#he swears she knows where the nets are AND YET | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 year ago

Text

rosé | f. odair

(final part of red wine)

part one, part two

summary: in the final part of the red wine series, secrets are revealed, and miscommunication threatens to tear you and finnick apart.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, blood, minor injury, mentions of forced prostitution, swearing,

notes: i’m sorry this took so long to come out y’all. thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed this mini fic <3

word count: 4.1k

Finnick believed he had made a lot of smart decisions in his life—like rigging a net made out of vines to ensnare tributes in the arena, accepting secrets as a form of payment from his patrons rather than material goods, and mastering the art of seduction to manipulate his way out of various difficult situations. However, shutting you out was not one of them.

Half an hour had passed since the incident on the staircase landing. He lingered within the mansion’s extravagant walls, where other guests mingled and dined on a range of bizarre delicacies. He couldn’t eat a thing. His stomach churned at the image of your hopeless expression as he walked off. The expression he caused.

It had to be done. That is what he had been telling himself. It had to be done, otherwise, everyone in the Capitol would learn of his feelings for you. Snow would find out and most likely punish you for interfering with the arrangement he had—the sale of his body. And Finnick was very aware of what happened to people who disrupted the president’s plans.

Partygoers would have already begun to spread rumours of the scene in the courtyard. Hopefully, it would just be chalked up to a simple argument between friends. Friends. The label borderline disgusted him. You don’t fall asleep to the thought of someone and think of them the moment you wake up if you’re just friends. Nor do you look for them in every room you walk into.

Even now, Finnick was scanning the lavishly decorated banquet hall for a glimpse of your pure white gown, despite being the one who walked away. It was an instinct at this point. But there was no one in the room wearing white but him; his matching half was still outside, blending in with the winter snow. Or maybe gone home.

One colour did catch his eye though. A vibrant, almost tacky red, worn by a woman who was strutting towards him, her chin held high with pride. Finnick noticed the material of her floor-length gown. Silk. She was wearing your old dress, only the colour was incredibly off, and each hem was lined with red fur, conforming with her implanted whiskers. That was when he realised who the woman was.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline.

“Where’s your dancing partner tonight?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

The bright saturation of her dress was almost blinding as she stopped in front of him. He held back a grimace and plastered on a smile even faker than her voice. “She wasn’t up for it this time,” he lied.

“Well, everyone knows she’s out of touch with our way of life,” she said. Finnick ground his jaw, struggling to maintain his façade. Words could not explain how condescending these people were. “This dress is an adaptation of one she wore quite a while ago. Such a plain thing. I only liked the colour and bodice. The only way I could wear it in public was if I spruced it up.”

He thought back to the dress you had worn. Nobody had even come close to how phenomenal you looked. Where others needed extravagance and flounce to stand out, you only needed a simple red dress. Yet here this woman was, thinking she had the audacity to call you plain.

“I noticed. It’s very… striking.”

“Thank you, darling,” she purred. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes, like that of a wild cat about to pounce and devour its meal. “I was waiting for the perfect occasion to wear it.”

His forced smile twitched. “You’re certainly turning heads.”

“Did I turn yours?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

Truth be told, Finnick hadn’t even remembered her existence until she walked right up to him. Obviously, he couldn’t tell her that, so he told her that she did. For a long period of time, they bounced back and forth, complimenting and flirting with each other, never dipping below the surface into a real conversation. Not that he wanted to anyway. Not with her. The only person he longed to conversate with was now out of reach.

The woman started talking about colourless topics such as the latest fashion trends in the Capitol and her opinions on the victor of the 72nd Hunger Games, all of which made Finnick wish she would just gouge his eyes out with her sharp claw-like fingernails. He couldn’t do anything but stand, smile, and agree. Doing anything else would result in Snow staying true to his very detailed threats

As the conversation continued, his attention began to drift. He surveyed the outfits of everyone in the room, amusing himself by deciding whether or not each person was making a fashion statement or tragedy. Only one person claimed the former title—the one in white.

Finnick watched as you entered the room. The giant golden chandelier cast down a bright light which caused your skin to glow with radiance; its glare enhanced the brilliance of your white dress. This brief moment ignited a fear in him that you had died in his absence because there was no way a mere human being could look so angelic.

“Finnick?” the feline asked, but her voice barely registered in his brain.

Captivated. He was utterly and completely captivated. One after the other, sudden realisations conjured in his mind. The first—there wasn’t a life worth living ahead of him if you weren’t by his side the whole way, and not as a friend or a fellow victor, but as his partner. His lover. The second—he would never let any harm come to you. He would keep you safe from Snow’s clutches, from the Capitol, from anyone who would put you in danger, even if it meant the two of you had to disappear into the vast forests of Panem.

And lastly, he was now absolutely certain that the woman in front of him could never compare to you, nor could anyone else in the ever-expanding universe. You were a basic human necessity to him. Without you, his heart might as well stop beating. Your laugh, your smile, your kindness, your unwavering support—every part of you kept him alive.

“Finnick?” the voice that went disregarded hissed again.

With a half-empty wine glass in hand, your anxious eyes searched the room. Finnick wanted nothing more than to sprint over, pull you into his arms, and cast away every trouble plaguing your mind. He couldn’t. Almost all eyes were on you, yet you hadn’t even seemed to notice. Only one person finally seemed to gain your attention, and that was Finnick, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes locked on yours.

The neurons firing in his brain signalled him to move and he did. But just as his legs started to walk, a forceful hand jerked his face to the side and a pair of harsh lips were crushed to his. Glass shattered on the marble flooring. Momentarily paralysed from shock, Finnick stumbled backwards, briefly catching the twisted triumphant smirk on the woman’s face before whirling around.

Your face was frozen with devastation; his heart dropped. Splatters of red wine had stained your gown, pooling in a crimson puddle of glass shards by your feet. Quiet mocking chuckles and whispers echoed around the room. Oh, if only he had his trident; they wouldn’t be laughing then.

An Avox rushed forward, attempting to clean up the mess, but you had crouched down with them.

“No, please,” Finnick heard you say to the Avox as he strode toward you. “Please don’t. I can do it.”

But delicate hands and glass shards never mix well. You gasped in pain. A jagged fragment you collected had sliced into your palm, creating another crimson pool in your hand.

Finnick’s strides quickened, eventually leading him to stop and kneel beside you. He wordlessly took your hand in his, cradling it as he inspected the damage. Blood coated his fingers, but he didn’t care. He might as well have cut your hand himself. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him.

Pink blush overtook your face. For once, it wasn’t because he made you flustered or bashful, but because you were humiliated. He knew how much you disliked attention; now you were at the centre of it. Beside you was the Avox, tending to the mess of broken glass.

“Could you bring me a first-aid kit, please?” he asked with a polite smile.

They nodded and silently left. Finnick returned his attention to you, applying pressure to your wound. Your gaze was lowered, unwilling to meet his own. There was more to your demeanour than just embarrassment. There was sadness. Disheartenment. Neither of which were present when you walked in, only appearing after the feline woman had kissed him.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, eyes unmoving.

The Avox returned holding a medical kit; Finnick thanked them, taking the box into his hands. He climbed to his feet, hesitating before offering you a hand up. Much to his relief, you accepted his assistance. And then, without a word, you began walking towards the nearest exit with apparent indifference to the engrossed eyes following you.

Finnick didn’t bother to conceal his icy glare toward the crowd as he trailed behind you and exited the room.

*******

Pain of a thousand unrelenting bees stung the broken flesh of your palm. Even the slightest movement of your fingers sent waves of throbbing agony up your arm. But it was nothing compared to the brutal ache of your heart.

You had entered the mansion in search of Finnick, determined to mend the crack in your friendship before it crumbled completely. What you got instead was humiliation and heartbreak. What you saw was another woman kissing the man you loved, whilst wearing a horrible adaptation of your red gown no less.

The air had been sucked from your lungs. Believing he would kiss you on the dance floor in the courtyard was nothing more than a fantasy, a dream, a pathetic fool’s wish—every term under the sun that defined something not real. At least now you understood why he was acting so differently. Because he had found someone else and that someone wasn’t you.

A lump formed in your throat and you knew tears were approaching. As if your night couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

Your feet carried you down a long corridor, far enough away from the banquet hall that listening ears and prying eyes were unable to reach. Finnick still followed behind you, though you weren’t sure why he bothered. How could he explain what you saw with your own eyes? Plus, the last thing you wanted was for his new romance to think something was going on between you and him. Only in your dreams.

Unsure of your destination, you decided to enter the first room you came across. It turned out to be a lavishly decorated library, walled with large wooden bookshelves which were filled endlessly with novels and historic paraphernalia. Sitting within the bookshelves was a stone fireplace.

The door closed as Finnick entered behind you, the silence so loud that the crackles from the fireplace reverberated through the room. Your hand still throbbed something awful so you looked down, taking in the gruesome sight of your dress. A stranger might have thought you had just murdered someone. If it were televised, it would have been deemed acceptable.

You sniffled, wearing a small bitter smile. “I ruined Snow’s pretty white dress.”

A few moments passed before Finnick replied. “Red always was more your colour,” he said, his tone anything but playful.

Ahead of you was a great wall of windows; in the reflection, you saw him staring back at you with an unfamiliar expression. His brows were pinched upwards, pronouncing the lines in his forehead, and the corners of his mouth drooped in a slight pensive frown. He didn’t look like the Finnick you knew. This Finnick looked pained. Anguished.

You dropped his intense gaze and ambled across the room. By the lit fireplace was a cushioned stool which you sat down on, eyes staring into the flickering flames. If you were lucky, maybe your dress would catch alight and whisk you away from your troubled life. Okay, perhaps the thought was a little morbid, but so was a broken heart. Of all people, why did you have to fall in love with Finnick Odair?

Cautious footsteps followed behind you, coming to a stop beside your feet. Without your acknowledgement, Finnick crouched down, eyeing the bloody mess of your hands with concern. His gaze lifted to yours, which was still on the fire, and he sighed.

“Let me take care of your hand,” he murmured.

Before you could refuse, you realised contracting an infection was worse than giving in to your stubbornness. So, you nodded.

Finnick opened the first-aid kit and began tending to your wound; his touch was so gentle it was like he was piecing together a broken china cup. Using an antiseptic gauze, he attempted to clean the damaged skin, whispering apologies whenever you winced in pain. After carefully applying a dressing, he began wrapping a bandage around your hand.

You stared into the orange flames, wondering how he would explain to that woman why he left her behind. You wondered when their relationship started and why Finnick continued to shamelessly flirt with you in her absence. You wondered if their relationship would be the end of your friendship.

“Are you in love?” you quietly asked.

His hands stilled at your sudden words, then he continued wrapping the bandage. “Not with her.”

He secured the binding with medical tape and climbed to his feet, placing the supplies back into the kit on a small side table.

Brows drawn together in confusion, you turned to look up at him. “But I thought—"

“Things are much more complicated than they seem,” he interrupted. There was a clear vase of white roses on the table. Finnick toyed with the petals, caressing them between his gentle fingertips. “No one understands me better than you do, and there is no one in this world I trust more. But… there are still things I’ve been keeping from you.”

The troubled expression on his face melted into one of vulnerability. This was a new appearance for him. Finnick was known nationwide for his radiant confidence and charm; he never let his guard down. You have had difficult conversations before, such as discussing each other’s hardships and innermost secrets, but none of them seemed to affect him like this.

“Everyone knows about my visits to the Capitol,” he continued. “How I spend nights with different people every time as if it’s all a game for my pleasure. But it’s not true. It’s not my game I’m playing.” He began walking over to the wall of windows, overlooking Snow’s gardens. “There’s a part of it that no one knows about.”

You rose from the stool, beginning to take slow steps towards him. “Which is?”

The fire flickering behind you deepened Finnick’s features. It intensified the shiny bronze of his hair and enhanced the defined contours of his face, making it easy to see the muscles in his jaw clench with apprehension. He stared out the window so intensely that you were sure his usual green eyes were blazing with their own inferno.

Even full of angst, he was painstakingly beautiful.

His chest inflated with a deep breath. “President Snow… sells me to the Capitol.”

Horror washed over you in monstrous waves. Sells? Only one explanation appeared in your head as to what he meant. You remained silent, praying he would prove your assumption wrong.

“After I won my Games, he saw my success as an opportunity to please his citizens. He began offering me to potential buyers—'admirers’ is what he called them—who soon became my regular customers. They would use me however they liked. Some would pounce on me the second I stepped through the door. Others were relatively tamer. Kinder. They would have me take them on dates or watch a movie with them, but one way or another, it all ended the same way at the end of the night.” He sucked in a sharp uneasy breath before continuing. “Then there were the rare few—the ones who treated me like I was nothing more than a ragdoll for their amusement. They did things that were… unspeakable.”

Nausea churned in your stomach as your mind conjured sickening images. It couldn’t be true. You refused to believe that human beings could stoop to such levels of atrocity to make one person endure so much cruelty. Then again, you lived in a world where children were sent into an arena to fight to the death on live television.

Finnick looked like he was holding himself together by a thread. Every word he confessed shattered your heart into a million pieces. How could this have happened to him?

“I’ve tried to refuse but Snow threatened to harm the people I care about—my family, my friends. After I met you, I knew you were added to that list.” He finally turned around to face you, his eyes filled with such anguish, it shook you to your core. “The Capitol owns me, Y/N. Body and soul.”

Despair riddled your entire body. As you stared at him, the image of a teenager appeared in your mind—eyes sea green and hair a fiery bronze. He was just a boy when it started. A child.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” you managed to whisper. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Less of you? Finnick,” you said softly, stopping in front of him. Your eyes beckoned for his; you needed him to look at you, to really take in your next words. “There isn’t a single person alive I think more highly of than you. No one even comes close. Can’t you see? Just having you in my presence makes me feel whole. You make me whole.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as they flickered between your own, absorbing every reassuring word you said into his mind, his bones, his entire being.

“You have brought so much into my life,” you continued. “So much good. And I would never have made it to where I am now without you. So please, don’t ever distance yourself from me because you think I will judge you. I won’t and I never will.”

As the room stilled with silence, a lone tear rolled down Finnick’s cheek. His Adam’s apple bobbed, revealing the sob he was keeping restrained within his throat. And then a smile started to grow on his face, small at first, but then it stretched wider and wider, deepening those dimples that you adored so much.

You knew that your words had touched the deepest parts of him. That you had managed to convince him ‘less’ could never be a word used to describe him. He was more. More kind, more genuine, more caring than almost all of Panem.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered in awe, looking at you as if he were witnessing the birth of the universe. “Sweetheart, you’re incredible. Do have any idea how rare that is for a person to be? I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone like you in my life, but I swear I’ll do whatever I can to keep you. And if—” His gaze drifted, seemingly wrestling with a decision in his mind— “if that means I have to share all my secrets with you, then I will.”

“Have you got any more secrets, Finnick?”

He returned his attention back to your face. The indecision from moments ago had disappeared and was replaced with certainty, which was underscored by a sort of tenderness that settled in his features.

“Just one,” he murmured. He paused, observing the universe before him and wondering how on earth he got so lucky to have the privilege of having it staring right back at him. “I’m in love with you.”

Electricity shocked your heart like someone had placed a defibrillator over your chest and hit charge. Love? You? He was?

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said, shaking his head. “I should have told you everything. Even if saying this means I’m risking everything between us, I can’t keep it from you any longer. God, sweetheart, I love you so much it fucking hurts. I always will, even if you never feel the same.”

Somehow in the span of twenty minutes, everything you thought you knew came crashing down. First, your heart was broken by the thought of Finnick kissing another, and then it was healed. And then it broke again as he voiced his arrangement with Snow. It could never fully heal again while Snow was alive, not with what he was forcing upon Finnick.

But Finnick pieced together every piece he possibly could with his confession, one heartfelt word of declaration at a time.

The weight of his confession hung in the air. His eyes held a mixture of anxiety and hope for your response. Time seemed to stretch out as you tried to find your voice. How do you declare your love as powerfully as someone who just bared their soul to you?

An emotional laugh bubbled up your throat, your eyes brimming with tears. “You idiot,” was what you said, the words spoken with utmost adoration. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Finnick’s eyes widened in amazement and a brilliant smile broke across his face. Before you had a chance to react, he had moved towards you in one swift step, pulling you into his arms and crushing his lips to yours in a powerful, passionate kiss.

Your hands were quick to cling onto him, desperately terrified that if you let go, he would vanish into thin air. Every ounce of yearning and hidden affection from the past year poured into this one single moment, into the movement of your lips against one another, and the feeling of your hands cradling each other’s bodies.

Emotions were running high. You could taste both your own and Finnick’s tears as they streamed down your faces, salty and palpable with affection. The sheer relief of finally being free to express your love was so unimaginable that you felt like you would be crying with happiness your whole life.

Finnick’s hand cupped the side of your jaw and he lowered his head, deepening the kiss as much as he physically could to make up for all the time he wasted. His lips were soft and adoring, savouring the sweet taste of your lips on his. His other arm tightened around your lower back, pulling you even further against him.

You felt like you were melting into his embrace and happily, you would have. It felt so right, so safe to be held by him. The world outside the library no longer existed; there was only Finnick and you. Your hands settled on either side of his jaw, staining his skin red from your blood-soaked bandage. You knew he wouldn’t care—the blood belonged to you.

And that is how you spent most of the night. In the library, in that one spot by the windows, in each other’s arms. At some point, you ended up sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, both covered in red and feeling blissfully content. Your back was leaning against Finnick’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle as he occasionally pressed his lips into your hair.

You toyed with the fabric of his sleeves, your head leaning against his collarbone as you watched the flames once more.

“If Snow ever finds out…” you murmured.

“He won’t,” he reassured quietly. “I won’t let him. He’s taken too much from me; he won’t take you too.”

You turned your head to peer up at him, wearing a teasing smile. “Can’t live without me, Odair?”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

Once again, Finnick’s lips were on yours, conveying every ounce of immense love he felt for you through his kiss. The only time either of you broke apart was to whisper sweet declarations of your devotion and reverence before returning to each other again. This was when you felt most complete.

When you felt whole.

tags: @queenofspades6 @powellssaturn @bellamybellamyblake @heroinhchicblog222

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fluff #sam claflin #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen

1K notes · View notes

channieskies · 18 days ago

Text

𝕴𝕴: 𝕲𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader, Jeong(Jung) Jaehyun x Reader (Fem/AFAB/Curvy/Plus sized)

Genre: Smut (eventual), Angst, Supernatural Romance, Urban Fantasy

AU: Supernatural AU, Vampire Au, Werewolf AU, Witch AU

Word count: 8058 [Reading time: 33 Minutes ]

Nets: @neverendingdreams-net & @mirohs-aurora-society

Synopsis: Strange events keep piling up. There is something going on in this town that you are just starting to see.

CHAPTER INDEX

“Chris…” You paused, eyes focusing on the purple and pink hue that washed over the trees in the distance before you looked in his eyes to show your sincerity. “I can’t apologize enough. I shouldn’t have abandoned you. Who does that to their best friend? Especially when they have been through everything together.” You reached out and grabbed his hand, without even thinking about it. “I promise I will make it up to you. I promise I won’t be the biggest dick in Louisiana and leave you again. That wasn’t fair to you, I know that.” You played with his fingers, drawing patterns absentmindedly on the red tinted skin on his knuckles, your attention now on his skin. “I’ll be a better friend. I promise you this.” You looked up, catching him staring at you. He smiled, his lopsided dimples doing what they usually did, making you smile with him.

A.N: Please reblog and leave a comment to let me know how you feel. I'd love a little feedback. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to @palindrome969 and @therhythmafterthesummer for reading over this for me. I could never thank you enough. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Disclaimer: This story does not reflect the real lives or personalities of Stray Kids or NCT. I do not know them personally. This is purely a work of fiction.

Warnings: MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost here or on other sites. This chapter contains use of explicit language.

Home. That's all it was. There was no sweet home to follow it up, because you hadn't left it that way. If anything, you left this place like you'd robbed a grave: disturbed and desecrated. Along with your belongings, you took the bad juju of committing such a brazen and criminal act. You'd left your mother, your friends, your life, and career all for a man. A good for nothing one at that. Your mother had always told you that you had to be careful of the choices you make, you never know where they might have you end up. Yours culminated in you ending up sitting in your beat up car, across the street from your mother's brightly colored shotgun-style house in the uptown district of New Orleans. Her porch was decorated with a plethora of wild yet beautiful flowers and a few colorful chairs. It was inviting, just as it had always been. This was the home that had been in your family for generations, passed down from mother to daughter since 1839. It was lived in and warm, quite possibly the most comfortable place in the world. A safe haven.

Your great-great-great maternal grandmother, Abigail, was the first of your people to make something of herself. She didn't have much of an education, but she was a talented seamstress and hairdresser, making a name for herself across three different states. She passed it to her only daughter and so on and so forth. Your mother swore that within the next few years, she was retiring from nursing and moving to Florida. You don't know why, but she swears she's going to find a good man and settle down there. But you know her best, and she is too much of a free spirit to stay in one place. That's why she's constantly traveling, taking her nursing job around the country and sometimes out of it as well, even if she was never gone long.

You picked and bit at your nails, the one nervous habit you wish you could have kicked with your nicotine addiction, but you'd take it if it meant never smoking again. You felt unnerved. It was weird, it wasn't like this was someplace fancy, it was just your moms house. Your childhood home. You could see the warm amber lighting coming through the window, indicating that she was home, but for the life of you, you couldn't get your ass out of the car. God, how you wish you could smoke and rid yourself of this stupid anxious feeling that had you tied to your seat like a locked seatbelt. Would she be disappointed in you? You failed as a daughter, on multiple accounts. You just couldn’t seem to get life right.

Your own mother had struggled with juggling a full-time job and a child, planting down roots in this city when she knew the wind was calling her name. According to her, she had been compelled by the spirits of your ancestors to have you, persuaded that it was finally the right time to settle into motherhood. But she was a bird, not something stagnant and never changing like a tree; she was meant to fly but instead had to put down roots. Having you forced her to give up on the life she wanted to have and acquiesce to domesticity. She'd sacrificed the things she'd liked just so you could afford the ballet lessons you begged to take for a few months before quitting. Same with the piano and singing lessons, as well as the haughty toighty summer camp she sent you to, all so you could study music theory. When you were accepted at Tulane University, she probably expected you to be like any other college student. You know, wrack up a bunch of debt and slowly pay it off while doing the job you went to school for. It probably wasn't in her plans to get a call from you, telling her you were pregnant in the middle of your junior year, dropping out.

You bet she wasn't expecting to have to pay for your therapy after you lost the baby either. You know it had to have been a downward spiral of bad news when you told her you weren’t going back to school, years of education and sacrifice be damned. You’re certain it hurt when you left town one night and didn't look back- the loud knock on your window pulled you from lamenting on your sub-mediocre life choices. You jumped, grabbing your heart to make sure it didn't make a run for it. “Mom?!?” You grabbed the hand crank to roll down your window, just enough to hear what she had to say.

The first thing she said was your full name loudly, “Why the hell are you sitting in the damn car, across the street from the house like a stalking lunatic? Get in the house!” She sighed, and mumbled something else under her breath as she crossed the street in haste. “I'm sorry y'all. You know that girl has no damn sense. I swear she gets that from her father.” You hadn't noticed, but there were witnesses to your car breakdown, the elderly couple next door and the nosy woman across the street. She'd snitched on you plenty of times before, why would this time be any different?

Chris hadn’t lied when said your house hadn't changed. It was indeed the same nostalgic little time capsule it was the last time you visited. You didn't bother with your boxes, entirely too tired to move the front seat and retrieve them from the back. That was a problem for the you of tomorrow. You still had clothes in your old room and could always bum toiletries off your mom, she wouldn’t mind. “What are you visiting your old mother for now?” She asked, taking a seat on her sofa. The tv was on mute, playing some old black and white reruns. You could tell she just finished her batch of cookies for the children's ward at the hospital, the house smelled of her delicately spiced chocolate chip cookies. They were a hit amongst kids and adults alike.

“I.. need a place to stay.” You didn't hesitate to say what you needed. It was her motto that was drilled into your head after all, ‘Closed mouths don't get fed’. You fidgeted with the keychain in your hands, you needed something to keep your hands and mind busy. She started for a moment only to nod, indicating to you that you could stay. “It will be for a while. U-until I find a job at least.” She nodded again, not even bothering to ask why or what happened. She was understanding like that. You tried not to let it show, but you were grateful to be born to a woman like her. She was beyond anything you could have asked or wished for. You knew that not everyone was blessed with a caring and understanding parent, and you were truly thankful that you at the very least, got to experience that from one of yours.

“But- on one condition.” She put up her hand to stop you from going further into the home. You dreaded what she had to say. Last time you stayed here, she had you volunteer at the soup kitchen for three days, saying that you could have been homeless, but she was being nice enough to give you food and shelter. That was during your grandfather's funeral a few months back. You spent time volunteering while you were mourning. Your mother is that type of person. Pay it forward was another one of her mottos. “You go to work with me for a couple hours this weekend. I have a new boss in the children's ward and I would love for him to meet my baby.” She said in a nonchalant way, but you knew she had been talking about you, she always did. Didn’t matter what you were doing or where you went, you would always be her baby and she was proud.

You truthfully didn’t know why you even doubted how she felt. There was never a moment where she wasn’t proud of who you’d become, no matter what mistakes you’ve made in life. Maybe it was just that little anxious and negative voice in the back of your mind that constantly felt the need to remind you that you were undeserving of anything good. Whether it be platonic or amorous, love wasn’t meant for someone like you. You were wholly undeserving, unworthy of it. “Also, take a trip to the family tomb and pay some respect to your elders, they have kept you safe this far and you want them to continue to do so in the future…” She continued to talk about all the things she wanted you to do for the tomb, like sweeping and dusting to make sure they were comfortable in the afterlife. It was something you always thought was a little strange, but who were you to knock the traditions of old southern folk? She’d survived this long for a reason, right?

You could feel the warmth of the sun on your face as you stirred awake the next morning. You had snuggled into your freshly changed sheets last night and honestly, you don’t remember much after that. You rubbed your eyes, opening them slowly only to find another pair staring right back at you. You quickly moved back, maybe too quickly, accidentally tossing yourself off the bed, tangled in the mess of sheets and blankets. Your butt hit the hardwood floors right on your tailbone, causing it to hurt almost immediately. “Ow!” The same eyes peeked over the side of the bed at you, as if checking if you were alright. The tiny meow that came from its mouth was a strong affirmation that the cute little black and white cat with two-toned eyes was asking if you were okay. “Yes, I'm fine. Just a little sore, is all.” You rubbed your butt to try and soothe the dull ache as you moved to your knees to get closer to the cat. “What’s your name? Huh? And why are you in my room?”

The cat leaned its head down, chin brushing over the name tag. You grabbed at the shiny, round tag, glancing at the cursive little Ella ‘Socks’ Fitzgerald. “Socks? Is that your name? It’s nice to meet you, Socks. I’m Y/N.” It puts a paw forward, showing you its cute little white paw, amongst all the black fur. “How cute are you?” You cautiously reached to pet the cat who did nothing but melt into your touch. You had always wanted a pet, but your mother was very peculiar about it. She’d say that pets were for common people who did common things, we needed more than just a pet. That always struck you as strange. What has changed from then to now? How did Socks come to be in your mothers possession? You could hear your mothers mumbles through the door before she knocked softly.

“Have you seen- ah there she is.” She stepped into your room, gathering up the cat in her arms. “This is the new doctor's cat. He was out of town for a few days and asked me to keep her. She’s cute, right?” You nodded. That explanation made sense, you knew your mother wasn’t one for pets. “So you might see her around every once in a while, whenever he’s out of town. But she's a sweet girl, so don’t be afraid.” She turned as if she was going to leave, but stopped right at the threshold of your dark purple room. “Christopher called. He said to remind you that you owe him a meal. But he said he couldn't make it over to this side of town and would send you the address.” She squinted her eyes as she turned her head towards you. “Don’t you hurt him, you hear me? He’s too pure for this world and he easily gets hurt, even if he does a really good job at hiding it. Just like when you lef-” She stopped herself, a frown forming between her brows. “Just be careful with someone like him. I don’t think he’ll be able to take it if you disappear like that again.”

You tried not to act or look confused. But you sure were. Chris didn’t act any differently towards you yesterday. He didn’t make it seem that you leaving town abruptly like you did last time, was that big of a deal. You were sure it hurt momentarily, hell, it hurt you to leave like you did. But he seemed like he understood your reasons and didn’t hold them against you. He had told you as much at the diner last night. But then again, he and your mother talked more frequently than you and your mother. She had taken it upon herself to adopt him as her own, since his family was a twenty hour plane ride away. She was a nurture, it was in her nature.

There were certain times you felt like you’d have to push your car to your destination. With all the twists and turns and little hills you had to drive through to get to whatever part of the suburbs Christopher lived in, your car was struggling to keep up. You could tell it was overheating. The radio had been on the fritz for over a month now, and now the a/c acted like it wanted to poop out on you. You would rather deal with public transportation than to have no air conditioning with all this hot and humid Louisiana air. Trees lined the streets of the suburbs in far more elegant ways than it did even in the historic garden district. The land surrounding each home seemed to get bigger and bigger the further you went out. Maybe one of Chris’ roommates was rich, because explaining how a teacher could afford this was not computing or connecting inside of your brain.

You carefully watched the numbers that were painted on the curb as well as the mailboxes and houses. You were lucky to see the numbers on the house in your neighborhood, maybe suburban living was just all together different. “140, 141….143.” You stopped your ancient clunker of a car, pressing hard on the squealing brakes, right in front of the sprawling lawn. It felt like the well manicured greenery went on for miles before your eyes noticed the large house in the background. The rounded driveway led right up to the front walkway of the large center hall colonial home. Call you Dorthy, because you sure weren’t in Kansas anymore. The city was lively, there was always something going on, people always on the streets for something or another. But out here you couldn’t hear anything but nature, and that honestly scared you a little bit. You were used to the noise after years of conditioning yourself for it. Even in St. Martinsville, even though it was a smaller town, you lived off the main thoroughfare in an apartment full of different types of people. It made you feel right at home.

The suburbs offered something completely different than what you were used to. It was almost too picturesque. The trees stood still and tall, painting the grass with little dark dots, making it the only thing that blemished this perfect little picture of suburbia. Everything had a place and everything was in its place. Eerie. If anyone asked you. The pretty white siding was accented by the white-washed brick foundation and mossy green shutters and accents. The landscaping added to the top notch curb appeal of this mini-mansion. Now, either Christopher was selling drugs to the parents of the kids he taught or he had run into some major cash since college. Last time you checked, he was still sending money back home to his family, so you doubted he had some random long lost relative that kicked the bucket and transferred beaucoup amounts of cash into his bank account. Yeah, drugs were the only answer.

You reluctantly pulled your fiesta into the drive, almost afraid it would mar the flawless brick pavers. You came to a halt and you put it in park, sitting there with it still on, wondering if for some reason your old friend was playing a trick on you. That he'd have you travel all this way just to pull a “sike, got you!” out of his ass, while he still lived in the city in the same old run-down apartment. It would be appropriate payback for you cutting ties with him in spite of everything you'd been through. He’d been there for you through the thick of it. He was the one holding your hand in the clinic after you’d taken multiple pregnancy tests to confirm your sneaking suspicions. He was there to comfort you when you lost the baby you had just started getting used to the idea of. He was there when that boyfriend left you high and dry. Chris had been your rock, but you had been nothing to him but the worst friend possible. You didn't let your mind drag you down into the same spiral that it took you on last night in front of your moms house, so you pushed past it. You pulled the keys from the ignition and got out, heading up the drive to the door. You fixed your dress, making sure it wasn’t up in the back or tucked into your panties like that one time in middle school.

You couldn’t shake this sense of nervousness you had. What the fuck were you nervous for? It was just Chris. In this mini-mansion in the middle of suburbia, with a few roommates that you didn’t know. What if they sniffed out that you were the trash friend you had made yourself out to be? What if they told Chris that you were no good for him and inveigled him not to pursue a relationship with you? Relationship? How did you get there? Friendship. Yeah, that's what you meant. You didn’t get a chance to work out your worrying thoughts as the door swung open. “Hey.” The force of the wind pulled you forward a little, causing you to stumble. Chris’ hand landed on your shoulder, preventing you from falling over the threshold of his home. He chuckled, “Be careful.” How was it possible that you hadn’t even been here a good ten minutes and you’d already managed to make a fool of yourself? Good job!

“H-hey.” Could this welcome mat go ahead and open a portal to where-the-fuck-ever and swallow you whole already? “I-I was just about to knock. How did-” He pointed to the doorbell camera, before you could even finish the question. Now you felt a little foolish on top of embarrassment. “Right..” He laughed and reached for your hand, tugging you inside the house. You fell into him with a soft thud, chin hitting his chest. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and creeping into your system, slowly making its way to your face. He gave you a soft hug before pulling back and letting you breathe. He closed the door with a slight kick of his foot, letting it close with a soft click.

“Did you have trouble finding it?” He queried, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as if he was nervous. You glanced at him, taking in the casualness of his outfit. It was somewhere between boyfriend and I might sell drugs to pay for this unnecessarily big house. Dark almost black denim pants, paired with a simple black t-shirt and a black cardigan with white outlines on it, on top. Simple, yet classic and you appreciate his effort. “I know whenever we invite people out, they have a hard time getting here. It often means we have to go find them and have them follow us here. So, at least you have ‘finding my house on your own’ under your belt. You are one of the few.” You felt like you should have been looking around, taking in the foyer of this massive home, but for some odd reason you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Carefully watching the way his lips moved as he talked. The faint blush that painted his cheeks. How he fidgeted from side to side and couldn’t figure out where to put his hands. He really was nervous. The only time you’d see him like this is when he scored a date. But that wasn’t what this was, right? You’d know if this was a date. Right?

“I didn’t have trouble at all. I mean, besides my car acting like it couldn’t find a fuck to get out here, the trip here went without incident.” You sighed and nodded awkwardly. Don’t think of this as a date. It’s just you and your old best friend hanging out at his home while you cook a meal for him. That's it. But what if it wasn’t just that? Your mind had a way of playing tricks on you, making you believe things were true, even if you had little to no evidence of it being that. “This is a-a nice place you got here. I mean, it looks like it's even nicely decorated.” You were desperately trying not to make things awkward, trying to get your brain to not overthink just this once.

“Ah- yeah, Felix’s mom decorated the place for us after she visited a few months ago.” He chuckled, taking a look around himself as if your words triggered the memory and not him living in the space. “I didn’t think it was that bad until she brought it up. She just couldn’t understand how we lived in this nice neighborhood, but the inside of the house looked like squatters lived here or a bunch of pups or something...” He paused, eyes fixed on your hand as if he wanted to reach for it once again. “I- um, I should show you around.” He made a noise affirming to himself that what he said was what he was going to do. He finally tore his eyes away from your hand and turned to give you the tour. “I don’t know if you can tell, but no one comes this way.” He chuckled to himself, “That's probably why it's so spotless out here. I guarantee you, the rest of the house looks exactly how you’d expect it to with eight grown men living here.” Eight? When he said roommates, you assumed two or maybe three. But seven other people lived here? With the same man who turned you down everytime you asked him to be your roommate?

“Eight? Christopher….” You poked his shoulder as he led you out of the foyer, past the stairs and into the living room. There were a couple of guys sitting on the large beat up couch, playing video games. There were a few empty bottles and pizza boxes around, like they had a party and didn't bother cleaning up after. You could smell the nice candles they were burning, probably to cover up the smell of man sweat and whatever that wet dog smell was that lingered under the woodsy candle. “You couldn’t live with me but you have seven roommates and a dog? Fuck your allergies, huh?” He seized up for a second, shoulders tensing up.

“Y-you know why, I couldn't room with you. I told you yesterday.” You kissed your teeth, folding your arms over your chest as you leaned your hip against the kitchen counter. You didn't believe that for a second. Chris had a crush on you? Please. He turned to you, giving you an apologetic smile. “I was being truthful when I told you that. I promise. Living with you would have messed up my feelings toward you even more.. than they already are. I couldn't do that… not when you were going through so much. I just…. I thought it would be best to just be there for you from a distance.” There was something about Chris’ eyes that told you if he was being truthful or just saying things in jest. He was telling you the truth. But you didn't want to think of what that implied.

Christopher looked at something beyond you with wide eyes, so you followed his gaze to find the two roommates that were playing games had completely turned to listen to your conversation. “Uh.. Hi!” You waved awkwardly towards the two young looking men. “I'm Y/N, Chris’ friend fro-” You were cut off by the deepest voice you think you'd ever heard. But you were sure it couldn't have come from the face that had its lips moving. You know the look on your face said everything about how shocked you were. Eyes wide, mouth agape. You shook it off as best you could, in order to not be rude.

“Oh, you're the Y/N he talks about all the time? ” His giggles contrasted with his voice drastically. He got up from his spot on the couch to introduce himself properly, his friend trailing behind him to do the same. “It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Felix.” No wonder his mother didn't want him to live in just any old environment. The boy was beautiful. He had a constellation of freckles dusted across his pretty cheeks and his eyes shined bright light diamonds in the night sky. You wouldn't want someone so pretty to live somewhere that didn't equal his beauty either.

“Hyung did say you were pretty.” The other guy spoke up, his voice cracking on his first word like he hadn't spoken all day. “I can usually bet against his judgment, but he was right this time.” Felix nudged him, but you just laughed, thanking him for his sudden compliment. You appreciated the honesty. “I'm Jeongin.” He extended his hand for you to shake as well and you gladly took it. He was adorable, as well as brutally honest and you liked that. You asked what they did for a living and where they were from, spotting an accent on both. Finding out Felix was also from Sydney like your dear friend, and Jeongin had come to America from South Korea for a cultural exchange program for part of highschool and now college.

They asked you a few questions in return like how exactly you and Chris met and how long had the two of you known each other and you didn't mind answering, you just wondered what exactly Chris had said to them about you. Especially if it wasn't details of how you met. “Alright, I'd like to spend some time with my friend…. alone.” He was pulling things from the refrigerator, setting them up for you. Apparently he couldn't pick you up because he was grabbing things from the local box store to feed his army of roommates. “I want you all to myself for once.” He mumbled the last part but you heard him loud and clear, you just chose not to address it due to this situation already being confusing.

You clear your throat as you wash your hands at the kitchen sink. “Anything in particular you have in mind? What do your roommates want to eat?” He groaned at the mention of his seven other roomies. “I can’t in good conscience just make food for you, Chris. Not when there are other people coming in and out. So, I’ll make a group meal and everyone can have something to eat whenever they feel like.” You started searching the kitchen for utensils and pots that you would need to cook. “Any allergies, besides the one you have when it comes to living with me, that I should know about?” He stuck his tongues in his cheek as he rolled his eyes at you, even with a year apart, he should know you by now. You weren’t going to let this go anytime soon.

“No. No allergies. You know I want your macaroni and cheese. The last time I had some was before you left, so I'm well overdue for a pan.” He picked at the label of one of the spice containers. “I just… I can't ask you to cook for the kids. It's a lot of them and I've already planned to send them out with money to get themselves something to eat for the night. So just don't worry-” You stopped his rambling with a pointed stare. Your hands ceased checking over the ingredients he pulled out to confront him.

“You didn’t ask, and I'm not asking either. Let me cook for you and your friends. It's just one night. It's not like I'm going to become den mother Or something.” You chuckled and shook your head at your own joke, not noticing how your friend stiffened at your words. His ears reddened under the tuft of ear length curls on his head. “Mind being my sous-chef?” He nodded, glad you changed the subject, so he could stop his heart from fluttering about.

It took a few hours, but you, with the help of Chris, put together a full meal. Cheddar jalapeno cornbread, fried catfish, chicken fricassee (for anyone who doesn’t like or eat fish), red beans and rice, macaroni and cheese, stuffed mirlitons, corn and bacon maque choux, and a three bean salad for anyone watching their weight. You would periodically be interrupted, his housemates all floating down to the kitchen one by one to see where the delectable scents were coming from, just to find someone they didn’t know cooking in the biggest gathering place of their home. You met seven different people, with seven distinct personalities that day. Minho, gave you grumpy old man vibes, but he also had a cuteness to him that made you want to pet him like a cat, it was very strange to think about, but the truth nonetheless. You found out that this was a vacation home for Changbin and his family, the third oldest of Chris’ roommates. Why his family was vacationing in the suburbs of New Orleans, you had no idea, but they had to be pretty well off to have several homes in different countries. He was very sweet, but he almost lost a hand when he tried to pinch off your cornbread.

You thought Felix was one of the most beautiful creatures you’d even laid your eyes on, then you met Hyunjin. What kind of beauty distribution was this house blessed with? Every single inhabitant you met here was gorgeous in their own right, Hyunjin took the cake though. You almost chopped off your finger when he walked in, paint stains on his very expensive Celine t-shirt. Who paints in that? You almost got swept up in talks about art and the museums here in Louisiana before Chris rushed him off. You saw Seungmin for a few minutes before he said he had to run off to baseball practice, but the shade he threw at your younger friend, Christopher about his age before he left, left you completely speechless. There was allegedly another person that lived here, but he didn’t come out. Chris said he was a bit introverted and didn’t really talk to new people well. So you took the initiative and made him a plate along with a cup of sweet iced tea, leaving it outside the door that Chris directed you to. You didn’t mind an introvert, you were truthfully one yourself. So, you understood.

By the time you were settled, the sun was starting to set. Chris suggested sitting on the porch to watch the sun blend into the beautiful tree line behind their home. There was a nice cross breeze, thanks to the ceiling fan. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this. It’s one thing to make dinner for you and one other person, but nine? With leftovers?” He chuckled, “That's crazy.” You simply shrugged, it really wasn’t that much of a deal. You volunteered most of your young life, helping in the kitchen and cooking big meals was kind of your thing at this point. “I don’t think I can express how much I’ve missed having you around, Y/N. If it wasn’t for me finding my roommates, I don’t think I would have survived this last year.” Your heart broke for him. You guessed it was true what your mother said before you left, you’d really hurt him. And for what? What happened to bros before hoes? You were a shit friend and you knew that. You’d just have to spend the rest of your life making it up to him in whatever way possible.

You scooted the patio chair you were occupying back and stood to your feet, making your way over to him and taking purchase of his lap, all while he never let your hand go. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, kicking your legs over the armrest. He wrapped his arms around your waist and nuzzled his nose into your neck, taking a big whiff, as if he missed not only the touch of you, but your smell as well. He was affectionate, that was something that just didn't seem to change about him. Even his roommates mentioned his love of cuddles and how apparently no one cuddled him like you. Truthfully, you felt the same about him. That lack of affection in your relationship with your ex didn't dawn on you until you moved away from your hometown. When Chris was out of your life, you finally had time to notice the void he left behind. No sweet words or texts, no hugs or cuddles, no one to go to museums with or to concerts. You were literally alone in your relationship.

Your ex was harsh and mean, he didn't like to hug or kiss especially in public and he just lacked the same kind of warmth Christopher had. You longed for your friend so bad just after a few weeks of being away, that you took half of the two hour drive back home just to see him, before your ex called you back. The longer time went on the more you adjusted to not being touched or feeling loved. But now that you've gotten it back, gotten him back, you won't let go. His affection is like your life blood. You need it. You laced your fingers into the curls along the nap of his neck to lightly scratch his scalp like he liked. His eyes closed upon contact, melting into you as you melted into him. You were fine like this. This was the epitome of comfort to you. You sat like that for what felt like an eternity, his soft breath tickling your neck. The cool night breeze didn’t bother you while being wrapped in the heat of his arms and chest.

He sighed, dragging his nose over the side column of your neck, causing goosebumps to prickle all over your skin. A soft gasp left your lips, but you didn’t move away, prompting him to do it again. You tried your best not to moan as his lips ghosted over the same spot. With a particularly long drag of your nails over his scalp it seemed it was his turn to make a noise. It sent a shiver down your spine, it was somewhere trapped between a moan and a growl. You pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet him, eyes already staring back at you, just for them to slide to your lips and back up. Did he want to kiss you? You surely wanted to kiss him. His plump lips were so close to yours, all you had to do was lean in a little. Your body unconsciously moves in closer to his, his fingers releasing their grip on your waist to move to your face, first tucking hair behind your ear before finding their place on your cheek.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you shook your head, not wanting to be taken out of the moment by words. He pulled you into him, his lips ghosting your yours before settling into a soft kiss. Was this what kissing your best friend felt like? Like smooth jazz in the park on a sunday afternoon. Like watching the sun set on his porch while in his arms? It was comfortable. Everything was always comfortable with him, always had been. But it wasn’t comfortable in the way that would make you feel no heat from it. No, this kiss would be seared into your memory for a lifetime. It's as if time stands still, it's only you and him in the moment. There are no other beings in the universe but the two of you. He pulls away, but only slightly, his mouth still lingers ever so close to yours. “What, Jisung?” You turned your head as he looked over to the door that hadn’t even opened yet. A fluffy haired, chipmunk-esque boy wrapped in a fleece blanket, popped his head out of the french doors.

“Tha-thank you.” His already plump cheeks became even plumper as he smiled. “For the food and the tea.” He nodded again, eyes darting from you to the man whose lap you were taking up space in. “I’m Jisung, by the way.” You smiled at him and his cheeks seemed to heat up. He was adorable. “Okay… bye.” He ducked back inside and scampered off as if you had scared him away. You hadn’t realized that Christopher made a face behind you at the boy, making him run off and back to his room. You turned back to him, bottom lip between your teeth, holding back the smile that was slowly starting to spread on your face.

“So…”

He laughed, “So?” He caressed your cheek with his thumb, eyes searching your face longingly. He looked as if he had so many things to say, but no way of expressing the abstract concepts his heart was painting. You wished you could dive into his mind and help him find every word he was missing, because you wanted to know what his feelings were. Were you alone in the way you felt? Was this wrong? What would happen to your friendship after that heated kiss you shared on his back porch. His nose bumped yours as he leaned in to kiss your cheek, though your lips were so close. They were calling to him, begging for another kiss to confirm if the first one was real or just a dream. He sighed, leaning his forehead against yours, as if it was an attempt to get himself together. To not wish or ask for more from his long lost best friend.

“I…” He pulled back to look into your eyes, hoping that you would say the words that he longed to hear. “I…. should really get going. It’s getting late…” Beg me to stay. Please. You pleaded to him in your mind, hoping he would get the hesitancy in your voice. Hoping he could read between the lines. “And… It's a long drive back to the city.” It wasn’t. Traffic wouldn’t be heavy this time of night on a saturday it was a thirty minute drive, tops. But he didn’t try to stop you. He just nodded, understanding. He was that type of person. Understanding to a fault.

“Do… you want me…to drive you home? I can take a look at your car tomorrow and make sure it's in tip-top shape for you.” His hand moved from your face to rest gently on your thigh, caressing it over the fabric of your dress. You could feel his warmth seeping into you, even with a barrier in-between. You could see it in his eyes, he wanted you to stay. He didn’t need words to express that. But you weren’t going to stay if he wasn’t going to ask you to. Call it being stubborn or whatever, you just wanted him to say that he wanted you. Wanted you here with him, in his arms, his lips on yours, sharing this moment of discovery together. If he couldn’t give you that, you weren’t going to volunteer your time. You’d done that for years at this point, and quite frankly, you were exhausted. You knew the burden of being alone in your relationship isn’t something that would occur with Chris, but you weren’t going to put yourself out there first. You did too much overthinking for that. You shook your head, looking down at where his hand was now squeezing your hip like he didn’t want to let you go.

“It’s okay. I can just bum a ride with my mom if need be, or call my uncle to chauffeur me around.” You dad’s half brother was always kind to you and willing to do whatever you needed in place of your father. You appreciated that. “You don’t need to worry about me Chris, I can take care of myself.” It was your turn to place a kiss on his cheek, but you made sure to make it to where there was something left to be desired. The kiss lingered, right on the edge of his lips. You brushed your thumb over the spot, whipping the non-existent lipstick you left there. “I had a great time. Thanks for letting me make up that meal you paid for.” You spoke as you tried to stand, his hand on your hip holding you back. You stared at him, just for him to let you go. His fingers slowly brushed over your stomach, before finding rest on the arm of his wrought-iron patio chair. You tried not to feel disappointed, things just weren’t meant to be at this moment. It didn’t mean the moment wouldn’t come. But did you want that? Your rekindled friendship meant everything to you and your bouts with love had all proven to be fruitless, like you’d be alone forever.

You finally stood on your own two feet, fixing your dress that had slightly ridden up from the position you’d been sitting in. He waited until you got to the door before he stood. Your eyes got a glimpse of him adjusting himself, the brief moment you shared clearly having an effect on him. He didn’t touch you again as he guided you through the house, back to the front door. Ever the gentleman, he walked you to your car and held the door open for you. “Next time, it will be just us, I promise.” You turned to look at him. Had he always looked this dazzling in the moonlight? Maybe you hadn’t ever noticed the way his eyes shone in the light. The teenage features he had when you first met were long gone, there was a man standing in front of you now. “Call me when you get home… you never know what kind of creatures lurk in the night.” You chuckled at his warning, no sense that he was serious.

“I’ll text you.” You gave him one last smile, wishing it could be a kiss instead. He returned the smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes like it normally did. At least you weren’t the only one disappointed the night was ending like this. You got in your car and he shut the door for you. You didn’t bother with letting down the window and making this an even longer goodbye. You just cranked up and pulled out of his driveway, looking back just once to see that longing look in his eye as you drove away. Regret, that's what this night brought to you. Regret that you didn’t recognize your feelings for him sooner. Oh, the heartbreak that could have saved you. You made the silent drive out of his subdivision, turning onto the main road, hyper focused on the dark pavement. Outside of the little community, there weren’t too many lights on the highway back. Your headlights were shit, you knew they needed to be cleaned, but they provided a little bit of light, blending with the slight moonlight that wasn’t covered by clouds.

You reached down to cut up the air. With your car sitting in the sun all day, the air-flow had an almost suffocating feel to it. You took your eyes off the road for a brief moment, fingers searching for the right dials to crank up the ac as much as your old beater would allow. The sweet relief of a cool breeze was short lived as you put your eyes back on the road. You slammed on the breaks, seeing the biggest wolf you’d ever seen standing in the middle of it. Your car came to a screeching halt, much harsher than the ones your old hatchback would make on the regular. The wolf looked in your direction, it had to be as tall as your car was, at least. You’d never seen an animal so big up close. You’ve seen people encounter red wolves when taking hikes around here, but they never looked this massive. Bigger than a dog, yes. Bigger than your car and possibly you? No. Plus it just didn’t look like your typical red wolf. You took in its appearance, its white and gray coat and sharp eyes. It was gorgeously terrifying. Its ear twitched and that's when you noticed the most unusual thing about it, besides its size. It had a row of earrings adoring its ear. Hoops to be exact, large to small. Where the heck had you seen that before?

The hell kind of modern wolf was this? How did it even get piercings? Was it alone? You soon got one of your answers with a howl from the treeline. Appearing from the abyss beyond the dark trees was another wolf, this one all black and even bigger. All the hairs on your arm stood up in alarm. What the hell was going on here. You looked away from the menacing one in the trees to the one in the road, making eye contact with the animal. It ran off as the other one advanced towards it, as if it was afraid of the black one. If it took issue with the scary black wolf, you supposed you probably should too. When the coast was clear, you pressed the gas and bolted. You had to get back home and wash this strange encounter from your mind. You checked the mirror a bit further down the road and there it was, black hair shining under the moonlight, red eyes aglow. A frighteningly beautiful sight to behold. You could see a sense of longing in that animal's eyes. Melancholy must have been going around tonight, but you sure as hell weren't about to stick around to find out if that was indeed the case.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⇠☾⇢ NEXT CHAPTER

© ✐Channieskies 『MINORS DNI! This post contains nsfw material. Please do not interact with it if you are under the age of 18. Do not translate or repost here or on other sites. Please leave a like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed this story.』

42 notes · View notes

dinossaurz · 6 months ago

Text

Shit, not the pink ribbon skirt again.

Pairing: Emo!Mingi, F, Girly!reader, Emo!Yunho

Summary: She couldn't be different from both her best friends. She's all cute, popular and girlie. And they're... yeah, emo. Weirdos. They like her, she knows it. But they don't know it... yet.

WC: 2k

Genre: Fluff; maybe a little suggestive

Requested by: @zchnlswrld

Beta/proofread credit: @peachesyeo

A/N: It's just a little different from what you asked, but I can write it again if you doesn't like that.

I just hated so much what I've made here fkskfjskdj sorry

Nets: @newworldnet

Being popular isn't a hard thing.

Well, it shouldn't be, at least.

You've been lying in a chair, in the library, "hiding" yourself from some football players. With your bestfriends by your side, as always.

Mingi and Yunho never leaves your side, more specifically when you're up to be alone. They hate the mere thought of you being alone.

Or, better saying, they hate the mere thought of you being all alone in your fucking pink short skirts you love so much.

The skirt in question is short but not too much, and it has a huge pink ribbon on it's top.

You knew they also loves that skirt, to be really honest.

"So, Y/N, why you're here again?" Mingi whispered in a heavy tone.

"I'm hiding, of course." You says, in a low tone, trying to avoid the goosebumps Mingi's voice gave you.

"But you're friends with them, aren't you?" Yunho, who know exactly who you're hiding from, says with a frown.

"Ah… nope. I'm friend with you and Mingi. You know that, Yuyu." You missed the way he smiled at the nickname you gave him.

But you didn't need to see something knowing that something was off with both your bestfriends. I mean, you know them since always. You both grew togheter, being glued since childhood. You knew everything about each other. Well, they think you don't know one little thing.

The thing is… Yunho has a huge crush on you, and at the same time Mingi also has a huge crush on you. They don't know each other crushes, and they swear you don't know too. Little did they know you know everything since day one, and that's why you're always a tease to them.

You know exactly how to act around them, rushing your hands to theirs when you're side by side to them, "accidentally" passing your feet to their legs . And, of course, your little pink ribbon skirt with nothing less than your underwear under.

And that's exactly why you're here, by the library, acting like you're trying to hide. Your friends of the team knows you're trying up something to both your boys. Actually, they helped you with some advices.

"So, what are you up to today?" you asked, making them turn tables to your side.

Mingi arched his eyebrows, laying himself in the table, turning a little to look at your eyes. Again, you felt a goosebump up your spine.

"You're never curious about us, Y/N."

You know he was lying right now, but you didn't cared about that too much, then you just arched your eyebrow, mirroring Mingi.

"I'm going to play games all afternoon and maybe night." Yunho answered, his eyes a soft sight in your direction, and you just smiled in your plans working that easy.

"So, you're free at night?" you smiled brightly.

"Always free, actually." he answered, a little confused. He wanted to say he was always free to you, but he hold his own lips to open and say some shit.

"Yeah, me too." Mingi said, his voice a little sleepy. This big boy is always sleepy, to be honest, and that's what you think is the most cute thing about him.

The night after that, you were at the cinema near your complex. You lived near Yunho, so once he said he was leaving his house, you did the same.

You were nervous about your plains, because you were afraid to lose them both if you were wrong, even if their acts were too obvious sometimes.

When you saw Yunho arriving, you just jumped out off your thoughts, starting to sweat under your pretty pink top crop, matching your pink ribbon skirt.

Not far from where you and Yunho were, Mingi was also arriving. He saw you there, just waiting just as the cute brat you used to be around them.

And… shit, not the pink ribbon skirt again. He used to think you knew how hard you make him just by wearing this fucking piece of fabric.

He wished he could touch that fabric. It looked so soft by the touch, and he wished he could also feel your soft thigh between his hands and…

"Mingi!" he was cut off when he listened both your voice and Yunho's.

Mingi oppened a small and nervous smile, trying to wash off his dirty thoughts. He just passed his fingers through his hair (black just like the night).

"How long you're here?" Mingi asked, looking from Yunho to Y/N.

"I just arrived." Yunho said, smiling to them. "But I think Y/N's here for a little long."

"Nah, I arrived just a little before you." you smiled, playing with your hair that pulled off your braided hair.

All your nervousness just increased when the seconds passed by, and you considered turn back with your plan. But it was too late when your mouth oppened alone just to speak the things you rehearsed in your mirror in the past few days.

"Can… can we talk a bit. Y'know, before the movie start." you shyly smile, looking to your feets covered by a pair of blue all stars, a gift from Yunho. You just realised both of them where using their matching black converses with you. Then your smile switched from shy to a open one.

"I… Sure." Yunho said quietly, a little afraid that you would say you're dating someone.

He could barely only thought about you dating someone isn't him.

The tree of you were sitting by a table in a near cafe

You were holding a hot and sleeveless cup of coffee. You knew it would hurt your hand, but your mind was still a misty.

"I-I… I know something is happening. To… To the both of you." you said, a little faster and in a low tone. Your face was turned down, and you looked up when you listened them chocking with their drinks.

"Uh… I didn't understand… w-what you're talking about?" Yunho said, whiping his mouth, his hand shivering a little.

You turned your head to the opposite side again, avoiding their eyes.

"You're both acting weird when around me. And don't think i missed your heart eyes in my direction, Song Mingi." you said, not even taking a pause to breath. Your face turning pink like the colors of your clothing.

"You saw?" Mingi whispered, his face turning to a bright red.

You nodded, turning now to look at Yunho.

"And I know you've been jealous of my other friends." Yunho, that was looking down, probably praying that you never saw nothing weird in him.

"I always wondered if…" you started, but paused to take a sip in your coffee, to calm yourself with the hot liquid. "If you both also liked me."

You were looking to your fingers, a little pink because of the heat from the coffee cup.

"Y-you said... Also?" you could listen to Yunho's voice that he was a bit (maybe too much) nervous with what he just listened coming from the mouth of the girl he loves the most.

But... what confused Yunho the most was, how Y/N knew Mingi liked her before he even talked that to Yunho.

He washed the thought when he saw Mingi freezed looking to the girl.

"Min, are you..." Yunho started, but was cut by Mingi low voice.

"It means you really were teasing me... teasing us..." he corrected himself "with that... that...

"Skirt?" both the friends could see she was holding a grin when she looked down.

Oh, boy, both of them were so fucked and so melted and confused among her thin fingers.

"Since when you knew?" Mingi asked.

After she talked to them, the trio walked to the cinema, head in the clouds, they never really watched the movie, totally involved in talk to the girl sitting among the two towers.

"Maybe since the beginning?" you asked, not really searching for answers. Mingi scoffed in disbelief.

"I thought I was hiding my feelings very well, since no one said anything."

"Well... technically, I discovered Yunho's crush firstly." Yunho looked at you, his ears turning a little pink, just like your skirt, you thought. "You know, he always looked at me with those puppy eyes, and then he was looking at me like an all grown golden retriever."

You could feel Mingi holding his laugh by your side, you just joined him.

"Ya, you two... tsc." Yunho whispered holding a small smile.

"Could you please, stay silent?" A fourth voice appeared, and the three of you widen your eyes.

"Oh, sorry." You poked Yunho and Mingi's side, nodding them to get out of that place.

And that you did, laughing when finally out of room.

"So... what we going to do now? You know... about... all that..." Yunho was moving his hands so fast he almost slapped you.

You just hold his hands, squeezing both in your tiny hands.

"Calm down first, Yuyu." You assured, smiling a bit.

While you were looking into Yunho's soul, Mingi touched your shoulder, making you look at him, who was smiling.

That smile so long makes your heart flutter in your chest, then you just smiled back at him.

If someone from out your trio saw you with both of them, would be scandalized. The two boys were so tall, and that emo aura that followed them would make anyone run for their lives, but not you.

You loved them so much to just think about running away from them.

Then you just took Mingi's hand on yours, while still hold one of Yunho's. You looked at both of their eyes and smiled, letting a small smile in the corner of their lips, one each.

And then you just smiled again, seeing their confused faces.

#ateez #ateezfic #Mingi #Yunho #Emo Yungi #newworldnet #fluff

129 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 Stars and scars

Chapter 2 of Moonlight

Chapter 2 Scars and stars

A/N- Are you guys enjoying it?

Warning- Swearing, Aegon, some fluff, LONG CHAPTER, blood, violence, ANGST.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 1x08

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“We join today at the Seat of the Sea to commit the Lady Laena of House Velaryon to the eternal waters, the dominion of the Merling King where He will guard her for all the days to come.”

Not long ago a raven came with the tragic news of Lady Laena’s death not so long after arriving at Dragonstone. Ever since then your father has been quiet as he grieved his sister. And ever since then, you’ve wanted to have something to say besides “I’m sorry”, but you cannot find any words to make his pain any less. Not this time.

All you can offer him is your comfort as he stands watching the guards wrapping a rope around the casket.

“…As she sets to sea for her final voyage, the Lady Laena leaves two true-born daughters on the shore.”

You wish you could offer your cousins comforting words too. And you have shared a few sweet words since you saw them again after missing them, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It truly feels like you haven’t done enough to console them or your father.

“Though their mother will not return from her voyage,” Ser Vaemond says loudly to be heard over the crashing waves. “They will all remain bounded together in blood. Salt courses through Velaryon blood. Our runs thick, our runs true….”

You blink slowly as the words register in your mind. It doesn’t affect you right away, they were nice words, but you then follow his line of gaze and see Ser Vaemond looking at your mother and brothers as he spoke those words, and you realize exactly what he’s referring to. What an asshole.

“And our must never thin,” he adds and only further narrows his glare, making you begin to curl your lip to a scowl.

However, it’s at that moment as well that Prince Daemon laughs. He just laughs. It’s his wife’s funeral what's so funny to him?

Does he know?

“My gentle niece,” Ser Vaemond continues to say gently against the sea breeze whilst the guards begin to drag the casket to the waters below. “May the winds be as strong as your back, your seas as calm as your spirit, and your nets be as full as your heart. From the seas, we came. To the sea, we shall return.”

The casket splashes into the water, causing your father to drop his head and let out a shaky breath while tears fall and hit the stone below your feet. You can’t say you share his grief, she was your aunt but you hardly knew her since they lived so far, you only ever talked to her the times your grandmother Rhaenys took you with her to visit them.

You can’t say you feel grief and heartbreak, nor do you ever want to feel that ache, you don’t want to lose your parents…at least not yet, but you do hug your father's arm tighter and only nuzzle your head more on his shoulder.

He reacts to your touch this time. He doesn’t lift his head, he just lifts one hand off the other and gently caresses your arm with his thumb to tell you he acknowledges your comfort. So you remain like that for a while longer, even as the people join the festivity above you remain by your father's side just standing in the silence of his grief. Even as your mother and brothers go up you stay with him, and he never complains. It seems he appreciates having someone to quietly comfort him. And well, you also find relief in giving such comfort.

Perhaps you would have stayed with him all night if he wanted to stay there, but your grandmother then came to you.

“Darling, why don’t you come with me and eat something, hm?”

You lift your head off your father's shoulder to meet her gaze and hesitate. You don’t want to leave him alone, but maybe he does want some privacy, so you let him go and walk up with her.

“You’ve grown a lot more since the last time I saw you,” she mentions softly. “You’re almost a woman grown.”

You shift your eyes to meet hers and nod in agreement. “I am. Sometimes though, I do wish I could stay young forever.”

Your grandmother laughs softly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll enjoy adulthood. There’s a lot to enjoy.”

You blink with disbelief and probe on that. “Is there? Sometimes I’m unsure.”

Your grandmother cups your shoulder and stops you as you reach the table of food. “I can guarantee you there is. Once you look past all our responsibilities as women and royalty.”

You muster a soft smile at her words even if you’re unsure whether to believe her or not. You don’t add anything on the matter though and soon sigh and begin to lose your smile.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her sincerely. “About your loss, grandmother.”

You reach over and give her hand a gentle squeeze. Said woman holds your gaze and softens her smile. “Thank you, darling, now why don’t you grab something to eat and go with your cousins. They might need a few kind words or just your company.”

You nod in agreement and do the first thing she told you to do, but then find yourself away from your cousins and against the balcony that overlooks the crashing waters below after you catch a glimpse of your father just standing on the shore. Lucerys and your uncle Prince Daemon stand at opposite sides, each doing their own thing while you just watch your father let the waves crash into his legs.

For once being still and doing nothing doesn’t bother you, you’re too worried about your father to do anything but be as close as you can out of concern. You just watch him with pity, and with annoyance at your own self that you can’t help him.

“Afraid he’ll drown himself?” A manly voice interjects.

You lift your eyes to look at who had spoken beside you and see your uncle Prince Daemon. He looks a bit smug about what he just said too—is his wife’s funeral some joke to him?

Or is this how he grieves?

You sigh. “I’m just worried,” you answer out of respect. “I’m sorry for your loss, uncle.”

Prince Daemon blinks and lets his gaze linger on you for a moment with his lips slightly parted, and then his eyes just partially narrow. You can’t read what he might be thinking, all you can do is watch as he steals a glance at the crowd. You quickly follow his line of gaze and notice that he’s looking at your mother; she has her back turned and there’s other people around her, but you know, you feel that’s who he’s looking at before he drops his gaze and sighs.

“Thank you, Princess,” he finally says after a few awkward seconds of silence of him just staring.

You hum softly and offer him a partial smile before you look back at your father. You were going to find comfort by slouching and crossing your arms over the balcony to rest your chin on your hands, but you then catch a glimpse of Lucerys’s even gloomier look and turn to face your little brother instead.

“How are you holding, Luce?” You ask him.

Said boy slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours and sighs deeply as if he feels the greatest sorrow of all when in reality he’s just sad because everyone is. He didn’t know Lady Laena, nor does he know that….his real father, Ser Harwin is dead—

A fire in his cursed castle, Harrenhal, they said.

Shame really, Ser Harwin was a good man. He really loved your mother and siblings, you could tell that much.

“Will mother die too?” Lucerys asks in a shaky voice.

Oh, sweet boy.

You crouch to get at his level and shake your head. “One day,” you tell him the truth. “Dying is a natural part of life. But you don’t have to worry, Mother won’t leave us anytime soon.”

Lucerys swallows thickly and doesn’t lose the grief from his face. “Will you die?”

You can’t help but smile as you shake your head again. “You’re stuck with me for a long time.” You assure him and reach over to ruffle his hair. “That sound good?”

Lucerys lets out a relieved breath and nods. “Yes.”

“Good,” you whisper and stand up straight. “Now why don’t we go to Baela and Rhaena?”

Lucerys turns to grab his wooden horse once again. “I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

You don’t force him or try to argue, you leave him be and steal one last glance at your father before turning to head to where Rhaena and Baela are. Albeit you do run into someone not so long after you depart.

“Where is your father?” Your grandfather Corly’s asks you as he pulls his eyes away from the crowd to meet yours.

You look out at sea and respond. “At shore. He’s been there for quite some time.”

He pats your shoulder and throws you a quick passing comment, “okay thank you, darling.” He then walks past you, and you look back and watch him approach Lucerys by the balcony railing.

You pay them no mind and then look ahead to walk to your previous destination, having to maneuver through the crowd of guests paying their respects. You pass by Aegon too and hope he keeps distracted by the serving girl he’s bothering.

But your hopes are futile since he quickly manages to run up to you and throw his arm around your shoulders. “Sweet niece,” he greets with his wine breath wafting in your nose. “How I've missed you so. Home is truly not the same without you, the halls stand quiet without your precious song, and the castle is dull without your beauty.”

You shove his arm off you and part your lips to rebuttal, but someone cuts in first. “Leave her alone, Aegon.”

It’s Aemond.

Both Aegon and you look at your side and see Aemond approaching you both. And you both smile, albeit you smile at Aemond out of awe, and Aegon smiles at his brother out of mockery.

“Oh, feeling protective already brother?” Aegon teases Aemond. “Such a gentleman,” he snickers. “But you need not worry, I was just telling her how much she’s missed at home that’s all. But,” he snickers. “If you wish me to leave her alone, I will.” He shoots you a smirk before he turns and chases after another poor serving girl, letting you turn to Aemond and making him walk with you toward your cousins.

“Do you miss me terribly?” You ask.

Aemond swallows thickly and then answers. “I suppose…sleepless nights are quite boring now that you’re not there to keep me company.”

You smile wider at his response as your cheeks begin to burn. “That’s good,” you say nervously, which is odd to feel around him. “I too have now spent my nights bored. Albeit, at Dragonstone in the middle of the night when the castle is quiet, I can hear the dragon's songs. They sing at the moon…at least I like to think of it that way.” You smile softly. “There was also one night when I was out on my balcony and heard a cry I never heard before. It was the howl from a wolf; it was the most beautiful thing I’ve heard. It filled me with so much joy.”

Aemond hums softly in comprehension and you look at the sky ahead.

“Well at home you can hear the occasional shout from a worker or a drunk from the streets below.” He says with a teasing smile.

You chuckle and nod. “Yes, I remember, but strangely I don’t miss it. I enjoy the silence.” You blink and look down, catching at that moment the distant narrowed gaze of the Queen trained on you.

Her narrowed gaze makes you uneasy, but you don’t leave Aemond’s side like she probably wanted you to, you stay and continue to talk to him. “I’m sure you’d like Dragonstone. It’s quite nice.”

“I'm sure I would,” he says in agreement.

You look away from Queen Alicent and notice that you’re now approaching your cousins, and your grandmother with them so you turn and face Aemond. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Aemond looks at Baela and Rhaena and then meets your gaze to nod before he parts away, letting you approach Rhaena, Baela, and your grandmother.

You offer both of your cousins a faint smile before you fall by Rhaena’s side and take her hand to give it a comforting squeeze. You proceed to stand in silence and can’t help but glance ahead, noticing Prince Daemon first and right away noticing he's focused on something ahead of him again, so you follow his line of gaze and catch your mother just across his eyesight.

Why do they keep looking at each other? Sure you might be young but you recognize those…longing stares.

What if he turns out to be your mother's lover just as Ser Harwin was hers, that’d be…well it would be good since Baela and Rhaena would be closer, but it’d be weird, no?

He’s sort of odd now that you’ve met him….

Regardless, you look away and focus back on your cousins before you notice more of what you don’t want to see. “Do either of you want anything?” You ask. “I can go get it for you.”

Rhaena shakes her head, and Baela speaks up quietly. “I'm fine, thank you.”

You’ve already said you’re sorry, so you just stay with them and wrap an arm around Rhaena to pull her in a hug.

She finds comfort in your partial embrace and wraps her arms around you to keep you close as she cries more. You let her stay for as long as she needs, you don’t mind, however, soon thereafter your mother walks over to your brothers nearby. “Go to bed,” she tells them.

“But mother,” Jacaerys rebuttals.

“Go to bed,” she insists as if in a hurry. She then looks over at you to meet your gaze and then points at your brothers with her eyes, and lastly, points at the building, letting you understand one thing; take your brothers to bed.

It's a speechless look, but you’ve learned to read what she means.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell Rhaena and Baela after you pull your gaze away from your mother's disappearing figure as she climbs down the steps that lead to the shore. “Goodnight. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

Rhaena pulls away from you and nods, letting you crouch to press a kiss on your grandmother's cheek before you meet up with your brothers and grab their shoulders to walk them to their chambers.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

Quiet. It’s quiet and peaceful at Driftmark.

Much like at your new home Dragonstone, you can hear the waves crashing. That sound is loud but it brings comfort and lulls you to sleep right on top of Astraea.

Sure, you were sent to bed by your mother, but it was far too early for you and Astraea isn’t chained up and far like in King’s Landing, so you took advantage of her freedom and came to her resting by the shore. And! She also took no time to gently fly you under the stars, she loves your company and being around you, she also finds comfort in flying under the stars and skimming over the glimmering ocean with you resting on her back.

The only reason why you wake up is because she lands on shore, otherwise, you would’ve been perfectly fine sleeping on top of her all night even if it would’ve been uncomfortable.

“<You’re right,” you mutter to Astraea in High Valyrian as you sit up and stretch out your arms. “I should return to the castle.>” You let out a yawn before you swing your leg over your saddle and climb down.

When you hit the soft sand you keep your hand on your dragon and graze it along her as you walk to her head. “<I’ll return tomorrow,” you assure your dragon. “Promise.> You offer her a smile before you press your forehead against her.

Astraea mewls softly before she gently leans against you, causing you to grin brighter.

It hurts to leave her even if you’re still in the same place, but you must return before someone doesn’t find you in your quarters and causes a panic. Albeit you do take the long way back inside because you make sure to stroll through the grounds and really take in your father's home place.

It is rather small in truth, but it's still beautiful. And there’s a lot of room to roam. When you get close to getting inside, to avoid running into guards right away, you avoid the big doors and find a tunnel that leads inside.

Now you find that it is brightly lit by torches aligned along the stone walls, but it seems rather unoccupied, regardless of the fact. However, you're still careful and walk slowly in case there is someone.

And just as it seems like you’ll make it out of the tunnel without running into someone, you catch the sound of rustling feet against the sand and dirt floor and stop immediately to listen in.

“You will die screaming in flames just as your father did!” Someone exclaims; it’s a familiar voice that seems to belong to Aemond, but it’s filled with a rage that’s unknown to your ears. “Bastards!”

Your breath catches in your throat out of disbelief at the sound of his words, leaving you unable to move as you grow terribly confused as to why he would dare spit out such a venomous insult.

“My father is still alive.” You recognize that crying instantly, it’s Lucerys.

Why is he down here too?

Without waiting a moment longer, without waiting for any context over what’s going on, you break away from your spot and head to where the voices come from.

“He doesn’t know does he?” You hear Aemond snap. “Lord Strong?”

Is Jacaerys there too?

You quicken your pace and finally come across the scene, catching Baela holding onto Rhaena; whom are bleeding. You then notice Lucerys bleeding and crying on the floor, and lastly you notice Jacaerys with a blade gleaming in his hand, and then Aemond with his back turned to you with a rock in his hand. They’re fighting, but why?

Regardless, neither of the boys notice you, it seems Jacaerys is too focused on Aemond in front of him to notice you hidden under the shadows. The girls do notice you, but they don’t call out to you as to not startle Aemond or Jacaerys.

You take that in your favor to break into a sprint and charge at the spot between both boys. And yes, Jacaerys has a blade in hand, he looks the most guilty without any context, but Lucerys is crying and bleeding the most, and so are your cousins. Aemond might be your best friend, you might be partners in the future, but your brothers come first. Always. Without a fault.

It’s why you call out to Aemond first. “Aemond—”

However, just as you get in between Aemond and Jacaerys, suddenly something sharp and hard slices up over half of your face, triggering writhing pain, and causing blood to begin pouring out. And since you were caught off guard the power of the impact knocks you to the ground.

The moment your body hits the ground Baela and Rhaena cry out your name, as soon as Jacaerys snaps from his stupor he calls out for you too, and finally drops his blade and falls on his knees beside you.

Tears escape past your eyes because of the pain even if you’re trying to be strong. “Ar—are you okay?” You try to ask Jace as you slowly lift your face to meet his worried gaze.

But at that moment, Aemond interjects with your name uttered in disbelief.

You slowly meet his widened gaze and notice the cuts on his face that are bleeding as well, while that anger you heard in his voice before is gone now as he sees your cut barely hidden under your hand as you try to press on it.

“I,” he shakes his head and steps forward.

Yet before he can get any closer a cry breaks out in the stunned silence that filled the tunnel. “Don’t touch my sister!” Lucerys shouts as he charges at Aemond and swings the blade he has in hand up against Aemond’s face.

Right away Aemond cries out in pain and falls to the floor grabbing at his face, while Lucerys begins to slowly approach you.

“Aemond?” You call out and sit up.

“Cease this at once!” A voice booms and hurried footsteps rush inside.

You look back and see that it’s Ser Harold and other Knights of the Kingsguard.

“Get away!” Ser Harrold commands as he approaches Aemond writhing in pain.

“Give me your hand,” Rhaena breaks your attention away from Aemond.

“Princess,” a knight calls out and approaches you as Rhaena and Jacaerys are helping you to your feet.

“Gods be good,” you catch Ser Harrold mutter.

You try to look at Aemond, but then you’re led out of the tunnel by the knights.

“Lucerys,” you call out to the boy walking by your side. “What happened let me see.”

Your little brother turns to face you as you’re getting escorted to the main hall, and you see that his nose is bleeding and a bit crooked.

It must be broken.

“You’re bleeding,” he points out as the blood slows down but keeps trickling down your burning cheek.

“So are you,” you point out. “We’ll get you better, okay?”

He nods and raises his hand to let it hover over his nose. You then turn to your cousins to examine them, but it doesn’t seem like they broke anything. “Baela, Rhaena, are you two okay?” You ask anyway through your pain.

Baela meets your gaze and quickly finds your cut and nods. “Yes, we’re fine. You’re not.”

You hum and then try to look back at Aemond following behind all of you, but before you can see how badly he’s hurt you’re ushered into the hall. They sit you down by the doors, and your brothers and cousins surround you whilst Ser Harrold walks Aemond close to the fireplace to sit him down on a chair, blocking your view and only letting you hear his complaints.

Soon the room begins to fill as maesters are brought in, one for Aemond and one to tend to you. Queen Alicent, Helaena, and Aegon then rush in, your grandfather the King then follows and looks immediately bewildered by what he sees; Aemond getting his wound cleaned and stitched up, and you in the same predicament, but says nothing, he watches instead.

After the maester stops your bleeding and begins to clean your wound, you feel how long the cut is; it starts from your cheek and trails up to where your cheekbone starts. It's deep too, or so you heard the maester say through the stinging pain that clouds your mind as he daps the wet cloth on your cut.

You do hope the pain will be over soon, but it only worsens as the maester then begins to stitch up your wound. Luckily Lucerys and Rhaena are holding your hands, it comforts you.

However, you still don’t know why the fight was caused. Like the adults in the room, you’re just learning too.

“How could you allow such a thing to happen?” You hear your grandfather finally ask. “I will have answers.”

“The princes were supposed to be abed, My King,” Ser Harrold says.

“Who had the watch?”

“Young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” Ser Criston interjects.

“You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood,” your grandfather argues.

“I’m very sorry, Your Grace,” Ser Harrold apologizes. Unlike Ser Criston.

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes,” the young knight counters.

“That is no answer!” Your grandfather cuts him off.

“Almost done,” the maester tells you as he impales the needle in your flesh once again, making you wince and hold on tighter to Rhaena’s hand.

“It will heal, will it not maester?” You overhear Queen Alicent ask about Aemond, causing you to hold your breath.

“The flesh will heal,” the maester responds, “but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

You gasp softly and lower your gaze from the disbelief and guilt, even if it wasn’t you who caused it.

“Where were you?” Alicent then yells.

“Me?” Aegon asks and then exclaims. “Ow! What was that for?”

You look up and see her hitting him, but why? He wasn’t even near, you only came across them because you were sneaking back into the castle. Aegon is a creep, but he wasn’t there to deserve to get punished.

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!” Alicent spats at Aegon with unnecessary fury against him.

“What is the meaning of this?!” The sound of your grandfather Corlys’s voice booms in, making you want to look back, but you can’t, so you're just left hearing him, and then your grandmother as she rushes in after him.

“Baela! Rhaena!”

Both girls look back, however, Rhaena doesn’t leave your side, but Baela does meet your grandmother halfway.

“What happened?” Your grandmother asks her before she calls out your name with worry and finally comes into view before you, along with your grandfather.

“Gods,” she mutters as she crouches down beside the maester and places her hand over your arm.

And now that you see her, now that she comforts you, the emotions get the best of you, the pain riddles you, and you can’t help but begin to cry.

“Will she heal?” Your grandmother asks, whilst your grandfather tilts his head to study your cut.

The maester finally pulls back and looks at your grandmother. “The flesh will, but it will scar.”

You gasp and your chest only gets heavier with more emotion.

“Who did this?” Your grandfather demands to know. “Who did this to you?”

You swallow thickly and without saying anything you look over at where Aemond is sitting. Both of your grandparents follow your line of gaze and find Aemond.

Before your grandfather can say anything though, the door opens and you instantly hear your mother call out to you and your brothers.

You drift your eyes over to her and see her rushing over, causing your grandparents to move to the side to let her reach you.

Now that you see her too, those emotions weighing you down find a way out through a shaky sob.

“Let me see, let me see,”

You slide your hands away from Lucerys and Rhaena’s hands to grab your mother's wrist as she cups your jaw and tilts your head to study the now stitched-up cut.

“Will it heal?” She asks the maester the same question just asked seconds ago.

“Mother,” you whimper out.

“The flesh will heal,” the maester repeats. “But it will scar.”

Your mother's gaze falls back on you filled with pity and hurt. “Oh my sweet,” she whispers and caresses your other cheek.

“Lucerys,” you point out now. “He’s hurt too.”

At the mention, her eyes snap to your brother still beside you. “Show me, show me,” she says as she moves to focus on him.

“I’m sorry Mother,” you instantly apologize. “I was out with Astraea and when I got there he was already hurt. They all were, I’m sorry.”

She swallows thickly and lets her gaze linger on Lucerys nose for a second longer before she meets your watery gaze. “It’s okay, my sweet, it’s okay. I believe you,” she assures you.

“I’m sorry Luce,” you now direct at him. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head very softly and assures you just like your mother did. “It’s okay it’s not your fault. Are you better?”

You sigh and nod to comfort his worry. “I will be.”

He grabs onto your hand again and stays close as your mother looks back at the crowd. “Who did this?” She asks.

“The twins and the boys attacked me!” Aemond blurts as he turns around on his chair, letting you finally see the injury he sustained—His eye is swollen and red, the cut is long and deep, and it starts over his eyebrow and crosses across his eye, ending on his cheek.

As the other kids begin to argue back in their defense all you can focus on is Aemond’s wound. The blood is now dry but to your own guilty eyes, it's bright, still fresh, and the cut is still open. All that you can think about is the fact that he’ll never see out of that eye again.

Will he hate you now too?

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Queen Alicent cutting into the kids' argument breaks you from your train of thought.

“He called us—”

“Silence!” Your grandfather cuts everyone off and only provides more tension.

“He called us bastards,” Jace whispers to your mother, making her stand and turn to face the crowd.

Before she can say anything though, your grandfather calls out to you, making you slowly drift your eyes over to him. “Tell me the truth of what happened.”

Your gaze snaps to your mother as she peers back. You don’t ask her anything out loud, but you ask for reassurance with your eyes.

She nods softly, letting you return your attention to your grandfather.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I was not there to see all of the fight,” you tell the truth. “I was out with Astraea and when I was coming back inside I ran into them already fighting. I tried to stop it, but…” you hesitate as you’re stuck whether saying his name even if everyone knows already.

Can you go against him? You ask yourself.

“Say it,” your grandfather commands as he notices your silence.

“I was hurt on accident…”

“I didn’t mean it,” Aemond blurts. “She got in the way.”

Your gaze drifts to where he is, and even if he doesn’t turn around, you keep your eyes there for a lingering second before you continue. “After that is when Lucerys hurt Aemond,” you finish and right away drop your gaze and begin to bite the inside of your left cheek.

“Now you, Aemond,” your grandfather continues as he begins to limp towards Aemond. “I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Queen Alicent cuts in. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

“It was a regrettable accident.” Your mother quickly cuts in.

“Accident?” Alicent quips. “The prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son.”

You quickly look up and begin to narrow your gaze on Alicent, knowing she was being overly dramatic.

“My daughter was maimed as well, and my sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves and their sister.” Your mother counters with anger. “Vile insults were levied against my sons.”

“What insults?” Your grandfather the King questions right away.

“The legitimacy of my son's birth was put loudly to question.”

“What?” Your grandfather presses your mother.

“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys cuts in, bringing a brief silence as everyone involved takes in what was said.

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace,” your mother continues. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.”

Said boy looks back with his eyebrow furrowed in what you can read as…annoyance?

“Over an insult?” Queen Alicent mutters. “My son has lost an eye.”

Over an insult that he had to learn from someone; your grandfather wouldn’t say it, maybe others at court would, but why would Aemond listen to them, which leaves the one person who spends the most time with him, her. He learned it from her.

“You tell me, boy,” your grandfather presses Aemond harder as he gets closer. “Where did you hear this lie?”

“The insult was training yard bluster,” Alicent quickly cuts in for Aemond. “The lot of boys, it was nothing.”

“Aemond,” your grandfather ignores her. “I asked you a question.”

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The children’s father.” Alicent cuts in again, this time with an off topic question, as if she’s nervous. “Perhaps he might have something to say in the matter.”

“Yes,” your grandfather agrees with her for the first time tonight. “Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” your mother responds, “I…could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk.”

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture,” Alicent dares to rebuttal, making your face twist to a scowl, and for a scoff to escape past your lips.

Not only that but in the silence that consumed the hall you manage to hear a snicker, you quickly look over at where it comes from and see Ser Criston snickering like a gossiping girl. What a piece of shit.

You let go of Lucerys hand and fist your hands before you try to push yourself. However, before you can get up, a heavy hand pushes you down. You quickly look back and see that it’s your grandfather Corlys.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know not to pursue anything, even if all you want to do is call Ser Criston out.

“Aemond,” your grandfather the King cuts in and ignores Alicent’s comment. “Look at me. Your King demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

You let out an annoyed breath and tilt your head to try and see him, but there’s people in the way so you wait for an answer in the short silence.

“It was Aegon.” He deadpans.

“Me?” Said boy asks in confusion.

Now the attention goes to him, and your grandfather the King limps towards him as well to interrogate him. “And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies? Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!”

“We know, father,” you hear Aegon answer. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.”

All eyes drift to your brothers by your mother. Nothing is said but the tension heightens, making you sink further in your own seat.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” Your grandfather the King shouts as he slams his cane against the stone floor. “All of you! We are a family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” He then begins to walk away from his children, no one adds anything else on the matter, but Alicent then interrupts and tries to continue the argument.

“That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. Goodwill cannot make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent. But I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it’s been taken!” She cuts him off.

“What would you have me do?” Your grandfather argues.

“There is a debt to be paid,” she daringly shares. “I shall have one of her son's eyes in return.”

You gasp and stand up to pull back Lucerys as he backs away out of fear.

“My dear wife—”

“He is your son, Viserys!” Alicent cuts your grandfather off with a shaky voice. “Your blood.”

“Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment,” he counters regardless of what she said.

Albeit she continues. “If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

Your eyes widen with shock, whilst you also fill with fear. However, you still tighten your grip on Lucerys shoulder and continue to pull him back with you.

“Mother,” he cries out desperately.

“He can choose which eye to keep a privilege he did not grant my son,” Alicent adds.

“You will do no such thing,” your mother counters as she lifts her chin.

“Stay your hand!”

“No, you are sworn to me!” Alicent yells over your grandfather.

Considering Ser Criston was just giggling, you wouldn’t put it past him to do it, but he surprises you. “As your protector, my Queen.” He says, making you smirk at the ground.

“Alicent, this matter…is finished,” your grandfather tells her. “Do you understand?”

Alicent doesn’t say anything luckily, letting your grandfather turn again and add on. “And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

Your smirk deepens.

“Thank you, Father,” your mother says before she turns to face you and your brothers. “Come on, let's go to your chambers to put you to bed.” She says.

You nod and sigh with relief as you’re finally liberated from the tension of this hall. However, just before anyone can leave, shouting breaks in the hall again, this time it’s Ser Harrold.

“Your Grace—Stay with the King!”

“Alicent!”

You blink and look up, catching Queen Alicent storming over with a blade in her hand. “Mother!” You cry out.

Said woman quickly stands up and turns around, managing to slap her hands on Alicents shoulders.

“Hold your approach!”

You reach out for Jacaerys and pull him back with you and Lucerys, whilst your grandfather Corlys also begins to push the three of you away.

“Do not, Ser Criston!”

“Alicent!”

Your eyes fly to every corner of the room; to your terrified brothers, where your grandfather the King is, to Ser Criston as he begins to charge over at your mother and Alicent, but quickly gets stopped by Daemon. You then look at the house guards that begin to block you as they surround your mother and Alicent, and lastly, you look at your mother as she’s trying to hold Alicent back. Panicked tears fill your eyes and worry begins to make your heart pound.

“You’ve gone too far,” your mother spats at Alicent.

“What have I done but what was expected of me?” Alicent cries. “Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please.”

“Alicent!” Your grandfather bellows. “Let her go!”

“Where is duty?” She continues to spat. “Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again.”

“Release the blade, Alicent!” The hand Lord Otto finally speaks but with no urgency.

“And now you take my son's eye,” she continues to add through tears. “And to even that you feel entitled.”

You let go of your brothers and take a step forward since neither let go of the other.

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” Your mother rebuttals. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are.”

With those last words whispered suddenly you catch Alicent swing the blade down, causing your mother to stumble back towards your grandfather Corlys.

You quickly break away from your spot and approach your mother, catching now that Alicent had cut your mother's arm in her fury.

“Mother,” you whisper with shock.

Metal then clashes against the floor, and when you look over you see Alicent has dropped the blade now after she did what she did. Now she looks remorseful, but it’s too late.

“Do not mourn me, Mother,” Aemond cuts in, breaking away all the attention from the tension. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye…but I gained a dragon.”

He briefly meets your gaze, but you look away out of guilt for what happened to him, and also anger for what just happened to your mother.

“This proceeding is at an end,” your grandfather once again ends the argument, but now it's finally finished, no one speaks, silence once again fills the hall with even thicker tension, and Daemon approaches your mother, your brothers by her, and you, as if protecting all of you.

It is…weird? But your father isn't here to do it either so it’s…nice?

Your mind can’t really give it too much thought though. So you leave it sort of weird since he’s just an uncle, but nice because he’s being protective. Instead, after all that madness you can find some sense of relief, worry still chokes you up since your mother is still wounded and a faint tension does cover all of you, but you aren't in the hall anymore surrounded by so many people, or having to listen to arguing.

And maybe you shouldn’t let the tension build, your mother has had the chance to scold all of you now that you’re alone, but she hasn’t.

“You will scar,” the maester lets your mother know. “But the wound will heal.”

You drop the tension from your shoulders as you let out a relieved breath.

“Valyrian steel cuts clean.” The maester finishes saying before the doors open. When you look over you see your father finally walking in. He walks further into the room where you all reside, and his eyes fall on the maester finishing stitching your mother's wound before he glances at Lucerys with cotton in his nose, and then at Jacaerys who probably only got bruises, and lastly his eyes fall on you and the wound on your face.

“Gods,” he says and studies your scar for a moment longer. “Is everyone all right?” He asks even if he sees his answer.

Even then you nod softly even if your cut fucking stings.

“The broken nose is the worst,” the maester lets him know.

“Thank you, maester,” your mother interjects. “Leave us.”

Said man doesn’t hesitate to get up and collect his things before doing what he’s told.

“You as well,” your mother then directs at your siblings and you. “You’ve already found enough trouble today.”

You part your lips to argue, but you consider her pain and just suck it up and nod. “Yes, mother.”

You gently grab the shoulders of Jacaerys and Lucerys and nudge them out with you. When you pass by your father you offer him a sweet smile and give his arm a gentle squeeze, he returns the acknowledgment before you walk away and leave the room.

“How about we take a stroll outside, yes? We can be by the shore and get our minds off all this matter?” You suggest to your brothers for your own benefit. “We can even bring Baela and Rhaena.”

Lucerys twists around to face you and begins walking back. “I want to do that!” He exclaims and then looks at Jacaerys. “Jace do you?!”

Your brother looks unsure, but he doesn’t deny the request. “Sure,” he gives in.

You beam at them and then focus on Lucerys. “Go grab a cloak while I get changed.”

Lucerys nods quickly before he turns and runs with Jace, letting you walk to your chambers. And just as you reach the doors there outside the door is Aemond.

He seems to get surprised when you approach your quarters, and you fill with disbelief at his own presence. Yet you can’t muster a word as all you focus on is his wound. Those emotions of guilt and shame that you wanted to avoid feeling come rushing back at that moment.

You wish to apologize to him even if you didn’t commit the act, but all you can do is part your lips.

Aemond licks his lips before he parts his mouth, he steps forward, but he too falls silent and just holds your gaze.

He was probably leaving soon too, which means you won’t see him for a long time, but still, nothing comes out. Instead, you turn and walk in your quarters. When the door is closed you linger there for a moment and fight with yourself whether to go and apologize and ask how he’s doing, or not. But the guilt doesn’t let you move so you walk further in your quarters and let him walk away.

You’ll speak on the problem when the event isn’t so fresh in your mind, and when the guilt isn’t as heavy. As of now, you change out of your old gown and into a new one to try and hurry up and meet up with your brothers.

However, when you leave your quarters and enter the hall, there they are at the other, but between them and you is a handmaiden, one of Queen Alicent’s.

“Princess,” she bows her head before continuing. “Queen Alicent and the King request an audience with you at the grand hall.”

You blink in disbelief and fill with worry. “Alone?” You ask.

“Your mother and father will be there,” she informs you, bringing some ease, but not enough.

“All right,” you sigh and walk past her to reach your brothers. “Go, I'll find you two later.” You offer them a small faltering smile.

Neither Jace nor Luce argue, they remain curious as to what could be happening, but they go and do as they’re told while you head to the grande hall alone. Before you reach the doors luckily your parents catch up to you.

“What’s going on?” You ask your mother.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs quite nervously, but she tries to hide. “We’ll find out.”

The doors open and there they are, the Queen and King. The King watches you all walk in, his gaze lingers on your mother before he averts his gaze, while the Queen stands straight up and firm with a fur cloak over her body, looking elegant and regal, and stern and intimidating for the first time.

Not because she hurt your mother, but because of what she might want.

Wait…

Is she going to accept the marriage proposal?

Your hopes rise now at the thought.

“I apologize for such a spontaneous audience,” Alicent breaks the awkward silence. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Your mother shakes her head. “No, Your Grace. We were just finishing catching up on last night's matters.”

Alicent nods and averts her gaze for a second before she draws out a deep breath and clasps her hands in front of her before continuing. “The King and I have come to an agreement on a punishment for what happened to Prince Aemond.”

Oh….

Just like that your hopes that had begun to rise and overtake the guilt, get squashed, heightening the guilt that riddles you.

“Punishment?” Your father counters and shakes his head. “It was a regrettable accident.”

Right away Alicent’s eyes snap to your father and she rebuttals all well collected. “The matter was discussed already Ser Laenor, it won’t be brought up again. If you had been there then you could have given some insight, but you weren’t.”

You glance at your father and see him drop his gaze and sigh.

“It’s decided that the Princess will be sent to Winterfell to be the ward of Lady Margaret Karstark, the wife of Lord Bennard Stark…”

Just like that, the guilt you felt disappears, it no longer torments you, now fear and shock slams into you, making your heart feel as if it skipped a beat, and causing a gasp to escape past your lips, whilst everything around you blurs.

Your greatest fear is coming true, you’re being sent away. Far from your mother, brothers, and father. Far, far away to the edge of the world where it never stops snowing, where the sun is a rare visitor. You’re being sent away...

“Mother,” you mutter in a broken voice and said woman grabs your arm and begins to pull you back behind her to shield you as if that would stop you from being sent away.

“She will reside there for five years, perhaps Lady Karstark will make a true lady out of her and she’ll drop this…wild and reckless behavior,” she continues to add on. “She will then go to King's Landing once she’s turned 17 to marry Prince Aemond.”

And you won’t even return to your mother after five years, you’ll go to her, the evil bitch Queen. A witch with no kindness in her heart to those who aren’t her kids.

“Is this your decision father?” Your mother asks your grandfather directly. “To send my only daughter away from me? She needs me. She’ll need me.” She says with a voice she was trying to keep serious and collected, but you can hear the cracks as tears threaten to spill.

“She did not do anything,” your father cuts in on your defense. “She was only protecting her brothers and trying to stop the altercation.”

“She’s a Princess, Rhaenyra,” Alicent ignores your father. “Beautiful at that matter, and part of two noble families, she will be sent away regardless...”

You shake your head and can’t stop your tears from breaking out. Your mother and father keep trying to argue against what was decided, your mother fought the most, but nothing after that comment traveled through your ears, your mind races with far too many thoughts to take in anything else. All you know is that nothing changed their—her mind.

It’s almost as if Alicent knew your fear and was toying with it on purpose just to be evil. She definitely knew how much your mother loved you and toyed with that too, using what happened as an excuse to be even more cruel to her. She made your nightmare come true.

It’s why out of desperation and heartbreak you run out of the hall. Your parents were probably calling out for you, but you didn’t hear that either with how loud your heart was pounding, and how loud your thoughts raced.

You run out of the castle even as your vision keeps clouding with tears, you continue to run and run until your feet trip over something, causing you to fall on your knees. It’s only after that moment that you realize you’re now out at the beach, on the rough grains of sand, far from the castle.

Maybe if you continue on you’ll be far away so you won’t have to leave. You can try and leave…

You lift your head to look at the miles of sand ahead and come to see Astraea descending from the sky. She lands before you and growls softly before she wraps her neck and body around you, keeping you safe from the clutches of the Evil Queen Alicent, and safe from going to Winterfell. She comforts you and keeps you from running away at that moment.

But maybe you should climb on her and fly away even still, she won’t argue or turn around if you don’t want her to.

Yet, of course just before you can think of climbing on the saddle, she begins to uncurl herself as you hear someone approach. You don’t check who it might be right away, you’re too upset to do it and wish to be alone.

You hoped that message would come across while you remained lying on Astraea. But it doesn’t.

Your name is called out by Aemond.

You almost don’t want to give him your attention, but you can’t help it, you wipe your tears away and slowly look over at him cautiously standing at a distance.

“Aemond,” you mewl.

Said boy swallows thickly and nods stiffly. “I’ve heard,” he mutters. “My mother told me.”

You draw in a shaky breath before letting out a shaky sob. “I-I’m being sent away. Far to the edge of nowhere.” You drag your legs up against your chest and hide your face on your knees as you hug your legs to find comfort. “I won't see my mother, or-or my father. My brothers…” you trail off and snap your head up to look at Aemond, noticing that he’s closer now.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble as the thought of what happened crosses your mind as well. “I am.”

Aemond shakes his head. “It was not you. You need not worry. Why don’t we,” he pauses to take a seat beside you against Astraea and then continues sweetly. “Talk about you.”

You scoff. “What is there to say? The…Queen,” you correct yourself before you can offend his mother in front of him. “…Decided. Unless you want to run away with me then there’s nothing to be done.”

Aemond keeps his eye trained on the sand below and remains quiet for a moment until he finds words he thinks will comfort you. “Why would we run away? We are meant to marry when you return to King’s Landing. I will be far older, more mature, worthy of you.”

You sniffle and slowly drag your eyes to the side to meet his single eye.

“If I leave, if we leave,” he continues. “I don’t know if I will ever be a worthy husband. We will be reckless, miserable.”

“I don’t think so,” you say and look at the clouds forming in the sky. “We will be free from any responsibility…Perhaps I will just run away alone,” you snap and turn your head away.

“I…don’t want you to run away,” he whispers.

You’re upset he’s turning you down, but you can’t help but look back at him in disbelief.

“Stay,” he adds. “Here in Westeros. Please.”

Please? And so softly spoken too?

Well…you don’t want to break your mother's heart either.

“Okay,” you whisper to Aemond without more of a fight. “Fine.”

Aemond releases a small sigh of relief and then lets a silence bask the both of you that lets only the sound of the crashing waves fill your ears. Neither of you move, he doesn't try to run off, and no one comes over yet to bring you back to the castle. You were left alone, in peace, and comfort, letting Aemond slowly reach for your hand to wrap his around yours and secure it in his hold.

You get surprised by the gentle touch, even if he's always been kind—he's just never been the first one to take your hand, it was always you. So it's a nice and heartwarming change that he reaches out first. It makes you smile.

“I will wait for you,” he breaks the silence. “I swear I will.”

As sad as you are about being sent away, that does heal your heartache.

If only your heart can fully heal by not being sent away, but, nothing will change this new fate that branched out in your path of life.

Nothing stops it.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“Here…I wanted to give it to you for your 13th name day, but now seems like the perfect time,” your grandmother says and opens a small golden box, revealing a beautiful dark gray glimmering chain necklace.

It was like your mother's necklace she wore often, the one made of Valyrian steel.

“Is it Valyrian steal?” You muse as you brush your fingers over the pendant that the chain necklace carries.

Your grandmother nods with a prideful smile on her face. “Yes. It is,” she assures you and picks it off the box, letting you study the three-headed dragon from your Targaryen family sigil that’s embedded on the pendant. She then turns it and you see the mythic seahorse from your Velaryon family sigil, and it only wows you even more.

“It’s beautiful, I love it!” You squeal and turn to let her clip the necklace around you. Once she’s done you turn and wrap her in an embrace. “Thank you, grandmother.”

She returns your embrace and squeezes you tighter. “I’ll write, all right? We will keep in touch.” She reassures you.

You pull back and nod with a wobbly smile.

Now it’s your brother's turn, and so far you’ve kept from crying, you’ve remained strong, but Lucerys is crying, making tears well in your eyes as well.

“Don’t cry, Luce,” you tell him and crouch down to wipe his tears away. “We will see each other again. I will write all the time. It will be as if I never left.”

“But it won’t because I won’t see you. Don’t leave me,” he cries and throws his arms around you before crying harder. “Please Mother, don't let her leave!”

Tears run down your cheeks and you squeeze him gently. “We’ll see each other again, don’t worry…I love you.” You try your best to comfort him.

He then pulls back and sniffles. “I love you too.”

Next is Jacaerys who is tougher than Lucerys, or so he's pretending to be. You can see the tears gleaming in his eyes.

“Promise to write?” You tell him. “All the time? So I won't miss you a thing?”

He nods. “I will.”

You offer him a soft wobbly smile before you pull him in an embrace. “I love you too, Jace. I’ll miss you, brother.”

Jacaerys lets out a shaky sigh and lingers in the embrace. “I’ll miss you as well.” He then pulls back and drops his head to hide the tears that manage to escape from his eyes.

Next is your father. Now those few tears threaten to turn into a sob.

“Every time I look at the sky I’ll think of you,” your father says as he cups your cheek, making you grin

“And I of you,” you redirect and hold his gaze for a lingering moment before you throw your arms around him and keep him close to you in hopes you wouldn’t be able to leave like this.

Albeit even if he doesn’t want you to pull away and leave either, he loosens his grip and lets you slip away to lastly move on to your mother. Now those tears no longer stay, you can’t be strong saying goodbye to her. You immediately hug her and sob into her shoulder.

“I will write to you every week,” your mother assures you. “Maybe even sooner than that. All right, my sweet girl?”

You nod and comfort her too. “I will write back each time.”

“If anything happens you tell me, come to me if you must,” she presses so you can always keep it in mind. “I love you, my darling girl. So much.”

She presses kisses on the side of your head and lingers before she forces herself to pull back. However, instead of letting you go, she presses a kiss on your forehead first. “We will see each other again.” She says tenderly.

You nod in comprehension and catch the tears that roll down the curve of her cheeks. “I love you, Mother,” you return just as affectionately. “I’ll miss you.”

Your mother offers you a sweet smile and caresses your cheek one more time before finally letting you go before she just didn’t.

But even then you make it your job to drag your feet and take as much time as you possibly can to board that ship. And once the ship does depart from the dock you stand at the end of it and watch as your mother's figure turns smaller and smaller, the others seem to have left, but she remained there until neither of you were visible.

After that the only companion you had left was Astraea, she followed the ship, casting a dark shadow over the deck for the month that it took to arrive at the harbor called the White Harbour. Once you made your way to Winterfell the shadow remained cast over you until you arrived

What was once bright blue skies, green hills, and warm air turned to gray dull skies, white hills as nothing but cold snow was seen for miles on end, and a bitter air nipped at your flesh. It was truly a bland place deprived of color, secluded with nothing around it. No oceans, no towns, or people.

The first person you laid your eyes on once arriving at Winterfell after miles of no one was a young man it seems. He stood on the wall that surrounded that gray castle. He wore a big fur cloak that stood out against all the others. Even if you weren’t close you do notice that his piercing eyes are dark, and intimidating as well, but it intrigues you; his face is pale too, and he isn't terrible to look at.

You always imagined northern men to be scary, to be huge men, but he wasn’t that. He's alluring and takes your breath away.

You are hidden in your carriage, but it seems he saw you too and that makes your heart skip a beat like nothing has before.

A/N- We’ll have two full chapters of Cregan content!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne

573 notes · View notes

j4ystar · 2 years ago

Text

90s LOVE — park jay

➞ bf!jay x f!reader

➞ hockey!au, inspired by the 90s love by nct u mv !!!

➞ synopsis : jay plays against your ex's hockey team

➞ fluff????

➞ word count : 1.6k

➞ tw : jay kicking ass semi-violent fight moment, swearing, just an itty bitty mention of blood

ᓚᘏᗢ aj — LOLLL took me so long to acc publish anything on here. if she sucks lets just pretend she doesn’t. smth short for tonight bc this is all i’ve been thinking of recently. enforcer refers to a player that deters and respond to violent play by the opposing team by starting fights w them. ALSO HAHAH I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HOCKEY.

jay’s vision blurs momentarily as he gets shoved into the side panels of the rink. he regains his balance quickly though, and he brushes off the aching pain in his shoulders. he looks up hoping to get a glimpse of the jersey number that had just body checked him. he stomps on the ice, breezing past his teammates and the opposing team alike. he scans the ice for the puck and finds an open spot, and he watches his team fall back into a defensive position when they fail to shoot the puck into the opposing team's net.

that stupid number 10 was getting on jay’s nerve. he wore his jersey proudly as he strutted the ice with such toxicity. he was a bad player. he had been playing dirty, and the refs weren’t calling any of it. they turned a blind eye to it. he was known as one of the enforcers for the opposing team. now, jay was in no way the enforcer of his team; that was left for his other teammates. jay was the center of his team. jay was warned about number 10. not by his teammates nor his coach, but by his girlfriend.

"jay whatever he says or does during the game. just ignore him."

jay wanted to ignore him so bad. jay could tolerate the rough play on the ice; the shoving was all part of the game, and that game, jay could play. but the comments were much worse to tolerate. not when they included you. number 10 was your ex, jang jiwook. the stories you had a hard time opening up to jay about made jay hate his guts, despite not knowing the guy at all. upon hearing about the things he had done to you, jay just had to know what he looked like to at least keep an eye out for you when in public. throughout the entirety of the first half of the game, jiwook had been throwing comments left and right to jay about you, his beloved girlfriend. the misogynistic name-calling was enough to get steam blowing out of jay’s ears as if he were an animated character. while jay was good at keeping his temper in check, he couldn’t keep ignoring what jiwook was saying about you. jay wanted to listen to you so bad. he didn’t want to upset you first and foremost.

jiwook skates past jay again, briskly brushing past his shoulder. jay manages to skate into an open spot where he steals the puck away from the current holder and is able to turn the game around from there. upon rounding to the blue line nearest to the opposing team's net. jay looks to his right, finding jiwook coming in with such speed that he is sure he is about to come in and bulldoze jay. and so he passes the puck to another teammate, hoping they will be able to finish the play and score for their team. his teammate is able to make the score, which leads to a chorus of cheers from their school crowd.

jiwook skates up past jay with a smirk playing on his lips. jay’s irritation begins to grow.

"i heard you were with yn? have fun with my leftovers." and with that, he skates away. jay can hear him chuckling under his breath. jay breathes out for a moment. the cold arena makes his hot breath come out as a white fog. eyes averted to the clock and then back to the game. jay’s eyes watch carefully as his teammates skate with such vigour; he can hear the calls from left and right, yet as sunghoon calls out for jay to pass to, before he can even receive the puck in the bill of his stick, a body comes smashing into his side, sending jay toppling over.

the audience falls into a frenzy, some cheering, some complaining. jay’s teammates turn their heads in concern for his condition. jay feels jiwook’s heavy weight lift off him, and jiwooks teammates are hitting their sticks against the boards of the rink. despite the heavy hit to his head, jay can still see straight, and all he wants to go for is the big blue jersey with the numbers 10 stamped in white letters plastered on the back.

sunghoon approaches jay; he asks him if he’s okay. but his words just sounded slurred to jay, who begins catching up to jiwook. sunghoon looks towards the student section of the audience in search of you. fully knowing what’s about to happen next.

jay can hear the shouts of his teammates in the players box, and he is sure his coach is mixed in there yelling about not following the play. but he simply shakes his white gloves off and rips his helmet off his head, proceeding to toss it to the side. his right arm comes to tap jiwooks shoulder, who spins around on his skates only to be met with jay’s cold fist to his face. the crowd's roars intensify after the first hit.

the first hit is enough to get the helmet twisted partially off jiwook’s head. but the second left hook knocks the helmet clean off. leaving a defenceless jiwook to jay’s assault. jiwooks arms come to either side of jay’s bulky arms, and he quickly rips his gloves off in an attempt to retaliate for the violence. jay is full of rage; he is already burning up under all the equipment layered on his body.

"don’t fucking talk about yn like that," jay tells him. hair disheveled. jiwook struggles against jay who throws the last punch before the refs tear the two boys apart. jay comes back to his senses upon being scolded by the referee as he gets ushered to the penalty box. jiwook is skating with crimson blood slowly dripping from his nose, it drips onto his chin and onto the neck cut of his jersey.

jay refuses to look at jiwook from the penalty box, but when he cranes his neck to look at the spot where you reside among the other watchers in the arena, he fails to find you. but he knows you are probably upset at him for acting out. despite your warnings for jay, he never promised you that he wouldn’t hurt jang jiwook.

after five minutes in the box, he returns to the players box, where his teammates cheer him on and praise him for being able to square up to an enforcer despite being a center. fighting wasn’t jay’s job, at least not on the ice. but fighting for you? it was his job, and he takes his job very seriously. his teammates send him to the locker room, and jay wholeheartedly expects his coach to be in the locker room, where he would get scolded and lectured for not waiting on an enforcer on his team to take the damage for him. that wasn’t what entirely plagued his mind though.

upon reaching the changing rooms, he pushes them open and expects to face his rugged and scary coach. but as he prepares to feel his coach’s wrath rain down on him, he finds you instead. your purse dangling by your side while you stand with your arms crossed. you wear jay’s jersey with pride, regardless of his new reputation on the ice and the several stares people gave you when you began to make your way to the change rooms to talk to jay.

"look, i’m sorry—"

"you fucked him up good, you know." you told him, and jay lets out a breath of relief. you weren’t that mad. at least if you were, it wasn’t really showing. "he was saying shit about you. what did you expect me to do?" jay asks you, crossing his arms over his chest to mimic you.

"didn’t i tell you to ignore him?"

"how ‘bout you try ignoring my ex when she calls me her leftovers?" jay argues, huffing out in annoyance. jay sits on one of the benches, exhausted and with his head still spinning. you stop your movements. "he called me his leftovers?" your expression morphs to that of amusement. "well now i’m glad that you kicked his ass." you say. maneuvering past the other benches and duffle bags scattered over the floor. you take jay’s head into your arms and stand between his legs. he lays his head on your chest automatically. jay’s arms come around your torso, hugging you closer to him. a hand rests on one of his shoulders while the other tangles in jay’s hair.

"and to be clear, if your ex said anything bad about you, i would fight her too." you laugh softly. you can hear jay’s muffled chuckles. "i think i've got to go before your coach actually comes and scolds you." you tell him softly. he lets out a whine, his arms circling around you tighter, refusing to let you go.

"you still have a game to play, jay." you tell him sweetly, hands coming to his shoulders. he parts from you. looking up at you with such a yearning gaze. his eyes are soft. contrasting the way his eyes sharpened when he looked at jiwook with such fervour during the game. you bend down to press a kiss onto the corner of jay’s lip. when you pull away, jay follows your lips. his eyes fluttered closed and not realizing what he was doing. a small smirk appears on his lips as he looks away from you and refocuses his gaze onto a different corner of the room out of a sudden burst of timidness. jay would do anything for you, even if that meant getting benched for the rest of the season because your loser dickhead ex boyfriend is salty you found a better man.

"park, you’re supposed to be attacking the net, not the opposing players." you and jay jump at the voice of jay’s coach booming through the locker room.

THE END WAHOOOOOOO

567 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 2 years ago

Text

Old Habits Die Hard Part 6 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: The slow burn threatens so make Sugar melt, and Bradley can't remember ever feeling this way before.

Warnings: Angst, swears, smut, fluff

Length: 4800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (fuckboy college student Bradley)

Check out my masterlist

"Oh my God," you sighed when you woke up late on Saturday morning. As soon as you opened your eyes, you couldn't stop smiling. Being walked home by Bradley was like a dream you didn't want to wake up from.

His lips had been all over yours, hips pressing you back against the wall outside your apartment door. When you asked him if he wanted to come inside, he groaned, "Of course I want to, Sugar. But can we just... not? Not tonight?"

You nodded in response, and he looked so relieved, you didn't think he meant for you to feel bad about what he said. You thought maybe it was more about him than you.

As you ran your fingertips along his scars, Bradley melted into your hand. "Tell me you'll come back over to the house tomorrow. We can hang out again."

You smiled at him. "Yeah, I'll come back tomorrow."

He nodded slightly, still leaning into your palm. "Text me. I'll walk over and get you. Shouldn't be walking by yourself."

And you were still thinking about what he said the next morning. He wasn't your boyfriend. He would probably never be your boyfriend. So maybe you shouldn't be encouraging him to walk you to and from his frat house all the time, but you had already promised him he could do it again.

"You're an idiot," you told yourself as you climbed out of bed, still wearing his sweatshirt. "He's not a good idea. You should know better." But you were still smiling.

------------------------------------

Bradley was antsy as soon as he woke up. He had too much energy. You'd gotten yourself under his skin somehow, and he felt like he needed to do something about it. He started pacing around his room.

He'd been threatening to kiss you stupid, but you were the one who had managed to turn him into a brainless moron with your lips and your face and your body.

"Dude," he groaned out loud. You had invited him in last night. He knew Janessa was staying with Tyson, so it would have been just the two of you at your apartment. It was an invitation for full steam ahead to getting laid, but he had said no. As if he had a shred of dignity left to protect. Like there was a thread of virtue left inside him.

Why was it so important to him that you didn't think he was a complete fuckboy? He never cared what any of the other girls thought. He never stopped them from writing on his door. He had even once fucked a girl after she told him she just wanted to be able to get her name up there, like riding his dick one time was some sort of prize you could win.

Just thinking about it made him uncomfortable now. He couldn't even remember that girl's name or what she looked like. But he remembered that she brought her own marker.

He collapsed back onto his bed. He had to swallow around the lump in his throat. That was probably how Phoebe had become his safety net. She was there the night his face got busted up. She knew what happened and could have probably guessed why he got into a fight with Chase. She never gave him a hard time about any of it. And she never got mad when he went into a spiral where he started sleeping around more than usual.

And yet, Phoebe got away with not getting mad about the things he did, because she wasn't his girlfriend. Nobody cared about him enough to be that.

Maybe things had started to improve when he started drinking less. The past six months had been better for him, in a lot of ways. He had been taking extra classes to get his GPA up as high as possible. He had actually been enjoying school. But he kept on going along with the easiest girls on campus, the ones who he knew wouldn't give his scars a second glance. The kinds of girls he'd always chosen.

His mom would be disgusted, and he knew it. His dad probably never did this shit. He buried his face in his hands. You were supposed to text him later to let him know when to walk to your place and get you. He needed to tell you he couldn't see you anymore. He needed to stop being around you, starting today. Maybe he could get better, be better, but he'd have to try it with someone else. Because there was no way he could let himself ruin you, drag your reputation down to his level. Jeff had been right. You were too fucking good.

And then he thought about how sweetly you talked to him last night. How well you had kissed him, and how he had pressed you down underneath his body. You trusted him. Trusted him with more than just his ability to get you off.

Then he thought about you in his lap in the library study room. He wouldn't be able to tell you no if you said you wanted him. He was so weak. He had never let himself be interested in any other girl like this before.

--------------------------------------

You had finished all of your schoolwork, and it was only mid afternoon. You couldn't text Bradley yet; that would have been as mortifying as when you came apart in his lap. So you tried to take a nap, then you watched a movie. You wanted to text him while you were eating dinner, but then you frowned, because he had been the one initiating texts with you ever since you wrote your number on his pristine door.

"What the hell?" you whispered. What could his problem be? What if he hooked up with someone else last night after he walked you home? You pushed your plate of food to the side, suddenly no longer hungry.

You glared at your phone, not wanting to be the one to make the first move. And just then it lit up with a text from him, and you quickly snatched it up into your hands.

Sugar, I miss you more than I should be allowed to. Tell me to stop.

Your heart was pounding now. Stop? You didn't want him to stop. So maybe he hadn't been with anyone else last night. Maybe he'd just been thinking about you.

You wrote back, You're allowed to miss me all you want, Beer Boy. Or you can walk over and get me. Then you wouldn't have to miss me at all.

You waited for a response but got nothing. You got changed and finished putting on some makeup, and he still hadn't written back. Finally, when you were about to see where Janessa was, he replied.

I'm on my way.

You bit your lip and almost screamed. You put your dishes in the sink and thought about taking a shot of the cheap tequila you and Janessa bought before you turned twenty one. You needed a distraction. But then there was a knock at your door, and you rushed to open it.

Chocolate brown eyes, messy hair tucked under a backwards cap. Smirk that made you feel silly.

"Sugar," he whispered, leaning against the door frame with both hands and examining your face. "Tell me I'm not allowed to miss you."

Fuck that. You reached for the front of his shirt, pulling him toward you, and he released the door frame. "What if I want you to?" you asked him softly.

He groaned as he pulled you against him and kissed you.

-------------------------------

He wanted you. He tried not to. He spent the entire day telling himself no. If you had told him no, he would have been gone immediately. But you were dressed all cute again, and your body was fitted perfectly against his. And you kept giving him a green light.

"Bradley," you gasped when he ran his lips along your ear. "Feel like hanging out here instead of going to the party?" you asked softly.

His cock throbbed for you. He hadn't let himself masturbate all day, and it had been a week since he got laid. You could have him right now if you wanted him. Right here next to your front door. But he was trying so hard to do what he should. Part of him still believed he came here to tell you he couldn't be around you anymore. The other part knew he was full of shit; he came here because he couldn't stay away. He was a fucking mess.

"I signed us up for beer pong," he told you, his voice raspy as you ran your hand along his arm.

You giggled, and he pulled you closer. "I suck at beer pong."

"I don't mind," he promised, taking your hand and leading you out. He listened to you talk as you walked. You asked him questions and wanted to hear what he thought about things, just like you had last night when he took you home. When you stopped at the crosswalk and kissed his scars, it felt nice.

Tyson and Dev waved you both over to the game as soon as you got there. "You guys are up," Tyson said, handing you the ball. "Ladies first."

Bradley watched you get ready to start the game, smiling softly at him over your shoulder. And you weren't just bad at beer pong, you were terrible. But he didn't mind when you missed three shots in a row, because your little crop top was riding up higher every time you attempted a throw.

When Bradley made his shot again, you groaned and glared at him. "Told you I sucked."

"How are you possibly this bad?" Bradley asked you, taking you by the hips from behind and moving you a foot further away from the edge of the table. "You're good at math! It's like a physics problem." He let his hands linger on your body for a beat as Tyson took his turn.

You turned to look at him. "Huh. I never thought about it that way!" you said, and Bradley grinned, because he had made your eyes light up.

"See, everyone underestimates how smart I actually am," he told you as he squared your hips and let his hands ghost up the soft skin along your sides, making you shiver. "Just get used to the way the ball feels when it leaves your hand, and let it arc down into the cups." Bradley removed his hands once you were in position, and when you took your shot, you managed to get the ball into a cup.

"It's math, Beer Boy!" you told him with a smile. He could still see the fading hickey on your neck whenever you tossed your hair back from your shoulders. When he leaned in and placed his lips there, you moaned softly, and he felt weak. What the fuck was going on? If you were any other girl, he could have had you begging for him, fucked you in his room, and come back down to the party with a clear head.

"Are you guys going to stop feeling each other up and play?" Tyson called from the other end of the table with a grin.

"Sorry, man," Bradley replied, picking up the ping pong ball and tossing it effortlessly into a cup. "Math," he confirmed with a nod.

The match was close, but Dev managed to edge the two of you out on the last cup. "I've never been that good before!" you told Bradley as he led you away from the table as the next opponents were called over.

"You know the secret. Now you'll be unbeatable. Come on, let's get some of the good beers," he said with a smirk, dropping his hat onto your head. He had no idea where Jeff was, and he wanted to keep it that way. The kitchen was empty, and as soon as he had you in there away from the horribly loud music, you had your arms around him.

He took two beers out of the fridge and opened them before picking you up and setting you on the counter. "Warn a girl next time!" you screeched as he jumped up next to you.

"Sorry," he said with a laugh. Bradley couldn't get over you. "You look adorable in my hat."

He watched your cheeks flush pink. "I slept in your sweatshirt last night," you admitted with a smile, but you looked away from him.

Fuck. "Lucky shirt," he muttered, and you turned to look at him, pressing your lips together.

"What's wrong today? You seem... a little hesitant. And you didn't text me as much," you said softly, and Bradley's heart was in his throat. "Not that you need to text me or anything like that, of course," you said, fiddling with your beer before taking a big sip. "I was just, you know.... I like you."

"Sugar." Bradley took the beer from your hand and set it aside. You looked at him tentatively as he leaned toward you and brushed his lips softly against yours. Nobody had ever said that to him before. He'd never be able to stop now. "I like you, too."

You made a soft sound as he wrapped his hand gently around your neck and stroked his thumb along your jaw.

"I'm sure you say that to every girl," you whispered, and his lips touched yours briefly again.

"No, I never say that to any girls. That's the problem."

You laughed softly as his fingers drifted down your back and he gently kissed your neck. "That doesn't sound like a problem to me, Beer Boy."

"Oh, it is. It's a big problem."

"Then how do we solve it?" you asked as he pushed you back until you were lying along the kitchen counter, his hat rolling to the floor.

Bradley watched you reach out to him, and he let you pull him on top of you. "You're smarter than me, Sugar. Might have to rely on you to figure it out. I can only think of ways to make it worse," he whispered, letting his fingers meet the soft skin between your jeans and your shirt.

You reached up and ran your hands through his hair. "Then make it worse," you told him. "Kiss me until I sound so stupid. Touch me until I sound so fucking dumb."

"Jesus," he muttered as his lips crashed against yours, humming softly. You nibbled and licked until he dipped his tongue into your mouth to meet yours. Your fingers were a little rough against his scalp as he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, and both of his hands were all the way up your shirt.

All the little gasps and moans you made were making him dizzy. You were so sweet, but Bradley already knew you were a little dirty, too. "You're the best combination of everything," he told you, stroking your tits through your bra.

"Oh, God," you moaned into his mouth when he kissed you again. You bucked your hips up against him, and he anchored your body against the counter as his fingertips found your nipple. He teased you there as his tongue found yours, and you whined his name so loudly he was practically seeing stars.

When the door opened and the sounds of the party filtered into the kitchen, Bradley froze.

"Come on, guys! That's where I make my sandwiches!" Tyson yelled. "What the fuck!"

Instead of looking embarrassed this time, you just laughed as Bradley pulled his hands back out of your shirt and sat up.

"Uh... sorry," Bradley said vaguely in Tyson's direction. "Won't happen again."

"I doubt that," Tyson said, glaring at both of you as Bradley helped you down from the counter and picked up his hat.

Bradley laughed when you waved over your shoulder and said, "Bye, Ty!" as Bradley pulled you out of the room.

"He has no right to complain, really. I'm the only one who cleans this fucking house," Bradley muttered. When he tried to lead you back into the living room, you tugged on his hands and he stopped. When he raised an eyebrow in your direction, you nodded toward the stairs.

"Let's go up," you said softly. "Your room is quiet. And I want to be alone with you."

Bradley let you lead him there.

--------------------------------------

Bradley let you take control. You paused outside of his door, which still only had the note he had written to you and your phone number on it. "Just the way I like it," you told him before opening it and going inside. The soft glow of the Navy desk lamp warmed the room just like the previous times you had been in here.

Bradley tossed his hat on his desk and ran his fingers along the ends of your hair. "Sugar." His voice was so soft, and his grin was just barely touching his lips. "I shouldn't have you. You're too sweet for me."

You shook your head slightly. "No, I'm not."

"Too sweet for anybody," he told you as his hands found the bare skin of your waist again, and you had to squeeze your thighs together. "I fucking want you so bad though. I don't know what to do."

You traced the long scar along his neck with your fingertips, and his eyes fluttered closed. "I want you too, Bradley." Gently, you kissed the spot where your fingers had been, and he pulled you against him. "I like you. All of you. You call me Sugar, but you're sweet to me."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against your lips. "I'm different now," he whispered, and while you weren't sure exactly what he meant by that, you nodded your head. He was different than you thought he would be.

Bradley dipped his head down and kissed you, his lips smiling against yours as he worked his hands higher on your waist. He pulled away a little bit and watched your face as he stroked along your curves with his thumbs. "That tickles a little bit," you told him, biting your lip to contain your giggles. But his hands inched a little higher.

"Want me to stop?" he asked, his thumbs finding your bra again just like in the kitchen. You'd worn your nicest underwear and a tight crop top that really had no place even being in your closet. He smiled, waiting for you to answer.

"Don't you dare," you told him, whining as his palms met your breasts, gently squeezing and kneading you through the lace fabric. You expected him to rip your shirt off, but he was taking his time. Somehow you knew this was not exactly the same guy who'd had the names all over his door. This guy was a better version. It felt like he was being better for you.

When your head tipped back, his lips found your neck, sucking and teasing you. Even though you tried to stop, you found yourself grinding your hips against him. He was already starting to get hard, and you knew you were already wet. One of his hands slid down to your butt, slowing your movement.

"Don't rush this. I want to spend the whole night making my smart girl stupid," he told you, and your body shook.

"Fuck," you said, nodding and agreeing with him as both of his hands went to the front of your jeans. He smirked as you steadied yourself with his shoulders.

"One word response. Starting to sound dumb already, baby," he said, teasing your lips with his as he dipped his fingers inside your open zipper.

You could only moan in response as he slid both hands up your body and pulled your shirt over your head. He stared at you like you were beautiful, stroking his hands over all of your newly exposed skin. You expected him to want to fuck you quickly and then get back to the party, but things were never as they seemed with him.

Then his breath hitched as he ran his knuckles along your ribs on your right side, just below your bra.

"You have a tattoo," he growled, immediately dipping his head down to kiss you there. "What does it mean?" he asked, running his tongue along your skin and making you cry out.

"Oh! It's a math equation. Called Euler's Identity," you gasped as he nipped and bit you. "It contains the most important mathematical constants making it the only perfect formula in science," you managed to say with a shaky voice. Because now Bradley was on his knees in front of you, unhooking your bra and sliding it down your arms.

"It sure does look perfect," he told you. He kissed your tattoo again before looking up at your chest and your face. "Never seen anything better." He ran the tip of his nose along the underside of your breast, his fingers never leaving the ink on your flesh. His mouth was all over you, kissing and sucking, leaving your wet nipples exposed to the cool air.

"I should have known you'd have a sexy math tattoo next to your tits," he said, scooping you up as he stood. "You're too fucking good to be true."

You squealed in his arms as he walked across the room. "It's really more of a natural sciences tattoo, if you want to nitpick," you told him with a giggle, as he dropped you onto his bed and pulled his own shirt off. His body was gorgeous.

"Oh no..." he said, shaking his head at you as you scooted back to rest against his pillows, and he yanked your shoes off. "You're sounding too smart again. I must not be doing a very good job."

You tried not to smile, but it was useless. "What are you going to do about it?" you asked, your voice shaking with need as he settled himself between your legs and stretched out over your body.

"This." He pressed his lips to yours, tipping your chin up for better access to your mouth. Then he gently pinched your chin, easing your mouth open so his tongue could meet yours. He felt warm and slippery as he explored your mouth. When he licked your open lips, you whined, grinding your hips up again and clenching around nothing.

"And this." He caressed your tattoo and palmed your breast with his big hand before letting his fingers trail down your body and dip into the elastic of your underwear. He slipped his fingers lower, moaning into your mouth as he eased one digit over your clit and through your wetness.

You were going crazy now. Making unnatural little noises and pulling his hair with your hands. He knew he was making you stupid, and he was looking at you like he loved it.

But he didn't know that your orgasm in the library was the best sex of your life. He didn't know that you'd never been able to cum with any other guy before. He didn't know how much you liked him.

"How does that feel, Sugar?" he asked, swirling his fingers along your clit just like you did to yourself when you were alone.

"Good," you moaned, shaking your head against the pillow.

"What do you want?" He licked your breasts before pulling your nipple between his lips and teasing.

"More," you whined. "You."

He grinned. "Back to one word answers, I see."

He moved so gracefully, sliding your jeans and underwear off and settling between your legs. When he slid a finger along your slit and pressed his knuckle against your pussy, you almost couldn't stand how good it felt. "Bradley," you whined, as he kissed your hips and your belly. Then he slipped his finger into your pussy.

You watched him watching you, and he looked delighted every time your body involuntarily squirmed. He added a second finger, moving them just the right way to get you worked up. When his thumb brushed you again, your back arched off the bed.

"Fuck," he muttered, working his fingers as he guided his body back over yours. "You're making me crazy," he groaned before kissing along your tattoo again. You wrapped your fingers around his wavy hair and watched his tongue glide across your chest. "Do you want me, Sugar?" he asked softly. "Can I have you?"

"Yes."

When he gently removed his fingers from inside you and licked them clean, you moaned and squeezed your thighs together. He was immediately off the bed, and you gasped, missing his warmth and weight immediately. "Where are you going?" you whined, propping yourself up.

"Need to get a condom," he replied, eyes on you as his hands shook opening a new box. "I'm coming back."

When he returned to the bed, you sat up and unbuttoned his jeans. He let you take your time guiding them down his hips and easing his boxers down as well. When you say how big and hard he was, your eyes darted up to his face. You licked your parted lips and he groaned so loudly you squeaked.

"You're huge," you told him. He was going to hurt you. The other guys hadn't been this big.

He must have heard the apprehension in your voice, because he told you, "We can stop," even as he was practically panting.

You wrapped your fingers around him and gently squeezed his velvety warmth. "No. Just go slow?" you asked, running your fingers along his length.

"Anything you want," he gasped.

------------------------------------

Bradley had never been this excited in his life. He wanted you, and you wanted him back. He'd tasted you. He knew how good your skin felt. Now he was about to fuck you.

He was completely sober, and delighted that he would remember all of this. He had never seen anything as gorgeous as your body bathed in lamplight.

You were whining his name as he rolled the condom on and got himself ready. He kissed your lips and cheeks, running his nose against yours until you were smiling. Then he whispered, "Sugar," against your lips as he pushed himself inside you.

Your lips were parted and your cheeks were flushed as you grasped his hair tightly with one hand and wrapped the fingers of your other hand in his sheets. He didn't dare move for a few seconds as you got used to the feel of him. You were so wet and tight and perfect, Bradley kind of wished he could just stay inside you like this. But then he started moving, and his own need was building. A few minutes of this and he could tell by the way you were responding to him that you were already close. He'd worked you up and now he wanted to be good for you. He needed to be so good for you so you would stay with him.

So he worked his hips a little faster, filling you all the way and then easing himself out a few inches before filling you again. "Oh God," he grunted next to your ear. Your eyes were squeezed shut, your chest rising with each whimpering breath you took. "You're such a good girl," he told you, moving nice and steady. "Look at me."

Your eyes fluttered open, bright and trusting as he caressed your breasts with his right hand. Moaning louder now, you raised your hips to meet each of his thrusts. "You feel so good," you whispered, voice hitching on the last word. Bradley pressed his lips to yours, kissing you and inhaling all of your little gasps. He pushed his hand lower to tease you, and soon you were shaking beneath him, squeezing his cock with your tight little pussy until he was grunting.

"Oh my God," you whined, shaking your head and pulling his hair as you came. Bradley pressed his lips to your tattoo and whispered your name as his last thrusts drove his own orgasm home.

He was never going to stop touching you. Every inch of your skin that he kissed and caressed was like silk. As he pressed his lips all over your shoulder and collarbone, your grip on his hair started to loosen, and your breathing evened out.

When he started to move, you grabbed onto him, holding him against you. So he wrapped his arms around you and stayed inside you, afraid to speak and break the spell.

Finally, you kissed his forehead and giggled softly. "I can't believe this was better than the library."

--------------------------

Beer Boy and Sugar.... oh man, they are sweet together.

Big thanks to @mak-32 for helping me along the way. This one's for you, Mak.

PART 7

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@high-bi-imgonnacry

@xoxabs88xox

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #top gun fanfiction #rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader

997 notes · View notes

deirdre-belle · 2 years ago

Text

Itsy Bitsy - Jerome Valeska x Reader

Summary: Jerome meets Y/N in Arkham. Warnings: swearing, mentions of past violence A/N: I know it sucks but it's my first fic so bear with me.

Jerome had only been at Arkham for a week, yet he was already tempted to commit a second murder as he noticed a migraine waiting to happen had strolled right into the cafeteria.

"Hey, Ginger." Flashing a toothy grin, Greenwood plopped down on the chair across from him, and Jerome wondered if he'd be able to rip out a couple of the cannibal's rotted teeth before any of the guards had time to stop him.

"What do you want, Greenwood?"Jerome rolled his eyes and said in a bored tone.

"You see that girl over there?" He motioned towards a girl with dishevelled hair as if she hadn't brushed it in some time, and a blanket was falling off her shoulders as she doodled furiously on a piece of paper. "I dare you to spill this one her notebook."

Greenwood smirked while sliding him a plastic cup filled halfway with what Jerome hoped was water.

"No." Jerome, with a dangerous smile, slid the cup back. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Greenwood's shenanigans.

"I'm not asking, Ginger," Greenwood smirked, shoving the cup back to Jerome.

"Not interested." Jerome roughly grabbed a hold of the cup as he got ready to shove it up Greenwood's-

"Why? Because you're weak?"

Jerome froze.

He had two options. He could go over to that girl, "accidentally" spill whatever was in the cup onto her notebook, and risk her never wanting to talk to him. Or, he could refuse and prove to Greenwood and everyone else in this hell hole that he is weak, boring, and he is already walking towards her.

"Mind if I sit down?" He huffed in a bored tone.

The girl studied him for a moment before nodding her head and watching him take the seat across from her. She quickly shut the notebook before Jerome could sneak a peak at what she was drawing.

"I saw you talking to Greenwood, so I know he probably told you to pull my hair or throw that drink in my face," She grumbled.

"How did you-"

"He always tells the new inmates to be mean to me." She leaned back in her chair, fixing her blanket so that it no longer fell off her shoulders, and glaring at him as though expecting him to deny it. Instead, he asked her why Greenwood hated her so much.

At his question, she perked up. Before, she was able to hid it well, but now he could see the insanity lingering in her eyes. And her smile- Jerome nearly feel out of seat at sight of it. It was crazy, beautiful, and made it obvious she was up to no good.

"Did you know that Greenwood is afraid of spiders?" She leaned towards him conspiringly. Jerome wasn't entirely sure where this was going but he knew he liked what he was hearing.

"I'm listening," he smirked devilishly.

"One time," She beamed, "Bitsy got lost and somehow ended up in Greenwood's cell. He thinks I put him there on purpose."

She looked around, ensuring there were no witnesses before she lifted a large hairy tarantula from her lap just enough so that only Jerome could see it. There was nothing itsy about Bitsy at all. In fact, he could see why Greenwood would be freaked out by it.

"I used to have a pet snake," She mumbled sadly, "but my parents gave him to my cousin after I got locked up."

"You would have loved the circus," Jerome said, remembering how Haly's Circus had all sorts of animals.

"Have you ever been?" Her face lit up with excitement. "I've never been to a circus but I've always wanted to be one of those circus acrobats that swing from those really high bars without a net-"

"A trapeze artist?"

"Yeah!" She exclaimed louder than necessary, earning the attention of some of the other inmates. "And the animals are really cool too, though I'm glad they aren't shown at circuses anymore."

"Not at the one I'm from," Jerome scoffed. The memory of being forced to clean out the elephant cage on a scalding summer day caused him to grit his teeth.

"You're from the circus?" She asked, obviously wanting to know more.

"My mom was a snake dancer," he plastered on a smile. "You know, the snake was actually the one that led those dumb cops to her body."

"No!'" She gasped incredulously.

"Yeah." He nodded. His mouth curved into a wicked smile as a fun idea popped into his head. "So, back to Greenwood, I think I know how to get him off our backs."

"How?"

After talking to her, Jerome sauntered back to his own table where Greenwood waited impatiently. Despite his smile, he was clearly fuming.

"I knew you were too much of a wuss to do it," He sneered, although Jerome wasn't bothered by it. It just made what he planned to do a hundred times more worth it.

"You were right," Jerome shrugged, placing the cup back in front of Greenwood.

"What'd she do? Bat her eyelashes at you till you chickened out?"

"Something like that." Jerome grinned in anticipation. Greenwood brought the cup to his lips only to let out a blood-curdling screech as he threw the cup across the room.

The girl's laugh echoed through the cafeteria, gaining everybody's attention.

"You little-" Greenwood roared, charging towards the girl who looked more elated than frightened by his outburst. He never got the chance to do anything because, as soon as the guards burst in, the whole room went into a frenzy.

Half the inmates were in a panic, due to the guards tackling Greenwood. Some were screaming, crying, running around, and a few pretended to be injured. In the middle of all the chaos, Jerome spotted Y/N on the far side of the room gently picking Bitsy up and hiding him in her blanket. Then, she approached him.

"That was amazing!" She grinned. She took her notebook out from under her blanket, placed it on the table, and flipped to the last page. Carefully, she ripped the page from the notebook and handed it to him.

On the paper was a surprisingly well-drawn portrait of himself and in the bottom corner she wrote:

To Ginger -From Y/N

#jerome valeska #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska x you #gotham jerome #gotham jerome valeska #gotham jerome valeska x reader #Arkham jerome #jerome valeska x yn

655 notes · View notes

saintrvckwell · 2 years ago

Text

Till the end (ellie williams x reader)

ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: in the midst of brutal madness, ellie finds a moment to confess what she fears the most.

warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst, soft moments of ellie and the reader

words count: 3.3k

a/n: oh yeah. i’m still alive. and finally wrote something that does not have ten thousands words wow? owed you something nice, tried my best to achieve that. it's short, but (i hope) comforting, at least. seattle ellie deserves the whole world.

"For all that it's worth, I would have loved you till the end."

‣

Ellie never wanted you to become a part of this. Her complicated, unresolved issues with Joel, her own inner fight with the guilt of not dying for something she considered to be the purpose of her life and repayment for those she had lost along the way. Nor be part of the inevitable outcome that Joel’s actions had caused.

Ellie never wanted to scar the only pure, untouched safety net she had in her life.

But when she stood upon Nora’s body she had previously beaten to death, sourcing the information she came for to Seattle in the first place, she could no longer escape. To the person she was becoming, to Joel whose eyes were slowly fading away from her memory. From the look, you gave her when she came back to the theatre and Jesse let her in.

With the bloodstains on her clothes, and bruises on her arms, she handed Dina the map and you couldn’t help but notice how fragile her whole body has suddenly become.

You didn’t say much, knowing there wasn’t anything that could fix the way Ellie felt, that could find the parts of herself she already lost while avenging someone whom she couldn’t even face after the heinous act she just committed.

Joel never wanted her to lose the remaining bits of innocence she had within her. He never wanted her to taste the ugliness of the world the way he did. Yet here she was. Convinced she had to finish this, no matter what was it going to take. How much was it going to cost.

Jesse and Dina stood aside with a bloodstained map, marking Abby’s supposed location while you carefully grabbed Ellie’s wrist, wishing to take her to the back and clean her wounds. She couldn’t even look into your eyes, avoiding it the whole time you walked through the seats, all the way backstage.

You sat her down on the couch, letting her take the clothes off while you went to search for some useful supplies. Back there, Dina and Jesse were upstairs, sitting by the radio, contemplating a good way of finding Tommy and the easiest route to hunt down Abby and be done with this whole thing.

The minute you walked in, Jesse couldn’t help himself. “That was definitely not her blood.”

Two days in and you already noticed how much this had cost her already.

You didn’t comment, still searching through the cabinets.

“Maybe we should just pack it up and leave,” Jesse whispered. “Right in the morning. We were in deep shit yesterday already. After this, they must be patrolling for us. We should just find Tommy and get the fuck out of here.”

“And go where?” you dared to ask, shifting your attention to him.

“Back home?” Dina shrugged his shoulders, joining the conversation.

“See,” you closed the cabinets and stood up, finally paying both of them your full attention. “She doesn’t have that anymore.”

None of them would dare to argue about that.

Jesse meant well, you were well aware of that. After all, Ellie was the reason he came to Seattle in the first place. But even though he was determined to help his friend, Jesse would never understand the full reason and justification of the way Ellie felt—why she was doing all of that.

You couldn’t help but sigh. “Ellie can’t see the sense of right and wrong right now. And the more you tell her how stupid and dangerous this is, the less she will listen to you..”

“So you’re supporting this?” he wondered, disgruntled.

“No,” you replied. “But I know that I can either give her shit and go home or stay and make sure she’s not going to lose the only parts of herself she has left.”

You found what you were looking for, parts of that. Combined with what you packed before you left Jackson, you had nearly enough to fix all of Ellie’s injuries. Without uttering another word, you left Dina and Jesse to their own thoughts, not feeling the need to add anything else. As much as you understood their need to go back before things get significantly worse, you knew she would not go.

And you would never forgive yourself if you just left her here, all alone.

Especially after what happened a few minutes later.

She was sitting on the old sofa by the time you got back to her, facing you backward. Before you even tried to whisper her name, you were stopped by a sight that immediately caught your attention. Most of her clothes were lying on the floor, soaked in blood and dirt. She sat there, half-naked, with her back displaying endless bruises, cuts and wounds. You couldn’t count all of them even if you tried.

Ellie knew you were already there, but didn’t dare to look at you—not after you saw that. She was too weak to face you. Not because she was afraid of seeing the sadness and worry in your eyes; she had already gotten used to seeing that in the last two days.

More than that, Ellie would never be able to face a disappointment, not from you. Not from someone who was there for her. Who never asked why she stopped talking to Joel, why she begged you to switch patrols so she could avoid him.

You were the last person who could see the good parts, despite digging through blood and tears to find them. And after Joel, she couldn’t afford to lose that.

“Ellie?” you whispered, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She wiped her tears away and nodded, giving you space to continue.

“Is it alright if I clean your wounds?”

You felt the need to get her approval.

Doing her absolute best to stop those sobs from escaping her trembling lips, she covered her mouth and nodded again, giving you what you had asked for.

You sat down quietly, right behind her, with your bucket, cloth, and nearly empty first aid kit you brought from Jackson. First, you cleaned the rest of the dry blood on her shoulders and lower back while she sat still. She let you help her, repeatedly wiping away the tears that were now heavily streaming down her bruised cheeks.

Most of her wounds needed just some cleaning to prevent any further infection. You took your time with each one of them, making sure you were not hurting her anymore. She felt how delicate you were with your touch, how carefully you were trying to help her ease the pain.

The softness and care you had allowed her to forget about what she did out there for a second and enjoy the comfort you provided.

A long exhale left her rosy lips. She found her mind drifting towards that the day; and the events that inevitably followed. She set her mind on leaving for Seattle the minute she left that place, despite Tommy’s desperate attempts to talk her out of it. Even when he decided to head out there first in order to protect her, she couldn’t appreciate the good thought. The pain clouded her judgment.

That day, when Tommy left, she fought with you for hours. It was the first time you saw Ellie since the horrific incident at the lodge. She was standing by your fireplace, announcing that she was leaving for Seattle and she was hoping (more like counting on the fact) that you were going to cover her ass while she quietly goes on her revenge quest.

And being the person you were and having the amount of love you had for her, of course, you would not let her go alone.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she stopped the minute she heard that proposal. “This isn’t your fucking business. And I’m not making you a part of that.”

“I’m not asking for permission, Ellie,” you whispered, stepping closer to her. “I’m going with you, end of conversation.”

It went on for another twenty minutes when she was trying to talk out of you joining her. She was harsh, calling you a naive idiot more than once. But you knew that all those words, all this pain were coming from the same place of sadness she was trying to suppress. You would never hold any of this against her.

Eventually, as she understood, it didn’t matter how hard she tried, how harsh she might have been to you. You were determined to go and there was nothing Ellie could change about that.

Thinking about it now, weeks later, she felt guilty for the way she spoke to you. You were the last person who would deserve such treatment, given how faithfully you stood by her this whole time.

Throughout most of the days on the road, Ellie was withdrawn, immersed in her own thoughts. She wasn’t talkative but if she happened to say a word or two, she was taking out her own frustration on you.

After everything she said over the past couple of weeks, you had a full right to turn away at any point and head back home. But you didn't.

You always stayed, despite how unbearable it was at times. Ensuring her that you were not going to walk away, in Seattle or anywhere else.

And now, as you were sitting here, cleaning her blood-stained spots and washing away the shame and guilt she had been wearing around, Ellie knew how high the stakes were—how petrifying was the thought of losing you. Despite her numerous attempts to chase you away, despite the fact that you never really established where you stood when it came to the other, you meant a lot to her. More than she was willing to admit.

“Ellie, this one’s really deep. I’m gonna need to sew it,” you whispered, grabbing the needle and the thread, interrupting her thoughts.

She didn’t respond, just left you to do your thing and stayed immersed in her head.

“It’s probably gonna hurt a little,” you warned her before sticking the needle through the skin of her shoulder.

“It won’t. I don’t feel anything,” she mumbled; for the first time.

The response forced you to stop for a second and rethink what you have just heard. You didn’t know whether you should ask for more information. Instead, you finished your job and within a few minutes, the open wound was gone.

Ellie suddenly felt the coldness wrapping around her as soon as your hands left her body as you handed her a clean t-shirt from your backpack.

“You should get some rest,” you whispered, standing up and grabbing the bucket with blood-soaked clothes. “I still have your snacks in my backpack, in case you were hungry.”

There was no reaction from her. She put on the shit and stayed in the same spot, still not willing to face you.

Part of you wanted to rush over and comfort her. But knowing how withdrawn she was lately, you didn’t want to drive her away any further. So you stood there for a second, with a bucket in your hands, and watched her, wiping away the tears from her puffy, red cheeks.

“Please, don’t leave me.”

It was the moment you reached for the doorknob, halfway out of the room, when she suddenly uttered that pleading statement. The walls she had been so determined to build around her aching existence were slowly falling to the ground, leaving her on her own.

There was a thought in Ellie’s head. Thought that appeared when she was gripping the iron pole, beating the words out of her enemy’s weakened body. Nora was on the verge of her own strength, not having any more power to fight Ellie, so she gave her friend up.

She handed Ellie what she came for in the first place, leaving her space to strike for one last time—finishing what she started, ending Nora’s prolonged suffering.

And the moment she did that—hitting the one last punch, she saw you. She saw the thought of you in her mind and froze. She glanced down upon the lifeless body—but saw you. Saw you lying in your own blood, dying by her own hand. And for the first time, she feared the person she was becoming. Facing the outcome.

Making you collateral damage of her revenge quest was a risk of its own. But being capable of hurting you on her own what was she feared the most.

For a second, you had to process what you just heard. It wasn’t until the sobs that left her trembling mouth you felt the need to turn around and take a look at her.

She was now standing right in front of you, finally daring to face you.

Daring to face her what she feared the most.

“I’m scared.”

For weeks now, she was quietly suffering, mourning in her thoughts. Now the pain crawled on the surface and she could no longer avoid it. For the first time, she let you see all of that—see the desperation in her faded green eyes and realize how long she has been suppressing all of this inside.

“What are you scared of?” you whispered and took a step closer to her.

She took a deep breath, trying to get ahold of her sobs before she continued, still looking into your eyes: “Of what I did.”

You knew Ellie was not always as tough as she tried to portray herself. But seeing that right in front of you, seeing her falling down felt like a shot coming through your chest.

“What did you do, Ellie?”

There was a curiosity in your mind, followed by fear of what you might get.

“I made her talk.”

It was somehow enough. Enough to understand that the desperate need for a feeling of consolation was growing with each strike Ellie hit and with each toll it took on her.

“Ellie—“ you took a step closer, reaching for her but she swiftly pulled away, shaking her head.

“I’m scared,” she repeated, daring to look into your eyes. “What if I might—“

“No,” you stopped her without hesitation, knowing where this was headed. “You won’t.”

Brushing her tears away, she suddenly looked down. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what I’m capable of. I don’t even know what I’m capable of.”

There was a genuine worry in her voice, fear of her own self. But after all those years, after everything you’ve encountered together, you trusted her enough to confidently proclaim that she would never hurt you.

You trusted her. But she didn’t trust herself, that was the core issue.

Which you became aware of the second she bursted into tears.

Ellie was never quite an emotional person; she mostly tried to deal with everything on her own and as quietly as possible. Until now.

“I can’t lose you.”

And there it was.

The revelation between uncontrollable sobs made you come closer.

“But I’m afraid it’s gonna happen anyway and it terrifies me to death.”

She came to terms with the fact that you might never become hers, long before this. For all those years, Ellie yearned for you in silence, realizing she will accept any kind of role in your life, as long as she is part of it. Only now she was realising how dangerous this wish had become.

Because suddenly, there was a price.

She was never more honest in her life than right now, displaying all of her worries in front of you. Displaying how important you were for her. For a moment, you thought, if there, perhaps, was more to her words.

“You’re not gonna lose me, Ellie,” you whispered, slowly reaching for her hand, again. “That's just not gonna happen,” you intertwined your fingers with hers.

“You don’t know that,” she mumbled, trying to pull away her hand but you stopped her.

“I do. As long as I have a say in it,” you objected, stepping even closer. “No matter what you say, what you do. I’m not leaving. You can yell at me, for all I care—just like you did in my living room. But I told you then and I’m telling you now. I’m not leaving you, now or ever.”

At that moment, Ellie suddenly didn’t know which thing she feared more. Whether it was the idea of losing you by her own force or knowing that despite her capacity to hurt you, you were never going to walk away.

Ellie couldn’t pull you into her darkness—but at the same time, she couldn’t leave you. You were her home, her whole world. Or at least, what was left of it.

“Can you stay?” she pleaded, reaching for your other hand.

You nodded, letting a fleeting smile slip onto your lips as you pulled her closer, wrapping both of your hands around her neck. She was hesitant at first but the second her body crashed against yours, she gave in. There was a sigh of relief escaping from her lips as she buried her head into your shoulder; tightly gripping your waist.

Making you realize how starved she must have been for that hug.

You stayed together in that little dressing room, lying together in the dark with Ellie’s hand caressing your cheek. You promised yourself to stay up and alert to watch over her but found yourself falling asleep in her arms. Now she was lying in front of you, studying your appearance, her mind drifting away to different ends.

She wondered. About her. About you.

She wondered if things were different, if perhaps, there was any other ending for you—one less threatening. She wondered if she would, under different circumstances, find the courage to finally confess. She wondered if the two of you would have a shot at having a relatively normal life together, despite the world you were living in.

She wanted the best for you, and nothing less. She wanted to protect you. From the heinous world outside, and sometimes from herself as well. Looking at you, lying so peacefully next to her, she couldn’t help but think of Joel’s words.

Perhaps now more than ever, Ellie was facing her own moral battle. There was someone in her life, someone for whom she would quite frankly walk to the edge of the universe and back. Someone whose life was carrying more value than her own. Feasibly, now she had a chance to understand the nature of his actions.

When she had her own something to fight for.

“Are you okay?”

It was your voice that pulled Ellie out of her mind.

She snapped out of her thoughts and saw your eyes.

“Did I wake you?” she whispered, concern in her voice.

“No but you should’ve,” you chuckled. “I’m supposed to be making sure that you’re still breathing.”

Ellie couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve been doing that for the past couple of weeks. Now it’s my turn.”

You felt her hand, still resting on your cheek. There was a look in her eyes that you could not quite define. In the darkness surrounding you, the two of you were staring into each other’s eyes.

Before she filled the silence with her voice.

“Hey,” she mumbled, slowly drifting closer to you, her breath dancing on your lips.

“Hm?” you raised your eyebrows, curious.

“If things were different,” she whispered, guilt in her voice. “I would’ve given you a lot more than this.”

Most of the time, Ellie struggled with her words. But now, it was crystal clear. In her own way, she made sure you knew how important you were.

For her.

You leaned closer, grabbing Ellie’s hand and intertwining your fingers. Only then, you looked into her eyes again and smiled, reassuring.

Message received.

“This,” you squeezed her hand, “is enough for me.”

“So, you think you can love even the least I can offer?” she whispered.

There was a smile on your lips. Smile that eased Ellie’s worried mind once you moved closer. “Been doing that for quite some time, already.”

She wanted to give you the world, that and so much more. In Ellie's eyes, that was what you deserved. She wanted to make sure you were going to be happy, despite the circumstances life had both given you.

Both of you were hoping for something else, for so much more.

Yet, you would never walk away. No matter the conditions you were under, you had each other. And that was enough. Enough to stay. Enough to do more than that.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams fanfic #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfic #ellie williams tlou #the last of us part ii #tlou2 #ellie seattle day 2 #tlou x you #tlou x reader #the last of us x you #the last of us x reader #tlou oneshot

418 notes · View notes

sweetfire01 · 1 month ago

Note

hi! i have a story suggestion, the ideas been so interesting! i know you have daddy howl and stuff, maybe this could be a new idea? im not too sure on any merman characters, but you could find some and adapt if youd like! or perhaps make an oc? anyway:

the merman was caught and trapped as a result of a circus attraction. user felt pity and decided to help him escape, though that resulted in user being shot. user was bleeding out and told the merman to leave, but he couldnt! so he took user down, blowing an airbubble for user to breathe. he took user to a healer, who gave user the ability to breathe underwater, and heal user.

merfolk are actually much larger than humans and he was around 7foot, maybe more with his tail. so user is actually tiny, and roughly the size of a merbaby. at first, the merman treats user like a normal person, but the merman realises how helpless user is. user cant swim, and water is heavy for user to walk in. so user looks like a baby learning to walk. user relies on the merman alot for support, and lets the merman carry user since it helps her get places. the merman also has to carry user when they go out, since user cant tread water or swim and will sink.

the merman holds a small feast of all the underwater foods for user to try. but user has an allergic reaction to one of the foods and cant speak anymore. user can only make babyish sounds. when they go out for treatment and shopping, the merman stumbles across a friend. the friend thinks user is a baby and this sparks something in the merman. he realises he enjoys having user helpless.

the merman actually includes the food that has caused user to not talk in each of users meal. to make sure the temporary effect lasts longer.

its a bit long T^T but this idea seems so cool! its so adaptable and theres so many things that could affect user since its an entirely new environment. if you dont want to write a story abt this pls give feedback! id love to adapt a short story about this, but either way would love to see you write on this!

not sure if it’s taken but,

🥯 anon ^w^

Oh, (bagel? donut?) anon. You don't know how much I loved and thought on this idea. 👀

Come al solito, è più breve di quanto inizialmente previsto, ma volevo darvi qualcosa da leggere.

(Tell me if there is any mistake, I'm sleepy and didn't pay attention while rereading)

PT. 1 of this new fic for which I don't have a title yet

News of the merman sighting had spread for almost a week among the fishermen and residents of the harbor, but you didn't believe it was true, much less that your boss would catch it. "First the shark and now this. The hunts are going really well and that one will make us a big profit!" He had exclaimed that evening on his return to the circus while his henchmen behind him were dragging a net with the merman inside. You all crowded around to get a good look at him, as much as you could see him under the layer of cords and cords in which he was wrapped. He must have put up a good fight against the sailors and it didn't surprise you: he was big, even if you couldn't see his full figure since his tail was tied to his torso, you could swear he was at least 2 meters , probably even more. And yet… he was no longer threatening. At least for the moment. She was breathing heavily, her head turned to the side and from under her long black hair you could see a large dark red, almost brown stain - blood, you guessed it.

"Okay, okay, stop just watching or I'll make you pay for the ticket. It's time to work." The boss called your attention "Use the tank where we had that winged woman. Check that the shackles are well fixed to the ground, then tie him up and fill him with water. Come on, go!" And with that, the two of you split up and you and someone else headed off to prepare the water. The circus consisted of a huge tent overlooking the port. At the bottom, on the side facing the sea, there was a small round tank dug into the ground and protruding just under a meter from the ground, perfect for spectators to observe everything that was inside. In this case, the shark that had been caught just a few weeks ago, a poor creature that kept swimming in circles in a space too small for it. You and your colleague climbed over the barriers while two other workers approached carrying a large, long pipe. The tub had two valves, on one side one connected to an underground pump which allowed the recirculation of water directly from the sea, and another, where you were, more external. You connected the hose to the latter just as the capturing team brought the tank in.

It had thick plates of extremely resistant glass - despite all the kicking and punching from the creatures locked inside, there wasn't even a scratch - held together by a metal structure. The base was also made of metal, with shackles for limbs firmly attached. Honestly, you didn't know why such a thing existed, nor what it could possibly be used for (besides holding your creatures) but it had been provided to you courtesy of the mayor of the city, along with the tent and the warehouse where you kept the stuff. The boss was very happy about it. And speaking of the boss… Once everything was in place and some other worker opened the side door and emptied the sandbags into the bottom of the tank, you saw him and a couple of goons approach with the merman still tied up. He must have regained consciousness considering the way he was struggling, but still he had no way to free himself.

"You're not going to escape from here that easily. Especially not after I put these on you." The boss took one of the handcuffs with a sneer. He then opened the net and knelt down, holding the creature's head still as he closed the collar around its neck, effectively fasten him to the bottom. "Oh, don't worry, it's just so you don't cause any trouble while we take the ropes off. We'll just keep you tied up by the arms, all right?" He only received a growl-like noise in response. With that, he stood up and glared at the two men who were with him. "We should be safe with him like this, but if he escapes I'll make you become food for the shark, understood? Take the two handcuffs and as soon as I free him, be quick to put them on him." So, once they were ready, he took out a knife and started cutting the ropes around his torso.

Immediately, the rest of you who were observing the scene outside the tank, saw a muscular arm flail and free itself from the bonds. One of the two men promptly grabbed him and together with the boss held him with difficulty while trying to put the handcuff on his wrist. The merman continued to flail and managed to free his other arm as well. The second man wasn't so quick to stop him and the creature threw a punch at the boss, hitting him in the face. But the throttle was now closed and soon both limbs were trapped. The boss was a sturdier man than he looked and even with drops of blood dripping from his nose he didn't give up. He took a key out of his pocket and bent down to free the prisoner's neck, while the other two ran out. He then pulled his hair, looking into his eyes. "You throw some good punches, I give you that. But I've faced creatures much bigger and more ferocious than you, don't think you can defeat me so easily. Well, at this point, not that you can really do much." He chuckled. A slick of saliva hit his forehead, mixing with blood from his nose as it fell. The boss simply assumed an amused expression, tightening his grip on his hair even more. "I like your temper. It'll be fun to see how long it takes you to give up." He let him go, allowing him to move into a more seated position as he removed the rest of the net and ropes, and quickly jumped out of the tank just a second before a long, powerful black tail wrapped and tightened where his head was.

"I told you, I know how to deal with you stupid creatures." He closed the door satisfied, leaving the prisoner to try punching and banging the glass with his tail, although the chains ensured he didn't have much room to move. "Now servants, it's your turn to work. Fill this thing with water and clean up all that sand on the floor. Night night." The boss headed towards the exit followed by the rest of his capturing team. There were only you left, a small group of a handful of people, those who carried out the most humble tasks, under the furious gaze of a merman.

#age regression #original story #original character #merman #i have a lot of ideas #stay tuned #bagel anon

25 notes · View notes

rems-writing · 4 months ago

Text

Nice ass biceps

Pairing: idol!Jongho × witch gn!reader

Summary: All you wanted to do was have fun with your sisters and the archer at this private resort in Morocco. Then again, you live for your man going through his hoe era

Warning(s): crack, the reader being a huge fucking simp, ogling (i mean who wouldn't look at Jongho's nice ass biceps 🤤), Jongho making the reader flustered as fuck, intense kissing but this is still sfw

Genre: Cracked out fluff with some spice

Nets: @blossomnet @mirohs-aurora-society

I'm hopped up on Thai coffee so let's mcfucking go

"NOOOOOO! I DON'T WANT TO GO OUT!"

"BLOODY HELL, Y/N! WE'RE LATE! THE GUYS ARE WONDERING WHERE WE'RE AT!"

"BUT I DON'T LIKE THE SUN!"

"I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T GET SOME VITAMIN D, I'M LOCKING YOU OUT OF OUR HOTEL ROOM FOR THE NIGHT!"

"THAT'S FINE! I CAN PROBABLY ROOM WITH JONGHO!"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

The next few minutes or so consisted of the Wicked Witch and the Good Queen dragging you, the Demonic Ace, out of the comfort of your air-conditioned hotel room and into the brightness and humidity that was the pool area this private resort in Morocco had. After successfully, albeit painfully, dropping your ass in a cabana that Ateez booked for them and you guys, Zelena and Regina went their separate ways. Zelena made her way to the jacuzzi while Regina was doting on Robin Hood taking photos of the guys in the pool. You hid behind the curtains of the cabana shyly, hoping you wouldn't be noticed.

Until your man decided to surprise you by sneaking up on you and hugging you from behind.

"Hi, honey."

It wasn't the way he greeted you huskily. You could handle that.

It was the way that you felt his bare chest touch your back when he pulled you in for a tight back hug. The worst part?

Your one-piece swimsuit has an opening in the back so you definitely felt his wet skin on yours. He kissed your cheek slowly before nuzzling his face into your neck.

"Come swim with me."

HOW COULD YOU FUNCTION WHEN YOUR MAN WAS BASICALLY IN HIS HOE ERA?!

You were so used to seeing him in layers that you had to process the feeling of his shirtless body against your own for a good minute or two. He didn't wait for your answer as he dragged you along the edge of the pool and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly before jumping in.

With you in tow.

You let out a slight scream as you were midair and soon landed in the pool with a huge splash. The rest of the members, your sisters, and Robin laughed as you came up to the surface and swam to the edge so you could climb out.

Only for him to stop you.

Again.

"Honey~"

"Jongho, no. I don't feel like swimming."

You internally winced as you looked up and saw his smile falter a bit. To make sure he didn't start feeling bad for dragging you into the pool, you quickly added something else.

"At least not yet. I'll join you when I feel like it."

"Ok, honey."

He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. You wanted to say something else but he already swam away, doing laps and racing Yunho and Mingi. Regina sat next to you and nudged you.

"Come on, Y/N. He's been wanting to do this type of thing with you for the longest time."

"I know but still... I just don't feel like it."

"Are you seriously that introverted to the point where you think you'll be worn out just from standing in the water alone?"

"Well... no."

"Then what is it?"

"I can't say..."

"I'm your sister. You can tell me anything. I won't judge."

"Ok fine! The truth is... I don't know how to swim."

You said that last sentence quietly and Regina nodded in understanding. She knew that Cora, the mother of the three of you, never was motherly towards you or Zelena. Only Regina. So it wasn't a surprise to hear this.

"It's ok, Y/N. I'm sure Jongho will understand."

"No, he won't."

"Trust me. He will. Listen. I'm going to be with Robin and the others. Either tell him or don't. He'll still love you regardless."

You nodded meekly at Regina's words whilst watching her stand up and go to where the others were. You sighed quietly and watched the water make tiny waves as you swished your feet around. You then looked up and saw the hottest sight of your man.

Jongho was leaning against the other side of the pool, arm resting on the edge as he looked off into the distance. Robin was standing in front of him, taking more photos.

You swore you were witnessing heaven unfold unto you.

The way his hair was slicked back and the droplets of water ran down his face and body were a sight to behold. However, that didn't catch your eye.

It was the way his biceps, all wet from the pool, glistened underneath the bright sun.

Every curve and trace of those nice and strong biceps had you in a trance. You were so lucky to be the one to witness those biceps every day. You then reflected on all the times those biceps were near you.

From seeing them bulge as he placed an arm around your shoulders to practically leaving nail marks in them whenever he held you close and kissed you senseless.

You were so busy ogling his biceps that you didn't notice him swimming towards you and coming up to you slowly until he was standing in between your legs.

What got you out of that trance was the way he leaned in and kissed you passionately as his strong hands firmly grabbed your waist and lifted you up from the edge of the pool and down into the water slowly. Out of instinct and fear of falling, your hands reached under his arms until they reached his equally massive and muscular back, palms flat on his skin. Jongho reached behind your head and held you by the nape to deepen the kiss while his other hand went to your lower back and pressed you against his body.

"GET A ROOM, LOVEBIRDS!"

The two of you were startled away from the kiss when San yelled at you. Everyone doubled over in laughter as both of you started blushing madly. Slightly irritated that your moment was interrupted, you snapped your fingers

And made a bra appear on San. Or rather, a bikini top.

After all, this was a private resort so you could use your magic at any time without people seeing.

Everyone directed their laughter towards San while the big man blushed and turned away from everyone. Jongho's laugh resonated quietly between the two of you and your heart melted upon hearing the sweet sound.

"Jongho, listen... I'm sorry for acting like a brat earlier. Truth be told, I actually don't know how to swim. Mother never taught me."

"Oh, honey." Jongho cooed softly and kissed your other cheek gently. "You should've told me earlier. Otherwise, I would have never dragged you into the pool with me."

"But you seemed so happy and I couldn't ruin that."

"Your happiness is mine as well."

You hugged him tightly and Jongho returned the hug, making sure his biceps were bulging a bit as he tightened the hug.

He saw you ogling but decided to not tease you.

As he pulled away, he kissed your forehead and held your hands in his own.

"Come on. Let me teach you how to swim."

AND SEE THOSE BICEPS IN MOTION?! HELL YEAH, BROTHA

#blossomnet #mirohsaurorasociety #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader

20 notes · View notes

nhlclover · 1 year ago

Text

8 million goals sparks fly au

✭ — summary: rutger makes sense of his feelings about sofia

✭ — warnings: one instance of cursing

✭ — a/n: he is in loooovvveee

✭ — word count: 0.68k

“Hey, are we still on for studying tomorrow night?” Sofia asked Rutger as they packed up their things.

“Can’t. We have our first game of the season tomorrow night.” Rutger smiles.

The pair of them exit the lecture hall and head outside.

“Ooh fun. Who’re you playing?” Sofia asked.

“Simon Fraser,” Rutger replies. “Hey, you should come to the game!”

“Yeah, Luca invited me.” Sofia says.

“Well great! Then there’s two people that want you there.” Rutger grins.

That smile was enough to make Sofia cave. But she shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.

“But I don’t know, I really should finish my assignments.” She sighs.

“No way, you’ve got to come,” Rutger says. “If you come I promise I’ll score like 8 million goals for you.”

Sofia laughs. “Okay, I’ll come. But only if you score 8 million goals.”

The next night, Sofia finds herself walking into Yost with her new friends, consisting of some of the guys' girlfriends. Once she took her seat in the stands, she looked down to the ice where the guys had just started their warmups.

Sofia’s eye is drawn to the number two jersey skating around taking shots on the net.

At the start of the second period, Rutger took a skate around to loosen up his legs. He glanced at the section he knew the girlfriends usually sat in. There Sofia was, sitting next to Mark's girlfriend, a grin on her face.

His heart swelled seeing her, her smile seemingly lighting up the room.

It was hard not to look at her once he had spotted her. Seeing Sofia dressed in Michigan blue and yellow, on her feet with every goal.

When Rutger went to the room for the second intermission, all he could think about was Sofia. Not about the game, what he could do differently or where he noticed scoring opportunities, but rather the girl in the stands. The girl who was here for him. And her brother.

Fuck. Her brother.

Rutger’s brought back down by the reminder that she’s his teammate, and roommate’s, younger sister. She is the one person that Rutger should not feel this way about. Yet he does.

Every time he hears her voice, her laugh, it’s like music to his ears. When he listens to her talk about books and she goes on rants about them, and Rutger finds himself just listening to her, enamoured.

Coach Naurato comes back into the room to give a speech, which pulls Rutger from his thoughts about Sofia. Rutger manages to shove images of her out of his mind for the rest of the game. He forced himself to not look up into the stands the whole game, despite knowing that she was right there.

Not thinking of Sofia the whole night seemed to do Rutger good as he ended the night with 2 goals. Rutger keeps his head down as he showers and changes. He nearly escapes without having to talk to anyone, but Luca grabs him as he’s out the door.

“Hey, I’m just about to go see my sister, you wanna come?” Luca asks.

“Uh…sure man.” Rutger says. The two of them head out front where Rutger spots Sofia.

“Hey there!” Luca says, hugging his sister.

“Congrats on your assist.” Sofia says.

Rutger swears his heart skips a beat when she turns to him. All he wants to do is hug her too but recognizes that might not be smart to do in front of her brother.

“Nice goals.” She smiles.

“Thank you.” He smiles back. He wants to joke about the 8 million goals comment he made yesterday but refrains.

“Wanna go for ice cream?” Luca asked his sister.

“Sure, I’d love to.” She smiles.

Luca turns to Rutger. “Hey, man, nice game. I’ll see you back at home.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Rutger nods. “I’ll see you in class, Sof.”

Sofia says goodbye softly, walking off with Luca.

Rutger walks back to the house, mentally kicking himself the whole way home. Rutger doesn’t know how he got himself into this situation, but he desperately needs to dig himself out.

#sparks fly au!#sofia x rutger #rutger mcgroarty

75 notes · View notes

socially-awkward-skeleton · 21 days ago

Text

Chapter 3 - I Ran (So Far Away)

[can also be read on AO3]

Summary: After the foot chase in Algeria, Rory tracks down Botha to the Ivory Coast where more secrets are revealed and trouble begins

Warnings/Tags: Minors DNI, swearing, drinking

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC - 3rd person POV (Rory Sinclair)

Word count: 3.6K

A/N: the further continuation of Rory's story, this follows and expands upon the COD: MW2 reboot canon. Told from Rory's POV

October 29 2022 9:10 - Abidjan, Republic of Côte d'Ivoire

“So, just how many cyclists have you been clipped by these last two weeks?”

Hidden in the seclusion of the safehouse, Rory paced a line over the rattan mat by her bed, a smirk slowly curling her lips as she slid the body of her handgun apart, eyeing down the bullet chamber, checking for debris as she prepped her weapons.

“Hardee-fuckin’-harr-harr.” Price’s hoarse voice rasped through her room from her mobile on the bed, the muffled tone of the speakerphone only adding to the burr of it. The grumble under his breath unable to escape her keen senses. “You’re just full of witty retorts today, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Two black duffels sat unzipped on the bed, piles of neatly folded clothes removed from them. An old wire fan oscillated back and forth on a table in the corner, barely able to shift the thick, stagnant air, the humidity weighing down with the cling of a damp blanket. The mosquito netting on the window sat unnaturally still, held taut by the heat, unable to flutter even as the ceiling fan fought to circulate, the mechanisms keeping it spinning left to whirr and whine with each cut of the blades.

“Can’t be helped, really. It's just one of my many charms – but you know that already.”

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, “Thought this was supposed to be an update, not you trying out for a bloody stand-up career.”

“A girl has to find her fun somewhere, love.” Her smile faded as she slid the pieces of her gun back into place, each realigning part clicking together. “Or perhaps I’m just trying to soften the blow…” Pausing, she chewed on her lip, dipping the tip of her tongue against the stinging split skin below. “Things didn’t exactly go as planned with Botha. He had a tail—”

“Who?”

There was the ‘need me to kill ‘em for ya?’ tone of Price’s that she was all too familiar with. He could be neck deep in his own issues and still that protective part of him, the irritable mother hen, would come to the forefront needing to keep his chicks in a row. The shepherding dog boofing out his low, gruff bark at the lamb that decided to wander astray.

“Russians. Told Botha to stay put. Of course, he ignored that and ran. Managed to track him down to the Ivory Coast.”

“You are bloody joking, yeah?”

“Wish I was.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaked with every little movement of the springs. She exhaled heavily, blowing the loose curtain of bangs that swept over her brow up and away from her forehead, steadily growing tacky with sweat. “Luckily, I’ve got Nik with me to handle the logistics issue. You needn’t worry about it, my darling, just a small bump in the road.” She slid the clip of ammo back into the pistol. “You wouldn't keep sending me off on missions on my own if you didn't think I could handle it.”

“I know you can handle it. But those bumps are why I sent Nik in with you this time. I trust a bastard like Botha ‘bout as far as I can fuckin’ throw ‘im. He’s more trouble than he’s bloody worth, Chimera contact or not.”

She hummed, “Normally I’d be in full agreement. However, the intel he does have – as slim as he’s making it appear to be – is rather interesting, especially with how things shaped up in Al Mazrah.”

“Meanin’?”

“He knew about the shipping container. Tells me he didn’t know what was inside, but I suspect that’s only because he doesn’t have the immunity yet.”

“Bollocks,” he growled, “Startin’ to feel more and more like we were the last to bloody hear about it.”

“Perhaps.” She tipped her head to the side, slipping her pistol into her waistband, tugging at her tee shirt to hide the lines of the weapon hidden underneath. “Either way, we’ll get this sorted. We always do. Besides, from what I hear you’ve already gotten a fairly good lead on things. Kate said the interrogation went well. Narcos, eh?” The muggy heat was becoming unbearable in the closet of a bedroom she had found herself cloistered away in. Padding over to the fan, pressing a hand to the wall, she hunched over it and hoped for an iota of a cool breeze. To no avail, however, as even the walls were moist, the plaster near dripping with the humectation that left everything coated in a clammy slick.

“Narcos and bloody terrorists workin’ together. The lowest of the low stirrin’ up shit to hit the fan.”

“Birds of a feather,” Rory muttered, rolling her eyes and wiping her hand across her brow. “Can’t say I’m entirely surprised. Only a matter of time, really. War on Terror, War on Drugs– they’ve a common enemy.”

A low affirmative grunt rumbled in response. “Just don’t let this thing with Botha drag out too long. Get him under protection, do it fast, and head out. Got more important things to worry about and I can put you to better use than babysitting a wanker like him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Tha’s my good girl.”

Collecting the mobile from her bed, she took it off speaker and brought it to her ear, lazing in front of the fan as much as she could. “And maybe don’t send me away to an entirely different continent while you just so happen to be in a city with a legal redlight district next time, eh?”

“Oi, cheeky li’l thing. This is work,‘s not like that.”

“I suppose that’s true. Can’t blame me for being just a little jealous though, can you?” Her hand brushed through the underside of her bob, fluffing up the hair despite the wet heat of her sweat that coated the tresses. “Perhaps someone with the subtlety of Simon should step into these sorts of situations instead,” she said, smirking at her own smartass statement.

“Had quite enough of your sass, my girl. Don’t make me have to give you a stern talking to—”

Giggling, she tipped her head to hold her mobile to her shoulder as she lifted the front of her shirt and let the fan blow at the skin underneath. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise. Let you know if anything else goes sideways, shall I?”

“Good. Keep in contact.”

“Will do,” she murmured, “Be safe, love.”

In the doorway, Nikolai lifted his knuckles to the wood of the frame, giving it a sharp knock. “Made contact. He's got a burner now that he knows he's being followed.”

“Bloody fool shouldn't have run in the first place,” Rory replied, returning to her phone call. “Best be off, give you a ring later.” And with that she ended her call, readjusting herself to stalk down her newest prey, brushing out the lines in her clothing that gave away her predator status. “Right, no better time than the present.”

Rory leaned back in the passenger seat, elbow resting in the open window of the jeep’s door, the breeze blowing through her hair and rushing past her ears as Nikolai drove. The streets of Abidjan were lined on either side with small cars. Scooters and cyclists zipped past them while buses slowed their journey along with the pedestrians that flowed out onto the roadway. The skyline was broken by worn down apartment and office buildings. Awnings and umbrellas covered the sidewalk in shade, as acacias shivered amongst the urban sprawl.

She was no stranger to the nations that had been sucked into the blackhole that was colonialism and imperialism. The countries of the Southern Hemisphere were often left to their own devices, used for their natural resources, and their problems otherwise ignored. War, famine, disease. And she was a part of the problem all the same. Wore a tac vest with the patch of the Union Jack on it, well aware that Queen and country had a lot to answer for. The empire on which the sun never set had more than benefitted from keeping those in its dominion under its heel. Reminding herself of that fact certainly helped keep her grounded, kept her eyes open to the bad, the downright corrupt, and the dirty rotten things that governments kept hidden for the “sake of its people”.

“Tell me again, just how did you get caught up with a man like Botha, Nik?”

He glanced over at her, a slight smirk curling at the corner. The hint of a grin that said a mountain’s worth more than words. “Sure you really want the answer to that? Some things are better left secret, no?”

Over the course of her years with Price and as a special forces operative, Rory had learned that it was sometimes better to keep the nose clean, to not go digging where allies were concerned. Secrets, the truth behind them, were a powerful thing. To make an alliance fruitful, not looking the gift horse in the mouth was often the best course of action, but only with those who had already proved their salt. And Nik was certainly one of those rare few.

“Suppose that's fair considering you don't go digging around in my dirty laundry, eh? Lord knows all the nasty little tidbits you could drudge up. Got Price and I by the short and curlies, don’t you?”

“Captain probably wouldn't like me sniffing around your ‘knickers’ anyhow,” he said with a low chuckle.

Rory groaned at the vulgarity of the joke. “Tosser.” Snickering, she pulled out her cigarette case, slipping two between her lips and lighting them both, she passed one to the Russian at her side, offering him a hit of their shared addiction.

“Spasebo.” Taking a drag of the cigarette, he blew the smoke out the open window, letting the grey puff burst out towards the overcast sky. “He acts as the pipeline between the Middle East and Africa. Has for years. If you want something done discreet, Botha will do it.”

“Discreet? That is not the word I would have chosen to describe him.”

“He knows how to make an impression.” Nikolai sat behind the wheel stiffly, his stocky build looking cramped as he shrugged his shoulders a little. “Grows on you.”

“A bit like black mold then, eh?” Puffing on her cigarette, she watched the people around her going about their lives. Meanwhile, there was another world around them that worked in conjunction yet separate. One where spies and soldiers, criminals and terrorists all ran amuck amongst each other and got the innocent caught in the crossfire. She wouldn’t say heroes and villains, that was a childish way of viewing all the shades of grey that their world was doused in, everyone was the enemy of someone else, each one of them lifted up on a pedestal by their prospective country as if the things they had done were worthy of praise. Could one debate that some were better than others, better intentions? Possibly. But that wasn’t her place, not anymore. Not with the things she had done.

“And so I assume Botha’s done some discreet work for you in the past then?”

“Freedom fighters don’t get an entire arsenal behind them. I trust him enough. If he has a reason to run, we should listen.”

The Jeep pulled up outside a hole in the wall bar attached to a small strip of business with a worn down convenience store attached. It was quiet, a near empty parking lot. All was clear, but Rory still had the warning alarms dinging in her head. A vast career spanning a decade and a half had more than honed her to be wary of certain situations. She scanned the exterior, checking for anything out of the ordinary, yet nothing seemed to stand out other than the fact that it was too calm, like the eye of a storm. The electric spark of static in the atmosphere made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up despite being slick with sweat. Glancing over at Nik, their eyes met, and they both had a look that said they were waiting for something to pop off.

“Go on. I’ll be on lookout.” He slipped the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one, maintaining the relaxed disposition while giving her a small grin. “And getaway driver.”

“Thanks, Nik.”

She climbed out of the vehicle and made her way across the parking lot, hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, trying to appear nonchalant, and not like she was on high alert. Having a tail meant that a person was on someone’s watchlist, keeping an eye on every little movement. That was a dangerous place to be, like being trapped under the scope of a sniper and never knowing when the shot will come.

The door to the bar creaked open, daylight cutting through the cloudy haze of cigarette smoke that was held captive within the cramped container, curling and twisting in the air like mist on a November morning. God, she could only wish. Nodding at the bartender as she passed, he barely lifted his head from his spread out newspaper on the counter to look up at her – clearly it wasn’t a place that saw a lot of business. Must have been a cover. The one lone patron sat at a table in the dark corner, his shoulders hunched. The cocky way he had about him having since been diluted now that he was a man on the run.

“Bit early for a drink, don’t you think?” Rory purred.

Her boots thumped over the old bar floor, the tiles chipped and cracking, as she moved towards the table Botha sat at while drinking a lager beer. Looking up at her, dark circles marred his under eyes, his clothes more rumpled than before, appearing exhausted and less than enthused to see her. The music was a tinny blare from the old speaker system hung on the walls, loose wires twisted and curled along the wood panelling, poorly blended in with strings of fairy lights and all held in place with thumbtacks of assorted colours. The advertisements playing over the radio were several decibels louder than the actual music itself, likely a helpful distraction from whatever self-pitying thoughts were circulating in Botha’s head.

She slid into the seat across from him and he raised a hand, signalling to the barkeep for another drink. “I’m not in the mood, thanks.”

“It’s not for you, it’s for me,” he snarled.

She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest, looking over her shoulder as another glass of golden lager was brought over and slid in front of the South African. “You ran. Told you not to.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one with Russians following you about.”

“He says to the soldier who’s been dealing with them for the last five years,” she said flippantly, lifting her brow and rolling her eyes.

Lifting the glass to his mouth, he gulped back the rest of his drink, the foam clinging to the facial hair around his lips. Wiping his hand down his mouth, he pushed the empty glass aside before grabbing the full one, drowning himself in beer. “This isn’t the bullshit army roleplay you’re used to, where it’s a bunch of fat assholes posturing and dealing in backroom handshakes. These are the fringe fucks who believe they have a just cause. The scary pieces of shit who don’t make deals, the type that don’t sign peace treaties.”

Shifting in her seat, her brows knit together and she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “So then who’s after you? Who are we really supposed to be protecting you from?”

Botha tapped his knuckles on the table, his glass hitting the coaster with a heavy thud. “Where’s Nik?”

“Outside, he’s keeping an eye on things,” she said, tipping her head towards the door. “In case someone decides to do a runner again.”

His dark eyes flickered to the door and then shifted back to focus on her, the woman he was meant to put his trust in, rely upon to keep him breathing. “Russian PMC.”

“Who?” She murmured, leaning in closer.

The light from the sconce that hung above their heads cut dark shadows across her features, the smoky bar a haze of humidity that made the air thick, clouded like the drink in Botha’s glass, the condensation dripping down it the same way sweat rolled down the curve of her spine.

“Konni. Heard of ‘em?”

She froze, jaw clenching tightly, her gaze suddenly focused on the wood grain of the table they sat at. Of course she’d heard of them, Price and Soap were directly responsible for getting Konni’s commander imprisoned in a gulag after a mission in Verdansk.

“In passing.”

“Well, I’m guessing by the way your jaw just clicked you know all too well.”

With a heaved sigh and a thick swallow, she uttered a word that made her teeth grit and a sneer curl her lip. “Ultranationalists.”

The former commander of Konni – one Vladimir Makarov – was a member of Barkov’s forces, the force that had invaded Urzikstan and committed atrocities against its citizenry, including the use of chemical weapons. Terrorists in their own right. At least when it came to AQ she could understand why they came into being, founded in justified anger. Barkov and his legions, on the other hand, simply believed it was their right, protecting “Mother Russia” from external, and unseen, threats.

He nodded and took another gulp of his drink, rubbing the backside of his hand across his nose. “Ones who got their hands on ballistic missiles and handed them off to the first madman they could.”

“Fuck,” she muttered quietly, hardly more than a whisper. Her fingers raked through her hair, scrubbing at her scalp to ease the tension headache she could feel building.

“I don’t know how they got their hands on them in the first place, but if you’ve got the likes of Konni and AQ shaking hands with each other…”

She stabbed her tongue into her cheek, connecting dots in her head. “Then we’re looking at a lot of casualties.”

“I’m looking at a loss of customers,” he grumbled, staring into the contents of his glass.

Her thoughtful gaze snapped towards him with a glare. “Beg your fucking pardon? Customers,” she snapped.

“Yeah… I’m not out here playing hero army men like you are. I got dragged into this shit against my fokken will.”

“How did they find out that you had something to leak?” Her glare didn’t lessen, keeping him prisoner under the deadlock stare of her hazel eyes.

Botha shifted in his seat, scratching the underside of his beard before stretching his arms out across the wood of the table. “Zayani came to me first to make a deal, to get him into the United States. Needed to move some heavy cargo along with him. Told him that I couldn’t, it’s not something I do.” He sneered and ran his hand through his hair, pushing back the loose waves that had fallen forward. “He went to Valeria instead.”

“Valeria? Who or what is that?”

“She’s trouble, like you. Mexican cartel. Las Almas.”

Rory sighed heavily and closed her eyes, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “No one would suspect a terrorist sneaking past the border from Mexico.”

“Hassan’s on some bloody crusade against America because of what happened with Ghorbrani – crazy fucker took the general’s death very personally.”

“What about AQ?” she asked, rubbing her hand down her face, mopping away the glisten of sweat that had coated her skin in a thin layer. “Why are they helping him if he’s working with Russian ultranationalists? Seems a bit counterproductive.”

“He feeds them weapons. Makes the same sort of speeches the Wolf and the Butcher did. Stirs them up like an angry hornet’s nest and lets them take care of the dirty work. They’ll die for him.”

“All so Iran can plead innocent. Christ almighty.” Her hands dug through the underside of her tresses once more, tugging at the strands. “Right, fine.” She retrieved her mobile from her pocket. “You stay put. I need to make a call.” Stepping away from the table, Rory moved to the short hall that led to the washrooms, scanning through her contacts to find Laswell’s number. This was becoming a bigger problem than what had originally been expected. Another mission filled with conspiratorial parties and shady dealings. It never ended.

The feeling that all was not right still needled at her as she waited for Laswell to pick up. The call failing to be answered before the crash of glass metres away drew Rory’s attention.

The spotlight of day blasted into the bar room, the smoke billowing out into the world, finally released like the genie from a bottle. Gunshots filled the air from a firefight going on outside, drowning out the sound of the music playing and causing the barman to finally react quicker than a snail’s pace by ducking under the counter.

Running, she slid across the floor over to the table where Botha hid below, rattled. “Stay down,” she hissed, noticing the body that lay unmoving on the floor surrounded by the shattered remains of the window he must have crashed through. “You’ll be safe as houses.” The door to the bar burst open once more and Nik came crashing in, his knuckles already bloody and carrying a weapon he certainly didn’t have before. “We’ve got trouble, Sinclair,” he said, tone still seemingly unperturbed.

“I can see that, yes.”

#call of duty #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod nikolai #john price #captain price #oc: rory sinclair #oc: niel botha #skelly writes #fic: shadow dance #chapter 3

11 notes · View notes

nrdmssgs · 5 months ago

Text

The dropouts (part 4)

Masterlist

Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I you are here I Part 5 I Part 6

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, action, slow burn.

Pairing: Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova (OC) x Nikto

Summary: Some things you teach Chimeras, other things - they teach you.

TWs: This whole series will be revolving around a person living with an acute dissociative disorder. Swearing.

AN: I am very happy to welcome my dear Phayvanh "Nak" Sotsvahn She belongs to @vasyandii who helped me make this chapter happen.

This seemed like a good idea until Nikto actually turned it into reality. It was quiet in his head while he planned the class and arranged his visit to the Chimera base, the voices didn't awake even on his way there…

But now as he's sitting in a room gradually filling with Chimera soldiers, reading a list of names again and again, skipping a few crossed out ones, they come to life.

“What if she comes?”

“She's going to ruin everything.”

“If she dares, I will ruin her.”

“No, you won't. Too soft. Weak.”

“Let us get closer to her. Let us look. Touch. Break.”

“Vsye v poryadke?*” Nikto flinches, noticing a short figure beside his chair. He raises his eyes on a young woman.

To Nikto she looks slight, almost delicate. But an air of determination, he can almost taste around her, seems at odds with her youthful appearance. He feels a pang of something akin to sorrow mixed with fury. She looks almost too young to be here, too young to have been thrust into the harsh realities of war.

Forcing himself to look away, he returns to the list in his hand and finds a name that might suit her.

“Ty Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, da?*” He tries his best to not butcher the unfamiliar name.

The woman freezes for a moment, her body tenses, posture grows defensive. She reaches out, pulls the sheet of paper out of his hands and writes ‘П-А-Й-В-А-Н’ next to her name.

“Ne pytaisya po-anliyski chitat`. Vot tak nado.*” She hands the paper back.

Nikto thanks her awkwardly. Chimeras seem to know more about him, at least they all figured out what language is his native even before he opened his mouth.

“Think the mask will keep you from losing your face?”

“Her name is crossed out, but she will come just to laugh at us.”

“At least this way she might notice us.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, seemingly quiet, but all the noises die in the class in the very same moment.

Soldiers look at him with the silent intensity, and the last bits of confidence leave Nikto. He knows how to command, how to force in the worst case scenario, but this is new. Here he has to tell his story, not missing a single detail, and make sure they remember him well. He might have started this all just to meet Zhar again, but Nikto is damn serious about this training. If it helps to make their lives longer, if it helps her in any way…

“I'm Nikto. I will teach you some major survival tactics in prolonged tortures. We will have this evening and tomorrow to get things done.” He decides to skip the embarrassing part where he explains, that the ‘shut up’ wasn't meant for the auditorium.

Phayvanh opens a notebook with such a mundane expression, as if they hear such lectures on a daily basis. Next to her sits Krueger with his arms crossed on the chest. At the base, he abandons his tactical net, so nothing masks his crooked smirk, when he raises a hand and asks without waiting.

“What makes you the expert?”

Nikto stops roaming through his notes and looks up. His gaze seems to make even Krueger uncomfortable, so he clarifies the question.

“Each of us here has some experience in… interrogations. Some more, others - less. What gets you to be the guy before the white board.”

Nikto huffs. “My story is not that fun to hear.”

Or to tell.

“Come on, man. This is not a Sunday book club with little tea cups and cucumber sandwiches.” Phayvanh punches Krueger under the desk, but he goes on. “Show off, brag, shine a little, friend. How much they held you? A week? Two?”

Niktos eyes harden. Something told him, this might end this way, yet, he hoped, it wouldn't. He tells himself, it's not about his vulnerability - it's about the stakes, he will be talking about, as his fingers reach the first strap of his mask. The stakes they will have to be ready to make after these classes. He takes the last look at the room and makes sure once again, she is nowhere around.

With slow, deliberate movements, Nikto unfastens the mask. He hesitates for a moment, then pulls it away, revealing the full extent of his injuries.

There are no shocked gasps heard - only a lone whistle and someones muffled ‘fuck’ reaching his ears. Because what he shows them is not just a few scratches - it is a battlefield and a grave. His skin is heavily scarred and burnt, twisted in unnatural ways. Half of his left ear is missing, and his cheek bears deep, jagged lines. His face is enough to make some people run in fear. Not from him, but from the amount of pain one can survive. “The living will envy the dead” - that's what his face is about.

“Two thousand forty-one hour. Eighty-five days.” His tone is flat, calm even. It's not his place to share his pain - only his expertise.

***

Their class goes surprisingly well. Chimera soldiers are catching every word leaving his mouth and ask smart questions, that sometimes leave Nikto himself wondering if there is a right answer to them. Although he hasn't that much of a theory teaching experience, his first try at it feels nice, kind of empowering even.

Nikto lets the feeling sink in after everybody else leave the room. Usually his guts would tell him otherwise, but right now sitting here in peace without half of his gear and completely unarmed feels ok. For some weird reason, nothing seems to be able to bother him.

He fixes the straps of his mask, making sure it sits firmly again, and leaves to an already empty hall. Distant echoes of chatter and ambient noises barely reach this place. Without any thought behind it, Nikto just turns left and walks to see if this road leads him anywhere but an endless row of closed doors. He isn't trying to be nosey - just wants to give his legs a stretch.

To his relief, there is in fact one door open wide. It must their gymnasium - a dimly lit hall, the fading daylight casting long shadows across the room. The faint sound of punching and the rhythmic thuds of kicks echoes softly, punctuating the otherwise still air. In the far corner, illuminated by a solitary overhead light, Zhar is training with fierce determination.

Nikto doesn't know much about art, doesn't really care about all these museums, pictures, statues. He is as far from this world as it is possible. He thought, his knife collection is the nearest thing to art, he ever saw. But right now this changes forever deep in his mind. Because he sees art.

She moves with a fluid grace, each punch and kick precise and powerful. Despite not so young age, her form is impeccable, her movements a blend of strength and agility. The dummy in front of her bears the brunt of her relentless assault, swaying with each impact.

“How is this possible?”

“How is she possible?”

Nikto ignores awakening voices and watches, captivated by the raw power and beauty of her movements. He had seen many soldiers train, but there is something different about her - something that set her apart. And Nikto feels that just one more minutes needs to pass, and he will understand, what's the secret behind her movements.

“Stop ogling my lieutenant.” Nikto quickly turns back and meets Nikolais smirk. “Stop ogling my lieutenant and go talk to her.”

Before Nikto has time to react - Chimeras leader pushes him forward.

“I was looking for where you guys eat. Just the wrong door,” grumbles Nikto quietly.

“Mhm, of course,” hisses Nikolai and giving him a final push adds louder “Olya, look who came to visit you!”

Dammit. So much for trying to not be a creep.

“Is it my little-” She turns back to them and a wide bright smile on her face weakens. “Oh. Hi.”

He still mentally disputes on turning back and leaving, but Olga steps away from the dummy and reaches out to him, so Nikto comes closer not wanting to make her wait awkwardly for a handshake.

“Nice having you here. Sorry for skipping your class, my last meeting ended way too late.” A touch of her fingers against his exposed skin echoes down his spine. Nikto tries to shake the feeling off with a joke.

“Nah, this won't be on the test anyways.”

She chuckles. Nikto saw her ‘work smile’ and he genuinely hated it. Too plastic, too fake for his tastes. But this is completely different - Olga somehow makes the whole room brighter and more safe. A subtle ornament or crinkles at the corners of her eyes, two soft dimples, the way she throws her head slightly back - this all feels precious, important. He drinks in the sight of her as she returns to the dummy.

“I want to work on one last thing here and then I'll go show you our common room, ok?”

She wants him to stay here? She will feel safe?

“No objections, lt.” Nikto leans against the wall watching her readjusting the dummy.

Zhar loosens a few fastenings around the dummies base and tries to move the main construction up, but it remains steady. She grunts and tries again, but nothing changes.

“Andrei, mat` tvoyu, ne nachinai!*” Nikto flinches at these words and looks at Olga.

Not entirely sure if he even got what she said, Zhar adds embarrassedly ‘I was talking to the dummy, we call him Andrei. This thing’s seen better days’.

“Then we happen to share a name.”

Nikto approaches and tries to help her readjust an old cranky construction, but the outcome is the same. "How about you train on me instead?" he suggests. "I'm taller, and I can take a hit."

“I don't enjoy the concept of treating a fellow soldier like a punching doll.” Olga frowns and shakes her head.

“Nah, you won't even notice the difference. Same name, same attitude. Besides, it's not like you can hurt me," he adds with a short chuckle. This last phrase may have been uncalled-for, because the lieutenant moves away from him a couple of steps and takes a fighting stance.

“My rear hook is getting worse lately. Need to work on it.” Zhar takes a deep breath, centering herself. “But I'm not beating a guy who doesn't defend himself. Thought, you remembered it after the first time we met.”

Ouch. So she does bite back when provoked.

Nikto raises his hands slightly, ready to block if needed. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says, his tone seemingly flat despite the voices forming a good dozen of less neutral reactions.

Her eyes lock onto him, determination flaring anew. She begins with a series of high punches, aiming for his shoulder level. He blocks and parries, his movements fluid and controlled. She quickly adjusts her stance, her confidence growing as she finds her rhythm.

Her kicks come faster now, more precise. Yet Nikto notices the slightest pause in the middle of her rear hooks, just as she claimed.

“You’ve got quite a punch,” he notices. “Keep going, don’t hold back. A bit faster so that I can't catch you in the middle of it.”

She pushes herself harder, her strikes becoming more aggressive, but there's still this little slowdown in the middle of her blow. And Nikto uses his reaction to demonstrate it. He meets her hand in the midflight and pulls her forward, causing Olga to lose her stance and improvise. She opts for another blow, Nikto feels that he's lacking time to keep pulling her and evade the punch at the same time, but still highers the other hand to defend himself.

It all happens so fast, he doesn't realize at first, what exactly he's done. His hand slides forward, and she hisses, when his wrist grazes against her head. He lowers his hand, but for some reason she follows it, falling on her knees before him.

Nikto freezes in certainty for a moment and descends after her. Zhar reaches out to his hand and tries to pull it slowly away, and he finally sees it. The massive clasp on the sleeve of his suit got tangled in her hair, causing pain with every movement.

He curses and immediately starts untangling it.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think, fu-”

“The hell are you sorry about?” Olga cuts him off, and he notices that there is no fear or pain in her face expression - only calm satisfaction. “I came unprepared - I had it coming. Good fight, soldier.”

As he helps her to untangle the last strands of hair and stand up, it slowly gets to him: while he is here - she treats him as one of her own, and that includes celebrating his victories, even those that might feel undeserved. This is a strange feeling, but he likes it: to not just be here, but to belong, stay a part of something, she pours her heart into.

***

It's not every day that Chimeras second in command walks in the common room with a sweet smile and without someone torturing her on the phone. Even on a more rare occasion does she stay in the dining area and not just grab whatever is left to eat and retreats back to her office. So while everybody tries to not be too obvious with their interest - they still can't hold back occasional long gazes. At some point, Krueger even suggest that he goes to join Zhar and their guest instructor, but Phayvanh grips his shoulder and pulls him back.

“You sit here and don't spoil anything.” Naks voice is cold and commanding.

***

After the dinner, Zhar leads Nikto through the living section of the base. Sometimes she excuses for the state of wall paint or an old door. ‘We are moving soon, so we didn't do any renovations here lately,’ she tells as if Nikto came here to inspect the state of their spaces.

“I figured, you would like a room with more privacy. No shared bathrooms, a more quiet part of the building, and so on. Due to the…” she draws a circle in the air in front of her face and Nikto guesses that she is talking about his mask.

Usually this detail only causes annoying questions. But with her everything is different. No jokes, no unpleasant attention - just an attempt to help.

“Thank you,” he exhales as Olga unlocks the door.

At first glance, Nikto realizes that this is someone's room. Papers on the desk, a jacket hanging on the back of a chair, something large and shapeless lying in the far corner of the bed - it turns out to be a shark plushie, all this suggests that someone already lives here.

"Will the tenant mind?" He freezes on the threshold, looking at her with disbelief.

“This is my room,” she answers innocently.

“But what about...” Nikto points at the bed.

"Oh no, there was only one bed, what should they do!” Zhar sighs in an exaggerated, theatrical manner and cracks laughing. “Don't worry - I'm not going to sleep today anyway. I'm leaving in the night, need to pay a visit to our new base. Until then - I have a ton of work waiting for me in my office anyway.”

“But-”

“Nikto, enough ‘buts’. Our free rooms serve as storages now, I can't materialize an extra bed for you out of thin air, and I'm not letting our guest sleep on a floor.” She pats his shoulder and pushes him deeper in the room. “If you need anything - my office is three doors down the hall.”

She doesn't leave him any time to react, closing the door.

*Vsye v poryadke? - (here and further Russian) Everything's alright?

*Ty Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, da? - Youre Phay- Fai- Fai-vahn, yes?

*Ne pytaisya po-anliyski chitat`. Vot tak nado. - Dont try to read it as if was in English. Heres the way to pronounce it

*Andrei, mat` tvoyu, ne nachinai! - Andrei, for fucks sake, don't start this now!

#cod mw2 #cod #cod modern warfare #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty mw2 #nikto angst #nikto x you #nikto cod #mw2 nikto #mwii nikto #nikto fluff #nikto x reader #andre nikto #call of duty nikto #nikto #cod nikto #nikto x oc

24 notes · View notes