#i cannot even explain the dread i feel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

egcdeath · 7 months ago

Text

something old, something new

pairing: patrick zweig x f!reader

summary: when your childhood best friend asks you to get married, how are you supposed to say no?

word count: 7.2k

warnings: MATURE (mentions of sex but no explicit sex scenes), marriage of convenience, fluff, mentions of alcohol, patrick is a bad friend (but he improves), friends to spouses to lovers, fake dating, yearning and pining, everyone is bad at communicating, many feelings are being repressed, mentions of dieting in an athlete way, one singular creepy old man, no use of y/n

author’s note: i cannot get this tennis man out of my head!! i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

It wasn’t every day that you could count on hearing anything from your childhood best friend, but it seemed like whenever you did hear from Patrick Zweig, it was always an ask for something more shocking than the previous one.

As kids, you spent many evenings doing the homework that Patrick didn’t want to do, despite the fact that you didn’t really want to do more homework either. At boarding school, you’d somehow become his personal designated driver, answering his calls no matter what time and groggily picking him up from whatever party he’d found himself at. In your adulthood, you found yourself becoming a go-to stand-in for him at events he didn’t feel like attending. The amount of times that you’d shaken hands at charity galas and introduced yourself as Patrick’s girlfriend, despite not having a single romantic encounter with him, was frankly astounding.

It seemed like whenever Patrick needed something, you were the first person he reached out to. After his parents, of course.

You dreaded knowing the reason behind the simple hey, text message you’d just received, but you were sure that you’d find the reason out sooner rather than later–and that whatever the reason was could not have been good.

Like clockwork, only an hour after you’d received his message, Patrick appeared at the doorway of your apartment. He came to you equipped with his secret weapon, the kicked puppy look that he often used on you before he asked you for a ridiculous favor, like breaking up with his girlfriend for him or telling his mom that he still wasn’t joining the board of the family business.

You sighed as you took his less-than-stellar appearance in. Downtrodden expression, wrinkled and sweat-stained shirt, as if he’d gone to the gym to sweat out his feelings before coming to you, and eyes so red-rimmed, you wondered if he’d been crying.

If you had to guess, he’d either been arguing with his parents, who knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his tennis friends, who also knew exactly how to get under his skin, or his latest girlfriend, who probably confronted him about his own wrongdoings. Regardless of who had upset him, he had obviously come to you to lick his wounds.

Like always, Patrick stalked inside without asking you for any further permission. The two of you had done this song and dance more times than either one of you would like to admit.

“How are you?” he asked, stopping in your kitchen to steal an apple from your decorative bowl of fruit.

“I’m good,” you said with hesitation, eyeing him once more. He really looked like shit. If he hadn’t looked so sad, you would’ve told him exactly how much shit he looked like.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me how I am?” he questioned, a little pathetically.

“No,” you walked off to your living room, fully expecting him to follow you. You were unsurprised when he did exactly that. “Let’s just get right to it. Why’d you come over here?” you asked as the two of you sat down on your couch.

“My parents are cutting me off,” he explained, voice breaking as he spoke.

Surely, this couldn’t all be over an empty threat. They seemed to threaten Patrick with this every few days. In fact, you’d been in the room with him when his parents promised that he’d never see another dime from them–more than once. Every time, it ended with them coming to their senses and throwing more cash at him.

“That’s what, the twentieth time?” you laughed. “They always threaten to cut you off. What’s different this time?”

“This time, they mean it.”

You laughed even harder in his face. If you had a quarter for every time you’d had this conversation, you’d be richer than the two of your families combined.

“I’m serious,” he inched closer to you. “They’re tired of funding my ‘tennis habit’. They want me to get serious about life. To join the board and start a family. My dad showed me an edited draft of his will and everything”

“So?” you prompted, trying to figure out where you fell into the equation. Hopefully he wouldn’t try to put you up to something absurd, like seducing his father into convincing him to not threaten Patrick’s inheritance.

“So, tennis is the only thing I care about.”

“Okay…” you trailed off. “What would you like me to do about that?”

“I need you to help show my parents that I have a vision for the future.”

“Again, Patrick, what exactly are you asking me to do?”

“Marry me.”

You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but it certainly was not that. Your mouth instantly dropped open and you were sure that you were gaping like a fish. Maybe if he had asked you ten years ago, you’d have instantly said yes, but you’d let that naive dream die after you’d come to realize the transactional subtext of your friendship.

“What?”

“I want you to marry me. I was thinking… you remember when we were younger and we made that pact, that if we weren’t married by the time we were adults, then we’d get hitched?”

You continued to stare at him, completely dumbfounded and not believing a single word coming from his mouth. “I… I…” you couldn’t even form the words. “We were kids!”

He gave you a halfhearted shrug, as if that didn’t matter at all, and as if he didn’t just ask you to be legally and romantically bound to him forever.

“You are fucking unbelievable! You haven't talked to me for anything other than asking me a favor in years, I barely know you’re alive apart from the random drunk texts you send me, and now you want me to marry you? Do you even hear yourself?”

You scoffed and stared at him in disbelief. “And that has to be the worst proposal in all of human history. First you tell me that tennis is the only thing you care about and then ask me to marry you? You’re a joke.”

He let you finish your rant, but after a beat he finally asked. “…Is that a no?”

———-

Stranger things had happened to you than marrying your childhood best friend just a month after he’d randomly popped back up in your life. At least, that’s what you told yourself as you walked down the aisle on a beautiful beach off of the Amalfi Coast.

The last few weeks had been an absolute whirlwind, with what felt like every second of your time consumed by making guest lists and invitations, booking hotel rooms, and finding a dress that you liked enough to get married in. Obviously, you knew this was more of an elaborate scheme than a celebration of love, but you wanted it to be nice anyway. For all you knew, you may never get married again.

You don’t know what possessed you to say yes to Patrick. Maybe the small, desperate part of you that had been begging him to truly see you since you were old enough to realize he didn’t, or maybe the desire to finally have that fairytale destination wedding you’d been dreaming about from the time you learned what a wedding was. Regardless of the reason, both of your families were overjoyed by the union. In one fell swoop, you’d been able to satisfy both of your parents’ desires for you to settle down, and you’d done it with someone both pairs approved of.

You had to give props to Patrick, the ceremony was beautiful. Given the short timeline, the two of you decided to divide and conquer the planning of the event. You were sure that he’d outsourced the work, since he was still in the middle of his tennis season, but whoever he hired did an excellent job at giving you the wedding you’d always wanted.

Despite the very short timeline everyone had been given, you were able to wrangle all of your close family and friends to Italy to watch you elope. Your parents had insisted on inviting second cousins and shareholders to your wedding, but you’d somehow convinced them that you and Patrick wanted a smaller, more intimate ceremony. It was probably better to have less people there, lest someone notices the artificial nature of your union.

Part of you felt like you’d pulled off the greatest prank of all time as the two of you stood up in front of your small crowd, gazing as lovingly as you could manage into each others’ eyes while the officiant said his spiel, but the other, more logical part of you filled with dread as the reality of the situation began to set in. Patrick seemed to have a way of always dragging you into a shitty situation, and you hoped for both of your sakes, that that wouldn’t be the case for your marriage.

After what felt like a lifetime, Patrick began to recite his vows, claiming to have loved you since you were children, and promising to continue to love you ‘till death did you part. If you had been marrying literally anyone else, your knees would go weak with swooning.

Unfortunately, you were cursed with the knowledge of the reality of your situation, one where your vows sounded more like: “We only have to stay married until I retire, which should be sooner rather than later. We don’t have to do anything together: no galas, no family dinners, no family vacations. Hell, you don’t even have to come to my games. And we don’t have to be exclusive either. This is basically just a title, so feel free to see anyone you want to. I can already see the worry in your face. Stop that. We can hire someone to make us prenups, so the divorce will be an easy, clean split of our assets. See? It’s not that bad.”

The dichotomy between the words he’d said to you a month ago and the bullshit he was spewing now almost made you laugh, but that was clearly not the reaction you were meant to be having when the love of your life was publicly declaring their feelings for you.

Once he finished declaring his romantic, empty words, you began to read off your vows. They fell in a similar vein to his, a proclamation of a lifetime-spanning love that didn’t really exist in the first place. But when you glanced up at him from your slip of paper, he was really selling it. He stared at you like he adored you, like he wanted to study every inch of your face after running off with you into the sunset.

The ridiculousness of it all finally hit you like a freight train, and you managed to pivot the laugh that was creeping up into your throat into a weepy sounding crack of your voice. Surely people cried during their own weddings.

You finished off your vows, doing your best to pretend like this whole ordeal wasn’t the most ridiculous scheme you’d ever been dragged into. You imagined a world where he was less selfish and you were less selfless, one where you were exchanging these vows with sincerity, and it helped you to get through the words that you knew were almost completely meaningless.

The two of you then took turns placing the ring on each others’ fingers, with Patrick giving you a ring with the largest diamond you’d ever seen, and you giving him a band that had been passed throughout your family. He’d agreed to give you the heirloom back once you divorced, so you couldn’t complain too much about giving it away in the first place.

The announcement of being able to kiss the bride rang out in your ears, yet you still found yourself surprised when Patrick eagerly wrapped his arms around you and kissed you passionately. Cheers erupted around the two of you, and you pulled away as the officiant declared you Mr. and Mrs. Zweig.

You had successfully tricked your audience, and yet, you still had the strangest feeling.

Your reception felt far more natural than your wedding ceremony. After a change of outfit, a huge bowl of pasta, and a few flutes of champagne, you were feeling substantially better about the arguably poor decision you’d just made. You chatted up your friends, who jumped at the opportunity to comment on how cute of a couple you two were, did some light matchmaking between single guests, and placated both of your parents with manufactured acts of affection. You even managed to get Patrick out on the dance floor, after he swore to you that he didn’t dance.

By the time the two of you were stumbling back into your villa, the woes of the day had practically been forgotten. When you were having this much fun, who cared about a massive, potentially life altering decision?

You immediately made a beeline to the bathroom, anxious to get into your comfortable pajamas and to wash your face after a long day of wearing tight, extravagant dresses and a heavy layer of makeup.

“So what did you think of your big day, Mrs. Zweig?” Patrick called out from the other side of the bathroom door, where you were sure he was also preparing for bed. “Was it everything you wanted and more?”

“I think this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” you paused as you thought about something before confessing, “but it was everything I wanted and more.”

“Yes!” he celebrated from where you couldn’t see him, though you could perfectly envision the goofy look on his face. “I owe it to you after everything I’ve put you through. I just hope you weren’t too let down by the groom.”

“What?” you drew out before blowing a raspberry. “Of course not. You looked very handsome today,” you complimented in between splashes of your face.

“You looked pretty beautiful, yourself,” he complimented you right back.

“Aww, thank you, honey,” you emphasized the pet name.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I like that,” you heard the squeak of the bed from behind the door as you assumed that he’d sat down.

“Hey, you’re the one who made me marry you,” you pointed out. “Am I more than you bargained for?”

“Of course not, babe,” he emphasized his own pet name, which sent you into a fit of laughter. “It’s just so weird to hear you refer to me as anything other than an asshole.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re still an asshole,” you replied as you walked out of the bathroom, donning an old shirt with the logo of your boarding school and an equally old pair of shorts. “Just a married asshole.”

You took in the sight of your now-husband as you made your way to your side of the bed, surprised to find that you quite liked the sense of domestic bliss you were feeling. The bed dipped as you sat down and glanced back at Patrick with the slightest bit of hesitation.

“Is this weird for you? I can go to the spare room, if you want me to,” he offered, surely in reference to the two of you sleeping in the same bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him, setting a steady hand on his knee. “What kind of couple would we be if we didn’t spend our wedding night together?” you teased.

“The kind of couple that marries for convenience?” he suggested.

“Hey, who’s to say that this isn’t love? I had the biggest crush on you when we were kids. Maybe some of it lingered, or some shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he looked at you with that sleazy smirk that you both loved and hated. “What happened?”

“Hmm… I think I realized that you’re a dick,” you matched his smirk with a challenging one of your own.

“Huh. Did you have this realization before or after you started seeing Dan Thompson?” he questioned.

You were surprised by the mention of your first boyfriend, particularly because you weren’t sure that Patrick remembered any detail about your personal life, let alone your love life. “I realized it after you started treating me like your workhorse.”

“Oh okay, so you had a crush on me while you were with your boyfriend. Good to know.”

“Shut up,” you groaned and turned away from him as you finally full laid down.

“Would it make you feel better to know that I also had a crush on you?” you heard the bed sheets rustle as he scooted closer to you, and you turned back to face him.

“You’re lying.” You couldn’t see any world where that would make sense to you. In your youth, it seemed like Patrick was always off somewhere with a new person, and none of those people were you. Not that you had an issue with it, but the thought that the two of you might’ve had crushes on each other at the same time without either of you pursuing each other felt kind of weird.

“Nope. You’re the first person I ever jerked off to,” he said as casually as if he were telling you what he ate for breakfast, not breaking eye contact with you.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you gently pushed him, but your hands lingered where they sat on his chest. “Was that supposed to be romantic or something?”

“That’s not romantic to you?” he asked with all the sincerity of someone who was fully committing to a bit.

The two of you broke out into laughter. Once you finally caught your breath, you began once more. “This is gonna be a long marriage.”

“Hopefully,” he remarked in response.

“If you keep talking to me like that, I will literally go get our marriage annulled, like right now.”

“Please don’t,” he whined, grabbing one of your hands from his chest and kissing your fingers. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Every time you promise to make something up to me, an inconsistent fairy gains its wings.”

“Hey,” his tone suddenly became very serious, completely catching you off guard. “I really am sorry that I’ve been a terrible friend. I don’t know that I’ve ever said it, but I am. You deserve so much better than me, and I don’t even know how I convinced you to do this for me.”

You almost started to laugh, unable to take the absurd situation seriously. You’d been waiting years to hear him genuinely apologize, and now hours after you’d married solely as a favor to him, he was finally telling you what you wanted to hear.

“Please. I’m serious. I know you think I’m a piece of shit flaky ashhole, and I am, but I want to be a better husband to you than I ever was as a friend.”

You felt your heart stop beating for a second. The word husband sounded so foreign in his mouth. You couldn’t quite pin how you felt about it, but you knew you felt uncomfortable with the intimacy of his words.

“Patrick, please shut up,” you squeezed your eyes shut, suddenly a little overwhelmed with the Patrick of it all. In fact, you couldn’t think of anything more encapsulating of your experience with him than the whiplash you got from that moment. He could be a complete asshat, but his occasional moments of earnestness kept you following him like a lost puppy, accepting his apologies and granting him ridiculous favors, despite your better judgment.

“Are you okay?” he asked, moving closer to you to get a good look at you. You swore you felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

“I’m fine, I just-“ am overwhelmed by you being sweet? Can’t believe that I’m hearing you say this to me after so long? Also can’t believe that you and I are married?

None of the right words seemed to come to you, so you did the second best thing you could think of.

You pecked his lips and pulled away as if you’d just touched a hot handle. You didn’t know what had come over you, and immediately began to apologize profusely.

“Oh my god, I don’t know-“ you were cut off by his hands on your face, greedily and sloppily pulling you back in for another kiss, this one far more passionate and confident than the first.

Your kiss was messy but fervent, years of pent up sexual frustration and non-sexual frustration behind your every movement. As you kissed, you moved to straddle him, feeling a little ridiculous in your ratty old clothes, but that didn’t stop him from groping you over your pajamas like you were the hottest thing on the planet.

Maybe the strangest thing to happen to you that day wasn’t even your wedding.

——

That night was the first in a series of very strange events. You couldn’t even fully wrap your head around what was happening in your marriage. You just knew that the two of you had become closer friends than you’d ever been before, and that you slept together when either of you had the urge. It was basically a no strings attached situation, except, legally, all strings were attached.

If you were confused by your arrangement, you were sure that your friends were even more lost, something they proved to you as they interrogated you over brunch.

“So, just so we’re clear, you married him as a favor?!” your friend asked in complete disbelief.

“Well… yeah, basically.”

“Shit. Can I ask you for a favor of a million dollars?” she joked, leading to the laughter of your other friends at the table.

“Well, that’s different. At least with our marriage, we both benefit. He gets his parents off his ass about being so focused on tennis that he doesn’t have any future prospects, and I get my parents to stop trying to marry me off to every single rich boy they find.”

“But you’re not like, actually married. Like you guys don’t have feelings for each other?” another friend questioned.

You sipped your mimosa before explaining your situation for what must’ve been the fifth time that day, “we’re basically friends with benefits.”

“But you’re legally married? Like, the wedding was official and stuff?”

“Legally? Yeah. But it’s literally just that,” you clarified.

“Legal marriage and sex?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, hoping that they were finally catching on.

“Then… are you guys seeing other people?”

“Oh yeah, what ever happened to that one model guy you were seeing?” another one of your friends pitched in.

“It didn’t really work out,” you addressed that with an understatement. He rightfully flipped his shit when he found out you were going to be marrying someone else. “But neither of us are seeing other people. I don’t think either of us want to risk bringing anything back to one another.”

“That sounds pretty committed to me.”

“Not really,” you dismissed.

“Then why are you even together?”

“How many times do I have to explain how we both benefit from this?”

“No, not legally, or socially or whatever. Why are you hooking up with him? Aren’t you scared you’ll mess up your friendship or something?”

“Well, the sex is really, really good. But I’m really not worried. There's no romance between us. We’ve been friends for so long that it’s just… weird to look at him like anything other than my friend. It’s basically a loveless marriage of convenience.”

Your friend shot you a skeptical look. You just shrugged her off.

———

The moment you found out your afternoon meeting had been canceled, you reached out to your assistant to make arrangements for you to go to Patrick’s tennis game. He’d been on a winning streak, and though he insisted that you didn’t need to come to his games, you knew that he secretly liked having you there.

Over the past few months of your marriage, you’d grown to realize that he often didn’t say what he actually meant. Like the time he told you that he preferred to live alone, before breathily confessing in your ear that he slept better by your side. Or when he swore to you that he loved the pancakes you’d served him, despite the food being some of the worst you’d ever put in our mouth and him being on a diet. You almost found it sweet that he tried to prioritize your feelings over his own, which was surely a result of overcompensation from the way he had treated you for the majority of your lives.

You arrived at his match just in time to watch him take a break, making your way into the stands and finding a seat where you’d have the best view of your friend as possible. You didn’t expect him to scan the audience and find you until much later on, but you were pleasantly surprised when the two of you made eye contact and he absolutely lit up. You waved, then gave him a thumbs up in hopes to communicate your support from far away.

While you couldn’t always make it, you liked to play the role of supportive tennis wife. Getting dressed up and making an appearance not only publicly legitimized your sham of a marriage, but helped you to reconnect with some of your former boarding school classmates, who were often in the stands supporting a friend or a loved one. You also just liked to watch him play, as witnessing the passion and ferocity he had out on the court was extremely entertaining, and even at times, mildly arousing.

With their break ending, Patrick went back out on the court and played just as well as you expected him to, crushing his competition, and looking up into the stands at you to celebrate once he’d scored the winning point.

At first, it was surprising how proud his wins made you feel of him, a feeling that you explained to yourself by arguing that if he wasn’t giving his absolute all to tennis, then your marriage had basically been all for nothing. Although that did still ring slightly true, the truth was that you were simply proud of Patrick. Whether you liked it or not, the two of you were a unit now, which meant that his wins were your wins and vice versa. In some ways, it was kind of nice to be part of a team. Or at least his team.

You met Patrick down on the court, where he paused from packing his bag to immediately greet you with a kiss to the forehead, a small act of intimacy that was typically reserved for situations far different from the one you were currently in.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaimed, pulling you in for a half-hug.

“I didn’t know I was coming either,” you instinctually wrapped your arm around him in response to his half-hug. “Great job out there. You kinda demolished him!”

“I did, didn’t I,” he said just loud enough for you to hear, still wanting to appear like a good sport. “I have to go get ready for the press conference. Do you want to meet me at my hotel?”

“Of course. You don’t mind me staying for the night?” you probed, despite knowing the answer. He wouldn’t have asked you to go to his hotel in the first place if he’d minded.

“You know I never mind you staying for the night,” he gave you a cheeky wink.

“You’re so sleazy,” you commented with fake disgust.

“You started it,” he replied, reluctantly pulling away from you and reaching into his bag to grab his hotel keycard. “I’ll text you when I’m heading back.”

The moment you received a message about him being on his way to the hotel, you made a very lengthy phone call and request to the restaurant in the building. Technically, he shouldn’t be eating any of what you ordered, on account of him being on a strict diet plan, but you figured that he deserved it after playing the way that he did. Besides, Patrick liked thoughtful acts of service, and you figured that this would count as one.

“You know me so well,” he practically gasped as he stepped into the room, taking in the platters of food you’d laid out for him.

“What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t?” you teased, though your sentiment was somewhat accurate, and it was clear that the two of you had grown to know each other far better over the past few months, you hoped that your friend wasn’t interpreting your words in too serious of a way.

The two of you laid out on the pristine hotel bed, eating the feast that you’d ordered without much dialogue between you, other than a comment on how good something was, or a request to pass an item to one another. It felt oddly domestic, and oddly enough, you liked it. Maybe you liked it even more than you’d been willing to admit.

“I’m gonna go shower,” he announced after tossing his napkin onto a cleared off plate.

“Want some company?” you offered, raising your brows at him in a playfully suggestive manner.

“Is that what this is all about?” he feigned offense.

“Maybe,” you trailed off. “Or maybe I just wanted to celebrate the greatest tennis player of all time,” you purred.

“Come on. You and I both know that is far from the truth.”

“Well you’re the greatest player in my heart,” you praised, much to his chagrin.

“Ugh. Shut up and come shower with me.”

As you sleepily ran your fingers through his damp hair, you were surprised when he broke his silence with a comment seemingly out of the blue. It was more of a mumble than anything else, but you’d grown accustomed to his muffled words over the course of your marriage.

“You’re so beautiful,” he randomly complimented you.

“You know you don’t have to compliment me to get into my pants, right?” you asked with a hint of laughter in your tone.

“I’m not trying to,” he pecked your arm–the limb he had the easiest access to at the moment–as if he was trying to emphasize his point, though all it did was bring heat to your cheeks at the reminder of the way he’d pressed slow and meaningful kisses along your calves and inner thighs while the two of you were in the shower. “You just looked so good today, I couldn’t not comment.”

“I don’t look good every day?” you asked facetiously, trying to deflect from the warm and fuzzy feeling his compliments and affection were making you feel.

“Of course you always look good,” he reassured you rather than playing along with your game of joking instead of addressing your feelings. “I just don’t tell you that enough.”

You weren’t even sure how you could respond to that. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to mince words tonight, but you couldn’t bear to match his genuinity with cheap jokes. The only real, genuine thought to pop into your head were three ridiculous words that you immediately batted away. You couldn’t think of anything more embarrassing than randomly declaring your love to a husband who wasn’t really your husband in a marriage that wasn’t really a marriage.

Out of ideas, you hit the lamp on your side of the bed. “I appreciate it. Goodnight.”

“Night,” he parroted back to you, remaining snug against your chest, despite the fact that your hands had stopped threading through his hair.

Deep down, you knew that those three words had been on the tip of Patrick’s tongue, too.

——

Being in the social circles of filthily rich people meant you often found yourself at random charity events, hosted by the nonprofits of families and business owners looking for a particularly large tax break for the year. Over the years, you’d felt that you’d seen and participated in it all: marathons raising awareness for a serious, but extremely rare disease, date auctions to raise money for a cause that certainly didn’t justify you having to go on a date with a man almost forty years your senior, or galas for nearly-extinct sea creatures that were essentially used as an excuse to stand around and network while drinking expensive alcohol and eating hor d'oeuvres.

You seemed to find yourself at a lot of events like the latter, including the one you were standing at now. The gala, which took place in the art exhibit it was raising money for, was a rather standard one, filled with the typical suspects who regularly attended those events.

It was slightly ironic to be at the event with Patrick as your plus one, as this was the exact type of event he would’ve texted you about an hour before it began to ask if you would play his concerned partner for the night who told everyone a flimsy excuse about him being under the weather.

It also served as somewhat of a reminder to you of the massive growth that your friend had undergone since the two of you became legally bound to one another. It finally felt like Patrick saw you as a true friend, instead of a reliable person who would do his dirty work. It finally felt like he cared. In some ways, your marriage was the best thing to happen to your friendship.

Patrick returned to where you were standing, this time with two flutes of champagne and a delicious looking appetizer in his hand.

“You’re too kind,” you said as he passed you your drink.

“Anything for my wife,” he mockingly bowed in front of you and you chuckled and shook your head. Over the past year, the two of you slowly became slightly more comfortable with referencing each other as husband and wife, but only really as a joke. You guessed that in a lot of ways, that’s what your marriage was—a ridiculous inside joke.

He was just about to feed you a hor d'oeuvre when you were approached by a wildly unwelcome figure: the man who had purchased a date with you a few years ago. Despite your one very awkward, stilted date, he never really seemed to get over you–which he made a point to prove at every event you both happened to be at. And unfortunately for you, his generous donations landed him on the guest list for the majority of these events.

You were used to fighting him off on your own, as he seemed to come and flirt with you regardless of how inappropriate it was for the setting of the event, or even when he already had a beautiful young bombshell hanging on his arm. At this point, you’d learned to just tune his every word out and flee as soon as you possibly could. He was annoying, but he wasn’t dangerous.

“Hey, honey,” he greeted you way too comfortably. You’d given up on asking him to call you by your name a very long time ago.

“Hi, John,” you reached out to shake his hand and cringed internally when he kissed the back of your hand.

“Oh honey, who is this?” Patrick immediately lept in, surprising you with his unsubtle passive aggressive tone and ridiculous use of a pet name.

“You don’t remember me? I swear, we’ve met a few times.” John asked, trying to smile despite clearly being agitated by the presence of competition.

“Some people are more forgettable than others,” he said with a shrug. “How do you know my wife?” He emphasized the word and you pushed down the small inkling of pride you were feeling. Whether it was from watching Patrick try to scare this annoying man away from you, or being so proudly referred to as his wife, you couldn’t be sure.

“Finally settling down, eh?” he directed at you, then directed his next statement to Patrick. “We went on a date back in the day.”

“It was for that one date auction thing,” you quickly added context, but paused when you took in John’s less than pleased look. He was a large donor at your own family’s nonprofit, and you were sure that your parents wouldn’t be too pleased with you if they found out he pulled out over you hurting his feelings. “We had a lot of fun, though.”

“We definitely did,” he chuckled and smirked. You wanted to punch him in the mouth. “We should definitely do it again sometime.”

It was clear that Patrick was not taking kindly to seeing you be flirted with so brazenly in front of him. Part of you wondered why he would be possessive, since part of your initial deal was that you could see whoever you wanted, even if that happened to be a creepy old man with a lot of money. The other part of you was enjoying seeing him so fired up. Particularly, seeing him fired up over you.

“Our schedule is just so busy. Between work and us trying to start a family, I just don’t know when we’ll have time to see you again.”

Trying to start a family? That was definitely news to you. Although, the idea didn’t sound awful. Wasn’t it everyone’s dream to start a family with their closest, most dear friend?

“Well, she knows where to find me, right, honey?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, looking into your glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I are going to go check out the exhibit,” Patrick announced, grabbing your hand and taking a step away from John.

“You two have fun,” he said before clapping Patrick’s shoulder and leaning in to begin a stage whisper. “Make sure you treat her right and cherish her. If you don’t, I might have to swoop in and do so myself.”

He winked at you and you bit back a gag.

“Don't you worry your wrinkly little head. Nobody lov- cherishes her more than I do,” he theatrically patted his back much like he’d initially done to him. “See you around.”

Did he almost say what you think he almost said? Surely you misheard him, or he was just playing up your relationship to scare away that creepy man. It really wasn’t anything to think twice about.

Once the two of you had walked away far enough to be out of earshot, you finally addressed what had just happened. “Thank you, bodyguard. You don’t even know how much I despise that man.”

“He seems like he’s the worst,” he agreed with you, looking back over his shoulder.

“That’s because he is,” you emphasized. “This is so random, but did you mean what you said earlier?”

Patrick suddenly paused, his face going pale like he’d just seen a ghost. You were a little confused by this reaction, as he’d said nothing to warrant that level of fear.

“Do you actually want to start a family? Obviously not now, while you’re still playing tennis, but maybe eventually? I know we don’t have the most traditional marriage, but, I don’t know. Neither of us are getting any younger, and it might be fun to co-parent with my best friend,” you were clearly rambling now, but luckily, Patrick came in to rescue you for the second time that night. He looked far less aghast now.

“I would love that,” he said to you with a genuine smile. You matched his with one of your own.

———

“Do you have any big plans for retirement?” a reporter asked for the final question of the press conference.

“Mostly just eating a lot of burgers. And maybe learning how to play pickleball,” Patrick responded, never one to give a serious answer to questions that weren’t explicitly about tennis.

It was a ridiculous note to end on, but it felt right. You’d found that to be the case with most things in your life that pertained to him–most notably your marriage, which ended up being far more than you ever expected it to be.

After the press conference had come to a close, Patrick met you outside by the car, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, then leaning down to peck your baby bump.

“How does it feel to be retired?” you asked, ruffling his hair while he was still bending down.

“It feels like you might divorce me,” he joked. Obviously your marriage deal was only meant to cover the time that he was still playing tennis, but after years of a complicated marriage that suddenly became significantly less complicated once you finally confronted the fact that the two of you very obviously loved each other, it seemed unlikely that your union would end any time soon.

You glanced down at your baby bump, then back up to him skeptically. “I hope you’re not being serious.”

“Come on, I never know with you. You’re the one who friendzoned me the entire first year of our marriage!” he exclaimed.

“That was a lifetime ago,” you countered before taking his hands in yours. “If you’re really worried, I have zero intentions of ending our marriage.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” he grinned, stepping away from you. “Let’s get going. I don’t want us to miss our reservation.”

You nodded and obliged, passing him the keys before heading to the passenger side of the car.

Once you sat down, you were overcome with the urge to say something. You had spent so much time bottling up and pressing down your own feelings, that it was now hard to resist letting things out when they came to you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you blurted. “And I love you. So much.”

Patrick smiled at you genuinely, before his look turned into a slightly more devious one. “I love you so much, too. One might even say I love you more.”

“Don’t even start with that,” you laughed, not in the mood to have the kind of back and forth with him that you had at least once a week. Considering that you were carrying his child, you were pretty sure that you were the winner of the love competition.

“Fine. We love each other equally,” he conceded.

“That’s more like it.”

You tried to think back to one specific moment where your marriage had crossed over from being one of convenience, into a union with genuine feelings attached, and realized that you weren’t exactly sure. It could’ve been the first night you spent together, when you’d finally allowed yourself to consider what your relationship might look like beyond a simple friendship, or maybe it was even earlier than that, when you gazed into Patrick’s eyes as you read off your vows. The look of pure adoration he gave you was one that you had grown familiar with throughout the course of your marriage, but you hadn’t realized at the time just how genuine he had been. Or maybe even the moment Patrick asked you in the living room of your apartment, when you’d been the first person he thought of to carry out his ridiculous scheme, and you’d said yes despite every logical part of your brain that screamed at you to say no.

Whenever it began didn’t particularly matter. What mattered now was that the two of you fully intended to spend the rest of your lives together.

#patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig fic #patrick zweig imagine #art donaldson x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #josh o'connor x reader

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muntitled · 1 year ago

Note

omg hi pookie bear , hru ?

i’m going feral and have a request <\3 hmm what if anton hasn’t seen his gf in a few months because she stays in the states . they usually make sure to call and check in with each other every night but maybe for the last few days she hasn’t been responding too much but only because she’s flying to go surprise him ! so basically a bit of angst then fluff at the end loll (and a little smut if ur up to it 🤓👆🏾) .

also, can i be 🎀 anon ?!

Of course, my darling! Thank you for the lovely request, I literally had so much fun writing this omg.

𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 | 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐞𝐞

- Pairings: Anton Lee x Fem!Reader

- Warnings: Language, Established Relationship, Codependency, Angst, Jealousy, Relationship Paranoia, Possessiveness, Manipulation, Smut (+18, Minors DNI), Spitting, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Dry Humping, Unprotected Sex, Needy Sex

He wouldn't call himself obsessive.

That's not the correct word. Infatuation would probably best explain the tempest of emotions rattling through his brain when his phone rings, signaling a video call from you.

Sungchan's chest rises and falls with the extremities of their evening workout. He barely keeps himself toppling over when he and the rest of the group watch Anton lumber to his bag in large, quick steps

"Yo?" Sohee asks, anatomically defeated as he races to catch his breath.

"Carry on, without me," Anton throws over his hunched shoulder. He is cupping his phone with both hands when he enters one of the many bathrooms peppered throughout the gym, letting his feet guide him almost robotically into a stall while his finger swipes to answer the video call. At the sight of your relaxed smile, Anton exhales lightly.

He knew it's particularly bad to form dependant relationships, but he couldn't exactly help himself, can he? Your voice is just so light when you say, "Hi," and his is equally shy as he replies with his quiet "Hi yourself."

Anton can not help himself from being so incredibly infatuated. He's diving headfirst into codependency, but hey, at least he is aware.

At least he is aware that he would do quite literally anything for the girl in trapped in his phone, and you would do the same for him, therefore it is of no surprise at all when he airly says, "You're so pretty,"

His voice is barely above a whisper and his eyes are bright as he buries the lower half of his face in the comforting fleece of his black sweater. "Really pretty,"

An airy sort of chuckle escapes the confines of your lips, and Anton's pulse begins to race as he takes note of your tongue swiping over your bottom lip. "Anton, did you hear anything I just said?" If it weren't for the slight hesitation that pollutes the sound of your beautiful voice, Anton would've gladly kept staring at your lips. But his heart sinks imperceptibly as he gazes back at you apprehensively.

"Uh- no," he says, "I was too busy thinking about how excited I am for you to get here." The panic only begins to set when your smile wavers.

"Oh... about that-"

"No," he whispers, "Please don't do that-"

"My boss hasn't exactly cleared me for a vacation day-"

Anton is livid, but his voice remains stable. "We have spoken about this for 2 months!"

"You know how my boss can be," you reply, "He hasn't given me off, Anton. I have no one to cover my shift, I'm sorry!" You exclaim, as the dreaded guilt begins to trickle into your voice. Anton's eyes narrow, and he brings his phone closer. Temporarily ignoring his whirlwind of negative emotions, Anton instead skeptically asks, "Where are you?" That doesn't look like your bathroom."

Anton's heart only sinks lower into the pit of his stomach when he notices a quick hint of alarm flash through your eyes before you're pulling the camera back into a more intimate aspect ratio as you prattle on. "Yeah, I just decided to head to the movies to make myself feel better. Maybe you should do the same," your voice is tight and layered with anxiety as if you were... lying to him.

Anton cannot imagine why you would want to do that, least of all to him. He knew when you lied because you both did it together. On myriad occasions.

He made you call up your part-time job on multiple occasions, rubbing smoothe, encouraging circles on your belly while you feigned an illness just to spend more time with him.

In high school, you had both lied to each of your parents about 'studying together' when in actual fact, those 4 had been excuses to make out messily in your sheets. Exploring confusing emotions until a simmering heat flowed through the both of you while Anton's large hands began to pet over new, various spots on your body.

He had never been on the receiving end of your dishonesty, not even since he left the country. But here you are, evading eye contact, stuttering over your words and lying...

to him.

"How's the team workout been, big boy?" He notices with grave finality how quick you are to not only change the subject, but to weaponize a nickname that you knew would have him melting for you.

Is this what you have both become?

Was he seriously being manipulated?

Was he...

Perhaps...

Being cheated on?

The thought sent a wave of nausea threatening to spill out of his badly pursed lips, and perhaps you realize, from years of studying Anton's non verbal expressions, that he was thinking of something very grave and very bad.

"Hey, didn't you say you only had five minutes?" Your voice is like the tingling goosebumps left in the wake of your nails raking across his skin and he shivers slightly.

"Yeah," his voice, although characteristically quiet, is guarded and you frown, perhaps noticing that you have a lot of making up to do.

Anton suddenly, quite literally out of the blue, asks, "Remember when you said you went bra shopping the other day?

"Yeah?" You ask, completely oblivious to the darkened thoughts polluting your boyfriend's mind. You watch his eyes tare into yours as he monotonously asks.

"Are you wearing any of the new ones right now?"

"Anton, aren't you in the middle of-"

He immediately cuts in, voice impatient and snide, "They can carry on without me, it's fine."

It was petulant, but Anton needed to know you still belonged to him. He needed to know that high school wasn't some sick fever dream you could just swiftly move past as if it meant nothing. He needed to know that.

"Can I see?"

You curtly comply, and you look around before pushing yourself further into the stall. You both found yourselves on opposite end of a cellular line, both silent with the weight of your attraction to one another, keeping your eyes glued to the screen.

"Please?" He asks, in an airy voice, "for me?"

Anton knew from the strike of guilt in his chest that it was not a morally correct thing to do, but what else was there?

You would be away from him, indefinitely. He would have to spend another evening, another week, another month without your body to hold onto. Not to mention, the jealousy at this new hypothetical boyfriend still hung heavily on his shoulders.

Besides, Anton's guilt completely disappeared when you begrudgingly pulled the string of your halter neck down until the material was falling flmisily down your torso, exposing your chest to him. Anton released a wobbly breath while his hand almost immediately went to cover the bulge, forming in his oversized pants. "Oh god," he whispered.

It was so remarkably mesmerising watching your boyfriend slips so easily into desire. You knew he was angry and that made this part of the mission remarkably uncomfortable, but instead, you choose to focus on Anton's lumbering breathing through the screen of your phone. His large eyes hooded and locked onto your breasts, still very much covered by your white lace bra.

Although he cannot see anything besides cleavage, Anton reckons he could cum just from this. That's how bad he needs you, that's how bad he yearns for your soft, grounding presence to be near him.

But your phone chimes. And just as Anton's jaw locks, you exclaim, "Babe, I have to go-"

"What?" The frown on his face is astounding, but you're already propping your phone up to pull up the strings of your dress.

His protests fall on deaf ears.

You could not very well tell him that you have already touched down in Korea. You couldn't tell him the unrecognizable bathroom stall was a sterile cubicle in the international airport. You couldn't tell him that you were closer than he thought.

"My movie is gonna start soon,"

His shoulders visibly deflate and your heart pounds faster in your chest.

"Skip it,"

"I'll call later okay?"

"Skip the movie."

"I love you,"

When you abruptly ended the call, Anton stared at his screen until the dimness turned to black, with only one question permeating through his restless mind.

'Do you?'

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

"You say you hear me," Sohee's voice reaches the rafters as the group of boys leave the gym. "You hear me, but do you feel me?"

"Gross," Anton mumbles, leaving Sohee behind.

"It's a simple question," The older boy continues, "at what point does water become soup?"

"When any reasonable amount of seasoning is added," pipes up Shotaro, adjusting the straps of his work out bag along his shoulder.

"Don't encourage him," Eunseok grumbles as they all walk out into the cool night air.

Anton's gaze is still lowered to the floor, but his breath stutters momentarily at the sudden rush of the open air.

"So salt water can be considered soup?" Sohee scoffs, "That's what you're telling me right now?" The group groans in unison, all beginning to walk like a hive mind to the nearest restaurant. All except Anton, who is quieter than usual, whose only plans for the evening consist of wallowing in self-pity.

"Hey, um, I'm just gonna go home," he says, causing the group of boys to stop in their tracks. Anton evade their curious, worried gazes.

"Not when you look like you're about kill yourself-" Shotaro says, attempting to step closer to Anton, but only frowning when the youngest takes a step back.

"That's okay," he attempts to reassure his friends, "There's a beat thats been..." Anton does vague hand gestures to the side of his head, "I wanna go work,"

He was already walking away, head bowed, and headphones pushed over his head, walking into the night before his friends could even get a word in...

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

He could not describe his feelings as Jealousy. That somehow felt like to tame a word to describe the flurry of emotions hanging so heavily on Anton's face as he pushes the password into the door's keypad, before kicking his shoes off at the door.

Anger was certainly a part of it. The large monolith of emotions threating to burst right through him. He felt unpleasantly overstimulated, even in the silence of the apartment. He felt like anything and everything was threatening to have him burst at the seams, his emotions running along the rim of his usually calm and collected state of mind, ready to spill over and make a dreaded mess everywhere.

Anton's only plans for the night had been to lock himself in his dorm room, perhaps crying, perhaps screaming, perhaps knocking himself out for a couple hours with his prescription sleeping pills. Anything to make this horrific strain on his heart disappeared.

The baggy clothes he is accustomed to wearing somehow appear bigger and sloppier as he lumbers his way deeper into the apartment, heart sinking the more steps he takes.

"Oh look,"

Cold, piercing phantom pain zings through his heart, kickstarting every dormant sleepy cell in his body.

"A dinosaur,"

Anton thinks that he couldn't even move if he wanted to. His socks are glued to the threshold, watching you, or perhaps an apparition of you, laying lazily on his bed.

His bed.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, and you watch with furrowed brows as Anton brings his two hands up to his face. You immediately push yourself off the bed when he begins to slap lightly at his cheeks, whispering incoherently about asylums and potentially getting a contact high.

His cheeks are already bright red when you stumble your way in front of him.

“Woah, Big boy,” your hands are on his wrist, effectively stopping Anton from reddening the skin any further.

He can feel you. He can feel the softness of your palms struggling to enclose around his large wrists.

“This is real,” he whispers, watching with wide, doe eyes as a smirk curls at the end of your lips. Before you can reply in whatever witty or snarky remark you had cooked up, Anton was already bending his head until his lips were crashing down to yours.

He very surprisingly, very uncharacteristically pours his strength into the kiss until you were stumbling back rather clumsily into his room.

Anton crumbles into a flurry moans and groans as he slips his tongue inside your mouth, melting into a whimpering puddle when your tongue brushes against his. “B-But when?” he breathes out before reattaching his lips to yours, letting his hands roam unabashedly over every part of your body it can find.

The infuriating need to breathe causes him to pull apart from you once again, but he never strays too far. Anton’s fingers dig into your sides until he's pulling your dress over your head. He wishes to capture every single inch of your exposed body to memory. The way you look up at him with a light, relieved smile curling at the sides of your puffy, red lips.

You're so much shorter than him, and it sends his brain into a mindless, state of lust. He loves how big he feels when you two are together, in the flesh with no digital box separating the two of you.

“H-How?” He breathes out, noting immediate that you are in the same white lace bra from your earlier phone call.

There is a cheeky smile on your face when you pull his oversized shirt over his head, all while he stares you down as if you hung the moon.

“I always keep my promises, Ant,”

His body betrays him with a rough shiver and he groans as you push him onto his bed, discarding his shirt behind you. As you prowl your way on top of him, Ant throws his head back into the sheets, nearly hyperventilating at the sight of you straddling his hips. You lift your torso, immediately discarding your bra, and Anton’s hand flies to cup your breasts. This, he immediately decides, is what heaven looks like.

“Fuck, you're so fucking pretty, you know that?” Anton rarely ever swore, so to hear the crass words coated in his airy, breathless voice is enough to have you moaning into the air, arching your back as you push his face into your chest while you press your core down onto his irresistible bulge.

“Oh God, Anton.”

“Missed you so much,’ he whines, before enclosing his mouth around your nipple, almost instinctively pushing his hips up to meet your desperate grinding. You were quite literally humping like maddened adolescents brimming with too many hormones to know what to do with.

When Anton feels his cock twitching in his pants, he immediately pulls away.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, “I need to be inside of you,” he admits gravely, already getting up to switch places until you were underneath his large and lumbering frame, “I don't think I'll last long,” Another grave admittance. He pushes his hand into his sweatpants, and you watch, mesmerized as he reveals his large, aching cock absolutely leaking precum.

“I'm definitely not gonna last long,” you reassure before eagerly opening your restless legs, “We're gonna cum together, yeah?” Anton squeezes his eyes shut before squeezing the base of his twitching dick. All while you slip your own underwear down.

“Yeah,” he agreed before positioning his cock at your weeping enterance.

You both watch mesmerized as his cock begins to stretch the tight walls of your soaked cunt. The stretch, immediately causing a whimper to slip out of your mouth as you throw your head back into the pillows. You're clenching around him, while Anton coaxes himself into you with shallow thrusts. The rutting being just enough to spill a wave of pleasure over the both of you. He watches you moan with wide, pained eyes.

“I know, baby-” He whisper, “You're doing so good for me, you know that?”

“Fuck, you're so big,” is all you're able to say, effectively causing his hips to stutter.

“F-Fuck I'm not gonna last long-”

Instead of repeating your response, you bring your hips up to meet Anton's thrusts effectively, taking him deeper and deeper until he was fucking you with little to no restraint.

“Oh God,” you whisper, as Anton clumsily brings a hand up to squeeze and pinch at your nipples. Not even a minute later and you're both sitting in the crest of your respective orgasms, looking deep into each other's eyes as if you were communicating that fact. Anton nods, completely dazed.

“Close,” he whimpers, “I'm so fucking close,”

Anton bends his head, spitting directly onto your clit. The sight has your hips stuttering, as the first signs of your orgasm warms your lower abdomen.

“F-Fuck, Ant- I'm-”

The moment his hand travels to rub dizzying wet circles on your clit, you crash into your orgasm.

“Oh fuck- oh fuck-” He fights to keep his eyes open but your squeezing him so hard and Anton can't help but cum directly inside of you. Both your lips are hanging open as your boyfriend attempts to fuck every last drop of his seed into you. You're both releasing months worth of frustration.

The frustration of not being near one another. Of relying on a device to keep your relationship afloat. It all comes crashing down until Anton's is thoughtlessly collapsing on top of you - the weight of a giant landing your front, with his hand playing lazily, wiyh your breasts as you both fight to catch your breathe.

Despite the obvious discomfort, the very last thing you think of doing is pushing him away. Instead, you cradle him closer, raking your fingers into his hair while his eyes flutter shut.

All is quiet, and you vaguely believe Anton may have fallen asleep, but his voice is wide awake as he says, “I thought you were cheating on me.”

You remain quiet, hoping the soft petting on his wild curls was reply enough.

“I'm never letting you go back, okay?”

Your eyes are heavy as you continue to smooothe down his hair, and you whisper, “Okay”.

♡♡♡

#anton lee x reader #riize x reader #riize smut #anton x reader #anton smut #anton riize #lee anton #lee anton x reader #lee anton smut #anton lee smut #riize fluff #riize hard hours #riize #riize x imagine #riize imagines #anton fluff #anton #riize headcanons

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idkyetxoxo · 2 months ago

Text

Aegon Targaryen - Debt Owed

Summary - A marriage, once feared as duty, blossoms into love. Tragedy strikes shattering their bliss when ruthless debt collectors demand a terrible price, leaving them adrift in a sea of sorrow. Now, haunted by loss, they cling to fragments of hope amidst shattered dreams.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Violence, infanticide, pregnancy complications (very slight)

Word count��- 2275

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"I cannot join you tonight, the babe hinders me from even walking long distances, let alone staying up and drinking with you and your companions," I explained softly. The disappointment in my voice was impossible to hide, even from myself.

My loving husband, Aegon sat across from me, concern etched on his handsome face. His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of my hand, a gesture that never failed to soothe me.

"Then I shall accompany you in settling the twins abed," he offered suddenly, standing up and extending his hand for me to take.

I hesitated, feeling torn, the words catching in my throat. Part of me longed for his company, while the other feared robbing him of his deserved celebration.

"That is not necessary," I replied with a gentle strain as I pushed myself to my feet, using the chair for support. "You should celebrate with your companions. You deserve a moment to breathe, laugh, and be free, if only for a few hours. I do not require any assistance."

Aegon's expression softened, his eyes warm with understanding.

"Try not to startle me awake this time," I teased affectionately, feeling a surge of love for him as he kissed my forehead in return, the warmth of his lips lingered, a silent promise of his unwavering presence.

With a warm smile, he opened the door, allowing me to exit.

When our betrothal was first announced, dread had seeped into my bones. The whispers of Aegon's reputation haunted me, conjuring images of a life steeped in cold cruelty and indifference. I steeled myself for a marriage of duty rather than affection, prepared to endure whatever fate awaited me.

But reality, it seemed, had woven a far different tapestry.

To my surprise, Aegon was nothing like the man I had feared. Instead of coldness, I found warmth, instead of disdain, I found respect. He never found a reason to dislike me, and in turn, I gradually began to see him in a different light.

As days turned into months and then years, we grew to understand each other deeply.

Aegon has shown me a kindness I never expected, and in return, I have given him my heart. Though our union was born out of political necessity, it has blossomed into a genuine love story, one that neither of us could have anticipated.

As I walked out of the room, I glanced back at Aegon, who was still watching me with that familiar look of concern and affection. I smiled, feeling a profound sense of gratitude.

I entered the nursery, my heart filled with a mother's joy as I greeted the wet nurse with a warm smile.

"Your Grace," she curtsied respectfully before leaving the room, leaving me alone with our precious twins. Their innocent faces, nestled in their cradles, brought a moment of peace.

The tranquillity shattered like fragile glass as a sudden noise caught my attention.

Before I could react, a strong arm wrapped around me, crushing me against a solid chest. A cold, sharp blade pressed against my throat, and a rough hand clamped over my mouth, stifling any sound of protest.

Terror gripped me as I stared into the eyes of a burly man who emerged from the shadows.

"Who's this?" His voice was gravelly, filled with menace.

"The queen," the man behind me chuckled darkly, his grip tightening with every second. Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked, as multiple horrifying scenarios flashed through my mind.

"Who are you?" I managed to mumble through the stifling grip on my mouth.

"Debt collectors," the man answered callously, his voice a cruel contrast to the tenderness of the nursery. "A debt is owed, an eye for an eye, a son for a son."

My heart pounded against my ribcage, a frantic drumbeat of impending doom, as the man's foul breath brushed against my ear, his grip on my throat tightening like a vice.

"Tell us which one is the boy, and no one else will be killed," the man demanded, his voice edged with menace as he held the blade steady against my throat.

His accomplice's eyes darted between the cradles, calculating and cold.

"Kill me instead," I pleaded, desperation cracking my voice as the tears continued.

"You are not a son," the man behind me sneered, his grip tightening on my mouth and the blade pressing deeper, sending a searing pain through my neck.

The physical agony was unbearable, but it paled in comparison to the overwhelming anguish of knowing my innocent children were in danger.

My mind raced, frantic with fear and helplessness. The nursery, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap closing in around us. The twins, my twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, lay peacefully unaware in their cradles, oblivious to the horror unfolding around them.

Every fibre of my being screamed to shield them, to protect them from the cruelty of the world, but I was powerless, held fast by the brute behind me.

The man in front of me took a deliberate step closer to the cradles, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the infants.

"We don't have all night," he muttered impatiently, his voice a harsh reminder of the ticking clock counting down to unspeakable tragedy.

"Please," I gasped, struggling against the iron grip that held me, my heart pounding with frantic desperation. "They're just children. They haven't done anything wrong. Whatever debt is owed, take it out on me."

The man behind me chuckled darkly. "Do you think we're here to negotiate?" he sneered, his breath hot against my ear. "A son for a son. That's the price."

His words hung in the air like a death sentence, each one a cold dagger to my heart.

Tears blurred my vision as I pleaded with them, my voice raw with emotion. "Please, let them live," I begged, my entire body trembling with fear and sorrow. "They are innocent. This isn't their fault."

My voice cracked each word a plea torn from my soul. "Please," I begged, the strain of my sobs turning my breath into ragged gasps. "Spare them. Take me instead."

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the soft rustling of the infants in their cradles. Then, the man at the cradles turned to his partner, his tone chillingly casual.

"Which one, then?"

The pressure on my mouth loosened slightly, allowing me to speak through ragged breaths.

"I'll tell you," I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely audible amidst the turmoil within me. "But promise me, spare the other."

"Get on with it before I kill them both and then carve this one out of you," the man sneered. His mocking hand rested on my swollen stomach, a reminder of the life growing within me, now threatened by unspeakable violence.

My arm trembled uncontrollably as I lifted it, pointing at Jaehaerys with agonizing slowness. The man behind me released his hold, shoving me aside with a brutal force that sent me stumbling.

I watched in numb horror as both intruders descended upon my precious son's cradle, their movements swift and efficient, devoid of any trace of humanity.

Tears streamed down my face unchecked, my entire being torn apart by the unimaginable agony of witnessing such brutality against my own flesh and blood. Every fibre of my being screamed to intervene, to protect him, but I was paralyzed by fear and shock.

The sack they brought with them soon bulged with the weight of my son's head, their callous satisfaction cutting through me like a knife.

Then, as if snapped out of a trance, a surge of primal instinct took hold of me. With Jaehaera clutched tightly to my chest, I turned and ran my vision clouded by tears and fear.

Desperation fueled me as I dashed towards the stairs, every part of me focused on reaching safety. Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to overwhelm me, but I pushed forward, driven by the need to protect my remaining child at all costs.

To my horror, there was no sign of the Kingsguard. Dread surged through me, clouding my thoughts and then, disaster struck. My foot caught on the edge, sent me crashing to the ground with a sharp thud.

The world blurred into a fog of grief and terror as I stumbled, my vision dimming, consumed by the horror of what I had just witnessed.

My son, my sweet Jaehaerys... gone.

Pain shot through my body, but it was nothing compared to the anguish that gripped my soul. Jaehaera startled awake by the commotion awoke and I finally let out a piercing cry.

Before I could gather my bearings, rapid footsteps approached, and strong arms enveloped my trembling form. Aegon rushed to my side, his eyes wild with fear, his face a mask of panic and fury as he assessed the scene before him.

"What happened?" His voice trembled as he gently pressed his hand over the cut on my neck, trying to staunch the bleeding.

"They killed him," I managed to choke out between sobs, my voice breaking with every syllable. "They killed our boy, Aegon."

A guttural cry of anguish tore from his throat, mirroring the devastation in my own heart, a sound that would haunt me forever.

"Who did this?" His voice cracked with desperation, his eyes searching mine for answers that I couldn't provide in my shattered state.

I could only bow my head, desperate tears coating my cheeks, unable to find the words to articulate the horror that had unfolded moments ago.

"Lock the place down! Nobody leaves!" Aegon's command rang out with authority, his fury fueling the urgency of the guards who swiftly moved to secure the area.

Their faces were grim, hardened by the gravity of the situation.

"Aegon, he's dead," I repeated, my voice a hollow whisper, as he held me tighter.

Aegon's hands trembled as he tried to shield me from the brutal reality of our loss. "I swear to you," he vowed through clenched teeth, his voice thick with determination and sorrow, "we will find them. They will pay for this."

But his words felt distant, like echoes in a void. My mind replayed the last moments in the nursery, the terror, the helplessness, the sight of Jaehaerys being ripped from me. Each thought was a dagger to my heart, each memory a fresh wound.

I clung to Aegon, my body shaking with sobs, as the reality of our shattered lives sank in.

"Aegon," I gasped, my eyes locking onto his with desperation. "It hurts," I whispered, my hands instinctively cradling my swollen belly.

The pain intensified to an unbearable level, drowning out Aegon's voice filled with concern amidst the flurry of activity around me.

As darkness closed in, I reached for him once more, my voice barely a whisper, "Aegon... it hurts."

The pain wasn't just physical, it was a deep, all-consuming agony that hollowed out my soul.

The last thing I remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was the haunting echo of the queen dowager's screams resonating through the hall.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

When I woke later, I found myself lying in bed, the soft light of dawn filtering through heavy curtains. My head felt heavy as I struggled for a moment to recall where I was. Then, I felt the warm, reassuring grip of Aegon's hand clasping mine.

The maester stood nearby, his expression a mix of relief and ease.

"You are awake," he said softly. "The babe is fine, your grace. The pain and discomfort were due to strain and worry, nothing more. Rest assured, both you and the babe are safe."

"Aegon," I gasped again, turning my head to find his eyes filled with concern and love. "I want to see Jaehaera," I insisted, urgency trembling in my voice. I threw off the sheets and attempted to stand, but Aegon quickly rose and gently eased me back into bed.

"Please, rest," he urged, his tone both soothing and firm.

Just then, a voice called from the doorway, "Your Grace." It was one of the guards, and beside him stood Jaehaera. The sight of her filled my heart with relief and joy.

As soon as she saw me, Jaehaera broke free from the guard and rushed to the bed, throwing herself into my arms. I held her close, feeling her small, warm body against mine.

"Mother," Jaehaera whispered, her voice muffled as she buried her face in my neck. I stroked her hair, crying softly.

"My sweet girl," I murmured, my voice choked with emotion.

Though Jaehaera was too young to grasp the full extent of our loss, she sensed the absence of her brother. I tried to be strong for her, but my own strength was waning, my heart too shattered to offer comfort.

In the following weeks, Aegon and I grew distant, our shared grief creating an insurmountable chasm between us. He became consumed by his quest for vengeance, while I found myself trapped in a relentless cycle of despair.

Our conversations dwindled, filled more with echoes of pain than words of solace.

One night, I sat alone in the dimly lit nursery, clutching one of Jaehaerys's tiny blankets close to my chest. His scent lingered, a bittersweet reminder of what we had lost.

Unable to contain the torrent of grief any longer, I allowed myself to weep freely. The tears flowed unrestrained, a mixture of sorrow and anger that had been building since that dreadful night.

Aegon found me there, his face etched with sorrow as he knelt beside me. His hand rested gently on my shoulder.

"They will answer for what they've done" he whispered with resolve, his voice tinged with heartbreak.

But as I looked into his eyes, I knew that no amount of vengeance could fill the void left by Jaehaerys's death.

The wound was deep, aching with a pain that would never truly heal.

A/n - I did listen to Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby by Cigarettes After Sex on repeat whilst writing, might have influenced some of the heartache

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #team green #aegon the second #aegon targaryen #king aegon #hotd aegon

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randombush3 · 10 days ago

Text

busco lo de antes

alexia putellas x reader

prologue, que te quiero

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 5200

content warnings: brief mention of alcoholism

notes: i realised halfway through this that everyone's name (bar eli) begins with an 'a'. bit stupid of me tbh

The day you leave the hospital begins with the man in the bed beside you dying. Bodies surround him, first to save his life, then to remove him from the ward, and, after that, you are no longer dreading the thought of returning home.

Home. That might not be the word for it.

Alexia picks you up, all tentative questions and awkward smiles, and walks you to a shining Cupra that looks just as futuristic as the iPhone she takes out to show the nurses something or other. You want to ask about it but figure it’ll make her turn that pale shade she goes whenever she remembers you’re not quite you.

“Where’s Amaia?” you ask to distract yourself from the ache of your ribs where the cracks haven’t healed. The seatbelt of the car presses against the bruises on your chest, a stark reminder of what happened the last time you sat in a vehicle like this, but you can’t recall any of it and therefore it is almost like it never happened.

“School,” Alexia replies quietly, as though she is afraid to speak louder and scare you away. You feel a bit like an idiot at her response, because of course she is. It’s a weekday and that’s what children do. “I thought it best that she stayed somewhere else tonight, so you’ll see her tomorrow. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

A sense of protection befalls you. Even if you don’t remember her, she is your daughter. Yours. “Where is she staying?”

Alexia focuses on the road for a moment. Whether she is being cautious because of the accident or because she needs to stare broodily at something to fight off her tears, you’re not sure. She is turning into somewhere quiet: tree-lined streets and quiet curiosity. “Amaia,” Alexia takes a deep breath, “is staying with my mother, Eli. She used to look after her when you first moved to Barcelona.”

“Five years ago,” you tell her, hating how hopeful she looks at the tidbit of information. It has been learnt along with other important things, such as Amaia’s birthday and the details of your job. They provide brilliant health insurance, it turns out. “From… London?”

She nods. “Yeah. You told me once that you missed the sunshine of Spain as though you were from the south.” You can’t help the build up of guilt in your stomach as she smiles at the memory, choosing to watch as she parks the car in an underground garage. “Your firm has an office here.”

You unbuckle the seatbelt slowly, the strap peeling away from your bruised chest like a second skin. The pressure of it lingers, a phantom ache that settles alongside the sharpness in your ribs that make you crave the satisfaction of painkillers. Alexia is already outside the car, standing by the open door on your side, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. Her eyes flicker over you, the way they always do; cautious, worried, and like she’s afraid you might fall to pieces if she makes one wrong move.

Having stiffened over the course of the drive, you clamber rather elegantly out of the car. She doesn’t offer to help – doesn’t say a word – but her presence hums with restraint. The lift is an even quieter affair, save for the faint whir of machinery and the tap of Alexia’s thumb against her phone screen. There is a pause as she twists a key in the lock of the lift’s control panel, but then she goes back to her text messages. Without looking, she presses the button for the top floor, and up you go.

“It’s a penthouse,” she explains when the doors slide open into a spacious hallway. Her hesitation causes her to hang back, so you boldly take the first step towards a place you cannot recall. It smells faintly of lavender and freshly polished wood, and, despite not knowing much about Alexia, you fail to be surprised by the immaculacy of the place. The scent, however, stirs nothing in you.

It’s warm, bathed in late afternoon sunlight that spills through large windows. You take another step, pushing yourself to move further inside, but a rack of shoes – sizes varying – catches your attention and you slip your own off. There is a gap between two pairs of Nike trainers, but you elect to place them to the side, just in case that’s not where they go.

There are photos lining the walls, and the occasional piece of art (either child-drawn or watercolour paintings of various destinations you don’t remember visiting). And it’s nice. The kind of space you can tell someone loves because of the small things; plants thriving in mismatched pots, books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, pens scattered on the floor in front of the TV.

It feels like someone else’s life. That same imposterous sense you get when you walk through a showroom, wondering about the imaginary people who could live there.

Alexia locks something behind you (you’re not entirely sure of the security system of this place) and seems to hover until you turn around to face her. “We bought it together,” she says, her tone careful and deliberate, like she’s meticulously placing each word into existence. “A little over a year ago.”

Your stomach knots. “Together?”

Her nod does not hide how her smile falters. “Yes, we–” She swallows. “I was pretty much staying over at yours every night, but you said you wanted something that was ours. We spent months searching for somewhere and this felt… perfect. Amaia was sold the moment the agent mentioned the pool. She spent most of the summer out there.”

You pretend not to notice the cracks in her voice. You’re not sure for whose sake.

“Do you… do you remember it?” she asks, and her voice is so small, so terrified, that you feel like a monster when you shake your head.

Alexia’s smile doesn’t fall all at once. It wobbles, withering in stages; a dam straining under its weight before it gives way. She nods too quickly, eyes too wide, face frozen in painfully forced understanding. “That’s okay,” she says, too brightly, voice contorting, twisting like a knife inside of her. “It’s fine. You’re still healing. That’s what matters.”

It’s brittle and raw, the way her words hang in the air. Her mustered conviction makes it seem like saying them out loud will make them true, and you want to say something, anything, to take the sting away, but the sentences tumble down your throat like loose pebbles on an unclimbable mountain. Your ribs ache as you shift your weight, and the pain feels almost deserved. Alexia clears her throat and gestures vaguely towards the leather three-seater in the middle of the living space. “Sit.” It’s not a question. “I’ll make us some coffee. Or–” She catches herself, her voice weakening. “Do you want a coffee?”

And you hide your surprise at the question, because if Alexia and you have this life, this home together, she’d know you will always want a coffee. Maybe you are just as much a stranger to her as she is to you. From now on, at least.

“That was stupid, wasn’t it?” She laughs with a coarse hack, as though her throat is sore. “You will never say no to that. I started switching it out with decaf because you’d be vibrating by lunchtime.”

You offer her a smile although it feels like a betrayal to accept her kindness when your presence is clearly killing her.

She disappears into the kitchen and you lower yourself carefully onto the sofa. It’s soft, comfortable, but frustratingly unfamiliar. Your gaze drifts to the photos hanging on the wall. A picture of a smiling child in Alexia’s arms, holding up a World Cup trophy (2010 is more recent in your memory than most people’s). You’re there too, one hand on Alexia’s shoulder, grinning with teary eyes. You exuberate pride, and Alexia does too, beaming at the photographer as she holds on tightly to the little girl.

Amaia.

You glance away quickly, clawed by a guilty terror. The books on the coffee table are a haphazard mix: novels, colouring books, one thick volume of the history of Catalunya. A pair of sunglasses rests atop them – chic but not gaudily luxurious. You wonder if they’re yours.

“We loved this place.” You look up as Alexia sets a mug down on the coffee table in front of you, holding another in trembling hands as she perches on the edge of the armchair opposite. “You said it felt like a dream being here. We hadn’t expected to… get on so well.” Her gaze fixes just over your shoulder, eyes just as anguished as the breath she draws in. “And we used to sit here every night, when you could no longer be called by clients and Amaia was asleep. We’d plan. It could be anything, what we were doing that weekend, what we were doing in ten years. But I like planning and you knew that, so we’d talk about everything we wanted to do. You wanted to take Amaia to Bilbao. She hasn’t been there since she was a baby.”

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for an absent nod that lights a flare of agony.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, setting her mug down. Her voice breaks with the apology. “I didn’t mean to…” She swallows, the sound thick with tears she is trying to hold back. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to look at you and not see the person who–”

She cuts herself off, pressing a hand over her mouth as her shoulders shake.

Your heart lurches. “Alexia,” you murmur, her name foreign on your tongue. It’s the only thing you can think to offer, although it is woefully insufficient.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, swiping at her tears. “I told myself I was going to be strong for you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to hold everything together when I feel like I’ve already lost you.” Her voice cracks and her hands clench into fists on her lap. “You’re here, but you’re not here. Do you know how–” She chokes on the words, her head dropping forwards. “Do you know how much that hurts?”

“Everyone I thought I loved is gone.” It’s the first time you have said it aloud. “Everything I knew is no longer true, or it is outdated with painful hilarity. And I have a daughter whose name I couldn’t even remember.”

“She’s named after your–”

“My mother.” Alexia looks at you, curiosity dulling the strength of her sobs. “They told me.” You pause. “I tried to call my father the second day I was awake.” She winces at the incoming story, aware of it because of the doctors and unsuspecting that you would mention it. “No one had thought to let me know that he died.”

“He–”

“He was an alcoholic, I found out.”

Palms rub her cheeks to clear the tears, and she sits up straighter. “You weren’t in contact by the time we met. You didn’t even go to his funeral.”

“And yet my fiancée neglected to bring it up.” Standing, you ignore the ache of a battered body. “If you don’t mind, I need to rest.” You hesitate, the sight of her tear-glossed eyes rooting you to the spot for one agonising moment. You force yourself to snap out of it. “I’m sure I’ll find the bedroom.”

…

Amaia prides herself on being deemed a ‘clever girl’. The teachers at school search for her hand in the air when no one else can find the answer, and all the grown-ups in her life include her in places most girls wouldn’t belong. Like the changing room at the Joan Gamper, where people say words she is not allowed to repeat (where Alexia sometimes joins in, and asks that she be a superspy and not let it slip to you that she has engaged in such incivility).

After training, when the mood is lighter and the air is heavy with laughter, the girls will ask why she hasn’t got her boots on, or chastise her for slacking on training when everyone else is muddy and tired. She always giggles at that, because it is a ridiculous notion that she’d be out there with them! But Amaia understands, even at her age, that this is special – sacred, even. She knows to be patient and wait for Alexia to finish leading, to switch back into Mamá Alexia, and to get on with her homework until she is given a reason to be distracted.

The last time she was there, Mapi had joked about teaching her to take long, bendy freekicks. Amaia had scrunched her nose and declared, self-assured and stubborn, that she will continue to prefer goalkeeping. Alexia always needs someone to practise against, and she is determined to prove herself a worthy opponent.

Alexia had laughed at that, a laugh so pure and proud that Amaia felt like the funniest girl in the world.

But tonight, Amaia isn’t at the training ground. She’s perched at the dining table in Yaya Eli's kitchen, her knees tucked under her chin, staring at a photograph stuck onto the fridge: herself, Alexia, and you. The picture is sunny and bright, taken on the beach last summer, but now, as she looks at her family, her stomach hurts.

“Are you going to eat that, petita?” Eli’s voice breaks her train of thought. The older woman gestures at the plate of tortilla and salad in front of Amaia, her face tired but kind.

She shakes her head. “Not hungry.”

Eli hums softly, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she walks over. A chair scrapes on the tiled floor as she makes room for herself to sit down, and then she is resting her hands gently on Amaia’s knees, a silent request for her to sit properly. “You’ve hardly eaten all day, Maieta. Què passa en aquest cervellet teu?”

Frowning, Amaia replies, “Do you think Alexia is sad?”

A beat passes, Eli caught between the truth and the comfort a white lie could bring. “I think,” she begins carefully, “that Alexia is feeling a lot of things right now. Just as I know you are.” She brushes a hand down Amaia’s back, willing the solemn tension in her spine to dissipate.

Amaia stares at the photo on the fridge. “Ama is so different.” Your smile is familiar. Yours. And she can’t remember the last time she saw it. “It’s like she’s not even there.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and two hearts ache because of just how much Amaia understands.

Quietly, Amaia asks her second question. “Does she still love me?”

Eli swallows her in a hug and cannot bring herself to ever let go.

…

A fortnight passes.

You sleep in your bedroom, Alexia in the spare. Amaia seems busy but, with no calendar on the fridge to tell you when things are, you have little idea as to what she is doing. You try to ask her about her day, making an effort to get to know her, but the conversation always turns stale, buckling under the weight of your guilt for its need and her discomfort at talking to someone so familiar like they are a stranger.

With no work and strict instructions to rest, there is not much to do between the declining doctor’s appointments and episodes of wallowing.

The penthouse is large and luxurious, but the walls soon grow tiresome.

Alexia bought you a new phone when you had been cleared to look at screens again. She had come back with something else in the bag too, something lost in the accident, but held off on gifting it. It sits in the corner of the room, its presence almost accusatory. You’re not an idiot, you know what it is. You suppose Alexia wants to choose when to open Pandora’s box. You allow her that control, that comfort. The phone, at least, has proven to be a necessary tether, though you’ve hesitated to use it for much more than practicalities (like looking up who the current Prime Minister is, embarrassingly). Today, though, alone and finished with the idea of sitting in a silent home like a guest overstaying their welcome, you muster the nerve to call one of the few numbers you’d bothered to save.

It takes three attempts to connect. The first time, you freeze when you hear the ring. The second, your trembling thumb threatens to cancel the call just as it begins. But on the third, a gruff voice answers.

“Kaixo?”

He sounds the same, you think, if not a bit older. He’s your brother and he is familiar, which is refreshing.

You clear your throat. “It’s me.”

A pause stretches, heavy and uncertain. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, disbelief blended with relief. “Is it really you? They said you– I mean, we weren’t sure…” His voice breaks off.

“It’s me,” you repeat, softer now, guilt pulling at each syllable. “How are you, Asi?”

The laugh you get is mean, because it does not hide the ridiculousness of the question. Asier is the eldest and he is the wisest, too, although you’d be loath to admit it. Beneath him are two other brothers, Ander and Adrian. The latter was who you last remember speaking to: a shouting match in your father’s house, both sides hysterical. You had walked out, then.

“The last thing you should remember about me is how I asked you to get an abortion.” His voice is distant, emotions running through it no longer raw and real. For him, that was a decade ago. “You could’ve called sooner,” he then says.

“I didn’t know what to say,” you admit. Anger bubbles inside at the thought of the three of them in Bilbao, residue from how things were left. Asier isn’t wrong about what he asked you to do. Even now, he refuses to lie.

“Say you’re okay.”

A lump forms in your throat. You almost choke on it trying to get the words out. “Ez, ez nago ondo.”

“How can I fix this?” he asks, but for a while, the only thing you can hear in his voice is fear.

He speaks for what feels like hours, attempting to cover everything that happened between then and now. He’s married. His twins turned six last month. They visited you and Amaia in Barcelona a year ago, and he gave Alexia enough shovel talk for her to become positively terrified of him. He skirts around the death of your father, a mystery he clearly doesn’t want to help you solve, and he similarly avoids the argument you had. “We’re… on good terms. All of us,” is the most you get.

Finally, he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to let go of something heavy. “I don’t know how to help you forgive us again. It was hard enough the first time. But I do know one thing: you are not going through this alone. You’re never alone, not anymore.”

You haven’t heard him be so gentle, so caring for a long time. The Asier you remember was strict, stubborn, and destined to be just as great a man as your father.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your fingers tightening around the phone, a desperate yearning rising in you. Something needs to change. You need it to.

The air feels thick – too thick – and Barcelona is suddenly too far away.

“I– Asier, I…” The words almost refuse to come out. Something rustles on the other end, his clothes maybe, and it’s like he has leant forwards. You clear your throat, steadying yourself. “Can I… can I visit you? Can I come home?”

There’s a pause, and you regret asking. It makes no sense. Your home is here, according to the doctors and Alexia and the roots you have dug into the ground. But then Asier speaks again, his voice quiet but not unkind.

“Are you sure?” His tone isn’t harsh but there is an air of caution in the way he proceeds.

“I’m not really sure of anything.” And it is set. You know what you are going to do. This is the family you remember.

That evening, you wait patiently for Alexia to have enough of talking at you about her day and her life and how ‘the girls’ – whose names you can’t seem to grasp – were wondering if you’d like to watch their next home match. (She detaches herself from the request. You’ve noticed that she’s stopped trying to ask things of you, focusing mainly on educating you about Amaia. Her selflessness is impressive.) When she leaves you with a wish for you to sleep well and an awkward space of time that you assume would once have been filled with a kiss, you open your phone onto Google and purchase a ticket for the first flight to Bilbao. Living in Sarrià and sending Amaia to an international school are clear signs that the ticket will make no dent in your bank account, and Alexia has already set up your cards for you on your phone, so all you have to do is double click and stare at the camera that can apparently recognise your face.

It’s raining in Bilbao when your flight touches down. Alexia had left twenty minutes before your taxi to the airport arrived. It was a relatively seamless journey.

Asier is grinning in the arrivals section of the airport. “Do you have a coat?” is his greeting. You match his expression, holding up one you’d bought en route. “The boys have taken the day off. We’re going for drinks.” You’re about to decline the alcoholic implication, but he beats you to it. “You can have lemonade.”

He drives a nice car and his hair is clipped in a way that reminds you of your father. Military men.

“You’re not in uniform,” you state as he reverses the car out of its spot, staring straight ahead in order to shake the feel of his eyes flickering over to you every now and then.

“I’m on leave.”

“Because of me?”

He sucks in a breath. “My commanding officer wouldn’t let me argue with him. I’ll go back tomorrow. I’ve been posted here permanently.”

“Like Aita,” you say proudly, because look at the man he has become. He was always on this path, but it is nice to see his hard work come to fruition.

Asier’s nose, however, scrunches at the comparison. “That is something we need to talk about, actually. But I thought it was best to do it with the two nutters present. And alcohol.” He quickly adds, “For us.”

After that, he doesn’t speak much. He’s still the same, quiet, authoritative figure you used to lean on, except now there’s a softness to him, an almost apologetic quality when he catches your eye. You try not to prickle every time you remember the last thing he had said to you, because it’s not a true telling of the past. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to trust yourself.

His intrinsic wariness continues to exist; the same kind he bore a decade ago, only heavier, more experience. You don’t know why, and you’re not sure you care to. You’re still angry at them, at the way everything was left, and it begins to build the closer you get to the house you grew up in.

The streets of Bilbao are slick, puddles splashing at curbs, the air growing fresher as you move through neighbourhoods you recognise for once. The city here has a pulse that Barcelona’s neat. Sunny streets can never match, and that pulse settles something in you, even as you silently brace for what’s to come.

Asier pulls into your road. The houses are still large, still intimidating and orderly, with gates that hint at important secrets being kept within the walls. He must have inherited your childhood home, but only the colour of the brick echoes what it once was. There’s a swing on the front lawn, tall enough for the top bar to be seen above the wrought iron gates, and when the gates open, you can tell a happy family lives here. You get the sense that your mother’s absence was more obvious than it felt.

The gravel crunches under the tires of his car as he parks. “We moved in three years ago, had the whole place redone. We tried to rip out that sense of regime and… severity.” He hesitates. “And the stench of alcohol.” Your interest is piqued by that, taking the bait like a stupid fish. He’s amused by it. “Come on.” And he gets out.

You smile faintly and follow him onto the porch, stepping over the deflated basketball discarded on the tiled stairs.

The inside has colour now, no longer so uniform and stark. As much as you love – loved – your father, the man struggled to design a home. It’s nice. Really, you like what he’s done with the place.

Asier gestures for you to follow him into the living room, electric blue and full of pictures. Your two other brothers, Ander and Adrian, are seated on the sofas, both sprawled out and lazily watching a recap of the football as though this were a normal visit. Hesitantly, you make your presence known.

Adrian is the first to notice, his face lighting up at the sight of you. You don’t know what you expected to see, but this isn’t it. His expression softens immediately, and for a split second, you see a glimpse of the little boy he once was, sheepish and guilty of crimes he hasn’t yet committed.

“You’re not too banged up,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle and impressed. The rest of the room goes quiet and you can feel the tension rise, but it’s not as sharp as you thought it would be. Maybe it’s because time has passed for them. You can’t say the same.

Then Ander leans forwards, far less subtle. “You forgave me. So before you shout at me again, make sure you keep that in mind.” He doesn’t seem irritated or put off, just a bit inconvenienced and… bored. It takes you by surprise and kills the fight in your throat momentarily. He pounces on your silence: “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”

You shake your head, both to disagree and snap yourself out of the blip of absolution because that is something you don’t remember yet. You don’t feel soft. Not at all. You feel sharp, like the ache in your chest won’t ever leave, like you’ve been carrying something for a long time and it needs to be addressed. You look away.

“I kept the baby.” It’s an obvious statement. Asier already said he’s visited you and Amaia. “I moved away and I had a child, and what did you three do?”

“You told us you were leaving. You asked us not to follow, not to reach out.” Adrian is referencing something you can’t recall. “And you nearly didn’t keep her. Asi was coming from a place of reason.”

“It doesn’t need justification,” Asier says calmly. You’re not sure whose side he’s on. “Adrian is right. You asked us not to interfere. It’s not that we didn’t care, but you made it clear you didn’t want us to. We respected that.”

The room feels colder with the weight of his words, but there’s no bite to them, no condemnation. It’s just the truth. And the truth stings more than you anticipated. “I was a child.”

“You insisted you weren’t. That was your main point, actually,” says Ander.

Adrian fidgets in his seat, his gaze darting between you and Asier. “We were stupid and we regretted it. Dad regretted it too, though he never admitted that.” The boys grow more pained at the mention of him. “I don’t know how we could’ve helped, even if we’d tried. None of us were ready to hear that our baby sister was… not a baby anymore.”

It doesn’t reach you in the way they should. Your mind spins, but it’s not in anger anymore. It’s a sort of blankness, a weariness that comes from unnecessary strife and grief and rupture of a network so strong. “I never asked you to leave me alone,” you say quietly, and the boys hear your voice from six years ago layered on top of it, a mirror of the past. This took place over the phone, then, stemming from an argument about your absence from a funeral. “I asked you not to judge me for my choices, but that was never the same thing. And yet, all of you let me go without a word.”

Asier shifts uncomfortably, the glug of a bottle breaking the silence that follows you statement. He hands you a glass. “Lemonade,” he says.

“I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t know how else to say it,” blurts Adrian, who has always been impatient and far too close to you to drag these things out.

Your legs tremble but Asier is there to steady you. “Sit down, txurru. Let’s talk.”

Over drinks, they recount it all. Fight by fight, death by death. No one cries as Asier carefully details your father’s descent into alcoholism; how he lost his footing, how he left his life’s work with no apparent reason, killing himself slowly until one day, there was nothing he could do but actually die. Unflinching, they tell you about the late-night arguments, the doors slamming, the silence that followed. Your father’s temper had fractured the family over the years, though you’d been too blind to see until the day you left, and it did not subside in the years you spent estranged.

They talk about how much they missed you, how they’d send texts to a number you no longer used, or tried to find you on social media. Pride fills the room when Ander talks about finding you on your firm’s website.

For the first time since the accident, you feel tethered to something, something that feels like it could belong to you. These boys – men, really – share your face and they share your past, and, as the lump in your throat falls away, you realise that this is what home feels like.

But that tether is violently yanked away when your phone buzzes.

“Where the fuck are you?!” Alexia’s voice is sharp, teetering on the edge of fury and desperation.

You squint, confused at why she is so upset, then remembering that Alexia isn’t some random woman who reminds you to take your pain medication and drives you to your appointments.

“Bilbao.”

The seconds tick on before Alexia musters the restraint to reply without blowing up your ears from six hundred kilometres away. “You should’ve told me.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound it,” she replies bitterly. For a moment, Alexia seems like she hates your guts. And then she takes a deep breath, leaving the silence to fill the gap between you.

#woso x reader #woso #barca femeni #rm universe #randombush3 #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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yuamin · 4 months ago

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ORORUN REDRAW GUIDE !

i think we’ve all seen the atrocity that is genshin’s unreleased character, ororun. the entirety of natlan is a mess really, but as a yoruba person myself i CANNOT keep quiet about ororun specifically.

outside yoruba mythology, in yoruba, ‘Olorun’ (the name ororun is based on, pronounced o-law-roon , with o pronounced as in orange and the ‘roon’ pronounced shortly, not dragged on at all) is actually the same word we often use to refer to God in Christianity. Christianity is the primary religion among us yorubas so honestly, i was kinda glad they misspelled his name. it would feel SO disrespectful referring to whatever that thing is with the same word we use to refer to God who we actually worship. religion aside, genshin’s depiction of Olorun (cultural god, not Christian one) is downright disgusting. i’d never paid too much attention to genshin and its poor representation, but now that my culture has fallen victim to it, i completely understand all the outrage.

edit: please note that while we use ‘Olorun’ to refer to the Christian God, Olorun is just a general word for ‘god’ itself ! for example if i say “God in heaven” and “god of thunder” we know i’m referring to two different beings, in yoruba it’s the kind of the same—the same word is used to refer to both the Christian and other gods, but we know it’s different, even though olorun can be capitalized regardless of what god we’re talking about (unlike english where the Christian God is capitalized and other gods aren’t) at the end of the day though, when we say “olorun” even without context, we are usually referring to the christian God !

1. PLEASE DO NOT DRAW HIM WITH ANIMAL EARS !

i’ve noticed that hoyoverse has this nasty habit of portraying every dark skinned character as wild or animal-esque. kaeya seems to be the only exception to this. even xinyan, though lacking any animal features, has this wild energy to her. some might call it a stretch, but i feel like her features are pretty feline in comparison to other liyue characters.

Olorun in our culture is the supreme god of the heavens. In my opinion, it is disrespectful to liken him to something akin to an animal. normally i wouldn’t even mind that much, but with how hoyo makes its few dark characters more and more like animals, i can’t help but feel weird about it. its really off putting.

2. HIS HAIR WOULD NOT BE CURLY !

majority of nigerians have 4C HAIR. not wavy hair or loose curls. some have 4B, but 4C is the usual here, that is, kinky or coily hair. Olorun is often portrayed as bald in traditional art, but trust me if he had hair his hair would resemble his people’s, not Tyla’s.

DREADLOCKS ARE A YES ! outside nigeria, locking hair is pretty common, but in nigeria a lot of people have locks naturally. our hair sometimes just grows out that way, no treatment no nothing. dreads are 100% an appropriate style, they look good asf too.

3. PLEASE USE CULTURAL FABRICS IN YOUR DESIGNS !

when i saw ororun’s outfit, i almost started crying. they couldn’t even bother to dress him up a little. they really dressed my brother in a scarf and cape and called it a day 😭 upon how fashionable we nigerians are know to be, hoyoverse still made it their mission to embarrass us stylistically. God knows my people have suffered man 😭

ankara is a traditional nigerian fabric that features bright colors and lots of patterned designs. see below:

here in 9ja, we love our ankara. it’s a big part of our fashion here and trust me it would look excellent in your designs. it’s perfectly fine to draw ororun in normal fabrics since he’s a deity and it’s not like ankara existed back then, but if you really want to represent nigeria, ankara is a must 🙏

i’m going to address another fashion piece because if you search up nigerian fashion you’ll see it a lot: beads.

these orange beads are igbo (another tribe here in nigeria) NOT yoruba. does this mean you can’t use it in olorun’s design ? no ! let me explain. tbh, here in nigeria there’s a bit of...tension between clans. it’s not that common, but older people are definitely a lot more tribalist. as a yoruba i love my igbo brothers and sisters, i truly believe they’re the most fashionable clan and i adore their festivities, they always go over the top. please, just look at them:

(only one image because of image caps, ugh)

anyway, we yorubas wear beads too. but the specific way the beads are worn around the head and in multiple layers round the neck is igbo, not yoruba. though i personally wouldn’t care too much if i saw olorun with igbo beads since all i want is for him to at least look nigerian, at the end of the day he is a yoruba deity. it might be disrespectful to dress the god of one clan as if he belongs to another, especially since there is so much historical ( and very slight but uncommon present ) day tension between both clans.

here’s a more yoruba outfit. sorry yall, it might be hard for you to distinguish if you’re not yoruba or igbo, but a lot of nigerians can tell the difference at a glance. ( actually nowadays, there is so much overlap between yoruba and igbo fashion, but there are many specific styles that may be associated with one tribe and not the other, for example how beads are worn in the above paragraph ) please do your research, he’s not only a nigerian god, but a yoruba one.

one more thing, because i know it will start discourse : skin tone.

nigerians have a very diverse range of skin tones. some of us are so pale, if not for our afrocentric features we could maybe pass for another race. however, ororun is yoruba.

light skinned nigerians are usually igbo. not to say that yorubas can’t be light skin, but here in nigeria if you saw a light skinned person, we’d automatically assume they were igbo. igbo people usually have lighter skin tones. majority of yorubas fall on the more milk to dark chocolate end of the skin tone spectrum. i’m saying this now because i know a lot of people are going to start arguments over ororun being redrawn as ‘too light’ or ‘too dark.’ i don’t really care about complexion, but i thought i’d help you all get your facts right.

that’s it ! if you read all this i’m super thankful. i don’t usually post about this kind of stuff but i honestly love my country and could go on about it for days. nigeria is such a beautiful place with a diverse range of cultures— from hausas to fulanis to so many more. natlan was supposed to be Africa’s time to shine, as well as latin americans, but hoyoverse said fuck you and your people. they did this to an extent with sumeru but natlan was done straight up dirty—not a single melanated character in sight, and the only one who does have melanin, iansan, looks so desaturated you might as well call her grey. i saw someone on tiktok call mualani a dark skinned character—it was at that point that i knew genshin was done for.

please REBLOG this post so it reaches more people and artists in the fandom !! this is literally the third time i’m making this post because tumblr refuses to show it in the tags for some reason 😭 i encourage other cultures who feel misrepresented to make posts like this too. it’s a perfect opportunity to educate and inform people about the diverse cultures genshin has once again failed to represent properly.

Hoyo has never been one to make customer satisfaction their top priority, but we’ve been able to call them out before and i truly believe we can do it again. Natlan is not poor design choice. it is blatant racism, a nation based on POC ethnicities with not a single colored character insight. Hoyoverse has been able to escape racism accusations for as long as i can remember, but natlan is the icing on the cake. we CANNOT allow hoyo to proceed as planned without giving them the appropriate backlash.

Also, if you redraw ororun using this guide, make sure to tag me here or on my main blog, @heartkaji !! i’d love to see all your redesigns. once again, thank you all for reading and have an amazing day !!

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senseandaccountability · 17 days ago

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the narrative that could have been

Having mulled over the game for a couple of days I have realised that the main problem for me is that Veilguard is good based on the premises they ultimately choose, but not based on the set up and promise of what was there before. I know this isn’t a unique take by any means and yes it’s all about the Evanuris and the Veil and Solas.

Replaying really emphasises how incredibly little the game convinces me of its original main quest - to prevent Solas from doing his ritual. This is a problem as a long-term player because for three games we’ve had build up for a great crescendo tackling the overarching themes of the (restrictions and oppression of) magic, of tears in the Veil, of religious tyranny and oppression based on myths about the Black City and the temptations of flawed humans, we’ve seen and deconstructed the elves quite a bit, we got started on the dwarves and in DAI your Inquisitor can openly ask Solas if it wouldn’t be better if the Veil came down because then spirits wouldn’t be separated from the living and risk becoming demons. Cole, whose function is to reflect the plot, talks endlessly about the old songs wanting to be sung again, about how it hurts to be cut off from part of yourself, how the templars feel it, how the mages feel it, how the elves and the dwarves feel it. The Veil as a prerequisite for life has been deconstructed, the Fade demystified, the gods have mostly fallen. The Veil as an actual wound inflicted on this earth has been presented as a theory and not been convincingly rejected by the narrative.

The game actually gives no explanation whatsoever as to why the Veil coming down would be worse than what Rook causes in the beginning and what the escaped gods then do to the entire Thedas. The entire south falls to the Blight because Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain are let loose. The Wardens are more or less wiped out. There’s enormous political turmoil. The game gives us Solas saying “thousands” would die when he brought the Veil down, but that he had a host of spirits there to help. (Yes, I know, his sole function in this game is to Trick and Deceive so who is to say if he’s lying, HUH, but even so, THE ENTIRE SOUTH FALLS TO THE BLIGHT IN ROOK’S VERSION OF THINGS.)

The game puts emphasis on Solas's questionable methods and past horrors but it doesn't ever explain why his goals are despicable here and now. It doesn't convince us that tearing down the Veil with lots of safety measures in place and after considerations is a bad result, all things considered - save for Varric’s initial yelling about demons. (We even learned in DAI that the Veil itself creates demons because it restricts the passage of spirits, come on.) Because three games have suggested it's not, not ultimately. Trespasser especially nuances this, just as it nuances Solas’s view of this current world state. Right after his long nap he would have nuked it all, I’m sure, but the whole point of character arcs is that things happen in them and what happened to him is that he was shown layers and angles he had not considered and adjusted his mindset and ultimately his plan accordingly. That is where DAV should have picked it up. That's where the build up was headed. But, now he must serve the narrative solely as the God of Treachery and Lies which means that previous build up is washed away for the most part. (In no way do I think he is OOC in DAV, I just want to point that out so nobody thinks I’m a sappy fangirl or whatever. I think he is perfectly in tune with his inner Dread Wolf, but that is also all he gets to be, because of the narrative, and I’m always much more interested in when roles and personas clash.) Again. The main problem is that the narrative cannot explain why bringing down the Veil would be the worse option than the shit we see unfold on screen. Instead it gets a bit lost in the past. And I have Issues with that, as well. Like, the dumbing down of the war against the Evanuris. The war that started because the leaders of the rebellion - who previously had to carry out terrible orders so the Evanuris, the upper crust of the Elvhenan, could play gods - decided that the Evanuris was a threat to them all. And the game gives us what, a depiction of how the rebellion ended up crossing lines, too? No shit.

Like, I am fully on board with the individual theme of regret on Solas’s part and he ought to be wrecked with guilt but I wish the game could be less all over the place with what sort of things he ought to be wrecked with guilt over. Saying fuck you to the Evanuris is the best and brightest of his character, I suppose I just don't want it dragged down to the same level as him breaking the Titans. I suppose I would have wished for a narrative that also worked on a systemic level when depicting things like, you know, war and revolutions and subjugation. But we don't have that, because DAV is only about personal choices. The Lighthouse crew flippantly writing the hierarchical and violent power struggle off as being about love and betrayal is on my shitlist forever.

No, Taash et al, it was not about pussy, it was about feeling compelled by superiors to commit heinous war crimes and being lied to about the actual purposes of your damn war in the first place. The elves shouting at Elgar’nan and Mythal in this painting aren’t driven by love and sex they have been lied to by their ruling class. It was never about freedom or ending the wars, it was always about Elgar’nan jerking off to ultimate godhood. The writing even suggests betrayal here is to be understood as Netflix drama betrayal, maybe some juicy porny plot but it’s ABOUT THE BETRAYAL OF THE ELVES BY THEIR OWN KIN. ((ETA: I would have wanted my Dalish mage to be allowed to be furious, NOT WITH SOLAS, but with the fucking Evanuris for betraying her people and being so fucking vile that the only option that remained was to create a world where she's a second-class citizen. I would have wanted the game to recognize that not all causes are equal and that Elgar'nan's cause for godhood was objectively more vile than Solas's cause for freedom because as it stands now, there are some really iffy vibes of "both sides are equally bad" and other things authorities tend to say when comparing destructive regimes with uprisings.)) I’m sorry, this shit hits me on a personal and political rage level.

I also can’t help but mourn a game where the Trickster God fulfilled his trope’s duty and shook the stagnation apart with his actions - for good or ill, the way trickster gods are wont to do - and where Rook was tricked into helping and then, a more complex game about its consequences could have unfolded. The Evanuris could still have been the bad guys, if they wanted big villains frothing at the mouth. There could still have been numerous unplanned consequences, like all of Solas's plans have. Maybe other ancients awake as well. Maybe ancient evils who aren’t elves, who knows. Point is - the Veil should have come down, at least in some form, at least in some outcome. THAT is what they've been building up to. In this game that never was, Rook could be an actual interesting character where we could mold her as either accepting of this trickster role (which fits perfectly for a blank slate with no ties) or set to overturn it and enforce status quo, with some vanilla option in the middle. Maybe the Veil doesn’t come down until the very end of the game, ancient magic takes time after all, maybe a lot has happened by then. But ultimately, Rook’s choice in the end should not have been about siding against Solas because he’s lying to you or because he did horrible things in the past or siding with him because you want him redeemed. The narrative should have provided those options either way. The narrative should have been brave enough to suggest that hey, maybe Solas isn't wrong at all - his methods maybe, but his goal, no. If they truly wanted mirrors between Rook and Solas, Rook should have tackled the issue of actively bringing down the Veil herself, not because it's a roses and sunshine-outcome but because it might very well be the lesser of two evils. Gods, that would have been interesting. It should have been a choice about what sort of world Rook and the Veilguard wants to see in the future. It should have been about the people, the world, not how angry Rook is that an ancient elf has tricked her.

That would have been the game I wanted to play. This story doesn't really give anything new to the world of Thedas, which a world without the Veil would have. It accomplishes closure for our favourite trickster god and bless them for that, but as for the plot and the world-building it ends on a meh because the narrative isn't about the people unless they're brought up as being endangered. This is why I can feel satisfaction regarding the thematic conclusion to certain character arcs, the trickster becomes the healer with the bloodiest hands, the wolf submits willingly to his trap and so on and so forth, and I can have fun with the characters and their arcs but also really mourn the game that was there, in subtext and build up over three previous games and in several tie-ins.

#salty on main #datv #datv spoilers #solas dragon age #datv critical

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beensbaee · 5 months ago

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𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒚𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒆 ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

summary; neteyam has the girl of his dreams right in front of him - but he cannot have her because she belongs to someone else. (does that stop him though? NOPE!)

word count; 4.2k

HIS SACRED SUN

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Neteyam Sully thought he was able to do anything he set his mind to.

As the oldest son of Toruk Makto, he strived to live up to his fathers image. His parents never failed to tell him of his importance, helping him understand exactly who he was and giving him the confidence to overcome anything.

Until her.

She stuck out like no other na'vi he'd ever meet. Her face something captivating and so charming - yet dangerous. Lethal.

She was the girl that had him turning around for a second glance. The girl that had his heart beating like a crazed drum. The girl he'd kill for.

In his eyes, she was perfect. Perfect in every way. Perfect for him.

Except for the distinctive fact that made her so untouchable.

She belonged to someone else.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Y/n sat with a group of teenage na'vi, all whom were giving their absolute attention to her as she stood tall, arms outstretched as she told them of her recent hunt. Her eyes gleamed with pride as she explained in detail exactly how she managed to escape the animals surprise attack

Neteyam sat towards the back of the group, where he was almost out of her view. He closed his eyes as he took in the sound of her voice

Smooth - so smooth. Like liquid. She spoke confidently. Expressively with the same radiant smile he was so infatuated with

When she finished, she sat back down as the next story teller went up. The girls around her swarmed her figure - raving on how brave she was during her hunt - or how they liked the gems that hung low on her neck

He loved how politely she'd respond to the compliments. Even blushing at some, unable to hide the flush on her cheeks.

As the teens quieted down for the next speaker, he watched Y/n comfortably stretch her legs out in front of her. The beads in her hair clinking together quietly as she moved. Her arms were behind her as she tipped her head up towards the boy who was talking to the rest of the group. He was beginning to tell his own tale

Any word the boy said went right through one ear and out the other, and he could feel his mind slipping and unable to even take in his surroundings as she became the only thing he could focus on

She could sense his gaze. He knew this because her eyes moved directly to him. She held eye contact for a beat. Two beats. Before turning away with a smile.

She didn't look at him again for the rest of the time the teens spent sharing stories. As the last volunteer to share theirs ended with a round of applause, the teens slowly began dispersing into smaller groups and began talking amongst themselves

He looked for Y/n, and after seeing her standing with a group of girls and nodding her head along to whatever they were saying - he seized the opportunity to speak with her.

He was by her side in less than a minute, and her friends gave her a surprised glance as she turned to Neteyam. They respectfully moved so Neteyam could speak with her, giving him room to talk to her privately.

"Neteyam Sully. Oel ngati kameie." She said sweetly, giving him a smile that had his tail flicking behind him lively

"Y/n. Oel ngati kameie. I had to come and say, your encounter with the Slinth was something only someone like you could fight." He said, his words holding true respect as her lips tipped upwards into a familiar grin

"Thank you, truly. But I must say, there is no one else like me." She said, a playful glint in her eyes, and Neteyam was sure his eyes could have been mistaken for hearts with the way he looked at her

He smiled, fangs and all. Just as he was about to speak - the boy he dreaded interrupted their conversation with a scowl plastered on his face

"Y/n, I was looking for you." Arutey said, moving and standing too close to Neteyam - almost as if to push him out of his way

His ears flattened against his head in disappointment as Y/n's eyes moved away from him and towards Arutey

"Yes, Arutey?" She asked, her tone sounding like she was holding in a sigh as he shook his head

"It's private." He said, almost snapping at her as Y/n frowned. She turned to Neteyam and bowed her head in goodbye. She gave him an apologetic look as Neteyam shook his head

"Do not worry about it. We will speak together another time." He said, eyes hard as Arutey stared at him with a hatred he understood. Anyone could've known how Neteyam felt for Y/n with the way he practically gravitated towards her

But he was a boy with honor, and he understood it was not his place to speak to her right now.

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but Arutey's hand latched around her arm and gently pulled her backwards and away, towards him. Neteyam hated the way his hand moved from her arm and to her palms as he interlocked their fingers. They were walking away from him now - but Y/n turned around for one more glance

She held eye contact for a beat. Two beats. And then, she looked away. But this time, it was with a frown.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He walked to his hammock with his head hanging that night. Arutey wasn't right for her. Why? Well, he couldn't answer that.

He wished his initial dislike for Arutey was for something not related to Y/n. But it was.

Maybe it was how rough he could be - Neteyam knows how Arutey behaves when he's angry. Like how he'd yelled at a younger na'vi for messing up during a hunt - the way the child's eyes welled up with tears had Neteyam ready to crack his bow over Arutey's head.

He knew Y/n would've been upset if she'd seen how he behaved sometimes, but they hadn't been together long enough for her to see that side of him yet.

Or maybe it was the boys ego - too inflated for someone as humble as Y/n.

Or maybe it was because it wasn't him at Y/n's side.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

It was Toruk Makto's yearly celebration of the day the Na'vi won their freedom from the sky people.

Though the Na'vi had many celebrations where they honored the Great Mother and the life they'd been blessed with, Toruk Makto's celebrations were always one to look forward to

Y/n's top was a beautiful shade of purple - made from the petals of Sun Lilies.

From her legs hung beautiful crystals and ornaments that glowed in the moonlight. Her hair was open and out of it's usual braids - falling softly over her shoulders and curling around her

It didn't take Neteyam long to find her. She looked like a flower in bloom with her colorful attire whilst surrounded by the greenery of Pandora

She was talking to a group of girls, laughing at something one of them said

It was a little embarrassing how much time he'd spend watching her from afar - but building the courage to go up to her was something he struggled with.

He knew he couldn't have her, because she wasn't his. But Eywa, sometimes it felt like he was made for her. He knew how silly he would sound if he said it out loud, but he knew - deep down, the love he felt for her would never leave his heart and soul.

Eventually, Lo'ak found Neteyam and dragged him to where he and a group of boys were sitting idly and speaking to each other - obviously intoxicated with something as they spoke loudly and tumbled over their words - laughing.

"Come on, don't be a loner hanging out all by yourself Neteyam." Was what Lo'ak had said to him

Neteyam just rolled his eyes with a laugh. In reality, Neteyam was even more popular than Lo'ak amongst the teenage boys. But, he didn't usually spend too much time with the other boys. They respected the fact that Neteyam liked to be alone sometimes, not even questioning Toruk Makto's son.

Neteyam finally realized Arutey was sitting amongst this group, oblivious to Neteyam's presence. Maybe it was because of how intoxicated the boy was. Neteyam watched him spill his drink as he stood angrily, storming off at something one of the boys had said

"What's wrong with him?" Lo'ak asked as the boy Arutey had been speaking with grinned. He then snickered, straightening himself a little bit as he noticed Neteyam's eyes watching him, like a predator would to its prey, before speaking.

"Just messing with him - his girl doesn't want him anymore." He said as Lo'ak looked at him confused

"What girl is it?" He asked curiously. But Neteyam's head was already turning to find Y/n

She was still sitting with her friends, unknown to the boy who was approaching her

He stood in an instant, following Arutey with furrowed brows as he watched him approach Y/n and drag her away from the party

He watched her protest, trying to get him to let go of her - but his hand held her arm tightly

It was too crowded for her friends to notice that the boy had taken her, only Neteyam had seen the distasteful interaction

Arutey must have been standing behind some tree now, out of sight from the rest of the party. He was slurring his words a bit as he yelled at her. Neteyam could hear his tense voice - but he could not see where they were, as Arutey had moved swiftly when walking with her - and Neteyam had been too far behind to see exactly where he'd gone

His voice grew louder, and Neteyam's anger was growing to the point where it was threatening to snap

Y/n Y/n Y/n

He was yelling at her. Someone was yelling at her.

Neteyan wasn't stupid, he knew the reason Arutey was yelling at her was because of him. And he wouldn't have it go on a single second longer.

His eyes were practically crazed as he searched for her familiar figure.

He followed the voice - hearing the words "You're a liar." and "Unfaithful." echoing through the forest as the voice grew louder - indicating he was getting closer-

He saw her tear streaked face first. The way her lips were parted in shock at Arutey's cruel words as he kept throwing insult after insult.

Arutey's back was to him - but Y/n saw Neteyam approaching them. He felt his stomach physically recoil by the wounded look on her face - but her expression quickly transformed into relief when she saw him

He was furious that Arutey had frightened her so badly - so mad he could've easily killed him with his fury alone. Arutey must have seen the look on her face -because he was turning around to see what she'd been looking at with such wide eyes

But before he could even get a word out - Neteyam's fist collided with his face. A sickening yet satisfying crack meeting his ears as he threw punch after punch.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

They were on each other - throwing hits so powerful it would've knocked out any other regular Na'vi, but the two teens were warriors, and not ready to back down.

Y/n had taken a sharp intake of breath when Neteyam hit Arutey - but she'd let out a cry when Arutey hit Neteyam

"Stop! Please, both of you!" She tried yelling, and the sound of her desperate voice had Neteyam turning away from Arutey and towards her with concern. Unfortunately, that single second of distraction was all Arutey needed as he threw a punch straight at Neteyam's face

"I hate you!" He yelled at Neteyam - his intoxicated mind ready to give his all in this fight with Neteyam

Neteyam merely gritted his teeth and recovered from the hit in an instant - throwing another punch at Arutey as the two of them pummeled each other with flying fists

It seemed their yells had caught the attention of the Na'vi, as they began walking into the forest to see the source of the screaming and fighting

It didn't take long for Toruk Makto to pull Neteyam off of the boy - and for Arutey's friends to pull him away from the confrontation as well

Both boys looked like they could've gone the whole night fighting each other as they were dragged away

Y/n was yelling at Arutey now, slapping the back of his head as he only sat quietly now. She was visibly upset, and Neteyam could only hear her trembling voice as his father yelled at him

"What the hell were you thinking boy? Hey, Neteyam!" He snapped, angrily snapping his fingers in front of Neteyams face - who's mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely

Neteyam blinked, before shaking his head and wiping the blood he felt trickling from his nose with a frown

"I'm sorry dad, I-" He started, but Neytiri quickly cut him off

"We leave Neteyam. Now."

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

After a long lecture from his parents and a proud smirk and slap on the back from Lo'ak, Neteyam struggled to sleep, once again.

He laid in his hammock for maybe an hour before getting up. It took him a second to stand straight, as his head was still a bit dizzy from the hits he'd received from Arutey.

He sighed uncomfortably before his feet took him out and towards the forest - away from his sleeping family.

Neteyam never got into fights. He really was one of the most civil and peaceful Na'vi in the clan. Fighting was something Lo'ak was known for doing. He didn't even know what was going through his mind when he hit Arutey - but seeing Y/n getting yelled at by that Skxawng had triggered something inside of him.

She was easily the bravest teens amongst the clan - known for her flawless hunting and charming personality. But seeing her with Arutey had always upset him. How did he, of every Na'vi to live, have the privilege to be with her?

He knew he could not interfere with someone else's relationship - but Y/n had been his friend before she began her relationship with Arutey. And Neteyam believed he had the right to protect his friend. His dearest friend, no matter what. He valued their friendship like no other.

"Neteyam?"

He turned slowly at his father voice, seeing him standing sleepily and looking at Neteyam confused.

"Come here kid, come on." He gestured, calling him over as they sat down. He saw how tired his dad was, just barely awake as he sat down with Neteyam. He knew he was in for another lecture.

"Dad, you are tired. We can speak in the morning if you want?" He tried reasoning, but Jake shook his head firmly

"Yea, you think we'll get this type of privacy in the day?" He said, laughing quietly as Neteyam gave him a small smile

Jake was quiet for a moment, almost like he was thinking, before he began speaking.

"Now, tell me what happened. What really happened that made you fight that boy today." He said softly, his tone showing no anger as Neteyam stayed quiet, looking at the ground

Jake waited patiently for Neteyam to gather his thoughts

"Dad... well, there's this girl. Her name - it is Y/n." He started, the words foreign on his tongue as he spoke

Jake raised a knowing brow as Neteyam let out a nervous breath. Jake has heard of Y/n briefly, he knew of the girls sweet nature and skills.

The words were hard for Neteyam to speak because, well, he'd never spoken out loud of his feelings for Y/n before

But they sat for maybe an hour, Neteyam pouring out the feelings and the hurt he'd kept bottled up for so long as Jake nodded along quietly, listening more attentively than ever.

When Neteyam was finished talking, the relief he felt was like no other. Jake grabbed Neteyam gently by the shoulders before speaking

"Now, listen to me Neteyam. She is special to you, I gathered that much. And if someone is special to you - you don't ever let them go. I know that from experience. You know... you're mother was promised to someone else when I met her. Now, I'm not saying to go after someone who doesn't belong to you - what I'm saying is, if you truly, in your heart -" He said, tapping Neteyam's chest gently with his finger before continuing, "If you truly feel she doesn't belong with him, that she isn't happy - then you interfere. The fight you got into... well, I hate to say it, but I'm proud you intervened. Don't tell your mother though -" Jake quickly added concerned as Neteyam let out a heartfelt laugh

"Now - go back to sleep boy. Rest, you're tired, I can tell." Jake said, gently pulling the boy up from where they were sitting as Neteyam smiled

"Goodnight dad." Neteyam said. And right when his head hit his hammock, sleep took over his body before he had the chance to fight it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Neteyam had spent his morning deep in Pandora's plentiful forest.

Initially, he wanted to clear his mind. But he couldn't stop himself when he saw the array of flowers that were growing plentifully and basking in the suns rays.

He'd seen his father gift it to his mother - a bouquet was what he'd called it.

It became a tradition of Jake's, constantly getting Neytiri bouquets whenever he was out or when she was mad at him. Neteyam loved seeing his mother's face light up when she'd be greeted by the familiar and beautiful array of flowers.

It took him a while to figure out how to create it - but once it was complete, he couldn't have been more proud.

It was colorful, and smelled so sweet that it reminded him of Y/n's own scent. The flowers were all different from one another - two of each kind, one flower to symbolize Y/n, and the other flower to symbolize him.

There were many, and they were tied together by vines expertly. It truly was a beautiful bouquet.

He had hidden the bouquet and spent the entire day with a cheesy grin plastered on his face looking forward to the night - when he planned to seek Y/n out.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Y/n sat quietly tonight, not speaking much expect for a few please's and thank you's during dinner

Neteyam frowned as he watched her - she was usually so lively and talkative. He loved eating his food quietly and listening to her talk to the clan with her precious smile

After dinner, she excused herself early and was seemingly bidding her goodnights for the evening.

Widening his eyes at her quick departure, Neteyam also swiftly excused himself as his father gave him a knowing nod - granting him permission to leave

He grabbed the bouquet he'd kept hidden, before taking a deep breath and following after her

"Y/n! Wait!" He yelled out

She turned around, looking a bit confused. But once she realized it was Neteyam who was calling her, he watched her ears lift curiously as her tail swayed awaitingly behind her

"Neteyam." She said breathlessly as he stopped in front of her, looking down towards her as his nervousness finally caught up to him

"Yes, I- are you ok?" He finally managed as she blinked a few times, shaking her head as if to assure him nothing was wrong

"Oh Neteyam, I am fine. I actually wanted to thank you for yesterday. I..." She trailed off as she stared at him, her hands clasped together tightly

"I feel horrible for what he did to you. You did not deserve that, and I - I have never felt so horrible before. I wanted to find you earlier, but I didn't think I could talk to you without - " She stopped, clamping her mouth shut as she took a deep breath in

Neteyam felt his heart sink as he understood what she'd been trying to say by the misty look in her eyes.

She thought she'd start crying if she tried talking to him after last night.

"Y/n... oh Y/n, I am the one who intervened. And for your honor, I will always intervene. Please, do not blame yourself for someones else's ignorance." He said softly, moving one of his hands forward as he tentatively reached for her face

He stopped a few inches from her face, suddenly freezing as he realized how intimate it was to cradle one's face. But it was Y/n who moved forward, resting her cheek against his palm and holding it softly.

She closed her eyes, leaning her cheek into his hand as Neteyam's heart beat quickened - so much that he was sure she could hear it.

"Actually, I stopped you for another reason Y/n. There was something I wanted to give you," He said, trying to calm his heart as his mind felt like he was about to go into the most dangerous battle of his life

She opened her eyes, her lashes damp as she looked at him with eyes so mesmerizing he struggled to form a sentence

"I wanted you to have this... I want you to know, I value you. More than anything Y/n. And if... If you ever need me, for anything at all - I am always here for you." He said, slowly moving his arm to reveal the bouquet he'd kept hidden behind his back during their conversation

He will never forget the look in her eyes when she first saw the bouquet for as long as he lived.

Her lips parted, her eyes stunned as she took in the beautiful sight of flowers in front of her

And finally, the smile he'd missed so damn much overtook her entire face. The light from it alone bright enough to shine over even the darkest parts of him.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

He wouldn't pursue her the night after the fight. He knew she needed time, and he would wait as long as she'd wish for him to

But, their friendship evolved.

Before, he spent his time watching her from afar. Now that they were closer as friends, he sat next to her - and Eywa, he began to see the little details he'd missed before.

Like the way her eyes would squint when she'd find something hilarious, or the way her face would be completely still, and only her eyes would move when she was hunting. She would be entirely focused - and he'd be just as still when he'd watch her

She liked swimming. They had spent many nights swimming with each other. She'd tell him of her favorite songs to sing when praying to Eywa, and how she loved sunrises. She'd wake up before every single one just to watch it happen.

He found himself opening up too - his heart giving her everything and more as he shared every bit of him to her. He'd tell her of his struggles as the eldest son, and how sometimes his mother would show him her clever tricks with her bow - he promised he'd show Y/n every single one she wanted to know about. To this, she said she wanted to know them all.

She learned everything about him - and he learned and loved everything about her.

He didn't think he could fall in love with her anymore than before, but he was wrong.

Neteyam awoke early today, it was still dark out, but the smile on his face couldn't have been any more brighter

She'd invited him to watch the sunrise with her. Nobody else knew she'd wake to watch the sunrise - and he felt his heart physically stutter in his chest when she asked him to come with her.

It was a special moment of her day - and she wanted to share it with him.

He saw her sitting peacefully, eyes closed as her legs hung over the edge of the ledge she was sitting on

He sat down quietly next to her, and she turned to him with a smile

"Hi." She said quietly, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. Neteyam felt his heart swoon at the sight of her

"Hi." He whispered back, before the two of them turned to the view in front of them

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, her rays ready to touch the sky as Y/n turned to him

He turned away from the sun and to her, and she moved to hold his hand

"I wanted to tell you something important, Neteyam." She said, her voice gentle as his ears perked up

"Of course, is something wrong?" He asked, his voice genuinely concerned as she let out a quiet laugh

"Nothing is wrong, I just..." She trailed off as she stared at him, her eyes filled with an emotion he didn't entirely understand just yet

He remained quiet and waited for her to speak again, squeezing her hand reassuringly as she shook her head

Moving forward, she pressed her lips to his.

They were soft and gentle and sweet. He blinked rapidly, before leaning into her. His mind immediately freezing as he felt her hand gently hold his face

As she pulled back, the sun's light illuminated her face so radiantly, that Neteyam's breath was simply taken away.

She laughed at the look on his face, her smile enchanting him in a way no one else could've.

"I like you, Neteyam. More than friends. More like -"

"Lovers." He breathed out, still unable to believe what had just happened

She nodded her head, eyes beaming at him with love, he realized

"Eywa, I've been waiting for you to say that." He said lovingly with a grin that matched hers as he leaned towards her and connected their lips once again, the sun's light shining on them both as they enveloped each other longingly.

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lady-pug · 4 months ago

Text

Written Between the Lines

Chapter II - We Shall Find Our Answers

Summary: You and your family return to King’s Landing after several years, and you are dreading having to face your uncle again. While you cannot change the past, maybe the lines on his palm can show some insight into your future. And maybe, just maybe, the future might be bright for the two of you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 5,5k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Pssst. Hey, you. I’m back. And I bring thee the continuation of this story, which I had a lot of fun writing. I intend on writing more for this little universe, so if you've liked this story so far, please consider staying tuned for more parts to come!

Just for clarification, I don’t understand much about the rules and laws of monarchy, but since this is my story and I’m already saying ‘screw canon’, we’re also gonna say ‘fuck tradition’ (and if any of the characters, especially Aemond, seem a bit ooc I deeply apologize, I’m just trying very hard to Bob-The-Builder the events of the show)

Also, I have purposefully left the question of the reader’s father somewhat ambiguous so there can be more leeway for the reader’s appearance to be undescribed.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

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It had been several years since you had last stepped foot in King’s Landing. Not since the death of your aunt and father. Or fathers. Which meant you hadn’t seen Aemond since that fateful night in Driftmark. You’d been by his side in an instant once Luke had shaken you awake wailing like a babe that he had done something terrible. You had held his hand as the maester tended to his wound, much to his mother’s grief. She had even tried pushing you away from her son, but his hand held tightly around yours prevented you from going too far. He had wanted, no, needed the comfort of your presence. But that all changed when Jace explained what had transpired, what he had called your younger brothers and, by extension, yourself. You had dropped his hand as if it burned, feeling more betrayed than ever, not missing the way your hurt was reflected in his own eyes. Well, eye. He had tried to talk to you after everyone had been excused but you fled from him, not wanting to face him just yet. Perhaps never again, you had thought at the time.

Now a grown woman, you returned to King’s Landing once more, summoned by the court for a hearing in which Ser Vaemond Velaryon intended to question Lucerys legitimacy as heir to Driftmark (which he was in for a surprise as your mother did not intend to pass Driftmark down to Luke, but to Jacaerys instead, as previously discussed and agreed with your grandparents, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, while she would name you, her firstborn, as heir to the Iron Throne after her). So it’s no surprise you were not looking forward to this visit at all.

While you had kept in contact with Helaena through exchanged ravens, you hadn’t once written to Aemond, nor had he done so to you. You were dreading the moment you had to see him again, as you didn’t know how he would react to seeing you after the way you left things off in the past. In reality… you missed him. You missed having someone to talk to, someone who truly cared about what you had to say, who shared similar interests to you and enjoyed the diverging ones all the same. You missed your study partner, as Jace’s high valyrian was incredibly subpar, leaving him far behind you in his studies. You simply missed having him.

The first moment you had laid eyes on him had been, unsurprisingly, in the courtyard. You’d been following after your brothers as they explored what had changed and what hadn’t around the Keep, trying to ensure they didn’t get into any trouble, when you noticed a small crowd forming around two men engaged in a heated training match. One was none other than Ser Criston Cole, who hadn’t aged a single day but looked like the stick up his ass had slipped even further in, and the other…

You couldn’t help but stare, oblivious to anything else around you. He had grown quite a lot in the years you’d been apart. He was taller, his shoulders pulled back and his head held high, no longer the timid, self-conscious boy you’d once known. Where Ser Criston was strong Aemond was fast, his tall frame and lithe shape allowing for a more fast paced combat, his movements sharp yet swift and even somewhat… graceful.

“You should clean up, right there.” you snapped out of your reverie, brought back to focus by your brother Jace, who motioned to the corner of his own mouth with a smirk hanging from his lips “You’re drooling.”

Feeling a warm flush on your cheeks you swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, finding nothing there, as Jace chuckled at your naivety and moved to join the crowd along with Luke.

Little cunt.

You followed after your brothers just as Aemond had his sword pointed right at Ser Criston’s neck. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, only catching the tail end of their conversation.

“Have you come to train?” he had been saying, his eye trained on Luke, some underlying darkness swirling in it, before his gaze finally met you and something shifted in it almost imperceptibly “Little niece.”

The way he said it, the use of the once mocking title, left you reeling. The tone he used made it so you couldn’t quite tell if he had been sneering at you or in awe at your presence, if he was jesting or quite serious, mocking or sincere.

But your musings were interrupted by the gates opening, Ser Vaemond walking in as if he owned the place. Or like he was owed something from this place. It seemed your dreaded reunion with your uncle would have to wait.

As much as you hated being back in King’s Landing you couldn’t deny this place did manage to keep you entertained. The hearing had gone as well as one could expect, with Ser Vaemond hurling one insult after another at both you, your brothers and your mother and ultimately losing his head for it. All was well with your family, Jace’s claim to Driftmark and his status as future Lord of the Tides and your own as heir to the Iron Throne after your mother had been reaffirmed by the King himself, backed by your grandmother.

During the whole hearing you couldn’t help but glance at Aemond from the corner of your eye every once in a while. He had a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face all throughout Vaemond’s speech, the bastard, but once your mother mentioned her desire to establish you as her heir to the Throne something changed. His gaze met yours and his face softened, the smugness disappearing all together from his features.

It was the last you saw of him, having taken off to the courtyard to relish in the diminishing sun as it lowered in the sky by sitting under the weirwood tree. Jace and Luke were enjoying a stroll around the Keep with their respective betrotheds, occasionally passing by your peripheral vision.

“I thought I’d find you here.” a voice cut through the air, souring your mood.

“Have you come to question my legitimacy as well, uncle?” you asked Aemond, who stood in front of you with his hands behind his back, before nodding in your brother’s direction as they skirted the edge of the courtyard “Be careful not to speak too loudly, we wouldn’t want you to lose yet another eye, now, would we?”

The smallest twitch of his eye was the only indication that he was bothered by what you said. You knew it was low, and you did feel a twinge of guilt about it, but the hurt you’d been cultivating for him since that night was festering in your heart.

“Always the jester, little niece.” he smirked, taking a seat next to you, keeping you on his good eye’s side.

“Only for you.”

You both fell silent, the air around charged with years of tension built between the two of you.

“I haven’t heard from you in ages.” he spoke softly, facing forward.

“You didn’t write.” you jabbed.

“You didn’t either.”

He had you there.

“Helaena’s told me of your travels.” he tried again “You’ve visited quite a lot of places.”

“I wanted to see the realm.” you explained, feeling some of the tension dissipating as he extended an opportunity for you opened up “To learn the ways of the people we are to rule.”

He only hummed in response.

“And what about you?” you turned to him, noticing how his body seemed to instinctively turn towards you as well “How have you been faring?”

“Oh, you know.” he shrugged, nonchalantly “I have been busy, studying, training with a sword, as you’ve very well seen,” the smirk that formed on his face was enough to bring heat to your cheeks “and trying to stop Aegon from drowning in his cups every night.”

A giggle escaped from your lips, which in turn prompted a small grin from him. This moment, right here with him, felt like before; it felt freeing. The full weight of how much you had missed him hit you like a Vhagar-sized carriage.

A moment of silence passed before he turned somber again.

“My mother has deemed it time for me to find a wife.” he spoke slowly, his words making something twist painfully in your chest “She’s been trying to find matches for me in some of the noble houses. But none of the ladies in court will even look at me.”

He cast his gaze down and away from you, his stoic demeanor cracking for a moment and giving way to a forlorn expression. It seemed… awfully familiar to you.

“I frighten them. Not just them, the maids too.” his voice was soft, resignation dripping from his words, the prideful man you saw earlier in the yard taking a step back to allow the shy and insecure boy you once knew to make a reappearance “I think your lines have lied to you. No lady would ever want a one-eyed husband.”

“Aemond-”

“I told you once before, I don’t appreciate your pity, niece.” his tone hardened, but it lacked venom, meaning he wasn’t angry with you, rather upset at himself.

You could only wonder how much the events of that night had changed him, for better and worse. He might argue that he had claimed a dragon, the biggest in the world, so that made things even but you could only imagine the kind of pain, both physical and emotional, he had gone through since then.

“For what is worth” you started, raising a hand to his face very slowly, giving him more than enough time to halt your movements. He flinched at first but eventually relaxed, allowing you to lay your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing softly against the end of his scar “I am truly sorry for what happened that night. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

His hand raised, grasping your wrist and running his own thumb on the skin at the edge of your sleeve.

“What I said that night,” he closed his eye for a moment then looked at you again “it was unbefitting. I never meant to hurt you.” he paused, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly, as if he was letting go of a lifetime of weight he’d been carrying “No more than I believe Lucerys meant to hurt me as badly as he did.”

It was an olive branch, you realized. Given how he now carried himself it was the closest thing to an apology you’d get. While he might not simply ever forgive your brother, he was willing to try and put it behind him, to let go of the pain, for you. And for that you’d forever be grateful to him. He tilted his head to the side, letting his lips linger on your palm for just a moment, before pulling your hand away from his face and carefully placing it on your lap again, both of you facing forward once more.

The silence that fell was not an uncomfortable one. It reminisced of the days you’d sit together in this same spot and wait for the servants to come fetch you when it was time for supper. But every nice moment had to be broken at some point.

“My grandsire and mother believe Aegon should be named my father’s heir.” he spoke after a moment, your head quickly snapping to look at him.

“What?”

“They believe that, as his firstborn son, he would have a better claim to the throne.” he glanced at you “That most lords would support him if it came to it.”

You were baffled by this revelation, even though you shouldn’t really be all that surprised. Otto Hightower was a cunt who would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne. As much as your mother resented her former friend you’d come to the conclusion that Otto had been the one responsible to sway Alicent against her. It shouldn’t come as a surprise he would be plotting against her. That’s why the man was smug about today’s hearing, and why his face promptly fell once Rhaenys made her support of Jacaerys, and by extension your mother, known. But…

“Why are you telling me this?” you questioned, confused as to why Aemond, the dutiful son, would tell on his family like that.

An amused grin, almost resembling a smirk, took over his features, his eye turned away from you.

“New information has come to light regarding the line of succession.”

Your heart clenched, a smile of your own appearing on your face. He recognized you as heir to the Throne, as a future queen.

His smile, however, slowly slipped from his face, leaving a sad look in its wake.

“What troubles you, uncle?” you asked.

“I just-” he sighed, almost exasperated “I just do not understand how they could possibly believe Aegon of all people fit to be king. He, who disappears every fortnight for the Street of Silk, who’s barely ever sober during the day. He, who has his way with the servants while his own wife exists silently, he who, dare I say, barely understands a word of high valyrian and the importance of our family to the realm.”

His rant left him slightly breathless, as if he had been suppressing those feelings for a very long time. And although he had not dared say it, you heard the hidden meaning behind his words. If he, now a grown man, was anything like he was as a boy, he was much more suited to be king than his brother was. He was probably well studied in both history and philosophy, he knew his way quite well around a sword, as you’d seen, and he’d kept up with his lessons in high valyrian, like you had. He would make for a fine king, if it weren’t for your mother and, eventually, you.

And then it hit you.

Otto Hightower would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne.

“Give me your hand.” you spoke firmly.

Aemond looked at you quizzically, taking too slow to comply so you forcefully grabbed his hand in yours, his palm facing upwards.

“Not this again.” he said, bemused.

As you ran your finger delicately over his palm, you took your time noticing the way calluses adorned the skin, once soft under your touch, probably from years of dragon riding and intense sword training.

“Your line of life is still quite long, good.” you heard his scoff, although it sounded quite like a barely contained laugh “It means the Stranger will not come for you for quite a while still.”

His eye was trained on you as traced another line on his hand.

“And your line of heart still tilts upwards, so you will marry a woman who loves you dearly.”

You spoke with so much conviction, squeezing his hand, your eyes finally glancing up, locked firmly onto his own as you said it.

“She’ll love and cherish you for everything that you are, unwaveringly and unapologetically. You’ll be hers as much as she’ll be yours.”

His eyes shone with barely contained hope, before you averted your gaze back to his palm.

“And here,” you pointed to a small line near the bottom of his palm “is the line of the king. It appears only on the hands of those who are destined to rule over the realm.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t falter.

“You are jesting again, niece.”

“I am not.” you shook your head, determined “The lines have never lied before, remember?” you mentioned, and he couldn’t argue with that, as the prediction you’d spoke of last time you found yourselves in this exact situation came true barely a few weeks afterwards “You will be king, Aemond.”

You stood up quickly, barely brushing the skirts of your dress as you did.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You took off before he could question you, rushing out of the courtyard in search of your mother. You had a matter most important you needed to discuss with her, one you’d already brought up with her many moons ago, but which at the time felt more like a distant childish dream.

Aemond hadn’t spoken to you again until it was time for supper. He had caught a quick glimpse of you sometime after you left the courtyard, speaking in hushed whispers with your mother while Daemon looked thoroughly vexed. But before he could approach you and inquire about your sudden departure earlier, both you and your mother took off to one of your chambers, he assumed, leaving his uncle to stare murderously at him. While Aemond wasn’t frightened by Daemon, he would even go as far as to say he admired the man, something about the way he was staring at him deeply unsettled him, so he decided to leave and wait for a better opportunity to speak to you, alone.

Now, during what surely was to be one awkward meal, he could see you from the other side of the table where you sat next to Baela. You looked positively radiant, smiling with your step-sisters and occasionally jesting with your brothers. From time to time you’d catch his eye, your smile turning mirthful, as if you knew something he didn’t. More than once throughout the night he caught you and Rhaenyra sharing a small, quick nod to one another, and Daemon rolling his eyes whenever he also noticed it.

After King Viserys congratulated Jacaerys and Lucerys on their betrothals, Jace leaned over Baela and whispered something to you. While he looked sullen, Baela had a small understanding smile as you tried to sooth him. His face softened as you grasped his hands, trying to reassure him of something, Baela supporting you quietly. The overjoyed smile that took over your features as Jace nodded lit something in Aemond’s chest, his heart skipping a beat.

At a certain point, after the King’s speech and Rhaenyra and Alicent’s toasts, Aegon got up and leaned over to “whisper” something to Baela, catching the attention of all those around her. Aemond couldn’t hear what his brother said all the way from his side of the table, but whatever it was Jacaerys looked like he was about to drive a dagger through him. But you and your sharp words were quicker.

“At least he can stay sober long enough to get it up.” you spoke, your voice loud enough for the entire room to hear “Can Helaena say the same about you, uncle?”

Several reactions could be heard around the table. Helaena herself snorted into the wine she had been sipping, Daemon laughed loudly from his place at Rhaenyra’s side and even a small, tired chuckle could be heard leaving the King’s mouth. Aemond couldn’t help but smirk as his brother all but crumbled back in his seat, a frown unveiling his embarrassment.

Jace took his time toasting both his uncles but there was something… different in the way he addressed each of them. Whereas Aegon’s name was said with mocking admiration and contempt, Jace’s tone as he said Aemond’s name was laced with quiet resignation. And the tiny grin he directed at Aemond took him by surprise.

Helaena, a little bit tipsy at this hour, also took the opportunity to congratulate Rhaena and Baela in their betrothals, also taking a jab at Aegon’s already wounded pride. While he felt his chest fill with pride for his sister, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the moment you shared with your mother once again, the questioning look on her face and the determined nod you gave as answer to whatever question you found in the depth of her eyes.

“Speaking of marriage,” Rhaenyra started as she stood up and turned to face the seats of his father, mother and grandsire “my only daughter is now of marrying age as well.”

Aemond felt something twist painfully in his chest at the thought, turning his eye to glance at you and was surprised to find you already looking at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a soft grin.

“I would like to make a proposition.” your mother continued, turning to look at him, bringing his attention back to her. He felt his heartbeat increase as she stared at him for a moment longer, some heat climbing to his cheeks, before she turned to address his family once again, her eyes locked onto Alicent “I would like to propose we wed her to your second son, Prince Aemond.”

He barely registered anything else over the thunderous flow of blood against his eardrums, reflecting on the speed at which his traitorous heart was beating in his chest. He glanced back at you, watching as you smiled warmly at him. Something in him just felt right. He felt as if everything was falling into place within his life.

Aemond had never let himself want. He realized quite early in his life that he would only ever be the second son, and considering how much his father favored Rhaenyra over any other of his other children, he didn’t really matter much in comparison to his siblings. So he had learned never to wish for anything for himself, he had never dared hope that good things would come to him. And now here you were, the only one who has ever truly cared for him, offering something he never allowed himself to dream of.

“And” Rhaenyra continued, drawing his attention back to her. There was more? What else could she possibly offer that could be worth more than that? He allowed himself a quick glimpse at Daemon, who once again looked bothered by what she was about to say “once I have come to pass and it is time for her to take over as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he would be crowned king alongside with her. He would be not a prince, nor king consort, but a true king. They would rule as equals, and eventually their children would sit in the Iron Throne after them.”

What?

As soon as the words were out of her mouth his mind simply ceased to work. They were thinking of… what? His head quickly snapped to look at his family, wanting to gauge their reactions as well and assess if they were just as confused as he felt.

His father was positively delighted at the prospect of uniting his fractured family once more. His mother, on the other hand, looked irked at Rhaenyra for having sprung this proposition in front of Viserys, as he’d obviously agree, and she wasn’t looking forward to having a possible bastard as her son’s wife (even if she knew he once cared deeply for you). And his grandsire… he looked conflicted. Otto Hightower wasn’t an easy man to read, but he had been so caught by surprise that he was wearing all his emotions on his sleeve. While he, like Alicent, seemed bothered by the timing of this proposal, he also looked… intrigued?

“We were thinking of passing Dragonstone down to Aegon and keeping both Aemond and my daughter here in King’s Landing so they can learn with me and the council the ways of ruling, so they are well prepared when it comes their time to rule.”

“And what of Lucerys?” Alicent questioned warily.

“He would live in Driftmark with Jace, learning the ways of salt and sea, in hopes of one day becoming my, and later his sister’s, Master of Ships.” Rhaenyra completed.

Silence ruled over the room for a moment, nobody daring to utter a word. Not even the servants, watching from the corners, made a single sound.

“And who was the one” Viserys spoke slowly, getting more tired as the night progressed “behind such a wonderful idea?”

“I-” your mother started, but Daemon quickly cut her off.

“The girl did.” he nodded his head towards you, a smug smile growing on his lips at the prospect of possibly throwing you under the carriage.

Aemond’s head snapped towards you, your smile never wavering. So that’s what you had been speaking to Rhaenyra all day. After your talk in the courtyard, you’d gone off to find your mother, to express your wishes not only to marry Aemond, but to also make him king. Just like the lines on his palm told you. But… why?

“And just what” Otto questioned, as if reading his grandson’s mind “has led the princess to decide to break hundreds of centuries of tradition and wish to share the Throne?”

Rhaenyra turned back to you, sending a silent question in your direction yet again. You shook your head and stood up, as if deciding to face the judgment of the Hightowers all by yourself.

“While my family has resided in Dragonstone for the past few years, my lord,” you started, an eloquence that indicated you’d been preparing, and maybe even rehearsing, this speech in your mind for a while “I have taken to flying around the realm on dragonback, visiting all of the Seven Kingdoms. I’d wished to see for myself and understand the people I’d one day rule over. However, being away from King’s Landing for so long also means I am not versed in the matters of court. Prince Aemond, on the other hand,” oh, how sweet your voice sounded when you said his name accompanied by his title “has lived his entire life here in the Red Keep. He’s been in these halls, around the lords and ladies of court, for quite a while and knows how such matters are supposed to work. I believe our knowledge combined will give us the strength, as a unity, required to rule over the realm together and establish a peaceful and prosperous reign.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you paused, your expression souring.

“And” you chuckled mirthlessly, your previously warm smile falling to a resigned one “I am a woman. The lords of the noble houses of Westeros may support my mother’s claim as they have sworn an oath to his grace, the King, but many of them are already of advanced age and may soon come to perish, some have already died even. While most of these houses are righteous and their sons and grandsons will likely honor their ancestors' wishes and support me as my mothers heir, there is no telling what will happen. They might not take kindly to yet another woman ruling over the realm, and especially one they didn’t technically agree on. So as much as I loathe to admit it, having a man by my side, supporting me as an equal, would strengthen my claim and prevent anyone from questioning me as queen.”

It made sense, all of it. Change as impactful as this tends to happen over time, not all at once, and it was known the men of the realm would not so easily accept a woman on the Iron Throne, something Aemond knew his grandsire was counting on to bring Aegon to power eventually, so it was a smart move to have a husband at your side. Your arguing was solid, and Otto Hightower seemed to agree as he reclined back on his seat, somewhat impressed.

Alicent, however, looked like she still wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

“And why would you wish to marry my son?” she questioned, her tone stern.

Your smile faltered briefly, betraying your confusion.

“Why, your grace, I believe I have already explained-”

“No,” she cut you off “you’ve explained why this union would be beneficial for you as a representative of the Crown. I want to know why you wish to marry him. You could have any man in the realm, hells, there have been rumors that Cregan Stark himself has requested an audience in Dragonstone, possibly to request a courtship for your hand.” That was before anyone knew Rhaenyra planned on making you her heir and it was believed you’d inherit nothing at all, Aemond caught himself thinking “So why do you want to marry Aemond?”

That had him leaning forward in his seat. He knew, logically, this marriage stemmed from convenience. He knew he, and you as well, were mere pawns in your family’s schemes. But he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind your proposal. Even if it was just a political move, he would have accepted in a heartbeat but he dared to wish, no, hope that you actually wanted this, that you wanted him.

“I…” you fumbled for a moment, averting your gaze before steeling yourself, eyes locking with his mother’s once more “My uncle and I were close once, many years ago. We used to share a connection that has since been lost to time.”

You took a deep breath, as if preparing to reveal your deepest secrets to the whole family.

“I would like for us to get to know one another once more and go back to the way things were. Maybe even strengthen our bond.” you then turned to him, your eyes soft and warm and with the slightest of glimmer to them, as if you were willing yourself not to shed any tears “And I believe, with time, I could learn to love him dearly. I would love and cherish him for everything that he is, unwaveringly and unapologetically.” your lips trembled almost imperceptibly, so much so that had he not been paying close attention to you he’d have missed it “I’d be his as much as he’d be mine.”

Aemond felt his breath hitch, his heart hammering in his chest once more. He didn’t know what to think. This, right here, seemed so unreal. Deep down he knew this might just be the solution to everyone’s problems, it could be the very thing that mended the divide that had been growing inside of House Targaryen, but… could it be possible? Would his family agree?

“I believe this to be an amazing occasion.” the King spoke, looking happier than he’d been in a long while, before turning to his wife “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Alicent in turn looked to her father for answers and Aemond waited with bated breath for his response. Otto’s word was law in her eyes, Aemond knew, so he was the one who had final say in the matter. His answer came as a tiny nod and in that moment, as Aemond barely registered his mother’s next words, he had never been more grateful for his grandsire.

“I am inclined to agree that this will be a most blessed union.” Alicent said, her smile, always cold when it came to you, warming considerably.

“It’s settled then. Looks like we’ll have a wedding even sooner than expected.” Viserys then tapped his cane on the ground “Let us have some music.”

As the musicians started playing an animated melody, Aemond felt lighter than he had in years. He could hardly care for everyone around him, not even noticing anyone’s reaction to the news other than your own. With his eye focused solely on you he could see the relief settling in at his mother’s words as you beamed at him, more radiant than ever.

“Aemond, dear, why don’t you take your betrothed for a dance?”

He was out of his seat before Alicent could even finish her sentence, crossing the space between you in wide strides and extending a hand to you. You accepted gracefully. As you positioned yourselves to dance, you smiled bashfully at him, looking down at your feet, slightly embarrassed.

“I hope you can find it in you to forgive me for bringing this up all of a sudden, uncle.” you explained, looking back at him “I didn’t want to waste another moment and risk losing my chance.”

It was his turn to smile, not a smirk or a smug grin, a genuine smile.

“There is nothing to forgive, little niece.” the way he said the moniker this time, once used to mock you, was so filled with only affection and care that it almost brought tears to your eyes once again.

You danced for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Then you leaned closer to him, as if wanting to share something privy to his ears alone.

“I told you once before, Aemond.” your smile turned into the tiniest of smirks “The lines don’t lie.”

His heart clenched at the memory, which seemed so distant yet so fresh in his mind. He tightened his grip around you, bringing your body even closer to his own, wanting to feel you close to him, genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

“Indeed,” he whispered softly back to you, leaning his head against your own “I guess they truly don’t.”

And then everyone is happy, Rhaenyra and her family don’t leave for Dragonstone before dawn, meaning she’s there when Viserys goes to sleep forever, meaning she’s crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, meaning the Greens don’t usurp the Throne, meaning the Dance never happened, meaning no one dies and everyone lives happily ever after, hurray!

(About Daemon's behavior, he’s not mad at reader or Rhaenyra, nor does he dislike reader in any way. He’s just resentful Rhaenyra hasn’t thought nor has she offered to what she does to Aemond in this story. And as we know, when these Targaryen boys are frustrated, they tend to lash out. Hope this clarifies some things!)

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

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izzabela · 4 months ago

Note

Can I request bi han x fem reader.

Reader is sent on a mission in Russia and bi han misses her,sektor tells him to get a phone so it'll be easy to communicate and y/n introduces him to phone sex and they have phone sex.

New Things - Bi Han x fem!reader

in which you introduce Bi Han to something new while away on a mission

a/n: Bi Han with a phone is a crazy idea- i like it

ship[s]: bi han x fem!reader

warning(s): MDNI, porn with semi-plot, phone sex, f!reader = f!genitalia, masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, post-kanon story

"He- Hel- Hello? Bi Han?" you voice called, breaking slightly over the phone.

Bi Han put the device close to his ear, your voice finally patching through his phone. He smiles, the only witnesses of this soft act being the walls of his bedroom. He coughs before answering you.

"I can hear you, darling," he responds. "How do you find Russia? Have you eaten yet? Is the mission going well?"

You chuckle at the onslaught of questions, "Cold, but not as cold as home, yes I ate already, and the mission is going decent."

Bi Han sighs, "Good, I am glad you are alright."

Bi Han originally didn't have a phone, hell he was opposed to such devices. He caved after you were gone for a mission a couple months back, and the letter he wrote you was intercepted by the enemy. It was also Sektor's idea, he even accompanied Bi Han in choosing one.

Now, here he was, talking to you over the phone while you were oceans away. Elder gods, what a sight to behold, the grandmaster using technology.

"And you, my dear, is there anything to note back home?" you ask. Bi Han groans as he relays the struggles you were missing out on.

From setbacks to the coding of the cyber-ninjas, to even more dreadful losses with this brotherly war, Bi Han was having a hard time dealing with these setbacks. It was uncharacteristic of him, since he's usually more calculated and put together.

"You sound stressed, my dear," you mention, twirling your hair as get in the bed of the hotel you were staying in. You hear Bi Han sigh over your end of the phone.

"You are greatly missed here, none more so than by me," Bi Han says softly, and you coo at the vulnerability he displayed.

"I also wish I were home," you respond solemnly. It's quiet over the line, the light breathing filling the silence.

That is, until a light bulb is lit in your mind. It's a little risky, but it isn't entirely a bad thing. Just to blow off some steam.

"Darling, would you like to relax?" you ask, but Bi Han is perplexed as he answers you.

"I am unwinding just fine with you on the phone."

You tut him, clicking your tongue as you clarify yourself. Apparently, subtly in words was not his strongest trait.

"Would you like try phone sex?" you blurt out. It's quiet on your end, Bi Han not saying a thing for a couple of beats.

"...What exactly is that?" he asks, his voice sounding lost and confused. You then explain that it would just be them on the phone, whispering dirty things about themselves as they touched themselves rather inappropriately.

TLDR, a horny way to unwind the stress of missing each other.

"I see," is all Bi Han says. "I do not know how to start, though."

You chuckle, "Remaining ever so honest, grandmaster. Do not be worried, though, I can lead us."

You strip down into nothing, putting your phone on speaker as you lay comfortably in your bed. Bi Han still remains in his sleepwear, but he can see that his member is growing erect as the minutes pass.

"For starters, it must feel rather lonely in bed without me," you begin, your voice a little breathy. Bi Han sighs, palming his growing erection as he responds.

"It is, it pains me that you are so far. I cannot hold nor touch you." Bi Han sets his phone down after indulging you, on speaker mode as well so he has... a better range of motion.

"I have only my thoughts to keep me company," you admit, slowly rolling your breasts in your hands.

"Do tell me what you think about when I am not present," Bi Han eggs you with a teasing voice.

"I, uh," you stutter. "I think of how you tease nipples. Your fingers always squeeze them the way I like." Bi Han groans a bit.

"Touch them as I do, then," he tells you, palming his rock-hard dick. "To let you know, I miss the way you stroke me, my dear."

Bi Han gave up on his pants and boxers. His dick was hard and free from its fabric prison, and he was going in constant strokes to mimic the way you did. Bi Han grunts as he touches himself, pumping his dick in his fist as he heard your breath over the phone.

If the wetness between your legs were relayed to a leaky pipe, you were practically bursting at this point. You moan at the though of his hand pumping his cock, trying to emulate your touch. It filled you with pride knowing you left such an impression on him.

You reach down in between your legs, rubbing the wet folds as you imagine your fingers as Bi Han's length. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, but it slips through and Bi Han catches your poor attempt of hiding your voice.

"Do not be shy, my darling," Bi Han says breathlessly. "Let me hear you. Touching yourself as you think of me, in and out of your tightness."

Bi Han was getting into it now. Still keeping his constant strokes, he imagines your body on top of him. Visages of your perky nips in his face, your voice bouncing off the walls of the shared room. He can imagine the marks on his back, a great side effect on how well he dicks you down.

For you, you stuck a finger in your wet cunt. Just like Bi Han, you pump the digit in and out of you at a good speed. It hits your good spot perfectly, and the moans you had been so desperate to hide come through and enter Bi Han's ear. He's smirking, and he pumps a little faster.

"Can you hear that? Though you are so far, you still manage to please me," Bi Han's voice is sultry and deep, praising you a job well done (so far).

"Are you this degenerate when you are away?" Bi Han's tone shifts, and it shocks you a little bit. "Touching yourself, desperate to relieve yourself- disgusting."

By the elder gods, he was really leaning into this phone sex business. As much as you want to deny it, you can't help but moan and agree with his degradation of you. Yes, you missed him. Yes, you touched yourself on those occasions where the longing was too much.

You stop yourself and add another finger inside yourself, curling it slightly to hit your g-spot even better. You moan louder, and Bi Han takes it as a sign to go faster in his fist. He's grunting a little louder, and through your ecstasy you can hear a couple of shaky exhales of his breath.

"By the gods, I can just imagine it," Bi Han says breathlessly. "Your fingers won't be enough, not when I have marked you, molded you... made you mine."

You gasp at how dirty his words have become. Gods, he was immersed, and your bodily response was to get even more wet. Practically soaking the sheets underneath you, you respond to the claims Bi Han was acclaiming.

"Yes grandmaster! You've molded me so well- I am yours wholly!"

As you keep pumping yourself, your hand that was previously on your tit is on your pleasuring yourself two-fold as you focus on reaching your high. Bi Han is huffing and puffing now, his hand going up and down as he also chases his peak.

"Very good. Keep the thought of my length as you come," Bi Han says. "Your warmth is all I can think about- I even squeeze my fist to think of how you squeeze around me."

The mention of it makes you squeeze around your fingers, and that was the last sensory necessity for you to zone in on cumming. The feeling of your fingers rubbing your clit, your other fingers going in and out of your tight cunt, and the gentle squeeze to give you more friction, it's sending you over the edge.

Bi Han has a gentle tightness around his cock. He's trying to imagine you squeezing around him, and it works as he can feel his high coming. The thoughts of your body bouncing up and down his cock, your moans ringing in his ears, and the little squelches he can hear from the speaker, send Bi Han into overdrive.

"B-Bi Han!" you cry out. "I- oh gods, I'm close!" Bi Han just grunts in response, muttering under his breath as he's about to peak.

"Bi Han!" you cry out, literally squeaking as your legs twitch and shake as your body begins to relax from your climax. You're breathless, hands damp with your slick, and your body dripping with sweat.

Bi Han also climaxes, calling your name as strings of translucent white coming out. They land on his lower stomach and thighs. His chest heaves up and down, yearning for air as he comes down from his high. He's sticky with sweat, extra sticky near his penile area, and his hand has a bit of his own slickness too.

He reaches for a tissue on his nightstand, and you do the same on the other side of the world. Over the phone, Bi Han can hear you shift on the bed, putting your clothes on and shuffling around the room to clean up. Bi Han is wrapping up his own clean-up operations, putting his clothes on before settling into bed.

"Bi Han darling?" you call for him through the phone. "Are you there?"

Bi Han grabs his phone, "Yes I am." It's a bit quiet before he speaks again. "Did you enjoy?"

You laugh heartily, "Of course! Who knew you were really good at this, my darling~" you drag out the "ing" sound, and he chuckles at your antics.

"Thank you for introducing this to me," he says, calling your name softly. Your face warms, and you can't tell if it's from the warmth of your phone.

"You're welcome, Bi Han. Perhaps we can do this again when I have more time," you offer.

"Finish up the mission, and we won't need to do this over the phone." That's all Bi Han says before he drops an "I love you" and hangs up.

The call drops, and you sleep with motivation to come home.

=====================

phone sex is... odd, but i did finish it. i hope you liked it anon!

still finishing up all my reqs, let's see if i can do it before school starts for me

see yall in the next fic!

#mortal kombat #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 smut #bi han #bi han x you #bi han x reader #sub zero x you #sub zero x reader #mk sub zero #bi han sub zero

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mphoenix-7 · 5 months ago

Text

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 10: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt.1)

Summary: You and Soap both struggle to sleep. You have nightmares all night while Soap tries to rationalize his feelings and help you cope with the nightmares.

Word Count: 6,821

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, slight smut, nudity, graphic description of blood in nightmares

A/N: I had a few comments on Wattpad asking for a specific scene for this chapter, so I modified the chapter to include that. Please enjoy, like, comment, and reblog 🫶🏻

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 10

No matter what he does, Soap cannot get to sleep tonight. It not like he's too hot, and he wasn't horribly uncomfortable in his bed either. Yet, he's been tossing and turning for hours. While there was no way of telling time, he knows it has to be past midnight at this point.

He's not completely clueless as to what's keeping him up though. Any time he tries to quiet his mind, it always end up wandering back to the woman lying silently in her cot a few feet away from him. He can't stop thinking about you. About what happened today, or in this case, what happened yesterday. Within the last twenty-four hours.

It wasn't even the fact he faced off with a black bear. Hell that didn't really scared him much. He was a well traveled soldier was this point and had survived the wilds of Russia. He'd learned how to handle wild animals of all sorts. No, the thing bothering him was feeling like he almost lost you today.

Having sex with you just the day before had opened his eyes to new feelings he felt towards you. It was easy to push that down with time and put his walls back up. He could just call it a mistake and move on, pretend like it meant nothing. But something as drastic as hearing you scream in terror, begging for him to get to you, looking so frightened and small and vulnerable, shaking and sobbing as he held you... it was different than just having sex.

At least with sex, he could blame his new feelings on the fact you'd done something so intimate. He felt different towards you cause you made him feel good, because sex makes people feel closer to each other, because it was exciting and fun, because he normally didn't sleep around just for fun, so doing it as a one time thing was confusing for him. There were a million excuses to explain how he felt. But with what happened with the bear, he couldn't fully rationalize those feelings.

When he heard you scream, his blood ran ice cold. He'd never felt such panic at the thought that you might be in trouble. Even thinking about it now makes his heart beat a little faster. Then when he finally got to you, and you looked so scared, something in him just snapped. He wanted to protect you, but not in the same way he wanted to protect his brothers and sisters in arms. He couldn't explain it.

Once that bear had run off, all he wanted to do was get to you. Make sure you were ok. The thought of you being hurt filled him with dread. It wasn't like that with his other squad mates. If the 141 boys got hurt, he'd be worried and concerned, but with you he'd almost felt sick. He didn't think of himself as sexist, but maybe it was because you were a woman. But he'd worked with other women before and never felt that way about one he liked let alone you, who he couldn't stand.

Then when you started trembling, he could have died. He had to fight off the urge to wrap you up in his arms and hold you close to him. He probably would have had you not been naked. Even if he could brush or excuse everything else, this was one thing he couldn't explain. He had never felt such a stong urge to want to hold someone. The only other time he could think of having a feeling that strong would have been when his sisters got scared when they were kids. He'd certainly never wanted to hug Ghost or the others or any other female he'd worked with.

Then of course once you got inside, and you wouldn't shut up about how you almost died, that kept bringing up all those feelings tenfold. He couldn't stop thinking about himself not being fast enough. Not getting to you in time. Feeling panicked, filled with dread, wanting to hug you close to him and never let go.

He couldn't make sense of it. Had these feelings always been here, and they'd just been hidden behind layers and layers of hate and resentment? And when you'd finally cleared your minds, is that when it could finally come through. God... did he actually like you? And more than just another teammate.

Soap growls, slapping his hands over his hands and dragging them down. He was going insane. This cabin was making him absolutely insane. He wanted to go back so desperately to when it was simple, but there was no turning back now. Hell, he still had the rest of today with you and then two more days past that. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad. You had "started over" after all. You'd even done that stupid little bid of reintroducing yourselves to each other.

A huff leaves Soap as he thinks about that. Fuck it'd been so fucking cute. Your annoyingly adorable pout when he didn't shake your hand right away and even more adorable look when he had. He'd never thought of you as cute. Annoying fit, but not adorable. Something had changed, and he didn't like it, but he did.

He glances over to where you lay, fast asleep and breathing peacefully. You're on your side facing him, his liner pulled up right to your chin. It's so dark out he can't really make out your face. The wood stove between your cots, which normally did have a fire going during the night, was currently not being used. It was a warmer night, so he decided there was no point in starting a fire. The only light source was coming from the moon, but it was only a half moon. It barely illuminated the room.

Soap is about to give up on trying to sleep for the night and go to the kitchen and draw or maybe journal for a bit. Or as Gaz would say, write in his diary. Whatever you wanted to call it, writing things out helped get stuff off his mind.

He's about to get out of bed when he hears a faint whimper from your side of the tiny room. He stills for a moment, looking over at you when you do it again. Your cot makes the God awful creaking sounds it always makes whenever you move the slightest bit, and Soap watches you curl into a tight ball. You're starting to breathe heavy, taking very small gasps, and he knows you're having a nightmare.

You sound like you had right after the bear attack, only on a smaller scale. He frowns at he listens to you, only able to tolerate it for a few seconds before he's slipping out of bed and taking the two quick steps to your side.

He kneels down, able to see your face a little better now that he's closer. It's pinched up, your brows furrowed and lips turned downward in a frown. He feels the longing in his chest once again to hug you close to him and comfort you, but he won't let himself. Instead, he places a hand on your arm, giving you a very gentle shake to try and wake you up from whatever is plaguing you.

"Oi, lass." He whispers softly. "Hey, States. Wake up." He adds a little louder when you don't come out of sleep the first time.

You startle awake, taking in a big gasp of air and jumping. Your hand flies out to grab at his arm, and he lets you sit up. Your eyes are widened in fear, and he quickly tries to calm you down.

"Hey, easy." He tells you gently. "You were having a nightmare."

"O-oh.." He hears you weakly mutter. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?"

Soap frowns at your question and shakes his head. "Nah, I was already up."

"Why are you still? Can't you fall sleep?" You ask, and he knows he can't tell you the real reason why he's awake. That he can't sleep because you were tormenting his mind.

"It's just a bit warm is all. I'm too hot to get comfortable." It wasn't a complete lie, just a half truth. "I'll be fine. Go back to sleep, aye?" He gets up, moving back over to his cot and setting down. He hears you mumble an "alright" before your cot starts squeaking again as you settle.

Soap stares up at the ceiling, you now in the forefront of his mind once again. All those odd unexplainable feelings from earlier had resurfaced, and he had to push them all back down once more. He just needed to sleep it off. Maybe his mind was just tired, and he wasn't thinking straight. That had to be it. He'd think more clearly in the morning.

He tries to sleep, but he still can't get himself to drift off. Cursing softly and kicking his blanket off in frustration, he fishes out his journal from under his pillow and gets up to go into the kitchen. It's not much brighter out there, but the small table sat by the window allowed for slightly more light to come in.

Opening his journal to a new page, he begins to scribble his feelings into the book. He writes about the argument from the morning, about the things he said to you. He writes about hearing your voice and how it made him panic. About the bear, how small you felt, about the moments right after and how he hates that you make him feel this way. He hated you long before this, and now he just had more reasons to add to that. More reasons to hate you.

But then why can't I hate you...

The last words he wants to write in his journal don't make it down onto the paper as his attention is torn away from the book. A sob is coming from the bedroom. Standing before his mind can catch up, he opens the bedroom and peaks inside. You're asleep again, he's pretty sure, back on your side and sobbing. Your breath has a panicked rhythm, more so than before.

And then, if it wasn't hard enough, he hears you call his name in a mumbled and slurred speech. Pleading with him, crying for him, and it's like his heart being ripped from his chest. Like he's reliving the encounter with you, and he can't stand it anymore.

In a few quick strides, he's back to your side, gently shaking you awake again.

***

Big black sharp claws, a horrible pain in your stomach, blood staining the clear water, guts floating up right before your eyes. Your guts. The pain is intense, feeling like a burning sensation. You scream, hands gripping onto black fur and pushing away the animal that is trying to bit at your throat. Your arms shake as you struggle to hold the beast back. You scream again, this time for the one man you know is here to help you.

Please, you don't want to die like this...

The bear's head turns and bites your arm, pain radiating where its teeth sink in. You let go, ripping your arm free, but also ripping the flesh from your arm and leaving the bones bare. You don't know how you haven't passed out yet.

As you look at your arm, screaming in horror at the all too real visual, the bear lunges, teeth sinking into your throat. Your head is pinned to the side as the pain sinks in, as breathing becomes harder.

Through your tears, you see him. Standing on the side of the lake shore, looking out towards you. His arms are crossed, his expression stern. You beg him to help you, the words coming out even despite the animal crushing your throat. You plead, reaching out your mangled arm to him, but he turns away. He disappears into the trees, leaving you behind.

You thought you could trust him... you remember starting over... why was this happening?

The bear forces you under water then, its large body pinning you to the bottom on the lake, head thrashing as it tears at your throat. You gasp, somehow able to breathe in the water, and when your eyes open it's pitch black.

The pressure is still on your chest, the burning in your stomach and neck, but you're able to move better. Maybe it let you go, but you can't see anything. You sit up, gasping and blindly grabbing at the air in front of you to grab the bear before it can get you again. You miss every time though until it grabs your arms again, and you cry out as you duck away, fearing it's going to get you again.

As you duck, your head sits something solid, and you pause. The pain starts to leave your body, besides your head, and you realize you're not in water anymore. You make out a window that has a tiny bit of moonlight shining through it and realize you'd hit your head right on the frame. Then your ears start to work and you hear someone saying your name.

"States please! You're having a nightmare! Lass, you're just dreaming, it's alright!"

You immediately recognize the Scottish accent, but you don't quite interpret the message he's giving. The freshest memory you have of him is of him walking away while you got mauled. You rip your arms away, trying to get away, but you can't. A hard wall blocks you in.

"No!! Get away! You left! You fucking left me to die!" You scream at him, still not in the right mind.

He puts his hands on your thighs by your knees, rubbing soothing shapes with this fingers. "Shhh, it's alright. You were having a nightmare. You're alright. Please, calm down. It's alright." He coos over and over again. "Just a nightmare. Deep breaths. Come back to me, hen."

Your breathing starts to slow slightly as your mind separates reality from dreamscape. Memories of what actually occurred flood your head, but now you're just left with the raw feeling of terror from what you made up. You cry, hands covering your face as you remember the fear, the pain, the feeling of teeth and ripping flesh.

You feel yourself move, being pulled into Soap's chest. His large arms wrap around your body and hold you firmly against him. He guides your head to lay on his shoulder, forehead tucked against his neck. You don't fight it, maybe because you're still kind of out of it, maybe because it feels nice. He's so warm, he's whispering gentle things to you in a deep voice, and his hands rub soft circles on your back as you sob.

"I've got ya... It's alright now. You were just dreaming. Just a nightmare." He repeats, one of his hands gently cradling the back of your head and bushing softly through your hair.

"I-I-t-it was-s hor-horri-ble..." You finally choke out, beginning to hyperventilate more than cry.

"I know... I know..." Soap says softly, holding you a bit tighter while you struggle for air. "It's ok though. Just breathe for me."

"It attacked me... I felt its teeth in my throat, and it cut me open, and you were th-there..." You're just making yourself upset all over again as you recall everything that happened. "You just watched. You wouldn't help, and then you left me..."

"Oh hell, lass..." Soap frowns as he listens to you somewhat explain your dream through broken words. "It wasn't real, hen. It wasn't real."

"But it felt real..." You whimper.

"Hey, look at me." Soap says gently, moving his hand to your chin and pulling you away from him just slightly. Your eyes meet his, and you can just barely make out the whites from his bright blue irises. "It was not real. I know it felt like it, but it wasn't. I know we fight a lot. I know we are a pain in each other's asses, but listen to me. You are still 141. I will always have your back. No bear is going to get you on my watch. You hear me? Don't you think for one second that I would just leave you. When I heard your scream, I never run so fast in my damn life to get to you."

You're left speechless when he's done. How do you respond to something like that? It was so sweet, so heartfelt, so not the Soap MacTavish you knew. You'd been seeing small glimpses of this softer side of his, but nothing like this. His words are a soothing balm to the terrors you dreamt of, and you've never been so grateful to have him here with you.

"Soap..." You whisper, holding his gaze and allowing your body to ease itself of tension. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do." He drops his hand from your chin, settling it on your hips instead. "I don't want you dead. I don't not like you that much."

You laugh softly, probably because you're exhausted. It was a long day, and to top it off, nightmares sort of took a lot out of you. At least he didn't hate you. He wouldn't be here holding you in his arms if he did.

"Thank you." You tell him softly. "For everything. For coming to save me, for giving me your shirt, for making me soup, and calming me down, and... I really appreciate it."

"Don't do that. You don't need to do that. My mum would have beheaded me if she knew I didn't help a lady in distress. Plus, I just couldn't stand the sound of your cot when you thrash around." He grumbles, but you know he doesn't mean that.

"Well, my parents wouldn't be happy if I didn't acknowledge it." You throw back at him. "Plus I don't want to hear you bitch about how I never even said thank you."

"Brat." Soap chuckles. "Go to sleep. Don't need you to be grouchy tomorrow."

You're smiling, but it quickly fades at the idea of going to sleep. Despite Soap making you feel better, the nightmares still tickles at the back of your mind. Just waiting for you to shut your eyes so it can take over once more.

"I... I might stay up for a little bit." You say slowly.

"I know you're exhausted. You had a stressful day. Get some sleep, lass." He tells you softly, trying to gently push you to lay down, but you don't let him.

"But what if I have another nightmare?"

Soap pauses for a moment when you say that. You can't make out his expression in the dark, but you feel like he's clenching his jaw. There's a beat of silence before he continues.

"Then I'll be right here." He assures you. "You'll be alright."

"Well, I don't want to keep waking you up."

"Eh, you haven't yet. Still hadn't been able to get to sleep. Don't worry about me though." Soap starts to gently nudge you to get you to lay done. You're a bit reluctant, but you let him. You sink back onto your cot, the springs creating a symphony of whiny metallic screeches as you do. "Fucking hell, I hate your bed so much." He grumbles.

You roll your eyes, sighing heavily. You would argue more with him about your squeaky cot, ask him how he thinks you felt having to sleep on it, but you're actually pretty tired. So you opt to just lay back and hope you won't dream at all.

"Alright. But if I wake you up though I'm not gonna feel bad." You yawn softly.

"Yeah whatever, you-" Soap pauses to yawn as well. "Probably wouldn't have regardless." He finishes.

You giggle a little bit. "Goodnight, Soap."

"Night, States."

***

You're not sure what time it is, but you wake up in a cold sweat, Soap gently shaking your arm. Your cheeks are damp, and it still takes you a second to figure out that you're not dreaming anymore. Although you are getting quicker at coming around with each time he wakes you up.

You still grab his wrist in a death grip, breathing heavily as you look in the dark at him. He's still shushing you softly like he had the other times, though he sounds a lot more tired now. You're definitely waking him up.

"Hell, States. You're fine. Just another nightmare." He says, rubbing his face with his free hand when you won't let go of his other hand immediately. "It's alright, lass. Can you let go of my arm?"

You blink a few times, coming back once again. His words take a few seconds to register, and you release him once they do. You're far past feeling guilty now. You've woken him up a few times now. The nightmares are not letting up or going away.

"Sorry... Fuck what the hell is wrong with me..." You sigh, drying your cheeks on your shirt as you sit up. This was probably the fifth time now. It had to be close to 0400 but it's too hard to tell. The room was still in total darkness, so you know it's not quite 0700 yet.

Soap sighs softly, stinking down to sit on the edge of your bed, making the springs make a horrid noise. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're just dealing with a lot. Processing stuff. You'll probably be fine tomorrow."

"I want to be fine now." You complain. You felt bad for keeping him awake. If it was just you, you wouldn't care, but this was exhausting for Soap too.

"Unfortunately it doesn't work that way. Only thing you can do is just go back to sleep."

You can tell he doesn't really want to stay up with you. He wants to sleep, and you can't blame him. He's been up all night essentially and any sleep he is getting is being interrupted. You're honestly surprised he hadn't snapped at you yet.

"The sun's gotta be rising soon. I think I'm just going to stay up." You say, pushing the liner down and pulling your legs free.

"You don't know that. Could be only 0200 for all we know." He counters, but he doesn't push it. "But if you wanna stay up for a bit though that's fine. I just wanna sleep. I'm fucking tired."

You frown, watching as he gets up and drags his feet as he walks over to his side of the room. "I know you are. I'm sorry."

"Eh," Soap waves a hand back towards you as he crawls back into his cot. "It's fine. You can't help it." He yawns, the sound a little obnoxious and dramatic. "Just don't stay up too long." He adds, already half asleep the second his head hits his pillow.

"Alright." You agree, not even sure he's heard you. After a few minutes, he's already softly snoring.

You carefully try to get off your cot, wincing as the squeaking from the springs echo in the quiet room. Soap's snoring continues on uninterrupted though. Normally, you moving even the slightest bit would make him wake up and gripe, so that was a testament to how out of it he truly was.

The rest of the walk to the bedroom door is silent in comparison once you're off your cot. Even the slight squeak of the door hinges is nothing. Once you're in the kitchen, you can breathe a sigh of relief, glad to finally give Soap a little time to actually get some sleep. Though now you're cursed with trying to find something to do to occupy your mind.

It's far too dark to do something like read. You could use the flashlight, but you don't want to waste the batteries on something like that. You'd rather have it for emergencies. Cooking was also out of the question. The pots and pans and the smell of food would probably just wake Soap up again. Plus it was dark still. It was a little hard to cook without being able to see what you're doing.

You can, however, make yourself a drink. It was just a mixture of purified water from your cantina and a cherry flavoring packet, but it was something to occupy your mind for a few seconds and gave you something somewhat tasty to drink.

You set about digging through the box for the flavor you want, finding what you hope is a red and not an orange packet. When you tear it open though, a strong scent of cherry confirms it was the right flavor. You mix it into some water, trying to stir your cup quietly. Every time the spoon hits the side of the metal cup, it sounds so loud in the quiet night air.

You're about done with your stirring and are about to go sit at the little table when you hear a stick snapping somewhere outside. You inhale sharply, your body going tense. You try to rationalize with yourself that it's nothing. Just a deer or something else. But of course your sleep deprived, stressed out, overactive, brain thinks it's the bear.

No matter how much you tell yourself it's nothing and to calm down, your heart rate just keeps getting higher and higher. You can't make yourself calm down. Even if your rational brain knew it wasn't in danger, that didn't keep all the sensors from firing off.

Then you hear another twig snap, this one closer to the cabin. A horrible shiver runs up your spine as you imagine it is the bear. Smelling you from outside, right outside the door. It could just bust down that door and get you. And it's dark out, its fur would blend in so well that you wouldn't even see it coming.

That's enough to set you off. Your hands shake as you try to place your cup down somewhere it won't spill. You just want to be back in your bed. Right by Soap. An extra door between you and whatever else is outside.

The cup doesn't quite make it though. What was most likely just a crab apple from a nearby tree falls and lands on the roof by the deck. It rolls from the roof and hits the deck, making a thumping sound, which makes you jolt. Your frazzled mind doesn't think it's a nut though. You imagine it's the sound of a bear knocking something over outside while it makes its way up onto the deck.

You are in full panic mode. Water spills over the rim of the cup as you jump, and you hurriedly set it down. Once your hands are free, you bolt back into the bedroom. You don't mean to, but you end up slamming the door in your hurry. It doesn't immediately occur to you how loud it was, but it was enough to wake Soap up.

The poor Scot jumps awake, the loud bang nearly giving him a heart attack. He's on high alert as his eyes search the darkness for what caused the loud sound. He's drawn instantly to your dark figure by the door, and he can hear you breathing heavily but quietly.

"States?" You hear him ask hesitantly. "What the hell? What's wrong?"

You flinch when you hear his voice. You'd managed to wake him up yet again. Though you feel an odd mix of guilt and relief. You hate to admit it, but there is a part of you that is happy he's awake.

"There.. there's something outside..." You say softly, as though the imagery thing out there would hear.

"What?" Soap asks. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"There was a noise! I heard something on the porch and-and-"

"Oh Christ." Soap sighs. "Lass, it's probably nothing." He tries to reassure you, but you don't budge. Your tense figure stays standing in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around yourself as you watch the door.

"But-"

Then you hear a loud bang, and your heart jumps to your throat. It definitely came from outside. There was no way something in the kitchen had fallen over. You quickly back up until you're at Soap's side, tears collecting at the rim of your vision. Your heart is pounding, and you're doing everything you can to not have a full panic attack.

"See! I told you! What if the bear is back!?" You cry out.

Soap up on his feet instantly. Seeing him so alert only makes you want to panic more though. If he is this ready to go, then it really could be that the bear was back.

"What are you doing?!" You ask him, unable to keep the panic from your voice.

"I'm just gonna go check it out. I'll be right back." He tells you rather calmly. You're anything but calm though.

"No! Don't do that! What if something happens?!" You grab his arm before he can leave, making him look back at you.

"I doubt the bear is back. That thing was scared shitless. Just stay here. I'll only be a minute." He gives your hand a little pat, and despite any further protesting from you, he leaves to go check the sound out.

You have an internal debate with yourself on if you should go with him or not. You are terrified to face off with that black bear again, but you also don't want Soap to be by himself if it is back. Sure, he scared it off the first time, but you wanted to have his back like he had yours. After a few seconds of going back and forth in your head, you finally give in and rush after him.

"Soap! Wait up!" You sigh, running to catch up with him in the kitchen.

By the time you get there, Soap has already grabbed the flashlight and is shining it out the windows on the side where the banging sound had come from. His hand is cupped by his eyes as he looks around.

"I don't see anything out there." He assures you as you stand close to him, too scared to look for yourself.

"Well the bear is black. Kinda blends in right now." You mutter, chewing on your lip.

Soap huffs softly, standing up straight again as he looks back over to you. "Most bears sleep during this time. I am pretty certain it's not out there.

"Then what was that loud sound? Huh?" You worry, frowning at him. Soap groans, and you watch in confusion and then panic as he goes the door. "Don't fucking go out there! Are you crazy?!"

He's already out the door though, shining the light outside and looking over the porch. You manage to make yourself go to the doorway, watching him helplessly as he scouts it out.

"There's a bucket out here that's been knocked over. It was pro- Jesus! Fucking!" Soap jumps suddenly, taking a quick step back towards the door, which makes you jump.

"What?? What?!?" You shout, bouncing on your heels slightly as you try to make yourself stay and not run. You feel like your heart is going to explode it's beating so hard.

Soap takes a deep breath, placing a hand over his chest to calm himself down. "Just a fucking raccoon. Scared the shit out of me. See, have a look." He motions for you to come look as he shines the light.

Your feet stay firmly planted, but you do strain to look outside, and you can see a raccoon in the middle of the yard, its eyes glowing due to the light shining on it. It's frozen in place, on its way back to the woods. Then it suddenly turns and runs the rest of the way back.

"It probably just knocked that bucket over. Looking for food or something." Soap pieces together, turning and heading back inside. He shuts the door and places the flashlight back on its shelf. "No bear though. Come on, let's get back to bed."

You still haven't left your spot, trembling as you still don't feel safe. You know it's irrational to think the bear is still out there, even though Soap just proved it was most likely just a raccoon you'd been hearing, but you can't help it. The only thing that makes you move is when Soap comes over and gently grabs hold of your hips, trying to pull you away from your frozen state.

You resisting at first, but it doesn't take much for Soap to get you walking back to the bedroom. Your arms are folded over your chest, shivering both from fear and because the opened door has let some of the chilly night air in.

"Fuck. You're shaking again." Soap sighs, his hand rubbing your back as he guides you through the bedroom door. "You need to relax and stop working yourself up."

"I can't help it!" You frown, your exhausted mind breaking down a bit. "I've had fucking I don't even know how many nightmares about it now. I'm so tired, but I'm scared to sleep. But if I stay awake, then every little sound makes me imagine the bear just stalking the outside of the cabin! I just want to sleep..." You let out a little sob.

"Oh, States... you're killing me." Soap sighs, giving your back a few pats. "Here, come give me a hand real quick." He leaves your side, and you watch him out over to your cot. You're confused at first and then wince as the railing of your bed make jarring sounds as he moves it.

"What are doing?" You ask him, plugging one ear to help mute the sound.

"I'm moving your cot next to mine for the night." He explains. "Come give us a hand." He walks around to the side and gives it a push, essentially doing all the work himself. The beds are already close to being next to each other.

"You really don't have to-" You try to protest, but with a final shove, the beds are now side by side, almost creating one mattress.

"There." Soap sighs, crawling over yours and settling onto his own. "Come on. I'm tired." He pats your mattress firmly. "Get your ass in this bed and go to sleep." He grumbles, readjusting his pillow and blanket while he speaks.

"Was that really necessary?" You question, though you really don't feel like arguing.

"Yes." Soap says firmly. "Now I don't have to keep getting up. You have another nightmare, I'm just going to kick you. You start blabbering about a bear, and I can just slap you."

His explanation, though a little harsh sounding, makes you smile a bit. He was clearly doing this so you felt safer. Also probably cause he truly was sick of you waking him up, but the sediment was there. Slowly, you walk over to the bed and sink down onto the mattress, fidgeting until you get comfortable. It pulls a long groan from Soap.

"That sounds even worse up close..." He complains, making you smile again.

"We could trade cots you know." You offer, getting a dry laugh from him.

"Yeah, not a chance. Sleep tight, States."

"Sweet fucking dreams." You mumble back.

***

You're out in the middle of the lake, the sun is shining on your back as you scrub your front with a wash cloth. The water is warm for once, you notice. It feels like you're taking a regular bath back at your parent's home in the US, expect for the fact you're outside. You're completely unaware of your surroundings, not paying any mind to what's around you as you bathe. It's so peaceful out, you don't feel the need to.

A twig snapping somewhere off in the distance breaks the visage of peace. You gasp and quickly turn to scan the woods for any dangers. All you see is the lush greenery. The only movement is from the wind blowing through the leafs. You want to go back to bathing, but you just can't shake the feeling that something is with you.

Then a pair of red eyes can be seen in the middle of out of the bushes. The red is a stark contrast to the green leafs, and you find yourself freezing as you stare into them. Slowly, the eyes get closer, a nose and head appearing as a snarling bear shows itself. You gasp, feeling yourself shrink down. The fear that had been clawing at you starts up again, making your heart pound in your chest.

Then, you feel something behind you. Something sharp grabs onto your sides, teeth sink into the side of your neck. You scream, trying to get away, but the thing behind you pulls you back, not letting you escape so easily. Terror fills you, and you think the bear has somehow gotten behind you. But then the bear talks.

"Sorry, love. Didn't mean to frighten you."

A deep Scottish drawl fills your ears. You pause as the sharp, what you thought were claws, smooth out and turn into warm palms. The teeth biting down on your neck ease up, and the stinging feeling turns into the warm press of lips. You're confused for a long moment.

"S-Soap?" You question, trying to look behind you. It's hard to turn your head though when the person's head is pressed into the side of your neck, leaving delicate kisses over where teeth had once been. You know it's him though.

"Soap, th-there's a bear! We need to go!" You try to urge him, completely ignoring the fact that you're naked and he's kissing you. "It's over there! Please! It's going to get us if w-"

"Don't you worry about that. It's not gonna get you as long as I'm here." He promises, a hand sliding up your body and cupping one of your breasts. His thumb circles at your nipple, pulling a gasp from you.

"What the hell are you doing?" You question him, grabbing at his hands as they cup your breasts. You look down, the sight making you feel heavy all of a sudden. "We need to get in the cabin." You attempt to leave, but Soap tightens his grip, pulling you firmly against him. You feel his firm, definitely naked body, against your backside. Even more shocking, you can feel an even firmer something else pressing into your lower back.

"You're safe with me, lass. Nothing is gonna try to harm you as long as I'm here. So you can relax. I've got you, hen."

He starts to kiss at the side of your neck once more, hitting every spot that makes you weak in the knees. Your eyes remain on the tree line, scanning for that bear. There is no sign of it now though. There is no longer a feeling of fear. Just a warmth and a feeling of safety. You start to involuntarily relax, putting more weight back onto Soap and letting him hold you.

"There we are..." Soap whispers to you, his hands starting to dip lower now. It slides down your stomach, fingers teasing the sensitive skin just above your pelvis. "You're safe. Not gonna let anything get you, bonnie."

You sigh, eyes fluttering a little as you feel his hips begin to rub against your ass. His member is thick and firm against you and slippery from the water. He's starting to breathe in your ear, the puffs slow and steady, matching the intensity of his movements.

"You gonna let me take care of you? Let me make you feel good. Let me help you relax a little bit." He whispers to you softly, his kisses trailing up the side of your neck, sucking little hickies here and there.

You're finding it hard to focus on anything but him anymore. The lake, trees, cabin, bear. All seem to fade into the foreground. You want to talk, but it's like your tongue had gone numb. It feels heavy in your mouth, all senses dim. It only to heightens every touch, kiss, and movement of him. All you can manage in response to him is a soft hum.

Then wordlessly, you feel his slick member dragging down along your backside and settling between your legs. He feels so hot against your throbbing need. You feel yourself arching to try and move his cock head to your entrance. It nudges it softly, making your whimper. You can feel him probing, his swollen tip poking around, looking for its way in. And when he finds it, and starts to sink in, you vision gets blurry, and the dream starts to fade.

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