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bijouxcarys · 4 months ago

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𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: I know it's been a while; been dealing with some health issues and uni work. I shared a teaser of chapter 16, which I actually had to split into two chapters because it reached 20k words and that's just ridiculous for me personally lol. Hope you enjoy <3

CW/TW: Slight angst, mild mention of violence

Tags: @trippinsorrows @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty @pittieprincess22

@electronicwitchsandwich

(If you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, just let me know!)

Roman’s couch was far too soft for a mind that wouldn’t stop racing.

It wasn’t surprising that Nate couldn’t sleep, even though it had just passed 2am. Her leather jacket was bunched up at her lower back, some kind of feeble attempt at some comfort. But the ache of her body was too much, and her thoughts were circling like vultures around death as she stared at the screen of her phone, aimlessly swiping between apps and trying to lose herself in the virtual world.

Everything felt… off. Unreal. It was like she was trapped in some kind of dream—the kind in which no matter how hard you try and wake yourself up, no matter how much you tell yourself it’s just a dream, you’re stuck in it. It’s real. And it’s not going away.

Katya: Alexei and Boris are staying at the house tonight. And I don’t know why, nobody will tell me anything.

Nate frowned, her thumbs hesitating over the keyboard. Alexei and Boris weren’t just hanging around for fun—they only showed up together at the house for either alcohol, or business. Either way, it meant something was happening; normally, Nate would be informed about meetings or visits, business endeavours… But the fact that she wasn’t this time, it didn’t sit right.

Katya: Where are u anyway??

With a sigh, she typed out a response.

Nate: Lana’s

Nate: And that’s weird. You didn’t overhear anything or…

Katya: No. It was all very… weird. They didn’t even see me standing there. They went into dad’s office.

Nate: Right…

Nate: Lock your door and get some sleep if you can. If anything seems off or if you hear something, call me.

Nate: I mean it, you call me if something happens.

Nate: Promise me.

Katya: Ok

Katya: Nate, you’re my best friend, aside from my sister.

Katya: There’s nobody else I would call.

Katya: ily 🩷

Nate: Love you too x

A knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach, but there wasn’t much she could do from here. Whatever was going on at the house, it would have to wait until she got back. She had business to take care of before then. And as guilty as it made Nate feel for lying to her sister about her whereabouts, she had to keep reminding herself that it was for Katya. For her future. Both of their futures. A dangerous life with dangerously high stakes had to be neutralised before chaos struck. Because once chaos strikes, one only has a certain amount of time before a complete implosion.

And chaos had, indeed, struck.

Switching over to her conversation thread with Boris, she thought about texting him to ask what was going on, but as soon as she opened the chat, her eyes were drawn to the unopened image attachment at the top of the screen.

Bloody hell, what now?

The second the photo loaded on her screen, she had the impulse to fling her phone to the other side of the room, far away from her eyes. A grotesque image of Boris in front of a mirror, flexing, his pale skin bare of any clothing. Completely nude. She groaned audibly, her face scrunching in disgust.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered, immediately closing the chat and tossing her phone beside her. Of all the things she didn’t need to deal with right now, Boris and his misguided attempts at seduction were at the top of the list.

“I brought you a blanket.”

Nate turned around quickly to see Naomi standing in the doorway, holding a blanket in her arms. Tentative, as if she wasn’t sure how Nate would react to her showing up in the middle of the night. Everyone made the executive decision to stay at Roman’s house that night, considering the meet up occurring the day after. And for a minute, Nate forgot where she was exactly—a place she really shouldn’t be.

“Oh,” she exhaled, calming her nerves. “Uh, thanks.”

Naomi offered a small smile and walked over, holding the blanket out to Nate. “I figured you didn’t have anything with you… the big guy ain’t exactly stocked up on guest amenities.”

Nate couldn’t help but snort at that, taking the blanket and setting it in her lap. “Yeah, I noticed”

Lingering for a moment, Naomi shifted on her feet. “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure, whatever,” Nate shrugged, leaning back into the couch as Naomi sat next to her, tucking one leg under the other and glancing around the room before her gaze settled on Nate again.

“I, uh…” she started softly. “I just wanted to apologise about the whole engagement party thing. I didn’t mean for it to… well, I don’t want you to think I was there to start anything. I wasn’t spying or nothin’.”

Nate tilted her head slightly, her tired eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You weren’t?”

“No, not really. I mean, Roman asked me to be there, yeah, but I wasn’t tryna make trouble. I was just… watching, I guess. I don’t want you to think I, like… have it out for you or anything.”

Nate studied Naomi’s face for a moment, searching for any sign of dishonesty, but she found none. She seemed genuine, even back at the party. It was a strange contrast to the tension Nate usually felt in the presence of Roman’s inner circle.

“Okay,” Nate cautiously accepted. “Then what exactly were you doing there?”

Sighing, Naomi pulled her hands into her lap and played with the edges of her robe sleeves. “Honestly, just tryna keep an eye on things. I know how the big guy can be… how intense he can get. I think he’s just worried about… you bein’ around—about whether or not he can trust you. And I guess he thought I could give him some perspective. But I wasn’t there to judge you.”

Nate raised an eyebrow, her scepticism still evident, but she nodded slowly. “Right…”

“Look, I get why you’d be pissed about it. Hell, I’d be too. But for what it’s worth… I don’t see you as a threat. I don’t know the full story, but my ass has been around enough Roman Reignses in my life to know when someone’s got potential.”

“Potential for what?” Nate huffed through a low, humourless laugh.

“To be somebody Roman trusts,” Naomi said simply. “That ain’t something he gives lightly, y’know? But I think he sees something in you. He wouldn’t have let you stick around this long if he didn’t!”

The comment caught Nate off-guard, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. Roman’s trust wasn’t something she’d ever considered herself earning at any point during any of this. And to be frank, he’d be wise to share that sentiment. Nate didn’t exactly trust easily either.

“I’m not really looking to be Roman’s most trusted ally here,” she muttered, trying to deflect.

“I know,” Naomi nodded. “Doesn’t mean it ain’t happening, though.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment as Nate pondered the words. Still unconvinced that Roman Reigns trusting her was on the horizon, in any universe.

“I think you’re handling everything pretty well. Given that the boys are a bunch of barnyard animals.”

Nate scoffed, shaking her head. “If this is me handling things well, I’d hate to see what a disaster looks like.”

Naomi chuckled quietly. “Girl, you’re doing just fine.”

Nate let out a deep breath, feeling a little of the tension ease out of her shoulders. She wasn’t sure she believed Naomi, but it was nice to hear something other than suspicion for once.

“Thanks,” she said after a moment, keeping her voice subdued.

Naomi smiled and gave her a small nod, standing up from the couch and stretching out her arms. “Well, I should let you get some rest. It’s been a long ass day.”

“Yeah,” Nate quietly agreed, watching out of her peripherals as Naomi took a step towards the door, paused, and glanced back at her.

“If you need anything whenever you’re here… just let me know, okay?”

Nate finally broke out a tiny smile. “Will do.”

With that, Naomi left the room, leaving Nate alone again in the quiet darkness.

On the plus side, Nate managed a fitful hour and a half of sleep before she jolted awake, her body stiff from the awkward position she’d fallen into on the couch. The blanket Naomi had brought her was tangled around her legs, offering little comfort. With an irritated sigh, she pushed it off and sat up, her head heavy, and the room thick with early-morning silence.

3:45am. She groaned as she read the time on her phone, running a hand through her hair. Honestly, she could have just gotten up and driven back to Tribeca, or to Lana’s place. Could have. But she didn’t. She put up with the discomfort of sleeping in Roman Reigns’ house, on the couch. God, if Dimitri could see her right now… No, she didn’t even want to entertain that possibility.

Suddenly, the soft creak of footsteps caught her attention. Her eyes snapped toward the direction of the stairs, narrowing slightly as a dark figure emerged.

Roman.

In this low lighting, he looked even more imposing—which she didn’t think could be possible—with his black sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and the fitted T-shirt stretched across his chest. It was clear he hadn’t exactly been asleep either.

Roman crossed the room without acknowledging her at first, his focus entirely on the bar in the corner. He wasn’t exactly trying to be quiet as he methodically poured himself a glass of whiskey with a slightly clumsy exterior. Something about his demeanour screamed stress, despite the carefully controlled facade he always maintained. The whiskey sloshed in the glass, the sound crisp in the otherwise silent space.

She watched him for a moment, wondering what the hell had brought him downstairs at this hour. Was he still riled up from earlier? Was something else gnawing at him? Nate didn’t have the energy to ask, but she couldn’t help but feel unnerved by it. Especially when he turned, one drink in each hand, and headed toward the couch—the couch she was on.

Instead of choosing any of the empty chairs scattered around the room, Roman sat down at the opposite end of the couch from her, his broad frame taking up more space than necessary. The leather creaked under his weight, and Nate tensed slightly, unsure of why he’d chosen to sit so close. She had expected him to stay aloof, maybe ignore her entirely like he just did moments ago. But here he was, settling in, clearly not in a hurry to go back to where he’d come from.

He held out one of the glasses in her direction, and she hesitated. Eyed the drink suspiciously.

“You look like you need it,” Roman muttered, his tone edged with something almost… defeated?

Nate blinked, caught off-guard. Roman wasn’t exactly the sympathetic type from what she’d witnessed, especially not with her, and the offer made her brow arch in confusion. Nevertheless, she took the glass from him, her fingers brushing the cold condensation, but she didn’t drink it. Instead, she just stared at it, trying to piece together what was going on in his head.

They sat in silence for a long, drawn-out moment. She took little intervals to glance over at him, the sharp lines of his profile barely softened by the modest light. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles tight around his own glass as he took a slow sip.

It was strange—seeing him like this. Roman was always so controlled, always in charge, but right now… something was off.

Nate wasn’t sure if it was the late hour or the weariness etched into his face, but the usual tension between them felt muted, replaced by something entirely different. Heavier. It was almost like Roman was trying to drown himself in nothingness, the drink in his hand a poor substitute for whatever was really bothering him.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Who’s your contact?”

She snapped her head toward him, furrowing her eyebrows. “If I told you, you’d just have another thing to be mad at me for.”

Immediately, she regretted the sharpness of her tone. Her irritation, the bone-deep exhaustion, everything was making her more short-tempered than usual. She sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across her forehead.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice softer this time. “I didn’t mean to… I’m just tired.”

Roman didn’t react to her apology, didn’t even flinch at the attitude—she was sure he had become accustomed to, or at the very least expectant of, her disposition by now.

He simply took another drink, staring off into the distance, as if her words didn’t even register. She studied him carefully now, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the subtle slump in his usually rigid posture. It was clear—whatever had him in this state wasn’t about her.

The sight of him in this light, in this position at 4am… it stirred something in her. Roman was always so invincible, so unbreakable. Witnessing him this drained, this… human, pulled at her in a way she hadn’t expected.

She sighed again, this time not out of frustration, but pity. “Becky Lynch,” she said quietly, her fingers fidgeting with the glass. “That’s my contact.”

Roman finally turned to look at her, his brows narrowing. “Aiden’s daughter?”

Nate nodded, watching his expression closely. She could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out why she, of all people, would be reaching out to someone deep in the bloodline of the very people she’s trying to catch out, fully knowing that there was a low chance of her actually being truthful. Roman wasn’t the type to ask for clarification outright, but the question was written all over his face. Why Becky Lynch?

Her exhausted eyes met his. “There’s literally nobody else,” she said, barely above a whisper. “No information anywhere that you can find that’ll be more helpful, more valuable than what comes from Becky. She also…” she paused for a second, “never really had a great relationship with her dad, so…”

Roman’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger. It was recognition. Maybe. He leaned back slightly, giving her a once over in that quiet, calculating manner he always had.

“So,” he murmured. “A bit like you then.”

Her heart gave an unexpected jolt, and for a moment, the silence between them felt more intimate, more charged than before. Roman wasn’t asking for more information, wasn’t pushing her for answers. He was simply… acknowledging something. Something they both understood but never talked about.

Nate leaned back into the couch, finally taking a sip of the whiskey Roman had handed her. It burned as it slid down her throat, and she grimaced slightly, setting the glass on the small table beside the couch. Her eyes drifted back to him, noticing how he hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything since his last comment. He just sat there, staring off into nothing.

It wasn’t hard to see that Roman’s mood had been exceptionally dark and volatile since she’d arrived—snapping at anyone and everyone who came near him. Whatever he was going through now was the comedown, the aftermath of exerting so much energy into being angry. Drained, like whatever had been pushing him to that edge had finally started to wear him down.

And for some reason, it bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

“So…” Nate started, crossing her arms and leaning forward, studying his expression. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on with you? Or are we just gonna sit here pretending that everything’s fine when you’ve been in a mood foul enough to scare off half your family?”

Roman’s eyes flitted in her direction, wordlessly contemplating whether or not to even bother with her question. She couldn’t blame him. Asking Roman to open up was probably more like trying to pry a locked door open with your bare hands—frustrating and usually pointless.

“I mean,” she continued, her tone more defensive, “It’s not because I care or anything. I just need you to be at one hundred percent. We need to figure out who’s responsible for the shipment. And whoever killed Priest isn’t gonna wait around while you throw temper tantrums.”

Nate expected him to snap back at her, to say something biting, but he just stared down at the whiskey in his glass, swirling the amber liquid around in slow, measured circles. The silence dragged on again, and she was starting to think he was going to ignore her completely when he finally spoke.

“I’m havin’... ex-wife issues,” Roman muttered, the words coming out like they’d been dragged from the back of his throat.

That was… unexpected. Nate raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. Ex-wife issues? The words didn’t even sound like they belonged in the same sentence as Roman Reigns. He seemed too… detached for something like that.

“You? Married?” she asked, her tone laced with playful disbelief, though she didn’t push too hard. “Now that’s a twist. Never pegged you for the type.”

Roman let out a dry, humourless chuckle, still not looking directly at her. “Yeah, me neither. I try not to regret it. But it’s hard not to when you’re dealin’ with… shit like this.”

Nate couldn’t help but smirk, though there was a hint of sympathy in her eyes. “Well, exes can be psychotic sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, this ex has filed a whole ass custody petition for our daughter,” Roman said, the words slipping out before he had a chance to catch them.

Nate blinked. And then blinked again.

Roman… had a daughter?

That was a hell of a thing to drop in the middle of the night like that.

“I didn’t realise you had a daughter,” she said softly, not teasing this time, just genuinely taken aback.

Roman finally looked at her, albeit with a mix of exhaustion and something else—maybe irritation, maybe resignation. “Yeah, well, you ain’t exactly someone I like to talk to.”

Void of venom, his words were just a blunt truth that Nate couldn’t argue with. They weren’t close, they weren’t even civil a majority of the time; why would they sit around and swap personal stories?

She pursed her lips, an unexpected pang of empathy arising. She knew what it was like to have family issues drag you through the mud, even if her circumstances were different. “I’m sorry,” she said, surprising even herself with the sincerity of the words. She wasn’t one to apologise much, especially not to someone like Roman.

Roman’s jaw tightened, but after a beat, he shook his head, as if trying to shake off the tension. “Nah. That was outta line. You didn’t deserve that.”

Nate chewed at the drying skin on her lower lip, shifting uncomfortably—not because of Roman, but because of the realisation that she actually… cared. About Roman’s situation. About how all of this was clearly affecting him more than he was letting on.

“I take it she’s causing trouble,” she said just above a whisper, looking down at her lap.

Roman huffed, leaning back and rubbing a hand across his jaw. “You could say that. Maria’s always been a problem. Thought I was done with her shit when we split, just had to deal with her when it was in Ava’s best interest. But… custody battles? That’s a whole different level of bullshit I ain’t ready for.”

“So, what does she want? Money?”

He shook his head, staring off into the distance again. “Nah, it ain’t about that. I think she just… wants control. Wants to prove I’m not a good father. That I’m too tied up in all this for shared custody.”

“I didn’t even know you had a kid,” she hummed, more to herself than to him. The thought of Roman’s stress being split between the business, the shipment, and the threat of losing his daughter to an ex-wife he clearly didn’t see eye-to-eye with—made her stomach twist a little. “Guess it makes sense, though. Why wouldn’t you want to keep that part of your life… separate?”

Roman’s gaze softened, just for a moment. “Yeah. You get it, right? Gotta protect what matters.”

Nate nodded slowly. She did understand. More than he knew. But there was no way she was going to spill her soul out to him. Even if he’d started to peel back a thin layer himself.

“Exes can be a real pain in the arse,” she said, her voice a little lighter now. “But it sounds like she’s going for the jugular with this one. Custody petitions? That’s not just a fight; that’s war.”

He let out a low grunt, tipping his head back and downing the rest of his whiskey in one smooth motion. “Yeah. And she ain’t exactly playin’ fair.”

With a small, almost menacing chuckle, she rested her arm on the back of the couch, leaning her head on her hand. “Well… it’s a good thing you don’t play fair either.”

That earned her a ghost of a smirk from Roman. “Damn straight.”

For the first time, the tension between them had eased enough that the conversation felt almost… normal. Almost.

Nate reached back to pick up her own glass, the burn of whiskey less harsh when she took another sip. “You gonna be alright with all this?”

Roman didn’t answer right away, just stared down at the empty glass in his hand. Contortions on his face mirrored his thoughts; twisted and sharp. “Yeah. I’ll handle it. Always do.”

She nodded, though a part of her wondered how much longer he could keep handling everything on his own without something giving way. But that wasn’t her problem to fix.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The car slowed to a halt a couple of blocks from their destination, a gritty, rundown coffee shop on the corner of Houston Street and Essex in Manhattan’s Lower East Side. It was one of those places that had clearly seen better days—faded signage, chipped paint, and a few patrons who looked like they’d been sitting in the same seats for years. The kind of joint where no one asked questions and fewer paid attention. Perfect for a low-key meeting.

Nate shuffled awkwardly in the backseat, casting a sidelong glance at Tamina, who was silently checking over the small wire she was about to strap to Nate. Roman sat in the passenger seat, one hand draped lazily over the console while his gaze was fixed out the window, unreadable as usual. Paul was behind the wheel, ever the silent observer, but as always, his presence loomed large.

“I still don’t get why this is necessary,” Nate muttered under her breath in mild annoyance. “I could just tell you what Becky says afterwards.”

Roman responded with a small quirk of his mouth that suggested he was enjoying her discomfort far more than he should be. Tamina, on the other hand, was all business.

“You know the deal,” she said firmly, but not entirely unkind as she clipped the wire to Nate’s jacket. “We don’t trust anyone’s word, especially not when we don’t know them too well. We need to hear it in real-time.”

Nate rolled her eyes but didn’t argue further. It was pointless. Ever since she agreed to work with Roman, nothing had been straightforward, and they’d had her under more scrutiny than her father as of late. It came with strings, thick ones, and this was just one of them. If she was to talk to someone, it would be documented. Period.

“Yeah, I get that,” she sighed, glancing down at the wire now attached to the inside of her jacket. “But what, you think I’ll just forget a key detail? I’m not exactly an amateur with this kinda stuff.”

Roman’s low chuckle filled the car, breaking the quiet tension. “This ain’t about you being an amateur. It’s about making sure there ain’t any surprises. And trust me,” he added, his tone dripping with that familiar arrogant charm, “This’ll help you way more than you think. You’d rather us hear it now than grill you later, right?”

She shot him a look, unimpressed but also knowing he wasn’t entirely wrong. He had a way of bending the truth just enough to make it sound like he was doing her a favour. Typical Roman. She huffed, leaning back against the seat.

“I still don’t think it’s necessary.”

The smirk on his face grew slightly as he glanced over his shoulder at her. “You’ll get over it.”

Tamina finished adjusting the wire and sat back, satisfied with her work. She gave Nate a nod, signalling she was good to go. Paul shifted in the driver’s seat, speaking up for the first time since they’d gotten there.

“So,” he began, “Ms. Volkov. Where does your father think you are?”

Nate paused, her hand brushing over her leather-clad arm, smoothing out any folds. “A friend’s house,” she replied with a shrug, so nonchalantly.

“And that friend will back you up? Be your alibi?” Roman asked.

“Yep.” Nate didn’t look at him when she answered, her focus instead on the street outside. The wind moved the few sparse trees, a gust here and there, and she had a moment to breathe in the quiet before the meeting.

However, Roman wasn’t ready to let it go just yet. He narrowed his eyes and looked at her properly from the front seat. “You’re sure?”

Nate snapped her head to him, a flash of agitation sparking in her eyes. “Fuck’s sake, Roman, yes. I’ve done this before, my friend will back me up.”

He raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze for a beat longer before giving a slight nod. Tamina and Paul exchanged glances, their silent communication not lost on Nate. But before anyone could push further, Roman waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. I’m just making sure you don’t fuck this up.”

Nate rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair in an attempt to shield the little smirk on her face. “Trust me, I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to be.”

With everything set, Tamina gave Nate one last lok, almost a silent check to see if she was truly ready. Nate exhaled, her confidence steady, and nodded.

“Alright,” Tamina said. “You’re good to go. Just keep it cool, Zayn and the twins are a few blocks down in case anythin’ goes wrong.”

The younger woman gave her a quick hum of understanding before she opened the door and stepped out of the car. The midday sun was still muted, casting long shadows across the pavement. The streets were busier now, people going about their day unaware of the underworld dealings happening just a few feet away. Nate glanced back at the car for a moment, catching Roman’s gaze through the tinted window. He watched her like a hawk, and though she couldn’t see his expression fully, she could most definitely feel the weight of his eyes tracking her every move.

The silence stretched for a minute or so as Roman watched Nate walk away, disappearing and blending into the small spurts of people along the sidewalk. Paul cleared his throat, his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel.

“She didn’t want to wear the wire, boss,” he commented cautiously, as if he were testing the waters.

Roman leaned back in his seat, his eyes still on the direction Nate had gone. “Yeah. I know.”

Tamina turned in her seat, her sharp cat-eyed gaze landing on Roman. “You think she’ll leave it on?”

With a slow exhale, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face hardened, the lines of mild wisdom and fatigue strengthening in his expression. “I don’t know. But I guess we’re about to find out if our… Euro-Asian ally can really be trusted,” he muttered.

Nate had on her game face as she approached the small café where she was set to meet Becky, her pacing in line with the other pedestrians. Scanning every detail of her surroundings without looking like she was; she was experienced—did this more times than she could count—but this time felt a little more… personal. The last time she’d seen Becky, tensions had been at an all-time high, and the years of silence between them hadn’t dulled the edge of that old bitterness. If anything, it made the situation more volatile.

As she neared the entrance, she stopped for a second, adjusting her jacket just enough to make sure the wire stayed hidden. She ran her hands over her hair in an attempt to look more presentable, catching sight of unmistakable red hair from inside, standing out like a flare in the low light of the dim interior.

The bell on the door tinkled softly as she stepped inside. It was quiet, save for a few patrons scattered across the room, either lost in their laptops or deep in conversation. Nate clocked every exit, took note of where people were seated, and scanned the staff in the unlikely case that one of them was a plant. Old habits.

Becky didn’t look up immediately. She was seated at a corner table, nursing what looked like a coffee, her posture relaxed. You could feel the tension pulled taut between them, and when their eyes finally met, there was a brief flicker of recognition—more distant than familiar.

Nate approached cautiously, her boots making soft thuds against the hardwood floor, and took a seat across from Becky without a word.

“Long time,” Nate said, keeping her voice low and steady.

Becky smirked, taking a slow sip of her coffee before resting back. “Lucky you,” she began, her voice carrying that signature Irish lilt, “That I’m even here. Thought about telling you to fuck off, but… I wanted to see you. See how much like your father you’ve become.”

It appeared as though Nate kept her composure, but her hands balled up into tight fists under the table, bristling at such an insinuation. She could tell Becky meant every word. “He doesn’t even know I’m here, so…”

Becky raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. She leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “So what, you’re goin’ behind your da’s back now?” She scoffed, clearly not buying it. “You were always the loyal one. One hundred and ten percent Volkov, through and through. What’s changed?”

Nate hesitated for only a second, quickly catching herself. “It’s complicated. And none of your business.”

“Everything’s complicated with your family,” Becky eyed her carefully, her fingers tapping idly on her cup.

There was a pause, and the insinuation of their shared history hung over the two of them like a massive, dark cloud.

“I’m not here to talk about my dad,” Nate said, getting straight to the point. “I’ve got a situation. A shipment stolen. Damian Priest, dead in the process. Bad Bunny’s compound was ambushed. Irish flag on the car. I need answers, Becky.”

The redhead across from her didn’t betray much conclusion on her face, but she did display a brief flicker of familiarity at the mention of Priest. Letting the information sink in, she lowered her gaze to the table.

After what felt like an eternity, she shrugged.

That simple gesture made Nate’s chest tighten in rage. “A shrug?” Her voice rose a little. “That’s all you’ve got for me? A fucking shrug?”

Becky met Nate’s anger with cool indifference, drinking more of her coffee before answering. “I don’t know what to tell you, Nate.”

“You can tell me why your family is still fucking with us after all this time. Because I swear to God, if this is about some old gru—”

“My family didn’t do shit.”

“Sure as hell looks like it.”

Becky’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, her icy demeanour cracked. “My family isn’t even in the States anymore.”

Nate froze, her brows knitting. “What?”

“You heard me,” Becky said, dropping her voice an octave. “We left. After what your da pulled… my father hasn’t been the same. You want to know why you haven’t heard from us? It’s because we haven’t been here. My family’s been in Ireland for years. My da’s in a fuckin’ wheelchair. And believe me, we ain’t coming back.”

This wasn’t adding up.

“No,” Nate shook her head. “You… They have to be here. None of this makes sense otherwise.”

Becky shook her head, exasperation etched all over. “After your da took over X, mine was done. He’s been out of the game since then. It’s a round-the-clock job for whoever looks after him now, there’s no fuckin’ way my family’s involved in whatever bullshit you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“My father is not to blame for that,” Nate found herself defending her dad, hating that her family was being blamed period. “He did what he had to do. If it hadn’t been him, it would’ve been someone else. That’s how this business works, Becky, you know that.”

Gaze hardening, Becky leaned forward as her voice dropped to a growl. “His moves, his ‘business’ nearly killed my dad. He had a stroke after his blood pressure got too high. You want to defend him? Fine. But you don’t know what it’s like to watch your da waste away. Good relationship, or not.” She took a deep, shaky breath, calming herself. “It would’ve been more dignified to put a bullet in his head than to let him end up like this.”

The brutal honesty of Becky’s statement momentarily stunned Nate. But she wasn’t here to dwell on the past or the people they’d lost along the way, nor was she here to play catch-up, to offer her sympathy. She had a job to do.

“Why are you here then?” she asked more curiously than accusatory. “If your family’s back home, why are you still in the States?”

“That’s none of your business.” Becky crossed her arms.

But Nate wasn’t stupid. She’d noticed the small details—the subtle changes in Becky’s appearance, the way she carried herself. Most importantly, the ring on her left hand.

“You’re married,” Nate casually commented, observing Becky’s face closely. “Congratulations.”

“Don’t make it sound like it matters to you.”

“It must be someone important if nobody can find anything about you anymore. Must have taken a lot to disappear so cleanly.”

And there it was. She had the upper hand.

“So,” she continued insistently, “You’re telling me that whoever ambushed us, whoever killed Damian Priest, and whoever stole our shipment… it wasn’t the Irish?”

Becky met her gaze head-on, her eyes clear and resolute. “My family hasn’t returned since they were chased out. I’m the only one left because I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.”

Nate sat back, letting Becky’s words settle. For all the hostility, all the unresolved history between them, she believed her. It was in her tone. The inflictions. The way her eyes stayed confidently locked onto Nate’s as she pleaded her case.

“I’m sorry, Nate,” Becky sighed, looking away for the first time. “I wish I had more for you, but I don’t. My family’s outta this. And so am I.”

Tensions were rising back in the SUV. How could the Irish not be involved? It was their flag, for fuck’s sake! It seemed like everytime they got closer to an answer, it was ripped out from under them. And Roman just wanted to know where his half was—where his weaponry ended up! Who the fuck would be so audacious as to fuck with The Bloodline, and the Volkovs.

Paul leaned closer to the speakers. “What do you think, boss? You buy what Lynch is saying?”

Roman’s jaw clenched, nose flaring a little. “I don’t know yet. But Nate’s got history with her. She’ll know if it’s bullshit.”

“You trust her?” Tamina asked, raising her brows.

“I trust that she’s as desperate as we are right now. That’s good enough—for now.”

It seemed as though Nate and Becky’s conversation was coming to a close, and just as Tamina was readying the boxes that had contained the wire, Becky spoke again.

“How have you been holding up since…”

Her voice trailed off, and Roman furrowed his eyebrows. He exchanged a glance with Paul, who was equally puzzled. They didn’t know what Becky was referring to, but it was clear that whatever it was, it struck a nerve with Nate.

“Fine,” Nate’s voice responded, but even through the static, Roman could hear the lie; he’d grown used to hearing when someone was holding back on the truth.

“Lyin’ ass,” he muttered under his breath.

“Are you sure about that?” Becky pressed on, not letting Nate slip away so easily.

The pause between question and response felt like it lasted forever, and Roman picked up on the uneven rhythm of Nate’s breathing.

“Yeah,” she finally said, albeit rather flat. Clearly wanting to end this conversation. But Becky wasn’t done.

“Did you find out who did it?”

Roman shot Paul a glance. “Who did what?”

Paul shook his head, indicating he had no idea what the fuck they were talking about either.

Nate’s response was barely audible. “No.”

“You haven’t tried?” Becky asked again, her tone betraying a sense of disbelief.

“Dad tried in the beginning,” Nate admitted. “But I think it got too much for him. And now… it’s like she never even existed.”

Roman’s frown deepened. She? Whoever they were talking about, whatever they were talking about, they were way past the topic of the Irish, the shipment, and the ambush. It was personal. He tried to piece together what was going on, thinking back to the limited conversations he and Nate had shared since agreeing to work with each other. The only one that came to mind was the way her disposition switched entirely at the mention of her mother, back when they paid Bunny’s men a visit.

“Are you still trying?”

There was a long silence, causing Roman to impatiently lean forward as though it was going to drag the answer from the speakers. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling out of control, and right now, that’s exactly what this conversation was doing to him. He hated it.

Finally, there was an answer. “Yes….”

“And how’s that going?” Becky’s question felt like a final blow, digging into an old wound.

Nate let out a bitter laugh. “A load of bollocks.”

The sound of her frustration was so familiar by this point, so raw, that her accent tickled him in a way it hadn’t in the past. He smirked, despite the severity of the task at hand, mumbling, “Love how she says that shit…”

Paul raised an eyebrow at Roman’s sudden amusement but said nothing. The humour quickly faded, and Roman’s expression returned to its more guarded state.

As the conversation continued, there was a sudden long pause. The crackling of the wire grew louder, and for a moment, the car was drowned in absolute silence. Roman squinted at the speakers.

“You think the wire’s been cut?” Paul asked, looking between the speakers and Roman.

Tamina leaned forward, tense concern taking over her features. “Shit, maybe she took it off. Didn’t want us hearing the rest.”

“Nah,” Roman quickly shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that. Not after what’s already been said.”

The silence dragged on. Roman’s fingers drummed against the dashboard, his patience thinning. But then, the Irish lilt cut through the quiet with a soft sigh.

“If you get stuck, truly stuck,” she began, “Contact me. I think I know someone who might be able to help you with… all that.”

Narrowing his brows, Roman’s attention was once again fully captured.

“No guarantees, though,” Becky added cautiously. “But there’s a possibility.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tamina huffed, holding her hands up in an open gesture, as if the answer would fall into her lap.

“Take care of yourself, Nate. And please… don’t end up like Dimitri.”

The static crackled again with the sound of rustling, movement, and muffled farewells.

“The hell was that?” Tamina asked.

“The hell do I know?” Roman bit back, just as frustrated and puzzled as his cousin.

“Not exactly the intel we were looking for, but… i-it could be useful,” Paul reasoned.

Tamina glanced between Roman and Paul. “You think she’s hiding something?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Roman took a deep breath, “But she doesn’t like talkin’ about it. It’s personal. And I need to know everything if I’m gonna trust her.”

“Sir,” Paul cleared his throat, “Ms Lynch didn’t seem deceitful.”

“I’m not disagreeing with that, Wise Man.” He turned his head to look at his special counsel. “But the less we know about Volkov’s situation, the more at risk we are at gettin’ fucked by it.”

Heyman paused, trying to hold back the smile on his face at Roman’s mindset. He’d seen this man grow up. Knew his family for decades. He always knew that he’d be a smart, head-strong leader, just following in the footsteps of those who came before him, and to have been even a tiny part of that… It was his greatest achievement. Roman was his greatest achievement.

The sound of one of the car doors opening startled the silence that had taken over the space, and Roman’s eyes snapped over to Nate sliding back in the car, her face set on neutral—as if she hadn’t just been through a conversation that had rattled her to the core.

Roman waited until she’d closed the door and the tension simmered. “How’d it go?” he asked calmly.

Her eyes only met his for a millisecond, before settling back out the window. “It went.”

“That’s all you got?” He raised an eyebrow.

Nate sighed, leaning back. “She gave me what she could. It’s not much, but it’s more than we had before.” Even though her confidence had been shaken by the unexpected topic brought up by Becky, it was still gnawing at her just how wrong she was about the whole thing. The Irish. It wasn’t them. She was so sure of it, too. So entirely set on her theory, which she saw as anything but.

And she was wrong.

“You don’t look too convinced,” Roman probed, shooting his cousin and Paul a glance.

Nate shrugged. “Becky’s out. It’s not her or her family.”

Her nonchalance grated against Roman’s patience like nails on a chalkboard. “And this other stuff you were talkin’ about with her?”

“It’s personal,” she answered perhaps a little too quickly. Too insistent. The two word substitution for a much harsher two word command: shut up.

Roman’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he finally turned back around, letting it go—for now. “Fine.”

But he’d get it out of her. One way or another.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The ride back to Roman’s house had been mostly quiet. Nate was lost in thought, processing everything that had just transpired with Becky. Roman, Paul, and Tamina sensed the shift in her mood—not like she was doing much to hide it, though.

As soon as the car stopped, Nate stepped out, honestly wanting to just get back home and go to sleep. This was supposed to be a quick meeting the day before, and it had turned into a twenty-four hour affair. It was time to head back—back to the life she’d been trying to balance alongside this chaos. She instantly moved toward the borrowed car she drove here, ready to leave, but unlike the others, Roman stayed outside.

He leaned casually against the side of the car, arms folded, watching Nate as she fished for the keys from her pocket. She stood with her back to the house, car behind her, mind anywhere else.

“So your contact was useless,” Roman said with a steady edge, as if he already knew which direction the conversation would go.

Nate glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. “She wasn’t useless.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Then you only heard what you wanted to hear. She knows someone that could help, does she not?”

The firmness in her tone halted further instigating by Roman. It wasn’t the first time she’d stood her ground with him, but this was a little more intense here. Sure, she felt she was losing control over her life. But this was the first time, in that life, that she felt she was losing control over an investigation. Such an unfamiliar feeling. Usually, her father was there, his plans guiding her actions. Usually, she’d be in control of what her role was. Now, she wasn’t sure what her role was, or if control even existed anymore.

Roman narrowed his eyes at her, reading the strain in her body, the square in her shoulders. “So what, you think this someone that Becky mentioned is gonna solve all of this?”

Nate huffed. “No. But it’s something. And right now, we don’t have a lot of ‘something,’ do we?”

She wasn’t backing down, and he could sense it—the way he, too, was losing control. He was no longer steering things. Standing here, listening to Nate, something shifted, however. It wasn’t a power struggle, not anymore. The harsh reality hit him—she wasn’t Dimitri Volkov. Not cut from the same cloth. And part of her seemed almost relieved about that.

Roman saw it. She wasn’t just standing up to him; she was holding herself together, barely.

“Whoever she mentioned,” Nate began softly, “Might be worth having a look at.”

His jaw tightened and he took a deep breath, running his hand over his beard. He hated the idea of relying on people outside the Bloodline, of being forced to put an ounce of trust in someone he didn’t know. It was bad enough with Nate. “You’re sayin’ we should?”

“Well, it’s either that,” she jumped in bluntly, holding his gaze, “Or accept the fact we got fucked over and deal with knowing we didn’t try our hardest to get to the bottom of it.”

Roman stared at her, taking in the truth behind her words. He hated it, but she wasn’t wrong. They had been hit from all sides, and every lead had dried up before they could act. Nate was standing there, pushing him—yet there was something else in her expression. Something he hadn’t really seen in her before.

Defeat.

Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were dulled by it. Her stance, usually confident and controlled, seemed to sag ever so slightly. The misery etched in her features struck him harder than expected. Was this what he looked like earlier that morning? Did he look this… pathetic?

Nate broke the silence, her tone lighter but laced with finality. “Anyway, I’m gonna go.”

She took a step toward the car, her hand reaching for the door handle, but Roman continued.

“Ah, back to being the perfect daughter, perfect fiancée…” His voice was smoother, more teasing than he probably intended, and for the first time in their tumultuous back-and-forth, he wasn’t doing it to bait her. He didn’t even realise he was doing it at all.

She paused, turning her head toward him, her lips twitching into a small smile despite herself. “Perfect? You’re really pushing it, Reigns.”

“Well, isn’t that the story?” he chuckled. “Y’know… white dress, fairytale ending? Every ‘lil girl’s dream?”

Her smirk cracked into a proper smile. “Don’t tell me you’re that naive, Mr. Head of the Table. Besides, I highly doubt your version of a fairytale has anything in common with mine.”

Roman tilted his head, the charming grin of his slipping into place. “Maybe not. But who knows? Could surprise you, Volkov.”

Nate rolled her eyes but found herself stalling, her hand resting on the car’s handle without pulling it open. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, bol’shoy chelovek.”

She could see the bob of his Adam’s apple, rippling as he swallowed. It sent a little rush of excitement through her to see his unrestrained reaction to her Russian. She’d suspected his enjoyment before, but it was like he wasn’t even hiding it now.

Opening the car door, she hesitated once more. Roman’s eyes were absolutely glued to her, and before she could get in and close the door completely, he leaned down slightly, his voice dropping into a serious tone.

“Get in contact if you hear anything else,” he said. “We’ll figure out our next moves.”

Nate nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Will do.”

She slid into the driver’s seat, her movements slow, and Roman stepped back, watching as she settled behind the wheel. For a second, neither of them moved, neither willing to break the strange, new rhythm they’d found themselves in. Roman’s arms crossed over his chest as he gave her one final look, a more pliable glimmer behind his otherwise cold, empty eyes.

Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, Nate pulled the door shut. But when it came time to start the engine and actually pull away… she couldn’t do it. Held back by… something. Not exhaustion, no… It wasn’t even the idea of going back home to her father.

It was the fact that leaving here felt harder than it should have.

As she pulled away, she swore she heard him tell her to “drive safe.” Like he cares what happens…

But Roman had seen it. The reluctance in her eyes, the same hesitation that had started to creep into his own thoughts. And instantaneously, he realised something else. Something he never thought would push itself to the forefront of his thoughts.

He didn’t like watching her leave, either.

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inkbyajm · 1 year ago

Text

of kindling sparks

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

tropes: fluff, slow-burn

warnings: 11 year age-gap (reader is 23, joel is 34)

word count: ~6000

author’s note: so this chapter as well as the next one basically serve as one long exposition before the main story (aka the prequel). i realise this is lengthy as hell but i needed to flesh out the relationship between joel and the reader for the upcoming chapters to hurt, you know?

(p.s. there's mention of joel carrying the reader. i know some people might be put off by this, but joel is quite buff. i mean the man works in construction, i promise he can handle carrying an adult for less than a minute)

————-　❈　————-

The air was getting chillier, the change of seasons not going unnoticed. (Y/N)'s focus was razor-sharp as she drove through the streets of Austin, making sure to take in the ever-changing leaves on the trees she passed by. As an exchange student, it wasn't cheap to be renting a car, and the money her parents were generously providing her could only last for so long. She desperately needed another source of income. Her prayers were answered the week prior when she stumbled upon an advertisement near the exit to her university. It was for a babysitting job with a decent pay and convenient working hours. She wrote an email to the address written on the poster:

Dear Mr. Miller, Is the babysitting job still available? I'm a student currently on an exchange program at the University of Texas. And while I haven't had prior experience in babysitting, I used to be an assistant teacher in a kindergarten. I'm very good with children and at keeping them alive (this is a joke, but I am pretty responsible, my mother can attest to this). If there is any need for it, I can also cook and clean up after each visit. Thank you for your consideration and I hope to hear from you soon!

Sincerely, (Y/N) (L/N)

To which, much to her surprise, she received an answer shortly after:

Dear Ms. (L/N), Yes, the babysitting job is still available. It's for my 12-year-old daughter Sarah. And while I appreciate all that you have to offer, there's nothing much to do but keep her alive, so your skill would be useful here. You can come by our house on 1411 Sullivan DR any day of the week after 5pm, we'll go over the details then. If you're still interested, you'll be able to start right away. See you soon!

Best regards, Joel Miller

After half-an-hour of driving, the house finally came into view. Just as she parked the car in the vacant driveway, and before she went to meet some stranger she hoped wouldn't turn out to be a creep, the girl gathered her wits and courage with a clasp of her hands, a deep breath, and a firm nod as if to say 'There's no going back now, and if I die, it is what it is'.

Her three knocks on the door were followed by a long pause which made her believe she had arrived either at the wrong time or the wrong house. But as she was about to turn around and flee in embarrassment, out came a middle-aged man with disheveled hair.

"Hello. Is this the Miller's house?"

"Yes, hi! I am so sorry I kept you waiting. (Y/N), right?" he said, wiping his hands on a rag.

"That's me."

"Great. I'd shake your hand, but mine are a bit dirty. Please, come in." he stepped out of the way to let her walk further into his home.

It was decently spacious and cozy, which temporarily put her at ease. They walked through the living room into the dimly lit kitchen. It smelled of spices and garlic.

He gestured around, "Welcome to our humble abode. Pardon the mess, I didn't exactly have time to tidy up," While it wasn't exactly messy, they could benefit from an extra set of hands. "You said you weren't from around here?"

"No, I'm quite a long way from home," (Y/N) said, taking a seat at the dining table. "I wanted to see other places, gain a bit of independence. Austin was one of the first to accept me, and since it seemed like a fine city to live in, I packed up my things and arrived at the beginning of summer."

"I'm Texas born and raised myself. Wouldn't dream of living anywhere else. How old are you exactly?"

"Twenty-three, sir."

He proceeded to rummage through the fridge that was almost full. "Alright. Would you like a beer, then? And please, call me Joel. You're making me feel old."

"Right, Joel. And sure, I'll have one if you do."

Joel handed her a cold bottle as he sat down across from her. She was familiar with the brand, they served it at the bar she worked at part-time on weekends. For the next hour-and-a-half, the two discussed (Y/N)'s life, her studies, Joel's job as a contractor, and Sarah. At some point, the attacks on 9/11 came up, unpacking the nation-wide terror they had brought. She recalled the panicked calls she received from her parents, begging her to come home. She had to explain that she was alright, that there was nothing to do about it now, and that she couldn't leave the city when she had already formed ties and taken on responsibilities.

Just as Joel was getting into another anecdote from Sarah's childhood, they heard keys jangling in the front door as it opened and shut.

"Speak of the devil. Done playing already?"

A soft voice rang through the house, "Yeah, I'm really tired." Then a pigtailed girl stopped abruptly at the entrance to the kitchen. She was wearing a soccer kit, carrying both a purple backpack as well as a blue duffel bag.

"Sarah, this is (Y/N). She's gonna be your nanny from now on."

The little girl hesitated at first, then gently approached the table and extended her small hand for her to shake. "Nice to meet you." she said with as much courage as she could muster, earning a smile in return.

Getting up from his seat, Joel kissed his daughter's head and told her food was ready, which prompted the child to run upstairs to her room. Feeling like it was her cue to leave, (Y/N) followed suit and slung her bag on her shoulder.

"Would you like to stay for dinner? I'm not much of a chef, but I have to admit I make a mean chili." said the man, pointing at the steaming pot on the stovetop.

The smell of a homemade meal was making her mouth water, but she hadn't known them for long enough to get comfortable. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I should really get going. I have some reading to finish before morning."

The two made their way back to the front door. "Alright, then. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, yeah?"

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Miller- Joel, sorry." she corrected herself, waving him goodbye as she swiftly got into her car and began the drive back to her apartment. She hadn't even begun the job, yet (Y/N) couldn't help but feel giddy about her small success.

————-　❈　————-

A couple of months had passed and (Y/N) was really enjoying her new gig. Sarah turned out to be the sweetest girl the young woman had ever had the pleasure of knowing. She wasn't fussy or troublesome, was very well-mannered, oh-so-friendly and kind, and a fan of using sarcasm here and there, which seemed to be something she picked up from her father. Joel, too, was accommodating to the new addition of their little family. (Y/N) could sense, however, that he was somewhat more reserved - closed, even. It was harder to get to know her employer, but she didn't mind, these things took time.

Leaning against her car, the young woman read her copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' for the 4th or 5th time. Something about it brought her great comfort, especially during the colder months. The festive season was quickly approaching and she wasn't sure if gifts would be appropriate so early-on in her employment. She had zoned out for so long, she didn't have time to register her name being called nor a pair of arms swiftly wrapping around her waist.

"Hey, kiddo." she laughed, hugging the curly-haired girl back.

She let go and stared up at her babysitter with her big round eyes. "Did daddy send you to pick me up?"

"No, I just finished classes and thought I'd swing by."

"What are you reading?"

(Y/N) turned the book to show the cover, "Pride and Prejudice. It's an old book."

"What's it about?"

"Uh- well, it's about a lot of things, but mainly it's the story of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy who have to overcome their differences to end up together. Hence the title."

"That sounds kind of interesting."

"Yeah, but it takes a lot of hatred and pettiness to get there."

The little girl shook her head in disapproval, "Adults. Why do they have to complicate things?"

"Alright, wise one. Get in before you get cold."

The car ride gave them more time to bond. They sang to Sarah's favourite songs and talked about whatever was on the little genius's mind. It was a unique experience for both of them, two feminine energies collided, something each of them longed for dearly.

At home, (Y/N) spent a significant amount of time helping Sarah with her homework: a bunch of English grammar exercises, essay writing, as well as some algebra. Following their arduous work, the girls decided they deserved some fun and made creamy pasta (one of Sarah's favourites) for dinner. Whilst waiting for the patriarch to come home, they got comfortable on the couch to watch 'Mrs. Doubtfire'.

Unsure if she should speak during the movie, Sarah poked her babysitter's arm. "Do you have siblings?"

"I don't, no. Why do you ask?"

"I don't have any either. Do you ever get lonely?"

(Y/N) wasn't sure where these questions were coming from, but she decided to entertain them anyway. "I used to, growing up. Though my parents did a very good job at making sure I felt loved at home. I miss them a lot, but I'm happy here too."

There was a long pause as Sarah was visibly deep in her thoughts. "I never knew my mom," It shouldn't have shocked the young woman, she assumed Joel and his wife had separated after noting the absence of a maternal presence in their home, but it still came as a surprise. "Daddy said she had her own reasons and that they both agreed for me to live with him."

"Adults always have their own reasons for things, even if it may seem dumb. I'm sure it was a very difficult decision to make for her and that she loves you very much."

"I don't think about her often anymore. My dad can be busy, but he does a good job. He comes to every game, takes me to fairs and carnivals, helps me with school projects. He's also extra cool on vacation."

Something about her remark pulled at (Y/N)'s heart. "I see. He seems like a really great dad." The girls went right back to watching Robin Williams dance around while doing chores, as if they hadn't just touched on a thought-provoking subject.

It was almost 11pm and Joel was nowhere to be seen. Instead of letting the girl pass out on the couch, (Y/N) let her hold onto her back as she carried the sleepy child all the way to her room. Making sure all was right, she put her to bed, closed the window, turned on the night-light, then made her way towards the door.

"You're really cool," Sarah said sleepily with her eyes closed. "I hope you stay for a long time."

No compliment in the world could compare to a kid's heartfelt approval. "I hope so too, sweetie. Good night and good dreams."

Walking back downstairs, the young woman took one look around the house and decided she could pass the time cleaning up here and there. She started by tidying up the living room: folding the throws, fluffing up the pillows, putting the board games back on the bookshelf. Then she moved onto the kitchen where she took the trash out, scrubbed the surfaces clean as silently as she could, put the leftover pasta away, and washed the dishes. Satisfied with her work, she went back up to Sarah's room to leave a glass of water by her bed in case she got thirsty in the middle of the night.

In a house that was dead silent, she heard heavy footsteps. In a short panic, she grabbed a pair of scissors that were lying on the desk and crept up closer to the door. The steps were agonisingly slow and calculated. The woman felt like she was in a slasher movie. Babysitters always die first. The only indication she had of the intruder's whereabouts was from the shadow that was created by the light from the kitchen. This is what you get for not turning on every single light in a house where you're all by yourself. One of the most important rules in horror movies, she thought. The shadow approached closer and closer to the door, and just when she hoped the distance was close enough, she leapt out of the room and went straight for the stranger. Unfortunately, her blow was blocked and her body pushed up against the wall. In a blink, she realised what had happened.

"What the hell, Joel?" she whisper-shouted.

"(Y/N)? What are you still doing here?"

"Doing my job. Couldn't let Sarah stay all by herself with no indication of when you'd be back. That would be irresponsible of me."

He let go of her arms, lazily rubbing his face. "You're right, I'm sorry. I got held up and my cellphone died. I'm so exhausted, I completely forgot you were here."

"It's all good, I didn't hear you arrive either," she paused, noticing the blood running down his left hand. "Oh my God, Joel, you're bleeding!"

He looked at the wound like he hadn't even felt it until then, "Oh, this is nothin'. I had worse accidents at work."

"Still, it could get infected. Please, take a seat in the kitchen, I'll be right back."

She went straight to the bathroom to fetch the first-aid kit. It was essential to know where it was, what it had and how to use everything as someone who had to watch a small human being. She went back downstairs to start working on Joel's injury.

"I'm so sorry. I was so caught up in my own mind, I thought you were an intruder, and it was the only weapon at hand-"

"Please don't apologise. It was my bad, really. I should have announced myself," he spoke as he watched her gently clean the cut with a saline cleansing wipe. "Can't blame you for doing your best to defend yourself. Takes courage."

(Y/N) realised that upon closer inspection, her employer was quite handsome. Dark messy hair, a somewhat upkept beard, broad build, crow's feet that indicated how often he smiled, as well as nose wrinkles that indicated how often he frowned. She carefully applied medical tape to close-off the wound and went to put the kit back where it belonged. On her way down, she noticed him looking around in slight confusion.

"Did you…clean the house?"

"Oh, you know, just lightly tidied up. I'm not a fan of leaving the places I stay at messy. Kind of a habit," she noted the silence and her hands instantly became cold. "God, I'm sorry. Again. I- I didn't even ask if you were okay with me touching your belongings, I got-"

"No, you're good. You're good. Don't sweat it. It's just that," Joel chuckled at her need to be so polite after months of working together. "You didn't have to do this. I can't ask you do to things that aren't part of your job description."

"I know. And I don't mind. Really. It's not like I'm playing Cinderella day and night," she said as they shared a laugh. "My job is to take care of a kid and the environment plays a big role."

(Y/N) picked up her bag, ready to leave for the night, "See you on Monday, Joel."

He reached out to touch her shoulder, then just as quickly removed his hand as if she had burned him. "Uh- do you- are you- um," She looked at him with furrowed brows, it's almost as if he was…flustered? "What are your plans for Christmas? Or, you know, holiday season? If you celebrate anything at all-"

"I won't be able to fly out to see my family this year, so I haven't made any other plans yet. Why do you ask?"

The man scratched his neck sheepishly, only then realising how long he had kept her standing on his porch when it wasn't exactly warm outside. "Would you like to celebrate with us? Sarah would be ecstatic to have you."

Warmth blossomed in her chest at the sudden invitation. So gifts are appropriate. Noted.

"I would love to celebrate the holidays with you guys. But only if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

"Excellent, then I'll be here."

"Great."

"Good."

They stared at each other for way too long, the nanny realised, bearing the slightest of smiles. "Well, then. Good night, Mr. Miller."

He shook his head at her teasing tactic, "Drive safe, Ms. (L/N)."

There she was again, driving back to her apartment, giggling to herself like a maniac and for what? They invited her to celebrate a holiday. People did that all the time. Office workers, family members, casual friends, new and old lovers, it was truly nothing exceptional. But to her it felt different and she couldn't tell if it was because Sarah liked her enough to want her there or if it was because it came from him. Christmas was three weeks away. Three. Weeks. Away. Gifts. She needed gifts. What would she give them? What did they like? It came to her that she didn't know them that well, which meant she had some investigating to do in the little time she had left for shopping.

————-　❈　————-

When Christmas finally came, (Y/N) simply could not contain her excitement. She thought long and hard about the presents she would give the Millers, and while they may have appeared simple, she hoped that they would be appreciated. She personally wrapped them up in brown paper and decorated them with stamps, ribbons, and tags, firmly believing in the art of gift-wrapping. Austin had yet to see snow, she didn't think it would ever happen, yet the city was nevertheless bursting with festive spirit. Various lights decorated the trees and bushes in public parks. People hosted diverse markets in the streets where they sold artisanal goods and delicious foods. (Y/N) had gone ice-skating with the Millers a couple of weeks prior. Joel was as bad as she thought he would be; Sarah, however, was a natural. They enjoyed a lively Christmas parade that same day.

After parking in front of the house that was very tastefully decorated with her help, the young woman made her way towards the door, her homemade chocolate tarte in hand, and knocked, taking a second to register a male voice she did not recognise. The door swung open to reveal a man not much older than her, wearing a plaid shirt and dark blue jeans.

Looking her up and down, the stranger gave her a smirk, "And who might you be?"

"Hands off the babysitter, Tommy!" she heard Joel yell from deep inside the house.

"Ah, the famous babysitter!" he exclaimed, opening the door further. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

It smelled of oven-roasted turkey, of cigarette smoke, and of pine from the christmas tree. She found all of them moving about the kitchen: cutting vegetables, setting the table, washing the dishes. She felt like she'd arrived a tad too late.

"Can I help with anything?" she said, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room.

"Nah, everything's good to go," Joel replied as he scrubbed the remaining pots, "(Y/N), this is Tommy, my brother."

Said brother took her hand and placed a tender kiss on the back of it, "Very nice to meet you." Sarah couldn't hide her look of disgust if she tried.

"I didn't know Joel had a brother."

"You didn't tell her about me?" Tommy asked in exaggerated disbelief.

"Was I supposed to? Didn't know I was running a datin' agency."

"Thought that was part of the deal when we agreed to be each other's wingmen."

"Mm, don't recall us ever doing that."

"Well, we did. Spiritually. When we went to Buddy's Place? It was just around the time when Cat-" Tommy's monologue cut short with one sharp glare from Joel. (Y/N) could practically taste the tension emanating from him. Not a big fan of reminiscing the past, she noted.

"You know what, it's no problem. It's the perfect occasion to get to know each other, eh?" the younger brother flashed her a smile. They sure had impressive genes in this family.

Once the eldest Miller was done cleaning, all three adults cracked open a few cold ones to start off the evening. Tommy had the brilliant idea to teach Sarah a few card tricks, peaking their guest's interest.

"What are you teaching a 12-year-old cards for?" (Y/N) amusedly asked. Sarah seemed excited, she was one of those kids who loved to learn, it didn't matter what it was.

"First of all, every member of the Miller family knows how to play cards, we start young. And second, if not me, then who?" He made a good point. Tommy was, after all, the fun brother. "Wanna join in? I'm told I'm a great teacher."

She caught onto the subtle flirt and found herself wanting to return the energy. He was tall, he was dark, he was handsome. He smelled of cigarettes and beer with a hint of citrus notes. Not bad with kids but he wouldn't want any of his own anytime soon; very friendly, which for him also meant outgoing, ballsy, and prone to getting into trouble; charming to the point that he might seduce a few dozen women in one night; funny enough to make people like and maybe even trust him. She didn't mind flirting, but that was the extent of her intentions, and something told her Tommy Miller felt the same way.

They spent some time watching as Tommy performed the most outrageous tricks seen to man, to which his sole excuse was "I'm a bit rusty". He also tried to teach Sarah the art of cheating which, much to his disappointment and sorrow, his niece refused to take part in for moral reasons. (Y/N) noted the elder Miller's absence and excused herself from the oh-so-riveting demonstration of a disappearing card to go look for him. After searching the kitchen, his bedroom, as well as the garage, she stepped outside with a throw blanket and found him sitting on one of the patio chairs.

"What are you doing here? You'll get cold." he said, glancing at her from the side.

"I'm tougher than I look," she answered, nevermind the blanket tightly wrapped around her frame. "Came to keep you company."

"Who said I need any?" She sensed a hint of a playful tone.

"I don't know, you look awfully lonely sitting next to that empty chair." This earned her a light chuckle as she sat down. He didn't look very warm with one hand in his jacket pocket and his collar lifted up to his chin. She proceeded to awkwardly move her chair closer to his and slowly, as if dealing with a wild animal, reached out to wrap the throw around both of them, thankful that it was big enough for the job.

Sensing how still and tense he was, (Y/N) felt the need to talk to lighten the mood, "So, do you always sit outside all by yourself? In the dark? And in complete silence? Brooding-"

"I get the picture, and no," he took a sip from his bottle. "Sometimes I like to sit in my car."

He was capable of humour, which was a refreshing discovery after countless weeks of being formal. She understood wanting to define clear boundaries between employer and employee, but when she was essentially tasked to bond with his child and regularly invited to family activities, the lines naturally blurred, and her curiosity intensified.

"Who's Cat?"

Joel was silent for a second, then let out a reluctant sigh, "Cat was…a girl I knew way back when I was young."

"You're talking like you're in your 50s."

"I'm 34 to be precise, but fine, back when I was younger," he said grumpily. "We dated for a bit, then we didn't. That's how it went with most women I met."

"Oh, is this a Casanova situation?"

"No, more of a 'not ready to commit to a kid' situation," The silence that followed was loud, (Y/N) didn't want to make a sound, afraid he'd realise what he was doing and shut himself off. "I was 21 when Sarah was born. She's the joy of my life, I don't know what I'd do or where I'd be without her, truly. But...it was hard back then for a single dad with a newborn. Never went to college, had to take on side jobs to sustain both of us. My love life wasn't exactly a priority, and when the opportunity presented itself, they fled as soon as they heard the mention of a child."

The next question was risky, but she couldn't think of anything else, "So you haven't dated since your younger days? Not even the hot single moms in your area?"

This made Joel laugh heartily, a sound she loved to listen to, something she wanted to hear more often. "Not really. I mean I've flirted here and there, but Sarah and I are good the way we are now. She's my priority, and I want to make sure my partner's good to my kid too, you know?"

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to Sarah's mom?" (Y/N) probed further, "Sarah told me-"

"Nothing happened. She left and that was that." The wall was back up. You pushed your luck.

Luckily for them, Sarah called for everyone to play cards. Which was then followed by board games. What they discovered that evening is that (Y/N) was either incredibly skilled at them or simply unbelievably lucky. She and Tommy got on well, making innocent physical contact here and there, high-fiving each other, sharing a lot of laughter, too much laughter for the man that sat across from them. Joel wasn't jealous, he was never jealous, but the sight didn't make him feel happy either.

After a while, the oven beeped, indicating that the turkey was ready. The four of them prepared the table with bowls of salads, bread slices, side-dishes, making space in the centre for the bird accompanied by roasted vegetables. (Y/N) joined in their prayer before they dug into their food. They shared all sorts of life stories: Tommy's time in the army, the most frustrating clients Joel had ever had, more embarrassing anecdotes from Sarah's childhood, funny and dramatic events that occurred while (Y/N) was on vacation. The young woman then brought out the tarte she'd made for the occasion, much to everyone's delight. It was as silky as she hoped it would be, tasting notes of coffee in her chocolate dessert covered in walnut crumbs. The ambience was relaxing, they sat under the dim light of the scented candles dispersed throughout the kitchen, bathing in the sounds of laughter and utensils scraping against the food on their plates.

When all was devoured, they moved the party back to the living room and Tommy decided it was time for presents. Sarah received hers first, which turned out to be a collection of CDs of her favourite musicians from Tommy and a skateboard she'd wanted for a long time from her dad. She hugged each of them very tightly, already excited to put both of her new belongings to use. Then it was Joel's turn to unwrap a brand new wallet gifted by his brother (apparently, he had complained about his old one he owned for more than a decade) and a second-hand guitar from Sarah that she acquired from a friend's cousin then paid for a cleaning by a professional with her own pocket-money (with a little help from uncle Tommy). Tommy received a steel lighter from Joel, who claimed the custom engraving – a hand-drawn cowboy hat on the front and T. Miller on the bottom – was Sarah’s touch. Just when everyone thought they were done, (Y/N) cleared her throat, calling for their attention, whilst dragging her bag closer to where she sat on the floor.

“I brought gifts of my own.” She declared and pulled out a box and gave it to Tommy, whom she'd met only hours ago. “I’m sorry, I took this just in case someone else would be here, but I wish I had gotten to know you sooner to customise the present to your taste- “

“Oh my sweet God,” he muttered, staring at the large crystal bottle of whiskey. “This is one of the fanciest kind around, it ain’t fuckin’ cheap either!”

“You’re lucky Tommy here is a whiskey connoisseur.” Joel said from his laid-back position on the couch.

The younger brother engulfed her in a warm hug soon after, “You got my taste just right, sweetheart, thank you.”

The room was silent as she extended a purple envelope to Sarah, who sat across from her. It didn’t seem all too exciting. The kid in question opened the envelope, eyeing her babysitter, who herself seemed a bit nervous. The silence in the room was suddenly broken as the 12-year-old squealed her hardest squeal, forcing both Millers to cover their ears.

“It’s two VIP tickets to the Halican Drops concert in Houston next year!” she exclaimed, launching herself at the now grinning woman. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“How’d you get those? I thought they were sold out.” her father asked, clearly having gone through the struggle of standing in long queues to make his daughter happy.

It was difficult to breathe with a prepubescent child sitting in your lap as she held you in a death-grip. “I have an old friend who happens to work at the venue.” she replied, accepting the kiss on the cheek from Sarah who sat back on the ground, practically buzzing as she stared at the pieces of paper in her hands.

Lastly, (Y/N) got up to stand in front of Joel as he looked up at the object she extended in complete surprise.

“You really didn’t have to- “

“Just open it.”

So he did. What he found inside was a Prussian blue knit scarf.

“I noticed you never wear one, and it’s pretty chilly out, so I figured I’d knit you one myself. Finished it just in time a couple of days ago. The color looks flattering on you.” she explained, blushing deeper and deeper with every word. She failed to notice that he, too, was heating up.

“Well, I’ll be damned. This woman can bake, she can knit, she’s smart, and she plays cards like a pro. I mean what can’t you do?” And while she knew Tommy was teasing, she couldn’t help but redden even more.

“I’m pretty proud of my mixing skills,” she added, making him pause with a face that read ‘no way’. “I’m a bartender on the weekends.”

She had barely finished her sentence when she yelped as Tommy scooped her up and over his shoulder. “That’s it! I’m taking this one with me. It was nice to see ya, big brother!”

(Y/N) squealed and wiggled around as much as she could to try to get him to let her down whilst Sarah did her best to save her friend by clinging to one of her uncle’s legs in protest. It was one chaotic scene unfolding in front of Joel, who had not moved from his seat, still staring at the scarf in his hands as he ran his thumb over the soft wool.

After all that excitement, the household members spent a few more hours watching ‘Home Alone 2’ and ‘Jingle All the Way’, DVDs Joel had bought earlier that week. During the viewing, he caught himself glancing at the woman curled up against the arm rest less than a few feet away from him. She remained completely oblivious, amused by the tomfoolery happening on-screen. He left the room for a moment to dispose of his empty bottle in the kitchen. On the short way there, he realised he was slightly tipsy. While he was rummaging through the drawers, he heard someone come up behind him.

“Looking for this?” he turned around to see (Y/N) holding up the bottle-opener. She walked up to the counter and opened the bottle in his hand, brushing her cold fingers against his warm ones in the process.

“You’re cold.” he commented bluntly.

“Yeah, my extremities get cold easily. That’s why I walk around in gloves and thick socks as soon as the temperature starts dropping.”

She threw away her own empty bottle and swiftly turned around to walk back into the living room, when she felt his hand wrap around her wrist ever so gently.

“I didn’t get to thank you back there. You know, for the present?” he spoke softly, giving her a rare smile. “It was real nice of you.”

She noticed the way his pupils were slightly wider than usual and his stance that seemed to swing back-and-forth ever so subtly. “Joel, are you…are you drunk?”

“It takes a lot more than a few bottles of IPA to get me there. I’m just fine.” he whispered, for what reason she wasn’t sure, then unexpectedly walked up the stairs to his bedroom. He didn’t leave her to contemplate her next actions for too long because he emerged not even a minute later, holding his right hand behind his back.

They found themselves standing closer than they should have, but neither of them seemed to care as Joel revealed the mystery object.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

It was the most beautiful edition of ‘Jane Eyre’ she had ever laid her eyes on. Red leather hardback with golden accents all over it, including the fore-edges, it looked like something out of a royal library.

“How did you know?” her question was vague, but she knew he knew what she meant.

“Sarah told me about the books that you like, said you haven’t read this one in a long time.”

Her warm embrace came to him as a surprise, but in the state of mind he was in, not only did he accept it, but it felt good, it felt right to hug her back.

“It happens to be one of my favourites, so thank you. Really. For all of the things you’ve done for me so far.”

The two held onto each other for longer than needed until Tommy’s call brought them back to reality. The other Miller eyed the returning pair suspiciously as they took their respective places on the couch and went back to watching the movie in comfortable silence. Only he noticed the red book in her possession and fought hard to stop himself from smiling.

Later that night, after all the dishes had been washed, the leftovers put away, and the only child put to bed, Tommy reluctantly sat in the back of the cab Joel had called for him. I am not fetching my brother from a jail cell on Christmas Day, he'd told him. When he walked back into his home, he saw a sleeping figure on the couch, covered by one of the throws.

He went into his bedroom and took no more than 10 minutes to replace all of his linen with fresh ones from the closet in the hallway. He wasn’t going to let his guest sleep on a couch, especially not under a row of windows or next to the entrance door. Carefully picking her up, and she was one deep sleeper, he made his way back to his bed to lay her down on the new sheets.

My extremities get cold easily.

He changed his usual blanket for a thicker one then grabbed a pillow and went to make his bed downstairs. He picked up the scarf lying on the coffee table once more and unfolded it entirely, only then noticing the tiny initials embroidered in grey into one of the ends – J.M. Upon an even closer inspection, he realised it smelled of vanilla and flowers.

————-　❈　————-

masterlist: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

tags: @elliaze @joeldjarin

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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monstersandmaw · 1 year ago

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Hello friends! Surprise!! Another WIP for you of Demon's story. I know you wanted Oats the dad-bod kelpie too, and I promise he's not been forgotten about, but Demon's story is written up to Chapter Four at this point, so I figured I'd spend a couple of hours editing this for you tonight, and post it on Patreon as a WIP.

I really hope you enjoy this - I think it's one of my favourite things I've ever written, and it's dedicated to everyone who has wished for their own demon (or equivalent!) to come and be their fake romantic partner to get them out of an awkward ex situation... You're seen...!

Content: pining, hiding in a bathroom to avoid an awkward encounter with an ex, fake boyfriends trope, and lots of fluff. Seriously, watch your teeth, folks. It's sweet. We also meet Coco and Țepeș a bit, and there are some other cameos from the Full Moon Motorcycles gang!

Wordcount: 6470 (!)

Chapter One (WIP) here

Demon needn’t have worried about his Ducati.

By the time he’d done a U-turn, reached the t-junction at the end of Grosvenor Street, and turned right, the bike’s familiar roar splintered the peace of the night loudly enough to set off two car alarms as he passed, and he laughed, leaning lower and sending the bike practically flying. Either he’d left the spell's radius of influence, or the witch had relented. Either way, he was relieved that the others wouldn’t have to know about his feisty little witch just yet. After the shit he’d said to both Pumpkin and Țepeș about their getting involved with a human though, he knew he deserved it.

As his mind followed the path of those thoughts, he shook his head like he was trying to shake raindrops off the visor. That feisty little witch was not his. He didn’t even know the witch’s damned name, nor did he want to.

Except…

… he did.

He wanted that witch’s name in his mouth; in his head.

Yes, he wanted to know him, but Demon also ached to know the intimate feel of the witch’s magic, and maybe even to have it drew on his own. Witches took all sorts of familiars to regulate and manage their magic, and some even took demons…

Maybe — no.

Fuck.

No.

He knew what that kind of yoke felt like, and he had fought every day to keep humans’ attention off him precisely because of it. But that yoke had been slotted unwillingly over him before. What if this time he wanted it?

No.

Fuck. No.

The Ducati screamed beneath him and he realised he’d hit neutral instead of second like a fucking noob. He ground his teeth and focused on the bike and on the road.

He had planned to go back to Full Moon Motorcycles to see if any of the others were around — some, like Pumpkin and Barbie, didn’t really sleep, after all — but instead he took the motorway away from town, and rode until the pastel wash of dawn lit up the sky behind the nearby rolling hills.

If that pink hue was almost the exact colour of his witch’s rosebud mouth, he’d soon be turning his back on it to ride home anyway.

A week passed, and Demon’s mood was tangibly so much worse than usual over those next seven days that Țepeș finally punched him on the shoulder to get his attention as they drew their two Ducatis up beside each other outside Hank’s shop.

As the vampire’s gloved hand connected none-too-gently with his right shoulder, Demon snarled openly at him, rounding on his best friend and baring his teeth beneath the visor, snapping like a cornered dog. He felt like a cornered dog, though it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his.

Adi tactfully took her leave of the pair of them, the delicate little human sliding off Țepeș’ pillion seat and kissing his shoulder as she passed. “I’ll see you inside?” she asked, and the vampire nodded.

Țepeș didn’t usually join them for morning rides, given how lethally dangerous the sunlight was to him, but Adi was there, and if Adi wanted Țepeș to be somewhere, there he was. It was nauseating. For a former SAS solider who was built like a brick shithouse, Țepeș was undeniably soft and squishy beneath all that protective leather now. Certainly where Adi was concerned anyway. They’d just been lucky that Adi was cool with a group of bikers full of non-humans. Demon was sure that Țepeș was feeding from her now and again too, which was a whole new level of intimacy and trust that he couldn’t quite fathom.

Țepeș jerked his helmeted head upwards in a ‘what’s going on with you?’ gesture and spread his hands to drive the question home. He also directed his helmet pointedly at the pillion seat which was still very much in evidence on a bike which had never once seen a passenger in the entire time Demon had been riding with Hank’s crew at Full Moon Motorcycles.

The sparking, skittering unease that had been crackling around inside Demon like lightning for seven whole days now threatened to come roaring out of him, but he leashed it with an effort and bit it all back, breathing heavily. Țepeș didn’t deserve his petty irritation. The vampire was the closest thing he had now to a best friend, and he wasn’t about to throw it all away over some human he barely knew.

“It’s nothing,” Demon muttered into the cushioning of his helmet, but Țepeș wasn’t having any of it. When Demon made to swing his leg over his bike and stump away into the shop to avoid talking about it, Țepeș revved his bike insistently, angrily. Deafeningly. He didn't talk often, and Demon had only heard his scratchy, damaged voice a handful of times, but man, he found ways to be expressive when he needed to be.

“Let it go, Țepeș,” he said heavily, shaking his head.

Before they’d set off earlier, he’d promised Hank that he’d stay for coffee and a bit of a chat with everyone after the morning’s ride, and unfortunately, that oath now bound him as securely as a perfect chalk summoning circle. Instead, all he wanted was to get back to his apartment, shed his clothes and his glamour like snakeskin, and simply… wallow.

Read the whole thing over on Patreon on early release for just $3!! Or consider becoming a $5 and getting access to an exclusive monster romance story once every month!

#demon biker #demon x witch #male demon x male human #mlm #mlm exophilia #patreon #demon boyfriend #supernatural biker group #full moon motorcycles

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cainluvr69 · 1 year ago

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Surely, We Can Make Miracles Chapter 25

Previous Chapter

The stone steps that Hwylryn led us to were beautiful. His magic, or maybe it was Balthazar's, shined in place of streetlamps, a constellation under the sea. I had a basket filled with sweets. He had the sight of an island destroyed many centuries in the past. I'm sure walking down the cobblestone path with Mithra on one side and Hwylryn on the other was a strange sight. Everyone else was watching us from afar. Balthazar floated in place between the three of us and the rest of my wizards. Oz and Arthur. Murr and Shylock. Owen was a little ways away from them, sitting on top of his trunk. Their clothes and hair floated in the current in the same way they would have in the breeze. Little bubbles danced around them. Hwylryn looked down at me, smiling gently.

Hwylryn: I had a lot of fun with you at twilight. Flying through the sky with Akira was fun. Playing around with Mithra was, too. It's gonna be dawn soon.

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to hold out the torta di cocco that Mithra had brought down all this way and have that somehow stop all the fighting… I really did mean to say something like that. But I had the image of my wizards, covered in injuries, circling in my head. He'd said that the Northern twins were his brother's enemies.

Mithra: I'm not forgiving you.

Mithra spoke before I could even open my mouth. He was wearing a look of disgust I'd never seen on Mithra before. His vividly green eyes were dark, the color of moss in a forgotten city.

Mithra: You put your hands on Rutile. I made a promise to protect him.

Hwylryn: You made a promise, even though you're a wizard?

Hwylryn was surprised, but I could still see a bright smile full of joy on his face.

Hwylryn: That's so wonderful. I'm glad you found someone you felt you could make a promise with.

Mithra: …

Mithra pressed his lips together, like he didn't know what to say in response to that.

Akira: Could you… Um, could you take this?

Hwylryn: More torta di cocco?

Akira: Yes…

Hwylryn: Thank you. I'm really happy. But we already made a promise to go back to the store together tomorrow… Does this mean we're not doing that?

He smiled sadly.

Akira: N… …No, we…

I couldn't get any more than that out. The kind, lonely scent of parting wafted through the air between us. Talking with one another was supposed to let us know each other better so that we could find a solution to our problems together. I wanted to tell him all about how precious each and every one of my wizards was. But the words just weren't coming. Everything I came up with floated up and away from me before disappearing, just like bubbles. Still, I couldn't just give up.

Akira: …Is there any way you can stop working with Balthazar?

Hwylryn: I let Gwawlyn die. I can't let Balthazar die too. What about you, Akira? Can you stop being the Sage?

Mithra: Excuse me?

Hwylryn: Can we play as just you and me, without this whole "Sage" thing getting in between us? I want to stay with you. Can we do that, Akira?

I lifted my head, my breathing trembling. Hwylryn's expression was earnest and genuine; he wasn't bothering to hide what he wanted, not even a little. His sincere, charming gaze told me he hadn't spoken a single untruth. I didn't…want to reject that gaze. I didn't want to hurt him. But…

Akira: …I…can't do that… Because I was only brought to this world so that I could be its Sage… …No… It's because I love everyone who calls themselves my wizards… I can't just stop being the Sage. I don't…want to stop…

I did my very best to convey everything to him, even as my voice shook. Tears spilled from the corners of my eyes, disappearing into the ocean. Hwylryn closed his eyes and mumbled something, as if trying to plead with me.

Hwylryn: I see…

Mithra: …

Mithra's lips were trembling. I wonder if he wasn't able to find the right words right now, either. But Hwylryn grinned, looking like a little kid about to pull a prank.

Hwylryn: Well then, Mithra! How about we pick up where we left off?

Mithra: …I suppose we should.

Hwylryn's smile was infectious, and it had caught Mithra in its trap; Mithra was smiling like he didn't have a care in the world right now.

Mithra: I'm not going to lose.

Hwylryn nodded, and then he held out his arms to us. He embraced us, hugging us as tightly as he could. His skin was as warm as it'd been inside his mouth. He stroked my hair somewhat reluctantly, resting his cheek against the side of my head.

Hwylryn: It only took a single evening for us to become friends. But still, I love both of you. I'm happy we met, Akira.

✦✧☾✧✦

Faust: Figaro!

Figaro: Faust… Leno! And the Eastern kids, too!

Mitile: Leno…! Leno!

Lennox: …Mitile…

Shino: Told you we'd get him back, Mitile!

Heathcliff: Did you get the cintamani stone?!

Figaro: Yep. Lord Snow should be a-okay soon enough. Thank you.

Heathcliff: Thank goodness…

Shino: So now we only need to worry about Shylock.

Riquet: Thank goodness you all came home safe! Don't you think, Mitile?

Mitile: Yes…sniffle.

Lennox: Sorry, Mitile…for making you worry…

Mitile: …I'm so happy… I'm just so happy you're back, Leno!

Figaro: Yep. Thank goodness. Everyone was all worked up, you know.

Lennox: …Sorry.

Figaro: No… I'm the one who should be apologizing here. I'll tell you all the details later…

Lennox: …? Okay…

Figaro: Putting that to the side, those wounds look terrible. Mitile. Can you make some healing potions to help with treatment? Make enough for the Eastern wizards, too.

Mitile: On it! <Ortonik Sealsispilce> …Is that good?

Figaro: Yep. Well done. We've got a lot of people with injuries, so make as many as you can.

Mitile: Alright… I hope my brother is okay…

Figaro: Mithra is with him. He'll be fine.

Mitile: …You're right. Leno, close your eyes and get some rest, please.

Lennox: …Alright…thank you…

Faust: … Figaro. Look after the kids for me. I'm going to meet back up with the Sage.

Shino: Us too…

Faust: No, you're staying here. Both of you should be on the verge of completely exhausting your magic. You wouldn't be able to move after very long.

Figaro: That goes for you, too.

Faust: But…

Figaro: Riquet, could you go grab Nero and Bradley? If things are all settled in the castle, ask them to head into the ocean. I'm worried about the others.

Riquet: Understood.

Figaro: Mitile, Riquet, can the two of you go underwater, too? I imagine we have people down there who are hurt or magically exhausted and can't get back on their own. I'd go there myself, but if someone seriously injured is brought back and I'm not here, I might not be able to make it back in time to treat them.

Mitile: Okay… Hopefully Rutile and everyone will be coming back okay, but we'll go out to greet them anyways!

Figaro: Yep. I'm trusting you guys.

✦✧☾✧✦

Bradley: That damn Figaro, pushing me around like I'm his underling…

Nero: What else were we supposed to do? Oh, Riquet, right there's good. We're gonna be using your lantern as a landmark.

Riquet: Yes! <Sunrotea Edif>

Mitile: How pretty… It's as bright as the last star in the sky at dawn!

Riquet: I hope that it can serve as a proper guide for those who may need it…

Nero: It will. But it might serve to guide our enemies, too. I'll be here to back you up if any weirdos start showin' up.

Riquet: Thank you!

Mitile: So you're with me, Bradley! We're going to search for anyone who might need help from the sky!

Bradley: Damn, guess we gotta. Guess I'll help ya out.

Mitile: Rutile…I hope you're okay…!

✦✧☾✧✦

Chloe: …Gasp… I managed to get up to the surface, but I don't have the strength to fly back…

Rustica: …

Chloe: …I need to pull it together… Rustica can't swim, after all… But… It's super dark, and the waves are so tall, so I don't know which direction to go… … …My arms…are so tired… …Ah… Was that super-bright star…there before…? …No… That's Riquet's lantern…! Riquet's here! Everything's going to be okay, Rustica! If we can just get that far, you're gonna get help! I wonder if he'll hear me from over here?! Heeeey…! Heeeey…! Riiiiqueeeet…! …I guess the waves are so loud he can't hear me… …Someone help…

Mitile: <Scintilla>!

Chloe: …! Wah, I'm floating…! Rustica is, too…?!

Mitile: Chloe! Rustica!

Chloe: Mitile…!

Bradley: See, what did I tell you. I toldja you'd be able to lift two grown-ups at once, and here you go provin' me right.

Mitile: Yeah! …But…I don't know if I can carry them both all the way back to the castle…

Bradley: Leave that part to me. Lil' tailor guy, get on one of our brooms.

Chloe: Bradley!

Bradley: Good work, kid. Hang on tight. Make sure Mister Bridesgroom doesn't fall.

Chloe: Bradleyyyy! It's really bad down there! We ran into a dragon that looked like a human, and…

Bradley: Gimme all the details on the flight back to the castle.

Chloe: Okay…!

✦✧☾✧✦

Borda Island Youth: Why are you taking out a boat in the middle of the night, Miss Natalie? Where are you going? Or are you planning on some morning fishing?

Natalie: Don't be stupid. A bureaucrat is going to be digging into things around here by the time dawn breaks. I'm taking the down payments we got for vacation homes and getting out of here. If the plan had gone the way it should've, we'd have ten times this amount… What a waste… Oh well. Maybe I'll meet a wandering prince with a huge inheritance, like the one those traveling bards keep singing about.

Borda Island Youth: Hn? Miss Natalie, weren't you going to marry me?

Natalie: …?! A door just appeared on the boat?!

Borda Island Youth: There's water coming out of it?! Is this seawater?! There's so much water coming out…! The boat…! It's gonna sink…! We gotta start bailing out the water! What's up with this door?! It won't close…! Aahh! All our money…!

Natalie: The money is sinking into the ocean…!

Cain: …Uwah…!

Rutile: …Wahh…!

Natalie: The playboy from this afternoon?!

Cain: …Cough… O-Owen?!

Borda Island Youth: The boat…the boat is sinking…!

Bradley: <Adnopotensum>!

Natalie: …?! Why is my body floating…?!

Bradley: Am I collecting all'a you guys, or what?

Cain: Bradley!

Mitile: Rutile…!

Rutile: …Mi…tile…

Mitile: …Oh no, these wounds are terrible… But, I'm glad we found you…! Everything's going to be okay now! You too, Cain!

Bradley: Guess we'll cart these freaks that were with 'em back to the castle, too.

✦✧☾✧✦

Owen: … Hey. He said that I'm stronger than you are.

Balthazar: …

Owen: What's up with that dragon?

Balthazar: If I call for him, he'll come.

Owen: Oh, really. So you didn't call for him even though you had a Central wizard and Western wizard wailing on you? Can't believe a Northern wizard like you is being reduced to begging a sea snake like him to save you.

Balthazar: …

Owen: Oz, are you listening?

Oz: …

Owen: Shylock, did you hear that?

Shylock: …

Owen: That's all you amount to as a wizard, Balthazar.

Balthazar: <Mare Praeda>

Owen: <Cuare Morito>

Balthazar: …?! What…?! That trunk is absorbing my magic…?!

Owen: You got it. A wizard who's completely lost his heart has a finite supply of magic. You should be running out pretty soon. You're just not on my level.

Balthazar: …kh…!

Murr: Good one! So you attacked him so you could take his magic for yourself?

Arthur: If all of Balthazar's magic is in Owen's trunk, he won't be able to run away even if he tries!

Balthazar: Urrgh…ghh…! …You're stealing…my magic…

Owen: Just shrivel up and die already!

Oz: …Owen…!

Owen: …?! …Aaahhh…!

Shylock: The dragon is… Hwylryn is eating Owen…!

Murr: <Eanul Lambru>! Woah, he's fast! I missed!

Arthur: …!

Oz: Where are you going, Arthur?!

Arthur: I need to save Owen! Lord Oz, you can…

Balthazar: <Mare Praeda>

Arthur: …! <Pernoctant Nixzo>

Oz: …Arthur…!

Balthazar: Oz! I'll turn you and your disciple to stone together, here and now…!

Murr: …I'm gonna go help out Oz and Arthur!

Shylock: I'll assist Owen!

Mithra: You don't need to do that.

Shylock: Mithra…!

Mithra: I'm going to kill Hwylryn.

✦✧☾✧✦

Owen: …gh…! <Cure Memini>! …Dammit…it's not working… That should've blown those fangs out of his mouth… Open your mouth, you…!

Mithra: <Arthim>

Hwylryn: …!

Owen: …gh, the fangs are out…!

Hwylryn: Mithra…

Mithra: Owen.

Owen: …What?

Mithra: We're swapping off.

Owen: Excuse me?

Mithra: I'm going to kill him.

Hwylryn: …

Owen: Fine by me. I'm going to go get revenge.

Mithra: Who are you avenging?

Owen: Whoever.

Mithra: Did someone turn to stone?

Owen: As if. They had me protecting them.

Mithra: …

Owen: I protected them. Got a problem with that?

Mithra: …No… Take care of the Sage after you kill the other one.

Owen: Sounds like a pain… Sure, fine. I can do that.

✦✧☾✧✦

Akira: …I hope everyone's okay…

Shylock: Master Sage, this way!

Shylock was protecting me as we traversed the undersea city. Murr and Arthur were fighting Balthazar right in front of us.

Murr: <Eanul Lambru>!

Arthur: <Pernoctant Nixzo>!

Balthazar: <Mare Praeda>

Arthur was protecting Oz's back, desperately blocking Balthazar's magical attacks. Balthazar was infuriated.

Balthazar: Use your magic, Oz! Are you mocking me…?!

Murr: Freaking duh, Balthazar! Oz is the greatest wizard in the world! Do you have any idea how far beneath him you are?!

Balthazar: How dare you…! <Mare Praeda>

Murr's provocations stoked the flames of Balthazar's fury, and he began a series of attacks, one after the other. There was a terrifying amount of force behind them, but that didn't matter very much if they didn't hit--and they didn't.

Shylock: …I was intending to bring you back to Lord Oz's side, but that seems like it could be a bit dangerous at the moment. …! <Inviebelle>

That same moment, a bitterly cold twister of ice aimed its jaws at us from overhead. Its terrible current threatened to freeze everything around it, but before it could reach us, Shylock exhaled, the smoke from his pipe wrapping around us. That smoke turned into pale pink bubbles as it spread out, protecting us.

Shylock: Everything is okay, Master Sage.

Akira: Okay…

Something massive cast a shadow above our heads. It was Hwylryn and Mithra. The twister of ice had probably been Mithra's magic. There were patches of ice all over Hwylryn's huge tail. But with a sweep of his tail, the ice was gone.

Balthazar: <Mare Praeda>

Murr had been elegantly dodging Balthazar's attacks when Hwylryn's huge body suddenly rushed past him. Without any way to escape, Balthazar's next attack was set to hit home.

Murr: …!

Arthur: Watch out…! <Pernoctant Nixzo>!

Oz: Arthur…!

Arthur threw up a barrier around Murr. But Arthur's barrier wasn't enough to stop the attacks of a Northern wizard like Balthazar. The barrier cracked, a black gash running through it.

Arthur: …!

The crack widened, but right as I thought it was going to swallow them up… A ferocious dog's howling reverberated through the water.

Owen: <Cure Memini>

A dog with three heads crashed through the darkness as it howled, charging towards Balthazar.

Balthazar: …!

The glass bubble floated out of the way--Balthazar avoided Cerberus's charge. Still, Cerberus was faster, and it whirled on Balthazar and chased him.

Owen: Go. You're my dog, right? Tear him apart!

✦✧☾✧✦

Cerberus leapt forward and caught the bubble of glass.

Balthazar: …!

✦✧☾✧✦

Hwylryn: Balthazar…!

Mithra: Where are you looking? Your opponent is me, if you forgot.

Hwylryn: …!

Mithra: <Arthim>

✦✧☾✧✦

Balthazar was glaring daggers at Owen from his vantage point under Cerberus's front paws. But that glare warped into a grin, and he began to laugh.

Balthazar: …Haha…

Owen: …

Balthazar: Haha… I understand…

Owen: Yeah? Tell me what you understand.

Balthazar: I should've just done this from the start, instead of hesitating…

Shylock: … Stop that, Balthazar.

Shylock's expression as he looked at Balthazar was a tense one. I wondered what they were talking about. I was about to ask when I realized something and gasped. I remembered what Murr had said. Balthazar had both the inclination towards and means for sinking an island.

Murr: You're going to sink Borda Island?!

Owen: What?!

Balthazar: Wicked gods slumbering beneath the sea, hear me… Spirits of darkness, primeval souls of creation… I offer…my body and soul to you…

Shylock: Balthazar…!

Balthazar: …Give me the power to rend land and sea apart…! <Mare Praeda>

Balthazar screamed his spell. The next second, his head disappeared inside of the glass bubble.

Shylock: …Balthazar…

A tremor ran through the undersea city. A dreadful red light was born from the bottom of the ocean, filling the area.

Murr: We're getting back up to the surface now!

Arthur: Master Sage! This way!

Akira: What about Mithra?!

Owen: He'll be fine! Hurry!

With Arthur's guidance, I finally took my place at Oz's side again. We held our hands out to one another, our fingers linking.

Oz: <Vox Nox>

And with that, we were in the air again.

✦✧☾✧✦

Akira: …! The wind…

It had been so long since I felt air on my skin that for a moment, my body didn't know how to react to it. Owen had been pulled up with us by Oz's spell, and he was mad about it.

Owen: Excuse me? Why did you drag me along with you? I can fly by myself, you know.

Oz: …

Owen: Don't just ignore me. Say something.

Arthur: Master Sage! Look…!

Arthur was looking down, pointing at the ocean we'd just been in. There was…light, or something like light, carving itself a path from the undersea city towards Borda Island.

Murr: That was a forbidden summoning spell!

Shylock: He fed his own body and soul to the spirits…to sink Adams Island, as he did now.

But back then, Hwylryn had saved Balthazar. Left with nothing but his head, he slept for a very, very long time--that was the only way he could've continued to stay alive. But right now, Hwylryn was… Fighting Mithra, tears rolling down his cheeks and scattering in the pre-dawn sky.

Next Chapter

#.mhyktl #.eventtl #.main story tl #4th anni

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fwtomura · 1 year ago

Text

Breathe Into Your Hungry Appetite

cw: modern au, ghostsoap, mentions of drugs, alcohol, ghoap drug dealer au, smut

CHAPTER 1, CHAPTER 2

haiii guys i’m back :3! sorry this chapter took so long, i’ve been busy as hell!

Simon wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep the night before, but he knew that he’d gone to bed pretty soon after he’d finished himself off. It wasn’t the first time that he’d gotten stoned, jerked off, and passed out. He was almost certain that it wouldn’t be the last time either. He’d made himself dinner the night before, the dishes still set on his bedside table. He’d take care of them in a moment. He also needed to find his phone, but that was still a problem for later.

He went about his regular routine of brushing his hair and his teeth before heading downstairs for breakfast. He’d been debating buzzing it and it seemed more and more appealing as time went on. He brought his dishes downstairs and left them in the sink and placed his breakfast dishes in the sink along with them after he’d finished eating. The fridge was looking more bare than it normally did, and he knew that they’d need to make a grocery trip sooner rather than later. Yet another problem that he’d deal with later. At the very least, it would have to wait until he had a shared day off with Roach.

He trudged back upstairs to his room, shutting the door behind him and heading back towards the attached bathroom. He quickly gave the piece he’d left soaking the previous day a decent scrub and dried it quickly with a few paper towels, making sure to blow out any residual water and rubbing alcohol still left in the pipe. He left it out to air dry the rest of the way as he opened up his stash box.

The pungent smell of flower immediately filled his nostrils as soon as the box opened, and Simon couldn’t help but to deeply inhale the scent. It was nearly comforting at this point, bordering on nostalgic.

He loaded his pipe as soon as he was sure that it was dry, still using the strain that Soap had given him a few days prior. He sat back in his beanbag chair and lit the bowl, sitting up and leaning forward until he could get the bowl lit up properly. The first hit was harsh just like it had been, but he’d grown to adore the almost burning feeling in his lungs. He did end up coughing a few more times than he’d like to admit, however. He finished his bowl in silence before cracking his bedroom window open.

His phone chimed from somewhere in the tangled mess of blankets in his bed, reminding him that he still hadn’t found it. He’d apparently forgotten to put his phone on do not disturb before he fell asleep. He shook out one of his blankets and his phone immediately tumbled out onto the mattress. He had… twenty two missed texts from Johnny. The first one he’d gotten from him had been a couple hours after Johnny had left him on read.

Johnny🧼: fuck im so fucking sorry

Johnny🧼: my phone died at the worst time

Johnny🧼: I would’ve been coming over as soon as i saw it

Johnny🧼: sweetheart, im sorry

Johnny🧼: i really did want to come over

Johnny🧼: i still can

Johnny🧼: i can be on my way over right now

Johnny🧼: i can be there in 10 minutes, please si

Johnny🧼: do you still want me over, baby?

Johnny🧼: i can’t get you off my fucking mind

Johnny🧼: those pics n vids you’ve sent me are driving me insane

Johnny🧼: simon?

Johnny🧼: please tell me you’re still there..

Johnny🧼: I promise i didn’t mean to leave, si

Johnny🧼: I fucking want you so bad

Johnny🧼: please

The messages trailed stopped for a moment after that, and Simon almost felt bad for falling asleep early the previous night. Almost. The messages did however continue at around midnight the night before.

Johnny🧼: fuck, i keep looking at all the shit you sent me

Johnny🧼: i can’t stop fucking thinking about you, si

Johnny🧼: im dying to get my hands and mouth on you, touch you and kiss you all over, make you mine

Johnny🧼: do u even know how badly i want you, how much you fucking turn me on?

There was a picture attached to the last message, It was Johnny seemingly sprawled out on his bed, laid back fully. He was only visible from the chest down. He was wearing his staple white tank top that he always wore, his chain lazily draped over the collar of it. The hem was pulled up just slightly, leaving the dark trail of hair leading down towards his boxers fully exposed. Simon nearly thought his heart stopped as he continued looking at the picture.

Johnny’s hand was resting on his hip, his thumb hooked into the waistline of his boxers and pulling it down just enough to expose his adonis belt. There it was, clear as day even in the dim lighting of the picture. He was fully hard. It looked almost painful. The thin fabric of his boxers left almost nothing to Simon’s imagination, a clearly apparent damp spot visible from his pre-cum. Fucking hell.

Johnny🧼: can’t you see what you’re doing to me, love?

Johnny🧼: i want to fucking ruin you.

Simon knew fully well that Johnny found him attractive and had known that for quite some time now. He didn’t exactly try to hide his attraction, but that wasn’t the point. He hadn’t entirely expected to wake up to Johnny sending him a suggestive picture, but he liked it. Seeing just how deep he was under Johnny’s skin, how badly he wanted him… it had more of an effect on him than he’d openly admit.

Simon💀: sorry, fell asleep

Simon💀: good morning to you too

He wasn’t at all surprised to see Johnny immediately starting to reply, plugging his phone in as he waited patiently for his response.

Johnny🧼: jackass

Johnny🧼: “fell asleep” FOR 14 HOURS?? more like a fuckin coma!

Simon💀: call me names all you want

Simon💀: you started typing as soon as i texted you

Johnny🧼: I thought u fuckin blocked me or smth idk

Simon💀: and u still tried to hit me up late as hell??

Johnny🧼: u miss 100% of the shots u take idk

Simon sighed softly as he rolled onto his back, not entirely sure how to respond for a moment. John’s ego hadn’t really taken much of a hit, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t knkw for a fact that he wasn’t going to apologize again for falling asleep.

Simon💀: if your phone didn’t die, i would’ve let you come over, John

Johnny🧼: yeah?

Johnny🧼: if my phone didn’t die, you wouldn’t be able to fuckin walk rn

Simon💀: cute that you’re so sure of yourself.

Johnny🧼: i know what i’m capable of.

Johnny🧼: i could just come over n show u

As much as Simon wanted to invite him over right then, he didn’t feel like he’d earned it quite yet. it wasn’t the worst idea. Plus, Roach wouldn’t be home until much later that day anyways. He still wanted to see how much he could push Johnny before he’d snap.

Simon💀: you could.

Johnny🧼: i haven’t been able to get u out of my head

Johnny🧼: i keep looking at everything u sent me

Johnny🧼: you’re driving me fucking crazy, simon

Simon💀: cute

Johnny🧼: i kept thinking about you last night

Johnny🧼: came in my hand wishing it was inside you instead

Simon💀: and you didn’t send me a video?

Johnny🧼: you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

The mental image of it was still just as appealing as it had been the day before, and Simon almost did wish he’d gotten to see a video of it. He wanted to hear how Johnny would sound just before he released, to lick the sweat dripping down his forehead and watch the crease in his brow worsen the closer he got. His hand had slipped into his boxers before he’d even realized.

Johnny 🧼: show me what you’re up to, doll

Simon 💀: is your phone gonna die again?

Johnny 🧼: fuck off that happened ONE TIME

Johnny 🧼: it’s fully charged.

Simon sat up fully, getting onto his knees and arching his back down towards the mattress. He dipped two of his fingers inside himself briefly before starting to slowly stroke over his cock. He made sure that his hand being in his boxers was visible in the picture before sending it off. The slight hesitation before Johnny started typing again nearly made him giddy. He knew that he’d be saving that picture and that sent a zip of arousal down his spine.

Johnny 🧼: fucking hell i just want to ruin you

Johnny 🧼: i want to take you just like that, have you sobbing into the mattress

Johnny 🧼: have my hand on the back of your neck, keep you pinned just like that. exactly where i want you

Wouldn’t that be nice? He knew that the angling of that would be brutal and deep . He’d have no choice but to lay there and take it, pinned down with nowhere to go. It certainly sounded like fun at the very least. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been like that. He needed it more than he wanted to admit.

What the hell did he have to lose? He hastily kicked his boxers off and tossed them to the side, sitting up properly to face the mirror at the foot of his bed. He lifted his legs slightly and spread them open as he corrected the angling of his phone. He reached his free hand down and spread himself open with two fingers, knowing that he was already soaked from arousal. Once he was happy with the picture, he sent it off along with a brief message.

Simon 💀: come over?

Johnny 🧼: be there in 10.

Knowing Johnny, he’d be there in a bit less than ten minutes. He had a tendency to drive like a bat out of hell if there wasn’t anyone in the car with him. Simon grabbed his boxers and put them back on along with a pair of joggers. He doubted he’d have them on for very long, but he wasn’t going to open the front door half naked.

While he was at it, he managed to send a text to Roach so that he knew not to head home right away if he finished his shift early. He knew that he’d get an earful about it later, but Simon didn’t want to get cockblocked two days in a row if he could help it.

As he expected, he could hear Johnny’s car pulling into the driveway roughly eight minutes since he’d received his message. He left his phone on the bed as he walked downstairs. Johnny was standing right outside as soon as he opened the door. He was wearing his typical ensemble; a white tank top, his usual gold chain, gray joggers hanging low on his hips, and slides. Simon could just barely smell his cologne from where he stood. It was strong.

“You got here quickly.” He stepped to the side and motioned Johnny in, closing the door behind him. He could hear Johnny shuffling out of his slides as he turned back around.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” He stepped in closer, bullying Simon back against the door with his usual cocky smirk on his face. Despite Simon having nearly a head’s worth of height on him, it didn’t seem to diminish Johnny’s confidence one bit. “Why? Disappointed I got here so fast?”

“Didn’t say that.” He watched as Johnny pressed further into his space, tilting his head slightly as Johnny rested his hands on his hips. He wasn’t guiding him in any direction, but his grip was sturdy. He placed his hand over Johnny’s mouth as soon as he tried to lean in for a kiss. “I don’t kiss for hookups.”

He let his hand fall back to his side, fighting the urge to laugh at the pouting expression on Johnny’s face. “Not even for me?”

“You’re not my fuckin’ boyfriend, Johnny.” Simon hummed softly when Johnny’s second hand slid beneath his hoodie, gently gripping onto his waist. “Marks are fair game, just no kissing.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice…” His touches were gentle at first, slowly rocking his hips against Simon’s and sweet kisses placed along his neck. Before Simon could complain about it, Johnny’s hand slid up the back of his neck. His head was tugged back harshly before he could process that Johnny’s fingers were in his hair. He sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth and could feel Johnny chuckling more than he could properly hear it.

The kisses to his neck quickly turned to more teeth than lip, Johnny’s tongue barely soothing over each mark before he made a new one. He kept Simon pressed against the door, not allowing him to move anywhere other than exactly where he wanted him. His hands wandered back towards Simon’s hips as a thigh slid between his legs. His lips didn’t move from Simon’s neck for even a moment as he pulled Simon’s hips closer to him, encouraging him to grind down onto his leg. Who would Simon be to say no?

He slowly rolled his hips against Johnny’s leg, panting softly and biting back a whine at a particularly harsh bite to the side of his neck. Normally he’d be appalled at the idea of rutting against someone’s leg like a horny teenager, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop. Johnny’s hand stayed planted on his hip, the other sliding beneath Simon’s hoodie. His nails gently dug into the skin of Simon’s lower back, pulling a soft sigh from him.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax for me.” He spoke in a near growl against Simon’s jaw, gently pressing his thigh up further each time Simon rolled his hips down. “You look so good riding my thigh like that.”

The pressure was absolutely divine, making him feel pleasantly dizzy as he leaned back further against the door. Johnny’s touches felt burning against his skin. Each squeeze to his hips and gentle scratch against his back felt maddening. He hadn’t been with anyone in a while, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d craved more from someone this quickly. He could feel Johnny panting against his neck, nearly fully hard against his hip. Each biting kiss placed against his neck felt maddening. He needed more.

He pushed Johnny back just slightly, separating him from his neck and making him take a few steps back. He looked almost shocked, concerned that he’d done something wrong.

“Quit looking at me like that. I’m not letting you fuck me in the entryway. I have a flatmate.” Simon hooked a finger around his chain as he spoke. “Come on.”

He kept his finger loosely hooked into the chain around Johnny’s neck as he walked towards the stairs. He swapped to be guiding Johnny by his wrist towards his room as they went up the stairs.

As soon as they’d made it to Simon’s room, Johnny was back on him like a magnet. He could feel Johnny untying his joggers as he was walked back towards the bed. He barely managed to shuffle them off before Johnny was pushing his sweatshirt up and off of him.

“Didn’t realize you were that fuckin’ desperate for it.” He mumbled softly as he tossed his hoodie to the side. Simon did enjoy watching as Johnny took off his own tank-top and joggers, however. The picture he’d gotten didn’t do his appearance justice. Johnny was well built, a dark layer of hair trailing over his abs with a defined trail leading down towards his boxers. Johnny was incredibly well built, and he knew it.

“Forgive me for not bein’ patient. I spent all night thinking about you. Can’t exactly blame me for being eager.”

Simon sat down on the bed and leaned up on his elbows, tilting his head to the side as he watched Johnny crawl between his legs. He looks even better on his knees , he thought to himself. He lifted his hips as soon as Johnny grabbed onto the waistband of his boxers. What he didn’t expect was the almost pleading look on Johnny’s face as he leaned in closer.

“Can I?”

“Quit fuckin’ staring at me like that, jesus christ…” He spread his legs a little more as he laid back fully against the bed. “Yes.”

“Thought about doing this all night.” His looped his arms beneath Simon’s thighs, tugging him just slightly closer before trailing kisses down his inner thigh. “I’d spend all day right here if you let me.”

He couldn’t tell if Johnny was being serious or exaggerating, but any complaints he wanted to lodge at him died in his throat as soon as he felt Johnny’s tongue against his cock. He panted softly as he let his head fall back against the bed. He felt Johnny’s tongue trail along the underside of his cock as he took it fully into his mouth, the metal of his tongue piercing teasing along it as he suckled onto it. He didn’t pull back to breathe until he absolutely needed to, his tongue trailing down to lap between his folds before two fingers slid inside of him with ease. He crooked his fingers just right and pulled a soft whine from Simon.

Simon panted softly, reaching down and tangling a hand into Johnny’s hair. He rocked his hips up slowly as Johnny continued moving his fingers, alternating between teasing drags and slowly working him open. He was good. Much better than he expected him to be.

“Fuck, Johnny…” Simon lifted his head briefly, his heart leaping into his throat as he looked down at Johnny. His eyes didn’t leave his face for a moment, his head bobbing slightly as he worked his tongue over Simon’s cock.

He pulled off just briefly, his lips slightly glossy from spit and Simon’s arousal, as he slid a third finger inside of him. “Good?”

“Do you have to fucking ask?” His voice was more strained than he wanted it to be in that moment, but he forgot about it as soon as he felt Johnny’s mouth back on him again. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Yet another thing he hadn’t expected.

He let his head fall back with a broken moan, tugging harder on Johnny’s hair as he kept rocking his hips up. His head was nearly spinning, his limbs feeling heavy as the coil in his stomach wound tighter with each passing moment. He could feel Johnny staring at him even though he wasn’t watching him. Knowing he was watching only made everything worse. Knowing he wanted to watch him fall apart, committing that image to memory just to replay it later sent him tumbling over the edge with a soft whine. Johnny didn’t pull back until his thighs started quivering from overstimulation.

“Jesus fucking christ…are you trying to kill me or something?” He leaned up as Johnny was standing up, his stomach fluttering as he watched Johnny meticulously lick his fingers clean.

“Can’t help myself around you, sweetheart. Didn’t hear you complaining about it either.” To Simon’s surprise, Johnny was still fully hard in his boxers. “What? You can take it. I know you can.”

“Never said I couldn’t.” He watched hungrily as Johnny dropped his boxers, his eyes staying for a moment too long before trailing back towards Johnny’s face. “Didn’t think you’d get much out of that.”

“You thought wrong.” He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on top of Simon’s thighs and gently rubbing them. “You still want to keep going? I brought condoms, I’d just have to find my pants to get them.”

“I’m fine without. I’m not seeing anyone else.” Simon could see just how much Johnny’s eyes lit up as he spoke.

“Was hoping you’d say that.” His hands shifted and grabbed the underside of Simon’s knees. He pulled him closer before flipping Simon over onto his stomach, turning him to be facing towards the foot of the bed before coaxing his knees up beneath him. He quickly kneeled behind Simon, his hand bracing on his lower back as he slid his cock between his folds, teasing across his hole and against his cock. “The pictures you sent just don’t do you any justice, doll. Looks like you’re fuckin’ made for this.”

He pulled his hips back briefly, the head of his cock just barely catching against the rim of his entrance before he rutted forward against Simon again. Of course he’d be a fucking tease. “Are you gonna keep talking or are you gonna fuck me?”

Johnny’s hand tangled into Simon’s hair and he pulled hard , forcing Simon’s back to arch further as he got pulled up. “Just knew you’d be fucking mouthy. You’ll take what I fucking give you.”

This side of Johnny wasn’t something that Simon expected, but it didn’t entirely surprise him either. If anything, he’d hoped for it. He kept his head lifted up, holding eye contact with Johnny in the mirror as he slowly rocked his hips back against him. “I’m not gonna beg for it.”

Johnny gripped harder onto his hips, leaning back for a moment before lining himself up. “Not gonna make you. Not this time, at least.” He slowly pressed inside him, stopping for a moment as soon as he felt Simon tense up. “Breathe, sweetheart. Relax for me.”

Simon nodded, leaning his head back down and pressing his forehead against his forearm. He rocked his hips back as soon as he was ready for more. The stretch was intense, still just barely burning despite being worked open earlier. Johnny’s hands were soothing over his hips and lower back as he kept slowly pressing in. He swore he could feel Johnny up against his fucking lung.

“There you go, take all of me. Good boy.” He whimpered as soon as Johnny bottomed out, feeling the head of his cock just barely nudging against his cervix when he hadn’t even properly moved yet. “Do you need a minute?”

“Quit– stop being so fucking nice to me. Move. ”

Johnny’s grip on his hips tightened slightly as he started making slow, shallow thrusts into him. He was gentle and cautious at first, still wanting to give Simon time to adjust. Simon rocked his hips back in time with him, but he was quickly growing impatient with his pacing. With how Johnny had texted him, he didn’t expect or want princess treatment. He lifted his head up for a moment.

“Fucking hell, Soap, fuck me like you mean it.” He locked eyes with Johnny in the mirror, the look on Johnny’s face sending a zip of arousal down his spine. He knew he was practically poking a sleeping bear, but he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that he’d get what he wanted if he pushed just enough .

“Couldn’t be patient, could you? If you’re that fucking desperate, I’ll give it to you.” He pulled almost all of the way out before slamming back in to the hilt, forcing the air out of Simon’s lungs in a rush. “Is that what you wanted? Want me to treat you like a slut? All you had to do was ask, doll.”

Simon arched his back further towards the bed as soon as he felt Johnny leaning over him, nearly moaning as soon as he felt his hand at the back of his neck. He kept his face hidden in his arms and the mess of blankets at the foot of the bed. It muffled him just slightly, but he didn’t mind that.

He could hear Johnny panting heavily behind him, the hand still on his hip gripping him more than hard enough to bruise. He maintained the brutal pacing of his hips, not faltering for even a moment. It was almost suffocating. He was deep, almost too deep, but Simon didn’t want him to stop. He let himself get lost in the feeling, reaching his hand back and slowly starting to stroke himself off. He stopped as soon as Johnny leaned back, lifting his head up as he got pulled up by his hair.

“You had all this talk about wanting me behind you earlier…” He leaned down slightly, licking a bead of sweat off Simon’s neck and nipping at the skin as he held eye contact with him through the mirror. “Said all that and you won’t even watch?”

He’d slowed down significantly, his thrusts becoming much more shallow. Each movement rolled the head of his cock against Simon’s cervix, his jaw falling open in a silent cry. Johnny’s hand moved down, keeping his face held up by his jaw instead of his hair. It wasn’t comfortable, but Simon could deal with it.

“Driving me that fucking crazy and you won’t even watch.” He tapped his fingers against Simon’s jaw, still slowly rolling his hips against him. Simon could hardly think straight, his eyes growing hazy. Each roll of Johnny's hips hurt but he wanted more. It was suffocating. He had nowhere to move, trapped and pinned with Johnny slowly grinding against his cervix. He could easily get off from this if Johnny asked him to. “Look at me.”

Simon obliged, holding eye contact with Johnny until he pointed towards the mirror.

“I want you to watch. Can you do that for me?” He nodded quickly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment on a harsher thrust. “Use your words, doll.”

“Y-yes– fucking hell-–” Simon looked as wrecked as he sounded, a dark flush stained over his cheeks and down his neck. His eyes were blown out and watery, he was fighting to keep himself held up properly. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer, but it didn’t look like Johnny would be able to either.

He was panting hard, his mouth slack and open as he picked up his pace again. His chain was dangling over Simon just out of reach, swinging slightly with each thrust. Simon almost wanted to bite it, but wouldn’t be able to move to do so.

Johnny’s hand left his jaw after a few moments, trailing back to his hips, but he kept himself propped up with one of his arms. His free arm trailed back underneath himself, slowly jerking himself off. Johnny’s thrusts were growing much harsher and out of rhythm, his breathing just as shaky.

Simon came with a soft gasp, but was sorely disappointed as he felt Johnny pull out just to cum on his back. He let his chest fall down onto the bed once again as soon as Johnny stood up. He wasn’t going to be moving until he came back in with a towel. He could faintly hear the water running in the bathroom, feeling Johnny’s weight causing a divot in the mattress a few moments after it stopped.

“Fuckin’ asshole. If you got it in my hair I’m gonna fucking kill you.” The washcloth was cool on his back. He let himself relax a bit more as Johnny cleaned him off.

“Back to complaining that quickly?” He teased softly, giving his back one final wipe down before easing Simon down onto his side. “I don’t think I did.”

Simon tensed for a moment when he felt Johnny laying down behind him, his arm gently resting over his waist. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy it. He just hadn’t expected it. He relaxed and leaned back against Johnny after a few moments. “Didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.”

“Didn’t think you’d let me either.” He could feel Johnny pressing his face against his shoulder. He was used to his hookups leaving once they’d finished up, but Simon could get used to this.

“I normally don’t. You’re the exception, I guess.” The silence went on for a moment, but Simon didn’t feel awkward or like he needed to say anything. It was comfortable. Different.

“I had fun, but was that good for you too?” He looked back over his shoulder when Johnny spoke, almost confused.

“If you’re trying to ask if I want you to come over again, the answer is yes.” He rolled over onto his back, still staying close to him but not directly cuddling against him. “I had fun.”

The silence lapsed between them for a while longer, neither of them saying very much. They split a joint Johnny brought before cleaning up properly and getting dressed once again. For once, Simon was almost disappointed when he realized that Johnny needed to leave. He didn’t miss the disappointed look on Johnny’s face as he walked him out of the house. He stood in the window, watching Johnny’s car speed off until he couldn’t see it anymore.

—

thanks for reading :333!!!?.!!!$:/88384$

#fwtomura #cod smut #john soap mactavish #simon riley x john mactavish #call of duty #cod mw2 #ghost cod #john mactavish #cod mwii

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 2 years ago

Text

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 8

Good evening! (For me anyway) This one is going to be another short one, but I promise the last two chapters of Part 1 are over 1.5k words each so you'll get plenty for the final two parts! If you're enjoying it so far, do message or comment to be added to the taglist. Enjoy :))))) <3

Summary: Welcome to Middle Earth! Though not in a nice way, you've got some challenging things to experience. Enjoy your stay!

Tags: Kíli x oc/reader - Fíli x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company x ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - SUPER slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 948

Warnings: Mentions of Minor and Major Injuries from last chapter, People waking up and panicking a bit too much.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE START FROM THE BEGINNING IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY OK LOVE U

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 >

PART 1: Chapter 8 -

How it feels to chew five gum.

Jamais Vu (definition): translates to ‘never seen’. When one experiences being unfamiliar with a person or situation that is actually very familiar.

Twisting around in my sleep was a bit of a mistake, seeing that I ended up leaning on practically every injury I had.

Not to mention the loud voice that sent Kay into hysterics. But what really had my eyes shooting open was that she had accidentally planted her foot right where I felt it in my ribs. Broken bones remember?

Sitting up on my good arm, I faced over my shoulder to where I had heard Kay land unceremoniously on the floor, her legs the only thing I could see kicking about as she tried to untangle herself from the covers. I blinked at the early morning light, getting my bleary eyes to finally open up properly, when I froze.

Well, we were certainly no longer in the middle of nowhere, instead a completely strange place, as if we had gone back in time. By the looks of it, it was definitely a bedroom of some sort, though it looked as if it had shrunk ever so slightly, if the feeling of my feet hanging off the edge of the bed answered anything. It was also concerning as I had no recollection of arriving here, and I doubted Kay would either.

Regardless of how much it resembled the definition of an age old English cottage, the one thing that stood out to me was the weirdest feeling that I somewhat knew what this place was. A familiar place that I had never been to. Thankfully, my questions were answered when I looked towards the foot of the bed.

My face went slack with shock and all I could do was stare. He stared back most of the time; his eyes darting back and forth every once in a while.

Kay was still flapping around, though now only her arms as she brought herself to her feet. She looked at me, then to where I was staring, only to fall silent herself, her eyes stretching wide as her mouth fell open.

The miniature version of Martin Freeman himself was stood at the foot of the bed, looking like this was the last place he wanted to be right now.

He became easily flustered, redness crawling up his neck and over his round face. We were staring after all, gobsmacked, in absolute silence at him as if he was some sort of zoo animal. I opened my mouth slightly, chapped lips cracking after drying out all night. I wanted to say at least something before this non-existent conversation become even more awkward as it was. I didn’t get very far though, since anything that once was died back down my throat, and I pressed my lips back together.

Seeing that we weren’t going to move at this moment, he stuttered out that breakfast was ready, before darting out of sight, scurrying down the hall before either of us could say a word.

It wasn’t like either of us were planning to say anything, considering we spent the next twenty seconds or so gaping at the empty door frame, before slowly turning towards each other.

I was the first to rouse from our mutual state of shock, silently mouthing ‘WHAT THE FUCK’, as I pointed my finger wildly, whipping my head back and forth at Kay and the door.

‘I DON’T KNOW’ Kay mouthed back as she flailed her own hands around in confusion.

I frantically beckoned Kay towards me, waiting until she had clambered back on the bed before slapping my bandaged hand on her shoulder.

“That isn’t the actor.” I murmured.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded.

“He’s far too short to actually be Martin Freeman.”

She nodded her head eagerly in anticipation.

“Do you realise what this means??” I hissed. She stared, waiting. My eyes became wide and unfocused, as it finally dawned on me.

“We’re in Middle Earth?!?!?!”

Kay took a deep breath, seeming to hold it in as she tried to contain herself. However, we were soon both flailing slightly in excitement.

“Holy shit you’re right.” She answered with a laugh, as she bounced around the bed, eagerly taking in what was around her. I wildly grinned back with the same enthusiasm. Placing my hands on my lap, I took them off less than a second later at the unusual feeling. Looking down, I let out a whine at the sight of dried mud on my trousers.

“Though we didn’t exactly arrive in the best of conditions.” I added, flicking away bits of mud and dried blood. Kay looked down at her own self and let out a groan at the sight of her cargo trousers on the verge of becoming completely ruined.

“Forget that.” she replied, picking at the material. “If this place doesn’t cure my goddamn depression, then I really don’t know what will.” I let out a short laugh at the statement.

The sound of teacups clinking together from deeper in the house somewhat managed to knock us out of our state as we realised we were currently in someone’s home as guests. And very dirty ones at that.

Kay swiftly slid off the bed onto her feet, picking up anything that her unruly wake up technique had knocked off the mattress. I followed suit, standing up to stretch as much as I could without disturbing my fractures. Though that proved to be a mistake as I ended up colliding my head with the ceiling, Kay letting out a cry of laughter when I yelped in surprise.

Now weary at the height of things, I tried my best to recall what Bilbo had stuttered out about where to go, then turned to lead us both through the door into the rest of the hobbit’s home.

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

< Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 >

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Can't wait to see you on the 12th May for Chapter 9! Also please comment if you want to be added to the Taglist <3

Taglist:

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#the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x oc #kili x reader #fili #kili #fili x reader #hobbit x reader #fili x oc #kili x oc #thorins company x reader #thorins company #To the Shadows that Cry Witch #big soup #kili durin

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cathumanthing2 · 2 years ago

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Roseblings Chatfic AU Chapter 10 Q&A

magic bitches

9:13 am

father: I'm only saying this for foreshadowing purposes, but I met the person who threw us all into this mess today. Apparently it wasn't really them, but some version of them created for the sole purpose of "fucking with us". Either way, they seemed nice, but were also scarily bent on "traumatizing my poor blorbos" so I do not know what is going on with them.

tech wizard: on THAT terrifying note, good morning bitchesss

glitter starboy: Pix are you some sort of eldrich being or something who is able to talk to the fucking CREATOR???

father: Shoot, that wasn't in the script, wait a second while I consult Cat.

buff buff farmer: It's too early for you to be joking about this stuff Pix

father: I promise you, I am not joking.

CatHumanThing joined the groupchat

CatHumanThing: henlo motherfuckers prepare for suffering >:3

tech wizard: WHAT THE FUCK

buff buff farmer: holy shit who tf are you

glitter starboy: How tf did this thing join-

actual wizard: I'm gonna go, I dont have the energy for this rn

father: Why hello, I would ask where you came from, had I not already known that your response would simply be a vague sentence and nothing more.

CatHumanThing: And the only semi-reasonable person here is RIGHT! All yall need to know is im here to ask yall questions

fungi fungus gnome: ominous

CatHumanThing: OKAYYY first up, from ArchAngelAthena, for gem: STOP TRYING TO BE STRONG ALL THE DAMN TIME!!! Your only hurting urself, and ur brother! And if it continues then ur brother will cry, & if he cry’s then i cry & it’ll be a bad day for everyone! Stop thinking u have to do everything right now! U have —only god knows how long— time ahead of u, relax, take a chill pill, spend some time with friends and family, eventually u won’t have the time to do so… so take the chance while u still have it… ur parents we’re assholes, & did many illegal things, but don’t let what they did change how u live ur life… we —ur brother, ur friends, the ones who watch all this— love u, & we don’t want u hurting urself, ok? Take care of urself, see ya soon!

actual wizard: A. That wasnt a question B. how did you know about all of this, are you stalking me?? C. I'll try but I have wayy too many things to get done

tech wizard: Gem, it's summer.

actual wizard: So?

CatHumanThing: Gem.

actual wizard: I'll try.

CatHumanThing: Good enough. Next question, from Ravenpuff99, to everyone: What are your pronouns, gender, and sexuality, also favourite flower and animal :)

tech wizard: I use he/they pronouns, im transmasc, and pan, also i like wither roses and salmon

actual wizard: She/they, demigirl, and bi with a preference for women, and wither roses and cats

scary fish lady: I use she/her and most neos, I'm a girl, and im bi with no preference, i like water lilies and axolotls

short pottery man: heyyy i use he/him, male, demisexual, and my favorite flowers are blossoming azaleas and my favorite animals are donkeys specifically named jeramy

scary fish lady: joel istg stop it with your weird cult-

short pottery man: ITS NOT A CULT ITS A RELIGION

glitter starboy: Ignoring that, i use he/him, transmasc, gay and poly, and i like poppies and snowy owls

jungle bitch: He/him, male, gay, and I like most jungle plants and nether plants, and my favorite animals are tigers

jungle bitch: And Xorny says xe uses they/he/it/xe/void pronouns and are nonbinary, and are gay. They like nether mushrooms and cats

fungi fungus gnome: she/they/shroom, demigirl, ace sapphic, mushrooms, and wolves!

plant flower faerie: She/they, girl, grayasexual demiromantic sapphic, ALL flowers are AMAZING and i love them all equally, and i really love cats or bees, they're both so cute!

father: I use he/they pronouns, identify as male and omnisexual with a preference towards men, and I don't have a particular animal I like most.

buff buff farmer: I use she/her, im a girl, im aroace, and i like sunflowers and ducks

blood sheep man: I use he/him, im a boy, im bi with a preference towards men, and i like wither roses and blood sheep

pathetic fish man: he/they, demiboy, asexual biromantic polyam, i like cornflowers and cod

CatHumanThing: OKAYYY that took forever!!! Anyways, next question is from Ravenpuff99 again, for everyone: When's the last time you did self care? This is your reminder that we love you, and to go eat/drink/sleep/take meds/shower if you need to or haven't recently. Self care is important!! We will all cry if you don't take care of yourself (this is a threat) <333

father: For the sake of time, I will tell you that the only ones here who regularly get a good nights' sleep are Jimmy, Pearl, and I.

CatHumanThing: Next one, from teslapenguini! Everyone other than shrub n katherine, how long have yall been watching those two completely fail to realise their feelings and how close are you to just directly spelling it out to them?

buff buff farmer: Istg, its taking forever. Ever sincem iddle school theyve been dancing around each other. I just. Im THIS close to telling them directly

father: They are frustratingly oblivious, and have been since around the 8th grade, to the best of my memory.

glitter starboy: It's a wonder i didnt add katherine to the simp chat earlier. The amount of "oh they're so cute i wonder why" i have to tolerate. And shrubs even worse.

plant flower faerie: shrub do you have any idea wtf they re all talking about

fungi fungus gnome: a little but i refuse to accept it

glitter starboy: its getting worse. Shes oblivious by choice now

jungle bitch: ok actually i'll say it right now: guys just kiss already

plant flower faerie: whos he talking to

fungi fungus gnome: i know but i wont tell you

scary fish lady: even jimmy isnt this oblivious i swear-

actual wizard: They are so obliviously agonizingly gay for each other and have been since around the 7-8th grade that at this point i try my best to ignore it

plant flower faerie: im starting to catch on but i refuse to believe it

fungi fungus gnome: same

glitter starboy: Katherine, shrub, besties, guys, just…. Its… its getting so agonizingly painful. Just. yeah.

CatHumanThing: Okayy from Crystal, to everyone, do you guys have stuffed animals? If so, what are their names and what are they of?

scary fish lady: Two axolotls named sir strawberry and lady marcelline

pathetic fish man: One unnamed cod plush that norman absolutely loves

short pottery man: stuffed animals are for losers

scary fish lady: he has a donkey named jeramy that he based an entire religion off of in elementary to middle school

short pottery man: THESE ARE FALSE CLAIMs

actual wizard: a dragon plush named violet that gandalf loves!

fungi fungus gnome: A cat named star

jungle bitch: I never had any because my raptors tear them up all the time

tech wizard: YOU HAVE RAPTORS?????

jungle bitch: Yep! [Raptors.image.png] (it's of a raptor curled up asleep in Joey's lap)

fungi fungus gnome: that. is. adorable.

plant flower faerie: I have a bunch of bee plushes!

glitter starboy: I have a bunch of snowy owl plushes and they all have names, theres too many to fit here though

tech wizard: A salmon plush

father: I have a copper car I named David, does that count?

blood sheep man: I got Bubbles a dog plush to keep her company

buff buff farmer: i have many ducks

CatHumanThing: AnnulledGoat asked Shrub: What's your favorite mushroom, also do you like mooshrooms?

fungi fungus gnome: I really like the fly agaric, it's really pretty, PLUS it gets you high! Also YES THEY ARE SO CUTE-

glitter starboy: mushrooms that get you high >>>>>> normal mushrooms

tech wizard: fr

father: You guys are not allowed to get high.

tech wizard: you're no fun

CatHumanThing: I have a paraphrased thing that my bestie/beta-reader-i-cant-contact-rn Cedar said once, for Shrub: shrub is my fav since shes short

fungi fungus gnome: aww thx! Yaknow, there really needs to be more positivity about beign short

plant flower faerie: Shrub doesnt have to be short to be anyones favorite, they're just like that :)

fungi fungus gnome: thx bestie!

glitter starboy: yknow what im just gonna tell them

CatHumanThing: Oh, scott, you cant do that for plot reasons. I will physically restrain you and take away your plot-relevancy for 5 whole chapters :D /srs /threat

glitter starboy: ok, you're terrifying, duly noted

CatHumanThing: Next! From crimston7, to everyone, including me: what’s your favourite book? And if you don’t really read then what’s your favourite game?

CatHumanThing: I used to be obsessed with warriors

fungi fungus gnome: I have a book about mushrooms that I have memorized if that counts

actual wizard: Its really hard to choose a favorite book, but i have a book about magic that i absolutely adore

tech wizard: annoying gem to the point of insanity

blood sheep man: a book on blood magic and summoning demons! :D

jungle bitch: the same book that Sausage likes because it got me Xorny

glitter starboy: ew. anyways, the book on the clash of the great stags because i like the story , and i feel connected to it for some reason

plant flower faerie: A book on gardening!

scary fish lady: It's hard to choose a single book, so ill just say the game: marco polo

short pottery man: a book i wrote on jeramyism

pathetic fish man: I had a bit of a warriors phase a bit ago, i liked the ones that had a focus on riverclan

buff buff farmer: Books are cool, but I dont really have a favorite

father: A book on prophecy.

CatHumanThing: Woo! Now, for Katherine, from blxegrxpe, what is your opinion on all your friends? Answer honestly

plant flower faerie: Scott is cool, he's my bestie, shrub is really cute and kind and funny and awesome and i love talking to her and i think about them a lot :D, lizzie kinda scares me but shes also really cool, gem is smart and clever but really needs to take care of herself, fWhip scares me a little, so does sausage, joey is cool but istg he simps for a literal DEMON/ELF/IDK, i dont know joel that well but he seems cool, jimmy is really kind, pix is 100% one of the only sane people here, which is concerning because he seems mildly insane/lh, and pearl is realljy strong and cool

fungi fungus gnome: wow, thanks :D

plant flower faerie: it's true, you're awesome shrub!

buff buff farmer: okay they're TRYING to be frustrating at this point.

CatHumanThing: LAAAST QUESTION!!!: for fWhip, from blxegrxpe, why do you like inventing so much?

tech wizard: Its fun, i get to unleash monstrosities on the world, and i can make cool stuff

actual wizard: he also likes it because he can create chaos

tech wizard: yup :)

CatHumanThing: I have now thoroughly questioned you, and i will leave with a single statement: beware of pixlriffs, yall are driving him insane with your lack of sleep

CatHumanThing: ADIOS MOTHERFUCKERSSSSSS!!!!

CatHumanThing left the groupchat

tech wizard: what the fuck just happened

mushrooms and plants belong together :D

10:28 am

Shub :D: so katherine uh do you understand a bit about what they were yelling at us about in the chat

Kath <3: A bit, i dont wanna believe it though, i just found out something about myself a few days ago so..

Shub :D: Same, but uh

Shub :D: Since its making them kinda frustrated and it pains them to watch

Shub :D: why dont we amp up our obliviousness and put a bit more of an oblivious front just to mess with them

Kath <3: That doesnt seem very nice but it also seems like it would be funny…

Kath <3: Yes

Kath <3: But before we do that, i think i should tell you something

Kath <3: You're really pretty and nice and cool and cute and i think i have a crush on you

Shub :D: I like you too :)

Kath <3: So i guess them being upset at us did what it was intended to do haha

Shub :D: It really did, but they dont know that yet and so we can mess with them

Kath <3: How much are you willing to bet they dont find out their yelling worked until like 6 months into the future?

Shub :D: at least $20

Kath <3: So does this mean we're dating?

Shub :D: I guess Kath <3: woo!

#roseblings chatfic au #empires smp season 1 #empires smp #empiresblr #fanfiction #chat fic #q&a #fanfic #nature wives

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the-sparkling--diamond · 2 months ago

Text

everything to win - 6

poe dameron x black! female oc

warnings: n/a for this chapter!!

word count: 1,015

Cerria was grateful that she didn't drink that much the previous night, especially because General Organa was one of the first people she ran into in the morning.

"General Organa," Cerria exclaimed, having nearly run into her in the hallway, "I heard what happened. I am so s-"

Leia smiled sadly, putting up a hand, effectively cutting her off. "Thank you, but I've heard enough condolences to last a lifetime. Come with me."

Cerria knew better than to argue, and she quietly followed Leia into an empty meeting room. She had barely sat down when Leia asked, "Poe told me all about how you saved him. How'd you find him?"

"I was just flying over Jakku. Honestly, I thought he was dead at first," she recalled. It had only been a few days since she'd found him laying in the sand, but it felt like it had been weeks, months even.

Leia hummed in acknowledgement, "And what were you doing on Jakku?"

"Clearing my head...getting flight practice," Cerria said. Seeing the General's raised eyebrow, she elaborated, "I was set to meet the guy I'm betrothed to and I just...I couldn't do it. I mean, I always knew it would be part of my responsibilities, but I just..." She groaned in frustration, pressing her hands to her face. "And now all this has happened and I'm here now and I finally feel like I'm doing something right."

Cerria pulled her hands away from her face, to see Leia giving her a knowing smile. "I would've done the same thing. I'm going to make the bold assumption that your parents have no idea where you are."

Immediately, Cerria's mind went to her communicator device that she'd intentionally stashed in the bottom of a drawer on her U-Wing. She couldn't even imagine how many transmissions her parents had sent. She hadn't even thought of how worried they'd be at her disappearing without a word for days. "I have to go back," she sighed.

Leia stood, keeping her gaze on Cerria. "Go back, or don't. But just know that running from something doesn't make it go away. Either way, whatever decision you make, make it for you. Not because you feel like it's your duty." She made her way to the door, but paused just before reaching it, turning towards Cerria, "Whatever you decide. There's always a place for you in the Resistance."

Cerria frowned as she hung up her flight suit in her room. Her hands lingered on the fabric for a moment. It had only been hers for a short period of time, but it was just that. Hers. Leaving it behind felt like she was leaving part of herself behind. It's not like it's forever, she reminded herself, just a few days.

As she left her room and began to make her way outside, she felt a tug on her heart. Poe. It felt wrong to leave without saying goodbye to him. She quickly doubled back and knocked on his door.

The door slid up only a few seconds later, and Cerria was met with Poe's smiling face. "Princess...to what do I owe the honor?"

"I wanted to tell you goodbye," she paused starting rock on her heels as she lost control over her words, rambling, "I mean, not goodbye. I'm not gonna be gone forever. But I was talking to the General and-"

"You're leaving." The look on his face was indiscernable. He was clearly hurt, yes, but there was something else there.

"I'm coming right back. It'll be a few days at most."

Poe frowned, "And you're going now?"

She nodded, looking at the ground, "Soon. Yeah."

His face fell. Cerria could practically see the gears in his head turning before he looked her dead in the eyes. "Give me ten minutes. Don't leave yet. Just...give me a few minutes. I'll meet you by your ship," he nearly pleaded. At the slightest nod, he closed his door once more, leaving a confused Cerria out in the hall.

As promised, he, and Leia, were by her ship by the time Cerria was about to leave. Poe had changed his clothes, now wearing a brown uniform that was much more formal than the unbuttoned shirt he usually wore. She grinned as she approached, "You look nice. What's the occasion?"

Poe looked down at his clothes, suddenly finding it stupid. Pushing his regret aside, he mustered up a crooked smile, "I had to give you a sendoff worthy of a princess."

Cerria's heart skipped a beat, her cheeks warming. The gesture was so simple, nearly nothing, but it meant the galaxy to her. "Thank you, Poe," she breathed.

Leia gave them both a sideways glance before holding a small, blue, glowing bracelet out to Cerria. "This is a cloaked binary beacon. Use it to find your way back to us...whenever that may be." Cerria slipped the beacon into her pocket, nodding. "And for my sake," Leia continued, giving her a pointed look, "please keep your communicator on."

"I will," Cerria laughed.

"Get home safe, Princess. I do hope we'll see you back soon." Leia gave the two one more look before walking off.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Poe looked at Cerria, almost desperate as he murmured, "A few days."

"A few days," she promised. Without thinking, she pulled him into a tight hug, one that he quickly reciprocated. She pulled away after a moment, giving him that same soft smile. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Safe travels, princess," Poe sighed.

Cerria smiled at him one last time before heading onto her ship, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she sat in the pilot's seat and quickly realized she already missed Poe, Jess...all the friends she'd made. She wanted to go back and say one last goodbye, but she knew if she did, she'd stay, and she couldn't do that. Cerria powered up the ship with a sigh. The sooner she handled her responsibilities on Corellia, the sooner she could come back.

#poe dameron x oc #poe dameron fic #star wars #black!oc #poe dameron #poe dameron x f!oc #star wars fanfiction #everything to win fic

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tremendum · 9 months ago

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Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 11k LOL SORRY

summary: "Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike."

warnings: blood and gore, graphic descriptions of violence (reader and others), allusions to noncon/incest/pedophilia (Feyd Rautha and the Baron), referenced past abuse, blood kink, predator/prey kink, allusions to dubcon, knife kink, rough unprotected PiV, slapping, flashback to Feyd-Rautha warning maybe i should say, drinking and making dubious decisions... pls lmk if i left any out.

notes: hi to my friends here who are reading this series! thanks for the patience I know its been a little bit since i last updated but in return, this chapter is the longest yet with almost 11k words... i promise itll be worth it!! things are moving along!! new chapter on AO3 is also coming soon :) as always please feel invited to leave feedback, its how i get motivated! love u all i hope you enjoy!

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My Dearest Niece,

I received your letter with great joy, though I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend the Space Trade Referendum or the arraignment as planned. It is with love that I must share the news that I am set to give birth around that time, and I am unable to travel in my condition.

Please know that my absence does not diminish my support for you in any way. Though I cannot be there in person, I will be thinking of you and sending you all of my love and support from afar. Should things become dire, please remember that you are always welcome at House Ginaz. Our doors are open to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist you in any way possible.

Take care, my dear niece, and know that you are never alone.

With all my love and best wishes,

Lady Ginaz

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The planets look tiny and unimportant from so vastly far away.

You've decided, in the last few days, that you are not particularly keen on space travel; The ship that transports you and the members of House Atreides is incredibly massive and freezing cold, and the empty void of space that sits just to the right of your bed has been a present reminder of your mortality.

You stare silently out the expansive window that covers one whole wall of your chambers; out into the deep dark, your breath nearly fogging the plexiglass from your proximity. Your lip, chewed raw, has cracked down the middle and bleeds gently as you sigh, one hand toying with the sleeve of the dress you wear.

It is now only three days until the summit Referendum is drawn - four days, then, until your fate is charged against the rest of the Landsraad - when you could lose your planet and your name, your right to marry Paul, your claim to the Noble class.

"I want you to be prepared," Duke Leto had said last night at dinner, "Baron Harkonnen will be in attendance, and it is likely that either of his nephews will be with him."

Your eyes bore holes into the window before you, showcasing the wide expanse of space that stretches deeper than you could fathom. The thought of seeing Feyd-Rautha festers in your mind; a dangerous, hungry beast that cannot be quelled but with the taste of flesh and blood.

It is with a twist of your gut that you realize you want him to be there.

Ever fiber of your being screams with the desire to see him, to scream, to rip the skin off of his face. More fearfully, though: deep down inside you feel a longing, quiet and unsure, that sings in your heart. There were those days when Feyd would come to you late at night, muscles weary, and he would lay with you; nothing more than his head on your chest, his breaths labored, as he fought back the gruesome memories of his uncle's vile ways. He never particularly opened up about his experience completely - but in those moments, where you'd tenderly stroke his head and listen to his uneven breathing, he'd whisper evil truths to you; truths that prove even the worst person you know can be hurt by another.

You'd shared moments of tenderness with Feyd-Rautha, even though it is now completely unimaginable - warped and disintegrated by the cruelty of your stay, the horror of their culture. Fingers, dipping into a bowl of black paint to be smeared over his taught torso; Lips, smeared with the same color and pressed on his palms, where he'd clutch blades in the arena.

Small gifts; the bright red wax currants from your homeworld, smuggled when the Baron was none the wiser; a new dress in your wardrobe the day after he'd ripped one apart. Feyd's hands, surprisingly soft when he was placated - pressing against your waist, or smoothing over your cheeks. The same hands that hit your skin and the same lips that said horrible things to you; the teeth that broke skin, the blades that cut yours.

There was once a semblance of care between you, however skewed and twisted it was; Now, all that remains is hatred.

A knock at your door makes your brow furrow; the view from the plexiglass window, thick and slightly warped, reflects your surprised expression. You are not set to land on Kaitain for another few hours.

"Yes?" You call, voice sharp; you are unable to shake the anger that has grown in you the last few minutes reminiscing upon your relationship with Feyd-Rautha.

"My lady," Your handmaid calls - it is not Hestia, but a sweet maid who is younger and less inclined to speak freely. "Lord Paul wishes to speak with you."

You find yourself relieved that it is him who wishes to speak with you, not sure you have the energy to face anyone else now. You send her a small faux smile, hoping to ease her anxiety - wherever it may stem from - and nod, "Let him in, please."

A few moments before he walks in, steps quiet against the floor as you stare out into the vast darkness. It's been over a day since you've seen Paul - consciously, at least - and he looks quite different away from the winds of Caladan. His eyes are dark, framed by those long lashes, face more serious than usual; a feat you never thought possible. Much like yourself, he is dressed quite formally - curls tamed away from his face, dark dress uniform that has the brass sigil of Atreides on the collar.

You wetten your lips as he arrives next to you; you taste the tang of your own blood, familiar and warm, as you greet him. "Hello, Paul." You say, turning to nod at him.

You haven't spoken alone since the few nights ago in the garden; during meals and meetings upon your travels to Kaitain you've exchanged pleasantries and discussed options for trade routes and embargoes, but nothing more. It's a good thing you're seeing him now, you remind yourself - to become acquainted with being seen publicly by his side. You'll land in a few hours and stand together upon arrival; a flicker of anxiety flares within you.

I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me.

He says your name, and it gives you that odd feeling in your stomach at his timbre. His eyes don't hold yours for long after greeting you; silently, he resigns himself to watch out over the ocean of space with you. Perhaps it's the sense of foreboding that lingers over your head, or the desperation that crawls through your veins when it hits you; while unlikely, there is still a possibility that you could lose your engagement to Paul in a few days, and by extension, lose the only grasp at power you might have.

His breathing is low and slow; you match your own breaths subconsciously, unaware of the comfort you find in his presence. "Will you sit in with your father for the drawings?" You ask, unsure why he's chosen to visit you before it is time to land and chosen to remain mute; but you are curious to know what he is thinking. It will be more beneficial to be on each other's good side going into the next few days, and it's better to start with tortuous slow talk as to avoid the arguments that are bound to sprout up.

"Yes," He affirms, "But not for the trial; only House representatives may sit on the bench."

You hum, your hands clasping in front of you, smoothing over the rich texture of your dress. You're not sure if it's a relief or another anxiety that Paul will not be sitting front row at your arraignment.

The starlight reflects in his eyes as he stares at you, as if unsure what to do. A violent rush of emotion floods through you - you realize in this moment just how much you've come to rely on him; not in the way you had with Feyd-Rautha, where you'd had to rely on him out of necessity, but because he understands what you are feeling, if not just a tiny bit.

It's been a lonely many years, and to finally trust someone - with your life, your future - uncertainty blooms in your gut untastefully, but you are finally beginning to let yourself ignore it. You're learning to let things happen as they come; resistance holds more pain than fortune in some cases. It's much easier to ignore your troubles when Paul's standing beside you, watching the stars silently.

"I used to get nauseous during space travel." He says quietly; introspectively. The corner of your lip quirks; you haven't felt too good yourself since setting off on the ship. You debate even responding, but curiosity piques you as you turn to regard him.

"Have you traveled off-planet much?" You ask. You've only ever been to Sabberon, Giedi Prime, and Caladan; Though once, when you were just barely fifteen, you convinced your father to take you to one of the smaller moons under the jurisdiction of your House, but fell ill and had to stay home.

He shrugs with one shoulder in that peculiar way he does, shaking his head. "Not particularly, but I've gone with my father to High Councils and meetings on Kaitain."

You nod, considering. "Is it really just one big city?" You ask, willing to play a pleasant game of small talk. His eyes are locked on a particularly bright star in the distance. Paul's response is thoughtful, his expression distant as he recalls, "It's mostly Corrinth City," he muses, choosing his words carefully. "There's certainly more variety than just buildings, but the parks and vegetation they have lack authenticity."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the natural beauty of your home planet, impressed by Paul's fascination with different cultures and planets. "Fresh air." You mutter. He watches you as you turn back to the glass, toying with the necklace in your hands. "Giedi Prime is similar," you confide, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words. "Not a single part of nature there that wasn't synthesized."

It's quiet for a heavy moment in which you're thrust into black and white memories of thick air, an oppressive sun, unwelcoming glares and hisses.

There's a brief pause as he considers his next words, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows, "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he admits, his tone gentle. "But I admire your resilience."

It's not a particularly enticing subject; the thought of Feyd-Rautha has you seeing red, and the prospect of it happening in a setting like you're about to be in is sickening to you. You are tired of people repeatedly telling you that you're resilient or strong after being forced to survive such tragedies; there is nothing irrepressible about it when enduring is the only choice. You sigh, "Maybe one day people will stop telling me how strong I am."

He turns to look at you in your peripheral. "And what would you have them tell you instead?" He questions.

You find yourself interested in the small glint that reflects within his green stare; attention fully on you, you've never particularly noticed what Hestia had once said to be true: There is a side to Paul which enjoys a small bit of humor, however odd it may be. And perhaps you are starting to recognize a similar side within you.

A pang of longing washes over you suddenly; a selfish wish. To enjoy your youth while you still have it grasped within your hands, to relish in the attention of the handsome boy who stands before you - no matter who he is - and to bask in the wealth and prosperity of the house you're marrying in to. When you were eighteen, before leaving Sabberon, you would have felt overjoyed to have such a connection with your future husband. Even in the eclipse of your anxiety of the days to come, a resentment grows within you - towards everything, perhaps, that threw you into the midst of crimes you did not commit, to have to answer the call for your family after those who cast it killed them.

"I don't know, maybe something shallow and complementary for once? That they like my hair, or the dress that I'm wearing." Your voice is tired - less sardonic than usual, though, and you find a kind of warmth within it. You shrug, "What do people usually tell noble ladies like me?"

Paul stares at you, and for a moment you flounder under the scrutiny: have you just embarrassed yourself, for acting so childish? But then, who is to say you shouldn't act childish, when your young adulthood has been so tainted and tarnished?

His small grin eases your worries quickly and even stirs something deep within you; you've never seen his expression so relaxed, so pleased except in dreams; The thought sends your stomach flipping. "Well, I do like your hair." He says simply, shrugging.

You send him a flat glare, ignoring the heat in your face at the blunt compliment. This is certainly untread ground. At your expression, Paul shrugs, pointedly staring at your knife that lies untouched by your resting area. "To be fair, if someone tried to compliment your appearance I believe you'd carve their tongue out."

You scoff, "Just because you think I'm some monster-"

He doesn't let you go off on another tangent this time; he dares interrupt you instead, tilting his head as if to prove a point. "-And as for your dress," he added, his tone teasing as he takes the time to take in your appearance, "I like the color. But I'd say it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it."

You roll your eyes at the cliché, the way his grin looks innocent and boyish in the starlight, and you shake your head. Concealing your heated cheeks with a glare, you huff, "I should cut out your tongue for that. That was painful."

"I'm simply following your orders, my lady." He defends, hiding a small laugh. His own amused smile looks completely foreign and quite beautiful upon his features, you can't look away. "Shallow and complimentary."

"I didn't mean it like that." You mutter, crossing your arms. He turns towards you; the viridian of his uniform is striking against the matte architecture around you. "You seem not to know what you want." He shakes his head.

This is, for some reason, sobering.

You clear your throat, smile dying down as your thoughts spiral, concern growing the closer you close in on Kaitain.

You hadn't acted much like a noble lady, especially when you'd arrived; though Duncan does not hold it over you, the look on everyone's faces after they'd seen the claw marks you'd left him is fully ingrained into your memory. You'd lashed out, been cold and distant, unwelcoming. Even as Paul tries to navigate through the thick haze of both of your dreams, you've been difficult - but you've come to understand that his introspective nature, which you initially perceived as snootiness, is just introversion and a sharp mind.

"I may not act like it all the time," you say smally, unsure who you're admitting it to - him, or you - "but I am very grateful for your help. Your house has shown more kindness than I deserve. And I'm sorry for the times that I seem less than so."

Like in the garden the other day, you almost add; hesitating, you let the words hang above your head. It's a hard thing, to trust him with your future. Despite the uncertainty that looms over you both, there's a quiet reassurance in his presence - even as he takes a step back from the window and looks towards the hall.

He doesn't say anything, but the corners of his lips uptick in a gentle smile.

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The weather is warm and sunny when Paul steps out of the space port.

The House Atreides is received by members of the Imperial House; Paul's father pulls one of the men into a tight embrace for a moment as he watches, a smile growing on his father's face. Each one of them wears a mask, even you; Paul stares on at the people before him with his chin up, just as he was taught in his youth.

You stand next to him, his father on his right and his mother on the other side. The sun burns brightly today - it's about midday, and though he is exhausted from travel, Paul's gaze is immediately drawn to the grandeur of the cityscape; the bustling city that reflects in your hairpiece as you tilt your head in his peripheral.

There are towering spires of gleaming metal - gold, too - and glass that stretches towards the heavens, reflecting the fountains below them. The fountains adorn the main plaza where a convoy waits to shuttle the house to the lodgings - cascading waters create a soothing symphony amidst the hustle and bustle of the city.

The entire walk, you stand beside him, your back straight as ever; your eyes are wide with awe at the vibrant energy of the city. Banners and posters line the boulevards, boasting of the Trade referendum; convoys with tinted shields carry other Noble Houses to and fro under the watchful gaze of the large conference building that towers above the other theaters and galleries.

Paul never cared too much for a large city, preferring the sparce Cala City with its docks and canals.

The ride to the accommodations is filled with views, too: grand theaters and lush parks, each more impressive than the last - a gentle breeze, barely a cloud in the sky above all the skyscrapers, statues of previous Corrino Emperors watching down the boulevards with golden stares.

His parents murmur gently in front of him - you, however, stare out the window solemnly, your eyes stuck on the large building in the distance: The Imperial Opal Palace.

There is a worry between your brows that does not subside the entire trip towards the accommodations; to save your dignity, Paul pretends to not see it.

He is likewise stuck with a sense of apprehension for the days ahead, but doesn't dare voice his thoughts out loud. He's spoken with his father already about his concerns - The political landscape of the Landsraad is fraught with tension now more than ever; every decision made during the referendum will have far-reaching consequences. Not to mention, the very present chance that, after the arraignment, you may be stripped of your House's land and wealth - most of which was absorbed by the Harkonnens but some of which still remains on Sabberon.

Blinking away drooping eyelids, Paul rests his chin in his palm. Sleeping has become quite a chore as of late, and he's found that more often than not, each slumber leaves him less rested than before.

It's only thirty minutes until you're being received again at the gates of their lodgings; A plethora of people in uniform who bow to the members of House Atreides and their staff before shaking hands, pressing small kisses to you and his mother's knuckles. You look stricken with panic; though your face is completely schooled and placated, he can see in the tenseness of your neck and the way your eyes flicker sharply that you've found that feeling again - to run. He almost feels it, too.

Glancing sideways at you while staff directs everyone to their quarters, Paul feels his hand brush against yours; a fleeting accident, but the look you send him before entering your own quarters is less than chilly - he turns forward, leaving you without a word when a maid gestures him down a different hallway.

The days on Kaitain are long and filled with conferences, galas, and 'town halls' in which Paul takes diligent note of every single person, who they are, and what their stance is on the upcoming voting; His father insists on debriefing each evening and then again in the morning. There is little time for rest and even less time for speaking with the others.

Paul cannot help but miss the routine of life on Caladan; perhaps he's grown keen to the architecture that has held up his entire life - intricate windows and hexagonal wooden floorboards that creak every third left foot - but the streets and buildings of Corrinth City are much less pleasant and too gaudy for his taste.

The sun is more inviting on this planet; he decides the intermittent gloom that creeps into Castle Caladan might have put an even worse damper on the anticipatory moods of him and his House members.

During supper the second evening, his mother mentions the court building she'd accompanied you to with Thufir earlier in the day. You'd gone to provide your genetic data for the upcoming trial and arraignment, as well as sign the correct paperwork as final heir to your house. Paul has to suppress a look of exhaustion when you make a face at the thought of the courthouse.

"Was it bad?" His father asks you, a glint of amusement in his eye. You, as you often do, miss the jesting in his voice. "It was perfectly pleasant, I suppose, despite why we were there. I didn't quite like the golden dome, though."

They love their gold here, Paul thinks. Your eyes flicker to him after a split second and he blinks, somewhat startled by the sudden attention.

It's over as quick as it came, and dinner sullies on.

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You don't see much of Paul or Duke Leto in these days leading up to the Referendum; Attending the meetings and councils for the Great Council are forbidden for you. Deemed a person of interest, you are not allowed a seat at this conference; instead you stay back and try to ignore the impending doom growing in your gut.

The few days between your arrival and the actual Referendum are littered with pointless social gatherings; you observe as Paul attends every single meeting, gala, dinner, and everything in-between with a grace you never actually thought imaginable. He's up bright and early each morning, mumbling deeply at the breakfast table and rubbing the sleep from his eyes while reviewing subjects with his father. Besides the short visit to the court building to provide genetic data, there is nothing for you to do besides wait for the others to return and relay information to you, waiting to hear your thoughts.

There is a play you attend at the opera house that one of the Emperor's daughters is also in attendance to; this is a big buzz for the other Nobles, who you have grown to detest even more through the last few days. Lady Jessica keeps her stay with you when she can but attends several of her own more mysterious meetings off-campus; some that leave you wondering and doubting, spending hours of your day staring at the wall, trying to recover the full knowledge behind the Shortening of the Way.

Hestia was unable to come with you, and though you enjoy the company of your maid, she is quite jumpy around you, and stares with fear at the knife that sleeps beside you on your pillow. Despite being around many, you still feel alone - more than you have in a while. Perhaps that is why you fall asleep so early the night before the Referendum.

Perhaps that is why you dream what you dream.

Your feet slap bare against the cold floor of the halls; your breath comes, but it is ragged.

If Giedi Prime's atmosphere was capable of it, you'd imagine a harsh ice storm slamming against the echoing walls, berating and mocking your racing heart. Plumes of clouded breaths betraying you as you pant, holding a shaky hand to your lips as you turn your neck.

A distant shout; His voice rolls, feet sliding down the same hallway upon which you crouch; Your heart thunders in your chest, fear striking you as the dull heat in your stomach grows lower, aching in your core.

You should not feel excited for what is to come - but something dark in you dares Feyd-Rautha to come near you, to try and best you in combat; you, unlike the others he fights, are not drugged.

Despite your fear you're as sound as ever tonight, because it is your nameday. And you know what the Harkonnen grooms gift to their betrothed on their first nameday spent together - it is strapped to your waistband, sheathed and perfectly pristine.

After tonight, that blade will weep with blood.

A deep chuckle through the walls; you slide as quietly as possible from shadow to shadow, the billowy dress skirt you don providing no ease. Perhaps another day, you'd find this entire thing a complete waste of time - if Feyd-Rautha felt the need to exercise his control over you, he need not look further than, say, your living quarters, which were small and attached to his; the slaves they gave to serve you, with their tongues cut off; the complete regulation over anyone you come into contact with; the times you go to the arena and train or fight.

Every part of your life, he can control - except one.

One part of you, nestled deep down from the last few years on Sabberon with your mother holds onto the power of sex; a power of yours that Feyd-Rautha yields to quicker than anybody else.

It is not exactly true, either, to say that he takes things of that nature from you unwillingly; though he'd probably enjoy to anyways. Because the worst part of it all is that deep down - in the evenings, when the shadows glint over his brow bone, in the mornings, when you agree to paint him before he goes to the arena, when that smooth chuckle echoes in your chamber, when you take down yet another competitor in the arena and you meet his hungry eyes, or even when his hand wraps around your throat - you like it. You love that deep arousal, the simmering fear that bubbles into hunger.

You've begun to crave the darkness that spills out of him, relish in the feeling of him on your body far after he's gone.

Feyd-Rautha's appetite cannot be satiated; he is hungry for you, for warm skin against his, constantly. He has his Harpies, and you are thankful for that; without them you fear you'd have to kill him in his sleep.

Tonight is different, though - because you have just celebrated the first steps in a long-seated tradition of House Harkonnen and are now hiding in the depths of the stronghold, hiding away and hoping your betrothed cannot find you.

The walls creak, hallways groan; something disgustingly personified about some of the areas of Barony's Castle that sets your skin on edge. Fingers shakily skim over the leather hilt of your new blade - curved, silver and foreign, it is engraved with an odd language that you do not wish to read.

Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoes through the empty halls; back flying rigid, shivers wash over your spine. Freezing in your tracks, your eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement, knowing he is much closer than you'd wished.

You've made it - from what you can tell - a long time running from Feyd; he grows impatient with every breath, every step - though you are not on your way towards either of your quarters, you wish you had been. There is a dull ache that has sprouted in your anticipation that you know Feyd-Rautha will be eager to satisfy your arousal after the ritual; though you are unsure if either of you will be in a state good enough for it.

You hear a whisper around a corner and shrink back further into the shadows of the room you've slid into. Across your vision lies a grand table, its legs a thick dark wood with a glossy finish in the moonlight.

And then, like a specter, his shadow slides up against the backlit hall - casting a tall frame over the glint on the table. You resist a gasp, your eyes pealing over the twin knives that hang dauntingly in his grasp. "Come out, little pet," he taunts, his voice a sinister whisper. "There's no use hiding. I can smell your fear."

He might be bluffing, but you're not sure; there is a part of you that has fear quaking through your bones and nearly sets your teeth to chatter - but a larger part of you is ravenous, hungry for a chance to get your hands on him.

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, heart pounding in your chest as you make a quick plan; you're not foolish enough to believe you are any match for Feyd-Rautha in your current state of panic - But still, you refuse to give in to despair; You might be able to outwit him for just a bit longer.

He draws closer, entering the room. The footsteps echo ominously in the silence and send a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a silent prayer to the void, you dart down a narrow corridor, footsteps quick and light as you seek refuge in the darkness. But Feyd-Rautha is relentless in his pursuit, his laughter echoing through the halls as he gives chase.

"You can run, little mouse," he calls, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "I'll still find you."

Desperate, you press yourself into the shadows, not daring to breath as you wait for him to pass; then, with a surge of courage, you spring from your hiding place, drawing your knife from its place at your hip.

For a brief moment, your blades clash; he, with a small light of shock in his dark eyes, and you with fury and anger. You're too weary from running for over an hour - he, on the other hand, had adopted a leisurely stroll through the castle he's known for years longer than yourself; barely winded, he attains the upper hand in moments.

You get several cuts in; he, per tradition, does not have a shield on and takes the pain with a glinting smirk.

You relish in the crimson that beads at the seam of each strike.

But you are too little, too late; in a sudden blur of motion, he is upon you, his frame crashing into yours with a force that sends you sprawling to the cold stone floor.

The impact is harsh; you squint your eyes to ward off the dizzy spell that accompanies the ache in your skull. For a moment, you lay there, stunned by the impact and mind reeling as you struggle to catch your breath. Feyd-Rautha follows you to the floor swiftly- you feel his weight pressing down on you like a jolt of electricity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before; a heady mix of fear and desire, arousal and revulsion, all swirling together in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that makes you scream out, exhausted and petrified. Feyd-Rautha's hands roam over your form, one blade still in his fist; lifting the tip of it, he traces the curve of your jawline gently. You gasp at the cold metal, the sweet sharpness slicing gently down your cheekbone. When the blood pebbles, his tongue is there to lap it up; a shaky sigh you admit into his ear lets him grunt and from there, he's all but forgotten the purpose of the hunt itself.

You, foolishly, drop your blade in a last-ditch hope he will too; instead he leans just so, dragging the curved knife over your neck and down between your breasts, where he begins seamlessly slicing your dress down the middle. You squirm under his thighs; not for discomfort - no, that would be too sane - but in desire, your body alight with a primal hunger you cannot deny.

Your mind rebels against the intrusion, screaming out; you should push him away, fight back against the overwhelming tide of desire threatening to consume you - but why shouldn't you? He will be your husband one day - there is nothing wrong about satisfying your desires with him. Perhaps it will distract him from his task.

You yield easily; into his lips, a whisper against sharpened black teeth and a hungry growl. Your body melts against his touch in a dizzying haze of surrender and desire - "Have you ever tried spice, my pet?" You think he asks. You shake your head, body trembling as the knife lowers across your waistline, nicking against the pair of underwear you don. Your hips buck with desire in response.

He hums, tongue sliding from your bleeding cheek to your chest; teeth marking you as he chooses to do every night; over the cacophony of yellows, blues, purples, blacks and browns. He tsks into your throat as he throws the blade to the ground; having cut open your dress you are nearly bare for him, spread out and eager on the stone floor. "When we go to Arrakis we will have it." He promises; an odd thing to remark but you can barely focus as he presses his length, hard and eager, to your heat.

Your eyes close, trying to visualize where your knife's gone, and where his are; because at some point, he will have to finish the job, and you will be prepared. A harsh twist of your budding nipple has your back arching, pain and pleasure flaring within you.

"Are you listening to me?" He growls. You yelp in pain, hand slapping him hard across the face. His eyes roll back as he inhales sharply; a twitch as he roll his hips against you. "I'd listen better if your cock were inside me." You dare say, fed up with waiting; you glare impatiently as he stares with pupils so wide they swallow your next words. A hand on your throat, pressing you into the ground with a snarl.

"When I am inside you, you tend to forget your own name." He grunts into your ear, hand fumbling with his own belt; with anticipation you move against him, hand snaking down to pull his length from his slacks.

"You caught me," You breathe into his ear, risking a reminder of the game you'd been set to play and how deliciously it'd been forgotten. "Claim your prize, na-Baron."

He does.

Unfortunately for you, you are not as lucky as you'd hoped after Feyd enters you. Indeed, minutes later when you are at the very apex of your own pleasure and he is just about to find his, he must come to his own senses; and that is very unfortunate for you.

Your legs tightening around his hips, back arched and bare chest pressed against the rough texture of his tunic, you barely feel his hand slip from your throat and upwards, to your left above your head. If you'd opened your eyes, you'd have seen the sadistic smirk upon his face when he thumbed the virgin blade, as your breaths of satisfaction fogged it up.

You feel it very presently when it happens.

You've hit your high; spasming, gasping, fingernails drawing blood in streaks across Feyd-Rautha's scarred back, yet you feel the blade as it pierces through your skin.

You freeze for a moment and your eyes widen; he's watching you, eyes fanatic and excited as he plunges the blade just between your ribs; just so, shallow enough to avoid serious injury but still enough to stake claim. You scream louder than you ever have before. He moans along with your curdled, cracking voice as he slows his thrusts, your legs spasming and arms pushing him away in shock and pain.

His spend leaks from you as you gasp, hands shaking as blood seeps from your torso, hatred coursing through your very veins. How dare he defile you, take your own virgin blade and stain it with your own crimson; you're luckier than most Harkonnen brides, perhaps if only for the fact that you knew of this ritual before it began, but you are filled with a newfound hate for your betrothed.

It doesn't make it any less real when the wound heals but the scar does not; the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's tongue lapping your blood never quite subsiding even years later.

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The day of the referendum finds Paul in an extremely dreary mood.

He is plagued by a horrific dream - one he knows is more of a memory - and cannot bring himself to eat breakfast, stuck avoiding your stare all morning as the members of House Atreides break fast together.

There is no time to speak with you about what you dreamt, but the fear that has clawed in the back of his mind - what is being set up for us? - is starting to wage a serious war within him.

The minutes tick by in droves as Paul's mind whirs; calculating constantly- your eyes, flashing to his every time he thinks about you, as if you know. You couldn't possibly know, though?

His mother stares at him intently, too; a gaze that he'd usually just find mildly concerning but has since grown with every day pushing towards the outcome of this trip.

His father discusses the plans drawn from the previous day with you and you're perceptive; insightful as you double-check Gurney and Thufir agree with your opinion on fruits exports at the end of summer harvest, should the redrawn routes go less in the House's favor. At one point, to Paul's surprise, you even coax a short laugh out of Gurney and the Duke.

But Paul is too consumed to tune in himself.

Chewing on his lip, he sticks a slice of melon between his teeth and chews half-heartedly, struck by another bout of confusion concerning the entangled dreams.

At first, he had considered the possibility that it was some manipulation by the Bene Gesserit. Something that was cast by the Reverend Mother and carried out by his mother - a subtle ploy to influence your relationship, to harden the bond that was indeed barely there at all. This can't be, though; Paul has grown up his entire life preparing to marry a complete stranger, as is requested by almost every noble person in the known universe - why, then, wouldn't they trust him to carry through with it, even if he had once believed you to be a spy? There is no dire need to ensure the marriage would happen - both of you have admitted your reluctance, but not once have you nor him declared to refuse the union.

But this last dream was a memory, he's sure; and he wasn't in it, which implies many things he wish not unpack presently. Not to mention that even his mother, with all her training and abilities, has never found a semblance of this kind of connection, through conscious or subconscious, with him.

A stroke of concern clouds his mind at this; might this be a manifestation of his Mentat abilities - some latent aspect of his training that allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn't? To see into your mind and, in turn, project his into yours?

Paul's eyes accidentally find yours again; he casts his gaze to his plate, recalling unpleasantly the blood-curdling scream you'd let out as that same knife you still carry was plunged into your ribs. A sense of unease stirs deep within his core.

Resolutely, there are other matters to attend to that are more time-sensitive. He and his father are informed that their transport has arrived, and so with tight nods and farewells, they leave for the final addendum.

Paul will have to ask Thufir about these concerns after the convention; But for now, Paul tucks the question away in the recesses of his mind, awaiting the opportunity to seek answers.

The chamber hums with anticipation as Paul sits attentively beside his father - looking over the crowd, he notes representatives from each of the Great Houses Major and Minor of the Landsraad, along with delegates from the Spacing Guild and stakeholders of the Imperium fill nearly every seat in the grand hall, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of conversation.

He can only imagine how it will feel for you tomorrow; each face staring down at you as you perch on a stool, subjected to answering for the family that never answered you. He bites his lip, recalling the trunk he'd requested be brought with them on the trip to Kaitain; perhaps you could use a distraction tonight from what's to come - or would that just make you more skittish, more ready to bite any hand near you?

He hopes you aren't agitated by what he'll offer this evening - don't you deserve to enjoy at least one part of this whole trip, even if the worst may come in the morning? Paul suppresses a groan, wondering when any of that ever started to really matter to him.

The lights are too bright and it makes his eyes squint; drawing, somewhat unintentionally, to an unpleasant splattering of black and paled, sickly skin just several rows away.

His spine straightens, stomach curdling.

"House Harkonnen." He whispers; his father hears it, though, and his eyes trail over to the grotesquely gigantic man who takes up two seats - the machine suspending him as he reposes with several others around him. Memories, faint and not his, flash in his mind and disgust trickles through his veins.

Paul flares in fury; His father sighs, "Paul, you mustn't start anything."

As if he was going to walk up and slit Baron Harkonnen's throat in the middle of the Referendum?

He grits his teeth, "I won't." He says calmly, eyes stinging from the stare he casts.

A deep-seated rage simmers within him even as the meeting begins; fueled by a sense of injustice and a fiercely warm burning in his chest when he thinks of you- left to fight alone for years. The Harkonnens represent everything he despises: cruelty, deceit, and a complete disregard for the well-being of others - his House's deepest enemy, the vilest of beings.

Paul maintains his composure and pays attention to the council, but an extremely violent hatred gnaws at him relentlessly. Is one of those heads glinting in the fluorescents Feyd-Rautha? Will you have to stare into his eyes as the charges are read to you tomorrow?

His fingers twitch, but he does not dare disrupt the meeting. Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.

Things do not get better after this.

One by one, the representatives from each House cast their votes, their voices ringing out in the vast hall. Paul watches on with a sinking feeling as House after House sides with the proposed changes; Not necessarily a sealed fate for the economy of House Atreides, but certainly putting it at risk should the Baron decide to leverage his holdings.

After a recess, the final votes are tallied; Imperial Mentats, their eyes flashing, approve of the calculations. The presiding official steps forward - Paul, too lost in his thoughts of your dream last night, had missed the man's name - and addresses the gathered delegates.

"Esteemed members of the Landsraad, members of the Imperium," he begins, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The new spacing trade routes have been decided."

Paul's mind whirls with possibilities as the herald of change continues, "The routes are set to transform, with a large expansion through the Epsilon Opiuchi system and the Campas system," the herald announces, "along with direct routes through the Core Worlds of the Imperium."

As the implications of the announcement sink in, Paul feels a bizarre wash of calm; If nothing changes within the proprieties of the surrounding systems, the new routes present opportunities for expansion and growth. On the other hand, they also represented a shift in the balance of power within the Imperium; the Spacing Guild is in the Harkonnen's palm and the risk of the Baron leveraging this against the rest of the Landsraad is concerning.

Paul pushes through his mental calculations to admit that despite the changes, there are still open routes they could take without relying solely on Spacing Guild transportation if the market becomes saturated. With a quick turn to his father, he makes eye contact with Gurney. "What do we do now?" Paul asks, voice barely a whisper. His father's jaw is tight.

"We adapt." He responds.

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You're in the beginning stages of panic when the request comes.

Having bathed and taken a good thirty minutes to stare at the wall, letting your insides eat you alive in apprehension of tomorrow, you're startled when your handmaid comes and informs you the Lord Paul Atreides has requested your presence in his chambers.

Your brows furrow; it's much too late for that, but you are certain you'll go crazy if you spend the evening on your own.

You barely blink, hair still drying as you slip on a night gown, following the woman down the hall. Your anxiety is gnawing on you from the inside; and how does Paul seem to find you in every moment, with any weakness you may find? Several times before he's taken the grace to check in on you, be it out of duty or order by his parents or simply his good will and empathy, you are caught off-guard each time and still keenly unsure how to react.

Supper this evening was an affair dampened by the recounting of the official Referendum outcome; an event which boasted very little confidence in your small group considering the possibility of Harkonnen route monopoly. You’d barely touched your food and Paul looked more trouble than he normally does (another feat, considering the constant analysis he seems to impose upon his mind at any moment). In fact, you do wish to speak more about it- and freely, if you dare say so, without the hawk ears of the Sisterhood nor the political influence of the others to weigh in. You'd like to hear what Paul really thinks about it.

When you do enter Paul's room, you stare, bewildered, at the sight before you.

It's certainly not what you expect.

The table, positioned just near the lit hearth, is gaudy and full of at least five wine bottles - two fine crystal glasses rest, untouched, next to them.

Paul sits, his expression somber, as he uncorks one of the bottles; with a pop, the rich aroma of the wine fills the air and you tilt your head, walking cautiously further.

This is certainly not what you'd expected.

"Celebrating with a few bottles of wine, are we?" you remark, tone laced with bitterness.

Paul looks up, meeting your gaze with resignation. "There's little else to do but drink." he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irony. This is not necessarily true - this planet is full of parks, theaters, galleries, clubs, even. Paul seems uninterested in this tonight, though, and you barely got yourself over to his own chambers without disassociating for less than thirty seconds - there's not a chance the two of you will be venturing out into the Kaitain air tonight. You've got quite a big day ahead of you tomorrow.

You take the seat opposite him, body heavy with worry. "I suppose." you concede, fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you watch him pick up the bottle. "Your hard work's all but finished."

He doesn't respond to the jab and it makes you feel even worse.

"You told me once that you've never tried wine." He states simply, as if you weren't teetering on the edge of the worst day of your life, "I thought you'd like to taste." He says, tilting the bottle into your glass; the liquid flows viscously, a deep maroon color that reminds you of blood. You suppress the warmth that blows through your chest at this, surprised he remembers those off-handed few sentences you exchanged so many moons ago.

"They taste mostly the same to me, but I prefer red." His eyes don't leave the crystal, watching as it stains with the dark color.

You're so shocked - bewildered - and exhausted that you can only grin; a true, unimbued smile, because you do not want to think about what will happen tomorrow, and perhaps Paul can see that.

Looking at the glass, you bite your lip: you should have just stayed in your quarters and gone to sleep; But you don't necessarily want to be alone, either.

You wait until he's filled his own glass and then clink the rim of yours to his; watching as he lifts the liquid to his lips. His eyes flicker, lifting a brow when he sees you hesitating. "It's not poison." He mutters dryly. You sigh, taking a sip yourself as you avert your eyes.

It's bitter, but not in an unpleasant way - your gums tingle slightly, the smell of oak and a deep hint of pitted fruits. Cherries, plums, dark licorice... It almost tingles on your tongue. Spicy, deep.

You're pleasantly surprised as you swallow, making a noise of content. It feels warm all the way down and leaves a peculiar taste on your tongue after.

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Paul's lips are stained a reddish color by the end of the third glass.

Things seemed to slip from your grasp by the tasting of the second bottle - a Zincal, from the Southern Continent of Caladan. It was much more robust, and though Paul doesn't know much about wine he has studied his homeplanet's culture enough to impress any guest who visits - and talks you through each tasting as if he were a professor. It almost makes you want to laugh - the first sign that you are not completely your sane self.

The second sign is the low simmering heat that begins to grow the second that Paul leans back in his seat and stretches his shoulders back; the uniform from earlier discarded he is still in his under-tunic, a white number that was more unbuttoned than when you'd arrived earlier in the night.

His chest and exposed throat, gleaming and flushed from the heat of the room and the tannins of the wine, glisten gently. Your heart pounds hard in your throat; is this what being intoxicated feels like?

You're sure your lips are just as purple-stained as Paul's, but your mind is too fuzzy to consider this at all. You feel warm, surely the fire in the hearth is too high - your cheeks are on fire and your mind is more at ease and foggy than you've even felt in your dreams.

There's that distinct feeling again that you'd had days ago on board the ship before landing at Kaitain; like yourself, but more careless, free. Content, despite the doom that rumbles in the near distance.

On the fourth tasting - a bubbly white wine that is crisper than snow and delicate as lace - you feel yourself loosen, opening to Paul and letting words flow freer than you'd ever found before; he listens with gentle, large eyes as you sprawl on the floor, having taken the liberty to get more comfortable in his chambers.

"I met the Harkonnens when I was young." You explain, leaning back to stare at Paul through your lashes. "My mother was instructed to have me mate with Feyd-Rautha when I came of age, so we saw each other twice before I was sent there. Once at ten, then at fourteen."

There is a noise of disgust from the bedpost.

Paul lays, un-chivalrously sprawled on his bed; head upside-down, his dark curls hanging in tendrils towards the floor. His features, handsome and sharp, look most foreign upside-down, even as you sit on the rug, toying with the strings that have come loose with time.

His eyes are heavy with the effects of the wine, the room smells like cinnamon and cherries. You stifle a laugh at his noise and even more so at the look upon his face at your choice of words. Your hands move over your face but you don't really know if you have control over them, a feeling of lost control sending nothing but amusement to your muddled brain.

"It was a Bene Gesserit match?" He asks blurrily, but you know he knows the answer. You laugh - had you been slightly less inebriated, you'd never dare let out such a girlish thing, especially in his presence, but you can't help it.

You swipe hair away from your eyes. "Of course, it was." You sigh, leaning back to support yourself on your palms, head tilted sideways; His brows are incredibly full and move oddly, as if he's trying to make you laugh again. "As is ours."

It's a disquieting thought - one that sends you reeling through your drunk mind, trying to recall the Kwisatz Haderach and all you've learned about it. He seems to be lost in thought, too- his brows have settled low upon his lids in a calculating look, his hands laying neatly folded over his chest.

His face is red; perhaps from the hearth, or the wine, or from laying with the blood rushing to his head - it occurs to you with a bitter jealousy that he looks pretty even like this.

"It's late." You observe, watching the clock as it chimes; Paul hums in agreement, lazily tilting his glass until the remnants drop onto his tongue. You watch on with a fuzzy, aimless interest.

You should return to your bed- you'll be up in the morning early to be escorted to court.

A pang of fear and resistance courses through you.

You don't want this evening to end - or, you don't want the morning to begin. Plus, leaving Paul's quarters would require fighting to walk all the way back without rousing anybody else and settling in to bed on your own. And you quite like the blissful ignorance the wine has given you; an excuse to just be you for a night, not the disgraced and fallen noble woman, not the betrothed-twice and likely never again.

You sigh. "I don't enjoy sleeping like I used to." You hum, finishing your own glass and reaching for the half-empty bottle beside you. Your voice is syrupy and sweeter than usual, and it floats warmly in the room.

Paul watches your motions with slight amusement, eyes widening microscopically when you try to gnaw off the cork with your teeth. You suppose you’ll be embarrassed by this in the morning.

"I can't imagine why that could be." He muses, voice barely more than a murmur. You like his voice, you realize; it's quiet, deep, but contemplative.

You shrug, finally plying off the cork, blinking in surprise when your vision shifts with the movement. The vertigo reminds you of the feelings you find in those more pleasant dreams, the ones with Paul; the ticklish feeling of lips fluttering around your throat, a playful nip of teeth against your breast, the tight grip of hands upon your hips, pinning them down - that must be the reason for the words to fall from your lips so carelessly. "Some of my dreams I don't mind." Your words almost echo in the chamber, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence that follows.

This captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your frame quick; you ignore the gaze, focusing intently on pouring yourself another helping of the wine. This one, the fifth bottle, is more sweet - dessert wine, Paul had explained.

He doesn't respond to your words, but his lips part in a soft exhalation of breath.

You offer the bottle to him and numbly he nods, as if still reeling from your admission; you try to ignore the heat in your cheeks at such a profession, the weight of the words occurring to you only after you've said them.

Perhaps due to your state, you finally let yourself consider the thought that's been actively repressed for days: If he's been dreaming similar things as you, does that mean he dreams of... all of it? How does he feel about that?

Your eyes flicker to his hands, how deftly they move as he cracks a few knuckles - the vein that trickles down his arm, the creamy smooth skin that glows against the fire light. Does he see you similarly when he observes you in waking hours? Does he, in turn, dream about your sighs, about how it may feel to run his fingers through your hair as you lie on that white sheet in the middle of nowhere, to touch your heat and feel your desire?

You’re unsure what flares hot in your stomach at the concept; you can’t find it in you to care.

I don’t mind some of my dreams either.

The voice is low, no more than a distant rumble of thunder in your mind, a decisive declaration; with a fuzzy stare you register that his lips don’t even move.

Your blink is syrupy as you watch him with intrigue, staring under lidded lashes.

You can't be bothered to move more than a crawl; your head pounds, but there is a warmth within you that spreads like wildfire in the summer when you move.

He watches you with a stare that sends a shiver of intrigue over you- a predator frozen, watching prey creep forward. It is not what you expect; you expect wide eyes or maybe a blush - his cheeks are already pink, though, and there is something dark and hungry below his hazy, inebriated stare.

"You got me drunk," You say suddenly, blinking down at him. He stares back at you, lips parting - lips that are plush, pink, stained with the red from the very wine he'd brought all the way from Caladan

"Did I?” he asks, skeptical as he watches you upside down. You nod but it feels sloppy. Truthfully, you've never been safe enough to be drunk before, but you feel more safe than you’ve been in a long time here, on this strange planet, with this strange boy.

He shakes his head, "I told you to slow down," He furrows his eyebrows like he always does, but it looks very peculiar from where you sit before him, "-you're the one who took it as a challenge instead of a warning."

You blink, eyelashes slow and syrupy; shaking your head, you shrug. He’s right, he did encourage you to slow down, and you did take it as a challenge. You can't help it.

His lips are glossy - bitten and swollen, "I had to try them all," You say breathlessly, face hot, "-who knows if I'll be able to afford it after this week." At your words, he scoffs gently; you can smell the wine on his breath as it hits your cheeks.

"My wealth will be yours in just a few weeks. As will my name." He argues, eyes cast onto yours. After all this time, you're still hit with the surrealness of it all when it's said out loud.

You wonder, briefly, how odd you must look from his perspective; perched back on your shins, one hand in your lap and the other holding the bottle you'd intended to give to him.

"If you want wine for every meal, you can have it." He promises; you imagine he'd intended for it to come out teasing, but it comes out deeper. "Whatever you want." He adds.

It tugs your heart in a way that makes your hair stand on end; you know what you'd do if your legs weren't cemented to the ground, if your lips weren't gravitating towards his own. You'd probably run, against your better judgement.

Or, perhaps that would be the better judgement.

Whatever you want.

"I don't know what I want." You admit, your lips parting as you stare at his beautiful, angled jaw; it clenches under your scrutiny before he whispers softly, "That's okay."

There is a magnetism that pulls you to him like a moth seeking a warm flame.

Your hand finds itself on his skin before you can think about it. Soft, slightly ingrained with the beginnings of stubble; over his jaw your thumb strokes, feeling the sharp edges that lie below the soft, porcelain skin. To your surprise, he lets you touch him, as if both of you are pulled by some strong force towards the other and cannot stop.

"Is it?" You ask, a whisper under the flickering light of the hearth. “You made it seem like a flaw.” you muse, watching in intent fixation as those very lips move under your finger’s manipulation.

His lips part when your thumb runs over the bottom one, tugging it down curiously.

“It’s not a flaw,” he mutters in a gentle motion against your thumb; a sensation that is as foreign as it is exciting. The breath that leaves him hits your own lips. When did you lean closer? When did he?

His eyes are sparkling from this angle and they focus on your lips. You almost voice your doubt, but there is something that is pulling you to him- you are tired of talking, and his face is so incredibly inviting in the firelight.

When your lips press to his, you have to angle your face; the plush bottom lip against your top one feels odd, foreign.

It’s chaste, short as you pull your head away slightly. Heat chases you as you back away, blinking away your surprise; he doesn’t let you get too far though, as his cold fingers slide around your neck to stop you from pulling away.

Your stomach flutters as he tugs you back against him with fervor; as if this moment was one of forbidden lovers embracing for the very last time.

Your hands cup his jaw and his hair tickles the goosebumps that run over the exposed flesh of your chest.

There’s nothing in the room but a heavy syrupy scent- did you knock over the dessert wine? Your lips slide against Paul’s and you’re surrounded by his smell, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair.His lips are soft as he lets out a sigh in your mouth, tongue prodding your lip gently. Your sharp inhale keens your chest forward, coaxing your lips apart as he presses forward into you.

Everything slides off-kilter. Time starts to melt and warp with every slight movement you make, a low pounding in your head as you tilt your head to taste more of Paul.

The clock in the corner ticks, but the metronome is skewed and it starts to beat with your heart.

Pulling away for a moment, you let yourself gather a breath; His fingers are cold but you presently notice how warm the rest of him is- cheeks, jaw, shoulders, everything.

He’s moved upright on his mattress now; sitting up, he towers over where you perch on your knees, staring up at him with glossy eyes. A starved transgressant begging for salvation from the solemn preacher before you.

A hand soothes over your hair. Between his knees, your hands settle on his thighs; a heat rolls over in you and a yearning ignites. Paul stares down at you, eyes darkened and glossed over with the sheen of alcohol as he leans down, hand cupping your jaw.

What are we doing?

You think it gently, bewildered and surprised; but Paul stops just as his lips brush yours again. He gives you a look that sets unease- had you said that out loud?

It’s over as quick as it happens- Paul’s mouth has found purchase over your own and has taken the liberty of pushing against the plushness of your bottom lip.

Something flutters in your stomach; A need for more. His tongue slides against the seam of your lips with a drag of heat and you open for him, pressing further as your hands slide up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms.

But even amidst the dizzying rush of sensations, you feel when Paul breaks the kiss, his warm breath lingering against your lips. The room is at a standstill, but you feel as if you're spinning.

“You should probably go to bed,” his words are barely audible over the pounding of your heart, the beating in your head. They flutter like the wings of an insect over your lips.

For a brief moment, clarity pierces through the haze of desire, and a flush of embarrassment washes over you; The arraignment tomorrow, the dreams, the Bene Gesserit, House Harkonnen - all of it hits you in a dizzy spell and you break away from Paul's grasp suddenly, eyes wide.

Trying to regain your composure you nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his low-lidded, slow gaze. You find your footing as you rise from the floor and to your chagrin, Paul follows; ever chivalrous.

"I should." You say quietly, righting your hair and dress awkwardly. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late." You grasp for anywhere to hold on to, lest you fall into the chasm that has opened below you. He shakes his head, "It was me who kept you up." He mumbles; laced with sleep and something else.

He fumbles to open the chamber door, but you're grateful he attempted it before your shaking fingers did. The walk back across the hall to your quarters is shorter than you remember, thankfully; only a few hiccups from you and a few heavy breaths from him before you're standing in front of the large door, a settling of doom clouding around you like a bad thunderhead.

His hand, having never dared touch you so boldly before tonight, cups your arm gently. Staring at it, your eyes skip over the blurry figure before you; you swear, there's something of a halo lighting up his curls. "It'll be over quick, and we can go home." He says. There's no need to elaborate what he's speaking of; he always knows what you're thinking.

Perhaps you're too tired to conceal your worries, or you've just finally found yourself capable of admitting it to him. "I'm scared." You mumble.

His eyes are on your lips - he doesn't kiss you again, but you wonder faintly if he wants to. You'd like him to, you realize. It's a disquieting thought, borne from weeks of tense conversation, long glances, and arguments. How odd to miss the lips of a near stranger.

He nods shortly, "I know." He says, and it does nothing to quell the raging sea of despair that has resided from its previous numbness. Wine and handsome men can only do so much, you suppose. "I'm going to be there tomorrow." He says, voice low and quiet, still bleeding together from the crimson wine you'd poured. "You may not see me, but I'll be there."

You can only nod, knowing that tears will come soon; you will be caught dead before Paul sees you cry. You bid him good-night and then lie on your mattress, tears leaking emotionlessly through the cracks in your lashes.

You are enveloped in fear, worry, hate; numb to whatever just happened in Paul’s chambers and even more numb to what is to come in the morning.

You're not sure how, but you sleep through the night without a single dream.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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nologiconlystyles · 1 year ago

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Hii do u think ull update i still think about you all the time soon? I loved the first chp!!

Hello! ✨🖤 If you're referring to And I Loved You All The While, Ive actually got a few chapters already written but I don't wanna run into a defecit, so I'd like to have a couple more written (or at least a bit more planning done 😅😅) before I get into a more regular posting schedule. That fic in particular is such a self-indulgent little joy for me, so I don't want to pressure myself about it, if that makes sense. But I won't leave you hanging for long, I promise!

If you're talking about more from the I Still Think About You All the Time 'verse, I've got three more half-written timestamps that will go up soon, hopefully.

Either way, I'm so happy you enjoyed enough to ask about it 🖤✨

#asks #i still think about you all the time #my fics

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mrkis · 2 years ago

Text

the way life goes — bonus(pt.2). (n.jm)

PAIRING: na jaemin x reader GENRE: smut, angst, fluff, college au WORD COUNT: 14.3k

SYNOPSIS: you finally get inside jaemin's mind. flashbacks in jaemin's point of view could change everything.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: this is a bonus flashback chapter featuring unseen content from the original parts. jaemin's thought process can come across as confusing and it will remain confusing, he goes through a lot of up and down moments, heavy mentions of panic attacks and anxiety, emotional and lost jaemin, the return of you know who, explicit content, unprotected sex, daddy kink, choking, light make-outs

[series m.list]

— [𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒]

Jaemin doesn’t know if you know, but he knows you’ve been avoiding him for almost a week.

You’ve been acting weird since you came back from getting breakfast the other morning, refusing to meet his gaze and even blowing off the promised movie you’d both watch, going straight to bed for a nap with no spoken words. You told him you were tired, that you were too exhausted from sleeping on the sofa and that you just needed your bed, but he didn’t believe that. It was a weak excuse, but he didn’t want to question it, not when he could see you didn’t want to discuss anything further with him. He still followed you though, he even came to nap with you and held you tightly as you slept, just for comfort, just to let you know that he was there for you.

It irks him a little that you didn’t tell him what was wrong that morning and now with you ignoring him like the plague, he was getting frustrated, maybe even a little annoyed.

Truthfully, he was starting to get busy with his photography projects, one of his finals coming up soon that desperately needed to be done but he still tried to make time for you. He called you almost every night and, thankfully, you answered a few of them. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a long phone call, lasting around 10-15 minutes, enough time to get the both of you off whenever you called each other horny.

Other times he just wanted to talk. He wanted to ask about your day, about your assignments, wanting to know what you’re working on and if you’ve eaten already, but it never happened. Either the call would be cut short due to you yawning or the both of you being too sexually frustrated to hold a full conversation.

You both haven't slept with each other in a week and it’s fair to say that he’s a little desperate, but it's pushed aside by the intense curiosity on why you've been ignoring him. He won't admit that to you though. Not right now. He doesn't want to seem pushy in trying to get inside your head.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do for your final project?” He hears Junghoon ask from beside him and Jaemin shrugs his shoulders, not really caring about the final project this moment in time when he’s got his phone in his hands, bringing up your recent texts. Short and straight to the point, different from how you both usually text. His tongue prods his cheek in anger. “Trouble in paradise, huh?”

Jaemin raises his head and turns to look at Junghoon who’s a little too close to him, the deadpan expression on Jaemin’s face is enough for the latter to slowly move back in his chair, giving Jaemin his respected space with a gulp. He holds intense eye contact with Junghoon before bringing his attention back to his phone, thumbs vigorously tapping against the screen to send you a message.

jaemin: can u come over after classes today jaemin: i want to see u jaemin: i need to see u

you: what abt your photography projects you: i thought u will be busy all week too

jaemin: fuck that. jaemin: i want to be busy with you

you: idk jae..

jaemin: come jaemin: i mean it

“So… is there trouble in paradise?”

“You like to invade people's privacy a lot” Jaemin points out, shutting off his phone and shoving it inside his pocket as he side glances at Junghoon who seems a little offended at his jab. “You’re not good at giving people their personal space, are you?”

“I wouldn’t call it that” Junghoon frowns. “I’m just very intrigued and—”

“Nosey?”

Junghoon jumps straight in to attack, “My life is boring, okay? I’m living vicariously through you right now. You are sadly the only thing that’s entertaining in my life and you’re just going to have to deal with it”

Jaemin’s brows raise in amusement, the corner of his lips twitching as he tries to hide his smile and Junghoon huffs, finding defeat in the lack of Jaemin’s answer as he turns back to his computer, lip jutting out into a pout as he scrolls through his photography files.

This time, Jaemin smiles, hand moving over his mouse and watching the cursor glide across the screen. “There’s no trouble. We’ve just been too busy to see each other lately”

The sound of Junghoon’s chair scraping against the floor makes Jaemin chuckle, seeing Junghoon excitedly move closer in the corner of his eye, leaning on his elbow as he, yet again, invades Jaemin’s personal space but he holds back on any comments this time, allowing Junghoon to have his moment.

“Yeah?” Junghoon grins interestedly. “When was the last time you saw each other?”

“The day after Sunwoo and Yeeun’s party”

“That was almost a week ago” Junghoon gapes, his brows furrowing. Jaemin hums with a nod. “That’s tough… I mean, I’m not even with anyone, but if I wasn’t able to see my girlfriend for—“

“We’re not together” Jaemin cuts in and Junghoon blinks in surprise. “We’re just sleeping together”

“What?” Junghoon whisper-shouts, eyes wide as he leans closer to Jaemin. “With the way you guys were acting at the party, it seemed like you were more than ‘just sleeping together’”

“We’re exclusive” Jaemin adds. “Exclusive friends with benefits. That’s all it is”

“Did you become exclusive before or after that threeway kiss between her, Jeno and Miwoo had?” Junghoon teases, wiggling his brows at Jaemin who looks far less than impressed, narrowing his eyes at Junghoon and lips curling into a grimace to which the latter cackles at. “l’m kidding, dude. Relax… But this ‘exclusive-friends-with-benefits’ must be pretty serious, huh? I mean… when you and Eunbin—“

“You’re getting a little too personal, Junghoon” Jaemin warns, giving Junghoon a look that makes him cower back slightly, instantly throwing up his hands to say he means no harm but Jaemin’s already triggered, no longer wanting to discuss the topic anymore.

“I didn’t mean it like that” Junghoon frowns apologetically. “I’m sorry, man…”

“It’s fine” Jaemin’s answer is short, lips pressing together in a tight line and Junghoon sighs, pushing his chair back into its original spot as he focusses back on his work, allowing himself to accept Jaemin’s blunt answer of ‘fine’. But it wasn’t fine. It never was fine.

• • •

“Shit” Jaemin curses at himself, as he stares at the smallest of stains on his sweater from the two iced coffees he’s holding on a tray, having spilt some on himself as he tries to open the front door with his hands full. He manages to do it after a few failed attempts, choosing in using his elbow to push down the door handle and kick it open with his foot before using the same one to close it again, readjusting his camera in one hand and making sure the beverages are stable on the tray as he walks through the house.

He goes to head straight upstairs to wait for you but he comes to a halt when he hears your laugh coming from the kitchen. Jaemin didn’t expect you to be here so early and he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his lips from hearing your laugh, heading straight for the sound but stops in the kitchen doorway when he sees you accompanied by Jeno and Jeno holding your hand.

His face twists in confusion, watching as Jeno squeezes your hand gently with the most reassuring smiles he has ever seen. His brows pull together as wonders on what Jeno’s reassuring you about, but the way you both laugh together as you pull your hand from Jeno’s and he chases it, that’s when Jaemin can’t help but clear his throat to grab the attention in the room.

Jaemin doesn’t take much notice of Jeno looking at him when he’s got you staring at him. His heart flutters slightly as you make eye contact with him, a weird feeling washing over him that almost makes him feel a little bit uncomfortable, but he decides to welcome it with open arms if it means he gets to be with you today. He’s missed you, more than he’d care to ever admit. He wants to talk to you, to finally ask about your day, to finally ask where you’ve been and how you’ve been holding up with your classes… but he wants to do it alone. He doesn’t want Jeno here.

Jeno, being the saint he is, understands the message Jaemin silently gives as he raises from his chair at the kitchen island, shoving his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants as he excuses himself, mumbling about how he was going to see Miwoo and Jaemin could almost kiss him right then and there as a thank you, but his gratitude slowly slips away when Jeno makes eye contact with him before dipping past, a quiet ‘you-need-to-talk’ type of look that leaves Jaemin even more confused than he already was coming in earlier.

It doesn’t take long for Jaemin to ask you to come upstairs to his room, muttering a small thank you as you open the door for him due to his hands being preoccupied and you even close it yourself which he’s thankful for again, carefully putting down his camera on his desk along with the coffee tray and handing one over to you, proudly showing the ‘iced toasted vanilla latte’ sticker thats plastered across the back for you to see.

You take it out of his grasp. “Thank you”

The corner of Jaemin’s lips turn into a frown as he realises you didn’t recognise he’s got you your favourite drink, feeling slightly defeated as his shoulders shrink, grabbing his own coffee with a small mutter of, “You’re welcome”.

It’s quiet between you and Jaemin, too quiet. It makes his head overcrowded with too many thoughts and questions, especially some regarding what was going on between you and Jeno downstairs. Was Jaemin jealous? Not exactly, he’d like to argue. He knows how close you and Jeno are. He knows that the two of you have been friends much longer than you have with any of the others… so it’s obvious you would be close. The threeway kiss he saw you, Jeno and Miwoo participate in at the party was definitely something that’s unable to escape his mind… but he knows you were all drunk. None of you were sober. It was just for fun.

So what exactly is the problem? He’s secretly nosey, for starters. He wants to know what you both were talking about earlier and, even though he doesn’t want to admit to it, he was confused on why Jeno was holding your hand and giving you reassurance… because what would you need reassurance about? It worries Jaemin a lot, he wants to be the one to reassure you. Is there something you’re hiding from him?

“What were you and Jeno talking about before I came in earlier?”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen slightly before relaxing your shoulders. “It’s nothing important… He was just cheering me up, that’s all. My assignments are just getting to my head, they’re stressing me out a little”

Oh. Jaemin frowns at that, a ugly feeling settling in his chest at the thought of you being so stressed and worked up over your assignments, as he reaches his hand down to affectionately caress the back of your head, pushing you forwards carefully to lean down and press a chaste kiss to your forehead. Your frown matches his and he can’t help but feel as though there’s more than what you’re letting on, but he doesn’t want to stress you out anymore, he doesn’t want to see you be caught up in your worries.

“You work too hard, hm?” Jaemin coos in that voice he knows that you hate so much, but it makes you smile and his chest soars when he sees that exact smile creeping onto your face. “You need to chill out… your health is more important than some assignments”

“I know, but—”

“You’re smart and you know exactly what you’re doing” He cuts you off, not allowing you to make up any excuse. His hand resumes in caressing the back of your head, rings getting caught in your hair which you both snicker at, but he goes back into serious mode as he speaks, “Chill out with me today, okay? You can even nap on my bed if you want to… it’s all yours”

“All mine?”

“All yours”

• • •

Despite telling you to chill on his bed, Jaemin couldn’t exactly do that himself due to a photography project he had to work on. He did lay with you for a bit, trying to get you to talk about your day and what you’ve been doing since you’ve been so busy, but the one worded answers and the simple replies got under his skin a little. It seemed like you weren’t interested in having a conversation with him, to which he blamed you being so stressed over your assignments and potentially too tired. He yearned for you to talk to him, to tell him everything that's going on inside of your head and that he could help you… but with the lack of communication, Jaemin gave up.

He sits at his desk, the sound of him clicking his mouse and sighing to himself about mistakes being the only noises that break the silence you’re both stuck in. He glances over his shoulder a few times during his work, seeing you rotate between sipping the last remains of your drink, playing games on your phone and laying against the pillows while staring up at his ceiling mindlessly. Jaemin even looks up at the ceiling, wondering what’s so fascinating about his white ceiling that you can’t even find the words to talk to him.

It doesn’t take long for Jaemin to crack, pausing his work to swivel around in his chair to face you, the quietness and the lack of talking becoming too much for him to handle. He feels frustrated, horny, annoyed, maybe even a little upset.

“Okay, what’s going on?” He breaks the silence as he stands, abandoning his project as he makes his way over to you on the bed. You still don’t look at him which he sighs at, standing in between your legs that hang off the edge of the bed, his hands touch your thighs, kneading and groping the skin. His gaze turns hard as he looks down at you. “You’ve been weird this past week and there’s no point in trying to deny it either… I know you. What’s been going on?”

“Nothing” You mumble to him distractingly, eyes dazed. “I’m just tired”

“Do you expect me to really believe that?” He quirks his brow, tuting with a shake of his head as his hands grope your thighs harder, thumbs pushing into the flesh. “You think I haven’t noticed you actively avoiding me?”

“W-what?! No, I—” You stutter immediately, struggling to find the right words. He’s got you. So you have been avoiding him on purpose. “Jae, I—”

“I just want to play with you” His voice whines, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout at the thought of you avoiding him all this time. He feels annoyed and a little taken back, but with how horny he’s been feeling and seeing you stare up at him the way you are, he lets his annoyance slip away. You whisper his name, but he hardly pays any attention as he speaks again, “How am I supposed to play with you if you keep avoiding me and hiding from me, hm? That’s not nice… is it, baby?”

“No” You shake your head, your own arousal pooling in your eyes and Jaemin fights the urge to grin at how turned on you are right now.

“Can I play with you now?” He asks and you’re quick to nod your head, just as desperate as he is. “Then open your legs for me, baby”

The way you open your legs to invite him in makes Jaemin grin wickedly, gripping your thighs tight in his grasp as he pulls you down the bed. He grunts softly when the bulge in his shorts presses against you, his teeth digging into his bottom lip when he feels you lift your hips to rub yourself over his covered cock, the grin on his face widening. You’re so desperate for him… it’s cute.

You lean up on your elbows but Jaemin is quick to push your back down as he crawls on top, hovering over you with a tilt of his head. Something stirs inside of him as he sees the expression on your face, eyes wide and needy, mouth parting with small gasps escaping your lips. It’s something he’s felt before when he was with Eunbin, but it was always pushed to the side, something he couldn’t explore further into… but he would be willing to dive further if you were up for it too.

He swats your hand away when you try to touch his face and you obey, resting your hand at your sides despite him feeling the way your hips continue to rub against his. He sighs at your reaction with a tut, running his hand up your body and over your chest, ghosting over your neck.

“Look at you… so desperate” He rasps, tracing his index finger over your throat carefully, watching your reactions for any uncertainty or hesitations. Seeing none, Jaemin’s even more careful when he decides to wrap his hand around your throat, waiting for you to pull away at any moment but you melt into his grasp with a gasp. The corner of his lips twitch excitedly and he adds slight pressure, feeling you gulp beneath his touch.

He forgets for a few moments about the rings on his fingers hurting you and he panics, getting ready to move his hand away and get rid of the rings until he hears you moan. A pathetic sounding high pitched moan that sends his head into a frenzy. His mouth drops open in shock, never having heard that sound come from you before but he regains himself, shutting his mouth as he wants nothing more than to have you make that noise again.

“Baby, I’ll give you everything you want…” Jaemin says as he presses his thumb against the side of your throat, his hips beginning to rut against yours. He hesitates before he says his next words, but he wants to test the waters with you. “There’s no need to be a bratty little bitch”

“Fuck” He hears you moan out and he feels giddy, trying his hardest not to break character to giggle. He watches as your fingers curl around his necklace to drag him down, puckering your lips to press them against Jaemin’s but he’s quick to pull back, to keep a distance between you both.

“Apologise first” He says with a smirk, glancing down at your lips that press together tightly. “Apologise, and I’ll give it to you”

“I’m sorry”

His heart warms at that, fighting the urge to actually smile at your apology. He was hurt with you avoiding him, even though you must’ve had your real reasons that Jaemin will wait for you to feel comfortable enough to tell him, but he was still hurt.

“Sorry what?” Jaemin presses, wanting to go over the line and see if you’d be comfortable enough in delving deep in one of his fantasies. You’re quiet now, which makes Jaemin a little nervous. He doesn’t want to push you too far nor does he want to make you uncomfortable. He briefly remembers a conversation with you, how the two of you should be open with your kinks and fantasies and should at least try anything once.

He can see the cogs turn in your head as you figure out exactly what he wants you to say. You don’t show any disgust or hesitancy. You’re breathings laboured and Jaemin can still feel you gently humping his leg like a bitch in heat. He smiles at that.

“Baby…” He calls out tauntingly, adding extra pressure to the grip he has around your neck and you whine. “Are you going to say it?”

“I’m sorry…” You whimper quietly, your fingers tugging at his necklace again to pull him closer and Jaemin obliges, nodding his head, so eager for you to mutter that word. “Daddy”

Fuck. He’s done for. “That’s my good girl”

• • •

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you” Jaemin mutters in your ears as his arms slip under your body to hold you to his chest securely. He feels terrible when your face screws up in pain from the soreness that spreads through your body and he presses his lips to your temple as he lifts you up from his bed, cooing in your ear at your whining. He’s careful as he carries you into the bathroom, the activities from a few moments before taking a toll on his own body but he pushes it to the side to focus on you.

He’s gentle when he sits you down on the bathroom counter, leaving you for a brief moment to run the water to fill up the bathtub. Jaemin comes back to stand in between your thighs, grabbing the packet of wet wipes from the side and pulling a few sheets out and leaving them on the side for use.

Jaemin cups your face as he gently wipes at the mascara that has smudged around your eyes, face full of concentration as he’s careful not to poke and prod at any sensitive areas or even accidentally jab your eye. He’s seen this done by Jeno multiple times for Miwoo and he’s glad he’s taken some mental notes otherwise he’s sure he would’ve messed up horribly by now. He mutters a quiet apology as he sees you wince when his thigh accidentally knocks against yours, creating too much movement in your legs which you’ve voiced how sore they are.

His hands drop down to your thighs to massage the aches and pains, watching your face intently for any show of discomfort but you’re smiling at him thankfully, head drooping low from tiredness but he makes a noise of disapproval, shaking his own head as he cups your face.

“Can you stay awake a little longer for me?” His voice is quieter than usual and it startles him slightly, feeling that unusual but familiar sinking feeling in his chest, but he ignores it to focus his attention more on you.

“Okay” You simply answer with a murmur, nodding your head. Jaemin whispers a thank you as he presses a soft smooch to your lips, pulling back before he could even allow himself to get carried away in the feeling of your lips. He sees you trying to sway him back in but a nose of protest rumbles from his chest, shaking his head as he silently tells you no. You oblige with a pout but the smile soon comes back when Jaemin gently pushes his forehead against yours.

He moves back to briefly kiss your temple, arms slipping around your body to haul you off of the bathroom counter to help you into the bath, squeezing himself in behind you and resting your back against his chest comfortably.

Jaemin takes his time washing you, his hands light and careful whenever he touches your body, scrubbing you clean with your favourite scented soap that he kept in his bathroom. He coos in your ear when he reaches in between your thighs, cleaning away yours and his cum that sticks to your skin and even when you flinch away in pain, he calms you down, humming softly to distract you from the aches and pains.

That sinking feeling in his chest gets deeper, his head beginning to swirl with unspeakable thoughts and he finds it a little hard to breathe now, the anxiety that's slowly rising within him getting worse and Jaemin finishes cleaning you up before cleaning himself as quick as possible, soaping up his body and washing it away while trying to keep you awake, wanting you to be in bed to get a good night's sleep.

Jaemin climbs out of the bath first, grabbing a towel to secure around his waist before helping you out, covering your body in the most comfiest of towels and guiding you back into his bedroom. It doesn’t take Jaemin too long to dry your body, even trying his best to tie your hair out of your face, getting frustrated at the little baby hairs that slip out from the hair tie but he leaves it, dressing you in one of his old shirts and allowing you to get comfy under the covers with small comforting pats on your back.

You fall asleep in a matter of seconds which always seems to impress Jaemin, watching your chest rise and fall with slow and steady breaths. He, admittedly, finds you beautiful like this, bare faced and at peace in his bed. His fingers reach up to trace across your delicate features, smoothing over your eyebrows and eyelids, over your nose and across your lips. He turns his hand over to brush his knuckles over your cheek and down your jaw but he retracts when you shift in your sleep and yet again, that sinking feeling. That dark, deep sinking feeling is back again.

Jaemin shuffles back from you and off the bed to grab a fresh pair of boxers out of his drawers, pulling them up his legs and resting low on his hips, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, fighting off the heavy weighted thoughts that rest in the back of his mind. He collapses down at the edge of the bed with a huff, blunt nails pinching at his thighs to regain control of himself, trying his hardest to listen to the rain that pelts heavily against his window along with your steady breathing. It works for a little, his hands leaving his thighs to come together, mindlessly fiddling with the rings as he now stares out past his drawn blackout curtains, dark and gloomy grey skies staring back at him.

Something pulls at his chest again and drops low into his stomach, but it’s different this time, because he feels nothing but everything all at once. His body feels so foreign to him and he even slowly glances down at his hands, flexing his fingers to make sure all ten digits are intact and that he’s conscious. You have more or less fingers when you’re lucid dreaming, he reminds himself. He slowly raises his hand and places it on his chest, above his heart. You’re still beating.

If everything was working normally, why does he feel so shitty? Why does he feel so empty and lost? The sex wasn’t bad, it was the best sex he’s had in awhile and he was thankful you were open to indulge in one of his fantasies. He enjoyed it and most importantly to him, you enjoyed it… so what was wrong with him? Jaemin sighs in frustration, rubbing his face tiredly as he pushes himself off the bed to walk over to his mini fridge beneath his desk to grab a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and taking a few hefty gulps, the coldness soothing his tight throat.

His eyes look around the room, to his computer, to the polaroid picture, to the bed, to you, to the ring sitting on his bedside table. To that ring.

He stares at the dainty jewellery for a while longer as he gulps more water, finishing the bottle in seconds before his bare feet drag across the floorboards to his the item in question, carefully picking it up and examining it between his two fingers. His lips form in a straight line. Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing going on inside his head right now. It worries him a lot, knowing that every time he even spared a glance at the ring, there would be images popping up inside his head, past conversations echoing in his ears, dread and hurt filling his stomach.

It makes him sick.

“Jaemin?” He hears you groggily call out his name from beneath his blanket and he hears you shuffle around, undoubtedly looking for him. Your voice brings him comfort and it drags him back to reality, the thoughts that begin to overcrowd his mind disappear as fast as they came. He can breathe again.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t answer at first, instead he swallows thickly and closes his fist around the ring with a shaky breath, reaching down to rip open his bedside drawer and throw the ring inside, slamming it shut with a loud thump that has his ears ringing. Jaemin winces at the noise, hoping he didn’t affect your ears as much as it did his.

He’s quiet climbing beside you in bed, crawling beneath the covers and resting his head on the pillow, turning to stare straight at you. Despite the only light in the room being the moonlight seeping through the gap in his curtain, he can see the curiosity and wonder pooling in your iris, a question laying on the tip of your tongue that he’s internally begging you not to ask yet. He’s not ready… and he’s worried about that. Will he ever be ready?

Jaemin exhales deeply, feeling the stress lift away from his body as his hand comes down to touch your cheek delicately, tracing over the skin before he messily tucks a strand of hair behind your ears, keeping it out of your face and away from your ears. His fingers come around to play with the ear that dangles prettily from your ears, smiling to himself when he realises you’ve forgotten to take it off before bed.

His eyes dart down to your lips, licking over his own just as he leans forward, caving into his urges of giving you a kiss, a kiss so gentle and soft that it makes Jaemin’s neck feel hot, especially with how your hand cups his face to keep him in place, holding him so carefully in the palm of your hands. It makes Jaemin’s heart melt.

He’s really missed you… and he hopes you missed him too.

— [𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐎]

“Are you alright?” Jeno asks cautiously as he looks up from his phone, watching Jaemin mindlessly swirl the spoon around in his cereal, not paying attention to the milk that spills over the edge. “Jae?”

Jaemin hums, turning his head to Jeno who’s pointing at the mess and Jaemin’s gaze drops down, curses under his breath as he quickly grabs a napkin to wipe away the spillage, throwing the wet paper into the trash with a huff.

Jeno’s brows furrow worryingly, curious to what’s going on inside of Jaemin’s head as he shuts off his phone, leaning his arms on the kitchen table in front of him, giving Jaemin his full attention.

“Dude, what’s going on?”

“Nothing” He immediately answers, but his eyes shut in defeat as he realises that this is Jeno he’s talking to, knowing that he’s not the type to drop the subject so quickly. It’s been a few days since you came over and the feeling he experienced after having sex with you hasn’t fully disappeared, it’s been lingering on his mind ever since and eating him alive, along with the ring that’s locked away in his bedside drawer. “It’s hard to explain”

Jeno gets comfortable in his seat, offering Jaemin a gentle smile. “Try”

“I, uh—” Jaemin’s clears his throat. “I had sex with Y/N the other day, the day you guys were talking in here before I came home, and I… I don’t know, it was pretty intense, I guess. We dove into something for the first time and I think I lost myself for a while, things felt weird—I felt weird… emotionally”

"Postcoital Dysphoria"

Jaemin’s face turns blank, not understanding a word that came out of Jeno’s mouth. “What?”

Jeno chuckles, the corner of his lips twitching upwards in amusement. “It’s postcoital dysphoria. I’ve experienced it a few times with Miwoo when we had sex. It’s just something that sometimes happens when having good, intense sex… It’s normal, dude. You don’t have to worry about it, you’re fine”

“I am?” Jaemin questions and when Jeno laughs at his response, Jaemin’s face drops into another blank expression which has Jeno laughing even harder than before. “Jeno, come on, I’m serious”

“I’m serious too” Jeno grins, “You’re fine. Your mood just drops after using so much emotion and stuff when having sex. Trust me, I’ve been there. I’ve freaked out too wondering if something was wrong with me but it’s normal” Jeno pauses for a moment, the grin dropping from his face as he looks warily over at Jaemin. “Although, If you’re experiencing that a lot then maybe you should talk to—”

“It’s only happened once” Jaemin is quick to add in, watching as Jeno’s shoulders drop in relief. Jaemin purses his lips slightly, feeling his own relief weight off of his body knowing that everything was okay. “Thank you, by the way… for telling me about that”

“No problem” Jeno dismisses with a shake of his hand. “I’ve been there with Miwoo”

“Yeah?” Jaemin’s brow raises slightly, remembering Jeno even admitted to that earlier. “Where is Miwoo anyway? Doesn’t she usually come over earlier on Thursdays?”

Jaemin instantly notices that Jeno’s tongue prods against his cheek in annoyance and Jaemin takes this as a sign to sit down, pushing his bowl of cereal to the side as he looks at Jeno worryingly. The relationship Miwoo and Jeno have has always been complicated, even to Jaemin. They bicker a lot but they always make up at the end of the night. The dents on Jeno’s bedroom wall from his headboard can prove that. They don’t stay angry at each other for too long, and even when Jeno comes to Jaemin for his support and thoughts, he’s never been this annoyed… or upset.

“We’re on a break, for real this time” Jeno mumbles, making Jaemin frown at this new information. “We had this stupid argument on Tuesday after our date, about how I wanted to dye my hair blue for fun and she said no, so we bickered about that… but it turned into something bigger”

Jaemin dares to ask, “How big?”

“Very” Jeno sighs, rubbing his face and running his fingers through his growing mullet sadly. “I’ve been stressed these past few days about college and some other stuff that’s been going on in my head. My professor has been wanting me and my group partner, Jungwoo, to come up with these designs that have been burning me out and… I don’t know, I talked to Miwoo about it and I guess I just wanted some comfort and advice from her, but she just brushed it to the side and tried to sleep with me instead to make me feel better that way… I didn’t want that”

“So it caused an argument between you two?”

“Yeah” Jeno nods, raising his eyes to look at Jaemin with a saddened expression. “I said some things I regret, really regret. I called her selfish and inconsiderate of my feelings… I was angry. I didn’t mean it”

“I mean…” Jaemin exhales deeply, twiddling with his thumbs as he tries to find the right words to say. “As much as that girl tests me, she’s not selfish… sure, she can be a little inconsiderate sometimes, but I know Miwoo well enough to say that she probably wanted to sleep with you during that moment because that’s the only way she knows how to make you feel better”

Jeno’s brows furrow at that, “Ouch?”

“We both know it’s the truth” Jaemin shrugs. “Look, dude, you and Miwoo have been together for longer than I can remember and you’ve always resolved any problems or issues with sleeping together… You don’t talk. You don’t communicate with each other because, let’s face it, fucking is so much easier than talking. But maybe that’s what you need, you know? You need to just… talk”

Jaemin’s voice quietens down as his own words sink in, realising how much he needs to hear this himself. He needs to talk to you. He needs to be honest instead of using sex as a way to escape. He slumps back into his seat, biting down harshly on his inner cheek, anxiously picking at the skin around his fingernails as the words settle. He needs to talk to you.

The thought about opening up sounds scary to him, that uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of his belly when he realises talking to you about his past will open up mending wounds. He tries to convince himself that maybe opening up to you about his relationship with Eunbin will help him heal… but there’s always that little voice of doubt in the back of his head that tells him it will all go terribly wrong.

“You good over there?” Jeno asks with a slight teasing tone and Jaemin meets his eyes, nodding his head briefly. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine” Jaemin gives him a tight lipped smile as his hand reaches into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Jeno watches as Jaemin’s thumbs tap against the screen, pulling up your contact and clicking the call icon, bringing the phone to his ear.

Jaemin’s bottom lip gets caught between his teeth, biting down on the skin nervously as he listens to the phone ring, wondering if you’re even awake or busy but his thoughts are soon answered when the ringing stops and your voice comes through.

“Hello?”

“Get dressed. I’m coming to get you in five minutes” He immediately gets into it, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart, the sound echoing in his ears with each heavy thud.

“What?” Your confusion is clear, it makes him smile a little. “What are you talking about?”

“I want to see you. I’m also thirsty so I’m taking us to get some coffee or something… my treat” His eyes darts towards Jeno who's still watching him with a smile, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. “Just me and you. Get dressed”

“Okay, okay” He hears you laugh. “I’m hanging up”

“See you soon, baby” Jaemin lets out a shaky breath when you hang up, staring down at your contact for a little while before shoving his phone into his pocket. “Stop staring at me”

“Sorry” Jeno grins cheekily. “Just admiring the view”

— [𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒]

During the entire trip to the café, Jaemin had completely forgotten about the reason why he called you in the first place, to focus on the peaceful conversation he was having with you and how you practically floated to the counter filled with pastries and cakes once you both walked inside.

He doesn’t blame you, the smell of coffee and baked goods is overwhelming, but he still laughs when he sees your fingers press against the glass cabinet where the desserts were showcased, his own hand raising to the back of your head and cooing at your behaviour to which you simply ignore.

“Welcome to 7 Dream Café” Jisung greets with little to no enthusiasm, clearly tired of having to use the same greeting over and over again whenever someone comes to the counter. “Can I take your order?”

“Do you have to say that every time we come here?” Jaemin asks, eyebrows raising in amusement.

“Sadly” Jisung mutters angrily, adjusting the dark blue pinny around his waist. “Apparently it’s a good look for the company to greet customers with the cafe’s name, makes it look like we’re professionals and all that shit”

“Did they say that or Chenle?”

Jisung pauses, blinks and his lips curl into a grimace. “Chenle”

“He’s probably fucking around with you” You tell him once your attention is brought away from the cakes. “Where is that little gremlin anyways?”

“Out the back teaching the new girl how to decorate the cakes. He nearly dumped a whole bowl of frosting over her head when she fucked up his flower design” Jisung snorts, not bothering to hide is amusement as he wipes the fake tears under his eyes.

“You seem way to happy about that”

“I’m just glad it’s not me this time” Jisung grins happily as fingers tap against the touchscreen of the cash register at the most expert pace, briefly looking up at Jaemin. “You want your usual, yeah?”

Jaemin hums and nods his head, reaching for his card before tapping it against the glass cabinet. “And throw in two of those little cupcakes that she’s been eyeing up since we got here”

“Gotcha”

“Hey!”

Jaemin shushes you by pressing his finger to your lips, shaking his head with a smile before ordering you to go find a seat while he pays. You comply with slight hesitation and he watches as you head towards a table at the back before Jisung hands over the drinks. He taps his card against the reader before grabbing the drinks and following behind you, setting them down on the table as he sits opposite you.

He thanks Jisung once he comes over with the cakes before scurrying off to serve another customer and Jaemin grabs the fork, twirling it around his fingers as he examines the treat, deciding to cut off a corner piece and holding it out towards you to try first. The smile lingers on his face a little longer when he sees you beam and lean forwards to wrap your lips around the fork for the cake, humming in delight at the taste.

Jaemin brings the fork to his lips to suck off the remaining cream, keeping his eyes on you as he waits for your approval.

“Holy shit” He snickers at that and cuts off his own piece to try, only to widen his eyes in surprise at the taste that hits his tongue. He wasn’t a huge fan of cake, but the red velvet taste that hits his taste buds almost makes him change his mind completely. You grin at him from across the table. “It’s good, right? I’ve never tasted anything more delicious in my life”

“Eh…” Jaemin shrugs his shoulders as he takes in your form, eyes dipping low suggestively before a smirk appears on his lips, his mind overcrowded with the dirtiest thoughts and images. “I’ve tasted better”

• • •

“You know, you never told me about you”

Jaemin raises his head to glance at you across the table, brow lifting in curiosity at your words. “What do you mean?”

“About you… and Eunbin” There it was. The reason why he’s called you here in the first place. A sour taste forms in his mouth at the familiar name, tongue poking at his cheek, irritated at the thoughts and the feelings that come rushing back almost instantly.

His fingers tighten around his cup, the plastic crinkling beneath the force and he places it down before any damage could be done. He can tell you looking at him warily without even taking a peek at you and he breathes heavily through his nose.

“It’s just I’ve heard so much about her, you know? And I’ve heard how people talk about her…” You continue much to Jaemin’s dismay. “She seems really… sweet? I guess? It just makes me wonder what the hell happened between you both”

Jaemin looks up at you this time, fully regretting wanting to talk to you as he feels his stomach twist and churn uncomfortably. “Y/N—”

“Look, I’m sorry for bringing it up. Everyone knows her apart from me and It’s frustrating because I told you everything about me and my past relationship with Eric… I guess I kinda been hoping that you’d open up at some point and tell me about yours too, but you never did”

Just tell her. That voice speaks in the back of his head. He knows a great part of him wants to lay it all out on the table, to explain his relationship with Eunbin and how the breakup made him feel. But there’s another side of him that’s desperate to keep him quiet, to not let you in on his deepest thoughts and feelings, to not let you know how broken Eunbin had truly made him.

Yet, you make him comfortable. He’s been sharing parts of him with you that he hasn’t shared in a long time. He relaxes around you, allows his body to melt into the comfort of your arms or even your presence. But still, the thought of telling you about Eunbin makes his heart feel as though it’s twisting uncomfortably in his chest and that his stomach is being repeatedly punched.

Maybe he should just rip the bandaid off. Like he told Jeno, talking is important. People need to talk no matter how difficult of a conversation it could be… communication is key.

His teeth gnaw nervously at his bottom lip, sweaty palms rubbing against his thighs as he exhales deeply, leaning back in the chair as his head slowly begins to nod, folding his hands in his lap to prevent himself from shaking, “Okay. I’ll tell you about her”

You meet his eyes across the table in shock, “You will?”

“Eunbin and I were together for two years” He jumps straight into it before he allows himself to back out at the last second, fingernails digging into the back of his hands as you lean forwards to listen intently. “She worked part-time in this art store downtown so we would bump into each other every now and then when I needed to buy a new camera or a new scrapbook to put my photos in… I found her breathtaking. She was beautiful to look at and I plucked up the courage to ask her to be a model for one of my photography projects, and she said she would agree only if I allowed her to draw me for one of her art projects… so, we made a deal”

The way you’re smiling makes him feel sick, but he couldn’t stop himself from talking, the words pouring out.

“She was… god, she was like a breath of fresh air, you know? She never cared about what other people thought of her, she was just living her life to the fullest with no worries or regrets. She was constantly happy and I think that’s what made her so attractive and kinda perfect to me…”

This is where Jaemin pauses, throat becoming dry and eyes beginning to sting as he realises what he’s about to say next. His heart thumps, his stomach churns and he’s afraid he’s about to have a panic attack, but he swallows everything down as he sees you looking at him with concern and he breathes steadily through his nose.

“Eunbin, she, uh… she got accepted into this art school that she desperately wanted to get in and worked hard for. She would continuously be all up day and night creating different art pieces to send off. I was happy for her, you know, her art is fucking gorgeous” Jaemin can’t help but praise, a faint smile spread across his lips as he remembers how proud he was. She is a really good artist. He rubs the sleeve of his shirt across his nose when he begins to sniffle, trying his best to contain his emotions that are daring to slip. “But the art school… The art school wasn’t here. which I didn’t realise at first. It was in New York. It was in fucking New York and she took it without any hesitations, not caring about anything else even though we talked about it. She said that the art school was the most important and meaningful thing to her, and that nothing else mattered… and she just, she—”

He hears you sigh, “Eunbin left you”

“Yeah, she left me” Jaemin drops his gaze to the table, refusing to look at you as his eyes gloss over. “I was proud of her, I always was. I admired her for working towards her dream and doing whatever she had to do to get to that dream… but I didn’t think she would leave me so easily for it, you know? She slept with me, I woke up and she was gone. Her and her stuff. Gone”

“Jaemin…” You say his name softly. “I’m so sorry”

He didn’t answer you, he couldn’t, too wrapped up in his own head as the images of him waking up alone in a cold bed flashes through his mind, all of Eunbin’s belongings gone apart from the ring she had left for him on the bedside table with a note: ‘𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘺 — 𝘦’. He had crumpled up the note and threw it in the trash, and didn't even touch the ring for months.

He hated her, all of his sadness and betrayal turning to anger and hatred, blocking her number and deleting all photos he had of her, ripping the ones he printed from his camera. He turned into a lost cause, using alcohol and drugs to cope, even tried sleeping with other women to get his mind off of her but it never worked, he was still picturing her face and hearing her name. Jaemin would’ve been stuck in his rut if it wasn’t for Jeno who pulled him out of it before it got even worse, sticking by his side and making sure that he was okay.

He’s forever grateful to Jeno. He appreciates Jeno deeply.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor and your body heat engulfing Jaemin is enough to bring him out of his head, his own arms winding around your waist, head burying in the crevice of your neck as he melts into your embrace, allowing you to comfort him with soothing strokes on the back of his head.

He holds you tight, fingers gripping your shirt in fear that you’d suddenly disappear from him too after opening up to you about Eunbin, but he feels you reassure him when you squeeze him back. You’re not going anywhere, he reminds himself, trying to steady his erratic heartbeat. You’re not leaving.

— [𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄… 𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?” You ask him softly as he reaches your apartment building, your hand gently tugging on his to try and coax him in. “You came all this way…”

“I just wanted to walk you home” Jaemin speaks quietly, giving you a tight lipped smile as your eyes meet his. Truthfully, he didn’t want to come inside. He didn’t want to be around anyone. He wanted to be alone at home in his room after the day he’s had, feeling drained from the conversation prior.

Jaemin wasn’t ready to have any more conversations or even discussions about anything, he just wanted to rest even though he knew deep down that if he walked with you into your apartment, you would allow him to rest in your bed for as long as he needed… but he didn’t want that, not right now. He needed to be home.

He sees how reluctant you are to let him leave but you respect his wishes with a quick nod of your head before wrapping him up in your arms. He exhales deeply as he hugs you back, relaxing at the way your fingers massage the middle of his spine but pulls away before he allows himself to get too comfortable, ducking his head low to leave a simple kiss on your lips before turning on his heel, desperate to make his way back home without any other word.

Walking into the empty house is a lot worse than Jaemin anticipated, the silence making him feel uncomfortable to the point he had to turn on his computer to play music in the background so the silence wouldn’t be too much for him.

He didn’t know where the others were, but he was thankful to not have them around so he didn’t have to talk anymore, allowing himself to sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, trying his hardest to focus on the music and not let any thoughts of Eunbin enter his mind.

A part of him was thankful he opened up to you, to let you know what was going on inside his head, how bad the breakup had affected him and his mental health, but the other part of him hated himself for reopening up healing wounds, a fear that maybe he was never going to physically recover from the heartbreak and memories.

The waterworks start before Jaemin can even register what's happening, cheeks wet with salty tears and nose blocked. He’s unable to regulate his breathing, the heel of his palm rubbing vigorously against his chest as he tries to breathe steadily through his nose and out through his mouth but fails due to the choked sobs that leave his lips.

His other hand that rests on top of his head fists his hair at the roots and tugs, the pain that soars through his skull bringing him back to his senses and the tears stop, the heavy weight on his chest and the tightness of his throat withering away into nothing. He can finally breathe again and he drops both hands to his lap, staring emotionlessly at the floor as he takes big deep breaths of air, allowing the oxygen to settle in his lungs.

He sits alone for quite some time, not bothering to move a muscle as his mind empties, numbing himself out completely, but his head perks up slightly when he hears the front door open and slam shut, heaving footsteps bounding up the staircase, loud enough to be heard over the music. Jaemin cranes his neck over his shoulder just in time to see his bedroom swing open to reveal a panicked and worried looking Jeno standing in the doorway, bangs sweatily sticking to his forehead, chest heaving rapidly.

Jaemin’s brows pull together in confusion when he sees Jeno’s shoulders drop in relief at the sight of him, stepping inside the bedroom and closing the door behind himself with a sigh.

“What was that about?” Jaemin asks in slight amusement, rubbing the sleeve of his shirt against his nose with a quick sniffle, hoping the redness of his eyes has faded away.

“She told me everything, about how you two talked about—” Jeno pants too heavily to continue, waving his hands around comically before plopping himself down beside Jaemin on the bed, elbows resting on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. Jeno makes zero sense to Jaemin right now and he cocks his head to the side, trying to figure out what the hell Jeno was talking about until it slowly sinks in. You must’ve told Jeno what happened. You must’ve told Jeno that he opened up about Eunbin and Jeno got worried.

Jaemin swallows thickly, unable to look at Jeno. “I’m fi—”

“You don’t have to lie to me” Jeno cuts him off almost immediately, raising his head to stare at him with a hard look. “Don’t lie to me”

Jaemin blinks, cheeks flushed, “I will be fine”

Jeno doesn’t seem convinced but he slowly nods his head in understanding, placing a comforting hand on Jaemin’s back and Jaemin reels away from the touch before allowing himself to relax, letting Jeno be the comfort that he needs.

It doesn’t take long for the tears to start swelling in Jaemin’s eyes once again and a frustrated groan leaves his lips, tilting his head back to try and suck the tears back in but his miserable attempts fail him.

Jeno smiles sadly as he cups the back of Jaemin’s neck to drag him into his tight embrace, one hand patting the back of his head soothingly while the other wraps around his middle. He waits for Jaemin to fight back, to rip himself out of his arms and say how he doesn’t need to be comforted like this, knowing how uncomfortable he gets sometimes with too much physical contact. But Jeno’s surprised when he feels Jaemin’s body slump forward in his hold, fingers gripping the back of Jeno’s hoodie as his shoulders shake with quiet sobs.

— [𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 : 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍]

It was the morning after Jaemin’s breakdown and to be honest, he struggles to look Jeno in his eyes after crying in his arms for about an hour straight. He feels awkward, maybe even a little embarrassed even though Jeno is the only person that has seen all sides to Jaemin and is always quick to reassure him that everything is fine, and that it’s normal to be comforted when things go wrong or even when he’s upset.

“Are you seriously not going to look me in my eyes right now?” Jeno teases as the pair stand next to each other in the bathroom. Jaemin brushes his teeth quietly, keeping his eyes glued on his reflection in the mirror, trying not to feel hot under Jeno’s gaze. “I’ve seen you ass naked multiple times and you’ve acted fine, yet you can’t look at me after you’ve cried?”

“Shut up” Jaemin grumbles between a mouthful of toothpaste, unable to fight off the grin that creeps onto his face when Jeno bumps his shoulder with his. “Stop it”

“Okay” Jeno snorts as he puts down his own toothbrush, wiping the remaining paste away with a towel before grabbing the can of deodorant from the counter. “Me, Yangyang and Donghyuck got an early class today but we both finish around 10. We’re thinking of getting some breakfast later with the others if you want to join”

“Maybe” Jaemin hums.

“Can you hurry the fuck up?!” Donghyuck yells as he bursts through the bathroom door in an oversized puffer jacket and a knitted beanie on top of his head. “I got Mark blowing up my phone asking why me and Yangyang are taking so long—that Canadian fuck has his notes written on my laptop and he’s not shutting up about it!”

“Why did you let him use your laptop?” Jeno questions.

Donghyuck blinks, “I smashed his on accident”

“It wasn’t an accident” Yangyang corrects as he peers over Donghyuck’s shoulders, lips spreading into a grin. “Donghyuck got bratty when he wasn’t getting attention”

“It’s Mark’s fault!!” Donghyuck argues back angrily, huffing as Jeno pushes against his chest to usher him out of the bathroom, bidding Jaemin a quick goodbye as the trio leaves for the morning.

Jaemin’s left alone once again, not really knowing where Shotaro and Renjun disappeared early hours this morning but he wasn’t complaining, he had the whole morning to himself before he potentially had to meet up with the others if he wanted to go for breakfast. He wasn’t certain if he even wanted to go, he didn’t really feel hungry and he wasn’t exactly up for any company, but the second his phone pinged with your name flashing across the screen from an upcoming message, he was eager to see what you needed.

you: hey you: i don't have classes today :) you: do you wanna do smth with me

His eyes widen slightly, not even thinking twice as he glides out of the bathroom into his bedroom, leaving his phone open on his desk while he rummages through his closet to find something warm to wear. I won’t answer, He thinks to himself, I won’t answer but I’ll show up at your door as a surprise.

He pulls out a clean hoodie from its clothing hanger, letting the plastic drop to the ground as he shoves his arms through the sleeves and the hoodie over his head, running his fingers through his hair to style it out before looking for some matching sweatpants. Jaemin’s almost out of breath at how fast he’s rushing around his bedroom, glancing at his phone to check the time as he yanks his sweatpants up his legs, tying the string securely with a grin.

He knows you’re probably wondering why he’s read the message but hasn’t replied yet, already getting giddy at the mere thought of surprising you at your home. Maybe he should get some coffee along the way for you both.

Just as Jaemin yanks open his drawers to find a clean pair of socks, his back straightens almost immediately as he hears a knock at the front door, finding it extremely unusual for someone to be at the house this early in the morning. He begins to wonder if maybe someone had the wrong house, or if one of Yangyang’s hookups had forgotten something during their last encounter, or maybe it was you that decided to show up since he didn’t message back.

His heart warms at the thought and he’s unable to stop the grin that creeps on his lips as he exits his bedroom, jogging down the stairs with his hands smoothing out the wrinkles on his hoodie, fingers ruffling his hair to look somewhat presentable as he nears towards the front door.

He wonders if you’re going to give him an earful for leaving your text on read, or if you’re just going to stand there with an unamused expression on your face like you had done in the past. Jaemin snickers at the memory, curling his fingers around the door handle to pull it open, eager to hear what you’d have to say, but he freezes halfway.

Jaemin feels his heart drop in the pit of his stomach, a high pitched noise filling his ears as he takes a staggered step back, his hand that’s still locked around the door handle turns white from his iron grip. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, breathing laboured as he struggles to consume oxygen, vision slightly blurred so that it helps him no longer look at the face of the girl that’s appeared in front of him.

He feels so dizzy that he’s thankful for the hold he has on the door, knowing that if nothing supported him he would’ve collapsed to the ground in a full blown panic.

Maybe it was all in his head, maybe the conversation of opening up yesterday made him crazy. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been real. She wasn’t really here, she can’t be—

“Hey Jaemin” Eunbin greets him with the kindest of smiles and her voice was enough to set him off. She lets herself into the house without any problem, wrapping her arms around Jaemin’s middle and squeezing tightly, a giggle fleeting past her lips despite him tensing up beneath her sudden embrace.

He doesn’t hug back, he can’t even move his arms. He can’t fucking register what the fuck is going on. It doesn’t feel real, none of this feels real but he knows that he isn’t fortunate enough for this to be a dream, to be a hallucination.

Eunbin pulls back from the one-sided hug to stare up at Jaemin who is now looking down at her, eyes wide. She looks different than what Jaemin remembers. Her hair has grown longer and she’s cut her bangs in, completely barefaced. She’s dressed in a white sleeved shirt with a green knitted vest over the top, paired with baggy denim jeans and her shoes that Jaemin remembers all too well. The blue butterflies and green aliens that she painted on her white sneakers in his room stares back at him.

“Are we going to stand here all day?” Eunbin teases him as she toes off her sneakers, leaving them at the front door as she slips inside fully, shaking the bag in her hand gently as she turns to him. “I bought breakfast bagels and coffee. There’s enough for everyone”

“They’re not here” Jaemin finds his voice, but it's quiet and hardly audible to the point that Eunbin couldn’t hear him as she finds her way into the kitchen. Jaemin closes the door almost robotically and follows behind, lingering in the doorway as he watches Eunbin place the breakfast bagels and coffee on top of the kitchen island. He coughs to clear his throat, trying to force himself to speak louder. “What… what are you—”

“I flew in early hours this morning, if you’re wondering” Eunbin answers the question that’s been sitting at the end of his tongue. “I got some breakfast and I came straight here, to see you”

Jaemin swallows thickly, “To see me?”

Eunbin seems confused, but she still smiles softly. “Of course… I missed y—”

“You shouldn’t be here” Jaemin cuts her off almost immediately, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m not—You’re supposed to—” Jaemin’s eyes snap to Eunbin’s face as he decides to lie through his teeth. “I have someone coming over. I have plans”

“Oh” Eunbin blinks, feeling slightly awkward as she taps her nails on the styrofoam cup that holds her coffee. She seems curious, “Who?”

“Y/N” He speaks your name before he can even think.

“The girl from your Instagram?” A smile spreads across Eunbin’s lips. “She’s Eric’s girlfriend, right? Or ex-girlfriend, I think? She’s the one that used to come around a lot with him to see Jeno. I didn’t know you guys became so close—”

“Excuse me” Jaemin doesn’t even give her time to respond as he’s already turning away from the kitchen door frame, heading up the stairs to his bedroom and closing the door behind himself quietly. His forehead thuds against the cold wood and he takes long, slow deep breaths, trying to calm down his nerves that are unbelievably heightened.

Fingernails dig into his palms as he tries to ground himself when breathing gets harder to control, vision disfigured as tears form across his waterline. His chest grows tight and the pain that soars is enough to have the tears rolling down his cheeks, throwing his hand over his mouth to cover the cries that escape.

He can’t believe that this is happening, that Eunbin is sitting downstairs in the kitchen acting nonchalant, acting as if nothing ever happened during their last encounter. She should be in New York. Why did she come home? He inhales and exhales deeply, hastily rubbing his hands across his face to get rid of the tears as he turns on his heel, spotting his phone sitting open on his desk.

Jaemin curses beneath his breath as he rushes over to his phone, seeing the amount of messages you’ve left behind and he feels silly when he realises he’s left you completely on read throughout the entire series of texts. He wants to apologise and he types out his sorry message before deleting it, unsure of how to approach this situation and his mind wanders to Eunbin downstairs, his heart rapidly beating again.

He needs to be gone from this house, gone from Eunbin’s presence. Maybe if he asks you to come over and you knock at his door, he can tell Eunbin that you’re here and that he needs to leave. He lied to Eunbin earlier about you coming over, so she’ll believe it when she hears the knock at the door and Jaemin can rush downstairs to open it and quickly leave so he no longer has to be around Eunbin, and he can finally be with you.

jaemin: come here jaemin: the house jaemin: please

Jaemin presses send quickly, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as the little read notification appears at the bottom of his texts and his shoulders relax slightly, hoping that you didn’t leave him on read after his stupid mistakes and were on your way over. Please.

• • •

Hiding away inside his room isn’t one of his best ideas, perhaps it is one of his pathetic ones but still, he wasn’t ready to leave his room and face the girl that is sitting in his kitchen. She called for him a few times, asking if he was okay but he dismissed it by saying he was looking for something and immediately declined when she offered to help.

Jaemin doesn’t want Eunbin here, he knows that much. He doesn’t want her to be anywhere near him after what happened during their last encounter, it baffles him at how nonchalant she’s acting about it. His brows pull together in deep thought, wondering if Eunbin had a different outcome of that night in her own mind. Is he curious? Possibly. Does he want to actually talk to her about it? No.

He knew this day would come, where she would come back home from New York and he’d see her face every now and again on the streets or in certain places, but he didn’t expect it to be this soon and he most definitely didn’t expect her to show up at his front door looking happy as ever, maybe even a little excited too.

It confuses him, and he hates it.

Although relief floods his system when he hears the front door open and close, wondering if Eunbin got tired of waiting or even realised what Jaemin’s true intentions were and left, and hopefully for good. He slides off his bed, gravitating towards the window and sneakily peeking through the curtains to see if Eunbin was leaving down the driveway but his stomach twists when he sees the white car parked out front with nobody occupying the drivers seat. Eunbin is still here, he frowns deeply, but why did the front door open?

Deciding to investigate, Jaemin quietly opens his bedroom door to leave the comfort of his room, silently walking across the landing to the stairs where he carefully climbs down, not making hardly any noises as he tries to listen in on the conversation that seems to be happening in the kitchen. His brows pull together as he moves faster and his heart thumps in his ears as he begins to recognise the voice that’s replying to Eunbin, body tensing as he stands in the doorway to see you sitting at the kitchen island with Eunbin.

You weren't supposed to come inside, but yet he couldn’t blame you for doing so. You are used to walking in and making yourself home, the boys have all told you (Haru and Miwoo) to do so. It’s normal for you, it’s normal for him… but fuck he wish that wasn’t the norm, not today. He didn’t want Eunbin talking to you, he didn’t want Eunbin anywhere near you. For a reason, Jaemin is unsure why, but he hates seeing Eunbin engaging in conversation with you which is why he decides to make his presence known.

“Hey”

Your head immediately snaps in his direction and with your eyes finally locked on his, Jaemin feels the worries inside his head begin to disintegrate, the weight on his shoulders slowly lifting. He’ll constantly be in awe at how simple you make him feel at ease, but his figure tenses up when Eunbin’s attention is now brought to him too.

But he keeps his eyes on you. You are the only person in this room that matters to him right now, the only person in this room he can look at without falling apart and he drags himself over to you, fingers itching to touch your skin, to feel your embrace.

He fully believes you read his mind because the second he stands beside you, your hand lays on his arm and his body relaxes, allowing to lean his weight into your side, his arm coming around to wrap around your back, clutching the back of the sweatshirt of his you’re wearing and he smiles softly, rubbing the fabric between his fingertips.

This calms him, being beside you, touching you. And his heart warms when he realises how fast you came over to help him, he’s filled with the uttermost gratitude and he wishes he can kiss you right then and there, but his head rises when he’s reminded of the person who is sitting opposite the two of you.

Eunbin smiles when she reaches his eyes but Jaemin’s quick to avert his attention back to you with a thick gulp, watching your hands that now rest in your lap. He’s eager to slip his fingers between yours and tug you out of the house, to disappear for a little while.

“I’m sorry if I’m making things awkward, but…” Eunbin speaks up, disrupting the silence. She points at Jaemin first before she points at you which Jaemin isn’t fond of, eyes narrow slightly. “Are you guys, like, a thing?”

You clear your throat to speak first, “We’re—”

“We’re sleeping together” Jaemin tells her before he can even register what he’s saying. His lips press together in a tight line when he fully realises what he’s just blurted out, but there’s a twisted part of him that enjoys seeing the look on Eunbin’s face. His hand slips up your back to rest on your shoulder. “We’re exclusive”

The way you comically turn your head to look at Jaemin is enough to make him smile despite the ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach. He can see the uncomfortable look on your face and he’s regretful, not wanting to put you in such a position and he curses at himself for letting his pettiness get the best of him. He drops his left eye into a wink, hoping to silently reassure you and tell you everything is okay.

“Oh” Eunbin blinks, unsure of what to say. “How long?”

“A mo—”

The sound of you clearing your throat makes Jaemin stop and he looks down at you, a little confused but also worried, squeezing your shoulder in a gesture to ask if you’re alright but you ignore it as you give him a smile which he notices is not legitimate. “Sorry, I had something stuck in my throat… Anyways, I’m late so, uh, I’m gonna go. Bye”

The second you stand up from your seat, Jaemin is quick to grasp your hand in his. He sees how uncomfortable and panicky you look and his chest tightens, hoping to calm you down as his thumb grazes over the tops of your knuckles. He notices how your eyes nervously glance around the room, looking over at Eunbin who is already staring at you both and Jaemin sighs, cupping your cheeks in his hands to force you to look at him, not wanting you to feel intimidated under Eunbin’s gaze.

“Where are you going?” He questions with a whisper. He doesn’t want you to leave without him, he wants you to whisk him away to wherever you’re heading… he doesn’t want to be alone with Eunbin. “Don’t… don’t leave”

“We’re going to be late to get breakfast with everyone” Jaemin’s eyes widen and relief instantly floods through his veins when he hears the emphasis on the ‘we’re’, realising that you’re going to take him with you and he couldn’t be more happier. He removes his hands from your cheeks to lace his fingers with your own, ready to leave right then and there.

“Wait…” Eunbin speaks up before Jaemin can even begin to ask her to leave the house. He briefly glances over at her, watching as she rubs the back of her neck and gives a nervous smile, “I just got here… I haven’t seen you in months and you’ve been avoiding me. Can we just talk? Please?”

“I—” Jaemin gulps at the sad look Eunbin casts his way and he sighs heavily, running his fingers through his hair. He’s conflicted seeing the all-to familiar sorrowful look on Eunbin’s face, it disgusts him how much it pulls at his heartstrings and makes him feel like a shitty person. But with the hand that's locked in your own and your body brushing against his from the close proximity, he wants you. He wants to leave with you.

“It won’t be long, I promise” Eunbin promises him with hope. “Just for an hour, okay? I need to talk to you”

Jaemin’s silent now, staring at nothing in particular with his brows pulled together in deep thought, mind overcrowding with confusing thoughts and feelings that’s enough to give him a headache. His teeth bite down on his tongue with force, trying his hardest to focus on the pain to get rid of hushed voices inside of his head but he struggles deeply.

Closure, the voice in his head repeats. This could be closure. His eyes dart towards Eunbin who’s already staring back at him. Tell her how she made you feel. His forehead creases, lips forming in a straight line as his jaw tightens with a glare. Tell her how badly she fucked up.

“Fine” He nods his head once, “I’ll stay”

Jaemin turns to look at you when he feels your hand slip away from his grip, refusing to meet his eyes as your back straightens up, sending a tight lipped smile to Eunbin who seems content with his answers.

“It’s nice meeting you”

“You too,” Eunbin admits with a genuine smile. “I hope we can see each other again?”

Jaemin watches as you nod your head before bidding a quick goodbye, turning on your heel as you head out of the kitchen and Jaemin’s mouth open and closes repeatedly, unsure of what to say as he hurriedly follows behind you, latching his fingers around your wrist before you could open the front door and escape.

He presses your back against it, eyes filled with panic as they meet your emotionless ones, shocked that you’re trying to leave without even saying anything to him. Why are you mad? Did he say something wrong? Is staying not the right choice? Are you disappointed? He hates not knowing what’s going on inside your head, desperate for you to talk to him.

Jaemin’s hands shakingly come up to gently touch your face, pushing the strands of hairs neatly behind your ears as he dips his head down, trying to meet your eyes once again when you look away from him. Please look at me. He cradles your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as he raises your head when you finally look at him and he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours in a slow kiss.

He feels your body react to him, instantly relaxing and curling your fists around the material of his hoodie to pull him closer and he complies, stepping forwards so his body is flush against yours, leaving no room for either of you. His arms slither around your waist as yours wrap around his shoulders, exhaling deeply when he feels your fingers tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck. The kiss is full of desperation, yearning, and he almost whines when you start to pull away from him, his lips immediately chasing yours but stops, opting to rest his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

“I didn’t want to stay” He tells you, wanting to explain his thought process to you. “But I think I need to do this for me, for closure” Jaemin’s hands rub the bottom of your back as he feels himself slowly go into a panicked state, wanting to calm himself down. “I need to tell her how I felt. I need her to understand that I—”

“You don’t have to explain it” You cut him off with a smile and he melts as he still feels you playing with the hair at the back of his head. “It’s okay, Jaemin”

Jaemin blinks softly, chest warming at the reassurance and he nods his head gratefully. He kisses your lips once again and he has the sudden urge to smile when he feels you kiss him back with your hand placed on his cheeks. He completely forgets about the person sitting alone in the other room, waiting for him to come back.

Truthfully, he doesn’t care about anything when he’s with you. You make him forget a lot of things that usually leave him in a rut. You help him breathe, you help him feel normal, you make everything seem worth it.

The kiss is broken and Jaemin opens the door for you when you’re ready to leave, leaning against the wood as he stares at you, something tugging at his heart as you give him a smile and he freezes, body stiff against the door.

“Y/N…” He whispers your name softly, teeth gnawing down on his bottom lip as his palms become clammy. “I, uh… I…”

“What?” You press with a giggle.

“I…” Jaemin swallows thickly, something heavy dawning on him. He’s come to realise that you are the most important person to him, maybe even more than Jeno and that leaves him in internal shock but a smile crawls onto his lips as he stares at you a little longer. Jaemin has always appreciated the things he loves, and he wasn’t exactly sure what kind of love it is, but, “I appreciate you”

• • •

“She seems really sweet” Eunbin admits as Jaemin finds his way back into the kitchen after seeing you off, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he leans against the countertop across from Eunbin, keeping his distance which she seems to notice almost instantly. “You can sit, you know—”

“What are you doing here?” Jaemin cuts her off with the question that's been swimming around in his mind, brows furrowing as he chews the inside of his cheek. He wants answers. He needs answers.

“I… told you. I came to see you—”

“But why?” Jaemin presses, frustration already beginning to build.

“I missed you” Eunbin admits, a sad frown displaying across her lips as she fiddles with her fingers. “I mean, I tried contacting you the entire time I was gone but you blocked my number”

“Why do you think I would keep your number after what you did?” Jaemin tilts his head to the side, staring at Eunbin who slowly sinks down into her seat under his gaze. “Do you even understand what happened? You fucked me and then you left. You didn’t tell me you were leaving, you just did”

“Jaemin—”

“Do you know how badly you fucked me up after that?” He seethes through his teeth. Jaemin doesn’t mean to get angry, but he struggles to control his emotions towards the girl that’s in front of him, wanting nothing more than her to understand what she has done. “I lost my fucking mind because of you and you were living your best life in New York”

“But we talked about New York after I confessed” Eunbin speaks with desperation in her voice. “We spoke about it and I told you that it was my dream to go, and you were supportive—”

“I was supportive of you following your dream. I wasn’t supportive of you lying to me about going to New York” Jaemin corrects, clenching his fists inside of his pockets and digging his fingernails into his palms, trying to keep control of his emotions, not wanting to break down. “You told me how the art school was the most meaningful and important thing to you, and that nothing else mattered…”

“You matter,” Eunbin quickly adds before she sighs. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Jae”

“But you did,” Jaemin smiles sadly. “I understand how important that art school was for you and I was happy that you got what you wanted because you worked hard for it… but understand from my perspective how shitty it was to find out that it was in New York and you leaving the day after”

“What I did was shitty, I know that” She admits, chewing down on her bottom lip as tears brim in her eyes. She looks down at her hands. “I shouldn’t have kept it a secret that it was in New York and I shouldn’t have left after sleeping with you… In my head, when we were arguing about it and I apologised, and then we slept together, I thought we were fine. I thought you were okay about the art school being in New York because you told me you loved me and you supported my dreams, which is why I left for it the next day”

Jaemin feels the sting as his eyes well up with his own tears and he tries to blink them back, “You thought we were fine?” That explains why she came here this morning… She thought we were still fine.

“I’m so sorry, Jae” Eunbin stands up from her seat, making her way over to stand in front of Jaemin who tenses up and leans further back against the countertop. “I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m sorry for being so selfish… but please understand that it was never my intention to hurt you. Please”

Jaemin doesn’t speak. He can’t find the right words to describe how he’s feeling. But hearing Eunbin call herself selfish and apologise for hurting him left him in shock. He didn’t really expect Eunbin to feel this bad. Honestly, he was worried and waiting for another pending argument, to hear her tell her side of the story and stick with it, so having her admit her faults in front of him was enough to have the weight lifted off his shoulders.

Closure, the voice in his head speaks. You got your closure.

His head drops, chin touching his chest as he exhales before he slowly nods his head, an indication that Eunbin knows all too well. Jaemin accepts the apology, he hasn’t forgiven her for what happened and admittedly, he’s still a little angry, but he’s thankful for her verbal apology.

Eunbin smiles through her tears as she steps forward, wrapping her arms around Jaemin in a tight embrace for the second time today. Jaemin’s brows jump in surprise, listening as she quietly cries against his chest, clutching his hoodie desperately and Jaemin remains still, staring down at the top of her head with his hands still buried deep in his pockets.

#nct #nct smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct jaemin #nct jaemin smut #jaemin smut #nct angst #nct dream angst #nct au #nct fic #jaemin au #jaemin fic #jaemin angst #fic: the way life goes

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gayerthanevertbh · 3 years ago

Text

the widow’s bunny - part 5

author’s note | helluuuurrr! i hope you enjoy this chapter but it could be very triggering, so i’m just warning you. please don’t read if you aren’t comfortable.

summary | Your father, Clint Barton, brought his fellow Avengers to the safe house and it was your first time meeting the one and only Black Widow; Natasha Romanoff. As soon as you and her get a little close, her other side is vaguely showing and it truly frightens you. She quotes, “You will be my pretty little secret, yeah?”

pairings | Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

warnings | heavy smut ; strap-on use ; daddy kink ; pet names ; slut shaming ; abusive behavior ; very (18)+!!

taglist | @ilovehotactresses @bepisbeansprouts @heidithriel @mommynat @myplaceofsolace @jediluka @d14n4ol 4ol @youralphawolf72 @natasharomanoff-wife @santasbitch @karmasgxrl @marvel2024 @ripofflizzie @tashakink @natashaswife12345 @madamevirgo @comfy-mee (i don’t know why i can’t tag some of u :/)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 so on...

Days passed by until Natasha’s needs are starting to overtake her body. You berated the woman to the point that you don’t want her sleeping next to you and for Natasha, well, she didn’t take that well.

She would forcefully shut you up by smacking your face, making you even more desperate to just die on the spot where you don’t have to suffer the pain that is cost. And then, as usual, the widow would apologize and give you the most comforting kisses all over your heated cheeks. As long as you want to hate it, loathe it, despise it, you like her kisses. You liked the way she comforts you with them; especially with her words of love.

Maybe you were just as disgusting as her.

That morning when you woke up, your head spun when Natasha starts grinding her pelvis against your covered ass – making you let out a shuddering breath and inhale it as you feel her hand dip through your sweats. Her lips were taking action to your ear and whispered hotly: “You are so beautiful when you’re asleep. I couldn’t help myself anymore, I won’t fuck you until you tell me to. I promise you, detka, I’ll be very gentle at first.”

You don’t want to give in, you really don’t, but you hate to admit that you’ve been quite aroused these past couple of days. Not just by Natasha, no, you try your best to think of someone else instead of her but you would like to experience how she’ll take you mindlessly. Surely, this experienced woman is good in bed. Plus, she’s way older than you so you would like to see a scene of that.

“Would it hurt?” you asked quietly.

Natasha chuckles deep in your ear, still grinding onto your ass like some maniac in charge, “You haven’t had sex in a while, yeah pretty girl?”

As you nod your head slowly, she flashes a toothy creepy smile that sends chills through your body.

“Let me fuck you, please kotenok,” Her voice seems to get desperate and whiny as she gives a sharp thrust to your ass, letting out an accidental moan that she would probably enjoy once you give yourself to her.

“Natasha,” You breathed out when the widow’s bigger hand cupped at your right breast, tweaking your nipples through your shirt, making you roll your eyes at the back of your head. Her fingers that were latched onto your nipple felt incredibly good. You wanted more, you needed more the way she needed more and pushed your ass back at hers; letting the dominant widow moan into your ears.

Oh god, what did I get myself into?

“Tell me verbally,” she asks while grinding back at you, this time pistoning her hips to feel the friction that she needs to feel. “Tell me right now that you want to be fucked.”

“I want to be fucked,” You whispered onto her mouth that was hovering against your lips and grind back your ass against her, grabbing the hand that was inside of your sweats to pull it back up and massage your breast roughly. She eagerly complied and finally closed the distance between you two.

You wouldn’t say it was a brutal kiss yet it wasn’t passionate either, it was more like a sense of need. Her lips were soft and supple, it tasted like those Burt's bees chap lipstick that tasted nothing. But, she tasted sweet. Like, really sweet.

Sensing your need to be touched, Natasha spoke with a lighter voice but with more dominance with it.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” the woman above you turns your shoulder until your back is flat against the mattress as you watch her being enthralled over your body, which seems to be majestic when it comes to her. She lifts your torso a bit to take off your see-through white shirt until your nipples are exposed to her glory.

“God, you are so beautiful,” She praises. Her devious hands maneuver to your naked torso and grab your ribs, pushing you back down onto the cold mattress. You gasped, but suddenly your throat felt blocked – obstructed by her simple touch on you. You hate her, you do, but maybe this sexual encounter could relieve some of your stress. After all, you were here little pet.

Without hesitation, Natasha placed her soft wet lips onto your cleavage and licked it up until it reached your neck. You suppressed a moan, afraid enough to make an eager sound to make it seem like you want her. But you do, god you do – and you aren’t even denying it anymore.

Pulling away, the woman asked breathlessly: “You want to be fucked by your mommy? You want me to make you come onto my cock? Don’t worry baby, I have a collection inside of that closet that I’d like to try out. Let me take care of you.”

It frightens you a bit, yet there was this wave of fire within you that you couldn't seem to shake it off. Gratefully, you opened your legs for the woman to penetrate, and boy, she was pleased to see you falling into her little game. Natasha cooly takes off her tank top, revealing her lace black bra that was holding her breasts – and you caught yourself staring at them. They look so soft and–

“Such a dumb little baby,” She whispers to your ear and palms your breasts roughly; making you whimper with pleasure. “My fucktoy. A little plaything for me to use, huh baby? Come on, talk to me, sweetheart.”

You struggled to form your words as the woman trails her finger down to the middle of your stomach that was suddenly sucking in from her intoxicating touch. “Please, please, please! Just… fuck me, Natasha. Just do it–”

Smack! She slaps your outer thighs harshly and it makes you bite down your lower lip hard as the sting accommodates through your entire system. God, the way you crave for this woman who kidnapped and made you their little pet is entirely the most beautiful devious woman that you’ve ever met. You want to push her away from you but you crave so much for her touch that you’d let her do anything at this point.

“When I bring out that cock, you better call me daddy,” She chastises while her lips peck on your inner neck. “When it’s my fingers, you can call me mommy. Understood, little one?”

You nodded frantically as you form words into your head but cannot seem to say them at the tip of your tongue, you were quite stunned and aroused from the penetration that Natasha was giving you. You loathe it. You love it. You need it.

“Y–Yes, Mommy.”

She groans at the nickname that has slipped out from your tiny mouth and immediately relishes your lips with hers. Pulling away with a loud pop, She mutters something in Russian that you can’t understand – but it was severely hot.

Slowly, she unties the laces of your shorts and leisurely pulls it down, exposing your underwear that was in front of her green irises. The redhead looks back up at you and gives a devilish smirk. You whimpered and shut your eyes tightly as you felt her warm breath on your pelvis.

“Such a pretty underwear, but you know I would love it if it’s off, right slut?”

You nodded again and cover your eyes with your arm. Natasha sees the simple action that you did and growled in anger. She slaps the inside of your thigh loudly and you arch your back in pain and pleasure. Letting out, “Ah! What was–”

“Do not fucking talk back,” Natasha bits back with a venomous tone. She then continued to kiss your pelvis until you were in a heaving mess, which was the whole point to her. Chuckling darkly, she says: “Daddy is going to fuck that tiny hole of yours, bunny. Let me just get my strap.”

You watch her as she scurries into the closet to grab a long black box that prickles your entire skin in fear but also in anticipation once she opens it slowly, revealing a strap-on that is seemingly long and thick. The core of yours finally starts to beat and you feel that dampness once she takes it out, grabs the O-ring, and places it on the bed.

“Watch me as I take off my clothes.”

You nodded, feeling way too paralyzed to speak or move.

Natasha unclasps her bra as it falls downwards onto her body, revealing her scrumptious-looking breasts that seek attention. Then, not long enough, she unbuttons her pants with a pop and pulls it down – along with her underwear – and stands naked right beneath your eyes. Your breath hitched as you take a good stare at her body; she looks enchanted with a hint of vile whenever her eyes lingered on you.

As soon as she wore the strap, the woman got between your legs and slapped the inside of your thigh one more time; letting out a shriek from your mouth that was already gaped.

“Nat–”

“You are such a slut, aren’t you huh? Can’t even fucking follow my instructions,” her chuckle was humorless; it was full of darkness into it. “It’s daddy to you, little one. Now, let me spit into your mouth. Open.”

Without even thinking about it, you did – letting your tongue out as you felt a spit inside of your mouth that was leaking from hers too. She smiled, licking her lips, and tweaking both of your nipples once again. You closed your eyes from the pleasure that she was giving until you hear a harsh tone coming from her mouth.

“Open your eyes, I want to watch you as I fuck you mercilessly.”

You weren’t even worried anymore, you just wanted her fully. You don’t care what it was, as long as she fucks you into oblivion; then it wasn’t such a problem. You may call yourself this horny freak, and so was she, but at this moment do you care? No. You just want to be fucked hard. And that’s what Natasha has been planning for you for quite a long time.

A pleasing hum came from your kidnapper’s lips as she grabbed the head of her cock, lining it up onto your clit; pressing it hard to get you into a moaning frenzy. She looks at your weary eyes and gives a devious smirk. This woman knows what she was doing to you, there was no sympathy through it.

“God, do you know what you do to me detka? You make daddy crazy,” She whines as she rolls her eyes back from the sight of your glistening pussy. Opening, she continued: “Look how wet you are for me. All for me, yeah?”

“All for you, daddy,” You muttered, making the older woman groan on top of you as she lathers your wetness onto her fingers; dragging it painfully into your tight hole. You gasped as you felt a single finger dipped inside of you. Natasha watches your expression and smiles through her teeth.

“Darling, daddy is going to have so so so much fun with you.”

Without your approval, Natasha slowly pushes the cock inside of you – slowly. She didn’t want to cause you pain. After all, she still does have a heart; especially for someone like you. Your mouth lets out a silent, strangled moan as the pain washes through your veins – especially from your core. Natasha clearly enjoys the pain and pleasure that is accommodating from your body. Your eyes can tell, the way your body responds to her touch, the way your pussy grips onto her cock; she enjoys it very very well.

“So fucking tight for me!” Natasha looks down at the scene and saw how her cock wouldn’t even fit inside of you. Smiling smugly, she looks back at you and completely ruts herself inside of you.

“Natasha! Fuck!”

“Oh fuck you feel so good,” Natasha leans her head until her forehead is pressed against yours and thrusts inside of you roughly, making a squelching sound that is formulating the whole atmosphere. Her right hand made its way to your breasts and palms it with no sympathy. You closed your eyes in pleasure or pain – you can’t even think – and moan her name out.

Another smack that went to your face and saw an angry Natasha who was fucking you with no mercy. You wanted to touch your burning cheek but suddenly your hands were pinned against the mattress with her other hand. Her hips are pistoning with ease and watches you squirm under her; this was satisfying to witness for Natasha, all shy and naive – like a slut.

“Such a slut for me, aren’t you baby girl? You’re so fucking pathetic, so fucking dumb – jesus, you’re so tight…” her cock goes deeper inside of you until you feel the tip hitting at the spot that you find pleasure in. The older woman grunts with pleasure as she shields your head with her elbows that were on the mattress.

“Daddy, please! God, it’s too much, I can’t handle it! I can’t–” You try to continue your words but Natasha beat you to it.

“Yes, you can kotenok. Daddy knows best, I promise,” she pulls out swiftly – leaving the tip inside – and thrusts back in again with more force than was firing within her. Your hands flew at her back and held her as her thrusting became more erratic, forceful, harder, faster–

“Daddy, fuck! You feel so good inside of me…” Natasha looks at you, surprised that you were good at dirty talking. You weren’t an expert, not at all, but you like being vocal about how good or bad you feel. And there were so many wrongs in this situation but at this moment, you pushed those thoughts away and let this woman fuck you like some crazed animal.

“Do I bunny? Yeah, you’re so good at taking it for Daddy,” She pants out and brings her thumb against your clit, pushing and rubbing it softly as let out a pornographic moan that filled up the whole room. You were so merciless underneath her, she loved the view that if she could film this right now – she absolutely would, no doubt. Her teeth come intact from your neck as she bites down on you harshly, making your eyes wide open at the sudden pain rushing through your veins endlessly.

“Nat!”

“Shut the fuck up and let me fuck you.”

As soon as she bottoms in on you, you whimper in pain, pleasure, you don’t know. She looks at your watery eyes and notices how close you are to edging; she smiles at you, a tight lip one, until it fades away and thrusts inside of you hard. You gasped and whispered, “Daddy, god… please, I’m so close!”

“You’re just incredibly captivating,” Natasha moans into your ear and pulls you back up until you are sitting on her lap. She lifts her hips, asking you to move yours too and grind on each other rhythimacally. Your hands were on her muscled back as you felt the older woman gripping your hips, taking the lead. You watch her as she tries to pull you back up and down until her cock is seethed through your wet cunt with wet sounds. She looks at you, with her hooded eyes, and leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Cum for daddy, little one. Just coat my dick with your cum, come on baby, you can do it.”

Your orgasm overtakes your body and felt your head snap back in pleasure, the waves of euphoria rushing through your core and all the way up to your stomach. You twitch as she thrusts all of her length inside of you slowly, completely in awe of how you came undone on her fake cock. She will never get rid of this image in her head.

---------

It’s been two weeks since I captured Y/N, and needless to say, everything was swell for me; even though it wasn’t for her. But, god, it has been wonderful for me ever since I kidnapped the young girl.

I’ve made so many mistakes in my life that I truly, fully, regret. And, I won’t ever do them again because I made a promise to myself that this time it will be natural and normal. Y/N was a whole package for me. She’s smart (not as smart as me), has this naivety that I truly find adorable, and her shyness. I noticed that I like girls who are vulnerable and are easy to manipulate. And, for Y/N, she was very easy.

This young girl, who fell onto my lap, is currently sleeping in my bed – humbly – as I stare at every detail that was on her body. I noticed that her breathing pace would change whenever her nose scrunches from her sleep. Does she dream? Surely, she does. Everyone does, it’s impossible for someone not to dream. Anyways, I wonder what she is dreaming. Maybe it’s about me and how much I fucked her with my strap… or maybe it’s me being romantically in love with her and finally, she accepts her fate that she belongs to me.

Whispering to her, I said: “I will never hurt you, Y/N. You’re safe with me. You won’t end up like Marianne, I promise. You’re different, so so different.”

I sometimes even have this thought that maybe all of this is just an illusion. To test me out. But it felt too surreal to be an illusion. Then, suddenly, I thought about Wanda of how she can manipulate my mind easily. Although I am quite confident enough that she will never possibly do that, she obeys me like Y/N does. Just less sex and tension.

I didn’t even bother closing the door in my room as I tuck myself inside of the blanket, wrapping my arms around the girl I am completely in love with, and kissing the back of her head gently. God, she smells divine. I want to bury myself in her scent so badly. I smile to myself and kiss her shoulders, snuggling more into her and falling asleep peacefully while my arms are still wrapped around her stomach.

A few hours later, I awoke and saw the bed empty. I try not to panic at first since the whole house is guarded. And there were locks everywhere. So, I didn’t worry much. I stood up and grabbed my tank top that was on the ground and walked downstairs to see Y/N sitting on the barstool with a toast in her mouth. My heart completely stopped beating at the sight of my bunny, sitting properly, eating her food.

I couldn’t help myself but ask, “Is your body sore?”

She shrugs and takes one bite of her toast, responding quickly:

“A little.”

I took a few steps and sat down beside her, my elbows meeting on the cool marbled counter. I asked again, wanting to have more conversations with my bunny.

“Was I rough?”

She didn’t hesitate to nod. I smirked at her devilishly.

“Good.”

Yes, I completely agree that I’m a true asshole and a dickhead, and maybe I am. But, I like being cocky towards Y/N. It makes me feel powerful and dominant, like someone taking control. And, I do enjoy that – fully. Without even thinking, I take her gentle hand with mine and slowly bring it to my supple lips, kissing it tenderly while I close my eyes as I try to take in the memory of myself doing this.

“For a kidnapper like you, you have a heart,” she remarks and takes a swig of the cold beer that was on the counter, chugging a few gulps down her throat. Maybe I should take away alcohol privileges from her, I want bunny to be as pure as possible. God, the more I hear myself the more I think I’m a controlling freak.

I chuckled, replying:

“I do, yeah.”

“No like,” I can tell that she’s tipsy because of the way she talks to me. My bunny is starting to slur with her words and I sighed deeply. “Sure, you were kind of rough on me for the past few weeks especially when we had sex but, you’re kind. I guess.”

Something about her complimenting me is making me go insane. I was never used to anyone who would compliment me, so with Y/N, it was just sort of a different energy that I surprisingly grasped quickly. I was so lost in my head that I was staring at bunny’s cleavage and shaking my head, letting out a nervous laugh.

“I just want you to be comfortable with me as possible, my little bunny.”

“And right now I don’t feel it,” she replies with sorrowful eyes. “But, I hate myself when I say that I’m starting to think otherwise when it comes to you. I hate you, I despise the shit out of you, I don’t know if I’m going to die here (you won’t, my detka.) but I feel like I could…”

She stops herself from speaking and her eyes lower to the ground. I was so eager to hear her finish the sentence that I got so close to her, my forehead pressing against hers comfortably – well for me, at least. I watched her as she struggled to swallow, feeling her mouth too dry, and looked back up at me, glistening tears in her eyes.

“I’ll kill myself if I ever fall in love with you.”

She was absolutely being outrageous. Y/N, my bunny, will never try to kill herself. I’ll make sure of that, I’ll tie up her wrists so that she won’t ever go near to any sharp objects or try to grab something to end her life. But, the thought seems terrifying too. And, a lot of people say that falling in love is so stupid and childish but, maybe I’m stupid and childish.

Because right now, I’m in love with her. Completely. And, I don’t technically know how to stop myself from feeling that way for bunny.

I whirled my head and chuckled darkly, “You won’t do that.”

I watch her as she scoffs and crosses her arms to her chest, responding: “I will. You better count your days–”

I’m also an abuser too if no one knew that.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #dark natasha #dark!fic #dark!natasha #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x you #smut #natasha romanoff smut #twbseries #natasha romanoff #smut and angst #possessive natasha

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milkywaybottles · 3 years ago

Text

The Way Things Were | Tommy Shelby x Reader

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Chapter 4: Troubling Times

There was news when you arrived home. Ada was pregnant with Freddie's baby.

Ada quickly confided in you, Polly had figured it out on her own, and therefore, Tommy had caught wind of it. You were filled with worry, wondering if Tommy was going to fly off the rails. She had insisted to go to the pictures alone, which you quickly debated. Nevertheless, Ada never listened to you.

But you had to admit, you were somewhat surprised to see her standing in your doorway, eyes glossy. Her complexion had always been pale, but standing in the moonlight, her skin was practically a milky white. Her dark bob had been thrown over her face, lipstick smeared across her chin.

"Oh Ada, commere'" You whispered, embracing her in the doorway. You flattened her hair, kissing the top of it. She sniffled in your arms.

"He's gonna cut him up and throw 'im in the cut" She cried, clutching on tightly to your dressing gown. You softly shushed her, leading her inside your apartment. She sat down on your sofa, staring into the patterned rug.

"No, sweetheart, he won't" You assured, disappearing into your kitchen. Bending down, you opened one of your cupboards and pulled out your metal kettle, filling it with water and putting it on the stove. Then, you made your way back to the lounge room and sat beside the woman.

"You don't know that" She cried. You shook your head, grabbing a clean, rosy handkerchief from your pocket and handing it to her. She took it gently, bringing it to her face and blowing her nose. You placed a supportive hand on her back, rubbing circles and letting your thumb rest on her shoulder.

"Tommy won't hurt him. I promise. He might be frustrating but at the end of the day, he wouldn't hurt you like that. I wouldn't let him either" You consoled. A high pitch squealing erupted from the kitchen and you quickly scurried over, bringing the kettle off the stove. Slowly, you poured your darling friend a cup of tea and brought it to her. Ada took the cup, her body hunched and face absorbing the steam. There was a moment of comfort and understanding silence before Ada decided to speak,

"I want to keep it"

You nodded, not wanting to give an opinion. It was her body, her choice. You knew that either way, you were going to help her through it. Maybe being an aunt wasn’t so bad after all. If you were pregnant, you would have wanted to be given the option. "Whatever you choose to do, I'll support you"

She lifted her head, the warmth of a nearby lamp lighting the side of her face, eyes sparkling. "R-Really?". You couldn't recall how long after that she lunged towards you for a hug, but her tight hold was welcomed.

You knew that this baby would cause a stir in the Shelby family, and you knew it would separate people onto sides. Polly had informed you that Tommy had given the couple an ultimatum, if they wished to be together, they must leave the city. It was the harsh conditions that had caused Ada to sour at the mention of her brother so for the next few days, you didn't dare bring up Tommy Shelby at the table.

Ada had been mulling over the idea of getting an abortion as Freddie had fled the city during the raid and had not yet been seen since, but as she recounted it, he stood at the station romantically as she was about to board the train, asking her to marry him. The idea of terminating the pregnancy flew out the window as soon as her eyes landed on his face. And you now did your best to stay true to one of the many promises you made that night.

Tommy Shelby mustn't hurt Freddie Thorne.

But as you sat at the table, news having just reached you that the two got married and disobeyed Tommy's wishes, you weren't so sure you could keep that promise. Tommy had just barged through the door in the meeting room. Polly's expression was troubled, face crinkled in thought, standing by the light of the oil lamp. "Are you armed?" She inquired to Tommy as he shut the door from the inside. It was an understandable concern that if she was going to break the news to him, she wasn't going to do it while he was armed.

Tommy ripped his cap off, sliding it between his fingers, "No"

"Then I'll tell you... Ada and Freddie Thorne were married today". Tommy's face fell ever so slightly. "They defied your orders. They haven't left the city". He sighed, pacing around the room before leaning against a table for support. You watched the two, a firm look on your face.

"I'll deal with it" Polly insisted, to no response from Tommy. "Thomas, I'll deal with it". He was always deadlier when he was silent, at times the silence caused shivers to run down your back. Between those piercing blue eyes, anyone that messed with Thomas Shelby would not see the light of day.

Tommy's head pulled up, "Where are they?". He looked between you and Polly. You shrugged casually, shaking your head.

"Freddie's comrades have safe houses. Why do you want to know?" Polly answered.

"I want to send them flowers. Why do you think?". You couldn't differentiate if his monotone voice portrayed sarcasm or not.

"Would it be so bad if they stayed?" Polly snapped.

Tommy looked at you slowly, "Did you know about the wedding?"

Shaking your head again, you bit your lip. "No. Besides, after our recent argument about Freddie, I don't think she would have told me until after it had happened in case I try and stop her". Your remark had come as a bit of a surprise to the pair, not having told them anything about a fight.

Tommy nodded briefly, "Alright, (Y/N), I'm going to speak to Polly for a moment-". You gave him a suspicious glare, abrasively standing from your seat and pushing it into the table before exiting the room, shutting the doors behind you. You had to admit, it hurt when people didn't trust you with things. He needn't finish his sentence for you to get the message.

Honest (Y/N), obedient (Y/N), a scared little girl, harmless... Those were the names the boys at school had teased you with when you were younger, describing you as a lost puppy dog without the Shelby brothers. You had every intention of walking away from the meeting, minding your own business, you truly did. But in a matter of moments, you flicked a look over your shoulder, left and right, pressing your ear to the turquoise doors. You hadn't done it before, but knowing only Scudboat was in the room and he was off with the fairies doing work, you wouldn't be caught. Your heart hammered violently in your chest at the thrill of listening in.

"I told the coppers Freddie wouldn't come back" Tommy hushed. You squinted, leaning your body against the door but not enough for it to snap open. "It was part of the deal". There were a million questions racing through your mind. What deal and why? being the main one.

It seemed ever inquisitive Polly had the same question.

"What bloody deal?" She hissed, "What happened to family votes? What happened to the meetings?". There was a long, suspense-filled pause. "If you let me deal with Ada and Freddie, it'll end in peace. Christ knows you've had your fill of war"

"You get Freddie out of town, Pol. Or else I'll deal with him myself". At the sound of footsteps gaining towards the door, you practically flung yourself from it, quietly landing beside one of the bookies tables. Your breath halted as you had roughly three seconds to come up with a non-conspicuous pose, so you leaned against the table, head buried in one of the books. It was really no different from any other day and Tommy marched right past you, eyes set on the door. As quickly as the meeting had ended, Tommy was out the door.

The robbery.

The stolen guns from the BSA.

That was the only possible way Tommy would make a deal with the police. Inspector Campbell and Arthur had both mentioned it. He had done something that had him in over his head and Inspector Campbell was on our tail. That was the reason Campbell had approached you. He was under the impression that you had an insight, that you had the key that would unravel the whole crime. Unfortunately for him, Tommy couldn't trust people if his life depended on it.

You tsked at the foolish man, smacking your hand down on the table

"God dammit, Tommy" You grumbled.

The Garrison was your second home but you hadn't had the time to stop by recently. It felt good to be back. The cigarette smoke pillowed around you, the tails of your coat lifting as you walked swiftly to the bar. But at the sight of a blonde with a striking complexion behind the bar, wiping the table, you cocked your head to the side.

"I wasn't aware there was a new barmaid" You stated stiffly, "Not after what happened to the other one". The last time there had been a barmaid, she had gotten pregnant from one of the regulars but with so many, she didn't know who the father was. She ended up having a miscarriage and took the next boat out of town. You couldn't help but ponder if this new barmaid was the same.

"I'm new here" her Irish accent filled your ears. It reminded you of Inspector Campbell. You smiled at her lamely, taking a seat on one of the wooden stools. Swirling your pointer finger on the counter, you glanced up at her. The woman only stared back.

"I can see that" You mused, "Whiskey, please"

She turned, pulling two bottles off the shelf, "Irish or Scottish?"

"Irish" you answered. She placed the large bottle of Scottish whiskey back on the shelf and then spun to face you. Her hand slid under the table to pull out a crystalline glass. As she poured the liquid, she didn't dare look up. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

But before she could answer, Harry came trotting out of the backroom. "Grace, she's on the house" he leant down to whisper in her ear, "Peaky Blinder, inner circle" His short words were enough to get the message across. You pursed your lips, a look of infectious satisfaction spreading across your face at the sight of her parted, puffy lips and confused expression. She didn't question him, only nodding.

Was the girl so dense she couldn't have figured it out earlier? You were significantly different to the clientele in the bar, a woman such as yourself wouldn't have come around those parts unless she knew she was safe and protected. That is why it was even stranger that Grace was there. What protection did she have? There had to be more than meets the eye. You could be an extremely judgy person and first impressions meant everything to you. In a matter of moments in meeting someone, you could have a whole profile built on them in your head. Tommy remarked that you were quick like that.

You brought the liquor to your mouth, the liquid burning wildly as it slid down your throat. The door to the Garrison smacked open and all eyes were caught, Ada panting while she paced towards me.

"Have you seen Freddie? Or Tommy?"

Panic flew through you, watching your friend lean on the table, groaning in pain. "Ada, you need to sit down" You warned, concerned for her wellbeing. Grace hurried behind the bar, getting a glass of water. Managing to lead Ada into the Shelby snug room, she fell against the wall, attempting to catch her fleeting breath. Grace brought the water to her.

"I have to find Freddie" Ada repeated.

"Drink the water" You told her. She shook you off.

"No, (Y/N), I have to find them. I think they're gonna kill each other. " Your face scrunched, raising all the alarm bells in your mind.

"What do you mean?". Your eyes were pleading with her to elaborate. She peeled off her fur coat, placing it down on the table to stop herself from overheating. Sweat dripped from her brow, hand moving to wipe it off.

"Polly visited us, offering us some money and two tickets for New York. Freddie's upset at Tommy because of the offer" she explained, finally grabbing the glass from Grace. Her hand trembled as she drank, gulping the water down as if she were stranded in a desert.

"But Ada, Tomy didn't know what Polly was going to offer. She took it into her own hands. You know what she's like" You fired.

"Well that's not going to change his mind now, is it?" She shot back, clutching the table again for support, "Oh god. I can't take much more of this". Determining you had to worry about Ada first, before the boys, you rubbed her back. A pregnant woman shouldn't be in such a state, you didn't need to be a nurse to know that much.

"Take a few deep breaths, love. They are big boys, surely capable of solving problems without firing a gun. You have to trust Freddie at least, if not Tommy too" You reassured, but your voice faltered at the end and you weren't so sure yourself.

"Most men like to shoot first, ask questions later..." Grace combated.

You shot her an icy glare. Her presence was not helping Ada to feel better. "Excuse me, but I think I know a little bit more about them than you" You snapped, prompting Grace to lower her head and see herself out. Now, back to Ada.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#the peaky blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #female reader #she/her #cillian murphy

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har-rison-s · 3 years ago

Text

mask & seek: 13

batman x fem!reader

based on: Hello! May I request Battinson x SpiderWoman!Reader fic where she's from the MCU but then she ends up in Battinson's universe and meets him? Maybe he doesn't trust her at first but once she saves him from something, he relents then begins to trust her and maybe then a relationship ensues?? Thank you so much and have a great day!! ❤

author's note: hello. this took me 9-10hours and i still think the ending sucks BUT oh well. am i gonna rewrite it ??? no. i think you guys will like it, the chapter has a nice surprise over-all, hihi, and i'm too tired and running out of time to rewrite this chapter. ngl, i have some really good moments here in my writing, and i hope you guys will see them and appreciate them :) thank u sm on the feedback, as always, i love you all. happy reading!!1

main masterlist

bruce wayne masterlist

part twelve

part fourteen

word count: 13.1k

warnings: LONGGG!!! hope it doesn't bore anyone. also smut!! p in v sex, oral sex on f, fingers in mouth, emotional sex, praise, creampie, all the good stuff yk B)

gif credit goes to owner!

bruce knows he can’t follow her. physically it’s impossible, because he’s not like her, and he’d lose a lot of time getting down on the street and onto his bike. even though there is the urge to try out the new wings he recently made, but he hasn’t even tried them out in a safer environment before, so it would be foolish and lethal to try them out now to follow her.

but he also knows where she’ll be at the end of the night. it disappoints and upsets him that she’s chosen not to meet him at their usual rendez-vous and is, instead, apparently swinging around gotham and fighting for justice on her own. it eats away at him, and he’s rightfully upset as, again, he has no explanation from her about it. did she just play him for a fool? did she lie to him?

she didn’t exactly promise to meet him. that day at her work, or any later day. she said she doesn’t know if she can ever meet him again, and she didn’t say anything after he promised to be at their place every night. she didn’t say anything. so she didn’t lie, either.

alfred’s voice is in bruce’s head again, saying she just needs time. and that he’ll scare her away if he intrudes on that space, on that time with herself. but he can’t wait any longer. it’s been nearly a week since that day at her workplace. he saw her, right now, slinging across the train tracks and the street below them. bruce almost thinks she did it for show, having the knowledge that he’ll be on location, and will be seeing her from it.

it’s only a few minutes past eleven thirty, which means she will be done with her night shift soon. on the nights bruce couldn’t make it, she usually went out at nine or ten by herself. and even though bruce never told her that, he worried for each of those nights about her, and secretly didn’t want her to go. but she’s quicker than him, and has powers, and can’t stay away from saving citizens longer than a day. she’s been out nearly every night, and only on the occasions of particularly heavy work shifts has she passed on the opportunity.

bruce guesses she’s addicted to that. saving people, putting criminals to justice, giving them what they deserve—it gets her off. it’s not the adrenaline anymore, it’s her usual nightly routine. her alcohol, her drug, her cigarette.

judging by the time he has left, bruce gets moving off the train platform. he jogs down each little set of stairs, feeling a little stupid doing it, but does it nonetheless, until he’s finally on the street level and makes his way towards that alley he parked his bike in. what is she doing out there alone? has she gone out alone before, in these six days she hasn’t met up with him? does she not want to work with him again? does she not want anything to do with him, knowing that he’ll be waiting every night for her, anyway?

she’s become a bigger mystery to him again, and it’s safe to say that bruce is bubbling over with emotions as he trudges up the fire escape stairs and unlocks the window to her living room with a little metal hook. just a small thing he always keeps in his pocket, in case he needs to break in somewhere. yes, he is intruding, and he feels like he’s intruding, rightfully so, but it doesn’t feel the least bit wrong. he has to do this. he has to see her. he has to talk to her.

he closes the window and locks it from the inside so she wouldn’t suspect anything as she’ll come in later. he doesn’t want to spook her, much less give her a heart attack, he just wants her raw and true like she always is, without any prejudice about what might have happened to her window, or who has entered it.

bruce sits down on her sofa, the one she sat him down in all those nights ago, on their first real meeting, their first solid interaction. sitting in the exact spot he was then, bruce feels memories of that night flooding in, and they play like a little short movie before his eyes. how he watched her attend to his wounds, how he helped her clean hers up, it was on her thigh. how she sat next to him and touched his hair, asking questions and telling him random different things.

he remembers how soothed he was by her. she made him immediately feel at peace, and he trusted her almost immediately, as well. she was kind to him, didn’t know and didn’t care who he was. she just wanted to be equal with him—she took off her mask, and requested he do the same. no question about his name or anything, she just needed him to understand how trust for her works. even though that instinct of hers told her to trust him already.

tears gather in his eyes at those thoughts of her. the memories are too strong, too close to his heart, even closer than he’d like to admit. so much so that he nearly misses her coming home. he only hears her sigh of effort when she’s already jumped onto her living room floor, and at that noise, bruce snaps his head towards her. true enough, she’s still in her spider-woman suit, and she’s pulled off her mask. she doesn’t gasp in shock or surprise at the sight of him there, or at the quick turn of his head, her spidey-sense having kicked in again and she sensed another presence in the flat before she even came in. but she furrows her eyebrows, and focuses more on bruce, thinking, for just a moment, that she might be hallucinating and that he’s not really there. but he is. and though his eyes are dark, bright tears shine in the corners of them.

“what are you doing here?” y/n asks and strides over to him, her mask in hand before she leaves it on the coffee table. she turns around and draws her curtains, then, wanting privacy from anyone who might be watching from now on. bruce watches her all the while, his breaths beginning to grow heavier.

“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her finally, and y/n shakes her head at his voice. the brooding, intimidating growl of batman is in it. she turns back to face him. his eyes are looking right into hers, nearly boring holes into them, into her, as if wanted to do that.

y/n shakes her head again, “if you wanna talk, you’re gonna have to take off your mask.” she tells him quietly, fearing that it’s not her place to request something. that she’s undeserving even of such a little, but important thing. she doesn’t want to talk to batman, she wants to talk to bruce. with batman comes this great act, and so much more bravery than bruce has on the regular. she looks up at him from her hands. “it’s just you and me. and i don’t need batman now.”

infuriated and impatient, bruce pulls the cowl off so fast it makes a scratch in the side of his head, but he pays no attention to it, only making a small wince in reaction. y/n must say he looks like he usually does. and by usual, she means the black smear around his eyes that can’t hide the purplish bags under them, which are evidence of sleepless nights. no wonder. she didn’t see those on him while she was at the manor with him, because he slept through each night with her.

but the fury and threatening volcano eruption on his face takes her back a little. she hopes that anger isn’t towards her, but she knows that it probably is. she feels awkward, and embarrassed, and out of place. she sighs and walks over to her kitchen island, ten feet at best to bruce’s left. he watches her go and he unsnaps his cape, leaving it on the back of the sofa, and then he pushes his kevlar suit off himself one by one, trying to do it fast. y/n fixes herself something to drink from her fridge all the while, and she makes another full glass, in case bruce wants some, too.

if she doesn’t want batman now, that’s what he’ll give her. he walks over to her in the kitchen only after the batman parts of his suit are off, including the flattening jacket. he’s now dressed in a t-shirt, jeans and socks, feeling both out of place and exactly at home, dressed like that in her apartment. y/n watches him come up to her, that glass of a drink in her hand lifted up to her face, where the cold beverage is cooling her cheek. she looks at him with anxious, but tired eyes.

“why were you out there alone?” bruce asks her after he situates himself across her, his back leaning into the kitchen island as hers is leaned against her counter. y/n sighs.

“i wasn’t fighting alone,” she tells him quietly, “i was just swinging around, clearing my head. nothing more.” she sighs and looks into her glass. “not that you should know what i’m up to,” y/n shakes her head. bruce’s nostrils flare.

“i should know,” he argues.

“what, are you gonna ground me for fighting some low-lives on my own?” y/n’s upset towards bruce has quickly turned into anger. perhaps she’s pissed off by him, by all the things he chooses to be blind to when he’s not batman. bruce gives her eyes with such fire in them. but also defeat. he knows he can’t ground her, or tell her what to do and what not to do. it’s not his right, not his place, and not his choice to make, after all. she knows that, too, of course. “bruce, you can’t keep me away from the world.” she says, and has to admit that saying his name caused her heart a little pain.

he looks straight at her now, those fiery, defeated eyes now concentrated on something more precise. “is that what you thought i was doing?” he asks her. “is that why you left? you thought i was keeping you locked in with me?”

y/n shakes her head as her eyes close. he really is blind to the things she thought he was. she has always been right about him, but he – nearly never about her. “no, i didn’t think that,” y/n tells him. then what? “and that’s not why i left.”

“then why did you?” bruce asks, and the volume his voice reaches frightens y/n, so much so that she looks at him with widened eyes. bruce sees them, and wants to apologise immediately, wants to take that back. “why did you leave? why didn’t you say anything? why didn’t you come meet me all these nights? i waited for you.” his eyes fill with tears again, those previous ones having dried beforehand already. bruce’s lip trembles. “why didn’t you just… tell me? how you felt, what was wrong?”

y/n is too impatient with bruce, with herself, with his questions. “because it’s hard to!” she says. “even despite my instinct, despite everything that we’ve gone through together, i still don’t know if i can open up to you like that!” she looks into his eyes again. it saddens her that there’s no ounce of understanding in them, only confusion. “i told you that it’s nothing you can change, but maybe it is now… i don’t know.”

“y/n, just tell me, please,” bruce says and takes those two steps closer to her, so he can cradle her cheeks in his hands and be closer to her. he sticks to her like a magnet, and she has the urge to wrap her hands around his form, too, and pull him close as possible. but she fights it, not wanting to let this conversation go to waste, “i…” bruce gulps, “i want you... to be with me. whether we’re working, or—or reading together, or listening to music, or whatever else—i just want you here with me.” or whatever else. bruce shakes his head, his forehead gently bumping against hers. tears have filled y/n’s eyes now, too. she can hear in his voice how much she’s hurt him, and it breaks her heart. she didn’t mean to. she never did. “this isn’t easy for me, either, i’ve never…” he sighs shortly, his head making a gentle shake, “i’ve never had anyone like you before in my life. and i don’t want to lose you.”

did he really just say that to her? y/n can hardly believe her ears. does he mean those words? he wouldn’t be saying them if he didn’t, to be fair. y/n squeezes her eyes shut to avoid crying, but her tears spill all the same. bruce feels the ragged breath she takes, he feels how it makes her whole form tremble under him. y/n wipes at her tears with her hand and sobs, “i’m sorry,” she tells him, “i didn’t want to hurt you.” she says in wails. “i just… couldn’t take it anymore. we’re too different, bruce. your world is so much more different than mine.” y/n says and wipes her tears again. she hates that she can’t talk about this without crying.

bruce takes it as in the sense that she’s gotten to gotham from a different world physically, but again, it’s evidence that things like that fly over his head so easily. “what do you mean?” he asks her and leans back a little, unconsciously giving her space. he even pulls his hands away from her, leaving her completely untouched for now. for however long she needs.

y/n is quiet for a while as she gathers herself. every word that she had planned to tell him at some point now seems to bring more and more sobs, pain and tears from her. it’s hard talking that way. “i mean… look at how you’re living,” she says. the mansion, the wealth, the family legacy, “all i ever had was a small basement flat in queens,” she tells him, and her voice grows squeaky in a wail towards the end, “my mother had to work… terrible, absolutely inhuman jobs to pay the rent, get us food. with no one to help us.” y/n sobs and hides her face in her hands from bruce. he doesn’t touch her, being able to tell that she really doesn’t need that right now. “only after… she died did i find out that i have an aunt. they weren’t on good terms, but she took me in immediately. even though she had no idea how to raise a kid.” y/n sighs, and shakes her head. “i can see… by the way you behave, how and where you live, that you don’t know what that’s like. you haven’t worked a day in your life. everything that you have has come easy to you.” she looks up into his eyes.

bruce can’t deny he feels upset by those words. never had to work a day in his life… but he doesn’t get the type of work y/n means. building tools, devices, suits and vehicles in the abandoned station named after your parents with all the money you have from thin air is work to him, but it’s not work in reality, is it? that’s just money spending, the complete opposite of work.

“i haven’t had a day since my eighteenth birthday in which i haven’t had to work, or fight for what’s important to me.” y/n tells him. she won’t go into detail about her mother and how she died, or about her best friend, who met the same fate. he doesn’t need to know that. it doesn’t really have anything to do with this conversation. “that’s where you and me are different. i don’t expect you to understand, but…” she shakes her head, “you asked, since you... clearly can’t understand what you don’t know, so here it is. that’s why i left.” she looks into his eyes again. “that’s why i have a complicated relationship with money.”

bruce nods, his eyes faltering away from hers. now that she’s told him about her childhood, or at least some part of it—it seems there’s more to tell—he gets why she was so cold. why she was so adamant on knowing why he bought her those things, why she had a hard time accepting them. he doesn’t understand the things she’s went through, the life she’s had, but at least he knows about them, and understands her more.

“and it’s none of your fault for how you grew up, for your father’s wealth,” y/n speaks up again, wanting bruce to be less confused about her feelings towards him in all this. bruce nods again, though biting back tears, “it’s just… i don’t think you and i have the same goals or—or beliefs.” she says and sniffles again. bruce furrows his eyebrows. “sure, we’re fighting all those guys at night, but during the day… you could be doing that and more. with everything you have.” she says in a fainter voice, cautious of his response. bruce wayne. prince of the city. gotham’s richest.

the suggestion in her words hits straight into his heart, as well as his pride. and his beliefs. bruce is silent as he thinks it all over, and y/n is afraid he’ll bolt out the door any second. he could do that, taking how he sometimes gets very unpredictable. but her instinct tells her otherwise, and so does bruce’s body language. gears are turning and pipes are hissing in his mind, it’s all so visible in his eyes.

she’s never had prospects like he has. she’s never had the money to change things in the world she sees as unjust. bruce can tell she’d do a lot if she had it, so maybe he should give her all the money he has? maybe follow up on that half-serious offer of hers and make her the head of wayne enterprises. she has much more spirit, much more will to act than he does. it hurts him that she’s seen it, but it doesn’t hurt that it’s the truth. perhaps he’s just been too afraid to acknowledge it.

so many questions are still begging to be asked, so many thoughts are running through his mind on repeat, one after the other. he leans off the island and comes closer to y/n again, slowly, cautiously, hoping to not intrude onto her space, scared she might swat him away, push him away. his hand caresses her hair as the other cups her cheek, she’s letting him. he looks into her eyes, which are blinking between his and those wandering, affectionate hands of his. “how did your mother die?” bruce asks so softly and quietly she could have missed it. y/n’s eyes showcase fear, and the urge to turn away, to get attention off herself, to escape his hold. then she blinks, hangs her head low and sighs softly.

“at work,” she tells him coldly, nearly paralysed in how exposed she currently is, “she was killed. because she wanted out.” y/n sniffles very strongly and looks down at her hands as she takes her gloves off. her lips press into a thin line. the loss of her mother still does numbers on her heart. bruce gulps. she’s saddening him more and more with every new thing she tells him.

“i’m sorry,” he tells her, the hand caressing her hair again, this time also moving in between her strands, cradling her head from behind. he only means well, and he only wants to be closer to her. y/n understands that, “were you there?” like i was when my mother and father got killed?

y/n shakes her head. “no,” she answers. she remembers that day very well, “i was at home. didn’t know until... cops showed up at the door.” y/n parker? we think we’ve found your mother. “nearly didn’t open it because mom told me not to open the door unless it’s her, and she had a certain way of knocking.” y/n’s lips make a very faint smile as she says this. bruce smiles a little, too, seeing that y/n remembers a fond memory of her mother. but she still doesn’t look at him, for whatever reason.

“is she the reason you do this?” he asks quietly again. y/n looks up at him at once, her eyes fearful of how well he’s turned out to know her. she appreciates it. that he may not be able to understand her, but he knows her. he knows her so well, he knows her by heart. bruce’s thumb flicks over cheek, where tears previously poured down. new ones gather in her eyes, and during her silence, they fall and coat the skin of her cheeks again, pouring beneath and onto bruce’s finger as well.

she’s overwhelmed. his hand on her cheek reminds her so much of their shenanigans in his car that day. and the hand on the back of her head reminds her of all those times they kissed, and she’s thinking of the manor again, she’s thinking of all that time they spent together. it reminds her of the care and affection that he’s shown her. and she can’t turn away from it. she’s done hurting him. she wants him, too. every day and every night. perhaps, after all, the crime-fighting isn’t her drug. but bruce is.

y/n gives him a nod as well as a shrug in response, because she is the reason y/n does this, but not the whole reason. there’s so many more. so for now, she gives him this kind of answer, though she’s sure he got the confirmation from her falling tears. bruce breathes a deep breath in and nods at her, too, saying that he gets it. he understands. part of every hero is that they’re avenging someone in everything that they do. whether it’s their parents, one of their parents, another close relative, maybe a friend or a lover. someone important to them who they lost. “did you get what you wanted?” y/n asks in a whisper, hoping that she has somewhat explained herself to bruce.

he searches her eyes for a few moments, confused. is this everything that she wanted to say? is she telling him that there’s nothing more to say or do anymore, and that they’re done? he hopes not. “i just wanted you,” he tells her in an assuring manner, his thumb flicking over her lip again, “i still do. always will.” bruce makes a gentle shake of his head. “please don’t make me leave,” bruce pleads quietly, thinking that could be the worst-case scenario.

y/n shuts her eyes as more tears pour from them and shakes her head. “i don’t want to do that,” she says, still shaking her head. she’s stripped herself down completely in front of him now, no going back.

“then don’t,” bruce says and now rests his forehead against hers, eyes closed. he sighs deeply as he feels himself closer and closer to her.

“but it will be difficult,” she tells him, still trying to push him away against all her best interests, “i’m scared, bruce.” she admits and sobs in desperation again, nearly gasping and grasping at him to not leave. her hands don’t know where to go, don’t know what to do to make him stay. will her small arms be enough for a man his size? enough to keep him in place? first of all, she can’t believe he’s here. he cares enough that he showed up at her flat. bruce opens his eyes.

“i’m scared, too,” he tells her. he has never had these feelings before, and he’s never had a relationship before. he doesn’t exactly know how they work, or what he has to do. he could hurt her, he could get her hurt again, and worse, he could be too demanding, he could not change himself for her... it all scares him. but, “because i love you.” bruce admits, and it makes y/n’s eyes open wide in an instant. “and i’m scared of what that means.”

“you love me?” y/n repeats in a hushed whisper, afraid to say those words out loud for maybe she accidentally dreamed him saying them. but bruce nods, extinguishing those doubts of hers. “are you sure?” she asks.

the question makes bruce utter a quiet chuckle, his lips stretching so beautifully into a smile. y/n finally reaches a hand out to his face, and caresses his cheek in return, making him look back at her. “i’m sure,” bruce assures her, “more sure than i’ve ever been of anything else.” he states. “i love you.” bruce says again, his fingers caressing her skin. “you mean everything to me.” he confesses in a whisper.

now y/n really can’t keep the dam closed anymore. her tears fall without a halt, without filter, they pour from her eyes, across her cheeks, down to her neck, into her mouth, and quiet sobs of relief rupture her lungs and chest. they’re happy tears, relief tears, even though they seem the completely different kind. bruce watches her, confused, and his movements on her skin in those two places halts. but y/n scoops herself up together and looks at him again. “don’t worry,” she says, “i’m only crying because i...” she hiccups in her confession, “because i love you, too.” y/n says and makes a smile on her face for show. and so that bruce would know that it’s real, what she’s telling him.

bruce’s heart stops at that confession, breath catching in his throat. all this time there were hints towards it being true, but he never wanted to assume she did. and, as his low self-esteem and self-worth usually told him, he thought she didn’t love him like that back. she couldn’t. but here she is, proving all that paranoia wrong. so he doesn’t waste a second more and kisses her lips. he hasn’t done that in so long, in nearly two weeks (not that he’s counted, of course), and it’s such blissful release that he can’t contain his own tears anymore.

y/n kisses him back, and so their lips battle in the will to show each other how much love they have for them. both of them want to win, but the process, the journey, is so much better than the victory. lips exchanging heated, wet, tearful kisses while hands grapple fabric and skin, wanting to be closer, closer, closer, until there’s no space and they succumb to each other, their skin and bones melting together.

bruce’s hands bravely venture down to her hips, where he caresses and grips them, pushing moans out of y/n here and there with his actions. she tugs on his hair when that happens, and that makes him groan in return. but that counter against her back is very uncomfortable. “this is not the place,” y/n whispers to bruce against his lips, and it halts his movements. she takes his hands in her own and pulls him away, out of the kitchen, and towards her bedroom, down the hall.

he can’t keep his hands or lips off her even while they walk, he’s kissing her neck, backing her against the nearest walls from time to time, just wanting to stay there. he doesn’t care where they are, as long as he can have her, he’ll be happy, and he’ll make her see stars to the best of his abilities, anyway. he’s scared, of course, for her to see this side of him, thinking maybe he’ll not be competent enough, he won’t do good enough for her. but she’s about to prove him wrong.

she laughs at bruce’s impatience and manages to stumble him over to her bedroom at last. she loves him kissing her neck and showing her that kind of affections, of course, she lets him know by the moans and whimpers she makes, but she doesn’t want to have her first time with him in her hallway. having it in her bedroom is important to her, even though she doesn’t really know why.

once they’ve stumbled into her bed, bruce finds the zipper in her suit and zips it open as quickly as he can, though he does it very messily. y/n is smiling, tears still in her eyes, and kissing his lips all the while, as he peels the suit off her, and she kicks it off with her legs at the very end just so that bruce wouldn’t have to disconnect from her. he smiles at that, knowing her intentions, and pulls his own shirt off his form, too. y/n has seen him bare before, but now she feels she’s got the full privilege and right to admire his chest fully. her hands reach out to run across it, bruce on his knees now before her, between her legs. her fingers trace over his muscles and she marvels at how there are no serious scars on his chest, unlike his back.

he just watches her eyes, and then they look up at his. a mischievous smile tugs at her lips, and she bites into her lower one. bruce shakes his head at her, though a grin adores his lips, as well, and he leans down to her again, smothering her whole face with kisses. “i love you,” he proclaims to her again, “you drive me crazy.” he says and y/n chuckles at that confession. bruce plays with the straps of her bra, and he gives her a look. “can i take this off?” he asks her, wanting to make sure she’s ready. so far, this is the barest he’s seen her. and he just wants her to be comfortable. if it’s better for her, she can leave the bra on.

y/n nods at him in response, and reaches under herself to unclasp the bra. bruce wanted to do that, but she sends him a knowing wink, knowing in the sense that she knows he wouldn’t be able to take it off on his own without a struggle. so since they’re both in a rush, and are naturally impatient people, she does half the job for him. and so bruce just hooks his fingers under each strap and lifts her bra off along her arms, and throws it to the side, not exactly caring where it lands.

his breath gets caught in his throat again, this time at the sight of her. her hair, her naked chest, her arms barely, shyly knitted together above her stomach, her shy smile and the tears still glistening in her eyes. she’s an angel. “you’re beautiful,” bruce tells her, “baby.” he adds, remembering that she seemed to have some sort of reaction to that nickname before, and he could try it out now again. this time y/n utters a whimper at that pet-name, her teeth biting into her lower lip again, and her thighs move around a little. bruce grins slightly and positions himself right above her body again, his chin resting just below her breasts. “do you like it when i call you baby?” he asks her, and kneads one of her breasts in his hand.

y/n sighs out as her eyes drop closed, and she sighs, already squirming beneath him. “yes,” she answers, and bruce feels her thighs pressing closer around his body, “does things to me.” she admits, and then feels bruce’s lips on her breast, just kissing for now. but then he lays a wetter kiss on the skin there, and he sucks lightly, too, and y/n feels like just melting into her mattress. the moan she makes goes straight to bruce’s firmly growing length in his pants, making him feel even more impatient. he increases his grip on her other breast, and makes a trail of kisses up to her face again, all the while hearing her sweet moans and whimpers for him.

“was that okay?” bruce asks her quietly, worried about his performance again, and to his soothing, y/n replies with a nod.

“i know you’re nervous, but you don’t need to be,” she tells him as her lustful eyes look into his and she caresses his cheek with her hand again, “it’s my first time, too.” she assures, her smile suddenly looking a little broken, along with her tears it makes for a sad facial expression. but those few words mean a lot to bruce. she’s just as inexperienced as him, and it puts him at some sort of peace at least. and how she was able to tell he’s that way also hits a close spot in his heart. now they’ll be doing something together for the first time, both of them, and it is ever so special.

“you tell me if i hurt you, alright?” bruce requests. y/n’s eyes fill with more tears at how considerate and affectionate bruce is. she still can’t believe it, after all this time, and yet here is the proof, staring her right in the eyes, touching her the way she likes, making sure that everything’s fine. but she shakes her head at his question.

“you could never hurt me,” she says in a scrappy voice that showcases her choked-back tears and sobs, and bruce only hopes it’s for a positive reason she’s almost crying again for. y/n pulls his face down to hers and kisses his lips. hungrily, lustfully, intimately, closing her eyes. bruce does the same, his hands coming lower to hold her waist, “can you touch me?” y/n quietly asks him, looking into his eyes, “please.”

you could never hurt me echoes in bruce’s mind, and he recalls that incident in the car, to which she undoubtedly is referring to without really referring to (but he can read her mind, can’t he?), and he nods surely. “i was going to, anyway.” bruce says with a wink sent her way, and that makes y/n giggle. bruce runs his hand from her breast down to the dip between her thigh and stomach, and he rounds the flesh of her thigh in his hand. y/n sighs out against his smiling lips, her thighs restlessly rubbing against his sides, yearning for friction, for some real touch. not that this isn’t great, she’s just growing more and more desperate and turned on by the second, by everything bruce does, by every move he makes across her skin.

bruce toys with her thigh, with the feel of her skin in his hold—it’s heavenly—pushing her thigh forwards, gripping the junction under her knee, caressing her upper thigh with his large, splayed hand. y/n’s breath catches in her throat—she can’t believe how gentle he is with her. of course, she adores it, and wants nothing more or less than these cautious touches, because she knows he will get to it when he will. she guesses she just always expected his batman persona to come out during these intimate settings—she once speculated that he’s quite the ladies’ man, and probably is in his vigilante mood when he gets down to it. this, she might say, is a pleasant surprise.

although she’s never been with anyone before, y/n knows what she wants in a partner, and she knows what she likes. and so far, bruce has checked a few boxes already, slowly checking the rest on his way now. and that again arises tears in her eyes. how careful, affectionate and attentive he is to her, to her needs, her level and zone of comfort. she’s never known love like this before, and it’s breaking her down. perhaps because it’s all she’s dreamed of those times when she’s wished for a partner. someone exactly like bruce. who knew she’d find them in an alternate universe where her home city doesn’t even exist?

she bends under his hands so easily bruce might have mistaken a doll for her, the way she completely melts against him in whatever he’s planned to do. how she willingly lets him push her thigh forwards more, how she cranes her neck when he leans down to kiss along it, how she shivers, but then bucks into his hand once he finally cups her pulsating cunt through her underwear. it makes her body do a whole reset almost—her eyelids fluttering closed and her thighs rubbing closer together, nearly capturing bruce’s arm between them. bruce grins at that and lays a kiss on y/n’s lips again, though they barely respond as she’s in a blissful state.

he can feel her wet warmth that has stained her very fitting underwear, and it drives him even crazier, even sort-of hungrier after her. bruce strokes his fingers up that patch of wetness and reaches nearly the same ecstasy as she is in. he can feel every inch of her pressing together under that fabric, in that wetness. “fuck,” he curses under his breath, resting his head in the crook of her neck, putty against her incredible might, “this all because of me?” he asks, and can hear her breaths growing heavier. he feels her chest moving more frequently, and harder against his. he’s gained confidence again, sureness of himself, because of her reactions. she’s doing wonders to him.

y/n can only nod, and it’s all the confirmation bruce needs to slip his hands into her panties and touch her without any confines or otherwise constricting factors. the real thing. he doesn’t know precisely what to do, he’s not seen a proper tutorial that would work for y/n exactly, but he can tell he’s doing the right things. both the louder and quieter noises that come from her lips, very much positive ones, tell him he’s doing a great job. y/n can’t manage to form coherent words, anyway, because bruce, bruce, bruce has taken over her mind completely.

bruce cards his fingers through her silky folds, gathering her wetness and spreading it across this most intimate area of her body, and he does so in slightly circular motions. y/n’s hands caress his body, one of them deep in his dark hair, the other on his back, digging her nails into the thick, scarred skin there. was she any more conscious of herself and bruce, she’d worry about scratching the scars open. but she can’t think further than the man’s fingers, further than his fingers on her cunt, she’s completely consumed by him.

bruce watches her face as best he can in the midst of his own arousal, and he just adores the look of her. eyes shut, fluttering open here and there, eyebrows scrunching up, lips parting, and little beads of sweat beginning to coat the skin closest to her hairline. not to mention the tears at the corners of her eyes, and the ones falling and already fallen down the side of her face. he knows they’re not ones of sadness, not anymore.

but, wanting to see what he’s doing, bruce moves slowly down her body while his fingers are still treading soft circled touches on her folds. he kisses every inch of her skin in his way, making her body spasm very gently here and there. she’s so reactive to every move he makes on her, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. one of her hands pulls away from his back as he moves lower, no longer that much accessible to her, and the other starts to pull away from his head of hair.

when bruce is down exactly where he wants to be (a/n: that would be down bad for y/n), his face inches away from the most intimate part of her body, he looks up at her. her hands, not knowing where exactly to be or what to do, figure around the sheets, in her own hair. her chest heaves in desperation, in that insufferable yearning for ecstasy, for release. for him. “give me your hands,” bruce gently asks of her, extending his one free hand, for now, towards her. y/n does as she’s told, a little lost on what he’s planning, but moves her hands down towards bruce.

with his able one hand, the busy one still circling her lips, he holds both her wrists between his fingers and pulls them towards his hair, where he so adores them being. he knows she loves touching his hair, too, she wouldn’t do it otherwise. or does she know he likes it and only does it because of that? that’s a question for later. her fingers land in his hair, nearly at the roots now, caressing the scalp, and they fit so well, as if a magnet was pulling her hands towards his raven locks. bruce grins and gets to work.

“keep them there,” he tells her softly, the command in his words not sounding like a command at all, but rather like a gentle request, “wanna see you.” bruce fingers the elastic of her panties, playing with it for just a second or two before he begins pulling her underwear down with both his hands. y/n whines at the loss of his fingers from her cunt, but something tells her this isn’t the last of those touches. once her underwear is down her legs and off, bruce looks at the sight exposed to him. my... this glistening beauty all for him. he nearly feels his stomach grumble at the sight, he feels hunger for her, one that he’s never felt before.

he playfully, in his quest to explore her, runs his middle and index finger down between her folds again, and feels her writhing underneath. her warmth, her wetness, her beauty are unmatched. and they’re all for him to witness, to feel, to experience, to taste. can he do that? bruce’s eyes flick up to y/n, even though he knows damn well she’s not able to look him in the eye. “y/n,” he calls to her quietly, gently, and she stirs, with her eyes closed, on the sheets, “look at me.” bruce requests. and even in her haze, she’s able to finally open her eyes and look straight at him, though her orbs are consumed by a layer of lust. “can i taste you?” bruce asks.

that question makes y/n want to kick against the mattress like a spoiled child. but she keeps her composure, and only her chest ruptures and her thighs tremble in response. she tries to keep her eyes on bruce’s, but it’s so hard. her thighs rub closer together again, desperate, desperate, desperate. those must be the most enticing words she’s heard him say ever. and she gives him a nod. of course, who is she to say no to him? he’s made her feel closer to heaven than any meal or feeling before, she won’t deny him or herself this pleasure.

bruce just needs to devour every inch of her, needs to feel her against every inch of himself, and he has the blessing from her to do so. so he gets to work. at first he gently breathes onto her exposed cunt, which already makes her sigh out sharply, and then lays just a kiss on the same spot. it makes her utter an even more helpless whimper, her chest heaving more frequently for those few moments. oh, she’s so not ready for his blissful assault on her.

he returns his hand to her folds and runs the two fingers through them, teasing at her entrance for just a second or two. and his mouth moves lower, towards where his fingers are, his tongue stroking between her labia lips. y/n gasps, “bruce,” she moans out his name. bruce makes a hum in response, eyeing her with eyes that ask is this good? am i good? but, of course, with her eyes closed again, she doesn’t see them. if she would, she’d only give him a positive answer as this is quite literally the best she’s ever been made to feel in her entire life.

bruce would be a liar if he said this doesn’t bring him any pleasure, either. he’s keeping himself from moaning and grunting as much as he wants to only because he’s so focused on making her feel good. with every lap at her cunt that he makes, he yearns for more. she tastes sweet, like sugar water, like his favourite alcohol. she also tastes like his dreams, like all his hopes and plans, like everything he’s ever wished for. with every inch of her that he tastes, licks, kisses, laps at, he realises he could spend forever there, between her legs, just pleasuring her, making her come over and over again.

his fingers press onto her clit while his tongue drags across it, and it makes y/n arch her back off the sheets all while moaning his name in a high pitch, hurting her throat just a bit as it’s an unusually high note she’s reached. but as she moans his name, it comes out distorted and broken up. much like herself. “gonna put my fingers inside you, okay?” bruce asks y/n, out of breath, and looking up at her. she doesn’t see him, only hears him, and she nods.

“yes, please,” she responds with a plea, as well, only firming the erection beneath bruce’s trousers. so he circles his middle finger around her tight hole, which grows just a little bigger at the request, and, to take away any possible discomfort that she might feel at the penetrating intrusion, bruce pushes his middle finger inside her entrance with his tongue. now that makes her actually scream out, and she’s not afraid to hide it.

the noise rises goose-bumps across bruce’s skin, and he hums in appreciation against her, his lips flush against her cunt. pushing further into her, seeing how far she takes him, bruce admires every crevice, every structured inch of her inside that he can feel on his pad, against his thin skin. she’s so tight that her walls are swallowing his finger up, and it feels indescribable. he forgets himself for a moment, his lips just resting against her labia lips for now as he wonders about how it would feel with his length inside her. if this feels this great, then how will that feel? will she even be able to take him?

perhaps he needs to stretch her out, so he does his best. “gonna put another into you, baby,” bruce tells her as he sort-of gets back to earth and kisses the inside of her thigh now, trying to put some ease into her—although knowing that he’s doing the exact opposite of it with anything that he does—, “can you take another one?” bruce looks up to her again, but it’s, again, a lost cause.

but y/n hears him. “yes. yes, i think so,” she says in a whiney voice, her eyes squeezed shut, forehead and chest sweating, hands raking unevenly across bruce’s scalp—she’s a complete mess, “just do it.” i don’t care if i can’t take it. “i just need you, please.” she nearly cries at that last bit, being so close to that edge all afternoon, it seems, and bruce understands. she’s so desperate for him, and he’s sure it’s gonna kill him eventually. if not now, if not tonight, then soon.

so he pushes his index finger into her, moving it inside along the middle one, feeling her walls swallowing them both up now. bruce shudders, moaning at how incredible that feels, and licks against her clit again. he’s sure nothing can feel better than this. and y/n has that same thought. her mind is racing, as well as her heart, and her chest is heaving like it never has before, not even on the times she’s had the most intense fights. bruce’s fingers are long, she’s known that, having known how large his hands are over-all, but oh my... she never expected them to hit that deep, and on the first entrance. god, is she hallucinating? is this happening? it’s too real, too good, too incredible, to be true.

“oh, my god,” y/n squeaks out among her gasps for air. her body writhes under bruce, around his fingers, her hips are bucking rhythmically, almost as fast as to bother bruce in his incredibly important work. he lays his other hand on her lower stomach and presses down gently.

“stay still, sweetheart,” he asks of her. and even those few words, especially that pet-name, make her whine. but when he strokes her walls with his long, aiming-to-please fingers, it reaches her in such a way that makes her actually cry out, and hot tears prick her eyes once more. only this time, much heavier, much harder to resist. so she doesn’t. she lets them fall, and lets sobs torture her lungs and her whole torso with their intensity. the heels of her feet dig into her bedsheets and she tightens the hold of her hands on bruce’s hair. she can’t take this, she can barely take it.

and he makes her torture all the more intense, with his lips and tongue on her folds, intruding between them, and his fingers raking across her walls, pulling the very pads of them against her meaty surface, curling them when he gets to the deepest point in her that he can reach. she’s crying, tears streaming down her face, sobs hurting her throat, as she has never been made to feel this good, and she has never been made to feel loved like this. she has never had someone to love her, care for her, attend to her this way. she can’t fathom or take everything that she’s feeling right now, it’s driving her over the edge. “oh, my god... bruce,” she cries his name as the feeling gets way too over-whelming.

she feels like she could burst open, physically, any second now. she’s blind about what’s about to quite literally come over her, and she has no choice but to feel it, let it take control, let it do what it has to. bruce’s tongue tight on her clit, his fingers nearly scratching at her walls, she feels that terribly foreign feeling—she’d rather call it entity—fully wash over her. finally. and she realises it’s what she was waiting, pleading, begging, yearning for. this exact feeling.

her legs go numb, and she feels an over-whelming wave in the pit of her stomach, where she’s felt herself yearn for bruce, for ecstasy, many times before. now she understands. now she knows what it’s like, but she has barely time to think on it now. she can’t think at all, her arms even go limp in bruce’s hair, only having pulled at it quite hard at the very beginning of this other-wordly feeling. her eyes screwed shut, lips parted and mouth open as she cries, screams and begs, all calling to bruce.

he only makes his actions gentler on her once he realises what she’s going through, what her body’s experiencing. and his heart pulses in his chest as he watches her reach that heavenly pleasure point. his length throbs in his trousers at how she looks as she’s going through it. god, absolutely divine. unlike anything he’s ever seen before. her face when she laughs, smiles or is working on something—his wounds, for example—is breath-taking, of course. but this... bruce is sure nothing compares to this. and he can’t believe he’s rightful to see it with his own two mortal eyes.

when y/n’s screams and cries of his name die down a little in volume and intensity, and now nothing but pants are leaving her lips, bruce pulls slightly away from her. to his pleasant surprise, he finds the breath-taking sight of her dripping a white nectar from her entrance. he needs no explanation for what that is, in that sense he’s knowledgeable enough, and he grows even harder at the sight, if that’s even possible at this point. he’s so hard right now that it’s painful for him.

bruce spreads her thighs a little, as they pressed slightly closer together after she came, and caresses his thumb over her dripping entrance. she whimpers helplessly at that caress, feeling more sensitive than ever. bruce only glances at her fleetingly, his eyes trained on that come dripping out of her. fuck. this is just incomprehensible for him. it looks just like sugar cream, and he knows it tastes similar, too. he can’t resist. bruce leans closer again and licks some of it up, as much as he can get from only very slightly entering his tongue in her. and this time, her whimper is even more desperate, more pleading. almost to say i can’t anymore, because she feels so sensitive, as if it was an open wound.

and she does taste like sugar cream, sweeter than before. bruce moans like a man having his eternal hunger fed, and licks her come up just one more time for his own pleasure before he pulls away and gives her a break from his very euphoric assaults on her. bruce licks his lips clean, wanting to savour every bit of her that he gathered, and he looks down at her. god, she’s so beautiful, he can’t believe it. and she looks absolutely heavenly after an event like this. he could make her come over and over again, if it means he’d see her this true, this beautiful, every time. and he’s sure he would.

her hands have fallen by her sides, and she’s only now returning to complete consciousness. she blinks her eyes open and finds bruce staring down at her. there’s a smile on his face that almost makes her laugh. he just made her have the first and, she thinks, hardest orgasm of her life, and he’s looking down at her, smiling like a happy idiot. the most she can do is make a smile herself at him, a very gentle and faint one, and bruce’s smile only stretches bigger at that.

he leans down to her, one of his hands wrapping around her wrist, pushing it into the mattress beside her head. he kisses her lips, plump and warm, and he can feel that she’s reacting to everything a little slower now, truly blown away by him, and the feelings he makes her have. he feels proud and confident of himself, and he smiles into their kiss. his other hand rests at the curve of her waist, just above her hip, and y/n’s arms weakly wrap around bruce’s torso. for support, for something to hold onto.

“can i, uh...” bruce begins a question he’s too shy to finish in a whisper, his smiling lips dragging across the tear-wetted skin of y/n’s face as he does so, and y/n closes her eyes as her grin grows wider. more tears fall. she already knows what he wants to ask, but she’ll let him finish that sentence. if he can, of course. come on, baby, where’s your confidence? “can you—i mean, do you want to—”

but, again, y/n is an impatient person at heart. she nods her head without letting bruce finish, because the answer is yes, will always be yes, “yes,” she tells him, and because... “now, because i’m not sure i’ll be alive later,” she tells him honestly, which makes bruce laugh. and, in return, it makes her laugh, too, through her tears. her laughter’s interrupted by her soft sobs. his rare, miraculous laugh is infectious, even during such intimate moments. but perhaps it’s best for those kind of times, because it’s a way to break the tension and the pressure between them. he rests his forehead against hers and his eyes grow serious for a moment.

“are you sure about this?” he asks her in an even quieter whisper, suddenly realising how much this could (does) mean to her. and y/n looks into his in-love, half-lidded eyes.

“i am,” she assures him as she nods. one of her hands circle up to his neck, fingers curling around the nape, towards the roots of his hair, “i love you. and i want this,” y/n tells bruce, looking into his eyes for more signs of understanding. he’s nervous, she knows that, and so is she. but somehow—perhaps from the literally mind-blowing orgasm he’s already given her—perhaps with his presence, his comforting, loving presence, she feels a little less nervous about doing this. and about what this could mean between them. though nothing more than their love and desire for one another.

bruce gives her a nod then. okay, then, this is it. here it goes, he tells himself. “i love you, too,” he whispers to her in response, his eyelids fluttering again. not because he’d be lying, but because he’s nervous and shaky and over-whelmed, and feeling quite emotional. he wants to remind her to tell him if he hurts her, but since she surely told him that he could never hurt her, and she should believe it, he doesn’t. and so, with a nervous hand, y/n slips his trousers and boxers downwards, which gives bruce the freedom to free his embarrassingly—to him—large, stiff erection from its confines.

y/n gasps quietly at the look of him, at the size of him, and bruce immediately looks to her, his eyes nervously asking what’s wrong. “nothing,” she assures, “just... i hope you’ll fit.” she tells him with a gentle chuckle, and bruce grins out of relief, his dark locks falling onto her face as he hangs his head low. “you’re so big, bruce,” y/n praises to him in a whisper, and the compliment makes him shudder against her. how he hoped that would be the truth. not that y/n has anything to compare bruce to—for her completely inexperienced mind and sense of measurements, bruce is big. certainly bigger than she anticipated.

“shut up,” he tells her in an airy chuckle, which makes y/n chuckle. she knows what praise does to him. makes him feel weird, undeserving, awkward, on the spot. weird for a man of his size to doubt himself, but he does it nonetheless. always insecure, always feeling that he’s not enough. but he is. and he’d always be enough for y/n, no matter any of his measurements.

she caresses his chest with one of her hands and spreads her legs a little again, so that it’d be more comfortable for him. bruce adores the sight. “come on,” she whispers to him, pulling his face closer to hers by the back of his neck, and bruce gets the message, leaning his forehead against hers again as he watches himself, to not make a mistake, slowly push into her half-inch by half-inch, always attentively listening to every sound she makes to know if something’s wrong.

that hand of his holding her wrist against the bed sheets slips upwards to link her fingers with his own, and he feels her tightly pressing her fingers into his hand as soon as he does that. bruce feels her tense up beneath him, sees her eyes squeezing shut, as well as her mouth, and he hears a little whimper from her. he instantly worries. “do we need to stop?” he asks her in a whisper, looking at her face of discomfort. she almost seems to be holding her breath. “baby,” bruce calls to her.

y/n shakes her head, and as soon as she opens her eyes, bruce sees new tears in them. “no, no,” she tells him, “i’m okay.” she assures and looks up into bruce’s beautiful, concerned orbs. “remember what i told you,” y/n reminds him, and her hand slips from his neck to his cheek, a comforting gesture of convincing, “you could never hurt me.” she assures, and her voice breaks a little. her lip trembles, but she nods at bruce, muscles around her eyes also trembling, threatening for another session of crying. bruce isn’t sure of what to do, because he’s not sure that y/n’s crying is entirely for the best reasons. but she wouldn’t lie to him, would she? “it’s alright, bruce,” y/n tries to convince him more. she knows it’s painful for girls during their first time, always, “you’re not hurting me anymore.” she searches his eyes. “it passed.” she sniffles. “keep going.”

he’s convinced, he decides, because she really wouldn’t lie to him. he knows that. especially about how she’s feeling. she’s always honest about it, always truthful and raw to him. he grips that hand of hers more and pushes himself further inside her, to the very hilt, for now. and what he gets in return is most rewarding. not only her sensitive, clenching walls around him, and their warmth, but also a moan from y/n that he recognises to be one of pleasure. and bruce exhales deeply, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he tries to adjust to everything. because god, he’s so painfully hard, and he’s finally inside her, and it’s enough to make him come on the spot.

it comes as a surprise to y/n how little it hurt, because now she just feels the good side of this. god, this is the closest she’s been with him. closest they’ve been with each other, and the moment she’s had daydreams and night-time dreams about has finally come. and it’s so much better than she imagined, so much more fulfilling and connecting. speaking from her subjective point of view in this moment, she can say that she couldn’t imagine having her first time with anyone else. she loves bruce, and she’s thankful that he lets her be with him when he’s this exposed, this vulnerable, this naked in every sense of the word.

speaking of bruce, he’s nearly fainted above her. she brings her thumb across his cheek, and that motion makes him turn to look at her. at least he’s conscious, she thinks. “what is it?” bruce asks her, clearly oblivious to her gestures. she smiles wide, and tears pour from the corners of her eyes.

“nothing,” she says in the quietest of whispers, “just thought you’d died there for a moment.” she jokes, and bruce grins at her amused mood.

“think i did,” he says and gets above her body again, feeling confidence and strength returning to him, “you want to keep going?” bruce asks in the most affectionate of ways, and then moves his head so that his hair would flip out of his view. it’s bothering his vision, he can’t see her properly. y/n nods at his question and caresses his chest again. she looks straight into his eyes and bruce takes that as a sign to begin moving.

it’s painfully pleasuring for the both of them that movement of bruce pulling out in a slow stroke, y/n whimpers and the grip on bruce with both her hands tightens incredulously. bruce sees his length coated in y/n’s white come from beforehand, and that makes him groan.

“god, you drive me insane,” he tells y/n and then looks back at her, wanting to see only her face as he pushes back in. this time, contrasting to the very first time, her throat makes a deep, guttural moan, and the feeling of him pushing back inside her has her throwing her head back, “you feel perfect around me.” bruce praises her and y/n smiles in her blissed-out state. her arm returns to wrapping around his back, his thick, wide, muscular back, and she pulls him down enough to be able to whisper into his ear.

“you can go faster,” she says, tending to what her body requests, “please.” she adds, knowing that always does something to him. and quick enough, once bruce is comfortable with himself and how fast he’s moving, it’s nearly a race of how fast he can go. a race with himself. his body rhythmically moving above hers, his girth feeling every inch of pulsating, inviting walls clenching around him, y/n holds onto him with the hand on his back, gripping onto it out of how good he makes her feel, nearly digging her nails into his skin.

and the hand that is intertwined with bruce’s just next to her head. an affectionate connection between them, gentler than the speed and care with which bruce thrusts into y/n. sweat is collecting in thick beads on her forehead again, and on bruce’s, too. this is some exercise, he discovers, an exercise that can move an entire bed and make it squeak against the floor. their panted breaths on each other mix with the sounds of their skins meeting harshly together at their hips, where the most intimate of their connections is unravelling at a quick pace. somehow, at this moment, y/n thanks every twist and turn in her life that led her to this moment. she loves him more than she can fathom. and she sheds tears again, but really ones of the best kind this time.

“right there,” y/n whines as she feels bruce just reaching the sweetest spot inside her. the anticipation of him reaching it—because she knows he can—is like a fever in her body. bruce grapples the back of her thigh with his flat, large palm once again, and pushes her knee forwards, slightly to the side, so he could reach that spot she’s begging him to. and he does, “fuck, yes! right there, baby,” she cries out and pulls bruce’s face once again down to hers, where she harshly swallows up his lower lip.

his pet-name for her being used on him by her does quite a number on him, and he’s sure he’ll really come any next second. and because he aims to please her, the confirmation that he’s succeeded does another number on him and his close-approaching orgasm. bruce deepens their kiss, running his tongue along hers and on the inside of her lip, which makes y/n whine for him in an even higher pitch. “i won’t last much longer,” bruce tells her, his lips grazing hers faintly as he speaks in close proximity to her still. he’s afraid his confession will disrupt this event, afraid she’ll find it weird.

but she puts his worries at rest by saying, “me neither,” and giving bruce a grin. he shakes his head at that expression, wearing the smile of an idiot in love on his own lips, “give me your hand.” she requests, and bruce immediately obeys. to do that means losing his support system that helps him not crush her body with his, but he does his best to still lean above it, now closer to it than before, so close that her breasts are pressed against his chest, and he continues with his almost unnaturally fast rhythm of thrusts inside her.

once y/n has bruce’s hand at her disposal, she moves it towards her face with her free hand, that was just now around bruce’s back. now it’s holding his wrist—and bruce watches the whole thing—and moving his sweat and come coated fingers up to her mouth, where she lets the pad of his thumb meet with her lower lip at first, just gently running it from one corner to the other. bruce has got the guidance, he’s realised the message, and doesn’t need any more instructions. so what he simply tried, explored into, that day in the vehicle, was arousing for her, too. he grins, and y/n returns her hand to gripping his back, knowing that he’s read her mind now.

bruce pushes his thumb deeper into her mouth, and he feels her tongue swirling the pad of it already. he shudders, his eyes half-closing, at how it feels in combination with everything else. she’s a vixen. a siren. a witch, but an angel. he could get lost in her for the rest of his days. bruce leans down to kiss her lips while his thumb is still in the corner of her mouth, and y/n moans bestially into that kiss. bruce pulls away with a grin and pushes his thumb in and out between her lips, much like his cock is doing in and out of her cunt. fuck, he just loves this. he feels sick, twisted, although it’s nothing wrong, but he can’t help it. “you like my finger in your mouth, huh?” bruce asks her in a discovery-sort-of-voice with a cocky grin and an over-all cocky expression on his face. y/n wiggles her eyebrows and sends the man a wink, panting through her nose now as her mouth’s a little occupied with his finger.

“i love it,” she tells him, and bruce moans again, “give me more.” she requests. who is bruce to say no to that? he slowly pulls his thumb out of her mouth, but y/n doesn’t let it leave without releasing it with a slick pop noise first.

“you’re perfect,” bruce says, all kinds of fantasies running into his mind at that image, and he really feels himself just at the edge now. his thrusts get sloppier, and y/n feels it. she smiles wide at him before bruce slides his index and middle finger in between her smiling lips, and she sucks on them as well as she knows how to. bruce’s head falling to rest besides hers, his hand gripping y/n’s on the sheets, and his thrusts stalling as he pants heavily and chants her name is a give-away that he’s finally reached that euphoric point. had he any more sense inside himself at that moment, he would have felt bad for not letting y/n finish first.

but she’s coming up and along just behind him, her nails making new scars on his back with how hard they’re scratching him. her body writhes beneath his, once again she feels like a spoiled child, and she moans his name in the most beautiful of manners around those stalled fingers of his in her mouth. y/n can feel bruce emptying himself inside of her, it quite literally fills her up, and he can only groan in the complete ecstasy that is her coating his length in her nectar. after a few moments of them regaining their breaths and consciousness, y/n feels him weakly pulling out of her, robbing her of that fuller feeling, but it’s only to see what it looks like. his come inside of her, mixing with her own, leaking out.

bruce’s forehead against hers, he watches the small-scaled scene unravel before his mortal eyes, and it makes his heaved breaths turn into whines again. “fuck, look at you,” bruce muses, taking his hands away from y/n’s lips and hand and instead using them to spread her thighs apart. y/n’s back lifts off the bed momentarily at that comment, and she laughs in such a way that makes her sound drunk. perhaps this is another thing that gets her similar to a drunken state, bruce thinks as he glances at her. he moves his fingers to her entrance, and spreads her folds in such a way that makes their come really leak out of her.

y/n’s back is on the bed again and she’s whimpering in response to that feeling, bruce touching her while she has that same sensitivity as before, only perhaps much more intense now than before. she’s been made to come twice, and it’s starting to take the most wonderful toll on her. bruce looks at her again, fully now, takes in the sight of her, as his hands caress her inner thighs. to comfort and soothe hair as he best can, knowing that she might be exhausted, overstimulated, sore, and whatever else. he’s not a specialist on female bodies, but he knows y/n. and the limits she has while fighting also tell of the limits she has sexually.

he decides to litter her body with kisses and nibbles as he makes his way across it, back up to be face to face with her, on quite literally one level. and y/n squirms gently under him, wrapping both her arms around his form once he’s come in close enough range for her to do that. bruce leaves a last few wet kisses on her neck, even getting the idea to suck on the skin right below her jaw, knowing it will leave a mark. and he wants to. he wants to see that mark on her, from him. the action makes her squirm even more under him, fuelling her ever-rising arousal again. she guesses with being spider-woman she also has a higher libido than most women. how interesting. she feels sensitive, and yet like she could go for round two, three and so on.

once he’s face to face with her again, bruce caresses y/n’s forehead with his hand, moving sweat and hair off it, to see her full beauty. he smiles at her, a completely rare smile that she’s sure she’s seeing now for the first time in their time shared together ever. she can’t exactly place what that smile encompasses or shows, but she won’t question the little miracle. she smiles back and wraps her arms closer around his torso. “you feeling okay?” bruce whispers to her.

y/n nods surely. “i feel like people feel when they're drunk,” she confesses, and the two share laughter together over that statement.

“you sound the part,” bruce agrees, and y/n laughs harder. her fingers caress the marks she’s made on the skin of bruce’s back, and it nearly scares her. feels like cat scratches, almost. she searches his eyes, no doubt he’s felt them, too, of course, they’re on his back, after all. but bruce doesn’t say a word.

“how do you feel?” she asks him then quietly, cautiously, “baby.” she adds and has a giggle to herself, remembering how that pet-name made him feel just a few minutes prior. bruce shakes his head with a laugh, he’s in slight disbelief of her audacity. she will certainly use this to tease him now. “think i made some new scars on your back.” y/n admits, and her teeth bite into the inside of her lip out of slight nervousness.

“you did?” bruce says and tries to glance over his shoulder at the scars she talks about, but can’t see properly. he sits up then and glances around her room in search of a mirror. turns out there is one just on her night stand, and bruce makes a surprised facial expression at it. he turns his back to it, and y/n sits up with him now, to see the scratches. “huh.” y/n keeps her arms wrapped around his form, and traces her fingers over those lines again.

“sorry,” she says with a frown, but bruce looks down at her in slight confusion.

“don’t be,” he tells her with a shake of his head, “i like them.” bruce assures and cups her face in his palms, chasing her lips afterwards playfully, making her smile—exactly what he wanted to do. “they’ll heal faster than the others,” bruce tells her dismissively about the scars between gentle kisses on her lips, and it makes y/n giggle. how he loves this moment, just this moment between them two, he can’t even say it. y/n naked in his arms, her leaning up towards his body, both of them sitting messily on the made-messy bed sheets, just exchanging the feather-lightest, affectionate kisses.

“now that makes me kinda sad,” y/n admits in a chuckled whisper to bruce, continuing their small conversation. but it doesn’t go very far, as she’s chasing his lips now, going after them like a lion, and penetrating his mouth with her tongue when she catches them. she adores this moment, this connection, everything about it, as much as bruce does, and she wants just this moment to last for the rest of eternity. bruce’s hands on her cheeks, caressing her jawline, her cheeks and cheekbones, as well as her new hickey, and therefore pressing his arms against her breasts in their very close proximity to one another, between their bodies. his tongue playing with hers in their supposedly light kisses, her hands running across his back, bruce’s hair tickling her face and making her lips curve into smiles. a sudden fear of losing him, of losing this moment, creeps into her mind almost like a jump scare, and it makes her pull just an inch away and look into bruce’s eyes with such a serious glaze that it nearly scares him, too, “don’t leave this time.” she pleads him, remembering all those mornings she’s woken up without him here.

bruce furrows his eyebrows. “this time?” he echoes, and y/n nods.

“you’ve always been gone when i woke up here after our nights out,” she explains and leans into the cupid hold his hands have made around her face, avoiding his eyes for just a second. oh, all those nights they stayed up talking until y/n broke and fell dead asleep. she looks up into his dark, understanding eyes. she’s making him see so many things he’s been blind to all this time, “please. stay.” y/n says in a small voice.

bruce makes a smile as his thumb crosses her gentle, plump cheek again. “i won’t leave,” he promises her, “but shouldn’t you be the one making that promise?” bruce teases, grinning and raising an eyebrow. y/n rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips again. now, he has some nerve. but he’s right.

“if me leaving ends up like this every time,” she says with a playful facial expression, “i might just do it again.” y/n challenges and gives bruce a mischievous look. he shakes his head and presses it against hers, forehead to forehead, admiring her humour and marvelling at the fact that it has returned. he now realises he missed it a lot. her light-heartedness, her sarcasm and slight teasing here and there. it used to fill up that gothic bedroom of the riddance bed they shared, but for this time that he didn’t see her, the room was filled with nothing but darkness, gloom and the smell of sweat. “but i won’t,” y/n assures him, breaking them both out of their daydreams and fascinations with each other, “i promise.” she nods. “i trust you, now more than ever.” y/n closes her eyes as she breathes out a sigh. “i don’t want to lose you, either.” she echoes the words he said before.

bruce watches her face as he huffs through his nose, trying to do it quietly, so she wouldn’t think he’s mad with her. he’s not anymore. as said before, she’s opened his eyes to so much, especially lately, and he understands her and the world so much better. perhaps he also understands himself better, too. either way, to bruce, this is the start of a much greener path. and not just for him.

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