tongue. You try not to grimace before the words leave his mouth.

“I’ve got family in Manchester. My mum’s hostin’ my brother and I for the holiday. You’re more than welcome to join, if you’d like,” he offers.

Your eyes flutter as you look at your hands with a sigh. “You know you don’t… have to do all that, right?” you ask.

“Do what?” he questions, sincere confusion lacing his tone.

“I know that Aelin asked you to keep an eye on me, and that she’s concerned about me, or whatever; and I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, truly. But Simon, this is your family. I can’t… barge in. You deserve to spend time with them without having to worry about, you know… me.”

His head shakes, eyes daring a glance at you as you fiddle with the bag in your lap. “Mrs. Price isn’t makin’ me do anything. And you’re not bargain’ in if I invite you,” he says.

Teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip, you feel yourself sunder. Long, spiderweb cracks form in your foundation as your heart pounds so hard you fear it’ll rip itself to shreds. You’re becoming undone in the passenger’s seat of a car, and you swear this time it will be the end of you.

“Sweetheart,” Simon prompts softly, “I’m not askin’ you because of Aelin, or anyone else. She didn’t even mention it to me, I swear it. I’m askin’ because I want to know if you’ll go to Manchester with me. That’s it.”

Finally, you bring yourself to look at him as anxiety slithers down your throat when you swallow. “Do you… really want me to go?”

“Course I do. Wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t. I’d be chuffed if you did, but it’s up to you.” He pauses as he spares another glance at you. “You can say no.”

Quiet eudaimonia warms your chest at his words, but you’re not sure which part has done you in. Is it his outspoken wish that he wants you to join him? That it would make him happy if you came along? Or is it his quiet reminder that—despite his desires—you still have a choice?

“When would we leave?” you ask.

“Christmas Eve, most likely. Still got work up until then, and we’d have to be back the day after Christmas. It’d be a short trip,” he explains.

Lungs filling with air, your heart settles as you manage a quiet smile. “Okay. Well… I’d love to meet them. Your family. It would be… nice not to be alone this Christmas.”

Simon smiles, and you find yourself staring at him longer than you should. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He is really… handsome. Ruggedness, scars, crooked nose and all—his features come together perfectly as if sculpted by an artist. This is the same man who fought off a blade for you, the man who’s assured you were safe on several occasions, who refuses to be bashful or stationary when it comes to ensuring your comfort. This is the man who always walks you up the stairs to your apartment, refusing to let you out of his sight until he knows you’re safe in your residence. The man who fixed your door, your sink—

—everything.

As you say goodnight and reiterate your plans for Christmas, your mind repeats that phrase: Simon Riley cares ferociously.

Simon Riley cares ferociously about you.

It continues. Repetitive. Never-ending. It doesn’t cease. Not even as Simon vanishes back down the stairs and you shut and lock the door behind him. Not even when you toss yourself face first into your bed, period products discarded on some forgotten counter in your kitchen. Fervid desire swells in your chest to the point you feel your ribs and cartilage threaten to pop. You’ll explode into a mess of viscera until you're unrecognizable, and it hurts. It hurts but feels like the closest thing to freedom that you’ve tasted in a long time.

For the first time in ages, something finally feels like it’s changing for the better.

When your phone rings an hour later, you find yourself looking at the screen hoping it’s Simon. You drop everything, pasta nearly over boiling on the stove, just to fetch the device. Your stomach plummets through the floor when you see Aelin’s caller ID instead of his, and then you’re struck with guilt. A palpable tension still stretches between the two of you since your last conversation. You still taste the bile—that stomach acid and soup.

Your hand shakes as you press accept and turn the heat down on the burner. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Aelin greets. Her voice is pillowy. Careful. “You sound better than you did last week.”

“Yeah, feeling a lot better,” you admit. Your laugh is awkward. Tense. It’s as if you’re talking to a stranger, and maybe in some way you are. That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it? Pushing her away, building walls until you're unrecognizable to one another. Nothing but strangers who have known each other for half your lives.

“Good. That’s good. Hey, uhm…” You brace yourself, eyes shutting as you let steam from the pot brush over your face as she continues. “I wanted to apologize for last week. For… honestly the last few weeks. You’ve been going through a rough time with work and everything and… and what I thought was me being supportive or helpful was really just me being a dunce. When I see something I think is a problem, I want to fix it right away, and when I can’t I get so frustrated and… well, I shouldn’t have said what I said to you the other day. That wasn’t fair to you at all.”

Aelin pauses to clear her throat, but it still takes her a moment before she speaks up again. When she does, you freeze at the tightness of her voice—it sounds as if her vocal chords are ready to snap. “I just… it makes me sad thinking about you having to do anything alone, a-and I know no one likes unwanted help, least of all you but… Just know I’m here for you. Anything, I swear. Both John and I would move heaven and earth for you.”

Trembling lips curve into a smile, and when you laugh you’re not sure if it’s out of love, relief, or both. Aelin falls silent on the other end, trepidation obvious even through the call.

“I know you’re more of a talker than I am, and you wanna know what’s going on but… that’s just not me. You know that. It’s… hard. I dunno. But just because I’m not sharing my feelings, or whatever, that doesn’t mean I’m doing this alone. I know I have you, and John, and—”

Simon’s name almost slips off of your tongue like a shattered secret.

“—and I always have you guys to lean on. I know you feel like you aren’t doing enough, or that you should be doing more but… Aelin, you’ve done more for me than anyone else in my entire life ever has. You know that, right?”

A long stretch of silence interrupts the call as you wait for Aelin to respond, and when she finally does, all she can muster is a quiet: “Oh.” There’s a slightly longer silence before she’s finally able to string the correct words together. “Well, when you put it that way… I sound really stupid.”

“You have your moments,” you humor.

A melodic fit of giggles erupts from both you and Aelin. Sweet, carefree, and loving. You sound like kids again, or gossiping school girls snickering to one another when you shouldn’t be.

“Well, thanks for helping me get my head on straight, then,” she chuckles. “Really. It’s always nice to know it was worse in my head than it was in real life.”

“I notice things are usually like that,” you quip.

“Well… I might’ve gone a little overboard. The idea of you spending Christmas alone still really makes me sad, so I talked with my mum. She said you’re more than welcome to spend the day with her and granny, if you’re needing company,” Aelin explains. There’s a short pause before she anxiously adds: “You don’t have to go, of course, if you’d rather stay home. Just thought I’d give you the option.”

There’s an ardent swell that expands in your chest. It travels all throughout your body, synapses tingling, neurons buzzing. Leaning against the counter, you look down at the floor—which could use a good sweep—as your toes wiggle in the fluffy slippers Aelin gifted you on your birthday a few years back.

“Well, I’ve actually got plans for Christmas now. Simon invited me to go to Manchester for the holiday. We’ll be spending it with his family,” you share.

An over-dramatic gasp crackles through the speaker. “Seriously? Are you joking? No, you’re not joking! Wait, did you suggest it? Or was he seriously, like, let me take you to Manchester?” she says while mocking his low voice and Mancunian accent.

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say with an awkward laugh. “It was… really sweet of him.”

“Oh? Sweet, was it?” Aelin jests.

What you thought was going to be a quick call consisting of setting scores straight and airing out baggage quickly devolves into a childish conversation about a potential relationship with Simon. You have to set the call on speaker in order to finish up dinner, and even then Aelin persists well after you’ve washed your dishes.

It’s… strange to be having this sort of conversation. Even as a kid you never pursued any sort of relationship besides the platonic. No one ever caught your eye. Nothing ever sparked what you imagined infatuation would feel like. For a long while, you thought you were broken. Meant to forever go about the world without a partner to crawl next to in bed, or someone to make breakfast for. It would be fine. You’ve gone your entire life without that bond so far.

But now? Now that it feels so close you can nearly reach out and touch it? You’re too frightened to name it—to call it love—lest you scare it off before you even have the chance to hold it in your hands.

Eventually, the call ends with promises and oaths, and each of you swear to tell one another about your Christmas excursions when Aelin returns from her trip with John. Lights flicker off as you slip into pajamas, and you revel in the soft cotton warming your skin as you slip under covers. As you lay on your back, eyes bleary as they attempt to focus on the pale ceiling above you, you think of Simon. Your fingers itch to reach for your phone, to shoot him a text—to thank him for his kindness today.

Don’t you remind yourself. Simon is the water you try to cup in your hands—palms pressed tight together, wrists contorting into the perfect chalice—you’ll spill it if you’re not careful. This ardor. This feeling you can’t quite name. So you close your eyes, and for once you allow yourself to hope. To yearn.

You lay there and pray that when Simon thinks of you, his heart beats just as wildly as yours does when you think of him.

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somepsychopomp · 2 months ago

Text

contemplating a particularly evil AU where, after Odysseus escapes from Poseidon the first time, our favorite problematic god decides to set his sights upon Ithaca in order to get his revenge.

He doesn't raise the tides to drown all the inhabitants or cause earthquakes to break the island apart, no. Poseidon directly seeks out sweet little 10 y/old Telemachus...

and befriends him.

(Ody really shouldn't have doxxed himself with this one)

It starts with Poseidon disguising himself as a mortal man and infiltrating the palace, knowing that Odysseus was blown across the sea and is still struggling to get home. He claims to be a wise man taught in Athens, and is willing to offer his tutelage to Ithaca's prince. Though it irks him a bit to pose as a scholar from the city he lost to his niece, Poseidon convinces Penelope to let him take over the position of her son's tutor in all necessary subjects: reading, oratory, history (which will be easy, seeing as Poseidon lived through all of it himself), etc.

Telemachus is shy at first, but warms up to his new tutor quite quickly. [insert Poseidon's fake name] is not like the stuffy old men that Penelope first assigned to Telemachus' education. He's patient, doesn't reprimand the young prince when he falters, and rewards him for doing well with sweet treats and fantastical stories about faraway lands and monsters.

After earning the lad's trust, Poseidon approaches Penelope and says it's not right that such a bright boy like Telemachus isn't also taught in other aspects of manhood. He asks to take Telemachus out for his first hunt, to which she reluctantly agrees. (Penelope knows that her husband slew an adult boar when he was Telemachus' age so yeah)

Telemachus is both excited and nervous to be outside the palace without any guards or his mother. He asks how Poseidon knows to hunt and he laughs, saying that just because he's a scholar, doesn't mean he isn't also an athlete and a warrior.

Telemachus takes the bait, asking what competitions Poseidon won, who he beat, etc. He's regaled with entirely false tales of wrestling matches, chariot races, and spear throwing contests, as well as stories of successful hunts for bears and wolves.

It's truly the perfect opportunity to strike. The two of them are alone in the woods with no one else around, no one who would hear the prince scream as he was torn asunder. No one to find his bones...

"Do it," Poseidon says quickly, "Strike now."

At the behest of his teacher, Telemachus draws his bow and fires at the young deer upwind from them. The arrow hits the creature in the flank and it darts into the foliage. No time to praise the prince for his aim, Poseidon leads him uphill, showing the boy how to track injured prey. He's armed with a bow he never intended on using and a spear designed for hunting, as similar of a weapon to his trident as he can get.

Poseidon catches a glimpse of movement through the trees and throws his spear. It strikes the deer in the neck, felling it instantly. That night under the stars, the two of them feast on roasted venison over a roaring campfire. Poseidon insists that he couldn't have done it without his pupil, that Telemachus injuring the deer was what brought about its downfall.

Telemachus is beaming with joy, so excited to have gotten his first kill, when he suddenly turns withdrawn and shy. Poseidon asks what's wrong.

"It's just that... I always hoped I would go on my first hunt with my father..."

Poseidon pulls the boy against his side as Telemachus sniffles and tries to suppress his tears. Poseidon hushes him and says that while he can't speak for the king, he's certainly proud of his pupil!

"But do you think he'll be back soon?" Telemachus asks. Poseidon smiles and says only the gods would know. But for now, Telemachus should be proud of himself.

Penelope is pleased to find her son in one piece when he returns. He shows her the pelt from his first hunt and she assures him she's very impressed. What really matters to her is that Telemachus is safe and growing as a boy should- learning the useful skills he'll need as a man and a future king.

From then on, Poseidon has much more leeway with how he spends his time with the prince. They go to the beach so Telemachus learns how to swim, fish, and sail. He learns how to tame a horse and gain its trust, etc.

It's a nice way to pass the time, waiting.

Eventually, news turns up that every fleet from Troy arrived home, except for Odysseus'. No other king knows where he and his 600-person army vanished to. No one knows where he is, or when he'll return.

Penelope is saddened by this revelation, but knows her husband well and refuses to believe that Odysseus of Ithaca perished in something as simple as a rogue storm. Telemachus is heartbroken, though. He's just a boy and after having heard that nearby kingdoms received their men after ten long years, he got all his hopes up that he'd finally get to meet his father.

His mother tries to console him, to tell Telemachus not to give up hope. Odysseus is out there, somewhere. But her son is inconsolable until Poseidon gently asks Penelope if he can speak to him.

Poseidon tells Telemachus that sometimes things happen for a reason. Was this the will of some god, perhaps?

Telemachus doesn't know how to respond, but sniffles and asks if he did something wrong. If it's his fault his father isn't home. Poseidon hugs him tight and says it's not his fault at all! No, if anything, perhaps Odysseus' silver tongue got him in trouble, or that this delay in his' return is only a temporary misfortune. Perhaps it'll lead to greater things down the line. Telemachus doesn't really understand, but he begins to calm down after hearing both his mother & tutor tell him that things will be alright.

In the meantime, Telemachus wants to become someone that his father would be proud of. He asks Poseidon to train him even harder and help him grow into a great warrior.

Poseidon accepts and the two of them grow even closer.

Not long after, the first of the suitors arrive. They're the sons of local noblemen or other prominent families in Ithaca. For a while, the queen offers them hospitality without suspecting much, thinking that the gifts the men offer are condolences for her husband's late arrival. Then they start trying to woo her.

The suitors start harassing Telemachus, too. They see him as an obvious threat to the power they could steal for themselves. Odysseus was crowned the king at the age of 13 and the same could happen to Telemachus if Penelope declines to remarry. All of a sudden as more and more suitors invade his palace, Telemachus finds himself unwelcome in his own home. The suitors do not let him eat near them- they'll go as far as to snatch his food. They leer at him, call him small, and taunt him by saying he'll never be king.

Telemachus thinks there's nothing he can do to fight back, but then Poseidon steps in and tells the suitors to cease their unruly behavior. They gang up on Poseidon, who they perceive as an unimpressive middle aged man, before getting their asses handed to them by a middled aged man who knows how to wield a spear as though he was born for it.

Telemachus has never seen something so amazing before. His teacher defeated a dozen men alone! How is that even possible?

Poseidon doesn't answer him directly, only saying he's gotten into his own fair share of fights before. When news of the brawl reaches Penelope, she decides that Poseidon should be promoted to Telemachus' guardian until Odysseus returns, fulling both the role of tutor & protector. She won't have her only child be bullied and menaced by grown men, not in her halls.

It is at this point that Poseidon pulls out his greatest trick yet. And that is to tell the truth. For months now, he's been posing as a kindly old teacher. But in secret, he reveals himself to Telemachus as the god of the sea!

Poseidon claims he heard the boy pray for his father's return and came to him in disguise. (Poseidon didn't even know who Telemachus was until Ody pissed him off, but he was willing to bet that such a naive child would certainly pray for his absent daddy to return. And he was right.)

Poseidon warns that Odysseus is not who Telemachus thinks he is. He might have been a kind and gentle man before, but he turned into a merciless, vain monster who allowed over 500 of his men to perish because he was arrogant enough to think he could lead them through a terrible storm.

Telemachus can hardly believe it- he doesn't want to. He won't! His mother always told him that his father was the most clever man of all, trained by Athena herself.

"Ah," Poseidon says, his voice full of sympathy, "And what does Athena know of love? Of mercy? No, no, my poor boy. You've been misled. Your father is not the man you think he is, for he blinded my own son just so he could steal some livestock!"

Telemachus’ mind is racing. He doesn’t know what to think. Who is his father, really?

Trembling from head to toe in fear, he asks if Poseidon will punish him as vengeance for his own son.

And the earthshaker will smile at him, oh so softly.

“My poor child, why would I do that? You father has flung himself to the farthest reaches of the sea, but I am here for you. I’ve come to answer your prayers, to set things right between your house and mine.”

Poseidon cups Telemachus’ face and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the boy’s head. “And should your father ever arrive on this isle, I will keep you safe from him.”

(And so Telemachus will grow up unsure of the man his father really is, all while struggling to see Poseidon as anything but)

#epic the musical #epic poseidon #epic telemachus #epic odysseus #odysseus of ithaca #penelope of ithaca #Odysseus shows up after 20 years: where’s my fucking son #poseidon: I think you mean MY son teehee #Telemachus: *has an identity crisis*

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endlessdreamworld · 5 months ago

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i will be the first person to send you anything fate related so yandere headcanons for oberon (or merlin ig..................) pls

i was going to send in smth related to the yandere alphabet but i couldnt find it ):

OBERON MY BELOVED MY TIME IS NOW (love this guy, he's my favorite but like actually) These headcanons takes place in an AU where Chaldea's functioning like a normal organization with multiple masters and servants and the reader isn't mankind's last master. These aren't super duper romantic, since this some surface level interactions but I'd be more than happy to do a follow up!

Something had gone incredibly wrong during the summoning process, or that's what everyone said in a panic when the platform in the summoning chamber overflowed with blood as thick as blood. You didn't know who or... what you even had on your hands until you pulled them out of the filth. You were surprised by how easy it was, since you expected pulling a body out of knee deep filth would be much harder.

You didn't pay any mind to your peers saying to abort the summoning process. Why would you? You were always told servants call out to masters, and for some reason this... whatever it was was calling out to you. It would be wrong to throw them away. Maybe there's something wrong with you as a person.

You could tell it was a person -- a man, although he had more in common with a dead tree branch than an actual human being given how pale and gangly he was. His spirit origin was so weak that you had to actively supply him with mana so he could maintain his form and not fall back into the throne of heroes, an issue no other masters had with their servants.

Something truly had gone horribly wrong once you were able to get him assessed properly. His saint graph was entirely corrupted. You weren't able to get his true name, and you weren't even able to view his class. No one Chaldea had any interest in helping you figure out how to stabilize this servant, so you were all on your own.

You dove head first into the training simulations, eager to get some embers to help add some fire to your servant. He couldn't help, or maybe he wouldn't. He'd watch you, a human mage, do combat with the weakest of the simulations just so you could get even the most basic of embers.

Day in and day out, you'd be mocked by your peers for turning into the servant in your partnership. Day in and day out, he would just watch you struggle and fight. His face remained expressionless, and his eyes were glazed over and unblinking. It was like hauling a living corpse around, with his cracked lips and cold, clammy skin but you were too stubborn to give up. A part of you had to know who and what he is, but a bigger part of you wondered why he chose you.

After you were pressured over and over again by your superiors to let your nameless servant go, you were sent off on a mission. You couldn't exactly stay in Chaldea for forever without doing your part. This was actually a power play to get you to reconsider because you were very likely to die on this mission. But you didn't give up even in the face of danger.

Things go about as well as expected, which in this case meant catastrophically poorly, and as you were about to perish, your servant springs forth to life. He transforms in an explosion of skin and gore, reforming in an instant. Insect wings sprout from his back, and his legs take on the shape of a grasshopper. His pale hair shifts into a darker shade. A crown of blue stars sits atop his head. And he rips apart the rogue enemy that had you staring a dead end in the face with a monstrous arm. It was as if he shifted and ascended through every part of his spirit graph until he was...

"Vortigern" he calls himself, finally revealing his true name. It was the first time you heard him speak. He sounded... quiet, or rather tired. When you tried to view his class, it didn't appear as unreadable anymore but instead was more cryptic. It shifted from class to class. One moment he's a rider, and you blink and now he's a ruler? He grins at you in satisfaction.

And so, when you finally return to Chaldea with a very different looking servant, everyone has quite a few questions. Vortigern refuses to engage with this, and you can feel the disgust radiate off of him. Just because he was too weak to move didn't mean he was unaware of what was happening. He was very aware of the hardships you went through to just to keep him here, and of how you were the only one who seemed to want that. It was why he called out to you.

It had to be you, someone who would accept him even in all of his wretched ways. He'd be willing to wait forever if it meant he'd find someone like you, but he didn't have to. When you were getting overwhelmed by the whiplash of the situation, he'd step in without mincing words prying back some of the solitude you had to make peace with and found comfort in. "I'm Oberon. Could you kindly fuck right off?" It was quite the introduction. He was as foul mouthed as he was formal. People get the message really quickly and get out of your business.

Vortigern, or Oberon as he refers to himself to people who aren't you, becomes your most loyal ally. Or maybe your only ally. You just think he's shy and standoffish, but in reality he just sees everyone around you as unworthy of being in your presence. But it doesn't bother you that it's just the two of you. It's been the two of you for so long that it feels like home.

You get sent off on more and more missions. The people in charge don't have any issues with you now that you actually have a functional, albeit still faulty, servant.

Vortigern would become anything you need. A saber to cut down a lancer, a rider to trample casters -- even special classes weren't off limits to him. Whatever you needed, he gave you. Every time you looked at him, you could see him boring into you with those vivid blue eyes of his. Despite how unnerving and overwhelming his presence was, you never grew tired of it. There was no place you felt safer. If only you knew how wrong you were.

#oberon vortigern #oberon fgo #oberon x reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yancore

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wwilloww · 10 months ago

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sh. | chapter twenty two | pjm

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 4.8k WARNINGS AND TAGS no use of gendered pronouns to refer to reader. consensual objectification. d/s dynamic. over the panty sex (is this just called dry humping?) fucktoy-ification? teasing. orgasm denial.

AN hi :) i'm so sorry i made you wait so long for this. it's been a rollercoaster these last two years, and i hope you can forgive me for my long absence. if you enjoyed this chapter, i'd love to hear from you: what stuck out to you, what you're hoping will happen in future chapters, or just how you've been. i've missed you. and, as always, thank you for reading <3

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: RULE BREAKER

You don’t talk or think much about your childhood. You like to imagine that when you turned eighteen those years whispered away into the ether of time, as irrelevant and dusty as the old photobook that stays on the shelf, eternally unopened.

As a child, home was multiplied and many. It was the many places you lived, as you moved often, following your father around with his job. But it was also many in the sense that you learned at a young age that home didn’t have to be a place you lived. Home was between the worn and finger-marred pages of the books you fell in love with, home was the wisping scent of fresh (if not often burnt) pastry in your grandmother’s kitchen each time you visited, home was the place you yearned to travel to but never made the time to visit.

But as you close the book in your hands, the words echo in your mind:

Are you going to come home?

You feel far away from home, even though you find a great deal of comfort in the walls of Namjoon’s mountain house. Ahem, mansion. Confusion riddles little holes of worry through you. Where is home, anyways? The small apartment you left empty in the city? The question opens a void in you. Why bother with home anyways? Sure, home could be anything if you tried hard enough, but couldn’t the opposite be true too? That if you tried hard enough, you wouldn’t need a home?

Still, void and all, the question nudges you.

Unsettled, you clamber down the tree and make your way back towards the house. The sun has risen higher in the sky and breaks through the chill ever so slightly. Worried that you’ve just abandoned Jimin this morning and that he’ll wake up alone, you quicken your pace. You creak the door open, waving at Jungkook and Jin and Taehyung in the kitchen, who are huddled over the coffee, waiting for it to finish brewing.

“A watched pot never boils,” you call out to them, noting that Jungkook looks a little cheerier than he had the past several days. Jin’s hand rests on Jungkook’s lower back and a little wave of joy jolts through you as the older man throws you a little smile.

“Watching it actually makes it go faster,” Jungkook says, his eyes glued to the coffee. “A little motivation and encouragement always lends a helping hand.”

You smile at that and continue making your way towards Jimin’s bedroom. You pass one room—a gym of sorts filled with a few cardio machines, a set of free weights, and a large mirror, and you’re surprised you didn’t notice it before—and pause.

Namjoon is spotting Hoseok as the latter bench presses what looks like an unreasonably heavy weight.

As you watch them, the dream from last night floods back to you.

The music filtering through the night. The tightness of each man’s grip on you as they spun you through the ballroom, the floorboards creaking beneath you, the high of attention sitting heady in your chest.

And too, you can’t forget, the way they stared at each other in single-minded competition, hackles raised, teeth gritted. You can’t forget the darkness that swirled at their feet, and you wonder too, if you’re letting your dream drift into the world of the living too.

But here they are, fondly smiling at one another. Had you made it all up? Well, of course you made it up. It was a regency-era dream for god's sake. But the tension? The competition? As Namjoon helps Hoseok lower the weights to the bar and hauls him to his feet, you’re sure it’s all in your head.

“Nice, man,” Namjoon says, grinning and clasping Hoseok on the back.

Before they see you, you continue on. Just as you’re about to open the door to the bedroom you’ve been searching for, it swings open before you. Jimin steps out.

“Oh. You’re awake!” you say.

“I am indeed.”

“I’m sorry I left this morning—“

“It’s okay,” he says, but there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice, a little dust mote of it that you catch.

“I went to go read in a tree,” you offer quickly as an explanation, hoping it will make up for the disappointment of waking up alone after not spending a night together in a while.

“In a tree?”

“In a tree,” you confirm.

He chuckles. “That seems like a good enough reason to abandon me. I gotta be honest though—“ He steps closer, lets his gaze flicker down, and toys with the hem of your shirt. “I was looking forward to waking up beside you.”

“Were you?” you smile.

“I was. I was even looking forward to potentially getting to wake you up.” He says it with a mischievous grin.

“Oh? And how would you have woken me up?”

His hand drifts lower, beneath the band of your leggings. “You know, it’s really easier to show you, rather than tell you—” His hands pause. “What’s this?” Jimin sends you a knowing look.

“What?” Your mind sputters as you struggle to come up with what he might be talking about. But he steps closer to you, a hand drifting down to your hips, a finger pulling your shirt up. With his other hand he plucks at the band of your panties.

“This,” he emphasizes.

“Oh.”

You’d nearly forgotten the promise you’d made to Jimin. But now it all comes rushing back, how he’d made you promise in those early days in the house to forgo any underwear. At the time it’d been a silly dare, but the seriousness in his eyes makes you reconsider.

“What? Do I have to remind you every day?” he says gently. “Or perhaps I haven’t been spending enough time around you, and you’ve forgotten your promise to me?”

“N-no,” you say. “I mean maybe. Maybe I want you around more.” You sidle up to him, running a finger up his chest. “Maybe… I want you to remind me.”

Jimin steps closer to you, pressing you against the bedroom door. You gasp when he leans in close, close enough to kiss you, but doesn’t.

“I think you forget too quickly that I told you there’d be a punishment if you ‘forgot’ about our little rule.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head as you look at him. “What kind of punishment?” Panties or not, it seems like you win.

“Like I mentioned earlier, I think I’d rather show you than explain it to you. Let’s just say I’m a hands-on kind of teacher.”

You think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he presses close, his lips a centimeter away from yours, his hands cupping your cheeks before wandering down to explore your body. You reach for him, struggle to bring his lips to yours, but he shifts his attention elsewhere, leaving you hanging. His hands rove over your body, his lips dip out of reach. So you change your plan of attack too. You let your hands wander over him. When you feel his breath quicken against you, you release him, dipping your head below his chin.

You glide your lips down Jimin’s neck, slow and intentional; a calculated move. You let your breath whisper against his skin, and you can’t help but think back to that night with Yoongi and Namjoon in which sensation—even the lightest of touches—had meant so much to you. To your body. You want to play Jimin like they played you.

His hands tighten in your shirt, knuckles whitening.

“Inside,” he gasps, and the desperation in his voice makes you think that he’s lost a bit of his fine-tuned control. His eyes are blown wide. He looks like he could eat you up. “Inside,” he repeats, but enacts the command himself as he pulls you through the door with him, making it sound a little more like a plea than you think he intends.

The pair of you tumble onto the bed, a mess of limbs and lips, teeth, hands.

He captures your lips, finally, kissing you. The kiss is anything but gentle, nearing the edge of pain, his teeth knocking against yours, nipping at your lips. You groan into his mouth as his hips cant against you.

It’s not long before he begins to tug at your clothes.

Then he pauses, lifting your head from his lips. You’re sprawled atop him and you lift yourself up on your hands.

“What?” you inquire curiously.

“I’m going to ask you to do something.”

“Alright.”

With a leveled gaze, he says, “Strip.”

He pushes you off of him, and you kneel at the foot of the bed, pausing a second, before making the executive decision to stand and undress. It’ll be more, well, graceful that way, you think. The alternative is flopping around on the sheets like a beached hammerhead shark trying to get your pants off.

So you do as you’re told. There’s something about undressing before him, as he leans back against the headboard, watching you. There’s something about undressing for him, while he watches on, his gaze drinking you in that has sparks running through your body.

Slowly, slowly you slip off your top, and wiggle your leggings off your legs. You try to make it a little sexy, glancing up at him from time to time, to find that warm darkness swirling in his gaze that you love so much. You trip once, because you’re staring too much.

“Keep the panties on,” he says when you go to pull them down.

“Oh. Okay.” Your brow furrows and you can’t help but let a little bit of the disappointment you’re feeling into your voice. You’re a little confused why he would ask you to keep them on when they were the problem that started all of this.

He stands then, walking towards you. You hold your breath. He finally arrives before you and places his hands on your hips. His fingers toy with the trim of the panties, and goosebumps race along your skin from the delicate touch.

“What are you going to do?” you ask, your voice breathy.

“You’ll see.”

With that he hooks a finger under the band of your underwear and lets it snap against your skin. You cry out, more in surprise than anything else.

“Did that hurt?”

“No, not really.”

“Good.” He grins. “Now, I want you to be honest.”

“I’m always honest.” You correct yourself: “Most of the time. Most of the time I’m always honest.”

Jimin chuckles at that.

“Fair enough. But I need your most-of-the-time-always honesty now.” You nod, your hand drifting upward to grip his forearm.

“Of course.”

“I want to try something out with you. Something new.”

“New?”

“A new kind of play.”

Your mind reels with the possibilities. What could he possibly suggest? Chastity kink? Tittyfucking? Technojizz? Ballcuzzi?

“I want to use you like a toy,” he whispers. “I want to fuck you like a toy. I want to talk to you like a toy, treat you like one.” Your eyes widen when he says it. His eyes go wide too, drinking in your every microexpression, as he waits for you to respond.

“A toy?”

“Yes.”

“Where did this come from?” you say it with a little smile, and trace your finger along his jawline. He relaxes at the touch.

“I saw the way you reacted during group play. When Jin was talking to you, saying things like, ‘You want to be our slut. You want to be our whore.’” Just hearing Jimin repeating Jin’s words sends a shiver through your body. “He didn’t say it like I would have said it, but I knew he wanted to.” He presses his lips to your ear while his hands rove over your body. “You want to be our toy, don’t you?”

The answer is easy. “Yes.”

“You want to be used by us, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

He chuckles. “That’s what I thought. So tell me. Tell me what you want to be.”

“I want to be your toy.”

“Good.” He grins.

He lets his hand drift down to your underwear again, fingers trailing along the inside the elastic hem before plucking at them once more. He seems to like the way you flinch.

His fingers wander down your skin. He traces your hip, before flicking his fingers beneath the hem that circles your thigh. Slowly, he creeps closer to where you want his fingers most, but before he can touch you, he pulls his fingers away. You nearly groan, and a fleeting grimace crosses your face. Jimin catches it.

“Patience would look so pretty on you,” he says, and the sting of his words is delightful.

“Hmph.”

His fingers continue to explore the thin piece of fabric that separates you from total nudity. They’re not a particularly pretty pair of underwear: they’re nothing more than a tan color brief.

You say as much to Jimin, and tell him you wish you were wearing something sexier. Lace, maybe. Something black.

“True,” he replies. “But you know why I like these?”

“Why?”

“Because I can see you dripping through them.”

You warm at the implication.

“And when I push my cock against them, I’ll see me on them too. I’m a visual man, you know.” He kind of chuckles at that last bit, like it’s some sort of inside joke with himself.

When he drops to his knees, like that first day in the forest with him, you gasp. Finally, finally, he’s going to touch you.

But when his tongue presses against you through the fabric of your underwear, it’s only half the sensation you need from him. Still, it feels good, a gentle warmth spreading through your abdomen as he licks and presses against your clit and vulva.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against you.

“I’m—“

“You’ve soaked your panties through.”

You warm at the thought, such little stimulation getting you so ready for him. You wonder if he’ll fuck you hard and fast or if he’ll take you sweet and slow. If he’ll take his time with you. Whatever he decides to do, you know you’ll be happy to have him fill you as you currently clench and tighten around nothing. It’s an empty feeling that sifts through you.

When he’s thoroughly soaked your underwear with his mouth, he stands and kisses you. You can taste the ghost of yourself on him, and it reminds you of the smell of first summer light hitting the ground at dawn. A space when it is neither day, nor night, but some third plane of existence. Like that, in this moment, you feel like some third kind of creature. Neither yourself entirely, nor Jimin, but some other, third thing that you could only become in his presence. You can feel the shit-eating grin that glides across his lips and presses into yours as he walks backwards, leading you back to the bed.

There’s something different, too, about all of this, about the way he kisses you today. There’s an edge of desperation, of frustration that you can taste on him. His movements are quicker, less languid. His lids are lidded. His breath comes quicker. It’s delightful.

But it’s also brand new. It feels like he has let a part of himself loose from under his usual state of control, and you wonder if your most recent conversation with your friends—where you discussed emotionality and feeling—had anything to do with what he was going through. What he wanted.

An edge of anxiety tickles at your throat as you think of it. Does he want something more?

He seems to notice your hesitation.

“I just want you right now,” he says, as if he’s read your mind. He stops you at the edge of the bed, turns you so that the back of your knees hit the mattress. You’re not sure if he’s a mind reader or what.

You fall back into the bed, Jimin leading you down gently with a hand against your back until you sink into the soft bedding. You can’t help but giggle at the gentleness. Not that you have anything against it, but in this moment you feel anything but a toy. The way he looks at you makes you feel, well, precious.

He breaks his gaze to kiss you again, tongue pressing against your lips.

“Open up for me,” he says. “Like a good kitten—Like a good toy.”

You do as you’ve been told, opening your mouth and letting him swirl his tongue through you, swiping at the roof of your mouth and sending tingles down your spine.

His hands drift down your body before slipping beneath your panties. You glow, so eager for his touch, groaning as his fingers swipe against your clit. Just once. But as if he’s just realized a mistake he’s made, he rapidly pulls his hand out.

“Oops. Got a little caught up.”

You pout. “What, you’re not going to touch me like that? There? At all?”

He pulls back enough to flick his gaze between your eyes and your lips. “Be a good toy and just do what you’re told.”

“Oh?” The bratty part of you flickers and rises up.

He silences you with a kiss, his fingers circling around your clothed entrance before trying to press in through the thin fabric of your underwear. It’s like he’s trying to finger fuck you through the wet cotton, pushing it into you with his fingers. The pressure surely is something, but it’s not even a hint of enough, and you find your hips bucking up against him, seeking more attention, seeking more pressure.

“So needy. So desperate.”

He continues until the yearn within you aches.

“Stop playing,” you gasp. “Just give me your cock. Want you. Want your cock. I’ll be your toy, just–just use me like one.”

“Don’t good toys say please?”

“Please, sir.”

He freezes above you.

“Sir?”

“I—I… It just slipped out!”

He grins. “I kinda like it.” He hums, as if contemplating it, then nods. “And since you’ve asked so nicely—“

Jimin leans back enough to begin unbuttoning his shirt. He takes his time, while the knot in your belly begins to recede. You sit up, eager to help him out of it, but he quickly swats your hands away.

“Patience, kitten.”

You don’t say it, but your crossed arms and pout say, “Fine, sir,” loud and clear. He laughs at your expression.

“Don’t you worry,” he says, tilting your chin up. “I’ve always taken care of you, haven’t I?”

He takes his cock out, stroking it once, twice, his hand gliding expertly over the soft and sensitive skin.

“I’m going to use you like you’re good for.”

“Like I’m good for?” You echo, desperate for him.

“All you’re good for,” he whispers in your ear and the words send a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

With one hand, he takes your ankles and pushes them over your head.

“Hold them.”

He then settles between your legs, hand wrapped tightly around his cock. With a movement that seems far too familiar to him, he slaps your pussy with his hard and dripping cock, and you groan. Fuck.

Lowering himself to you, so your thighs press into his shoulders, he finally aligns his cock with your clothed vulva.

And then with one careful movement, he grinds against you. The simple movement is enough to make you cry out.

“Fuck, Jimin.”

At first it’s slow, his cock pressing against your vulva in rhythmic pulses, your clit. At one point he pulls back and presses the head of his cock to your clothed entrance and presses in.

You whine against him, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He simply returns to continuing his thrusts. You’re just as wet as he is hard, soaking your panties, his precome painting them too.

“Maybe I would have woken you up like this. Wouldn’t you have liked that? Waking up to my hard cock pressing against your clit, me ready to come, just from rutting against you? Wouldn’t that make you happy, to know how good you make me feel?”

You look down to where your bodies are pressed together. His cock rhythmically pokes up, the head dark and heavy. Sometimes though, the head of his cock gets stuck on your underwear, pushing the fabric higher and tighter around you. You groan at the sight.

“Don’t you love how good you make me feel?”

Your hips buck together, finding a desperate, shared rhythm. Your breath, too, matches up.

For a moment, your eyes lock. All you can think about is how damn pretty he looks when he fucks, his dark hair falling into his face, his cheeks flushed, his plush lower lip caught between his teeth. And he looks back.

But then his eyes flicker away from yours.

He fucks you over your panties, murmuring how good of a toy you are for him, how he wishes he could fuck you properly, fill you up.

“Please,” you gasp, desperate for more. “Fuck me.”

“When you behave,” he grunts. “I will.” Another thrust. “When you follow my rules, I will.”

When he comes, he presses the head of his cock to your clit. You can feel it twitching against you as he groans and sighs, his come painting your panties white.

With the head of his cock pressing so rhythmically against your clit, you’ve built up to a delicious pleasure, so close to coming.

“Jimin, Jimin, I’m so close. Please.” Your hips tilt up, searching out the pleasure he keeps denying you.

But Jimin just grins at you and sighs dramatically. His breath still comes a little quickly, he seems a little winded.

“If only you hadn’t been so intent on misbehaving earlier. Maybe I could have let you come.”

“Oh, come on,” you groan, about a second away from throwing your fists on the bed in proper tantrum form. “You’re in charge. You write the rules. Who said you can’t let me come?”

“The rules I wrote say so, actually.”

You huff.

“Well then. Maybe I’ll just have to take care of it myself.”

In a swift action, Jimin leans over you, pinning your hands above your head. Your breath leaves your lungs in a quick gasp.

“Wha—”

“I think you know you’re not even supposed to be thinking about that, let alone doing it.”

You tilt your head.

Jimin laughs, a hint of playful hardness in his voice. “Don’t you remember?” You shake your head. “You’re forgetting all of your promises today, aren’t you? Jin had you promise that you wouldn’t be coming unless it was because of one of us.”

Your eyes widen.

“Shit. I forgot.”

“I know you forgot.”

You throw your head back and groan. “But I thought you said you’d always take care of me.”

“I did. And I do. But sometimes it’s good for you to wait a little for your reward. Today you took your punishment—” He tilts your head up so you’re looking at him and the pout that had taken over your face fades a little. “And tomorrow, I’ll give you your reward.”

You roll your eyes.

“Fine.”

“You think you can do that? Wait until tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You sigh.

“You’re so good for me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. His hands glide down to your hips, dipping beneath the band and you think, oh, maybe he’ll do it now. But your hopes are quickly dashed when he tugs on them and says, “Maybe it was a good thing I had you wear these afterall.” He shimmies your come-stained underwear down your thighs. “Easy cleanup.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, always surprised when Jimin’s practical side pops out alongside his gregariousness. But he balls the panties up, and before tossing them into the laundry basket near the door, holds them up in his hand, shaking them, as if directing attention to them.

“I should remind you why I asked you to do this?”

“I know why you asked me to. You liked the secret of it—?” You think back to what he had said to you, all those days ago, though it feels like a lifetime ago:

“I like walking around, knowing I’m the only one who has your sweetness on my tongue. I love talking to the others while getting to taste you still. Getting to remember the way you squirm underneath my touch. I do it because I want to.”

You still shiver, thinking of those words. But that had been before everyone knew about you and Jimin.

“I did like the secret of it,” Jimin says, breaking through your reverie. “But there’s more than that, too.”

You raise an eyebrow, prompting him to go on.

“There’s knowing you do it for me.”

He grins, before strutting to the bathroom. You watch his ass as he goes. Plump, you think. When he returns, he’s cleaned up and still grinning. Mulling on what he’s said—”for me”—an image of all eight of you on the living room floor arises. What are the boundaries between one person and another with this set up? What are the lines? What is owed? Your head spins, and you settle into the pillow. You’re still humming in the sensation of your dwindling pleasure, receding far away from your orgasm, and you sigh.

“If the only way people are going to punish one another around here is by giving them blue balls, I’m going to get tired reeeeal quick,” you murmur to yourself.

“Is that so?” Jimin says from behind you as he collects your clothes. “If that’s the case, we better start coming up with new forms of punishment.”

“Yes, maybe you should,” you say, mock-grouchily.

“I’ll start thinking up new and innovative ways. Maybe I’ll consult Jin—he seems creative when it comes to this stuff—especially if you’re going to be so quick to forget what you promised him.” He helps you into your clothes again, but remains naked himself.

“But—”

“No buts.” He seals your silence with a kiss. “Just do what you’re told.” The statement stings through you like a bolt of electricity. As much as you hate to admit it, you love when he tells you what to do. Even if you love fighting against it just as much. “You know why you should do what you’re told?” He continues, as he kisses down your throat.

“Why?”

“Because then I can reward you. I can make you come again and again until you’re crying to stop, or hold you at the edge long enough that when you’re finally ready to tip over, it’s the best fucking orgasm in your whole life.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Are you saying you’re the best fuck of my life?”

“No. Not yet. But I can be.” He pulls away from you enough to see the shit-eating grin on your face.

“I think some of your friends might fight you for that position.”

“Maybe they should.”

“Maybe they should what?” a voice comes from the door.

“Hoseok—”

Hoseok stands in the doorway, a confused look on his face. You imagine what he must be seeing, a naked Jimin in bed, and you, now entirely naked, too, now that Jimin stripped you of your panties, tangled up in each other.

“What’s going on here?” Hoseok asks.

“Do you really want to know?” Jimin asks.

“Um. Not really.” Then his gaze focuses on you. He lingers on your face, reading you, trying to figure you out. But then he catches himself. “Uh, maybe I should come back later.”

“No!” you say, perhaps a little too eagerly, sitting up. “What is it?”

“I just was looking for you,” Hoseok says, a little shyly. “I was hoping to steal you away.”

“Let me get dressed.”

You stand up, and pull your clothes back on, noting how Hoseok’s gaze flickers to you just in time to see you pull on your leggings without any panties on underneath.

Jimin sits up quickly, pulling a pillow over his crotch for the sake of Hoseok’s modesty. “Just so you know—if you’re going to go together—I already said that if someone was going to wear panties that someone wasn’t going to be able to come.” He turns to you. “So don’t you go running off to lover boy, thinking you can get your rocks off.” Jimin turns his attention back to Hobi. “This one is very much not allowed to come. At least for the rest of the day.”

Hoseok coughs.

“Oh, I, uh, I wasn’t, I wasn’t presuming.”

“Yes you were, asshole,” Jimin laughs. “We’re all presuming.”

Hoseok flushes red all the way to the tips of his ears at the implication, but you find it charming.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok says.

You glance at Jimin, who leans back with his hands laced behind his head. He looks like the perfect image of relaxation and… is that pride? There’s a soft smile curving at the corner of his lip, a kind of jesting smirk.

“Go on,” Jimin says. “I’m already taken care of.”

You roll your eyes.

“Asshole.”

But you stand and make your way to Hoseok nonetheless.

“You have time?” he asks.

“I have all the time in the world.”

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lelengerine · 7 months ago

Text

pairing. sohee x reader

synopsis. it’s difficult to keep your feelings to yourself, especially when it starts ticking like a bomb that's ready to explode any minute

genre. royalty au? (more like dukedom…), wonbin is reader’s older brother, insecurities on being less favored, reader is described to be fem-bodied however there’s no specific pronouns mentioned, a lot of pining, mentions of food, lmk if anything else was missed <3

wc. 2.3k words

notes. have a small sohee oneshot because i wrote this after seeing him live and he was so good like ahhh i love him sm sm i could ramble about him all day TT likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

one step.

two steps.

three steps.

the echo of your heels clattering against the polished marble of your chambers filled the air as you paced back and forth, your hair slightly damp from the bath you had just taken, and your corset still unfastened at the waist. despite the myriad tasks that awaited you in preparation for the evening, an unmistakable restlessness gripped you. the dinner that loomed ahead was no ordinary family gathering. no, this was something far more significant—at least, to you.

tonight, you were to dine with the lees.

the lees were esteemed members of society, the custodians of one of the rare grand dukedoms in the kingdom—the only other belonging to your family—thus, it came as no surprise to anyone that your estates were nestled side by side. though the vast expanses of land surrounding each manor often made them feel worlds apart, this proximity led to spontaneous invitations like the one extended to your parents earlier that day.

nervousness always accompanied your encounters with the lees, not because of unfamiliarity, but quite the contrary. they welcomed you warmly whenever you visited, their kindness unwavering. you held their family in high regard, but a certain kind of affection lingered in your heart for their only son.

lee sohee.

your first encounter unfolded in the tulip gardens of your estate during one of your mother’s monthly tea parties. as a child, your preference laid in frolicking outdoors rather than sitting still at the adult table, sipping apple juice as they chattered on matters that did not concern you one bit. clad in a sundress made of flowy material and carrying a dainty parasol—as your mother had insisted you take with your person—you wandered off to the gardens as if it was routine.

there was a particular spot at the far end of the garden where a grand peach tree stood, and you often found solace beneath its branches. it was there you discovered him, a stray leaf caught in his hair as he slumbered in the shade. yet, as if sensing your presence, his eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the light. he rubbed them gently before bestowing upon you a wide, toothy grin.

you stood captivated, unable to move at the sight before you. could someone radiate such sweetness that it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach? your younger self would have answered an unwavering yes.

sensing your surprise, he rose gracefully and approached you. “hi, i’m lee sohee!” he said before gesturing back toward the lively party you had come from. “my mom’s attending the tea party over there—i hope i’m not intruding over here…” although you were both young, an innocent and gentle aura surrounded him, making you feel light and giddy.

“not at all,” you managed to whisper, offering a shy smile. “my mother is hosting the tea party, you see.”

“oh, so you’re one of the park children?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide and glossy with curiosity.

“yes, my brother is wonbin. though many say we don’t look much alike,” you confided softly, recalling the times your brother’s looks were praised while you stood quietly beside him during the few times you attended galas in which your whole family’s attendance was required.

“but you’re really pretty,” he blurted out, quickly covering his mouth with the palms of his hands. subsequently, his words left you flustered, your cheeks warming at the unexpected compliment. you weren’t used to such remarks. how were you supposed to respond to such praise? noticing your silence, sohee worried he might have said something he shouldn’t have. “sorry, i tend to speak my mind too often. my father says it’s a bad habit to be a blabbermouth, but—”

“thank you.” your soft reply halted his apology, and he smiled as your face brightened with a smile and light laughter bubbled forth. “no one really ever tells me that, so i truly appreciate your kind sentiment.”

from that day on, a close bond formed between you, the memory of your first meeting remaining a cherished treasure even as the years passed. you liked to think that your feelings for him had taken root since then, though the exact moment they blossomed into your consciousness was difficult to pinpoint. still, they say timing is unimportant; what mattered was the certainty of your feelings—and you were more than certain.

“y/n! mother says we ought to leave soon!” your brother’s voice seeps through the crack in your door. “please tell me you’re nearly ready.” he sounded as if he were pleading, though you knew he was simply being his dramatic self.

“just five minutes, bin! i promise!” you chuckled at your brother’s antics, rolling your eyes at him.

“good. that’s all the time you’ll get from me anyways.”

“alright, you grumpy old man.”

“i heard that! i’m merely two years older than you are!”

if anyone were to overhear the conversation between you and your brother, they might’ve scolded you for failing to uphold the decorum expected of those in your social standing. yet, the very act of defying such constraints made your sibling bond all the more liberating. neither of you gave much thought to the rigid social hierarchy anyways, preferring the comfort of each other’s company instead.

stepping out of your room, you found wonbin waiting, his arm offered for you to take. together, you made your way out of the estate, joining your parents as you headed towards sohee’s family home. the walk was far from lengthy, and soon you were a few steps before the grand entrance.

a staff member ushered you to the main dining hall, where you were guided to your seats. sohee’s family appeared shortly after, and pleasantries were exchanged among the parents, their voices filled with warmth as they caught up on each other’s lives. your eyes met sohee’s, and he gifted you that familiar smile, with a touch of boyish charm now that he’s grown older.

after greeting your parents, sohee made his way straight to you. “i missed you,” he murmured softly in your ear, his warm breath sending a gentle shiver down your spine. had it not been for the tight-knit relationship between your families, outsiders would have already put you both to shame—two diamonds of society spending time together in broad daylight without actual affirmation to be wed in the near future? the ridicule you would both receive was bound to be tremendous, and you’re not sure if sohee simply chooses for ignorance to plague him. you’re no stickler to society etiquette either, but you were still taught the ropes of how to survive the eyes of many should you be put in the spotlight nonetheless, and this was on top of the list of things you shouldn’t even have thoughts of comitting.

you could only nod, nervous about responding and fearing that your voice might betray you. “what’s with the mundane response? aren’t you glad to see your best friend?” he asked, a playful pout on his lips as he leaned on the table, resting his chin in his hand.

“no, that’s not it!” you quickly shook your head to dismiss his worries. “i missed you too, i suppose.”

“you suppose?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “would it hurt you to be direct for once?” though his tone was light-hearted, his words planted a seed of hurt and frustration within you. how could you be direct with him when you feared your tongue may accidentally slip your feelings for everyone to hear? you were only but a cherished friend whose company he enjoyed when time would allow you two to meet. how could you hope to speak the truth that lies beneath the surface when your heart yearns for more than what your words could imply?

sohee wore that familiar expression again, the same one he had when he first saw you all those years ago in the garden, standing frozen in place. “are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

“i’m fine. sorry.” your voice was barely audible, mentally chiding yourself for dampening the mood. this was precisely why you felt so nervous earlier–the last thing you wanted was to ruin dinner–and yet, here you were.

he nodded gently, choosing not to press for answers, offering you a quiet moment of understanding instead which you silently thanked him for.

the rest of the meal carried the same atmosphere, an awkward tension flooding your senses with every bite of food you took. your mind was busy with thought after thought. perhaps sohee wouldn’t like to meet with you as often anymore after your not-so-pleasing attitude tonight–you wouldn’t blame him. you’ve been nothing but tongue tied around him, not only during this specific dinner but even during the last meeting that was organized by your families as well. perhaps, after this, he would start to avoid your gatherings altogether—the very idea made your stomach churn, and the platter of food before you suddenly seemed far less appetizing than it originally was.

you abruptly stand up from your seat, surprising everyone as you politely excuse yourself from the table before rushing out to find the nearest exit.

fresh air. that’ll definitely easen up your mood, you repeatedly tell yourself as if trying to console whatever you’re feeling.

you approach a nearby balcony and decide to lean on its railings, taking in the peaceful view of sohee’s estate it offers from its height. you start feeling a little better, till you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. you assume your brother was sent to check on you, turning on your heel. “bin, i’m alright-” oh, it wasn’t your brother. instead, it was the last person you wanted to see at the moment.

sohee’s standing in front of you. the realization hits you a little later than you would have liked, leaving you with no room to try and escape your best friend’s clutches. “can we please talk?”

“what’s there to talk about?” this was the first time sohee had been exposed to this side of you. the you who was dismissive and gave out curt, uninterested replies. “i have nothing to explain.”

he’s a little taken aback but decides to stand his ground. “but you do. look- if it happens to be something i’ve done, then-”

“you’ve done nothing of ill interest.”

“then pray tell what’s bothering you.”

“…how would you describe someone who so desperately wishes a certain person would look their way no matter what, even for the slightest bit?” you start off, facing him properly as you try reading his reactions, “that the simplest of gestures make their heart burst out of their chest to the point the sound of their heartbeat envelops them whole like a never-ending mantra? that their thoughts are constantly filled by that certain person, whether that be in the most inconvenient times or not? that they’d pray to the gods above for an inkling of reciprocation, even if it seems almost delusional.”

“then… i’d say they’re in love.” he breathes out his answer after thinking it through and you take a deep breath in return–preparing yourself for whatever may come after your next few words.

“i suppose that means i’m in love.” and for the first time tonight, your chest feels the burden slowly lift off like it was never there in the first place–the feeling of relief slowly but surely filling the hole that was once there. “and it just so happens that the person my heart yearns for is you. i understand if you’d like to maintain a certain distance from me after this.”

his eyes grow wider as you continued on, lips parting ever so slightly as he takes in your words. it’s the first time you’ve seen him rendered speechless, by you no less, but you suppose it’s only natural after hearing someone pour their feelings onto you out of the blue. you wait for him to recollect himself, exercising patience, but your habit of biting your lower lip had sohee knowing you were sitting in a pool of nerves.

curiosity peaks his interest and before he could stop himself, he’s already asking questions with doe eyes, ones you can’t deny even if that wasn’t his intention. “...since when?”

“i’m not exactly sure,” you admit, your cheeks puffing up as if caught in the act of a secret.

“why?”

“i just do. please don’t make me say it again,” you plead, beginning to feel as though you were under the gentle scrutiny of an inquisitor.

“this isn’t some jest, is it?”

“does everything seem like a jest to you, lee?” you respond with a soft smile, tilting your head slightly.

“no, no!” he quickly counters with a small laugh, hoping you wouldn’t misunderstand. “i just needed to be certain.”

now it’s your turn to inquire, “because?”

“so i can say with certainty that—” you place a hand over his mouth, your face blooming with a deep blush as you turn your gaze away. “don’t… my heart can’t bear to hear you say it now. i’ve already reached my limit long ago,” you murmur with a pout, slowly lowering your hand. sohee takes this as an invitation and gently places a kiss upon your lips and despite it being brief, it was enough for you to understand his intentions.

a swirl of emotions rushes through you, bubbling up like tea in a pot. “h-hey! what if someone sees?” you exclaim in panic as you struggle to process the public display of affection. sohee simply regards you with the shrug of his shoulders. “then let them see?”

“you know that’s rather taboo in our society,” you remind him, touching your lips with a finger as if still in disbelief from earlier.

sohee stifles a laugh, though it escapes him in spite of his efforts. “since when did you care about the opinions of society’s circles?”

“be quiet, you,” you scold him gently, giving his shoulder a playful punch before he pulls you into a warm embrace. for a moment, you savor his closeness, though it's short-lived as it’s just in his system to tease you further. “to think this is what made you so moody,” he murmurs, leaning toward to bury his face in the crook of your neck before you pull away with a frown–much to his dismay.

“that’s enough! we’re heading back to the dining hall,” you declare, dismissing his attempt at further affection as he whines at the loss of contact, already walking away.

“hey!” he calls after you, taking quick strides to catch up. “one more kiss before we go in?”

you only shake your head with a smile, “okay, just one kiss.”

#riize fluff #riize angst #riize fics #sohee #riize scenarios #sohee fluff #sohee angst #sohee fic #sohee scenarios #sohee oneshots #sohee x reader #riize x reader #riize imagines

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byeolbeloved · 1 year ago

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Make me forget -choi san

pairings 》 mafia!san x reader

genre 》 mafia!au, smut, angst, tiny fluff, forbidden love

warnings 》 mention of guns/violence/blood/abuse, cheating (not on reader,) sexual content, MINORS DO NOT READ

summary 》 choi san was a cold, feared mafia boss who knew nothing outside the world of gore and killing. Thats when he met you, the girl who showed him love. But what stands in his way between having you to himself is his arranged marriage. That still does not stop his feelings for you.

Everyone feared San.

Apart from him being in the Choi family- one of the biggest mafia family trees in the world, San was a nightmare. His reputation was filthy ever since he was young. He trashed anywhere he’d step foot at, petrified whoever he spoke to and spat on his victims lifeless bodies after smothering their blood onto the walls- all with an emotionless look on his face.

But San feared you.

He feared you because of how lovable you were. How easy you smiled to people. How you’d drop anything you were doing to help people. How you cried at other people's pains. But most importantly. He feared how you weren’t scared of him. He knew if he were to ever pull a gun to your head, which god dammit he would pull it to his after, you’d smile at him. That smile that made his black heart excited. The only smile he could smile back to. The only time he smiled.

It was moments like these where he’d realise, although he has seen all the horror and gore of the world, he knew nothing about living.

Laying you down on your baby pink bed sheets, throwing some plushies that got in the way off the bed for you to pick up later. Your bright bedroom. Your simple quiet life contrasted his. His life of screams and gunshots. He liked it. He loved it. Because with you he felt like a man able to feel. Able to love.

He didn’t think it was possible for a human being to be this cute. The way you whimpered at his nibbles and breath on your neck. Your back arched, full body touching his when he played with your nipples. Your trembling hands gliding his back when he connected his lips to yours.

Cute was never in San’s vocabulary. But ever since that day he saw you at the cafe, serving pancakes to a customer with a bright smile, holding your belly as you lightly giggled, he used that word for the first time in his life. “Cute.”

His legs moved on their own. His hand pushed the door open on its own. Suddenly there you were right in front of him, the same smile on your face as you asked what he wanted to order. Although now, he could see the way your cheeks puffed up with a light blush, your nose scrunched when thinking about what to make him when he told you to order for him, the way your eyes sparkled. So shiny he could see his reflection through them.

His dirty, filthy, monstrous reflection.

But that was far from what you thought of him, after you handed him a cappuccino with a cat drawn on the foam with cocoa powder. “No need to act tough, I know you think it’s cute too” you told him with a giggle. And yes. He thought it was very cute. He thought you were cute. You wouldn’t think a man dressed in an all black, gelled back hair, tough build with sharp facial features could be in a cafe with pink wallpapers and flowers decorated on the walls. But for the next 4 weeks, San came to your cafe everyday. Ordered the same things. Sat at the same table. He’d stay until closing time and you two chatted anytime you weren’t preoccupied with other customers or cleaning up. He was surprisingly very charming and funny considering his dark visuals. You naturally felt comfortable with him which led you to venting about anything and everything to him. Whether it was about how you think mint chocolate is underrated or how complicated your love life is. He listened to everything. Soon later he started dropping you off at your house. Always walking you up to your apartment and occasionally giving you a kiss goodnight on your forehead.

San was never this slow with anyone. He could get any girl he wanted just from eye contact. But with you, he wanted to be proper. He wanted to feel you slowly, afraid he might break you from how fragile you were. He wanted all of you. But there was something that got in his way from that.

San was a married man.

“Did she…. Did she do this to you?” you said with a horrified expression, afraid to touch the burn mark on his back. San sighed sitting up from the bed facing you. “Y/N… it’s nothing, I’m okay” he gilded his thumb across your swollen bottom lip from your makeout session a minute ago. “San, look at your back! You barely got any skin left!” you lightly raise your voice in concern. “You’re not going back to that house. You can’t let her do these things to you San, you can’t!”

Park Seoyoon. Daughter of Mr.Park- one of the most feared Mafia leaders in the game. She was a fox. Elegant on the outside. Everyone loved her because she was so beautiful and bubbly. Her pale-milky skin stood out from her dark black hair. She was tall and slim. Her face was next-level beauty- although also 50% cosmetic. Everyone thought of her as the perfect wife. But under that mask she was nothing but a sly manipulator and abuser who got whatever she wanted.

Their fathers arranged their marriage for money and power. Which is why they are so respected as a couple in the mafia world.

San hated her. Despised her. She’d bring home multiple guys throughout the day. She threw water at her servants. Her voice was obnoxiously loud and annoying.

The beginning stages of their marriage Seoyoon tried her best at seducing San. Only to get ignored by him so she did everything to ruin his life. She knew he could not fight back at her, because one word to daddy and San would be dead meat.

First it was teasing- hooking up with his friends and purposely getting herself into trouble. Then verbal abuse- which didn’t do much to him since San never reacted to harsh words so it quickly turned physical. Her tantrums included throwing plates in his way but this time was too far when she threw boiling hot water at him neglecting whatever she said she wanted.

“I want to help you Sannie…” you felt helpless seeing him come home with bruises you couldn’t stop him from getting.

“You’re doing enough Y/N, being in my arms is enough baby” he pulled you from your waist to move closer to his body, never breaking eye contact with you he tangled his hand into your hair. He has you on his lap now slowly grinding your bodies on one another.

“W-wanna make you feel good” your voice was above a whisper, gently gliding your nails on the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine.

“Make me forget Y/N… Make me forget her and show me you’re mine” he says before clashing his lips onto yours, not roughly but passionately with hunger, as if he has been starved from your touch for decades.

Clothes were off in seconds. Both of your body heat grinding on each other could start a fire. A fire that will destroy the world. Destroy this world for not allowing you two to write your story. For not allowing him to hold your hand out in public and show you off to all his friends. For not allowing you to show him off. For not allowing you to plan your kids names and whose eyes they’re going to have. San could burn the world for you. Maybe it would be better for you two. Maybe you could finally do the things you wanted to do.

That fire could turn the world into the sun after you slowly slide yourself on him. Adjusting to his length you rest your forehead on his and whisper “Use me San… I w-wanna be yours in every way…c-claim me.”

Without another word he pushes you up, only to guide you down again causing your whole body to shudder. This goes on till he’s now thrusting into you from below, grunting at every thrust.

Your body rocks at every thrust, holding onto his shoulder for support, hair bouncing as he moves the strands from out of your face, looking at you with nothing but pure love in contrast to the lustful movements he’s doing beneath you.

“You’re so good to me Y/N fuck mine. mine. all mine yea I don’t deserve you like this fuck”

He doesn’t mean it. San has never felt insecure in his life. But part of him hurts knowing he can’t be a normal lover to you. It hurts him that he can’t live a normal life with you- because his life is far from normal. You’ve told him many times in the past how you don’t care. You like the way things are between you two. Because you love him and that's enough for you. But part of him can’t believe he could ever be loved.

“I love you San” you manage to get out between moans. His pace is now rough, fast, hard. Your walls are clenching onto him. Afraid he’ll slip out. Afraid he’ll go. Afraid it’ll end. But he holds you. He pulls you closer to his chest, face in the crook of your neck as he bites down.

“I love you my Y/N”

#ateez san #ateez san smut #san smut #choi san smut #san x reader #san x y/n #ateez imagines #san angst #choi san #choi san imagines #san hard hours

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nctsworld · 1 year ago

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golden hour

SUMMARY | in which you make love with mark in a tent during the golden hour. // part of the connection series

WARNINGS | sexual content, (lovey) pwp, unprotected sex, brief impregnation fetish (breeding kink), some praise kink, oral sex (m and f receiving)

RATING | explicit

AUTHOR'S NOTE | inspirations are (besides the connection teaser vid and pics) jvke's golden hour, mark's golden hour, and this picture i stumbled upon

TAGLIST | @neocitycafe @sehunniepot

NORTH

North is home, where you left behind for this short road trip down the coast of California with the love of your life.

During this trip, home every night has temporarily been your two-person sized tent being dragged around to different campsites.

This stop is more arid than others, with many rocks and cacti surrounding the ecosystem rather than grass and trees. Because of that and it being an off-peak period in the beginning of spring, it is likely why this campsite has no one else besides the two of you.

Although it takes some time, Mark and you finally finish pitching the tent and setting up the inside around the late afternoon. At this point, you mutually decide to take advantage of the area's solitude.

North of your bodies is also where it all starts.

Mark and you are lip-locked between initial smiles and giggles. The oncoming sunset's rays beam through the translucent tent, creating a natural, ethereal glow around each other's faces.

There's no hurry. Mark usually doesn't hurry his kissing with you; he likes to savour every moment he can—each groan exchanged, each dip of his tongue into your mouth, and each suck you grant to his plump bottom lip.

But at some point, kissing each other's lips just isn't enough to satiate your desires.

EAST

East is where everything rises.

Passion ascends as his mouth swerves away from yours, and instead captures the right side of your neck. You gasp sharply, eyes fluttering due to the power of that one spot. It's overwhelming, so much that it makes your knees buckle. You're grateful you're sitting on the ground with your sleeping bags laid out comfortably to catch you at the ready.

You return the favour by kissing places that make him weak—the constellation of moles on his face and neck, that one particular section behind his right ear, and right above his clavicle.

He hotly moans in your ear, letting his hands take a mind of their own. Your waist, thighs, and ass are his to squeeze, his to grip roughly. In turn, your hands latch onto Mark's rugged frame and back, admiring the firmness and contours in each muscle. Then, you begin lifting up his white tee, feeling up his fit stomach.

And at this point, because you're now straddling him, you feel his rising desire blatantly against yours.

Clothes are tossed aside to an area of the tent. Mark, now only in his underwear, aids you in stripping every piece from you, except for your panties.

SOUTH

Without a doubt, the absolute sweetest things happen in the south.

Mark roams downward your body as you lay flat, displayed beautifully in front of him. Your lover lives up to his name, marking you with gentle kisses over your goosebumped skin. It's due to the slight bite of the breeze that enters the tent.

The sun dives further into the horizon, and your being is now enveloped in the golden hour of the hues of red and gold meshing in the sky and radiating over the Earth.

When he reaches your breasts, he imparts small licks upon your hardened tips, along with kneading and thumbing them throughout. Arching your back, you shiver, more so from his aching teasing than the breeze.

Further south, he traverses and his mouth leaves love upon your stomach before he spreads your thighs apart. He lays on his abdomen, his legs positioned awkwardly as a result of the tent's size, but all the while manageable and comfortable enough to continue.

He snakes his arms around your legs, staring up at you with his shiny, starry eyes. Mark chastely kisses your inner thighs, revering the softness of your skin, then kisses you once over your soaked panties. With that mere move, it causes you to lift your hips up in want.

Impishly, he chuckles and pulls aside the fabric to give one slow, extended lick from your centre to your clit. You gasp at the sensation, but Mark is addicted to teasing you. After he drags your underwear off, he simply continues to innocently kisses your thighs. A whine expels from you as you're about to protest, but then he dives in without warning.

Dulcet whimpers fill the air besides the rustling of the tent and the occasional sound of faraway birds. Mark prides in himself in times like this, having you prettily on display and breaking you down. You're all his to have and to hold—all for him to drink and devour to his heart's content.

Not only does he skillfully lap his tongue against your folds, but he sinks it deep into you and thumbs your clit simultaneously. Your fingers' hold tighten onto his hair the more he plays and unfurls you at the seams.

Noticing your body being keyed up by your tight hair gripping and hip thrashing, he takes you to another plane when he slips two fingers in and tongues your bundle of nerves, scissoring you into madness.

After letting you come down from your high, he pulls away and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, giving you his signature tender smile with glistening lips before it quickly fades into a sinful smirk. Just like that, with one look and a couple of minutes to catch your breath, you're ready to have more fun.

Often in the confines of your bedroom, Mark likes to stand by the bed when he watches you take him into your pretty mouth. Due to the tent's spatial constraints, he's gotten used to shimmying off his boxers and opting to do a standing kneel on your sleeping bags instead.

He strokes himself, preparing for what's to come. Inching nearer in a cat-like position with your ass up in the air, you instinctively jut out your tongue, wetting your mouth at the ready, and fixate on his desire gracing you with its presence.

At first, you stroke with him with your hand on top of his, but then he eventually slips it away and lets you do your magic.

We're back to kissing, but all attention is on his length, from the base to the tip. You dab your tongue at his tip leaking with precum, evidently worked up from before. A dab becomes two, then three, and when his tip is wrapped by your mouth, Mark dispels a high-pitched moan. All of his entirety is quickly loved by you.

Amidst the head bobbing, you ensure to also swipe at the underside of his cock, licking at a particular vein that always entices you when you're on your knees for him.

At some point, he raises an arm behind his head while the other weaves through your hair. With his possession still in your mouth, you glance up at him. Although half-lidded, he stares back intently, maneuvering your hair out of your eyes and bunches the rest into a makeshift ponytail.

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, eyes still trained on you.

Although you would never disregard his praise, you don't need him to tell you you're doing well based on how he grasps harder at the root of your hair and from the trickling of choppy, higher moans that compete with your lewd slopping.

Since you don't want it to end just yet, you draw back soon after. Giving him a sugary fleeting kiss, you then go on all fours in front of him. Taking his sopping desire, all thanks to you, he rubs himself against your folds, then eases into you.

You cry out in pleasure, and adjust to his fullness inside of you. Mark goes at a measured pace—fast enough that it gets you to the edge quicker, but slow enough to make you feel all his inches. Out of habit, you press the back of your hand against your mouth, muffling yourself.

“Don’t hold yourself back, baby,” he murmurs. “We’re all alone out here.”

You nod thoughtlessly and comply, dropping your hand. It's an uncommon feeling to let yourself go, but you relax and try your best. Your soft moans elevate and gain traction in volume with each movement against your body.

“That’s it,” Mark says, reaching forward to caress your hair and sliding his touch downward to the small of your back. “That’s my girl.”

Preening in the praise, you moan gutturally in response. The deep sensations enrapture you, blooming to every point of your body. Exerting the pleasure, you fall face-forward into your pillow and bunch some of it beside your head.

He continues to pound into you, groaning, “Love it so much when you moan for me...”

A few moments later, your lover pulls you up by the arms, bringing your body almost parallel to his and picks up the pace. In this position, it's not as buried, but it's still just as satisfying, being filled with his cock like this.

When he slows the pace down, he releases you, having you land on your arms again. Kissing your shoulder from behind, he pants beside your ear, “Do you wanna switch it up?”

You shake your head. “Don’t care”—at an unexpected thrust, you gasp sharply—“just want you.”

Turning your head to face him, he follows-up with an ardent kiss. Despite him holding you by your chin, it's more delicate than you expect, unlike the sex so far. Mark takes a few moments to remind you how, no matter how crude it can be, sex with him will always be laced with love.

The sunset continues to fade as he removes himself from you and lovingly pats your hips, signifying you to turn around. Facing him now, you spread your legs once again for him, and you giggle as he drags you closer to him in one smooth move. He grins with his hair sticking to his perspired forehead, and once again, he lines up with your centre before gliding into your perfection.

In tandem, both parties' eyes tremble at the sensation. He fills you deliciously; for him, you squeeze around him like a vice he never wants to detach from. Hands are dragging along everywhere on each other's skin. Lips crash into the other's, then his to your breasts and yours to his shoulder. You're soon tied chest to chest, hearts racing in synchronicity.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mark mumbles into your neck. “Love seeing you like this for me.”

He lightly slaps the side of your thigh, causing you to moan further into his ear. Despite not wanting to, he opts to tear away from you. Readjusting your bodies, he draws you closer by a tight yank of your thigh, bottoming himself out in your crevice and uses his other hand to rub your clit.

He's on a mission to take you to the stars.

“Tell me when you’re close.”

It doesn't take long for you to get there with how long this has been going on, nor with how skillful he is.

“Look at me, beautiful. Open your eyes,” he orders, his voice dripping with carnal assertiveness. “Look at me as I fill you up.”

You obey, snapping your eyes wide open, about to watch him come undone inside of you. You're transfixed on the point where you intersect, where he disappears so deeply in you.

But then, in a split second, you force yourself to stare down your love. Looking up at him, relishing in his pre-climactic image, you're on the verge of screaming, almost as if you're dying from the pleasure. His breathes come quicker, his facial features twisting. However, he dares not to shut his eyes, wanting to see you fulfill his command until the end of his surmise.

“That’s my good girl, such a good girl…”

A beautiful low, drawn-out moan emits, and ecstasy permeates through the air, intermixed with the much needed cool breeze. Mark's hips jerk, then stiffen as he spills into you, painting your walls with his thick load.

WEST

And in the west, the sun finally sets almost to completion. The golden hour sinking away into the purple and pink hues of the spring sky.

A sliver of the last light peeks through the tent's opening and lands directly over your face, the last of the golden hour saying hello and good-bye.

With your respective sleeping bags covering some parts of your bare bodies, Mark tenderly swipes his thumb over your sun-touched cheek, admiring his angel of light that always leads him home. Just like Polaris in the night sky, you’ll always shine and guide his way back home.

You two eventually eat some prepackaged sandwiches for dinner in the comfort of your tent, but not until he kisses your temple and pulls you in for a tight hug, whispering sweet nothings and running his fingers through your hair until the sky becomes completely pitch black.

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