#its living at your home and crying yourself to sleep.

[heartofhubris-a]

Someone take me behind the shed and put me out of my misery.

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal AU.

Chapter 4:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5.

This chapter is brought to you by myyyyyyy🎉birthday🎉 woohoo 🥳 I hath aged

It's a little bit shorter, but I mean come on it's a unique chapter soooo it's cool guys I swear

Lots more Batfam content this time, albeit Tim centric. I'll balance it out in the future I swear! Also it's still platonic, but you could probably get a romantic reading from this a lil bit if you try

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @lavender-moony @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0

----

A few days have passed since your encounter with Red Robin. He hasn't shown up since, but another thing has.

Your work had sent you an email. An invitation to Wayne Enterprises, to represent them. According to them, your location was the closest to Wayne Enterprises, and so you were selected. You lived 50 minutes away from Wayne Enterprises. Their home office was 30 minutes away. You weren't sure who was doing the math here, but they needed some more practice.

That being said, you could notice a pattern when there was one. This was Tim Drake's attempt to get you out of your home. And unfortunately, it was going to work. You needed your job. It was perfect, remote, didn't bother you as long as you got the work done. Jobs like that were rare, especially in Gotham.

Not for the first time, you kinda felt like crying.

If Red Robin, your soulmate, was indeed Tim Drake, then what was this? Did he have you figured out? Or was he continuing the investigation?

You didn't know...

Refusing to show up would get you fired. There was no way around that. But, what if you couldn't go?

What if you were too injured to go? There's no way you could fake something, the bats are quite literally master detectives. That and your soul animal form would likely reveal the uninjured truth.

Maybe if you injured yourself?

No, no no no. That was a bad route to go down. If this meeting is to check whether you are soulmates with him, a matching injury on your soul animal form would be like a criminal and a suspect having the same tattoo.

There wasn't really any option here. Which, really, is just typical for the vigilantes of Gotham.

"Ughhh." You groaned to yourself, cradling your hands with your head. You glared over at Red, who had been showing up much more frequently these past few days (which was saying something, since all your soul animals were already by you 23/7). Red gave a small chirp in reply, some sort of smugness in its tone.

Maybe it was time to invest in wind chimes or something. You heard they can scare off robins.

You felt like you were going to need it.

~ ~ ~ ~

Tim's developed something of a guilty habit.

It wasn't a bad thing, per se. Nothing B would particularly frown at. Dick might even agree.

He imagined you wouldn't quite feel the same, though.

You looked especially fragile, as you slept. During the day your face was haunted by false bravado, a paranoid edge to every smile. Sleep smoothed out the lines of your face, giving a softer touch to your slumbering form.

You frown when he reaches out to poke your cheek. It's cute. His hand twitches for his camera. You're always cute, whether it's a small little frown on your face or beaming joy.

He's developed a new favorite activity. Alongside solving cases, he's now watching you. He wants to observe it all. From little habits to obvious passions, he wants to know everything. Hobbies, skills, loves, DNA. He'd only just found you, the answer to the mystery that he's been in since birth. He's had a lot of time to build up this obsession.

He wants and wants and needs. He can wait to take.

You are a light sleeper, but he's a quiet stalker. You don't always drink milk before bed, but when you do, you'll get a little more tired than usual. Your groggy face is cute, too.

He reached out, stroking your hair with the slightest of a smile beginning on his face. It was soft. It reminded him of you, your soul animal form. It had flinched away from him earlier, as it always does whenever they were in uniform. Finding that you do the same as a human wasn't so surprising.

They had adapted to your soul form’s skittishness. They could do the same again. His mind briefly flashed through some ideas, an ankle bracelet, a watch, a collar? If it was on the ankle, you'd match.

He broke out of his musings at the shift of movement. A flutter of wings. B’s soul animal flew down perching on a piece of furniture nearby as a vantage point. He smirked. Looked like he wasn't the only one feeling a little possessive tonight.

He must've been thinking of you. Not surprising, given that your soul form was scheduled time with him today. They had to work out a schedule, else there would have been a lot more stabbings. Not that it didn't prevent sudden abductions occasionally, thanks Jason.

That was fine though. B could have you tonight, Damian could have you tomorrow, Dick the next. Because Tim had the real you, right here.

And he wasn't planning on letting go.

There's a room he's preparing inside Drake manor. He’d put your name on it, but that would be too obvious if anyone came around. Instead, it would be his little secret with you. He's only just met you, but he has plenty of ideas for it already.

He didn't feel guilty for this. Not at all.

You were his as much as he was yours after all. If there was a problem with these feelings, then why would fate itself tie you to him?

If anything, the only guilt he’d feel is not telling anyone else. He couldn't help it, he just wanted you to himself for a while. He caught you, so he was allowed to have you.

But was that really guilt? Or just annoyance at the idea of getting caught?

An alert on his communicator made him frown, taking him out of the trance he had felt into. There was more he had to do.

A shame, but it was fine. He got to spend some quality time with you, taken a few things for the future. He’d make more time. And you'll have all the time in the world for him. But first…

Tim withdrew a specialty camera from his utility belt, raising it to his face. He adjusted a few settings, then…

Snap!

~ ~ ~ ~

You fought the urge to yawn. You have been so sleepy lately. You had to wake up especially early for today. Lovely.

At least today was the moment of truth. You'd show Red Robin for once and for all that you were perfectly normal, and not at all his soulmate. He’d lose interest, and your life would return to its domesticity.

The one good thing going for today was that you're somehow accompanied by none of your soul animals. A truly rare occasion that is ruined by the fact that you're instead visiting a soulmate in the flesh. If any of your soul animals do show up, you have your old reliable bag to shove them into. So, you should be alright.

Wayne Enterprises was a terrifying image, but you steadied yourself with the fact that your whole life’s freedom was at stake here, which was much more terrifying. After that you could get through the door. Security just letting you through after giving your name almost had you running out the door though, you'd admit.

The elevator ride was long and solemn, giving you time to think about everything. Maybe you should think about moving, staying in Gotham was perhaps a ridiculous sentiment to begin with. It was a shame though, you were a Gothamite through and through, you didn't want to leave the country your parents lived and raised you in.

Still, perhaps it was time to leave. Things were getting too risky. Thinking about it, Wayne Enterprises? Honesty what even was your life.

The ding of the elevator door interrupts your musings, an assistant directing you to Tim Drake’s office.

As you walk over, you can't help but listen in to some shouting coming from the room.

A younger voice is yelling. “Give me them! You do not deser-” The voice gets cut off, as an older voice yells back. “It is my turn, you do not get to just steal them!”

The younger voice starts up again, but so does the older voice, alongside what you can only presume to be fighting noises.

You just kinda stare at the door. You are a working professional, representing your company to the prestigious Wayne Enterprises. You came here with lofty expectations and responsibilities to fulfill. And the CEO… is fighting someone in his office.

You have no idea what to do.

A minute passes.

You started to think about signaling an assistant to come help, but before you could do so the fighting seemed to end with a shouted “Fine! But B will hear about-” you can't hear the rest, as the shouting returns to a normal volume.

A door is opened and slammed, footsteps retreating away from the office. You take a moment to appreciate the fact that Tim Drake’s office has two doors that lead in different places, because it means you didn't have to meet whoever he was fighting.

A second or two later, the door in front of you swings open. Tim Drake is facing you, his hair a little askew, and his cheeks a little red. He smiles, an easy thing. It's as if the sight of you brought it to his face.

“Welcome!” He waves you in, somehow not acknowledging what you just heard in any form. The objects in his office are perfectly aligned. Nothing looks disturbed at all. How?

He waves you over to a chair, settling into one himself.

“Well.” He begins. “It's nice to see you again, Y/n."

You hope this goes by quickly.

[beloveds-embrace]

(When you died suddenly, Simon wasn’t the only who mourned you)

The house was eerily quiet now.

Simon sat at the edge of your shared bed, his head in his hands, fingers tangled in his short hair. His mask lay discarded on the nightstand, and for once, it wasn’t shielding him- it was just another thing you wouldn’t tease him about. Not anymore.

Your scent still lingered faintly in the room. It clung to the blanket you always wrapped yourself in on cold nights after pushing him away because his toes were too cold on your skin, to the hoodie you wore when you fed the cat at dawn. Simon had tried to avoid those reminders, tried to stay out of the bedroom entirely, but it was impossible.

Everywhere he turned, you were there.

And so was the cat.

The creature you’d found under a car during a rainstorm last year- skinny, drenched, and hissing at the world that had abandoned it- had never liked him much. It was your cat, after all. You were the one who had carried it home, coaxed it to eat, and won its trust with the same patience and soft words you cracked Simon’s walls with. He’d accepted the animal because it made you happy, even if it always gave him a disdainful glare before curling up in your lap and never let him go near it without hissing.

But now, the cat was lost too.

“Meow.”

Simon glanced down. The black-and-white cat stood at his feet, looking up at him with wide, confused eyes. She let out another small, plaintive cry, and Simon’s chest tightened. He hadn’t cried since the accident- hadn’t let himself, even when they’d lowered your coffin and your parents had hugged him, told him he is still their son, but the sight of the cat pacing the house, searching for you, broke something in him.

“She’s not coming back,” he murmured, his voice rough and uneven. The words tasted bitter, and saying them aloud made them feel real in a way he wasn’t ready for.

You weren’t coming back.

The cat didn’t understand, of course. She jumped onto the bed and pawed at the blanket, kneading the fabric before curling up where you used to sleep. It meowed again, softer this time, and Simon felt his throat close up.

Why does it sound like she’s crying “Mom”-

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, his hand trembling as he reached out. The cat flinched but didn’t run, and after a moment, she allowed him to rest his large hand against her small frame. Her fur was warm beneath his fingers, a living reminder of you.

She nuzzled against his hand with another sad meow, something she had never done before, and Simon’s breath hitched.

“You… miss her too, don’t you?” he said, voice breaking. He swallowed hard, but it was no use. The tears slowly spilled down, and yet he had no energy to wipe them away.

What was he to do in a world bereft of you?

The cat meowed softly, curling closer to him, as if she understood.

Maybe she did. Both of them were now robbed of the one person that made their lives feel warm.

[trashytracktales]

I need lando ANGST. Make me cry! But also smut! Goshhhh I need it. Something like they’ve been distancing each other and things have been so tense and one day lando catches reader getting herself off so he says ‘if you wanted me to fuck you all you had to do was ask.’ And then he ruins here. But lots of angst in the beginning. Ty I love you xx

Endings, beginnings | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Well. I was sobbing while writing this. Hope you're proud of yourself 💔

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

𐙚 summary ──── They’re at a breaking point in their relationship, their stubbornness and jealousy pushing them so close to the edge. After agreeing to distance each other during an exhausting triple header, Lando returns home unexpectedly to find her in his apartment, trying to cope with his absence.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, angst, smut, toxic dynamics, emotional distress, descriptive language, masturbation, oral & fingering ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, swearing, potential relationship breakdown.

𐙚 word count ──── 5.1k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 12, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── This is my 10th work ayeee! Thank you guys so much for investing your time into reading my silly little stories, and for trusting me enough to bring your requests to life. I appreciate you a lot 🤍🎀

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

IT'S LATE. THE kind of hour that turns Monaco into a still painting, muted and hollow, yet as breathtaking as ever.

Lando isn’t supposed to be home yet. The plan was to stay in Brazil for a couple more days after the race, but plans change when you're a professional overthinker. Somewhere between the chaos of three back-to-back races, he couldn’t stand the thought of another night in a hotel.

He needed to be in his own space so he could think.

The elevator ride to his floor seems like going on forever, his suitcase dragging heavily behind him, its wheels scratching aggressively against the polished floors the second he gets out of it. He’s expecting silence; an empty apartment, untouched, heavy with the ghosts of their last argument. But when he opens the door, the faint smell of her perfume hits him hard across the face, and his heart tightens.

His living room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a scented candle casting long shadows on the walls. A throw blanket is draped over the couch, and a half-empty mug of tea sits forgotten on the coffee table.

And then he sees her.

She’s curled up on the couch, wearing one of his oversized hoodies. Its sleeves cover her hands as she hugs her knees to her chest, her face partially hidden in the dim light of the room. Her hair is a little messy, and there’s a redness to her eyes that tells him she hasn’t been sleeping well — he knows he shouldn't, but he's glad he isn't the only one losing sleep over this. On a deeper level, it means they both care enough to let it consume them.

So, it has to count for something, right?

For a moment, he just stands there, staring. Then, the words spill out before he can stop them, or think of something else to ask, “Why are you here?”

Her head snaps toward him, her wide eyes betraying a mix of surprise and guilt. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen in place.

She straightens slightly, pulling the hoodie tighter around herself. “Lan…” she blinks in amazement, her voice barely audible.

“I just asked you a question,” he says, sharper than he initially intended.

He's not usually like this. But considering how they left things before he had to go, Lando is entitled to ask questions. It was her suggestion to separate, and finding her here only messes with his head more.

“I… know. I'm sorry,” she looks away, her fingers tugging at the hem of the hoodie. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” his suitcase thuds against the floor while he fixes his eyes on her. “Why are you in my apartment? We said we’d take some time apart.”

Her shoulders hunch defensively, but her voice remains the same as he knows it — soothing, carrying so much tenderness that it could stop wars. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Lando exhales harshly, nodding while dragging a hand through his curls. “We agreed on space, remember?” he insists, “You can’t just show up here like nothing happened.”

“I didn’t—show up,” she snaps, her tone suddenly sharper. “I’ve been here for a while. I didn’t know you were coming back so soon,” she repeats.

“Okay, then. Let me get this straight. You're here, but you don’t answer my texts anymore,” he fires back. “Does that make any sense to you? ‘Cause it sure as hell doesn't for me.”

“I was going to,” she retorts, standing now, the oversized hoodie swallowing her frame.

Lando takes a step forward, his hands on his hips. “I don't understand you. I thought this was what you wanted,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Space. Time. A chance to figure out if we even work anymore.”

“Yes,” the girl agrees, “I wanted to figure us out, not pretend we don’t exist.”

Lando's voice rises, his frustration spilling over, “You think I’m pretending? I’m doing what I thought you wanted! Because every time we’re together, we just end up—”

“Fighting,” she finishes bitterly. “Yeah, I know. Do you think I enjoy feeling like this all the time?”

His shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of him. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice softer now. “I don’t know what to think or do anymore.”

They stand there in silence, the weight of their shared frustration pressing down on them. She sits back down on the couch, clasping her hands on the edge of it.

When she finally speaks again, her voice cracks. “I don't want to fight, Lando. I’ve been staying here because I couldn’t be in my own place. Everywhere I looked, I saw you. I thought maybe if I stayed here, it would make sense to feel your presence, because it's your place.”

Lando’s jaw tightens as he lets her words sink in. The sight of her, wearing his clothes with tears in her eyes makes his chest ache. He wants to wrap himself around her and make sure nothing will ever hurt her again, but the ego works a double shift tonight.

Still, “I'm not mad that you're here,” he clarifies. “But why didn’t you tell me?” asks Lando quietly.

“I didn’t think it would make a difference,” she whispers. “I planned to leave before you… Well, it doesn't matter now.”

“See, that right there is the fucking problem. Of course it matters! Why wouldn't—”

“Because!” her firm voice interrupts him. “We keep hurting each other, and I honestly don’t think we'll ever stop. You’re stubborn and selfish, and I’m jealous, and we both jump to the worst conclusions about each other all the fucking time.”

Lando sighs, “Right,” he says after a pause, his voice laced with guilt. “I am stubborn and selfish,” he agrees, “I get angry too fast. Is that it? And you—you think I’m always looking for a reason to leave.”

Her breath catches as she looks down at a random point on the floor. “Aren’t you?”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He steps much closer, his voice firm. “No. I’m not. But you make it so damn hard to stay sometimes.”

He regrets his words the second they leave his mouth. He's aware that she's not the only one to blame for the situation that they're in, but at the moment, he's making it seem that way. He can't look at her hurt expression, so Lando closes his eyes for a second, a long silence settling in the distance dug so deeply between them.

She continues to look at him, anger flaring in her eyes. “Yeah, well, you make it hard to trust you, Lando. Every time you’re away, I feel like I’m waiting for the other bomb to drop.”

He finally opens his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, what do you want from me, hm?” he asks. “I don't know what you expect me to do.”

Her voice breaks as she replies, “I don't have any expectations left. I just want to stop feeling like I’m losing you all the time.”

Lando’s face softens, the exhaustion from weeks of racing and months of fighting etched into every line. He steps closer, slowly, until he’s standing in front of her. He crouches down so they’re eye level, his expression conflicted.

Even as hurt as she is now, he is still amazed by her beauty. Gazing down at him, she spreads her legs gently so she could make more room for him in her space. However, she's doesn't dare to touch him, no matter how badly she needs to feel him, just to remind herself that he's real.

“I'm so fucking tired, baby,” says Lando, his voice breaking slightly. “Aren’t you tired?”

She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Every day, especially when you're not here,” she chokes out. “But I still want to try. God, Lando, I can’t imagine not trying.”

His hands reach for hers almost instinctively, but he acts with the same hesitation, pulling back at the last second. She notices, the flicker of hurt on her face evident in the way she squeezes her eyes shut, only to erase that image from her memory.

They sit in silence for a while, the air thick with unresolved issues and the weight of everything they can’t say. He studies her, trying to think ahead, but it’s impossible when she's like this — indecisive and lost.

Finally, Lando stands up, exhaling sharply. “I need a shower,” he mutters, heading toward the bathroom without another word.

She watches him go, her heart sinking. She’s still here, but somehow, it feels like she’s further away from him than ever. All she wants to do is jump into his arms and tell him she's missed him so much these past few weeks. Tell him how much she loves him, and that she would do anything to see him happy and satisfied with their life together. But she's too far away, and if she doesn't jump high enough, she could find herself free-falling, with no one to catch her on the other side. And that's too much of a risk, even for her.

When Lando comes back, his hair damp and his expression unreadable, she’s standing by the window, looking out at the city lights.

She doesn’t turn when he approaches, but she speaks softly, her voice small. “Do you even want me here?”

Lando freezes, her question cutting deeper than he expects. After a long pause, he answers, his voice low. “Of course,” he says. “But I honestly don’t think it's a good idea.”

She finally turns to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “Yeah…” the girl nods slowly. “I just—Lando. I can’t keep doing this if I’m the only one who believes we can make it.”

Lando nods. “Thing is, I don't know what to believe anymore,” he says honestly, his voice steady.

A simple truth that neither of them wants to acknowledge. But even as the words hang in the air, neither of them moves to leave. Because for all the pain, there’s still something tethering them together — something they’re both terrified to lose.

“I’ll take the couch,” he finally says, tugging the throw blanket off the armrest. His voice is flat, drained of the emotion that had filled it earlier.

“What?” she asks, startled.

“You can have the bed,” he clarifies, avoiding her gaze as he starts arranging the blanket. “It’s late. We’re both tired, and this… we can’t fix this tonight. We should rest and talk it out in the morning.”

She opens her mouth to protest, the words forming instinctively, but then she stops herself. He looks so tired, not just physically but emotionally. His shoulders are tense, his jaw set in that stubborn way she knows so well. He’s trying to create the space she's been asking for — not because he doesn’t care, but because he does.

“Okay,” she ends up saying, her voice small. Defeated. Once again.

At that, Lando turns to meet her eyes, his expression serious, almost distant. It’s a side of him she doesn’t see often, the version of Lando that’s careful and guarded. She hates it, hates the way it makes her feel like a stranger to him. But mostly, she hates that she’s the one who’s brought this out in him.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, his voice tinged with a finality that makes her stomach churn.

Alright then.

“'Night,” she replies, walking past him, their arms touching lightly.

She retreats to his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her. The familiar scent of him — clean, musky, intoxicating but soothing, grounding her with its quiet presence and making her feel more at home than ever — wraps around her as she crawls into the bed they’ve shared so many times before. But it feels different now, colder, emptier. Foreign, somehow.

For a stupid, silly moment, she lets herself believe that things will be okay in the morning. That they’ll talk, really talk, and find a way back to each other. She clings to that thought as she stares up at the ceiling, her fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. But no matter how hard she tries, she can't shake the feeling that this is it.

Neither of them sleeps for hours after that.

IT'S FOUR IN the morning when Lando lies on the couch, his eyes fixed on the darkened ceiling as his thoughts race. He can hear the faint creak of the bed when she shifts, knowing she's not asleep, either, and it tugs at something deep inside him. He’s never been good at leaving things unfinished, and this is no different.

He pushes himself up from the couch for what feels like the hundredth time, his fingers curling and uncurling in frustration.

Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.

Maybe he shouldn’t have come home.

Maybe this is exactly why they need space, because when they're in each other's proximity, he simply can't think straight. Especially when she's just a few feet away, separated by only a simple door.

A door that masks the sounds of her soft cry.

Then, he hears the same faint sound, broken, but unmistakable. It cuts through his doubts like a knife through butter, sending a sharp pang of guilt and something deeper, a lot darker, straight to his chest. He hesitates for only a moment before moving toward the bedroom, his steps careful, almost hesitant. His hand hovers over the door, his heart pounding against his ribs as he takes a deep breath in.

Lando knocks softly, his voice barely louder than the quiet hum of the apartment. “Is everything okay?”

Nothing.

He knocks again, his jaw tightening.

The silence presses against him, thick and suffocating, until he can’t take it anymore. He twists the knob and pushes the door open, his pulse roaring in his ears as his eyes adjust to the dim light.

She’s sprawled on his bed, the sheets tangled around her hips, one hand clenched in the fabric while the other moves between her thighs. Her head is tilted back, her lips parted in soft, shaky gasps, and her eyes are squeezed shut like she’s trying to block out the rest of the world.

His throat goes dry, his emotions colliding in a chaotic storm of shock, desire, and something dangerously close to anger. Not anger at her — it never is — but at the situation, at the rift between them that’s left her seeking comfort this way. And at himself, for not being able to fix it.

He should walk away. He knows he should. But instead, he steps into the room, his movements slow and calculated as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching her intently.

Her eyes snap open, and for a moment, she looks utterly petrified. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson as she scrambles to sit up, her legs snapping shut as she fumbles for words.

“No, don’t let me interrupt you,” says Lando, his voice low and rough.

“You scared the shit out of me, Lando,” she stammers, her voice trembling. “I thought you were…”

Asleep.

“And I thought you were crying,” he says, wetting his lips. “Well, I was right in a way.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and she looks away, her hands twisting nervously in the sheets. He hates the way she shrinks under his gaze, but he can’t stop himself from taking another step forward. His jaw tightens again. He doesn’t know what to say or do, circling back to the same feeling.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel, either — hurt, anger, longing?

So much lust.

The silence stretches between them until it’s almost unbearable. And then, finally, she moves, swinging her legs off the bed like she’s about to leave.

But he doesn’t let her.

His hand shoots out, grabbing her ankle and tugging her back toward the edge of the bed. Her gasp echoes in the quiet room, her wide eyes locked on his as he steps between her legs, his grip firm but not forceful.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, her voice shaky, a mix of uncertainty and... hope that she already knows the answer.

“Fuck if I know,” he admits. His hands slide up her thighs, spreading them apart again, and he drops to his knees in front of her. “But I can’t just… I can’t leave you like this.”

“Baby,” she breathes, her tone caught between a plea and a warning.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Please. I can't take this shit anymore.”

At the sound of his pleading, she reaches out, her fingers threading through his hair as her breath hitches. It’s all the permission he needs to press his lips to her warm entrance, soft and tentative at first, but when she arches into him, her body trembling beneath his touch, something inside him snaps.

Lando doesn’t hesitate once she gives in, her fingers tightening in his hair as her thighs tremble against his shoulders. His hands grip her legs, his touch firm but reverent, holding her open for him like he’s afraid she’ll change her mind.

The first swipe of his tongue over her slit is slow and deliberate, tasting her in a way that makes her breath hitch. He hums low in his throat, the vibration sending a shockwave through her that has her head falling back against the mattress.

“Lan…do,” her voice breaks on his name, a soft moan that sends a shiver down his spine.

“Always so sweet for me, love,” he exhales heavily, her scent intoxicating.

Lando's grip on her thighs tightens as he pulls her closer, his tongue moving with purpose now, circling her clit and flicking in a rhythm that makes her toes curl. The erotic sounds from between her legs make her close her eyes in pleasure, her pussy tightening around him with each intentional stroke of his tongue. He’s thorough, so meticulous, as though he’s trying to commit every whimper and every twitch of her body to memory.

“That's so good, Lan. Feels so good,” she lets out a string of moans, her eyes rolling as the air gets knocked out of her lungs. “Oh, god, I've missed your mouth so much.”

She traces her hand through his hair, holding him while her hips push forward, the bridge of his nose tickling her clit so sweetly. He wants to drown in her, to lose himself in the way she responds to him, every single time.

Each gasp feels like a lifeline, tethering him to something real, something he can hold on to when everything else feels so uncertain. Her fingers curl in his hair, tugging slightly as her hips begin to move against him, chasing the friction he so willingly gives. Lando's jaw clenches at the way she’s unraveling for him, and he redoubles his efforts, his tongue flicking faster, more insistently, as he pulls out to suck gently on her clit.

“Baby, please,” she's almost crying, her voice shaky, but still cutting through the air like a plea for salvation. “Need you… so close.”

Lando doesn’t stop. He can’t. Especially not when her legs start to tremble against him, her breathing becoming erratic as she teeters on the edge. Instead, he slides one hand from her thigh to her hip, pressing her down slightly to keep her steady while his other hand moves swiftly to where he has been tongue-fucking her. His long fingers slide gently through her wetness, curling inside as he finds the spot that makes her see stars.

She feels herself opening wider for him, then clenching harder while he adds just enough pressure to make her body tense, his tongue never ceasing its rhythm.

“Lando, I—” her words dissolve into a broken moan, and he knows she’s close.

His heart pounds in his chest as he keeps going, the sound of his fingers fucking in and out of her pussy blending so beautifully with the noise of his tongue lapping at her clit. He doesn’t care how long it takes; he’ll stay between her thighs forever if he has to. He won't move again until she falls apart beneath him. For him. Maybe then Lando will understand why he needs her so much, why the thought of losing her feels like losing a piece of himself.

When she comes, it’s like the world stops from spinning. Her body tenses, her thighs trembling as she cries out his name, over and over again, her release washing over her in waves. He should pull out and give her time to ride out her orgasm, but his tongue and fingers coaxing her through it, making her gasp for another breath, is sending shocks of ecstasy to his hardened cock. In his desperate attempt to relieve his pain, he rubs himself against the bed, but it is not nearly enough.

Finally, when her hands are falling limply from his hair, that's when Lando slows down his movements. He presses soft kisses against her inner thighs as he pulls back slightly, his hands gently stroking her soft legs.

“You alright?” asks Lando, his voice raw.

She looks down at him, her chest heaving as their eyes meet. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze, something that makes her throat tighten. His lips are swollen and glossy, his chin slick and glistening from her arousal. His breathing is as unsteady as hers, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’s just run a marathon. The sight of him like this — completely undone and yet so devastatingly composed — makes her stomach clench with need. More need.

“Mhm,” she manages, heat rising from her chest to her cheeks, while her hand involuntarily travels back between her own legs.

Lando slowly wipes the wetness from his chin with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. The motion is deliberate, almost taunting, as if he wants her to remember every second of her high. Then he rises to his feet, his big frame towering over her as he leans forward, bracing himself on either side of her hips. Her breath catches as he hovers above her, so beautiful and wrecked, his face so close that she can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

She expects Lando to kiss her, her lips parting slightly in anticipation, but instead, he tilts his head and murmurs, his voice a low rasp that sends a shiver down her spine.

“If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask, baby,” his unfiltered voice makes her heart race in her chest. “I don’t care that we’re fighting. It doesn’t matter how tired I am,” he continues, his eyes dark and piercing as they lock onto hers. “I’ll stop anything, drop everything, just to fuck my needy girl, yeah?”

The bluntness of his words, paired with the raw intensity in his voice, leaves her momentarily speechless, the pads of her fingers collecting whatever is left from her release. She whimpers softly, her lips parting again as she brings her fingers to his, pushing inside his mouth while watching his pupils dilating. Lando sucks on them with the same thirst as earlier, biting softly when she tires to pull out. At that, something inside her snaps. She surges up, her hands gripping the back of his neck as she pulls him into a fierce, desperate kiss.

His lips are warm and soft, slick with the taste of her still lingering there, and she can’t help the way she moans into his mouth. He groans in response, deep and guttural, as his tongue slides between her lips, claiming her in a way that makes her stomach flip.

It feels like fire and desperation, like he’s trying to pour all of his frustration into one single kiss. When his tongue moves against hers, she whimpers, the sensation achingly familiar yet entirely overwhelming. It feels like he’s everywhere, like he’s consuming her from the inside out, and she doesn’t want it to stop. Ever.

“Lan,” she moans into his mouth, “Please…”

Her pleading seem to break something in him. Lando pulls back just enough to meet her gaze, his lips curling into a slow, crooked grin, making her realize how bad she's missed seeing it. There’s something tender yet profoundly sad in his expression, though, a quiet heartbreak that makes her chest burn.

“Please, what? Hm, what do you need?” he murmurs, his hand tracing a soft, reverent path down her body.

His fingers graze her collarbone, her ribs, her hip, each touch filled with a tenderness that feels almost out of place amidst the heat between them. But she doesn’t care about the sadness or the hesitation. Not right now. She arches into his touch, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she's whispering nonsense, too drunk on him to make more sense than that.

Lando’s breath mingles with hers, his lips brushing hers in the faintest of kisses as he whispers, “You aching for me, baby?”

Her nod is small, almost imperceptible, but he feels it, and his hand slips down to her hip, grounding her. The weight of his touch is familiar, comforting even, and it sends a tremor through her body that she doesn’t try to hide.

“Hurts so bad,” she admits, her voice cracking as her eyes meet his.

“I know,” he nods slowly, his voice thick with emotion. “Can I me make it better?”

“Always.”

He presses his lips to hers fully now, a slow, lingering kiss that feels like a balm against the ache between them. It starts soft, tentative, as if they’re testing the waters, but quickly grows deeper. His tongue sweeps across her bottom lip, and she opens for him, sighing into his mouth as he kisses her with all the longing, irritation, and so much love that he’s been holding back.

His hands move with purpose, sliding under the hem of her shirt — his shirt — and pushing it up, exposing her bare skin. She gasps as his palms graze her sides, his touch igniting a fire that spreads through her veins.

Lando pulls back just enough to tug the shirt over her head, his eyes darkening as he takes her in. “My beautiful baby,” he says, almost like he’s reminding himself that she still belongs to him and vice versa.

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she reaches for him, her fingers tugging at the hem of his own shirt. He helps her, pulling it off in one fluid motion before pressing his chest against hers, their bare skin meeting in a way that feels like coming back home after a long, tiring trip.

They move together like this, slowly shedding the layers between them until there’s nothing left but their bodies and the weight of everything they've done wrong.

He lowers her onto the bed, his lips never leaving hers as he settles between her legs. The warmth of his body, the solidity of him, makes her feel anchored, even as the storm inside her threatens to consume her. And when he enters her, it’s heaven, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of her. She moans, her hands flying to his shoulders as he stretches her, filling her with his perfect length. He stills for a moment, his forehead pressed against hers as they both adjust to his size.

“Remember how easy it used to be?” he whispers.

She nods while his lips are brushing her temple. “Yeah. I remember.”

The first thrust is painfully slow, managing to pull a soft moan from her lips. But soon enough, Lando sets a rhythm, one that feels familiar, almost nostalgic, like they’re trying to recapture the simplicity of how things used to be. She matches him, her hips rising to meet his, their bodies moving together in perfect sync.

As the pace builds, so does the intensity and vulnerability between them. The kisses become messier, more desperate, and his thrusts deepen, driving into her with a force that feels like a mix of anger and love.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” he says suddenly, his voice cracking as her nails dig into his back, leaving crimson lines in their wake.

“No?” she asks, a little hesitant.

His movements falter for a split second before he recovers, his eyes locking onto hers. “God. No, baby,” he says, his voice thick with determination. “We can fix this. I swear we can.”

Tears well in her eyes, and she can see his own glistening in the obscure lighting. They’re both breaking, and yet neither of them wants to let go.

Lando thrusts harder now, the force of it making her cry out as her body arches beneath him. She meets him halfway, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pulls him deeper inside her, as close as humanly possible. The room fills with the sounds of their bodies slapping against each other, their breathing, and their muffled cries.

“I need you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rush of their movements. “Like this, all the time. Only you.”

“You have me,” he replies, his voice breaking. “You’ll always have me, you know that.”

“Promise me,” she demands as she starts clenching around him, the heat building once again inside her.

Lando gasps at the feeling, fucking into her harder. “Shit, baby. I promise you. I promise.”

The weight of his words pushes her over the edge, her release hitting her harder the second time around. She cries out, tears streaming down her face as her body shakes beneath him. He follows moments later, his own climax tearing through him as he buries his face in her neck, his shoulders trembling with the force of it.

They stay like that, tangled together, their bodies molding into each other as they come down from the high. But the tears don’t stop. They cling to each other, crying softly as the reality of their situation crashes down on them.

“I love you so much,” he says, feeling her fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“I love you, too,” she admits without hesitation. “Do you think that's enough?”

Lando lifts his head, his eyes red-rimmed but full of a tentative hope. “No. But it's a start.”

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[lymtw]

Thinking of Toji coming home to you after a rough day at work.

On a normal day he would call out to you the second he steps through the front door, but today he's not in the mood to be loud. He silently walks through the living room, into the hallway where he directs himself towards the bedroom, where he knows you are. He's dirty and sweaty and there's somebody's blood drying on the fabric of his shirt. Luckily, it's just a small area. You won't spot it on your own, and Toji won't be showing it off to you.

The door creaks open and you're there, lying on your stomach, in bed. You're distracted by your phone, too zoned into your own serene little world to notice that Toji was home. He can smell your shampoo and the lotion you used, in the air, the smell getting stronger as he makes his way towards the bed. His stealthiness is a threat, never to you, but the fact that you didn't turn around once really had him thinking about your safety.

He didn't waste another second just looming over you. Slowly, he crawled onto the bed and before you managed to shriek or say something about how he scared the crap out of you, he laid right on top of you, crushing you and revoking your ability to make any sounds but groans under his weight.

"Toji?" you call, once you get accustomed to the pressure your bear of a man added onto you. He doesn't respond, and instead buries his face into the crook of your neck, getting a deeper whiff of the scent that emanated off of you. "Toji?" You try again, turning your head slightly.

"You smell pretty. Could smell you the second I walked in the room," he hums, inhaling your clean scent.

"Yeah, I just showered. Don't you wanna go get cleaned up, too? Dinner's ready."

"Of course I do. Thanks, doll. Just let me have you like this for a sec."

You had no argument for that. You laid there, flat on the bed beneath him, and allowed him all the time necessary to relax. He was quiet, and his hold on you was a little tighter than usual. That wasn't what brought you to your conclusion, but it was clear that he wasn't his usual self.

Something about being able to wrap himself around your entire body was comforting to Toji. It made him feel like he was keeping you safe, like he was the soft blanket you cover yourself with at night, rather than a man who comes home with blood stains on his clothes.

You were the one thing he was positive he would come home to, and that was enough. You were more than enough for him. He always felt there was no way to pay back for every day you spent accepting him as he is. All those nights when you let him hold you, even after he made you cry. Those mornings when you woke up with a heavy heart, alone, only to find out through a text message that he had to leave for work early.

Undeserving was a small word to Toji. It was you still finding it in yourself to give him the warmest of welcomes every day—a greeting normally dedicated to heroes, that made him obsess over finding a word that was more fitting for him.

He loves you and he's serious about it. He knows the infinite range of his love for you and regardless of how small his heart seems compared to yours, you decorate every inch of space within it, and when it reaches its maximum capacity, you go to his head. The space is littered with images of you, like posters on a wall. The space is so crowded that some of them are hanging on to the walls of his mind for dear life. There are images of your guilty smile after you knock a glass of water over and it shatters, another of the look on your face as you try not to laugh when he tries on a shirt that clearly isn't his size, and memories of the times when you would pamper him when he wasn't feeling well, insisting on still sleeping next to him, incase he needs something in the middle of the night.

It all adds up to this clingy behavior he reserves for you. When the day treats him like trash being kicked around by everyone on a sidewalk, he comes home to appreciate the one who embraces him and unconditionally loves him.

He knows his weight on your back must be unbearable and he definitely doesn't smell as good as you, either, but he can't move. Not yet.

"I could stay like this forever, doll. Would you let me?" He smiles for the first time in a bit when he sees your shoulders shaking, paired with the sweet sound of your laugh.

"Of course, baby. I'd willingly stay like this for you."

And he groans. It's like a form of cuteness aggression, but it derives from the fact that he can't believe that you're with him, and that you're so saintly, and he can't for the life of him stop thinking of you. He kisses your jaw and strongly resists the urge to bite your cheek and squeeze you until you can't breathe at all.

His breathing quickens a little when he thinks of how detrimental it would be to his life if you walked away for good, one day. Things are so good, but he can't help but think that the next time they aren't, it'll be an enormous hit to everything he has with you. Maybe you're waiting for the next argument to drop everything. Maybe you secretly can't stand him. Maybe you don't need him. Maybe-

His overthinking is cut off by a low growl, followed by a nervous giggle that is muffled by the pillow you buried your face in.

"Sorry," you lift your head to say, fighting the laughter bubbling in your throat.

"You're hungry." There's a barely there crease between his brows. It's late and your stomach is growling. He doesn't want to think about you skipping meals.

"I wanted to wait for you," you chirp, turning your head the slightest bit to give him a beaming smile.

"Baby." The second he sees the corners of your lips begin to straighten out, he stifles the scolding he was about to hit you with. "I can't even be mad at you. Have you eaten anything at all today?"

Your silence was all he needed to understand that you were running on fumes. He sighs, mentally cursing you for being so careless with yourself for his sake.

"I'm gonna shower, and you're gonna meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. Will you survive that long? I don't know, but you have to." He kisses your temple a couple times, rolling off of you and directing himself to his clothing drawers.

Your lungs expand and you feel so much lighter without his weight on you. You flip over onto your back, stretching for a moment before you turn over to watch Toji rummage through his drawers. His sixth sense kicks in and he can feel your gaze on the back of his head.

"I love you, doll." He stands still, waiting seconds too long for your response. He turns his head to the side, facing the blank wall of the room. His ear is turned in your direction as to not miss the sound of your voice.

You sit up, prepared to say it back with every fiber of your being. You can see his fingers tapping against the top of the dresser. You don't mean to bring unease to his mind, your intention is to do the exact opposite. "I love you so, sooo much, Toji."

He lets the clothes he picked out plop onto the dresser, and he turns around to head back to you. He holds your gaze until he reaches you. It's the first good look you've gotten at him since he got home. You can't help but smile at the familiar sight of those green eyes and that pretty nose, and those scarred lips. He never failed to make you swoon, even during times when there was a lack of words.

His hands cupped your jaw before he leaned down to kiss you. The duration of his kisses weren't thought out, let alone planned. What was supposed to be ten minutes until you met him in the kitchen, turned into double the amount of time, because he wouldn't let you go. You were just as guilty for the delay, feeling so much ease and comfort with the words he imbedded into his kisses. Eventually you started telling him to go, between kisses and laughter, reminding him that you would be there when he got out. He ignored you until your stomach growled again.

"Fine," he grumbled, placing one more peck on your lips before he left you alone.

[obbystars]

Drown in the Deep

Synopsis: Drown your sorrows away into the deep dark ocean where it can’t be found. Feel its cold embrace and let the water in. Maybe then, you’ll see him again when you no longer feel anything.

CONTENT WARNING: The reader very much intends to die/get themself killed, detailing how they’d love to drown in the abyss.

Notes: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / Spoilers for Sebastian’s backstory / Possibly OOC / Established relationship, can be interpreted as either married or not but they are living together / Angst (Hurt w/ eventual comfort) / Death + blood (not the reader despite the synopsis and content warning) / Not really a happy ending honestly

(This is VERY self-indulgent I love hate Sebastian. Also a bit of experimentation and playing around with his character. I’m not so good on romance stuff, so I hope what’s here is to your liking. Also rewrote some parts A LOT due to idea change/read up on lore and realized things didn’t add up here. I think I’ve got most of it covered though. Anyway I love how a few runs of playing Pressure for the first time, I died to A-60 HAHAAAAA kill me.)

Credits: Dividers by @cafekitsune

A chance to be freed from your criminal record, and a reward worth to last for a very, very long time. As they always say, “High risk, high reward,” and the risks were certainly high. You could very much die. It was a chance anyone crazy enough would take.

But you didn’t sign up for this for the reward. You didn’t care about it in the slightest. To you, this would be an easy way out. An escape from this dreadful life fate had decided for you. So here you are, sitting in a submarine with three others in silence. There’s no telling on how deep you’re going, they never bothered to tell you how exactly far it was nor the possible dangers you’ll be facing. You’ll welcome anything if it means you won’t wake up again.

Still, you wondered why things went the way it did. Everything was fine until your partner was framed for a murder he didn’t commit. Nine murders, to be exact. You were there for the trial. You saw and heard everything. You kept your cool throughout all of it. You were hoping, praying to whatever god is out there to show them he was innocent. None of it mattered in the end.

After the trial, you went straight home, not even bothering to listen to your family who was also there. By the time you entered your shared home and locked the door behind you, you stood in silence for a while. You didn’t know what you were feeling at that very moment. You felt hot tears beginning to swell up, and your vision beginning to blur. Your legs eventually give out and you fell to your knees. You muffled your sobs with your hand as you curled up on the floor.

You couldn’t get yourself to calm down for a while. You don’t even know how long you were laying there once you feel your tears dry up and the sound of your heart beating rapidly leaves your ears. You don’t know what to do.

He was imprisoned and sentenced for execution for the nine murders you know he didn’t cause, but that didn’t matter. You weren’t there when it supposedly happened. You couldn’t prove anything. You were powerless to do anything.

Many early mornings were spent struggling to even leave the house, let alone the bed itself if you even managed to drag yourself to bed. You were too exhausted to even try for most. When you did manage to begin your day, you quickly became aware that everything is so much more irritating. People talking to you, certain noises you hear, how your food tastes… You just wanted to go back home and waste away.

As for majority of your nights, they have been spent just curled up in bed and crying until you eventually exhausted yourself. Gripping anything that resembled or had traces left of him and holding it close, hoping just the mere fleeting scent of him lulls you to sleep. Feeling the cold and empty space beside you and being reminded he’s gone, as if the reminders from your family weren’t already enough.

You know your family has been trying to contact you, sometimes even coming to the house, but you’ve ignored them every time. You don’t want to see them. You don’t want to talk, to hear, or to even think about them. You just wanted to be left alone.

A few years had gone by since then but you didn’t feel any better than before. You weren’t sure if you felt worse. Maybe it was because you felt numb nowadays.

Before you knew it, you soon find yourself behind bars. What you did, you don’t know. If you really did it, you didn’t care. You don’t know how long your sentence is, but you don’t care. You don’t know if whatever you did caused any deaths, but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You just wanted to drown in your despair, and this… “job offer” seemed promising. Retrieve a crystal deep inside a facility hidden in the deepest parts of the ocean.

To be so deep underwater to where the sun does not shine, to drift endlessly as water fills your lungs and it becomes so unbearably cold. To where you can’t feel anything anymore, not your body nor your emotions. To just feel the cold water and see nothing but darkness as the water pulls your body to wherever it so desires. Perhaps your remains could become the next meal for whatever lurks in the ocean’s abyss. Your body would never be found. You’d be gone without a trace.

So you signed up, knowing they don’t expect you to return. You don’t either. You don’t plan on getting that crystal, and you don’t plan on returning alive.

The shotgun shell directed at your neck on the diving gear given to you seemed promising as well.

If there is an afterlife, maybe you can see him again there. That sounded nice. You just wish you weren’t sent down with three other people. You never thought it’d be so hard to die in a place where risks of death were incredibly high. Perhaps it was because they wanted to use each other to get the reward for themselves, so they kept each other alive as long as possible. Covering each other’s eyes when the shark was outside the window, turning off another’s flashlight when an odd black figure appeared in the dark, saving each other from the creature inside the lockers… They weren’t going to let such easy bait be killed so easily, not this early.

Still, you strayed close behind as they often checked if you were still there. You kept your head low, until you heard another pair of footsteps from behind you.

Strange… The other three are already in front of you… And they’re just looking through drawers for anything useful.

The footsteps are getting louder and faster. You turned around just in time to see a strangely humanoid, armless figure running at you. It yelped the moment you locked eyes on it, immediately turning tail and running away.

“What the hell was that?!” One of the other expendables exclaimed.

Both of you walked back into the previous room to see where it possibly came from. There was a hole in the wall, shaped exactly like the creature they just saw.

“So they’re really in the walls, huh…” they then lightly punch your shoulder, “Hey, good job. I didn’t even hear it until it made that weird sound before it ran off,”

You say nothing.

“Come on, let’s keep going,”

You looked at them as they rejoined the others then back at the hole. You wished you didn’t turn around.

After a few more doors, the lights suddenly flickered. The one closest to you grabbed you and had you hide in a locker. Maybe they picked up on what you’ve been trying to do. You did willingly look into the eyes of the shark just outside the window, and they had to cover your eyes and drag you along with them. You also opened a locker that was already occupied by a strange creature coated in black and, what you assumed were, purple eyes. You hoped they’d leave you behind to be devoured by it, but you were pulled out and was patched up as best as they could do it. The damage wasn’t too severe, but still. There just had to be a spare medical kit in the room.

Maybe you weren’t being so discreet about it.

There were only three lockers in the room you were currently in and none in the room prior. They pressed on to the next door ahead. You were about to open your locker to step out into the path of the oncoming creature, but it zipped by you in an instant. It was much faster than what you’ve been dealing with.

You hear the others leave their locker followed with a quick flash of the flash beacon. You slowly step out of your locker and follow them into the next room to meet up with the other person. The one in front of you pulled out their flashlight, but ended up tripping over something. You stopped walking as they shine their light over what made them trip.

It was the one who ran ahead to find a spare locker. There was no blood or any signs of injury, but they weren’t moving and their eyes were still wide open. The other two tried to get them to respond, even shaking them, but they remained unresponsive. It was almost like they were just left an empty shell.

You restrain yourself from speaking as you would’ve called them an idiot for giving up a hiding spot in favor to make sure their bait stayed alive for a little longer, only to get killed in the process. Only 27 doors have been opened. Surely not all of you can survive much longer.

By the 35th door, one of them had used a code breacher to open a door without the keycard. Once the door slid open, a large creature with a smiling grey mask was seen on the other side of the door. Before they could react, it lunged towards them and instantly killed them on the spot before retracting their hand as it gets caught in the door while it was sliding shut. The blood splattered all over the floor and even reached you and the other expendable beside you.

By the 47th door, the lights flickered as you searched through a room off to the side. You can hear what you can describe as a distorted chorus faintly echoing down the hall, and soon a loud scream followed with multiple banging against a locker. The noise stopped as you walked to the door leading back to the path you’re supposed to take and you only see the aftermath. A fresh pool of blood and a destroyed locker. There was no body. The creature responsible is no where to be found.

You were alone now. Finally.

You kept your head low as you continued on, not bothering to search through the drawers for anything. Your body is starting to ache at this point. You opened the 50th door leading into a dimly lit corridor.

“Need to stock up?”

You looked up as you see the vent’s cover fall over. You turned around, then back towards the vent. You can see the next door ahead that requires a keycard, but you can’t find it from out here. You didn’t have a code breacher either as the others you were previously with had used them up.

“Come on, I won’t bite,” the strangely familiar voice beckons.

Had he not spoken twice, you would’ve thought you were hallucinating. Or maybe you are right now. A sort of “false hope,” so to speak. Not to mention how you can just barely recognize the voice. You’re having a hard time processing it after everything.

With no where else to turn, you walk to the vent and slowly crawl through. The room was dark, but lit up as you made it to the other side. You managed to get a good look at him, not exactly expecting some sort of fish-human hybrid.

“Ah, there you-” you see how his smile quickly disappears and his eyes widened once he sees you.

You only stare at him, tilting your head slightly to the side. He looked like he had just seen a ghost which wouldn’t be so far off considering what you had to witness for the past 49 doors, but why was he looking at you like that? He cautiously lowered himself down, close enough to your height but still far enough for some space.

You instinctively, though slightly, moved away as his hand moved closer to your face. That was until he finally spoke.

“[Name]..?”

You stepped back upon hearing your name leave his mouth. You narrow your eyes at him, “How do you…?”

Then it finally registered in your head. You’re not just hearing things, that voice was his.

Your eyes widened, now feeling his cold hand against your cheek, “S-Sebastian?“

“Yes…! Yes!” He nods, smiling widely, “It’s me!”

You couldn’t hold back your tears at all. The moment he confirmed it was really him was what finally broke down your walls. The last time you had cried this much was when he was to be executed. You had to hold onto his hand to keep yourself standing. He seemed to sense that as his third limb pulled you closer to him and held you in a tight embrace. You buried your face into his shoulder and sobbed until his grip on you got a bit too tight.

“W-Wait, Sebastian-!” You cried, “Let go!”

He gasps, immediately pulling away. You winced as you gently rubbed your arm. You looked up at Sebastian again and smiled.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you’re still alive. I have so many questions. Can I-?”

Sebastian stops you there, “Hang on. Before I get to answering your questions, I have one tiny question for you,” he suddenly towers over you as he yells, “How the hell did you get here?! And why the hell did you sign up for this?! Didn’t they tell you the risks? That you could very much die?”

You jumped at his sudden change in tone and almost fell back. His tail had went to cover the opening of the vent in case you ultimately decided to make a run for it. What do you even tell him? That you signed up just to die? No other reason. How could you tell him that?

“I-I… Well, yes, they did. I just- It’s because…” you don’t know what to say.

“Tell me the truth,” he demands. You swear you heard a hiss in his voice, “Of all people, why did you have to end up here?”

“I signed up for this because…” you paused, “Specifically because I wanted to die. I knew what I was getting myself into, Sebastian. They didn’t tell me anything specific,”

“Of course those idiots didn’t…” He scoffed, “They don’t expect you or the others to return,”

“I never planned to. I couldn’t care less about this so called crystal they told me I was supposed to retrieve,” you looked away, “Honestly, I don’t even remember what I did to end up here… Maybe I did something that killed a few people, or maybe I was framed like you,”

Sebastian calmed down a little and had moved back as you spoke. He repositions himself so that his back was against the wall and his tail would nudge you towards him.

“You said you signed up with the intention to die here,” he then says, “Why?”

You sit beside him as his tail slightly curls around you, “You were sent for execution and confirmed to be dead. I just couldn’t live with the fact that I couldn’t see you,”

His looks at your bloodied clothes and noticed bandages through some of the holes in your uniform. He points to it, “Are those..?”

“It’s from this weird black tentacle creature in a locker. It’s nothing too serious, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

He muttered a name you didn’t quite catch and he quickly moves on, “And the blood?”

You shake your head, “It’s not mine,”

He lets out a sigh of relief at that. It was finally your turn to ask questions.

“Sebastian, how did you survive?”

“Was picked up by Urbanshade before I was supposed executed. Guess they decided it’d be better if I was officially declared dead,”

“And you became this during that time?”

“You could say that. It’s, uh… It’s a long story,”

He doesn’t want to discuss it and you knew that was the case. So, you didn’t question it further. You have a good feeling you may have an idea now that you noticed a document on the table. Whatever was in there might have the answers to most of your questions, but you’re not sure if you even want to read it if he lets you. The mere thought of what could be mentioned in there makes you sick.

There’s still one other that you desperately want an answer for.

“We’re… not leaving this place, are we?” You questioned, not looking at him, “At least, I’m probably not thanks to this diving gear… One shotgun shell pointed directly at my neck, and if I even try to take it off, tamper with it, or leave this place,”

You stopped there. Both of you knew. Sebastian didn’t say anything for a moment, “I can get both of us out of here. I just need more time,”

More time. How much more time before your body can no longer keep going? You want to believe him, you really do, but you really might actually die here.

How ironic. You came here because you wanted to die. You watched the others die before your very eyes without much of a reaction. All of a sudden, you feel your stomach drop.

You’re afraid to die.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which jungkook is one of your greatest fears and you’re his achilles’ heel.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, angst / word count: 4.1k

content/warnings: i love you i want us both to eat well T_T sigh. oc has abandonment issues pls protect at all costs + oc is worried bc jk is working so hard :( + a worm (???) cameo. ily protective and hopeless romantic iw!jk <3 the ending 🥲💔 this drabble literally goes 📈📉

> in which masterlist!

note: *insert my melody mugshot scene* me if planting puzzle pieces in my drabbles + making oc cry (IM SORRY) were a crime. this was sm fun writing <3 i cried and laughed they’re so precious </3

—

“jungkook, baby?”

your silky voice fills the quiet apartment as you pad across the floor. you’re carrying your heeled mary janes by its straps, leaving you only in your white socks.

“babe?”

you frown as the seconds pass and you receive no response from your lover. there’s no music playing, no rustling somewhere in the kitchen or the living room. the lights are dim like they usually are, but the vivid colors are absent.

him? asleep at 9pm? jeon jungkook? it can’t be, but you’d be delighted to finally see him resting early if it was real.

and so, spurred by that tiny glimmer of hope, you carefully crack the bedroom door open, as if you’re fifteen again and you just came back from sneaking out of the house.

but you’re grown now; you live in a building with complete strangers for neighbors. you just got home from work, and you’re no longer used to sleeping alone because you share the bed with another person.

you find it empty. devoid of any creases, sign of life. as neat as a hotel room’s make believe that no one lived there until two hours prior.

the disappointment weighs down on your shoulders, causing them to drop.

he didn’t tell you he was going somewhere else after practice, you think to yourself as your lips permanently shape into a pout. what happened to going out with you for dinner?

agreeing, your empty stomach grumbles angrily.

maybe he got caught up at work. maybe he’s on his way home. maybe he’s on his way to the restaurant and he’s about to text you to come over. maybe he forgot about your plans and he’s having dinner with somebody else.

whatever the reason is, you’re too lazy and tired to whip up something edible on your own. with or without him, you’re going out and you’re stuffing your mouth full with rice and meat. after all, autumn is here, your dear old friend.

in search for a coat that will accompany you in your late-night stroll, you enter the walk-in closet and flip on the lightswitch.

you can count them with just your fingers— the amount of times you’ve felt this type of fear. absent eyes, melting spine, chills running to the top of your head down to your fingertips, mind racing with an overload of thoughts (it appears as a blank page, the same way that white is the presence of all colors of visible light). this fear… you associate it with impulsive mistakes, fire, police and ambulance sirens, and… empty closets.

jungkook’s side of the closet is empty.

clothes. shoes. bucket hats. beanies. belts. everything. gone.

but the floor is scattered with random pieces of clothing that look like they accidentally fell while someone was in a rush to pack them all in a bag. so in a rush that they didn’t even bother to pick them up.

your weak knees almost give way, but you force yourself to stumble backwards until your back hits the doorframe— you refuse to let yourself look like you’ve been carelessly discarded too.

not again. not again. not this goddamn vicious curse you thought you’ve already broken out of. not. again.

you blink away the tears threatening to spill as you scramble to open the zipper of your bag, but they spill anyway when your shoes clatter to the floor. you flinch at the thunderous sound, clutching your phone tightly against your chest. you keep your eyes closed throughout the defeaning silence that comes after.

the empty space mocks you. it knows your intricate design was not meant to live in an empty home.

you guess nothing much has changed. you’re still afraid of jungkook and his power to take away the sun, just as he did before, and you deeply despise being afraid. you don’t like it when the walls are closing in on you, poisoning your mind into believing that you’re small when the heart inside your chest burns with a fire brighter than that of the damn sun.

anyone would be foolish to leave you; it’s only jungkook who could have you mourning the death of the garden you’ve given the past five years of your life to.

—

jungkook returns to the apartment half an hour later. despite the long, grueling hours of dance practice he nearly didn’t survive, the excitement vibrating through his body is manifested through the lightness of his movements. he’s finally seeing his lover for the first time today… awake.

when he brought his natural body warmth along with him to the bathroom this morning, you sunk yourself further into mattress, beneath the thick blankets and against the soft pillows. by the time he had to give you your obligatory goodbye kiss before he leaves for work (or else you’d sulk about it for the rest of the week), half of your face has been hidden from sight. he was only able to press a loving kiss on your forehead, and then your eyelids that were fluttering as you dreamt.

night time comes and he is still deprived of the sight of your beautiful face? he somberly wonders as he finds you slumped over the dining table; he swears that there is a dark rain cloud hovering above you. your arms are thrown over the hardwood as they serve as a makeshift pillow for your vessel— his little firefly curiously bleak.

“baby? are you sick?” he asks, voice dripping with concern as he tenderly rubs your back.

the legs of the chair screeches against the tiled floor, neglectedly pushed behind.

“kook?” you manage to choke out, frantically sitting up once your muddled brain registered the familiarity of his touch on your bare skin.

his heart drops to his stomach as your tear-stained face comes into view. this isn’t how he envisioned your greeting; it usually came in the form of a bright light not harsh as the sunlight, a softness that begs to be held.

“are you crying?!”

your reply only comes out as a pitiful whimper. he stumbles a step backwards when you unceremoniously jump into his embrace, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. he gets a whiff of your sweet perfume, and then it becomes the air that he breathes, but he doesn’t have much time to revel in it.

“baby!”

he squeezes your waist taut against his body, affectionately nosing at your cheek before giving you a kiss. “did something happen? tell me- tell me.”

“jungkook,” your voice cracks as you utter his name, sounding almost like a plea, and then an endless string of heartbreaking sobs comes out muffled against his shirt. “where have you been?”

this sends him into a state of panic. seeing you in pain— it’s his biggest weakness. after all, you are his achilles’ heel.

“why? why, why, why?” you’re weak and pliant as he pulls your arms down, collapsing against his chest when he envelopes you in his embrace. he cradles your head in his palm, soothing you with gentle pats and shushes. “shh, shhh- it’s okay, i’m here now. everything’s okay, you hear me?”

his efforts prove to be fruitless, because you only seem to cry harder as he slowly rocks your bodies back and forth.

you shake your head, hands attempting to hold on to the back of his shirt to regain sensation in your limbs, but they miserably fail and fall on the sides of his hips.

“talk to me… please, mhmm?“ he hums quietly, pressing his soft lips to your temple. “tell me what’s wrong and your boyfriend will take care of it.”

from your sniffles to your hiccups, you remain unable to form any coherent response, and it leads his imagination to construct the worst possible scenarios. he feels his stomach turn with uneasiness, jaw clenching as he carefully pulls away to meet you eye-to-eye.

“did someone touch you? hurt you?” he spits out with urgency, and the unparalleled care he displays puts you in a daze, simply dumbfounded as he strokes your face. “huh, baby? just tell me and i’ll take care of the rest.”

now that you’re being reminded that jungkook could quite literally kill a person with his bare hands if they ever inflict harm on you, the fog is clearing up and you feel so incredibly… stupid.

but that’s more the reason why it’s difficult not to be sensitive when it comes to him; his absence proves to be lethal.

“shit, you’re scaring me.” he breathes out shakily as he taps your cheek lightly to bring you back to him, the distant look in your eyes triggering the emergency alarms in his head.

he unconsciously licks his lips and he tastes your tears; he doesn’t want anybody else to ever come this close.

“okay, okay- let’s put that aside for now. what do you need? should we go to bed and rest instead?”

“i thought you left,” you whisper as you hang your head in shame.

he blinks at you in confusion. “to where? my flight isn’t until next week, baby.”

fantastic! now you sound like the most dramatic, clingiest bitch to ever grace the planet. you bury your face in your hands to hide the battle zone between your heart and mind, but your boyfriend seizes your wrists because he can’t bear another second of it.

“is-is that why you’re upset…?” he asks with not a trace of malice or ridicule. he is only filled with guilt as it dawns on him then— how you’ve only gotten used to always having him around four years into your relationship, when he was taking a break from work.

the changes in his life are also changes in yours, but they still affect you in many different ways.

“then just come with me. i’ll make it work. maybe we can extend for a bit, spend an entire day by ourselves- there’s a lot of museu-”

“i thought you left,” you repeat yourself, exposed and vulnerable, vision swallowed by the darkness because you can’t make yourself look at him. “your clothes… they’re gone, and i was calling but you… you weren’t answering my calls so i thought…”

“my clothes?” he exclaims, eyes going wide as he realizes that they’ve accidentally slipped from his mind. “ahh, i thought about cleaning the closet while waiting for you so i moved everything to the other room!”

you open your mouth to speak, but much to your chagrin, no words come out. you purse your lips as your chin wobbles— the new wave of tears in your eyes mimic shiny crystals.

“____!”

and at the stern mention of your name, you know that you’re about to receive a (loving) scolding from your boyfriend. your lips curve into a frown before a sob inevitably escapes past them.

“why would you think that? why would i leave you? that doesn’t make sense at all, does it…?”

you shake your head, hugging him so tight, possibly tighter than you’ve ever done before. between your bodies, his heart is being unbearably wrung.

“i’m sorry, baby. seeing you cry like this breaks my heart…” he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh, resting his cheek on the side of your head. “but why would that be the first thing you think of…? i must be doing something wrong, right? have i been too busy with work? am i neglecting you?”

you’re breathless, a little dizzy— bloodshot eyes meeting his that are now gleaming with sadness. “no, it’s not like that! i just panicked, i couldn’t think straight.”

“are you sure?”

he looks at you skeptically, scanning your face.

“baby-” his voice breaks, then he pauses with his gaze still trained on you. “okay, i’m sorry. i… should’ve thought about what cleaning the closet would look like.”

“i was just being stupid.” you give him a small smile, rubbing your eyes to chase away the burning sensation. “sorry for scaring you.”

“stop, you’ll hurt yourself.” he tuts, pushing your wrists aside to cup your face in his hands, much gentler in comparison to your own self. his thumbs draw shapes on your soft skin, and then out of the blue, he curiously squeezes one of the space buns on top of your head. “wow, this is so pretty?”

“huh…? oh, thanks.” you mumble, still feeling out of it.

“this, too.” the white silk ribbon wrapped prettily around your neck, he means, which he hooks a finger on to tug lightly. it matches the lace straps on your shoulders that falls across the underbust of your dress, tied together to form a ribbon in the middle of it. that makes two, so clasically you.

and while it may be partly true that he’s trying to lighten the atmosphere, he just can’t defy the urge to express his admiration for you, even in a situation like this. he’s perpetually love-drunk.

“thank you.” you nod, shyly looking away to sniffle. “but you’re the reason why my makeup is ruined… need to wash it off before we go.”

“you’re beautiful either way, baby.”

“i know.” you scoff. “would you date me for five years if i wasn’t?”

he releases a throaty chuckle, capturing your lips in his with a smile of endearment that he fails to subdue.

“you’re so fucking cute. i love you-” he says with merely an inch of distance between you.

he grunts in melodramatic anguish, overcome by the insensity of his affections overflowing past the brim of his very being, leaning so close that the edge of the table digs into your lower back, surely to leave a temporary mark.

and he carries on to kiss you so many times that you lose count; you can only melt as you collect them in that bottomless pocket located somewhere in your soul, where all the love you’ve received across lifetimes is recorded to prove i was once here.

“i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you. i’m never leaving. you’re stuck with me and bam forever.”

if the time comes that the two of you break up, who would bam come home to? jungkook stubbornly refuses to have that conversation.

however, you still can’t let go of something, and you pout as you shove him lightly. unsurprisingly, his strong build doesn’t budge at all.

“but why didn’t you answer my calls?” at last, you gain enough energy to complain, but your face grows hot as the urge to cry returns. “i mean, what else was i supposed to think?!”

jungkook is struck by yet another lightning.

may the heavens have mercy, he’s been making you angry more than usual lately.

“shit, i forgot. i turned off my phone.” he mutters under his breath, feeling extremely regretful that he was not reachable when you needed him most to be. “i wanted to focus only on you tonight. what do they call it again…? leaving work at work?”

he winces guiltily.

“i’m sorry. maybe it wasn’t a smart idea.”

“no, i like that.” you almost interrupt him from talking because of how fast you are to brush off his apology.

he makes a mental note of it— the way you’re gripping at his shirt in small fists. you’re tense and overwhelmed; you need him to stay close.

“leave work at work. focus on me, and let me be your rest.”

unbeknownst to you, jungkook bites back his tears then. after all this time, he still gets mesmerized by the tenderness that naturally governs your every word and action; he thinks that he needs you more than you need him.

—

“just eat, baby. i’ll cook the meat for us.” jungkook coos at you as he cuts more meat into bite-sized pieces using a pair of kitchen shears.

“okay, then i’ll make sure that you eat.” you grin excitedly, dragging your chair closer to his.

you set down the tongs, grabbing your chopsticks to pick up a cooked piece of pork belly from the grill. you don’t forget to blow on it, mindful of burning his tongue.

of course, you don’t want to hurt him, but it would be especially painful for him as a singer.

“ahhh-” still busy with cooking, jungkook opens wide at your cue, catching the meat in between his teeth.

“rice,” he demands as he chews.

you scoop up rice from your bowl, and he devours it happily as he continues to flip the strips of pork belly lined up across the grill.

“mmhmm, it’s so delicious!” he dramatically says out loud. his eyebrows are knitted together and his legs are bouncing under the table, tell-tale signs of him enjoying the food.

witnessing this kind of reaction, any chef would be happy to slave away in the kitchen to serve him a meal. you recognize it in the smile of the owner after jungkook ordered more side dishes, and the way he dashed through the door to reduce the waiting time.

“yah, feed yourself, too!” jungkook chides you after you feed him meat three times in a row, but with an open palm that catches the juice that drips from the kimchi, you still tap your chopsticks against his lips. he spares it a glance before catching it using his tongue.

“i am!” you then rush to wrap a piece of pork belly in lettuce, dipping it into ssamjang before stuffing it into your mouth.

“good job, baby.” he grins in satisfaction, rubbing your back as praise. this makes you preen. “make sure to eat lots, got it?”

but then you’re back to spoiling him rotten, this time with an egg roll. so far, he has only touched his own chopsticks twice.

“i just told you to eat first!”

you glare at him, pouting. “but you worked so hard practicing today and you haven’t even eaten properly yet.”

he is too busy with work, and it’s not news that you’ve been worried sick about his health. it’s difficult to watch him work himself to the bone, but no one truly has the power to stop jungkook from doing what he wants, sometimes not even himself. and you find it impossible to fault him for it when you know that everything he does is done out of love. from the vigorous vocal and dance lessons, and to the deep cleaning of the apartment because his baby has been developing an allergy to dust.

“you need to make it up to your body. here, please?”

he loves being loved, jungkook thinks to himself as he eats the egg roll whole.

—

you were already prepared to go home after dinner, but your night owl for a boyfriend insisted on going on a walk at the park because he wanted to, and you quote, ‘see you awake for a little while longer,’ or whatever the hell he meant by that.

with his tattooed arm protectively swung over your shoulder, you’re engulfed in a wave of nostalgia. for the first two years of your relationship, before you started living together, you only met with each other at night, save for the very rare day-offs that he got. the only places that are still open after midnight are nightclubs, fastfood chains, convenience stores… and well, parks.

and he would always hold you close like this to make you feel safe, and the rest of you melts away while the side of your ribcage that he is pressed against remains to shelter your heart. on the contrary, you also remember how your bodies used to be so tense. you wanted to sacrifice more sleep and to walk to the other side of the park, of the street, to that other convenience store five blocks away because this one didn’t have the flavor of ice cream you wanted, anything… just… anything so you could be with each other ten minutes more.

and it was cold. it was always cold.

“what do you mean ‘it exploded’?”

“it seriously exploded! it was on fire! that’s why i went out to buy a new extension cord!”

“jungkook, it’s because you plug in too many things at once!” you cry out in frustration, your steps becoming heavy stomps. “i told you to stop doing that!”

“what do you mean? if it has six slots, doesn’t that mean six devices is the maximum?” he continues to stubbornly defend himself, and you can only hang your head in defeat. “otherwise, it’s a scam!”

“it is a scam! see…? they made you buy a ne-”

your sentence is cut short as your tongue gets paralyzed.

a dark and striped, long figure approaching ahead, slithering its across the grass.

your mind immediately registers it as the animal you fear most.

oh, no. no, no, no, no, no.

“jungkook,” you utter his name with a tremble.

the same fear you experienced only two hours ago holds you hostage once more, add all the hair in your body standing up and you’re as frightened as a cat.

“what’s wrong? yah! what are you doing?! baby, ba- fuck!” he sputters out as you forcefully pull him back along with you, displaying a type of strength and agility he doesn’t normally see.

the two of you continue to stumble backwards as you struggle to maintain balance, and somehow jungkook manages to switch your positions so that you’re the one who lands on top him instead of the other way around when you eventually end up as a heap on the soft earth.

he begins to feel his throat closing up at the sight of pure, genuine fear in your eyes.

“jungkook, snake- it’s small bu-”

you interrupt your own sentence with a high-pitched squeal, garnering looks from strangers moving and unmoving. in the blink of an eye, your boyfriend has swept you off your feet as if you’re light as a feather, driven by the instinct to protect the love of his life.

you cover your mouth in shock, your other arm coming up around his neck to keep yourself from falling.

you think you may have fallen for jungkook all over again.

“are you spiderman?”

he was too busy searching for the subject of your fear under dim lights, and so he looks at you in bewilderment to ask, “what was that?”

you shake your head with your wide eyes shining with faux innocence. you squeak. “nothing.”

he releases a sigh, followed by a chuckle of obvious relief and amusement as he squeezes your body closer to plant a kiss on your forehead. “aigoo, my ____! why are you so scared today? what am i going to do with you…? it’s just a worm.”

“are you sure? i swear i saw it raise its head!“

“i’m sure,” he lulls you. “i think worms can do that, too?”

your face twists in an expression of mixed bewilderment and distrust.

“that i’m not sure about, but it’s really just a worm! would i still be standing here if it wasn’t?” he clicks his tongue sharply. “we need to get your eyes rechecked.”

you roll your eyes with a huff. you’ve have had enough of his teasing before it even starts.

“uh?! i’m serious over here!”

this is new— you mean bickering with jungkook in a public place isn’t, but being carried by him like a bride while it happens definitely is.

“fine, i’ll go this weekend. happy?” you fake an obedient smile. “you can put me down now.”

he blinks, and then he adjusts the way he’s holding you to ensure that your dress won’t show what’s for his eyes only— for a split second, you were flying.

“i’ll go with you,”

“okay. now put me down.“ you tap his shoulder repeatedly to prompt him to heed your words. “babe, this is embarrassing!”

“nope,” he ignores your protest with nonchalance as he resumes to walk the path you’re on, evidently enjoying the attention he’s stealing and the way you’re curling yourself smaller to hide.

“oh my god! weren’t you just complaining about your body hurting?!”

“you were scared of me leaving,” he smiles, glancing down at you. “so now i’m gluing you to myself.”

that made you quiet for a while. inside your tote, the container of kimchi, wrapped in a plastic bag, rattles with his every stride. you noticed that jungkook loved it so much, so you ordered it to go when he went to the bathroom before you were to leave the restaurant.

“you know, we used to just hold hands,” you mumble with a childish pout. “like normal people?”

“this is very normal,” he argues.

the scenery becomes more familiar as he takes the long way home.

“some would even say romantic.”

a wave of nostalgia hits, and you visibly shiver.

you don’t know if he would remember, but he has said the same exact words once before.

you scrunch your nose, supposedly to give him a look of disgust, but a giddy smile betrays you. you are five years younger again, and the night ends with the moon bidding you an adieu.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[hwaightme]

03:10 AM

(masterlist)

🌃pairing: bf!seonghwa x gn!reader 🌃genre: timestamp, comfort, healing, fluff 🌃summary: 3am, a time for overthinking. is love louder than your thoughts? 🌃wordcount: 1k 🌃warnings/tags: unedited, introspection, lack of confidence, two people in love, kissing, cute sleepy seonghwa, writer is rusty 🌃taglist: at the bottom. would love to add you if interested <3 🌃a/n: oh how i wish to write again, to pour words onto pages and let my heart bleed into the ink. this timestamp is mildly inspired by maro's 'we've been loving in silence'. sorry for rustiness, and any love is so appreciated...

Everyone is deserving of love. Love in all its shapes and colours. A love that looks like a tender conversation in a tiny kitchen, a love that looks like unstoppable laughter under the starry night sky, a love that looks like unwavering dedication and adoration even when it seems impossible. Every person is worthy of a love that makes their heart feel full while being fully aware of the world and all its complexities, shadows and anguish. A love that gives one hope.

Sometimes, this complicated feeling looks like speeding down the city streets as a salvation in the time of trouble. It could even look like a distraught, disjointed embrace accompanied by a cacophony of sobs and stuttered breaths. Love can look like feeling another’s pain, living through it as if it is one’s own. Love can mean heartbreak, over and over again until there is seemingly nothing left, and yet still the ground up powder of affection would be offered as a sacrifice to this mystery.

What is love to you?

You wonder, particularly on nights like this, when a blanket of calm covers the metropolis in which you found yourself, not too dissimilar to a shell being washed up on the shore to encounter a glorious, blazing sun. A twinkling magic on the other side of the glass greets you, and you rest a finger on the coolness, tracing distant shapes of building after building, only to haphazardly wipe it down with the edge of your sleeve. How did you end up in a place where you thought you would never be, feeling what you had sworn you would be unable to feel? 

A gentle melancholy aches in your chest, etching the curves and edges of your ribcage, an incessant little bird, bubbling up that old sense of unease. What is this that you are living in? If you do not know, will it go away? The loud mind, an old friend and enemy, one which had accompanied you through all stages of your life, to find itself equally as bewildered as your heart, but a lot more terrified. Caught between bliss and a painful awareness of the unknown, you walk a tightrope blindfolded.

At least until a hand reaches out for you, warm, reassuring, and guides you across to an oasis. A beating heart, a familiar breath, palm pressed against your upper arm take you out of your spiralling musings, and beckon you to look in the direction of a soft, barely audible whisper of ‘my love’. 

You turn to meet Seonghwa’s eyes, endless pools of glistening brown sugar, enough to both extinguish and ignite, turn dark to light and wrong to right. A timeless poetry is in his face, the rhythm of his features casting a spell over you as you glance over them. These sleepy eyes, stunning nose and cheeks that bear a pinkish hue, plush lips caught in a miniscule pout, dishevelled hair that you know your boyfriend tried to tame, to no avail. You turn your body to meet him fully, and fall into his arms. They envelop you tightly, and you inhale the ghostly remnants of his cologne, a tantalising note of his, and your favourite shampoo, all intricately blended with fabric softener and cotton - put simply, you are home.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, hm?” he asks, voice still a little raspy. It must have been only minutes since he woke up to find you.

“I’m sorry… Did I wake you?”

“Mm… no. Your absence woke me up,” you could cry, not that you would say it, or rather have to say it. Seonghwa knows how his words affect you anyways, judging by the swift squeeze of his arms before he returns to slowly rocking side to side. 

“I just had a lot of thoughts. Wanted to get rid of them somehow.”

“Want to talk about them?” 

You are not sure if you would be able to summon enough courage to talk about what is plaguing you, at least now, in the semi-darkness of yours and his apartment, you feel far too fragile to look inside of the boxes you keep shuffling. Unbeknownst to yourself, you begin to bite your lower lip, trying to pick the right words. Any attempt to formulate whatever excuse you have been seeking inevitably fails as Seonghwa’s lips find yours, erasing your habit, erasing your worry. Caught off-guard, a quiet gasp escapes you, only to be rewarded by an airy chuckle.

“So… not talking, then?” you press your face into the crook of his neck, sensing heat rising on your cheeks. 

“You surprised me, is all…” you trail off, slowly guiding yourself upwards, but still being unable to meet Seonghwa’s gaze.

“I’ll happily kiss all your worries away, if that’s what it takes,” his tone is humorous, and the phrase is light-hearted. His glances into your eyes, at your lips, at the strands of hair that you know he will adjust for you like he usually does, holding promise and commitment. If you so wish, he will. If you so want, he will. If you so will, he most definitely will. 

Your hands grip onto his sleeping shirt as you mumble a thanks, inching closer until your timid smile melts into his. A pleasantly languid rhythm, a moonlit paradise, drawing a masterpiece with your bodies until you are struggling to breathe. An adorable exchange of sweet nothings as you fill your lungs with air, no distinction of space nor time while you are in this trouble-less duet. A small peck on Seonghwa’s lips prompts him to pull you in again, eyes fluttering shut as he floats, flies, soars in love with you. You swear you can see the stars while the taste of his cherry lip balm lingers.

As you follow him back to bed, sinking into the sheets with a sigh, inklings of somnolence settle over your slow-moving intertwined bodies. His breath turns steady, a comforting rise and fall against your back. Seonghwa’s hand is over yours, thumb making random patterns on your skin.

“Dream of me,” he says against your shoulder, grinning when he hears your sharp exhale.

This, this is love to you.

🌃taglist: @shakalakaboomboo @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @innsomniacshinestar @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @maddkitt @ren-junwrld @marsstarxhwa @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @northerngalxy @my-loves-my-life @http-gyu

enjoyed? i would love to hear from you, it means the universe to me. thank you.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - nsfw, physical/psychological abuse, wildly unhealthy relationship dynamics, and derogatory language.

Most days, Bailey struggles to decide whether you're an idiot or a masochist.

He’s leaning towards the former, but it wouldn’t take much to sway him towards the latter. That doesn’t make you special on its own, though – no, most of the stupid brats in his orphanage have shit for brains and the survival instincts of pre-splattered roadkill, but you manage to make your peers look like shining pillars of intelligence and caution and all the good, important, necessary traits that you were tragic enough to be born without. If he didn’t know better, he might think that you’re doing it on purpose, that your behavior is just the product of some misplaced cry for attention. You should count yourself lucky that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever be.

He should’ve gotten rid of you the first time you failed to pay your rent. He should’ve, and he tried to – selling you off to the highest bidder, leaving you blindfolded in alleyways and restrained on the edge of town, but like a beaten dog too stupid to acknowledge that its master left it for dead, you always seem to drag yourself back, always bruised, most often bloody, and occasionally soaking wet. More than once, you haven’t made it all the way back, and he’s had to go out of his way to pick up ‘his precious ward’ from the intensive care unit at Harper’s request. He would leave you there, if he thought his reputation would survive giving that freak of a doctor a free lab rat.

 You can’t hold down a job. That part, he can’t entirely blame on you. If going outside is risky, then trying to earn a living is all-but a death sentence in a town like this. He knows you have a few minor gigs, pick up odd jobs every now-and-then around the wealthier neighborhoods, but it’s never more than petty cash, and having to watch you drag yourself through the orphanage halls with torn clothes and that distant, glazed-over look in your eyes almost makes what little rent money you can scrap up not worth it. You’re wary enough to keep your head down in school, so you don’t have a lot of friends, either. Most of your time is spent at home; toiling in your weed-infested garden, trying to pretend you aren’t hiding in your room, and when he lets you, curling up in the smallest, darkest corner of his office – your legs pulled into your chair and your eyes fixed on the floor. He asked, once, why you thought you had to waste your time sulking in his peripheral like some poor, attention-starving kitten. Despite help from the better half of a bottle from his vintage stash, he can still remember your answer.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, with a smile so delicate, he was almost tempted to see how easily it shattered. “I guess I just feel safe around you.”

He stopped asking for rent, after that.

He tries not to think about you. It’s a constant effort, but he tries the hardest when he’s standing in your doorway hours after midnight, fucking his fist as you pretend to sleep less than a full ten feet away. He still hasn’t made up his mind about the masochist part, but you have to be an idiot. A pretty, empty-headed idiot.

His pretty, empty-headed idiot.

He decides, as he finishes to the sound of your muffled sobbing, that he’ll soak it in while he can. Even if he does his best, even if he keeps his distance, even if you never come to your senses and run far, faraway, he knows he won’t have long left to enjoy this.

He knows that, no matter how hard he tries to hold himself back, you’re not going to feel very safe around him for much longer.

[sxgakookie]

Summary: Your husband, BTS’ Jung Kook, hasn’t been spending enough time at home with you or his daughter, Ji-ah. He decides to remind you both how important his girls are to him. Genre: Slight Angst (Ji-ah misses her dad), Fluff, Smut (idol!Jung Kook, dad!Jung Kook x Reader) Ratings/Warnings: Adults Only (Oral Sex [f receiving], shower sex, dirty talk, shower sex, orgasm [m+f]) Word Count: ~2.7k Author’s Note: I may make a Part 2 to follow this, if y’all like it! Just let me know if you’d like more from this little family! x

Jung Kook had never been as disappointed in himself as he was in that moment. 

A little after two in the morning, with the jingling of his keys, he opened up the locked door to find a dark living room, only lit by the large television still streaming cartoons at a low volume from above the unlit fireplace. He could see, as he kicked off his shoes next to the front door, two sleeping figures snuggled into each other on the large, sectional sofa. 

Jung Kook quietly walked over to see you, the love of his life and the mother of his daughter, sleeping uncomfortably on the couch. You looked absolutely exhausted, with your hair unbrushed and dark circles under your eyes. You were in the same pajamas he had left you in that morning, and resting in your arms, was his little girl. Ji-ah, who took after you in so many ways, was sleeping in your lap in almost the same position. Her head rested against your chest, and her small hands gripped onto the sleeves of your henley shirt. Her eyes fluttered as she was dreaming, and her small lips were parted.  

Jung Kook kneeled down next to the sofa and brushed a soft piece of hair from your face, admiring how even when completely burned out, you’re still so, incredibly beautiful. 

Your eyes fluttered under the warmth of his touch, letting out a soft hum as you leaned into his hand. 

“Honey?” You whispered. “Is that you?” 

“It’s me, baby. I’m home.” He whispered. “I’m going to take Ji-ah to her room, ok? Why don’t you go to our room and get some rest?” 

“Mm’kay.” You said, feeling the warmth of your daughter’s little body taken from your weak arms. 

Jung Kook walked down the hallway with Ji-ah snuggled into his arms. He tried to limit the harshness of his step, but his little girl had stirred awake anyways. 

“Appa?” She murmured, her tiny voice causing Jung Kook’s heart to warm. 

“Hi, princess.” He whispered. His tattooed hand ran up and down her little back, trying to coax her back to sleep. “Appa’s just taking you to your room, ok? So Umma can sleep.” 

“Umma was sleeping.” She pouted, correcting her Appa as she pressed her face into his neck. 

“I know, baby.” Jung Kook said gently. “But you need to sleep in your big girl bed by yourself tonight, ok?” 

She sighed, and Jung Kook held in a laugh. His baby definitely got her sass from her mother, but was too worn out to argue. 

When he reached her bedroom, he turned on the light to its dimmest setting, not wanting to overwhelm Ji-ah with a bright light. He walked past Barbie dolls, a play kitchen set, and a bookshelf of children’s books with a soft pink reading chair next to it. Scattered on the floor were tiny dresses from her dress up trunk; a white, wooden box that Ji-ah and Jung Kook had painted together one summer afternoon. His expertly painted butterflies and flowers sat side by side with her messy lines of purple and pink paint. 

Jung Kook settled her into her twin size bed, tucking her in and whispering an “I love you”, before kissing her hair. He turned to go to you, when her voice perked up. 

“Appa!” She wined, sitting up in her bed. 

“Yes, baby?” Jung Kook asked, crouching down to be eye level with the little girl. 

She became quiet. Ji-ah sat with a pout on her tiny lips, and she began to play with her blanket as a way to self-soothe. Jung Kook watched her face as she began to cry, tears running down her soft, squishy cheeks. 

“Why are you crying, princess?” Jung Kook asked, his heart dropping at the sight of his baby crying. 

She didn’t answer. Instead, she chose to make grabby hands towards him as she cried, shattering his heart. 

“Sweetie…” He cooed. Jung Kook somehow managed to make room for his big body in her twin bed, pulling her into his arms to comfort her. He wiped the tears from her cheek. “Shh, I’m right here. Can you tell Appa what’s wrong?” 

“Hurt.” She sniffles, wiping her own eyes with the back of her little hand. 

“Hurt?” Jung Kook asks, his brows furrowed as his protectiveness bubbled up. “Do your feelings hurt, or does your body hurt?” 

It was a question Jung Kook had heard you ask Ji-ah during one of her fits, teaching her to articulate her needs. 

“Feelings.” She murmured. 

“Can Appa know why your feelings are hurt?” Jung Kook asked gently, brushing her hair from her face soothingly. His mind went to a thousand terrible places, wanting to get rid of whatever could’ve hurt his little girl. “You know you can tell me anything, ok baby? Appa will make it better.” 

The answer, however, felt like a gut punch to Jung Kook. 

“Miss you.” She mumbled, moving in closer to the comfort of her Appa’s presence. 

Jung Kook instinctively wrapped his arms around her, as he held back his own tears. He knew he had been working way, way too much. He was increasingly coming home late, and leaving early in the morning. He had little to no time for either his daughter, or for you. It was something he felt guilty about, but he told himself that Ji-ah didn’t notice, and that he was doing good by making sure his family was provided for. 

But providing for his family meant more than just having food on the table. It meant that everyone sat together at the table. Ji-ah had noticed his empty chair after all, and now, she cried for his attention and told him her feelings were hurt. Jung Kook had never felt so angry with himself, holding her in his arms a little tighter. 

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered. “Appa’s been gone a lot, haven’t I?” 

“Mhm.” She hummed, nodding her head against his chest. “Want you to play with me.” 

Jung Kook remembered playing with his daughter every day; letting her put clips in his dark hair during dress up time, color in his tattoo sleeve with a magic marker as if it were a coloring book, or doing cartoony voices as Ken to her Barbie, making Ji-ah light up the room with sweet giggles. (“That’s silly, Appa!”) 

She should never have to cry for his attention and for more play time together. Jung Kook knew that, and it made him feel painfully guilty for not prioritizing their time together. 

“Listen, baby.” Jung Kook said delicately, rubbing her back comfortingly as she quieted down from her cries. “I’ll be home more, so we can play together, ok? I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. Appa has been working very hard for you and Umma, but we’ll do lots of fun things together soon.” 

“Umma?” She sniffled, making Jung Kook coo. 

“With Umma.” He smiled warmly. “Can I tell you something, sweetie?” 

“A secret?” She whispered, with her big brown eyes sparkling as her gaze met his own. Jung Kook grinned at his little girl’s playfulness. 

“A secret.” Jung Kook confirmed. She giggled mischievously. “You and Umma, are my favorite girls in the entire world.” 

Ji-ah’s smile became wider and she kicked her little feet under the blanket. Jung Kook peppered little kisses all over he cheeks, making her break out in a fit of happy giggles. This was all he’s ever wanted; his little girl to feel safe, taken care of and happy in the security of his arms; to protect and provide for his girls. 

When Ji-ah finally settled down, Jung Kook whispered another “I love you” to her, and placed one more kiss to her dark hair. 

“Love you!” She responded, watching as Jung Kook turned off her ceiling light, flipped the switch on for her butterfly-shaped night light, and shut her door for the night. 

He walked into the now empty living room, and cleaned up a few pink sippy cups, plastic snack plates, and throw blankets that were tossed around. Jung Kook thought to how you must’ve felt during all those days when he was gone. Waking up to an empty bed, and going to bed alone, too. Cooking, cleaning, and being a mother to Ji-ah on your own for several months. 

You never complained. Never told him you felt sad, or alone, because you understood how time-intensive his work as an idol can be. But Jung Kook knew that was no reason to leave you completely alone, and although you understood and supported him, Jung Kook wanted you to know that he was there for you, too. 

He turned off the lights and went into the bedroom, where your exhausted form slept soundly. Jung Kook thought back to your appearance today; exhausted, dark circles under your eyes and pajamas that you just never had time to change out of. It broke his heart because you give so much of yourself for your daughter. 

Jung Kook went into the master bathroom attached to the bedroom to take a shower. He thought about how little time he’s spent with you, too. When was the last time he took you out on a real, proper date? When was the last time he cooked for you, something that he used to do all the time? When was the last time he took his time to really make love to you, not just a quickie during Ji-ah’s nap time or before she came home from daycare? 

He wanted to make you feel beautiful, needed and appreciated. Jung Kook stepped out of the shower, drying off his toned body with a white towel before putting on a fresh pair of boxers and pajama pants to finish his routine. He climbed into bed next to you, and pulled you in to him, holding you close in his arms. You were wearing a soft, large t-shirt that he knew to be his own. 

“I love you, baby.” He whispered, knowing you wouldn’t hear him in your sleep. “I’m so sorry I let you down.” 

The next morning, you woke up to tingling in between your legs. Your eyes were shut, but as you slowly came out of your sleep, you felt soft, wet kisses up your thighs. 

You hummed, and felt a nibble to your skin. 

“Shhh,” Jung Kook whispered, tucked under the sheets and nestled in between your thighs. “Just relax baby girl, let me take care of you.” 

“Koo…” You hummed. “I… I’m not pretty there right now, I haven’t shaved or-“ 

“You’re so beautiful.” He reassured you, continuing to kiss your skin. “So perfect and so sexy, just how you are. Relax for me, honey. Just wanna give your pretty pussy some love and attention, ok?” 

Jung Kook peppered soft kisses along your delicate folds, warming your pussy to his touch. It had been quite some time since he’s pleasured you like this, and he imagined that you were sensitive. Correctly, it seemed, because even with the slightest flick of his tongue to graze your opening, testing the waters, you whimpered. 

“Shhh, quiet, baby girl.” He whispered. “We can’t wake up Ji-ah… Wanted you for myself this morning.” 

You smiled at the warmth of his voice, and curled your toes as his tongue licked deeper and deeper into your most sensitive spots, drinking from your body. You began to grip the sheets as his tongue moved up, finding your sensitive clit and gave slow, pressured licks. 

“Oh, fuck…” You whispered, trying to contain yourself. Your hands gripped the pillows by your head. 

Jung Kook, buried under the blankets, couldn’t see you, much to his frustration. Without disconnecting his tongue to your delicate pearl, he lifted the blankets off of him, so he could watch your face as you gave into the pleasure he provided. 

He listened to your little whimpers, egging him on to continue. His own cock was hard and leaking in his pants, which he soothed only somewhat successfully by rutting into the mattress. Jung Kook wanted so badly to take you completely, but he had a plan. This morning was completely about you. 

He slid one finger into your opening, gently and lovingly working your body to take him again, watching your expression for signs of discomfort. Your pussy had always been small, needing to be stretched patiently, and Jung Kook was eager to please. Once his finger was completely in, he pulled out and pushed back in, repeating his movements with the continued roll of his wet tongue on your clit. 

“Jung Kook… fuck… please, baby…” You babbled in a quiet voice. 

Then another finger, stretching you a little more. His own length was pressing uncomfortably between his stomach and the mattress below, but Jung Kook focused his attention on you. He boldly sucked on your clit, making you cover your mouth to hold back a loud whine. 

“That’s it, baby girl.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your sweet clit. Jung Kook curled his fingers just right, making you grip the pillows even harder somehow. “You like that, baby? Hm? You’re dripping wet. Wanna watch you cum for me.” 

“Jung Kook..” You chanted, moving a hand to find the dark locks of his hair and run your fingers through them. Jung Kook lowered himself back to your clit, finding the steady rhythm and pressure that he knew would break down the last of your walls. 

He knew he found the right combination, when your grip of his hair tightened. Jung Kook wrapped a strong arm around one of your thighs, just enough to keep you held down to the bed, so he could taste every last drop without having you squirm away from the intensity of the pleasure. Keeping you locked in place, he worked your body like breaking into a lock; the curl of his fingers, the pressure and rhythm of his tongue’s wet and gentle massage to your clit. Each movement worked together to unlock your climax, which came crashing onto the bed with shaking legs, curling toes, and pulling Jung Kook’s hair. 

He loved watching you come undone just for him. Jung Kook held your shaking legs, and slowly, steadily, brought you back down to earth. His licks became even more delicate, careful not to overstimulate you, but enough to drink you in. He slowly pulled his fingers out of the warmth of your opening, before crawling on top of your spent body. 

“Taste it?” He asked, raising his wet fingers to you. You looked at him with innocent eyes as you parted your lips, and let him slide in on your tongue. 

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He whispered, watching and feeling the way you sucked his fingers clean. 

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, and kissed your lips lovingly. His kisses moved down, from your lips to your cheeks, then your jaw, and down your neck. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He whispered. “You have no idea what you to do me, honey. So fucking beautiful.“

“Jung Kook.” You cooed and blushed, feeling him nibble and suck love marks into your neck. 

“Take a shower with me, before she wakes up.” He proposed. “I’m not ready to let you go just yet, baby.” 

The morning before Ji-ah woke up was peaceful, and deeply intimate. You couldn’t stand to not help your husband with his aching cock, letting the hot shower water steam up the bathroom to cover the lewd scene, where Jung Kook pressed your naked body into the tile wall of the large shower and sunk his length deep into your pussy. The running water gave cover to the grunts, whimpers, and the dirty but loving words that followed. With stuttered curses and deep, breathy moans against your neck, Jung Kook spilled into you. It was the first time he had been truly intimate with you in so long, and his body must’ve craved your body’s warmth, desperately releasing everything he had deep into you. 

When you exited the shower, you both got dressed in comfortable clothes just in time, as Ji-ah’s little feet could be heard tapping against the hardwood floors of the home. 

“Stay here.” He murmured, hugging you from behind in the warm bathroom, placing a kiss to you cheek. “Take your time getting ready, ok? No rush. I’ll take care of her.” 

“You sure?” You asked, as you were so used to being the first one to go to her. 

“Definitely.” He smiled, thinking back to his promise to the little girl. 

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅱ ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₃˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, explicit content, spectrophilia, ghost/human, rough sex, "unprotected" sex, creampie, somnophilia, cunnilingus. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after coming home from a grueling day of work, instead of being able to relax, the feeling of someone watching you has you scared. ꒰m!ghost ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

CLICK

𝒯 he soft glow of your lamp casts a warm yellow light throughout the desolate home, but it fails to dispel the darkness that lingers. You make a mental note, weariness seeping into your thoughts, to buy a new lightbulb from the mart later in the week. The dimness of the room matches the heaviness in your heart, as you feel the weight of loneliness settle upon your shoulders, part of you knows you should be used to coming home with no one to greet you, but it still stings nonetheless.

Struggling to remove your gym shoes, you let out an annoyed groan, exhaustion causing you to stumble and collide into the wall with a thump. Finally freeing your feet, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a tired sigh. Your muscles ache from the long day at work, and the fatigue seems to seep into your bones. Your eyes flutter closed from the effects of sleep deprivation but your stomach grumbles with a ravenous craving for a thick pastrami sandwich. The thought of sinking your teeth into the juicy meat and tangy mustard momentarily distracts you from the weariness that engulfs you.

Discarding your wool coat onto the carpeted floor, you shuffle yourself wearily down the hallway towards the kitchen, fully expecting it to still be a mess from three days ago. The cluttered countertops and unwashed dishes serve as a constant reminder of your chaotic schedule and the lack of time you have for yourself. It’s as if the mess mirrors the disarray in your own life, and you can’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all. At times you missed living with your parents and not having any responsibilities. Being an adult was so stress-inducing you just wanted to lay in bed and cry sometimes.

Leaning against the hallway wall, you find solace in pressing your forehead against the cool, flowered wallpaper. Sleep weighs heavily on your eyelids, momentarily clouding your vision and tempting you to succumb to its embrace. And just as your legs threaten to give way, a gentle chill dances down your spine, jolting you awake with a surge of electricity. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you run your palm down your face, mustering the strength to continue towards the kitchen. The chaotic mess that greets you almost makes you cry.

Resting against the entryway to the kitchen, a pang of regret washes over you. Deep down, and not even buried that far truly, you wish you hadn’t taken your coworker’s shift. Despite your fondness for the woman, working two consecutive twelve-hour shifts was more than you could handle. And as the new nurse in the hospital, you were an easy target for those who wanted to shirk their responsibilities, they left you to run around like a headlesss chicken.

You finally gather the energy to carry yourself into the kitchen, reaching for a cup from the cupboard and turning on the sink faucet, allowing lukewarm water to fill it. Impatiently you can’t wait for the tap to run cold and quickly knock back the glass, the satisfaction of quenching your thirst outweighs the temperature. Slouching against the sink, you take a moment to stretch, feeling your joints crack and your muscles slacken. You flutter your eyes shut to stop yourself from gazing at the mess that’s your kitchen.

Placing the glass on the worn countertop, you set your medical bag on the kitchen island and head towards the staircase, overwhelmed by the longing for a shower and some rest. However, as you approach the hallway, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. Your legs momentarily go numb, and you manage to grab hold of the stair railing, preventing yourself from stumbling. After being on your feet for a whole day, you were shocked you had not immediately collapsed when you walked in the door.

A sudden sense of unease washes over you when you survey your modest home, the horrid sensation of being observed seeping into your skin and festering in your mind. It’s as if the feeling surrounds you, leaving you breathless and on edge. Your eyes dart between the dimly lit kitchen and the shadowy staircase, it’s as if the shadows themselves are in motion. Objects seem out of place, and didn’t you leave your bag on the island?

Confusion creases your brow as you search for your bag, it takes a while but you discover it leaning against the couch’s armrest in the living room. Your unease deepens, causing a slight twitch in your eye. The entire situation leaves you unsettled. Anxiously, you bite down on your lower lip, feeling the sting as your teeth sink into the flesh. Once more, the sensation of being watched intensifies, as though someone is observing your every move, listening to your every thought, and knowing your every action. Goosebumps raise on your skin, skittering down your back.

You shake your head in disbelief and pinch the bridge of your nose, the weight of exhaustion and hunger bearing down on you. ( the latter was something you would fix in the morning, as you did not have the energy to cook anything.) The darkness of the hallway only adds to your supposed delusion. With a heavy sigh, you push yourself away from the railing and begin the arduous climb up the stairs.

Stopping just shy of the top of the stairs, you reach your hand out and glide it along the cool walls beside you, feeling for the light switch— one may think that you would know where the light was in a house that you’ve lived in for two years, but you seemed to fail to find it every time. Your palm glides along the walls, desperately searching for the elusive light switch. It’s a futile attempt, as if the house itself is playing tricks on you. The anticipation builds as you inch closer to the top, your body tensing with each step.

Finally, the click of the switch echoes through the silence. But it’s not your doing. Panic sets in as you realize someone else must be in the house, but soon the hallway is bathed in harsh light, exposing every shadow and corner. Yet no one is there. You stare at your hand, questioning whether you had unknowingly flipped the switch.

Ignoring the fear that threatens to consume you, you force yourself to continue. Quickly, you make your way to your room, seeking solace behind the closed door. But even within the confines of your sanctuary, the feeling of being watched persists. It’s as if an unseen presence lingers, peering into the depths of your soul.

Your skin tingles in question as the ethereal sensation of fingers delicately cupping your cheek sends shivers down your spine (truly almost nonexistent). A surge of unease washes over you, even though you can’t see anything, you can sense an intense, ravenous gaze fixated on you. Shaking off the remnants of your episode, you take a hesitant step forward, determined to overcome any lingering apprehension. With a burst of courage, you scurry to your dresser and retrieve an oversized T-shirt, a memento stolen from your older brother years ago, along with a pair of plain black cotton panties.

No matter what strange occurrences were unfolding, you refuse to let them hinder your plans for a hot shower. The past twenty-four hours have left you covered in sweat and grime, and you are determined to cleanse yourself of it all.

With eager anticipation, you make your way to the bathroom, barely bothering to close the door behind you. Placing your clothes in the sink, you turn towards the shower, pushing the curtain aside to adjust the knobs and pull up the shower valve, spurring on the hot water. As the bathroom fills with steam, your breathing becomes slightly shallow, the heat causing your cheeks to flush.

Stepping back towards the sink, you gaze at the fogged-up mirror, your reflection blurred and distorted. Like a scene from a horror movie, you raise your hand and press it against the glass, wiping downwards and watching as the water droplets cascade lower, dripping on your discarded clothing below.

As your eyes meet your reflection once more, they immediately lose focus and fixate on the imposing figure standing just a few meters behind you. Towering over six feet tall, his muscular frame exudes a suffocating amount of dominance and power. A scream of terror and disbelief escapes your lips, and in a panic, you grab the hand soap from the sink and swiftly turn around, hurling it towards the intruder. The bottle soars through the air, crashing into the wall before landing on the tiled floor.

There was no one there; you were going crazy.

“Calm down. You need to sleep. It’s been a long day; your mind is playing tricks on you.”

You were just full of excuses, desperately trying to maintain your sanity. But surprisingly, those excuses provided a strange comfort, no matter how unbelievable they were. So, you decided to settle yourself down, shedding your work pants and kicking them aside. Your shirt and undergarments followed suit, as you let go of all inhibitions. In that moment, the fear that had consumed you was momentarily forgotten.

You gazed at your reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to wipe away any imperfections. Your eyes wandered down to your body, taking in the soft ridges of faint stretch marks on your breasts with your fingertips. As your palms venture lower, they lovingly caress your thighs, reveling in the velvety softness of your skin and the warmth that radiates from them.

With a shake of your head, you release a sigh of surrender, allowing your hands to fall gracelessly to your sides. You take a step closer to the inviting tub, parting the shower curtain to reveal the steamy water within. As you enter the embrace of the hot water, a soft moan of pleasure escapes your lips, the heat enveloping your entire being and melting away the tension in your muscles. This shower was exactly what you craved.

After diligently scrubbing your skin until it’s both raw (and irresistibly smooth), you find yourself sitting on the floor of the tub, relishing in the sensation of the water cascading over your hair and body. However, as much as you yearn to stay in the blissful sanctuary that is your tub until the water turns cold, you reluctantly acknowledge the losing battle against sleep that you’re already engaged in.

Carefully rising from the bathtub, you extend your hand under the cooling sprays of the water to twist the knobs and halt the shower, pushing the valve down afterward. Exiting the tub, you forgo the use of a towel and opt to let the air dry you while reaching for your toothpaste and toothbrush from their respective places. Relocating your clothes from the sink to the nearby shelf, you proceed to brush your teeth swiftly, counting to fifty before spitting and returning everything to its original position.

You grab your face wash and dispense a small amount onto your palm, with gentle strokes, you massage the cleanser into your skin, creating a lather that removes the remnants of yesterday morning’s messy makeup. Switching on the tap, you lean over the sink, allowing the warm water to flow into your hands, smoothly gliding it across your face and rinsing away the soap.

Your back divots suddenly with a delicate grace as an ethereal caress firmly grasps your sensetive hips, eliciting a startled gasp of surprise from your parted lips. Your eyes pop open, darting around in a hasty manner, well, stupidly, seeing as you hadn’t quite finished washing your face--- the remnants of soap trickling into your eyes. A sharp hiss escapes your mouth as you instinctively lower yourself to rinse away the discomfort.

Once more the tantalizing trail of fingers tracing along your spine is undeniably present. You remain still, your muscles tensing in anticipation, trembling as the touch ascends higher, encircling your neck. With trembling hands, you turn off the faucet and inhale deeply, attempting to steady your racing heart. The deep, seductive timbre of your name being whispered intimately close to your ear fills you with a bone-chilling terror. Quickly, you snatch your garments from the nearby shelf and flee into the sanctuary of your bedroom, momentarily struggling with the bathroom door.

“Calm down, calm down; this is not happening. You’re hallucinating.”

You erratically throw on your shirt, using it to also dry your face, and shimmy your panties up your legs, the soft cotton resting comfortably on your hips. You quickly crawl into bed and pull the comforter up to your chin, shutting your eyes and tucking your bottom lip into your mouth. (Your hair could wait, you were not getting out of bed.)

“Hey, Alexa, turn off: Bedroom Lights. ”

You can’t even recall switching on the overhead light, but honestly, you’re past the point of caring. The mechanical response plunges the room into darkness, and the moment your head hits the pillow (as comfortable as it can be when cold and damp), you’re fast asleep.

You’re unsure how long it’s been, but your eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep when you feel the sensation of large, calloused hands gliding up your stomach softly. The touch is unfamiliar, but it doesn’t necessarily frighten you as it should, instead, you can feel yourself throbbing in your panties, gentle and shy. You blame your sleep deprivation on the lack of fear.

The hands approach your bare breasts, a thumb rubbing over the taught peaks of your pebbled nipples causing a soft gasp to escape your luscious lips, your cheeks burning with fiery heat, and your body arching ever so slightly from the bed, offering your breasts to the awaiting, eager palms.

Your pussy, warm and slick, constricts and drools with your arousal. Maybe it’s the thrill of imagining a supernatural encounter, but you’ve never felt as aroused and eager as you do at this moment; dripping and throbbing.

You feel a surge of anticipation as your panties are gently shifted aside, a trail of your desire following suit. Ghostly fingers swiftly trail up your inner thigh, getting closer to your sopping pussy, and despite the uncertainty of the situation, the mysterious touch ignites a fire within you. The paranormality behind the sensation makes your heart pound and your pussy salivate with need. Lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, a soft caress on your clit causes your hips to involuntarily buck, your lip bruised from the force of your bite. “Ah~”

Your voice comes out as a breathy, needy whine. The suspense of where and when the next touch will land sends shivers of excitement down your spine. And as soon as you're almost on the verge of begging, a rush of hot air sweeps over your dripping core, causing your pussy to clench instinctively. Your throbbing clit pulsates with an insatiable ache, lost in a haze of pleasure, and your eyes roll back, unable to fully grasp the intensity of the experience.

As the sensation engulfs you, your throbbing bud is devoured by their hungry mouth. The combination of their saliva and your own intoxicating arousal trickles down, moistening your tight, quivering entrance. The sensation is nothing short of divine, as if their touch is delicately fondling and slurping at every nerve within your shuddering body.

Your hips, moving with a will of their own, rise from the bed and writhe. You can’t help but squeal softly as firm, powerful, and large hands encircle your hips, forcefully pressing you down onto the mattress, indulging in your warm, sticky juices; skillfully teasing your clit with its tongue. Your cries and pleas echo loudly, a stark contrast to your usual quiet demeanor when having sex with men.

Oh, but you felt like a bitch in heat, like your entire being was engulfed in flames and burning you from the inside out— it made you want to scream and cry.

Your body trembles uncontrollably as the knot tightens, gripping your stomach, thighs, and lower abdomen. In a desperate bid for relief from the agonizing pleasure, you instinctively gyrate your hips. Your vision blurs and fades into a blinding white haze, signaling your impending climax. But just as you teeter on the edge of release, the touches abruptly cease, leaving you yearning for more.

You whimper and attempt to reach down to your soaking pussy to pat and rub at your engorged clit, but you unintentionally freeze in place; a small knot of fear causes your eyes to well up, yet it only intensifies your craving for its caress. When nothing further occurs, you start to plead, like a desperate whore— as if you hadn’t been touched in years.

And as if pleased, the ghostly caresses return to your sensitive clit, moving with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers down your spine. You can’t help but let out a series of soft moans, as you offer up sweet words of gratitude to the mysterious entity pleasuring you.

“Ah, yes, yes, please!”

Your body tenses as the knot tightens, aching with a mix of pain and pleasure. Your hips move uncontrollably, seeking more of that sweet torment. Yet, it stops once more, leaving you to come down from your ruined high. You’re a sobbing mess now, grinding against the air, waiting for something, anything.

Your throat constricts suddenly, leaving you breathless as fingers delve into your tight, dripping pussy, curling and prodding your spongey g-spot. The digits seem to know your pussy like the back of their hand, stroking every nerve inside of you. The squelching sound of your arousal drowns out your heavy breathing and mewling moans. The entity suddenly adds its thumb to the mix, circling your clit quickly. The pleasure escalates swiftly, and your eyes squeeze shut as a rush of pure ecstasy overwhelms you, leaving your thighs quivering and twitching from the deep, blissful climax.

After the high subsides, you pant for air, the tension easing from your throat. You sprawl sensually on your bed, clit throbbing and arousal coating your sheets. A tepid, exhausted breath escapes your lips as a thickness delicately nudges apart the folds of your pulsating entrance, prompting an instinctual urge to flee. However, unyielding hands firmly pull you closer, and your legs reluctantly surrender to their command.

You can feel a bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip forcefully penetrating your quivering, weeping pussy eliciting a mixture of pleasure and pain at the invasion. Your pretty eyes roll quickly to the back of your head as the unknown entity plunges its heavy, thick cock into your tight entrance, your thighs pressed to your chest and legs draped over broad shoulders.

You keen softly, as your pliable walls ensnare his cock in a vice-like, velvety embrace. “More, I need more; please fuck me, please.” Your plea is abruptly silenced as its thick length withdraws from within you, only to resume with an intense, unconventional rhythm—leaving you no opportunity to adjust to its entire length.

The unyielding grip on your waist marks you in the most delicious way, leaving behind a trail of bruises that only heighten the pleasure coursing through you. Your pussy feels so full and sated, despite nothing physically filling you, you throb with satisfaction.

Lost in the depths of your pleasure, the reasons behind your desperate pleas elude you, but you continue to spill them forth without hesitation, unable to think. Once again, your breath is stolen away, your throat constricts, and an intense orgasm surges through you like a forceful tidal wave. A delicious warmth then radiates from your core, spreading through your tummy.

The most painful and pleasurable feeling of being filled with cum has you aching for a taste of it. Your body goes limp, but whatever is fucking you doesn’t stop; their cock pistols into you despite you slowly losing consciousness.

As your eyes flutter open, you gradually rise from the bed. The room is shrouded in darkness, leaving you disoriented about the time you’ve spent asleep. Urgently, you rush to the bathroom due to your full bladder. Stepping out of bed, a gasp escapes your lips as your foot lands on a cold, damp object. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s your panties. Blushing, you drop them and shake your head, with your hair still slightly wet from the previous night’s shower.

As you enter the bathroom, you opt for the wall light switch instead of the one on the ceiling, casting a gentle, warm radiance throughout the room. Oblivious to your reflection, you casually stroll past the mirror, too exhausted to spare a second glance.

As you ease yourself onto the toilet seat, your tired eyes gently close, and the tinkling sound of you using the bathroom lulls you into a state of sleep for a brief moment. A few moments pass, and you linger a bit longer before reaching for a flushable wet wipe, dutifully cleansing yourself before discarding it into the swirling abyss of the toilet bowl.

With a swift flush, you rise to your feet and shuffle to the sink to cleanse your hands. However, as you slowly open your drowsy eyes and catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, a sudden chill runs down your spine.

As you gingerly raise your shirt, a gasp escapes your lips. The sight before you is both shocking and unsettling. Crimson and violet bruises, resembling the imprint of a colossal hand, encircle your throat, cascading down to conceal your collarbone and shoulders. As your eyes wander further, a gasp escapes your lips. Vivid handprints, a testament to an intimate encounter, mark your hips in crimson and violet, while a constellation of hickies adorns your tummy.

As you gaze into the mirror, you suddenly catch sight of a man standing behind you, from earlier. Surprisingly, he seems closer than the last time you saw him, and you can feel the warmth of his body through your shirt. He stands tall, with bulging muscles and an overwhelming presence that leaves you breathless. However, his appearance remains a mystery, as you struggle to make out his features. Just then, the bathroom door slams shut, plunging the room into darkness as the lights flicker off. Your heart skips a beat as you feel hands slowly trail up your shirt, eventually cupping your pussy.

His voice is like a warm embrace, wrapping around you with its deep, sensual, sinful, and amused tones.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

[daycourtofficial]

Come back, be here

Azriel x reader

Summary: It’s the anniversary of your mating bond ceremony and despite his reassurances, Azriel is nowhere to be seen.

Author’s note: this is the end of my 1k celebration and ironically the first fic I finished for this week. I hope you guys enjoyed reading these fics as much as I enjoyed writing them

Word count: 2k

(1k celebration masterlist 🍾)

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Every second you sat in your kitchen felt like an eternity, the fabric of the dress you’re wearing growing heavier with each tick of the clock.

You had bought the clock for your mate for your mating anniversary years ago. A rare antique that you knew he would love - thousands of years old, and you got it for an absurdly low price due to the condition it was in.

You spent months with a restoration expert, cleaning the clock, repairing pieces as you dismantled it. It was a labor of love, one you thought Azriel was deserving of.

The months spent restoring it were nothing compared to the time you’ve been sitting here.

Now you sit, practically taunted by its song. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of you. Objectively five years in a mateship isn’t a long time, a blip in the lives of fae, and yet the both of you were looking forward to the evening.

Despite his intimidating demeanor, Azriel was meticulous about celebrating your anniversaries, oftentimes mentioning an event you didn’t realize he knew the date of. You imagined he had an internal index of the days you two spent together.

“I waited five hundred years to meet you,” he had told you when he wanted to take you out to celebrate the anniversary of your first date, “I want to remember everything we do together. I want to celebrate us every day that I can.”

His words were incredibly sweet, but sitting in the cold kitchen, the tempting aromas of the meal you made long gone, you wonder just how much of it was words.

He waited 500 years for you, and you waited several hours before packing up the dinner you had made for him, tears running down your face as you packaged it all up.

Perhaps his overeager celebration of anniversaries led to the intensity of the sting you feel deep in your chest.

The clock chimes twelve times - he’s four hours late and your anniversary is officially over. You have no indication from the bond what he’s doing, it’s golden hum having gone silent hours ago.

You blow out the candles littering the house, taking off the ridiculous party hat you were wearing and throwing it on the ground.

It feels silly, the brightly colored hat with a pompon on top. It’s bright demeanor heavily contrasting the loneliness you feel inside. You sigh, looking around the downstairs of your home, deciding to leave the rose petals you had scattered so perhaps he’ll feel at least a little guilty when he came home.

Whenever that would be.

Trudging up the stairs, each step growing heavier, you wonder what could have kept him away. Rhys certainly wouldn’t have asked him to go away - Azriel had mentioned earlier in the week he’d be unavailable for a few days to celebrate.

Besides, Rhys knew how anal Azriel was about your anniversaries, and Feyre would chew him out if he forced Azriel to do anything on a day as important as your mating ceremony anniversary.

He had left this morning, promising you he’d be home at 8 because he had some tasks to do. You knew he was going to help one of your neighbors with a fallen tree, something that had to be done as soon as possible.

You move silently, going through your nightly ritual, an early end to the night you didn’t see coming. You pull back the covers on your bed, slipping into its cold grasp, ready to cry yourself to sleep, when you hear the door open downstairs.

You can hear Azriel moving through the house, a swiftness to his step as you hear him climbing the stairs quickly, taking them two at a time.

You make your way to your shared bedroom door, that you had locked upon entering, and lean against it, unsure if you’re ready for his excuses.

He tries the handle, then begins knocking.

“Baby, baby please be awake.” He pauses for a moment, listening. “I’m so sorry, baby please I know you’re awake I can hear you breathing.”

One of his shadows snakes underneath your door, checking you over to see how you are. It lingers on your cheeks, tear tracks still fresh. The shadow doesn’t return to it’s master, instead opting to stay with you, providing you company.

“Please, baby, I lost track of time. I was working on a surprise for you and I fell asleep. Baby I’m-“

You push off the door and turn to crack open the door, taking in the sight of your mate. Despite your annoyance, the bond made it practically impossible to want to avoid him. Every piece of you begged to be near him, to open the door further letting him in.

“You were working on a surprise?” Your voice cracks from all the crying, and he doesn’t mention how his heart cracks in response.

He nods gently, his hair sticking up everywhere from his hands having ran through it, and likely also from the flight home.

You’re still upset, but the frost you feel starts thawing. You can make him grovel a bit, and you’re about to open the door more, when the smell hits you.

Elain.

He showed up late to your date for your mating anniversary with some lame excuse about falling asleep because he had spent the day with Elain.

Elain, who was mated to Lucien, but made her affections for your mate abundantly clear before your mateship. As far as you had known, Azriel had shut down her affections when the bond snapped for you both, but now you’re reconsidering everything that you know.

Had they been sneaking around? Is this the first time? Does Lucien know?

The questions swirl in your mind, and Azriel puts his foot in the door begore you can slam it on him, your emotions swirling inside of his chest.

“Baby-“

“You spent the day with Elain?” You spat, “you were late because of Elain? You reek of her, Az!”

You push against the door, trying to shut him out, but he doesn’t budge, he won’t pull his foot out of the way, no matter how much it hurts.

“Baby, no let me explain-“

You laugh, “what’s there to explain? You are covered in her scent.”

The tears start pouring again, and the shadow starts wiping them up, more of them coming through the door to console you.

He starts panicking. Things with Elain have been great the past few years - her distance from Azriel allowing any lingering feelings of lust or awkwardness to dissipate, allowing the two of them to have a cordial friendship. Despite this, he was aware of how insecure you were around her.

You could never grasp why he’d want to be with you when he could have been with her.

Panic laces his tone as he tells you, “baby, no, I went to Elain’s to bake you a cake! We’ve been working all week on a recipe for you!”

You stop pushing so hard against the door, your movements stilling. An invitation for him to continue talking, but to stay where he was and not try to come in further.

“We spent the day baking you a cake. I laid down on her couch, and you know how damning that thing is. Lucien was there all day. I fell asleep waiting for the cake to cool so I could frost it. They must have left because-“

He pauses, his words rushing from his mouth, afraid you’d shut him out before they made their way to you. “I-they had me promise not to tell anyone, but Elain’s pregnant and they left for an appointment with Madja. They got back not too long ago, waking me up. I came straight here, forgetting the cake and your gifts.”

You lift your eyes to look at him for the first time and you know he’s telling you the truth.

“Gifts? Plural?”

A laugh breaks out from him, your obvious attempt to diffuse the situation. He pushes his hair back with a hand, and you finally take in how messy it was. He clearly had rushed over here, if it’s wind-blown look was anything to go off of. “I got you these incredible books that I spent ages tracking down. I was in Day earlier this week to pick them up.”

You perk up at that, “but you hate going to Day alone because Helion begs you to-“

“Then I had to stop by the jeweler’s.”

You perk up at that, your love of jewelry rivaling Amren’s.

“The jeweler’s?”

He smiles faintly, hoping he’s slowly convincing you to let him in.

“I had Winston take part of one of my siphons to make you a necklace.”

You still at that.

“Your- your siphon?”

He smiles softly, “yeah, I’ve been talking with him for years on how to best remove a piece to make you a matching necklace.”

You narrow your eyes, “years?”

“Yes, my love. We’ve gone through probably dozens of unused syphons to figure out the best method, he finally figured it out a few months ago.”

His hand taps his chest, where one of his siphons usually sits.

“I had a bit chiseled off of the one that stays on my chest.”

Your resolve crumbles, seinging open the door and launching yourself into his arms. He holds you tightly, and the two of you just stand there, enjoying the embrace.

The clock chines downstairs, but this time it’s tune is one of love, not dread.

You smelled him again, and as prominent as Elain’s scent was, you also picked up strong hints of Lucien and a soft, delicate scent.

“So nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened. And nothing ever will happen.”

Your eyes are lined with tears, pulling back from him, you place your hands on his face, bringing his face level with yours.

“If anything did happen, or ever happens, I’ll skin you alive.”

“My love, I think if I were to ever do anything to break your heart, Nesta would put my heart on a platter.”

You giggle, and he hums out, “actually I’m not sure who’d get to me first - Cassian or Nesta.”

Your soft giggles soothe the erratic beating of Azriel’s heart, “Gwyn and Emerie might take a chunk out too.”

He pushes the strands of hair away from your face, guiding the two of you further into the toom so he can shut the door.

“Let’s assume that if I did anything to hurt you, there would be a long line of fae coming to hunt me down.”

He kisses you, quickly pecking your lips several times as he guided you backwards until your knees hit your bed.

“However I did leave my mate all alone on our anniversary.”

He crawls on top of you, kissing your neck as you close your eyes at the contact, “and I am very good at groveling.”

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Commune

Cult Leader!Aemond x Niece!Reader

Summary: A modern AU where Aemond, power-hungry and high on hubris, is the leader of a commune with a peculiar affection for the Seven.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), AFAB reader, depictions of depression, manipulation, coercion, dubcon/noncon, targcest (no description of appearance), fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), facefucking, humiliation, (noncon) spanking, semi-public sex, P in V, breeding kink

Word Count: 19k

A/N: I've wanted to edit this for a while and finally got around to it! It took all week 🫠 I definitely feel like the fic got a face-lift! Enjoy ✨

Leaving

Your heart is beating fast and hard when you wake up.

The shrill sound of your alarm clock does little to ease your tense state, abruptly ruining the quiet calm that had previously occupied your bedroom. Without fully opening your eyes, you reach for its usual spot on the nightstand and press snooze, hoping for a little more serenity before you have to get up and face yet another insufferable day at work.

How could such a dull job cause you so much stress?

Why did it make you wake up each night with a heavy swirl of dread and anxiety tightening in your chest, rendering you unable to fall back asleep?

You’ve never been this tired before, yet you’ve never found sleep harder to obtain.

With a sigh you push yourself out of the warm comfort of your bed. It is so soft and smells like home; laundry detergent and the scented candle you keep on the nightstand.

The forced separation almost makes you cry as your body shivers in your chill bedroom.

Each day as heavy to bear as the next.

You grab the robe you have hanging on the back of the bedroom door and head for the kitchen with slow, heavy steps; dragging your feet behind you.

When had life turned so monotone?

When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself without thinking about work?

Why did you find yourself in an existential crisis before you’d even had your morning coffee?

You load the small coffee maker, pull out a carton of yoghurt and dump some into a bowl before reaching for the packet of granola standing on top of your fridge.

You grab a mug, pour some coffee into it, and shake up your oat milk before adding a splash.

Same fucking breakfast each day.

Moving to the living room, you curl into yourself on your sofa, turning on the same morning show you always watch as you sip your coffee and feel a tiny bit of relief at the comfort that the warm liquid offers as it slides down your throat.

The unnaturally cheery hosts on TV are in the middle of some segment about reusing egg cartons when your phone vibrates. You already know who it is, tapping on the screen to see “mum” and her usual morning text, asking you how you're feeling and what you have planned for the day.

It's harder to pretend like everything's fine when it's her asking. She can always tell that you're faking it; that whatever you say is just an empty, repetitive attempt at assuring her that you are fine.

You don't really mean any of it.

And she knows.

You shoot her a quick reply, trying to ease her worries but not really having the energy to fully commit,

“I’m good, going to work and meeting up with Sara after”

A small lie, though you are planning on sending a text to see if Sara's available later. Regrettably, your weekly dinners had been reduced to monthly ones, but still.

Do it for mum.

“Have you finished checking the reports I asked you to look over?”

Gwayne does not even spare you a glance as he comes up to your desk in the office, eyes glued to his phone and thumbs violently tapping the screen. He wasn’t the worst boss to have, but he certainly wasn’t nice or understanding either, promptly ignoring any signs of distress you were showing. You know you have been looking worse and worse as the stress of the job has settled in; skin going duller and bags under your eyes becoming more prominent. Yet, he stubbornly says nothing, relying on you to finish work swiftly without ever talking back or asking for some guidance.

“Yes, I just have to glance them over one last time before I forward them to you”, you answer, noticing how tedious your voice has become.

He hums, eyes still on his phone,

“And then I’ll need you to double-check that you’ve replied to any urgent emails before going home today. Would really fuck up my schedule next week if I’d have to keep track of your inbox as well”

“Yes, sure”, you reply before even taking in what Gwayne had told you,

“Wait, what do you mean? Next week?”, you question, seeing him briefly scrunch his eyebrows together before finally looking up from his phone, locking eyes with you,

“Yes, you have next week off, remember? Last chance to use up those paid days off you’ve accumulated, and the union has made it quite clear that we cannot give you a bonus instead”, he rolls his eyes at the last part.

“Week off? But I have meetings lined up next week, deadlines closing in”

Despite knowing that you probably need the break, you feel the familiar tightening in your chest as you consider all tasks you were planning on doing next week.

Gwayne, seeming to be done with the conversation, turns and walks away from your desk, eyes again locked on his phone as he replies, “Then you’ll just have to get it sorted today”

“Well that’s lovely, sweetheart!”

Rhaenyra’s voice sounds relieved when you tell her the news of your unplanned week off. You had been forced to stay at the office for two additional hours just to make sure that you finished up any urgent business, resulting in you cancelling the dinner plans you'd made with Sara and consequently spending another evening by yourself at home.

“Why don’t you get away for a bit? You might enjoy a change of scenery?”, she asks.

You were too exhausted to even think about planning and booking a trip, replying “Yeah, sure” dispassionately as you stir the pot of pasta cooking on the stove.

All you want to do is lay in bed, listen to music and try as best as you can to turn your brain off; to not think about anything.

Contently brainless.

You don't want to think about how you’d gotten your dream job, just to realise that you despise it.

You don't want to think about how every day felt like a repetition of the one before, nothing exciting ever happening.

You don't want to think about the strong suspicion you have that every fucking choice you’ve ever made has lead you to a life that you detest.

“Why don’t you go visit Helaena? I know she’s misses you”, your mothers voice pulls you away from the negative thoughts spiralling in your head,

“I think the place is about two hours by train from Oldtown, out in the country. Maybe some fresh air would do you good?”

You knew Helaena had moved out to the country about a year ago, exhausted and overstimulated from the suffocating drain of the fast-paced city that King’s Landing is. She’d sent you a letter, not a text or a call, some time ago to let you know that she was okay and she’d love it if you came by to visit her.

“Mm, I do miss her…”, you mumble into your phone, thinking of the last time you’d seen her. It was Aegon’s birthday almost one and a half years ago. She’d seemed lost and sad. Like she often did.

Like you often did, nowadays.

“Yeah, maybe that’d do me some good”, you finally agree, hearing Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief at your words. You know she's worried you’d stay home all week, doing nothing but dwelling in sadness.

“That’s lovely, dear! I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to see you. You know Aemond lives there too, right?"

You’d heard that Aemond had left King’s Landing shortly after finishing his PhD as well. You’d been with your mum when Alicent called her, filled to the brim with worry over her overachieving son turning down a position at Oldtown University in order to move out to the middle of nowhere, claiming that he’d be "conducting private research".

You had actually been excited for him to move to Oldtown. Having some family close by would’ve been a nice escape from the loneliness of the city.

Besides, you and Aemond had drifted apart as you both grew older, despite being thick as thieves in your childhood.

Maybe it’d be nice to see him too.

You lean your head against the train window, watching the city landscape make way for the lush greenery of the Reach in late summer.

Being trapped in the city you’d almost forgotten how beautiful it was here; a stark difference from Dragonstone, where you’d spent most of your upbringing.

It's not that you don't miss the sea. As a child, you'd loved the way the harsh, salty winds whipped at your face, leaving you wet and impossibly refreshed as you stared out towards the horizon, thinking of everything awaiting you there.

The potential of what your life could've become felt a lot more comforting than the reality of it.

You hadn't been able to call Helaena to inform her that you’d like to visit. Apparently, she didn’t have a mobile phone anymore, but after sending a text to Alicent you’d gotten a hold of her new number; a landline.

You didn’t know how she managed without a smartphone, but figured that the stress of constant notifications might have made her decide to ditch it.

Grabbing your bag from between your legs, your hand rummages through it in blind search for your pocket mirror.

You pull it out, open it and check your reflection.

Still the same tired face, with dark bags permanently residing under your eyes. You hadn’t slept well last night either, despite having some much needed rest from work.

Why was your body seemingly incapable of relaxing?

You feel around for some concealer, dotting a bit on your finger and patting it under your eye; a useless attempt at hiding the fatigue prevalent on your face.

Defeated, you lean back in your seat.

The train ride's nice. You spend the entire 2 hours and 12 minutes listening to music, watching the scenery flash by.

Thoroughly zoned out, you nearly miss the conductor announcing your station.

You hastily grab your bag and rush out of the door. The station, if you could even call it that, is small; just two tracks going opposite directions.

It's closer to a bus stop, a place where people get off and quickly make way to their final destination.

You spot Helaena immediately. She's standing on the platform in a lilac summer dress, her silver hair shining in the sunlight.

Although you can only really make out her silhouette, she seems different. As you come closer, the wide smile that she sports comes into view.

Gosh, she looks radiant!

So different from her gloomy, distant self back in King’s Landing.

“I’m so happy you’re here!”, she squeals, wrapping you in her arms.

She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, burying your nose in her hair. It feels good to hug someone you care for.

When was the last time you did that?

“Thank you for having me”, you respond as Helaena pulls away, still holding you in her arms, eyes flickering over your face.

Her smile falters for a second before it returns and she starts talking excitedly about her new home, telling you that it’s only a 20 minute walk from the station and you could catch up on the way.

You follow her down the steps from the platform, answering a few questions about work and your life in Oldtown.

She leads you away from the small station, down a path where a few houses lay scattered sporadically.

You can hardly call this a town; far too minuscule. Still, you notice what seems to be a little supermarket, a pharmacy, a gas station and what looks like an elementary school, facing the tiny town square.

“I’ve been hoping you’d come visit ever since I sent you that letter”, Helaena gushes, taking your hand in hers as she led you down a small path going off the main road,

“I just know you’ll love our commune. Aemond thinks so too!”, she continues while squeezing your hand in hers.

“Commune?”, you ask and turn to face her.

She met your eyes and nods, face breaking out into a wide grin once again,

“Yes, Aemond’s research project! You know he specialised in philosophy when he did his PhD in Political Science, right? Well, he got really into the idea of having people live in smaller communities instead of the impersonal and detached lifestyles people pursue in modern cities”, she explains, eyes once again inspecting your face, only to land on the bags under your eyes.

You hum in response, seeing if she’ll continue.

“So, he used some of the money he had stored away in funds and created our commune; a small community where everyone knows each other and we get away from the stresses of city life. We grow our own crops, spend time outside and work together to keep the place running”, she explains, eyes gleaming with adoration,

“He said he did it for me, since he saw how bad my depression had gotten back in King’s Landing”, she adds, and you squeeze her hand affectionately. Aemond had always cared for Helaena, no one else seemed to truly understand her like he did.

“So, you feeling better now? Out here?”, you inquire, gesturing towards the green field you walk through, hand in hand.

You're not really paying attention to where you're going as Helaena guides you. Looking up, you find yourself surrounded by nature; not a building in sight.

The sun shines brightly, illuminating the beech trees towering over you, creating a roof of light green luminance.

“Yes, much better”, she replies with a smile. She seems so at peace here, encapsulating a kind of beauty that comes from within and hypnotises anyone laying eyes on her.

“And this, ehm, commune. How many people live there now?”, you ask, not knowing you’d be spending your time with a bunch of strangers.

Truth be told, you really didn’t feel up for it.

You barely have energy to hang out with Helaena and Aemond. Entertaining and getting to know new people would be especially draining.

“We’re already about 50 people. Most of them met Aemond when he was still in school”, she replies.

As if she could sense your uneasiness, her eyes search yours as she adds, “You’ll love them, I swear! Everyone’s super nice”

Together, you continue your path, walking up a small hill. As you look down, the commune comes into view.

You see small, cottage-looking houses, with large flowerbeds between them, filled with everything from herbs to vegetables.

There's a large building the middle of the field with walls much taller than the cottages. The building's made out of wood; a dark tone that contrasts against the light trees and green fields you’d passed on the way over.

Above the large entrance of the building is a large carving, resembling the seven-pointed star of the Faith.

Helaena, still excitedly chatting next to you about how lovely life is out in the country, pulls you towards the large building in quick steps,

“Aemond's dying to meet you! It’s been so long. I bet he’s in the Sept”, she explains, leading you through the tall, open door.

Your parents aren't particularly religious, which means you hadn’t spent much time in Septs and the like. Alicent’s family, however, were rather devoted; an integral part of the many faith's many fractions in Oldtown.

When you were younger, both Helaena and Aemond had spent a lot of time studying The Seven-Pointed Star. Still, the fact that they'd chosen to construct a Sept in such a small community shocks you.

Maybe they're more dedicated than you’d thought?

Entering the Sept, you recognise the back of a tall man with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long, silvery hair, tied in a low bun.

Helaena calls his name and he turns around, finding your gaze in an instant. His lone, purple eye crinkles slightly as he smiles at you, calling out your name in greeting.

Just like Helaena, he looks radiant; pale skin glowing, dress shirt and dark slacks perfectly ironed, and not a hair out of place.

As a child he was always so moody; volatile and sensitive.

Now, he seems so calm.

Too calm.

Like he was faking it.

“Welcome to our home. I hope the trip here wasn’t too draining?”, he asks, inspecting your fatigued face.

Seven hells, did everyone think you looked like the walking dead?

“It was a lovely ride out here. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the country is” you answer, trying your best to sound cheerier than you look.

He hums at your answer, placing a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. You can't make out if it's supposed to be an attempt at a greeting, or a way to comfort you.

His eye bores into yours,

“We’re so happy to finally have you here. Helaena will help you get sorted in one of our rooms and then I’ll introduce you to everyone”

His hand swiftly leaves your shoulder before he turns around, striding out of the large wooden doors of the Sept.

Reconnecting

After a few hasty greetings, you retreat to the room Helaena and Aemond have assigned to you.

You're exhausted from being bombarded with impressions, and collapse on your bed, finding uninterrupted sleep for the first time in months.

Hours later, you wake up to the sun illuminating your room, a low knocking sound by your door.

As your groggy mind slowly realises where you are, you hear Helaena call you from the outside, informing you that breakfast will be served in a few minutes.

You get up and move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, splashing some water on your face, checking your sleepy reflection.

You instantly notice that the heavy bags that had seemed to be a permanent feature under your eyes have faded slightly, and you look better and brighter than you had in a long time.

Mood elevated, you move to throw on a flowy, knee-length skirt and a linen blouse, reasoning that something loose-fitting would match the sunny, late-summer climate.

Stepping outside, the air is crisp.

The sun provides warmth as it makes contact with your skin, a welcomed relief to the slight chill still lingering.

You notice that the residents of the small community have gathered by a long, wooden table placed in the middle of a field not far away from where you stand. You quickly make your way there, spotting Helaena. Her eyes light up as she sees you approach, greeting you with a wide smile,

“We always have breakfast together”, she explains as people move around you swiftly, placing plates of bread, yoghurt, pastries, fresh fruit and vegetables on the massive table.

You spot Aemond, hands behind his back and posture straigh as he observes the people scurrying around him. He glances at you, giving you a small smile and a nod before he returns to his previously stoic state, observing the residents while they prepare for breakfast.

Helaena reappears next to you, arms wrapped around 5 glass vases filled with wildflowers. You help her place them on the table, admiring how utterly beautiful the set up looks.

The commune, as you'd heard one resident call it, has a simplistic aesthetic. Most rooms are only occupied by whatever furniture’s necessary to maximise functionality; tables, chairs and beds made out of wood, decorated with nature-toned linens.

Yet, there is a beauty to it you’d hardly seen before; an appreciation for a simple charm that's often lost in the hectic mess of cities like Oldtown or King’s Landing.

You take a seat next to Helaena, eager to devour the delicious-looking food in front of you.

Though most residents are seated by now, no one moves to touch the various plates filled to the brim with mouth-watering food.

You look over at the end of the long table and notice Aemond standing, hands still clasped behind his back. He softly clears his throat, and the cheery chatter dissolves in an instance, all eyes shifting to watch the tall, silver-haired man standing before them,

“Good morning. I hope you all slept well and feel ready for a day of prosperity”, Aemond starts, eye moving across the table to acknowledge everyone present.

Most of the residents are older than both you and Aemond. You even heard that a handful of them used to be his professors back in King’s Landing.

You're still not sure how he’d managed to get them all to move out here, but as he speaks, you notice how intensely everyone observes him, taking in every word that leaves his lips,

“Let us pray”, he orders, and each one of your tablemates bring their hands up to clasp over their empty plates before closing their eyes.

Aemond sends you a look you can’t really decipher. You assume he wants you to partake in the prayer, so you lower your head and clasp your hands together as well.

Aemond pays tribute to all seven faces of the new God before thanking all residents for attending, voice calm and steady.

As the prayers end, everyone shifts their focus to the food. You feel unsure of what to try; everything looks so good.

Helaena makes the decision for you, grabbing your plate, loading it with bread and various spreads and toppings for you to try.

“You’ll love this”, she urges as she places the plate in front of you, lilac eyes eagerly awaiting your reaction.

She's right. Everything tastes divine and you eat until you feel like your stomach is about to burst.

Meanwhile, you try to engage in some small-talk with the people sitting closest to you around the massive table.

To your right sits Jayne, a woman you’d guess to be in her early fifties, with sun-kissed skin and kind, brown eyes. She tells you about her tasks at here, mainly growing herbs and flowers.

She shoots a quick glance at a dark-haired woman sitting by Aemond further down the table, explaining that she grows and tends to various plants which are grown at the request of the woman she’s observing; Alys.

After breakfast you offer to help collect and wash up the dishes, feeling a strong need to be useful as you see all residents retreat to their respective tasks for the day.

As you circle the outside table with an already overfilled tray in your hands, you spot a tall figure appear beside you.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

You look to the side and see Aemond standing there. He's wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks today as well, though his hair is left untied, cascading down his shoulders and reflecting the light of the sun.

He offers you a timid smile as he asks, mimicking the way he used to look when he was younger. It's a stark contrast to how he appeared during breakfast; authoritative and intimidating.

You return his smile and nod. Perhaps a walk would do you good.

He instructs one of the residents to take over your work and they do so without protest. You send them an apologetic look and mumble a "thank you" as you follow Aemond, who’s already set sight on the small path leading away from the settlement and towards the compact trees of the surrounding forest.

The two of you walk in silence, basking in the lovely scenery surrounding you. The light green trees seem to shimmer in the sun, and as you make your way into the forest, you spot a small river; surface reflecting the lush greenery of the leaves.

“How is life in Oldtown? Has my uncle been giving you a hard time?”, Aemond asks, eye looking forward as he breaks the silence.

You swallow and mentally prepare yourself before answering, not wanting to let him in on how miserable you’ve been.

“Yeah it’s been interesting. A lot of new challenges but I’m hanging in there”, you answer, and despite your attempt at sounding casual, the sadness residing within you drips through and stains your voice.

Aemond abruptly halts and turns to you, eye boring into yours as he contemplatively licks his lips.

“There's no need for that here”, he states, voice suddenly sterner than before.

“What do you mean?”

Your cheeks grow hot and your palms feel clammy as you grow embarrassed over how easily he sees through your fake cheeriness.

“You don’t need to lie to me. It’s only us here, I won’t judge you”, he replies, maintaining the intense eye contact between the two of you.

It feels like a dam bursts within you; a force so strong you're helpless to it, and your sight turns blurry.

Any attempts you’ve made to appear strong have failed and all that is left is the truth; that you'r stuck in a permanent state of misery.

Broken.

You feel your throat close up and you desperately try to swallow before answering,

“I ha-, have been feeling a bit, ehm, lost”, you admit, and as you finally utter the words, admitting to yourself and confiding in him that you feel disoriented, tears spill out of the corners of your eyes.

You try to take deep breaths to soothe yourself and regain some control over your emotions, but it's too hard.

Why can’t you pull yourself together?

Aemond regards you for a moment, allowing you time to process the sudden crash of emotions overcoming you, before he places a hand on your upper arm, gently dragging his fingers over the fabric of your blouse.

“You’re allowed to feel lost”, he looks into your eyes and there is something there; a tenderness you haven’t seen since you were both much younger.

You can’t stop the tears from flowing anymore as you weakly nod at his words, the lump in your throat leaving you unable to properly answer him. His seeing eye is so gentle as it gazes into yours,

“Many of us here felt lost, hopeless even. But the community we’ve built allowed us to reconnect with our inner selves; helped us feel happier”

He moves the hand that had been on your arm to your face, experimentally stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch by reflex, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on your wet cheek.

“You don’t have to pretend here, not with me”

As he speaks you move closer to him, pressing your body against his and wrapping your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly, just like you did so many times in your childhood.

He understands what you need and hugs you back, holding you against his chest, softly stroking your hair. And despite the agony in your chest and the lump in your throat, you feel okay; escaping into his warm embrace to momentarily forget all your sorrows.

You stay like that for a while, bodies interlocked with each other as Aemond lets you cry. He doesn't say anything, continuously stroking your hair. It feels emancipating; crying your heart out in the arms of your uncle.

As your tears dry, you gently push yourself away from Aemond’s embrace and run the back of your hand over your cheeks in an attempt to remove some of the wetness. Aemond’s eye still looks gentle as he regards you,

“I know that life's not always what you thought it’d be, and leaving home is scary. But you’re with family now. Me and Hel are so pleased that you’re here with us”

You smile at him, saying a quiet "thank you" as he motions for you to carry on with your walk.

You continue to talk and catch up on what’s been going on in your lives since you last met.

Aemond tells you about his research project; how he believes that modern capitalism renders people mere objects utilised for profit by companies, consequently leaving them lacking agency and without a belief in higher powers, generating a generation of depressed, lost souls.

You take in everything he says. He speaks with such confidence that you feel yourself agreeing instantaneously.

In truth, you also felt like an object at work; a machine there to execute tasks, without any possibility to change your condition.

You listen to him talk so intensively you don't even realise you’re back at the residence.

What sounds like a fight in hushed voices pulls you away from your conversation with Aemond as you look up to search for where the voices are coming from.

You see one of the residents you had breakfast with, Jayne, kneel down in front of Alys, grasping at her apron and pleading to her in a quiet, desperate voice,

“I didn't mean to, please believe me!”

Shocked, you look over at Aemond who suddenly looks stern, wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. His eye's set on the scene in front of you, yet he does not intervene.

As you open your mouth to ask him what's going on, he grabs your arm and promptly leads you into the Sept, closing the door behind you.

“Helaena will meet you here, she wanted to show you her insect farm. Do not leave until she collects you”, he commands, voice stoic but intimidating, leaving no room for argument.

Before you have a chance to reply he quickly opens the door, and leaves.

You spend the afternoon with Helaena, exploring her insect farm and listening to her tell you of all the benefits the farm provides.

Afterwards, you still feel the unease from earlier vibrate within you, causing you to feel restless. In an attempt to be useful, you offer to help some of the residents as they prepare the large outdoor dining space for supper.

You chat with one of the younger people there, a man who appears to be in his early 20’s called Jon.

He tells you about how he met Aemond. As part of his PhD programme, Aemond held some lectures for first-year students, and Jon had attended his class on international conflict and crisis.

They’d started talking outside of Aemond’s lectures and found that they had much in common, especially in regards to their view of the world, and what was wrong with it. Aemond had mentioned his wish to move out of the city with his sister, and Jon was intrigued in an instance.

You continue your conversation with Jon, finding him easy to chat with. He's surprisingly funny too, joking and making you laugh, easing your anxiety. Feeling yourself relax and grow more comfortable, you decide to pry a bit, confiding in Jon,

“I wasn’t brought up with the faith, so I have to ask. Why did you decide to build a large Sept in a small settlement like this?”, you ask as you help Jon place cutlery by the plates on the table.

His relaxed and cheerful demeanour stiffens at your question. His eyes leave the silverware on the table to meet yours,

“You don’t know?”

His face appears genuinely surprised, and his eyes are wide in question. Before you get a chance to answer, a raspy voice interrupts your conversation,

“Jon! How lovely of you to entertain our guest”

The woman who you’ve learned goes by Alys appears, emerald eyes locking with yours as you turn to meet her.

“I’m Alys, it is so nice to meet you”

She stretches out a hand and gives you a practised smile. Her features looks pleasant; far from how harsh they'd appeared when Jayne had been kneeling before her.

You try to smile back at her and tell her your name, though you suspect she already knows exactly who you are. You look over at Jon who appears nervous, hands fidgeting with a fork.

“I believe Aemond wants to see you, in his office”, Alys sight does not leave Jon, eyes boring into him, but you both know she is addressing you.

You can’t come up with anything to say or do; anxious to find out what it is that Aemond wants from you and desperate to get away from the intense, silent fight between Jon and Alys taking place before your eyes.

You shoot Jon a quick apologetic glance before moving toward the Sept, leaving him with Alys.

Aemonds office is located behind the large altar in the Sept. As you approach, you feel yourself grow tenser; stiffer.

You quickly try to run your sweaty palms over your skirt before raising one hand and softly tapping your knuckles against the heavy wood.

Aemond calls for you to come in and you enter, standing awkwardly by the door.

What does he want with you?

Had you overstepped when you spoke with Jon?

Or will he let you in on what had happened between Alys and Jayne when you came back from your walk?

Something about this place and Aemond makes you unexplainably uneasy, but you're unable to pin-point what it is that reduces you to a mess of nerves.

Your eyes keep flicking up at Aemond and down at the floor. You can't maintain eye contact with him, his stare too intense.

Fiery.

“I heard you offered to help Jon prepare supper?”, he inquires. His voice is completely devoid of any emotions, making your uneasiness grow.

He had an eerie calmness to him that did little to soothe you; rather, it made you grow even more restless.

“Y-, yes, well, I only helped him with bringing out plates and such”, you rushedly explain, words pouring out of your mouth, “I'm so sorry if I overstepped or made a mistake, that wasn’t my intention”

Aemond beckons you over, pushing his chair from where it’s placed by the desk, holding out his hand. You grab it without a second thought and he begins stroking his thumb over the back of your palm, looking up at you, a sliver of sympathy evident in his dark gaze,

“Why did you assist him?”, he asks softly and you answer that you just wanted to be helpful; that it feels strange seeing everyone else work hard and not contribute.

Aemond hums and leans back in his chair, hand still holding yours.

“You shouldn’t do other peoples chores for them. Everyone here has responsibilities that they should conduct in solitude”, he explains and you nod, though you can’t understand the harm in helping someone with a menial task like setting the table for supper.

“Don’t worry, no one is upset with you”, he adds to reassure you that you haven’t wronged anyone. You feel yourself relax somewhat, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding.

Aemond looks you over and his gaze stops at your shoulders, noticing the strain there,

“You are still so tense”, he notes and you hum.

Stress, working at a desk for over 40 hours per week and lack of sleep had left your body in a constant, rigid state.

“Come here”, he commands and tugs at your arm unexpectedly, making you stumble forward. His other hand comes up to wrap around your waist, placing you on his thigh.

He looks into your eyes and the close proximity makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“You’ve always been so nervous; anxious since we were young”, he says as the hand that had been holding yours travels down to rest on your clothed thigh. The arm he has around you midriff tightens as if he’s expecting you to move away,

“Let me help you relax”, he offers, voice soft.

With gentle fingers, he slowly traces patterns on your leg. You do not know what he means by helping you, but you trust him.

He managed to makes you feel better before.

You stay put on his lap and he takes that as permission to continue, letting his hand travel down to where your skirt ends, fingers caressing your knee.

A breath gets caught in your throat as his hand moves upwards, slinking in under the fabric of your skirt; warm palm softly touching the smooth skin of your thigh. Aemond lets out a sigh at the contact and you suddenly feel uneasy, squirming in his grip.

“Aemond, what are you doing?”, you ask, voice slightly panicked.

His arm tightens around your waist as you try to move, hand continuing its path up your skirt.

“Didn’t it feel liberating to ease the pressure within when you cried in my arms earlier?”, he inquires and you look at him puzzled.

He still appears stoic but the pupil of his eye is blown wide; enveloping his iris.

“Let me take care of you. Just relax”, he commands as his hand reaches the apex of your thighs, index finger coming up to touch your bundle of nerves over your underwear experimentally.

You gasp and try to squirm out of his hold again, but he is much stronger; body rigid as he holds you.

He moves his head down to rest in the crock of your neck, shushing your protests. His fingers continue their slow massage over your underwear, and you feel yourself grow wetter from his attention.

Both your mind and your body have frozen.

Although you know it’s wrong, you let yourself lean into the pleasure Aemond is providing you, feeling yourself drift away; mind letting go of your senses as Aemond's touch consumes you.

When his fingers travel to the edge of your underwear, sliding inside, it’s like a bucket of cold water is poured over you.

You regain consciousness, bringing your hand up to try and push his away,

“Aemond we can’t do this, don’t-”, you plea, embarrassed by the fact that you can feel the evidential stickiness of your arousal between your legs.

Aemond tuts at you and pushes his fingers to make contact with the skin of your cunt, delighted at the wetness that greets him,

“You want this", he speaks quietly into your neck, "You need this. Be a good girl for me and let it happen”

You sit in his lap stiffly and as you're about to protest once more, his fingers circle your clit, causing a startled moan to slip out of your disobliging mouth.

Aemond chuckles against your skin and presses a light kiss to your neck,

“I knew you’d like it”

His words feel taunting, and your cheeks sear with shame.

The conflicting feelings storming inside you do little to hinder the arousal you're experiencing.

As his fingers travel down to your entrance, you again feel your common sense slip away and pleasure overtaking you.

He gathers some of the wetness from your entrance and brings it back up to your clit, making you sigh in involuntary pleasure again.

He positions his hand so that the heel of his palm is right by your bundle of nerves, leaving his fingers free to tease your entrance. He stays like that for a while, teasing you while pressing his palm against your clit.

The pleasure builds inside of you at a rapid pace.

He slowly sinks two fingers inside and you cannot contain the loud moan that escapes you, grabbing his arm with both hands. You grip him tightly, but cannot bring yourself to pry his hand away like you’d tried before, the pleasure too overpowering.

He sets a steady pace, palm pushing against your clit and fingers continuously finding that spot within you that causes your thighs to shake.

Your breath grows heavy, pleasure tightening inside you rapidly, and suddenly you don't want him to stop.

You hear Aemond’s breath growing laboured against your neck as well, giving it his all as he holds you in place and pleasures you.

You bite your lip to not let more moans slip out as pleasure begins to consume you.

Why did it feel so good?

Your walls began to contract against Aemond’s fingers as your peak approaches, and distantly, you hear him encourage you to let go.

As you do, you let out a pleasured cry, soaking his fingers. Your body stiffens while pleasure shoots through you; traveling from your lower stomach to your chest and down your limbs.

Your body slumps against Aemond, who moves his face out from the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers,

“Good girl”

Assimilating

You can’t take in anything Helaena is saying.

You watch her lips move, try your hardest to take in her words, but nothing sticks. You hum and nod in reply, but haven’t got a clue to what you just agreed.

Should you tell her about what happened in Aemond’s office?

What if she tells him?

What if she tells mum?

Bile rises in the back of your throat at the thought.

What if your mum found out what her brother had done with her daughter?

What if she found out how good he’d made you feel?

That you liked it.

The only consolation to your misery is the fact that Aemond is sitting where he’d sat before, at the end of the long, beautifully decorated wooden table, looking out at everyone as if nothing was wrong. Like this was any other supper.

Maybe nothing was wrong?

Maybe you'd just imagined the entire thing?

Still, you can't bear to meet his gaze. You continue to channel all of your energy into the conversation you were having with Helaena. Or rather, that she was having with you.

“So when the queen bee dies, her workers will select a new queen from the larva and feed her this special thing called ‘royal jelly’ to make her fertile”, she cheerily says, smiling from ear to ear,

“Everyone here in our community gets to focus their attention on their chosen topic of interest, mine being insects and biology. I’ve learned so much, nature is truly fascinating”

Again, you notice how elated Helaena seems to be here. Her eyes shine as she continues to tell you about her life in the country, tending to insect farms.

It's hard to imagine that this is the same girl who’d been a shell of a person before.

As children, she had developed a tendency to pull away from others, choosing to fold into herself and push the world around her away.

Seeing her this animated and filled with life should make you happy for her.

But it feels off.

The following days go by quickly.

Sensing your need to feel useful, the members of Aemond's commune assign you daily tasks, like helping out with harvesting plants, preparing meals and cleaning up the Sept.

The building doesn’t seem to be used for ceremonies or communal prayer. Instead, the residents utilise it privately throughout the day; though you're not let in on their purpose.

Although not being too familiar with the Seven, you swear you could remember Aemond and Helaena attending services at the Sept when you were younger, not merely going there in solitude. Maybe they prayed together as well sometimes?

Another benefit of focusing on productivity was the distraction it gave you from thinking about what had occurred between you and your uncle three days prior.

Despite the initial disgust you'd felt, you had now decided that if you acted like it never happened, maybe it never did.

You’d sworn to never bring it up with Aemond, or ever tell anyone else for that matter.

He was still the Aemond you’d grown up with; the sensitive boy with a strong will, always on a mission to prove himself.

He’d always been a bit too ‘by the book’. Maybe he sincerely thought that you would enjoy it?

He might've read something about Freud’s theory on female hysteria and the power of orgasmic release, seeing the act as more of a medical procedure than a sexual encounter?

A weak theory, but still.

---

Despite helping out at every corner of the residence, you hadn’t seen Alys since leaving her with Jon.

But this morning, after Aemond had asked you to help the residents clean up the leftovers from breakfast, you spot her standing next to your uncle, talking about something in hushed voices while watching the residents tidy up.

Although you'd only spent a few days here, Aemond and Alys' position at the top of the hierarchy of the small community was evident.

They both had an air of authority about them that was hard to overlook, making the pair appear intimidating in a way that only a strict superior could.

Yet, they both choose to be soft spoken whenever they address the residents, often complimenting them on their diligent work.

Observing the duo, you notice Aemond nod towards you, which prompts Alys to approach, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder,

“I’d like for you to help me today”, she states, and although her voice is soft, as if asking a question, there seems to be no room for disagreement.

She ushers you to follow her as she makes way towards one of the almost overflowing flower beds; copious plants fighting for space.

Like every day since your arrival, the weather is practically perfect; sunny but with a comforting breeze passing through the fields. Alys reaches for two weaved baskets resting against the small cottage wall close by and hands you one before kneeling down by the flower bed. You follow her, admiring the abundance of herbs in front of you.

You’d never witnessed such a variety of plants grow so vigorously together. You’d hardly thought it to be possible. Maybe the weather and temperature conditions here were optimal? Or maybe they’d genetically modified the crops?

Alys' gentle, low voice breaks the silence,

“How has the stay here been for you so far?”

Even though you’d told yourself; decided that you’d never think about what had happened between you and Aemond in his office again, her questions forces your mind back there.

Sitting on his lap. His fingers inside you; stretching you out.

You shake your head slightly in an attempt to erase the thought.

You’re never going to think about that again.

You can’t.

“It’s been great. Everyone’s so welcoming and I’ve been able to spend a lot of time with Helaena”, you reply, focusing on the positive aspects of your visit.

It was all true; during your time here you’d felt welcomed and comforted. Cared for, even.

“That’s lovely”, Alys replies with a smile as she begins to pick basil leaves off the thin stem of the plant. “We’ve worked hard to create an environment where our residents can thrive, just like you seem to be doing”, she explains and your forehead wrinkles in contemplative confusion.

Are you thriving here?

You certainly look a lot better.

Your skin has almost started to glow. You wake up in the mornings feeling refreshed and rested.

But that could just be down to the fact that you’d found uninterrupted sleep. Plus, the appetising food served here seems healthy, consisting of ingredients the residents grew and prepared themselves.

“Well, the fresh air and delicious meals certainly help one thrive”, you reply with an unconvinced chuckle.

Alys’ eyes light up as they sweep over your face,

“You enjoy the food? I’m happy to hear that. I’ve put all of the past year's energy into curating the plants, grains and menu here”, she tells you, pride causing her to straighten up, sitting a bit taller.

“You truly have a gift, Alys. Any tips for an amateur like me?”, you inquire, relaxing a bit now that the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

She smiles at you and pulls out a small, green tin from the large pocket in the middle of the apron she’s wearing. She opens the lid and pulls out brass spoon. It’s filled with what looks like dirt, or clay, and smells similar to a compost.

Your nose wrinkles as she scoops some of the brown mush inside the tin onto her spoon, placing it by the plant's roots before firmly patting it down with the back of the utensil.

“I was doing my PhD at King’s Landing University before moving here. I was researching phytotherapy”, she explains as she scoops out another spoonful of brown mush from the tin and moves to add it to the next plant's roots.

“I was in my final year, fully consumed by my dissertation. Despite loving the topic, I was so stressed by my academic career that I seriously considered dropping everything and moving back to Harrentown. Then, I heard my professor tell me about this brilliant young man in the Political Science department”

Speaking about Aemond, her eyes almost look dreamy,

“His ideas were so radical, yet so natural, you know? He wanted to create a community where people were allowed to pursue their passions without the stressors of modern society. Where the Seven provide enough guidance”

You feel uneasiness creep up your spine. Her facial expression is almost trance-like as she talks about Aemond; as if he's a deity, ready to be worshipped.

“Well, modern society provides us with plenty of comforts as well, don’t you think?”, you counter with a strained laugh, trying to ease the mood a bit,

“What would you do if, like, one of the members got sick?”

Alys huffs a laugh as well and smiles to herself as she eyes the tin in her hand,

“We always get by”

After a quick lunch break, you continue to help Alys with various tasks around the residence; picking flowers, vegetables and herbs for her, plucking out weeds and organising seeds for future harvests.

You’d never seen seeds like the ones she showed you before; pitch-black in colour and almost supernaturally round.

When she saw your expression, she snorted a laugh and explained that they were from Yi Ti, used by herbalists for centuries.

She did not, however, answer you when you asked what they were going to be used for.

Although her presence had felt intimidating at first, you'd now grown calm around Alys. Something about her was almost bewitching.

Like the way her emerald eyes would lock with yours whenever you spoke, or how graciously she moved about the commune, greeting each resident in a gentle voice.

You also noticed that they never met her gaze, eyes cast down as she approached, only uttering a few polite phrases before rushing away.

Feeling more at ease spurred your confidence, and so you ask her what you’ve been aching to know for the past days,

“The other day…-", you begin with a wavering voice,

"-What happened between you and Jayne?”

You try to sound as casual as possible, but it only makes you sound strange.

Alys, who’s been picking some wildflowers from one of the fields close to the residence, doesn’t slow her pace for even the briefest of moments as she answers you, eyes still on the stem of the flower in front of her,

“Nothing for you to worry about”

She plucks the flower and gently places it in her weaved basket before moving to the next one.

“Okay”, you reply with uncertainty, “She seemed very upset though”

Alys finally looks up from the flowers she’s plucking and meets your gaze,

“Actions have consequences. I’m sure you know that. But with the justice of the father and the grace of the mother, mistakes can be forgiven”

Her face is much sterner than before. The comfort of familiarity that had blossomed between the two of you disappears in an instance, and you feel uneasy as her eyes narrow.

“Jayne has been forgiven and we will move forward. Just like how Aemond forgave you”

Alys turns around and quickly makes way towards the Sept, disappearing inside and closing the door behind her.

Forgave you for what?

For what happened in Aemond's office?

Did she know about that?

As the members of the commune prepare for supper, you go back to your room to have some time to yourself, mindlessly scrolling your phone while lying in bed.

The reception out here's not great, and now that you think about it, you hadn't seen any mobile phones during your stay, only a land-line hanging on the wall in Aemond's office.

After what happened with him, your mind had been too preoccupied to put any focus on replying to messages. You see a few from your mum and send her a quick reply to let her know that you’re doing well.

Seeing her name appear, you feel uneasy; like she knows of the secret you harbour. You feel guilty. And disgusted.

A sudden commotion outside throws you back into reality; back into the commune.

You hear raised voices, some sounding familiar, and you swiftly place your phone in your pocket before heading out.

You see Jon, eyes wide and face pale, on his knees in front of Aemond, mimicking how Jayne and Alys had looked a few days ago.

Aemond’s face is hard to read.

He looks stoic, yet his eye is furious; dark gaze glaring down at Jon.

Unlike Jayne, Jon doesn’t say anything. He raises his hands in surrender and locks eyes with Aemond; wordlessly pleading.

But for what?

By now, many of the residents have gathered around the two young men. Some look scared, others intrigued.

“Do you believe the Father to be just?”, Aemond’s soft voice asks, contrasting his utterly frightening appearance. Jon nods eagerly, eyes wide in panic.

“Then you’ll accept a punishment befitting the sin you’ve committed?”

Jon stiffens slightly, but eventually lowers his head in a slow nod. His eyes cast down to the ground; head hanging in surrender.

Aemond hums and pulls out a knife from the inside of the jacket he’s wearing over his usual white shirt and dark slacks.

It’s one you recognise. It had been gifted to Aemond on his 12th birthday by your grandfather, who’d declared that he was now a young man; a young Targaryen man, and therefore needed his own reminder of his Valyrian heritage.

Aemond flips the dagger in his hand as he regards the man before him, holding his hand out in an invitation to Jon. He wordlessly places his hand in Aemond’s, and you can now clearly see that he is shaking.

Aemond turns his hand so that he’s holding the back of it, Jon’s palm turned upwards,

“Mistakes can be forgiven, but justice must prevail”, Aemond speaks. His voice is louder than before to address the crowd gathering around him and Jon. It reminds you of a lecture.

Perhaps this is how he'd conduct classes at university?

The residents around you murmur in agreement. Aemond raises the dagger in his hand, eye cast down to make contact with Jon’s. He’s trembling out of fright and Aemond almost looks pleased at the display in front of him,

“We all need reminders of our wrongdoings, to prevent us from repeating them. Whenever you lose sight of the light, Jon, this will remind you to seek out the guidance of the Seven”, Aemond’s calm voice rings out as he suddenly presses the dagger into Jon’s palm.

He grunts in pain as the blade breaks his skin and blood flows freely from his hand. Aemond’s knuckles are white from the force in which he’s holding onto Jon’s hand, refusing to let the younger man go, staring into his eyes with a look so intimidating it demands submission.

You can’t take in the scene in front of you; can’t comprehend what’s happening.

As reality slowly comes back to you, you try to speak up, try to tell Aemond to stop, but your body doesn’t obey you; frozen in shock.

The other residents watch quietly, not making a sound as Aemond and Jon stay still, blade still penetrating Jon’s palm as his mouth winces in pain.

Your uncle finally pulls away from Jon, gesturing for Alys to move forward. She quickly pulls out some gauze from one of the pockets of her apron and kneels down next to Jon, gently wrapping it around his palm; blood pulsing out furiously.

Aemond’s stoic facade seems to falter slightly as his breathing turn laboured; jaw shut tight. He appears agitated, giving Jon and Alys one final look before stalking away towards the nearby path leading to the forest where he’d taken you for a walk a few days prior.

Your body finally obeys you as you call out his name in an urgent voice,

"Aemond!"

What the fuck had you just witness?

Aemond doesn’t turn around. He walk away in quick, angry steps, silhouette growing smaller and smaller. You throw a quick glance at Jon, whose face is even whiter than before, gauze around his palm already dark red with blood seeping through it.

You cannot bear to take in the gory sight, a thousand questions going through your head. You need answers, so you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared.

The path into the forest grows blurrier as a thick fog settles over the commune. Still, you make your way towards where Aemond had disappeared, determined to confront him about what you’d just witnessed.

You spot a form in the white mist, sitting on a stump with his head in his hands. You approach quickly, thoughts still spinning in your head.

What was that all about?

Why did you cut Jon?

Why did he agree?

If he did agree, that is.

The fear that was etched on Jon’s face as he knelt before Aemond made you shiver. He’d seemed so scared of him; scared of what he might do to him.

Still, no one had interfered as your uncle cut the hand of one of the members of their community.

Is this the norm?

Aemond looks up as he hears your footsteps approach, face as unreadable as always.

“What the fuck was that, Aemond?!”

Your voice is shrill and accusing. Your eyes seek out his as you stop before him; expression furious and chest heaving.

“You need to call a medic or something, Jon’s bleeding heavily!”

Your cheeks feel hot as fury rolls through your body, setting it alight.

It’s amplified by the seemingly unrepentant state of the man before you.

“Don’t question how we do things here”, he warns, eye just as furious as it had been before,

“Jon knew the consequences of stepping out of line. We all do”.

“What could he have done to make you mutilate his hand?!”, you counter. You still can’t fully comprehend what had happened mere moments ago.

Had you just witnessed bodily mutilation in the name of religion?

Aemond clicks his tongue, displeased with your accusations. He tries to school his face into a calmer demeanour as he looks you over,

“Sit down and I’ll explain”, he offers, gesturing for you to take a seat on the damp grass in front of him.

Despite your initial desire to defy him, purely out of spite, your curiosity wins as you take a seat in front of the stump where he sits.

“Everyone living here has consented to our communal agreement”, he begins. You can’t help the scoff that slips out. He continues,

“One of the reasons why people feel so depressed and out of place is due to the secularisation of the modern world. They’ve lost their connection to the Seven; lost sight of the light. A belief in the divine brings us closer together. Closer to the seven faces of the God”

“You all need help if you believe that physical violence will bring you closer to the gods”

It's hard to hide the disgust in your voice. Aemond’s jaw shuts tightly and the calmness on his face looks forced,

“Help me then”, he bites back, irritation penetrating his serene facade. “Pray with me”.

He grabs both your hands suddenly and traps them in his, lowering his head as he recites a prayer you haven’t heard before.

You try to pull your hands away but his grip is iron-like as he continues to mumble the prayer under his breath.

After a while, he grows quiet, yet keeps the grip around your hands. You look up at him. He's already awaiting your gaze.

Aemond looks like he’s contemplating something; different from his usual, determined state.

“Maybe you should help me like I help you; easing the pressure from within”

His hands pull yours towards the zipper of his slacks. Your body freezes in shock for a brief moment, then quickly pull away from him in reflex.

His grip on your hands is tight. He'd anticipated you'd fight back.

He brings your hands towards his crotch, now in such a tight grasp that your fingers ache. There's a hardness there, and your mouth goes dry, a rush of anxiety go through your body,

"Aemond, no, not aga-", you begin but he cuts you off.

“Would you prefer it if I told Helaena what you let me do to you in my office?"

His voice is foreign; cold and uncaring.

This is not the Aemond you know. The one who let you cry out in his embrace.

This is the Aemond they know.

"Or should I tell my other sister?”

You feel cold all over, shivering at his words.

A threat.

He lets one of his hands leave yours and undoes his zipper. He pulls out his length; already hard and furiously red.

You’re once again consumed by feelings of unreality.

This can’t actually be happening, right?

Aemond grips one of your hands, grasping it painfully hard as he pulls it towards his cock.

He presses into the sides and bends your fingers so they circle around him; much larger hand enveloping yours as he forces you to cool his desire.

He sets a fast pace; letting you know exactly how he likes it. His other hand moves towards your mouth, stunning you yet again as he pushes two fingers into your mouth.

Before you have a chance to pull your head away, he brings his spit-covered fingers down to your hand - the one he's using to pleasure himself with - and smears your saliva over the palm before guiding it back to his length again.

As your slick hand makes contact with his burning flesh once more, he grunts and closes his eyes; brows knit together in bliss. He lets you continue the motion by yourself, hands falling to the sides of his lap.

In the middle of this surreal experience, you can’t help but look up at him, admiring his beauty.

Such an intimidating man, instilling fear in so many around him, currently at your mercy.

You almost feel a headrush at the thought; having Aemond in the palm of your hand. Literally.

The continuous friction of your hand against his flesh removes some of the stickiness, and you hear him let out something similar to a whine as your hand grows drier.

His previously intimidating features suddenly look pleading as he gazes down at you, asking you to just comply.

Just give him this.

Without much thought of the consequences, instead of licking your palm, you move your head toward his length, darting your tongue out and licking a stripe over his tip. He lets out a surprise moan, and the unexpected feeling of pride rushing through your body makes your stomach turn.

You are not enjoying this!

Still, the praise travels down and settles in your core, causing a dull throb to pound between your thighs.

Then why does it feel so good to be praised by him?

You continue to pleasure him with your hand, though Aemond’s eye has traveled down to observe your mouth. His gaze occasionally flickers down to your clothed chest, peeking at the sliver of cleavage visible from above. One of his hands grasp your chin,

“Do that again”, he commands, and the disgust you'd felt towards yourself swirls in your belly again.

You shake your head, “No”

He lets out a grunt, hand still on your jaw as he slowly and firmly brings your head closer to his manhood.

Like before, you try to push away from him, to gain some sense of control, but he is far stronger than you,

“You do as I say”, he counters, and in one swift motion, he pulls your head towards his cock with such force that you nearly knock your forehead against his stomach.

As you part your lips to protest, he pushes himself inside of your hot, wet mouth, sighing in relief.

You feel panic come over you as you try to pull away, but he quickly places both hands on your head; keeping you in place.

“Breath through your nose. Be the good girl I know you are”

He grunts and begins to buck into your mouth.

You place your hands on his thighs in another feeble attempt at escaping his assault on your mouth, but to no avail. He drags your face over his length, palms moving to grab each side of your head as his movements grow quicker. You gag slightly.

“You feel so fucking good”, he breaths out, voice drunk on lust,

“You look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth, you know that?”

It feels like he's mocking you. It sounds like he adores you.

His thumb gently brushes away some of the strands that has fallen over your face.

The want in between your legs throb. The disgust in your stomach rumbles. You know that his words of praise shouldn’t make your underwear sticky.

But they do.

Your eyes water as he continues to fuck your mouth, not giving you any rest. You try to whine against him to make him stop; to at least let you come up for air, but he takes your sounds as moans and groans, moving in your mouth faster and harsher.

Finally sensing your need for a break, he manoeuvres your head off of his cock. You pant heavily as you gulp for air; lungs hurting from the sudden, sharp inhale.

A string of saliva connects your lips to his length, and his eye seems to be even more lust-filled as he moves his hand to caress your flushed cheek.

Even in this selfish, pleasure-driven madness, he regard you with fondness.

“Aemond, please, we can’t do this”, you plea.

His gaze flickers from your spit-soaked, swollen lips to your cleavage, and then back.

He doesn’t grant you a reply as he stands up abruptly, taking advantage of your startled state and shoves his length back into your mouth.

Your hands instinctively come up to his legs to have something to hold onto as he fucks your face with even more vigour than before, swearing under his breath.

You feel disgusted at the vicious arousal pooling in your stomach, seeping out of your core.

How could something so degrading feel so sensual?

How could you feel aroused by your uncle using you like this?

Aemond moves his hands to the back of your head, pushing you so that your nose makes contact with the hairs at the bottom of his stomach. He pushes his hips against you harshly and lets out a prolonged grunt.

You gag and stifle a cough, feeling his hot liquid fill your throat, then your mouth.

He slowly pulls away, hands still gripping your head as his eyes return to their wholly intimidating appearance,

“Swallow”, he demands, placing a large palm over your mouth, blocking your nose as well.

You know that you have no choice but to oblige him and force the sticky, salty fluid down your throat with a wince.

Aemond gives your kneeling form one last once-over before letting out a hum, swiftly putting his cock back into his trousers.

Without another word, he leaves, and you're left on your knees by the stump, fog now so thick that you can hardly see the path leading back to the residence.

You wipe away the spit trailing from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand before standing on shaky legs.

Could you pretend like this never happen either?

As if in a trance, you make your way back to the commune; head filled with thoughts, yet too exhausted to comprehend anything.

You move to the basin placed in the corner of your room, reaching for your toothbrush without looking up at your reflection in the mirror.

You brush your teeth three times, reapplying tooth paste as the lather in your mouth disappears.

You want to get the taste of him out of your mouth.

It doesn’t go away.

Realising that you’ve been carrying your phone in your pocket this whole time, you tap the screen. A few new message from your mother and brother.

You hadn't even noticed.

Without checking, you turn your phone off, tossing it in your bag as you make your way to the bed.

You feel exhausted. Disgusted. Aroused.

This can’t be real.

Forgiving

The sheets of the bed are soft against your skin.

The rays of the morning sun shine through your window, and in the glow of the day’s early hours, you feel rested; comforted by the cosiness of your bed.

As you turn to the side, snuggling into the duvet, you wonder why this comforting place ever caused you to feel unease.

And then you're reminded of last night.

The memory makes a shiver go down your spine and your body trembles; trying to shake the chill away. Still, the feeling crawling under your skin doesn’t quite disappear.

Usually, you wouldn’t be able to sleep in the anxious state you’d been in last night.

Yet, for some reason, as soon as your head touched the cool pillow, you’d fallen into uninterrupted slumber.

Though your mind was spinning from all the conflicting thoughts you were having, your body was surprisingly relaxed; well-rested and freed from tension.

You’re hungry too, you notice. The rumble in your stomach vibrates, prompted by the clatter of the residents preparing for breakfast outside.

Without much thought, you get up, get ready and head outside. The warm rays of the sun greet you and you have to squint in order to see who’s already seated at the long table.

To your surprise, you’re met by the same scene as the last couple of days.

Aemond is standing by the edge of the wooden table, speaking with Alys. Jon is carrying bread in a large basket, carefully placing a few buns in each empty bowl placed on the table. Helaena is fussing over the wildflowers adorning the table, laughing as Jayne tells her something you can’t make out.

The scenery is still perfect, despite what had occurred the day before between Aemond and Jon.

Between Aemond and you.

You walk towards the table and take your usual spot next to Helaena, offering her a strained smile as she greets you. You’d thought keeping up appearance would prove to be a true challenge, but right now you feel oddly at peace; calm even. And hungry.

As soon as Aemond finishes thanking the Seven in his morning prayer, you begin to pile food on your plate.

Everything looks mouthwatering, the freshly baked bread still warm in your hand as you tear it apart and smother it in butter. You usually weren’t the type to have an appetite when you feel anxious or stressed, but today your uneasy state only works to amplify your hunger.

As you eat, the stress that had been causing nervous waves to ebb through your body stills, and you feel more at ease. Your mind is calmer, less crowded with thoughts.

Numb.

As you finish your meal, you look up from your plate to watch the scenery surrounding you, appreciating the lush greenery of the commune that had been lost on you before.

The rays of the sun shine through the gaps between the leaves of the bright green beech trees encircling you, casting a gorgeous glow over the residence.

Gods, it's beautiful here.

You look over at Helaena, whose hair seems to shimmer in the sun. Her smile only highlights her beauty; lilac eyes kind with a glint of something playful.

“Do you want to help me with my insect farm today? I’m going to go check on the crickets now after breakfast”, she asks, tone as pleasant and upbeat as it always is here.

“Sure”, you reply, standing up to follow her.

She walks behind one of the small cottages, and an array of insect farms come into view.

They resemble little houses made of wood, and even standing a good few metres away, you can see insects crawling all over the wood.

Helaena moves between them swiftly, peeking inside to see how her favourite creatures are faring. You’d never understand her obsession with such creepy beings, but watching her now, you feel warmth in your chest. She looks so happy; so at peace.

This really is the perfect place for her.

She beckons you over to one of the miniature houses and you approach her wearily, unable to hide the aversion you felt for the bugs.

Helaena giggles as she sits down on the ground to gain better access to the farm, nodding her head in a silent instruction for you to do the same. You join her, though you sit down slightly behind where she is, hoping she can provide you some distance from the insects littering each piece of wood of the farm.

“Are you sure you have to leave by the end of the week? I’d love for you to stay here longer”, she sighs, eyes fixed on the insects in front of her. She’s brought a small pouch with her which she opens, fingers digging inside for some seeds to feed her six-legged friends.

“I have to get back to work”, you answer, already dreading the inevitable.

The constant stress, the sleepless nights, Gwayne's endless nagging.

Would you be able to sleep as well as you did out here back home?

Would sleep feel as serene?

Despite all the uneasy situations you’d found yourself in, an unfamiliar sense of calm settles on your chest, pushing down your anxiety.

Maybe things would be easier if you stayed out here? Just for a while longer?

You're pulled out of your thoughts as Helaena speaks up again, eyes still on the farm, hand now buried deep within its walls, placing seeds inside for the insects to fight over.

“I think you’d be better off here. I saw you in a dream, you know. You were smiling, wearing a beautiful crown of flowers, holding hands with Aemond”

You feel yourself stiffen.

“He told me you’d come when he invited me to live with him here”, she continues, eyes finally straying away from the crickets; meeting yours.

You want to tell her about what happened, but the words seem stuck in your throat.

Would she believe you?

Would she be disgusted with you?

“Hel, I-”, you begin, choking as tears well up in your eyes. You try to clear your throat so that the lump of sadness suffocating you goes away,

“I-, I don’t think Aemond likes me”, is all you are able to get out as unexpected tears spill out from the corners of your eyes.

You wish you could tell her more, but your body doesn’t obey you; mind feeling foggy and throat closing up.

You can't sort your thoughts, or feelings, out.

“Oh, don’t cry, love”, she says as she wipes away a fat tear sliding down your cheek,

“There's no reason to feel bad. Aemond likes you. He would never do anything to harm you. He cares for you so much”

Though her voice sounds genuine, her gaze seems to drift away as she talks about her brother.

“He’s cared for you ever since we were small, you know. Do you remember that summer when we were all together on Driftmark? Before Aemond lost his eye?”

You swallow thickly at the memory.

“You remember when you two asked me to wed you out on the beach because you wanted to stay together forever?”, she asks, voice gentle and a knowing smile playing on her lips.

The memory causes you to spill more tears. Everything was so much easier back then.

“Don’t you miss how close you two used to be?”, she asks, compassionate and caring.

Yes, you do.

“Yeah”, you let out, voice thick from sadness. “But everything changed after Aemond lost his eye. He-, he didn’t want to spend time with me anymore”

You sound so small; your own words make you feel like a child again, abandoned by your best friend.

“Well, we’re here now, together. So that we can all reconnect. We’ve missed you”

Helaena moves closer to you, throwing her arms around you and hugs you tightly.

You slump against her, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Despite all the weird interactions with Aemond during your visit, Helaena had been a constant; brightening your days and making you feel seen.

She was always so happy to see you.

She was always so genuine.

You pull away once your sobbing ceases, giving Helaena one last squeeze before mumbling a quiet “thank you”.

She smiles, wipes her thumbs over your wet cheeks and locks eyes with you,

“You’ll feel better once you’ve settled in properly”, she says with a smile.

You don’t really understand what she means but nod anyway.

Agreeing feels good.

Agreeing feels comforting.

As you make your way back to your cottage, you spot Jon by one of the flower beds, watering the abundant plants fighting for space in their wooden confinement.

He doesn’t look much different from a few days ago, but when he spots you approaching, his slouching shoulders go rigid.

“Hi”, you say, trying to keep your voice light as you draw near him.

“Hey”, he replies, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Your eyes instantly move to inspect his hand.

The gauze has been changed recently, clinically white and neatly wrapped around his palm,

“How’s your hand?”, you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Fine”, is all he replies as he walks towards the next flower bed, away from you.

He tilts the watering can, letting the water rains down on the flourishing plants.

“What Aemond did to you-, I-, it’s completely unacceptable”, you say as you trail after him,

“You could press charges you know”

Not that you actually think Jon would, for some unexplainable reason he had seemingly agreed to getting his hand slashed. But you wanted him to understand that this kind of behaviour was inexcusable, even if he'd consented.

Jon’s eyes darken as he turns his head from watching the droplets fall on the flowers to observe you.

“Aemond knows what’s best. No point in me going against him”, he says in resignation, eyes shifting again, looking out at the endless fields surrounding the commune.

“Aemond acted like a fucking psycho yesterday, you don’t have to excuse his behaviour”, you try to assure Jon, shifting your body to move a little closer to where he’s standing.

His eyes go wide in panic, quickly looking around to make sure no one is nearby.

“Do not say things like that”, he warns, voice barely above a whisper.

“Aemond and Alys hear everything. They have eyes and ears everywhere, especially Alys. She sees much and more”

His eyes have grown impossibly large, resembling those of an animal pestered by a predator,

“They say the Father is all-seeing; knowledgeable on all topics. Almighty. There are people here who-”, he pauses as his eyes again dart around in a stressed frenzy, making sure no one is listening in on your conversation,

“- who believe Aemond is the human embodiment of the Father”

Jon’s confession catches you off guard and you let out a snort at his utterance. His panicked eyes narrow in anger at you.

“You haven’t been here long enough to have seen what I have”, he tells you with a sneer,

“You do not understand the power that he holds”.

Though you'd initially thought Jon was someone you could become friendly with, you now find yourself backing away from him and his evident madness.

Aemond might be smart, but he is no deity.

You’re slouching in the rocking chair in the corner of your room, trying to read the book Helaena had lent you.

This is the third time you feel like giving up; mind too fuzzy to fully take in anything you're reading.

Why is it so hard to concentrate?

To distract yourself?

You’d planned on giving your mum a call when you retreated to your cottage, but couldn’t even bear to pick up your phone.

She had a way of knowing what you were thinking, without you even telling her. She knows you so well.

Too well.

She would sense that something's off.

That there's something you're not telling her.

What if she figures out what you and Aemond had done?

You’re startled by a sudden knock on your door.

Quickly standing, you rush to the door, nerves on high alert.

Aemond’s ducks his tall frame as you pull the door open, face level with yours. You feel that familiar shiver run down your spine, making your body shudder slightly.

He looks as impeccable as always; hair half up so that the silver strands stay out of his face, button-down shirt and slacks perfectly form-fitted and ironed to eliminate any trace of a wrinkle; any indication of a flaw. His eyepatch is securely placed over his damaged eye, long scar poking through the sides.

“Can we talk?”, he asks, voice low and gentle.

You’re not sure what to say, and move to the side to allow him inside. For some reason denying him feels out of the question.

You go back to the wooden rocking chair, sitting down and pulling one leg up to wrap your arms around yourself, a meek attempt at shield yourself from whatever Aemond has in mind.

He sits down on the bed, back stiff and gaze darting around the room before settling on you.

“I wanted to thank you for yesterday”, he starts, face stoic.

“Thank me?”, you reply by reflex, not entirely sure of what he’s referring to.

He can’t be referring to what happened in the forest?

“Yes. I really appreciate you helping me out”, he continues matter-of-factly. You’re stunned, mouth half-open in disbelief.

“And I wanted to apologise for leaving you after. That won’t happen again”

His eye never leave yours. He sounds so sincere it is hard not to take his gratitude and apology to heart.

Still, the memory of what you’d done causes bile to rise in the back of your throat.

Forgiving him and moving on would be so simple.

“It’s okay, Aemond, we don’t have to talk about it anymore”, you mumble, eyes looking down to pick at the sleeve of the linen blouse you’re wearing.

You’d rather just forget.

Move on.

Never speak or think about it again.

It never happened.

“Alright”

He’s silent for a moment before he speaks up again,

“I also wanted to thank you for coming out here to visit us. It’s been so nice to reconnect over these past few days”

There he is again.

The boy who’d been your best friend all those years ago.

Fierce and attentive at once; contradicting in every way. His timid smile is still the same, just as inviting to mischief as it had been when you were little.

You still can’t quite find the words to engage in conversation with him. Half of you wants to run away from his unpredictability, yet the other half wants to stay and bask in it.

“I’ve missed you”, he continues. You know he is genuine when you look up to meet his gaze.

You’ve missed him too.

“I’ve missed you too”, you confess quietly. You can’t seem to look away from his eye. It's almost hypnotising.

“Wouldn’t you like to stay here for a while longer? I can talk to Gwayne”, he offers.

“Oh that’s not necessary, I have to go back. I already know I have a full mailbox waiting for me”, you quip, trying to sound witty. Aemond’s face remains impassive.

“I always wondered why you decided to work with my uncle. Such a waste of potential”, he muses as he regards you,

“I think you could achieve much more if you chose another path in life”

His expression is serious, still his voice is gentle.

Like he’s telling you, not advising you.

Before you have a chance to reply he speaks up again,

“I’d like you to join a sermon we’re having tonight. You could benefit from some guidance”

You can’t come up with a reason to decline his invitation fast enough, and Aemond lets out a pleased hum at your silence.

“Six o’clock in the Sept”

He stands and reaches his hand towards you, squeezing it in goodbye.

He leaves your cottage and you watch him retreat to the Sept through your window.

The tall building truly holds an imposing aura; the seven pointed star sinister in its daunting simplicity.

Unsettling.

You enter the Sept right before six.

To your surprise, all residents of the commune are already seated, sitting in rows leading up to the unadorned wooden altar; carvings of the Seven decorating all sides of it.

The only one standing is Aemond, right next to the altar.

Next to him is a chair, and as you walk towards where the residents are seated, Aemond clears his throat and gestures for you to take a seat on the chair next to him, facing everyone.

“Please, join me”, he says and beckons you over.

Everyone present is watching you expectantly, leaving you no choice but to join Aemond and take a seat next to where he’s standing.

“Our guest of honour, everyone”

His voice is soft, yet you notice a hint of amusement hiding behind his stoic façade.

He says a short prayer, welcoming everyone to the sermon and expressing gratitude to all faces of the Seven.

“Today, I’d like to talk about forgiveness”, Aemond explains, and you watch as all residents observe him diligently, eyes rarely blinking.

He seems to hold such power within these seven walls.

Such authority.

“Granting someone forgiveness takes strength, given to us by the Warrior”

The residents are silent, but you see a few of them nodding along to Aemond’s words.

Helaena and Alys sit closest to where you and Aemond are, watching you attentively.

“All actions have consequences, and we must be reminded of this to prevent us from repeatedly committing wrongdoings. When I was 10, I was taught the consequences of my actions as my nephew brought a knife to my face, taking my eye”

His tone grows colder as he speaks, and you feel that all too familiar shiver run down your spine.

Only this time, you cannot shudder to make it go away. It stays at the base of your back; taking hold of you and keeping you in a state of acute uneasiness.

“Though I was consumed by hatred after being robbed of my sight, the Seven provided me with guidance, showing me the light in the darkest of times”

Aemond moves to stand in front of you, one hand coming up to pull the eyepatch that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face away.

You hadn’t seen him without it since the accident, and you have to stifle a gasp as you take in the entirety of his face.

The scar that your brother had branded him with is still red, still angry as you follow it with your eyes; starting at his forehead and ending on his cheek.

The socket where his eye had previously been is surrounded by scarred tissue; healed but still furious.

In the empty socket lays a sparkling sapphire, almost appearing alive as the light from the candles in the Sept reflects upon its surface.

The contrast of the beautiful gem nuzzled in the red, vexed scar reminds you of Aemond himself; full of rage and beauty.

“I’ll tell you the story behind this scar”

He moves to stand behind you as his hands rest on the backrest of the wooden chair,

“I was enjoying a day at the beach with my dearest childhood companion-”

His voice is borderline mocking. In your peripheral vision you see his knuckles go white from to the tight grip he has on the backrest of your chair,

“- though she adored me as well, she never defended me against the nasty remarks her brothers would throw my way”

His icy voice heats with anger,

“Having had enough of their torment, I defended myself, much like the Warrior would have. Like the Father, I demanded justice for their unbecoming behaviour. Yet, when I gained the strength to defend myself against my tormentors, the one who was supposed to be by my side abandoned me”

Although you can’t see him standing behind you, you can feel the infuriated energy radiating from his body. You desperately seek the resident's eyes for some sympathy, yet find none.

“That-, That’s not what happened Aemond”, you try to protest, but your voice comes out too weak to truly make an impact.

“Is it not? Then enlighten me. Did you not leave me to defend myself?”

One of the hands he has placed on the back of the chair moves to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it harshly.

“I didn’t-, you were fighting and I didn’t-, I was going to get an adult!”

You sound as desperate as you feel. The gazes of the residents feels burning as they regard you with disapproval.

You still remember how an innocent fight between children had escalated as soon as Aemond picked up a rock, refusing to take in your pleas to just let it go. Not knowing what to do, you’d sprinted towards the family’s summer house to get your mum or Alicent; anyone who could help you de-escalate the madness on the beach.

When you came back, Aemond was on the ground, screaming as he clutched his blood-covered face.

The memory makes you grow cold all over. That had been the worst day of your childhood; amplified by the fact that Aemond had refused to speak to you afterwards. Though your families had managed to mend the broken bond somewhat, Aemond had never looked at you the same.

“The Seven tell us that sins can be forgiven, and though I have forgiven you for this”, he gestures towards his eye, “you were never made to apologise for your transgression. I’d like to offer you forgiveness”

“Apologise to me”

He pushes at your shoulder, gesturing for you to stand in front of the onlooking residents. You heed his instruction, turning so that you're facing him.

"Kneel"

You get down on your knees, looking up at Aemond’s imposing stature. He is frightening, the clearly satisfied state of his face haunting you.

“I’m sorry”, you say meekly; low and defeated.

“Come on, you can do better than that”, he encourages.

His voice is loud and with a hint of poorly concealed amusement.

“I’m sorry”, you repeat, this time louder.

“You’re not going to address me when you’re on your knees, asking for my forgiveness?”, he asks, tilting his head.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your face grow hot from the feelings rumbling in your chest; rage, sadness, betrayal.

Why is he so intent on humiliating you?

“I’m sorry, Aemond”, you bite out.

He approaches you, hand stretched out to touch your head, gently stroking your hair. He brings his hand down to cup your chin, tilting your head so that you look up at him; meeting his purple and blue gaze.

“I forgive you”, he says, and despite sincerity being evident in his voice, you cannot help but feel like this is all just a farce.

The onlooking residents stay silent, but you feel their eyes observe you like flames against your skin.

The only sound coming from the audience is from Helaena, who lets out a quiet “lovely” as her smiles at you and Aemond. You eye her in disbelief.

Does she not see how fucked up this is?

As soon as the sermon finishes you dart out the door, speedily walking the short distance to the cottage you’re staying at.

You cannot bear to stay in this madness for even a second longer.

You slam the door open, grab your belongings and stuff them down your bag with force.

The sun is setting and you know that there are no streetlights out here, only open fields and forest. You'll need to find your way back to the station alone, Helaena’s clearly as mad as the rest of them.

You peek out through the door. No one seems to be nearby and you know this is your chance to sneak away without being forced to face Aemond, Alys or Helaena.

The sun is hanging low on the horizon as you quickly move towards where you and Helaena had emerged a few days prior.

You walk briskly, the commune growing smaller as you move further away.

The forest that had mesmerised you with its beauty slowly turns terrifyingly imposing as darkness chases the comforts of daylight away.

Though you're sure you’ve been following the way you and Helena came, you soon find yourself at a crossroads in the middle of two paths, not knowing which will lead you back to the small village where the train station was.

As you briefly stop to contemplate your options, a dark figure appear on your side.

Jayne’s eyes are kind as she offers you a curt smile, reaching out to take your hand.

“Come with me”, is all she says before moving in quick steps, pulling you along the path to the right. You follow without protests; you wouldn’t know the way without guidance anyway.

You spot what looks like a street light ahead and you feel your body relax at the thought of being close to the train station, soon on the way back home.

Finally you’ll be able to leave this week behind.

As you come closer however, you start to recognise the small, wooden houses. In the middle stands a large, looming building with lights illuminating the seven pointed star in the middle.

You try to jerk your hand away from Jayne, but her hold on you is iron-like as she pulls you towards the Sept.

“Don’t worry”, she tries to reassure you.

“Soon you’ll realise that this is where you’re meant to be”

Prospering

Jayne forcefully drags you into Aemond's office, quickly exiting to lock the door from the outside. You’re still in shock, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself enough to assess the situation.

Everyone here’s deranged.

You’re outnumbered.

You could fight as hard as you like, and you’d still lose.

You start to nervously pace back and forth in front of Aemond’s large wooden desk, attempting to expel some of the nervous energy within you.

They wouldn't hurt you, right?

That’d be mad.

You think back to the true crime documentaries you used to be obsessed with. The best thing to do was play along with the madness and strike when they least expect it.

Make them believe you’re not a threat so they’ll trust you.

You just needed to keep your head cool and play along a little while longer. Then they’d take you back to the train station and you could go back home.

A sharp rap on the door pulls you away from your thoughts.

You hear someone fiddle with the lock before the door opens slightly and Alys slips through the small crack. You can hear voices outside, but they quickly fade away as Alys shuts the door promptly.

She gives you a nod, expression as calculated as it always is. She’s carrying two wine glasses in one hand and holding an opened bottle of wine in the other.

“Oh relax”, she tells you with a smile,

“Have some wine, it’ll calm your nerves”

She places the glasses on the desk, pouring you both a serving each before putting down the bottle and handing you one of the glasses.

“Here’s to a prosperous future”, she says, raising her glass and giving you a nod. You match her gesture, bringing the glass to your lips as you watch her take a sip.

The wine tastes like the ones your mum usually orders when you go out to eat; rich and with some lingering spiciness.

“Dornish red. Aemond’s favourite”, Alys states. Her delicate fingers are wrapped around the stem as she holds the glass elegantly.

She seems to do everything with grace, never faltering. Never appearing clumsy or out of place.

It's hard not to admire her.

“You know he’s only trying to help you, right?”, she asks.

"I-", you’re quiet for a while as you rack your brain for something to say that won’t upset her, “I appreciate that, but I need to get back home and-“

“Just let him help you, okay?”

Though her voice rises slightly at the end, it doesn’t feel like a question.

You know that there is no room for argument. Alys has maintained her calm appearance, yet her eyes are so expressive; the only part of her face that she can’t force into submission.

Their intensity make the hairs at the back of your neck rise, demanding you obey her.

She downs her glass before placing it on the desk, leaving you alone yet again in Aemond’s office.

It’s gotten dark now, the sole window in the room not providing much light anymore.

You continue to sip the wine in your glass as you lean against the desk next to you. The alcohol might provide you with some comfort; sooth your anxiety.

A soft knock on the door announces the presence of your next visitor.

Helaenas’ silver hair brightens up the dark room as she enters. She’s holding a flower crown in one hand, beautifully crafted with wildflowers you recognise from the bouquets always adorning the table outside.

“Hi”, she greets with a smile.

You nod back at her, still not quite sure how to appraise her.

She’s been one of the people you’ve felt closest to your entire life, yet she seems to approve of the mad things happening here.

How can she not see how humiliating Aemond’s actions during the sermon had been?

“I made this for you”, she says and hands you the flower crown.

As your hands touch, her fingers linger on yours, tips dragging over your knuckles with a feather-light touch.

“Thanks”, you reply curtly, not sure of what to say.

You want to ask Helaena for the way back to the train station.

Ask her to come back with you to Oldtown.

But she’s so different here. She overlooks so much, agrees to so much.

Always with a smile.

“Put it on”, she urges, hands moving to the flower crown to help you place it on your head. You want to protest but you’re so tired of it.

Tired of asking questions.

Tired of going against everyone.

“There”, she says with a smile as she regards you, face even brighter than before,

“You look so beautiful”

“Hel..”, you try, tongue coming out to lick your lips as you choose your words carefully.

She’s still your dear aunt; still Helaena.

“I want to go back home, Hel. We could go together, if you like?”

Despite trying to keep your voice even, you sound a little frantic.

“No you can’t leave now”, is all she replies, dismissing you. She doesn’t appear to be upset by your words though, lips still forming a warm smile.

“Hel, listen. What you’re doing here is not okay. Aemond maimed a man! And he humiliated me in front of everyone. Something’s wrong with him”

Your eyes dart all over her face and stature to assess her reaction to your words. You’re astonished by her indifference, almost like she’s not taking your words in.

She places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly as her eyes lock with yours,

“All actions have consequences. We’re all made aware of that here. Aemond only wants what’s best for us. He’s worked so hard to provide us with this. You should be thankful”

She leaves you alone in the room once more, and as she exits, you hear her secure the lock on the door from the outside.

By the time you hear someone unlock the door next, you’ve finished the glass of wine Alys gave you.

The room is now illuminated by nothing but the light of the moon shining through the window, casting a silver glow over the office.

Matching the man entering.

Aemond’s tall silhouette appears, instantly making you straighten up, dread washing over you.

He has been so volatile during your stay here, making you feel unease by the mere sight of him.

You can still hear chatter and what sounds like furniture being shuffled around outside as the door is left ajar by Aemond, who moves towards you.

He stands so close to you that his feet are touching yours.

His face is stern, looking at you down his nose. Fighting the fright within you, you meet his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of backing down too easily.

Still, you know that you’ll need to play your cards right, go along with the madness here momentarily, so that they’ll eventually let you go home.

“Why did you leave?”, he asks, eyes never leaving yours.

His voice is that unique mixture of being gentle and stern, demanding you obey him and tell him the truth.

“I tried to leave because of what you did to me during the sermon. What you did to Jon!”

You’re unable to hide the fear-laced irritation you feel at his audacity.

How could he expect you to stay? Wasn’t it obvious why you left?

“I might have been selfish for needing that apology, but it was necessary. Now we can move forward together”

He moves one of the hands he’s had clasped behind his back towards you, gently placing his it in yours.

Your gaze flickers down to where he’s holding you. Your hand looks so small and delicate in his large one. His touch is warm.

You scoff at his attempt to reconcile,

“Who said I’ve forgiven you for what you did?”

“You know you owed me an apology after leaving me alone with your vicious brothers that night”, Aemond says and he shuffles even closer to you,

“Do you think that what happened during the sermon can match the pain I felt when your brother took my eye?”

“N- no, but Aemond-"

“No. You’ll never understand the pain I’ve been through. But I’ve chosen to forgive you, and now we can move forward together”

His voice is slightly strained as he lectures you. His purple eye is piercing, and though you’d wanted to match his strength, you can’t help it when your eyes look down in shame.

“However”, he speaks in a lower tone, thumb moving to stroke the back of your hand,

“I am disappointed in your attempt to leave me and Helaena here without even granting us a proper goodbye”

“You’ll prosper here with us, but you’ll have to follow our rules. Dishonesty is not allowed, and your actions show that you attempted to act deceitfully".

His hand drops yours as he grabs your arms on both sides, swiftly turning you around and pushing on you back with a firm hand so that you're bent over his desk.

You’re too startled to fight back, letting out a yelp as you feel him tower over you from behind. He leans down over your body, hand still firmly on your back, pushing down,

“You have probably heard stories of whipping those who refuse to see the light. But I am no monster, so I will spare you from the whip”, he murmurs next to your ear, hand on your back trailing downwards,

“My hand will serve”

Before you’re able to reply, or even fully take in what he’s telling you, you feel his large palm make swift contact with your backside, the gesture causing a loud smack to echo through the quiet room.

You let out a startled cry in pain as you turn your head to face Aemond, confused betrayal reflected in how your mouth fall open and eyebrows rise.

His hand smooths over the material of your skirt where he’s just slapped you, somewhat soothing the painful sting on your skin.

“For being deceitful, I’ll give you five smacks. That’ll teach you to behave”,

The stoic gentleness of his voice borders on sounding amused as he takes in your shocked face.

Can you still play along?

What will happen if you resist?

While you’re trying to calculate your next move, Aemond’s hand land another harsh hit on your ass.

You sqeel from the pain, but quickly try to stifle the sounds coming out of your mouth.

Your painfully aware of the fact that he left the door ajar.

The residents outside might hear what’s happening. You feel tears well up in your eyes from the humiliation; from the stinging pain on your backside.

Aemond shushes you as he once again smooths his hand over your abused flesh in a comforting manner,

“You’re doing so well, my love” he tells you, eyes meeting yours once again.

You don’t understand why his words stifle the anxiety you feel, but they do.

“Only three more”, he states as he lands another stinging hit on your ass, even harsher then before.

You can’t hinder the tears that escape down your cheeks anymore.

“Good girl”, Aemond coos as he soothes your pain with his palm. Though the fabric of your skirt separates your skin from his, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

Hearing him praise you shouldn’t sooth your pain, or make you feel better in the slightest, but it does.

You notice the soft look of satisfaction in his eye and you feel proud.

His hand lands on you quickly and you bite your lip desperately to not cry out. More tears slide down your cheek as you give Aemond a pleading look.

“Just one more, and then you’ve served your punishment”, he reassures you as he caresses your stinging flesh.

You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the last smack to land and when it does, you flinch before letting out a sigh of relief because you’d done it, you’d taken the punishment and now Aemond would be pleased with you.

The thought makes a warm sensation spread in your chest and when you open your tear-filled eyes, Aemond is already watching you with an expression that feels nothing less than loving.

While one hand stays on your backside to gently caress you, the other travels to you face, cupping your cheek. His thumb runs over your cheek, wiping away some of the wetness.

“You took your punishment so well. You make me proud”, he tells you, and his soft voice sounds so sincere. You lean into his touch on instinct, his palm providing comforting warmth to your cheek.

Being praised by him makes you feel happier than you’ve been in a long time.

It feels so good to be appreciated; to know you did something well. You can’t help but smile as your eyes lock with his. He smiles back at you.

“Now, I’ve got a surprise for you”, he tells you as he straightens up, grabbing your arm to link it with his. You know that there is more you need to talk about; more that’s unsaid. Yet, your mind feels fuzzy and you’re finding it hard to properly sort your thoughts out.

Aemond snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him and you lean into his warmth; it’s so comforting.

“Aemond, I-, I still need to know…”, your voice dies as you mentally search for a question.

What was it that made you leave?

Oh! Jon!

“Why did you cut Jons hand?”, you ask, hoping that the softness of your voice will prevent his impending irritation. You don’t think you could handle another punishment.

Aemond is quiet for some time, possibly pondering his response, before he speaks,

“Jon spoke out of turn, questioning my roles as the leader of this community. He now understands that everything I do is for the good of the commune and its residents”, he explains, arm still holding you by the side as his palm rests out on your stomach.

“Here in the commune, we know that scars tell a story; they remind us of our wrongdoings and guide us when we stray from the light of the Seven”

He stops in front of the door, turning slightly to look at you,

“You should be grateful I didn’t scar you, like I’ve done to others. Soon you’ll appreciate all that I've done for you”

He pushes the door to his office open, revealing the large hall where you’d been humiliated during Aemond’s sermon.

The residents of the commune are all facing you, watching you expectantly as you emerge from the office.

They’re all sitting on the exact same seats as before. The Sept is dark, illuminated only by the scarce moonlight shining through the seven-pointed star carved in the upper part of the buildings large walls, and by the candles lit across the room.

You see one of the residents standing by the altar where Aemond had stood during the sermon.

You recognise him as one of Aemond’s former professors in King’s Landing. The man is probably in his early to mid-sixties with grey specks clear in his brown locks. He offers you a smile as you approach with Aemond, his brown eyes warm and inviting,

“Welcome”

Aemond leads you to stand in front of the altar, arm still anchoring you to him.

“Is everything ready?”, your uncle inquires as his grip around you tightens.

“Yes. Let’s begin with the seven vows”, the elderly man says before reciting what sounds like a long prayer.

Having Aemond hold you makes you feel secure, and it takes you a while to really comprehend what is going on.

Why are the two of you standing here, instead of sitting with the other residents?

“Do you accept the seven vows, the seven blessings and the seven promises?”, he asks, warm eyes meeting yours.

“I do”, Aemond replies next to you, squeezing your waist in a silent command for you to do the same.

You turn to face him, brows furrowed in confusion.

What is it you’re agreeing to?

Aemond’s patience seems to run thin as you remain silent.

You notice his jaw twitch as he gives the resident in front of you a pointed look, prompting the man to respond in a quick nod before moving to join the onlookers.

Aemond turns to fully face you, yet he doesn’t move his arm, tugging you towards him so that your soft chest knocks against his.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my wife”, he says before he surges forward, crashing his lips against yours.

You stiffen in his grip, trying to back away from him but unable to move in his hold. You hear applause echo through the hall as Aemond retreats, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

You open your mouth to protest, but your voice is drowned out by the loud chanting of the onlooking residents,

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

They abruptly stand, chanting over and over as they move towards the large wooden doors of the entrance, going outside to leave you and Aemond alone in the Sept.

Even after the last person has left and closed the door, you can hear them chanting outside.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

The slight tranquillity you’d previously found comfort in vanishes as you search Aemond’s face for an explanation; an answer as to what is going on.

His hand cups your cheek again, the loving look he’d offered you before you left his office still present,

“Your decision to leave tells me that you are lost. I’ll help you. I’ll help you see the light again”

You’re lost for words.

“I’m doing this for you. I know how much you crave to be loved. I’ll give you that. Just trust me”

His reassurance does little to calm your nerves as you feel dread pool in your gut.

“But Aemond, not like this, we can’t-”, you protest weakly. Despite the uneasiness taking root inside of you, your body betrays you as it still leans into the touch of his hand.

“I know how to fix you, just like I fixed Helaena”, he comforts you. His seeing eye seeks yours, silently inciting you to trust him,

“You were made for me, and I for you. I know you’ve been feeling lost for a long time. My uncle told me how depressed you were in Oldtown”

“The mother blessed women with wombs to heal their inner sadness. Becoming a mother will heal you”,

He pushes your body against the altar,

“We need to consummate our marriage, or it won’t be recognised by the Seven”

You feel dread settle in your bones as you take in his word.

“No, Aemond, please-, this is wrong! What would our mothers say?”, you desperately try to reason, panic making your breath quicker as he places his hands on either side of you on the altar; caging you in.

He lowers his head so closely that your noses touch, eye never straying away from yours,

“They’ll understand”

His lips find yours again. You know kissing him is wrong, yet your body melts into his touch as his soft lips press against yours.

Maybe they would understand?

Aemond’s tongue gently swipes over your lower lip, pushing to gain access. As he deepens the kiss, his hands travel down to your skirt, gathering the fabric in his grip before breaking away from you.

You’re both breathing heavily as you stay frozen, taking in each other's expressions. A thin line of translucent spit connects your lips and you notice Aemond’s eye flicker down to watch your kiss-swollen lips.

The conflicting emotions within you rage like the worst of storms, making your head spin. Aemond’s gentle prodding had successfully made you into putty in his hands, yet the uneasy feeling from before remains, steering you away from his control.

“No, no. We can’t, this has already gone too fa-”, you’re abruptly startled to silence as Aemond swiftly sinks down to his knees, pushing up the fabric of your skirt to expose your underwear.

You try to push your legs together but one of his hands quickly dart out to pull down the small piece of fabric separating your skin from his.

You place your hands on both sides of his head in an attempt to push him away, but his face moves towards your exposed centre with determination.

He grabs ahold of the outside of your thighs as he pushes your body towards his face, tongue immediately finding your bundle of nerves, swiping over it in rhythmic circles. Your grip on his head tightens as you push with all your strength for him to back away, but to no avail. He buries his face further into the apex of your thighs as he grips your tights painfully, fingertips leaving colourful marks of ownership.

You whine from the pain; from the pleasure building inside of you as Aemond forces your body into submission. He manhandles your right leg so that it rests on his shoulder, giving him further access to assault you with his mouth.

He sucks on your clit as he brings two fingers up to slide through your folds; the ease of which they glide lets him know the effect his touch has on you.

His fingers find your entrance, pushing inside to instantaneously curl forward, finding that spot inside you that always brings you waves of pleasure. You let out a startled moan as your hands go limp around Aemond’s head, simply resting there.

You close your eyes, violent pleasure making it hard for you to think clearly, just like how you’d felt in his office a few days ago.

Why does he have this effect on you? Why is he so good at this?

Why does it feel so good?

Another pathetic moan leaves your lips as he picks up the speed of his actions, purple and sapphire gaze watching you intently. You close your eyes once again, internally surrendering to his touch.

You want it. You need it.

You feel something ignite within you just as your peak crashes over you. The intensity makes your walls clench around Aemond’s fingers as you gasp in pleasure. Your legs shake from the force and you grab onto his hair for some stability.

He withdraws from you, slightly out of breath, and stands, large frame looming over you.

“No one else makes you feel as good as I do, no one else sees you like I do. We have found each other through the guidance of the seven, can’t you see that? We were meant to be”, he says and grabs your waist to hoists your slack body up on the altar.

He pushes your thighs apart, reaching down to undo his slacks and pulls them down just enough to free his length. It is just as intimidating as it had been yesterday; thick, veiny and ragingly red.

“You want this, I know you do”, he says before pushing inside you, causing you to whine at the stretch. You feel so full, and the impact of your orgasm makes your head feel fuzzy; like you’re floating away. Your walls contract around Aemond and he moans as he lowers his head to rest in the crook of your neck.

“You feel just as perfect as I knew you would”, he whispers in your ear. He draws his hips back, pushing them into yours with such force that your body jolts on the altar. You try to hold on to him with every harsh thrust, but your limbs feel too weak. It all feels so overwhelming, so good, that you can’t bite your lip hard enough to hinder the moans that bounce around the seven walls of the Sept.

One of Aemonds hands come down to draw circles on your clit once more. He pulls back slightly to watch you; to take in your pleasure-drunk expression.

“Let them hear you”, He presses down on your bundle of nerves harsher, still dragging his cock in strong, calculated movements along your walls.

The precision of his touch pushes you towards another peak, but when you feel it nearing, he withdraws completely, eyes flickering down to briefly admire the coat of your slickness adorning his manhood.

He grabs your hips, pulls you down from the altar and turns you around so that you’re facing away from him. Like in his office mere moments ago, he pushes on your back so that your chest makes contact with the wooden surface. He lets his cock glide through your folds before he leans down to mumble in your ear,

“Tell me what you want”

Robbing you of release has left you confused. Resigned and desperate, you let the throbbing between your thighs guide you,

“You, Aemond. I want you”

He pushes inside you again with a pleased grunt, picking up the pace quickly as he fucks you against the holy pedestal. Your hands grab both sides as it rocks in tandem with Aemond’s thrusts. His hand finds you clit again and this time you peak within seconds, pleasure washing over you as your legs turn into jelly.

You feel your legs give in, causing you to slide down on the floor. Aemond doesn’t let you go as he keeps fucking you, following you down to the floor. Your upper body jolts from the force of his movements, slowly slipping down to make contact with the cold stone floor.

He leans over you, pounding into you with force. One of his hands comes to rest above you on the altar, allowing him to fuck you harder, and you whine on the floor beneath him,

“Fucking take it”, he grunts as he goes harder, the contact of his hip bone against your abused backside sending stings of pain through your body.

His fingers find your clit again and you moan in pain-filled pleasure at the overstimulation, one hand reaching for his to push it away.

Aemond tuts behind you, “One more. Be good and give me one more”

You try to turn your head so that you can face him, but you’re unable to move, trapped under his body as he takes his pleasure from you. All you can do is take it; give in.

You cry out as you cum for the third time. Your walls clench down on Aemond’s length vigorously as they coax his release from him. You hear him sigh in pleasure as he fills you.

After a few moments, he pulls away from you, fingers moving to stuff whatever spend has trickled down your thigh back inside. You hiss at the pain. He whispers a gentle apology in your ear, helping you pull your underwear back up.

He stands and reaches down under the altar, picking up the flower crown that had fallen from your head sometime during the consummation. His fingers grasp it gently, placing it back on your head.

He looks so beautiful standing in front of you, the soft light from the candles and the silvery glimmer from the moonlight illuminating his features. He gives you another quick kiss before leading you out of the Sept to greet the residents still gathered outside.

As the two of you emerge from the building, beaming smiles, loud congratulations and well wishes for a prosperous future greet you and your husband.

Aemond never lets go of you, keeping you close to him as he chats with the residents; explaining his vision for the commune moving forward and the new role you’ll play as a permanent resident.

Somewhere inside, you know that you should feel ashamed over what just occurred; over the fact that the residents probably heard the entire ordeal as they patiently waited for you outside.

But all you can feel is bliss; a pleasant calm spreading from your chest. Heating up your insides.

Your life before now had been a long struggle, where you were forced to suffer. Forced to part from your closest childhood friend, forced to pursue a career to feel adequate, forced to live a mundane life in isolation.

Aemond pulls you away from the crowd, leaning down to whisper in your ear,

“Look up”

You see bright, green streaks of light decorate the dark night sky, accompanied by thousands of stars. It is the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Aemond tugs you even closer to his side, resting his chin on your head as you silently admire the northern lights together. All you can feel is his warmth, the safety of being in someone’s embrace. Of being in Aemond’s embrace.

It’s warm.

Comforting.

Freeing.

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[dearest-nell]

morning person

s. harrington x reader, 2.8k

summary: a snapshot into the morning routine of steve harrington, now that the two of you have moved in together includes: established steve x reader, domestic fluff, steve is a busybody. warnings: literally none except i am still incapable of proofreading properly

a/n: honestly if anyone has any requests i would love to hear them, or just want to chat about this show that has ruined my life, because i'm spiralling into obsession over here.

People who complain about mornings have obviously never spent one waking up beside Steve Harrington, this you’re sure of. Because if they had, then they would know there was nothing in the world so deliciously saccharine than that drowsy, softened look on his face as he blinks the sleep away from mingling eyelashes, his lips curving upwards into a dreamy sort of smile. This isn’t even the first time he has awoken this morning. 

Steve Harrington is a morning person – an early riser, a dawn greeter, a restless child on christmas day. His body clock is set as the sun begins to kiss the horizon, his eyes blinking open into a dark, cool bedroom. New. This bedroom is new. He is still getting used to it, this apartment, a dingy one bedroom located just a few blocks from the rougher side of town. It’s a far cry from the mansion he used to live in, small and outdated and a little worse for wear, if he were to say so himself, but it’s home. It’s home because it’s his, and it’s home because it’s yours. You rent it together, bills strung haphazardly from paychecks of jobs you’d both rather live without. Steve doesn’t mind that he still works at the video store, not when it lights up the lamp on his bedside, or cooks the pasta on your shitty gas top that flickers every so often. He needs to call the service guy, now that he thinks about it, but it’s too early to matter. 

He can feel the heat of your body pressed in beside him, curled in on yourself, face buried into the pillow now folding creases into your skin, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. You have never been a morning person, he learned rather early on. You’re delirious, and grumpy, and still so beautiful despite the glare in your eyes when he used to wake you, and now, he knows to let you sleep. His impatience to rouse you, to kiss you and touch you is an urge he’s learned to swallow, so he pauses for a moment simply to stare, to smile to himself at the way you mumble in your dreams. 

He has the time, he thinks, considering it’s still dark out, and his shift at the store is not due for half a morning away, so he lets himself linger, tucked into the warmth of bedsheets as he works up the courage to leave it. He knows he needs to, that he’ll feel better if he does, that the routine always pays off even if it means parting from you. The air will be chilly outside, but he needs the cold to clear his head. His morning run is his time, after all. It gives him the solitude to consider, to plan, to unwind. 

He slips from the bed, careful footsteps walking a still unfamiliar path through the bedroom, boxes stacked against a near wall still unpacked from the move. His sneakers are in the wardrobe, well placed for a quick pick up, though he hasn’t accounted for his discarded shirt rippled right in his path. He trips, stumbling slightly, cursing himself as the thud that resounds as heavy feet meet the floorboards. He turns with a cringe, hearing you stir, though you do not rise as you wriggle deeper into yellow linens, disappearing beneath the comforter. 

He’s quick to dress, not wanting to risk another incident and the wrath of your disturbed sleep, slipping out into the living room to tie his shoes, still half asleep and blinking blearily. Despite its flaws, he likes this apartment more than he thought possible. There’s a passthrough between the kitchen and the living room that lets him talk to you as he cooks, you hanging over the bench to smile at him, pressing kisses into his shoulder when he dares to come too close. There’s a strange nook that sits in the wall by the door, one that now holds your keys and bumble bee umbrella, though neither of you are too sure why it was built in the first place. There’s a flat expanse outside the bathroom window that you want to build a flower box into, though Steve is yet to determine how, since neither of you are particularly good at D.I.Y. He loves this second hand couch Eddie found on the curb, loves the strange, abstract art piece Will designed for you both as a housewarming, loves the ceramic clown that Robin stole from an overpriced giftshop to hide in one of your moving boxes, now settled in the bookshelf beside an array of half read novels between you. 

He’s building a life here with you, and Steve is trying his best to remind himself of it every chance he get. There will be Christmases spent in these walls, games night drinks spilled on this carpet, and so many I love you kisses pressed to smiling cheeks beside that front door – he hardly knows how to contain the excitement for it all, even as he ties his laces. 

The morning is colder than he expected, but Steve has never been one to check the weather even now, even after he caught a cold from a raining run one morning, taking himself straight to work rather than home to you to shower. He figure’s he’ll wing it, deal with the consequences as they come, and enjoy the way you dote on him as he whines and groans in his flu like delirium days later. Cold, but not raining, he knows he’ll be fine this time. 

He’s been planning out this new jogging route as he goes, still learning the maps and turns of each new lane. He’d never been to this part of town much before the move, but he’s starting to acclimate one run at a time. It’s not too far from Hawkins, after all. It still feels like a familiar place, but it’s closer to the community college to save you the travel time. Steve’s a visual learner, after all. It gives him the roadmap that he’ll need to plan out his week. He’s taking himself the long way just to jot down the layout; the farmers market, the hardware store, the cafe with the good coffee. He waves to the people he passes by, few and far between, trying to appear friendly. He doesn’t know yet the culture of this community, but he’s eager to make a good impression. He recognises the old man who runs the news agency, stops to chat as they talk about the community centre. Steve’s agreed to volunteer for the refurbishment, he’s hoping it’ll help you both settle in, and you’ve promised to bake up your best batch of pastries to feed the hungry husbands as they work. Steve’s not yet a husband, but he’s planning on changing that in due time. 

The sun mingling with the clouds by the time he departs again, his pace quickening through midtown suburbia to take him home. The paperboy is tossing rolls at the doors, barely breaking on his bike as he passes house after house. Steve moves onto the road to avoid any collisions, shaking his head as the teen wheels off past a corner. He hasn’t even thought about his week yet, he realises, and his pace drops in consideration. There’s a stocktake coming up at work that will take more energy than he has to give, his parents are due over for dinner later in the week (he’s hoping they’ll cancel), and Robin has booked him tickets to some kind of gig that he’s certain he’ll hate. He mentally notes the checklist – things to buy, things to do, things to clean – now able to see his lot clearly without the buzz of a busy world around him. His days run smoother this way, alone, soles beating against the pavement. It starts him on the right foot. 

He’s out of breath when he arrives back on your block, panting heavily without the grace of a water bottle. He knows he should have brought one, but there’s no point stewing on it now. His thighs ache as he climbs the staircase, three flights of stairs his least favourite part of coming home. He can’t imagine hauling groceries up this stairwell is going to be an enjoyable weekly endeavour, but for the price of rent, he’s willing to make the effort, even with a slightly busted knee. 

He’s a little louder than he wants to be as he eases open the lock, slipping into a slightly brighter apartment than when he left. He doesn’t think you’re awake, but he takes pause to slow himself down, turning into the kitchen instead of the bedroom. Steve clicks on the faucet, hanging his head below the tap to let the cool water run directly into his mouth. He lacks grace as he guzzles down half a litre, droplets trickling down his cheeks and chin into unclean dishes from the night before. There’s urgency, he decides, in this drink. No type for a cup, no time to pause. He pulls away gasping, wiping a cupful of water across his sweat slicken face, unable to suck enough breath into his lungs. He leans back against the benchtop, eyes pressed skyward to focus on slowing himself down, letting his heart rate drop back to a blissful pace. 

He knows he should shower, but more than anything, he’s aching to get back between the sheets with you. It’s funny how he still misses you when you’re not within reach, even for an hour, even when he knows you’re still wrapped up tight in the comforts of his bed. It feels wrong to love a person this much, like he shouldn’t be made to feel so much, so deeply, every passing minute of every passing day. But he does. He knows he’s not the first to feel such a love, but he thinks he might be the only one regardless, because no one else has you. He thinks it’s strange that everyone in the world isn’t aching to be by your side, that hearts all over the town aren’t skipping beats at the wideness of your smile, the curve of your shoulder, the tickle of your laugh. This love must be special, then, because how else can he be the only one so enamoured by you. 

He forces himself into the shower, the water not yet warm even as he sinks his head beneath the stuttering stream. The pipes are old, though a cold shower bothers him far less than it bothers you. He’ll be out quicker this way. He is less thorough in his cleaning than he thinks he ought to be, scrubbing furiously at his body with the loofah you bought him, scraping sweat and red streaks into a now fading tan. He’s seeing the sun less these days in the dead of autumn, but he’ll make it up later. Right now, all he is focused on is climbing back into his bed, his skin stained with a citrus scent embedded into the new soap you had bought. It’s not his usual brand, but he thinks he likes the change anyways. It reminds him of summer picnics with you, fingers digging into orange peels, juices dribbling down his fingers until he tears out slices one by one. The scent lingers, filled with your orange flavoured kisses and sun streaked highlights burning into his mind, and yes, he thinks, the change isn’t so bad. 

He shuts off the tap, yanking his towel from the rack to pat himself dry, hair shaking out like a puppy dog with rambunctious excitement to be on his way. He doesn’t bother to redress, dropping the towel to the floor without focus, padding back towards your bedroom. You’re exactly how he left you, though a little more illuminated in the morning light. You’ve wiggled out of the blanket again, one foot kicked out to the side to regulate your body temperature, one hand reaching out towards his side of the bed. You reach for him in your sleep sometimes, and he hates the idea of not being there for you when you do. 

He clambers into bed his eagerness betraying his stealth, expert hands lifting your arm up for him to slide under, hanging it securely over his waist as he settles into the warm dip of the mattress. Your body responds instinctively, rolling into him with a groan, still not quite awake, though he can tell you’re not so far off. He runs fingers through your hair, trying to stave off your inevitable waking for as long as he can manage. Your alarm isn’t due for another hour, and he wants every second before that  spent just like this.

He doesn’t mean to fall back asleep, but sleep takes him anyways, his eyes blinking shut under the hypnotic pattern of your breathing beside him. He’ll wake up again groggier now, but there is nothing to be done to change it. He tugs you in closer, rougher in his sleep, his neediness permeating his unconscious mind until you’re pressed square against him. The movement spurs you awake, slowly and unintentionally, though it takes you a moment to understand why. 

There he is, your man, your darling boy, mouth hanging open with quiet, rumbling snores, arms wrapped around you in a protective lock. He’s never looked more beautiful, even with your eyes out of focus, one closed and pressed into the fabric of your pillowcase. You can smell the soap, feel the softness of his now cleansed skin beneath your curious fingertips, and you know he’s already been out of bed. He tries his best not to fall back asleep, but your smile curves wider to be blessed to see it. There’s a jealousy in you, after all, that he gets to watch you sleep so often. Times like these are rare, when you awaken first, and you’re greedy in your enjoyment of them. You’d take a picture if you thought you could reach the camera, but the moment would spoil, you were sure. You commit it to memory instead, every dip and curve and freckle and hair burned into your head until it’s all you can see. You want his face to be a fading image that blinks to life behind every close of your eyes, an after image repeating itself well into the day when you’re far away from him. 

He is so lovely, and you are so in love. 

The alarm breaks the two of you out of your reverie, your body jolting at the surprise of it. Steve is slower to start this time, groaning a drunken sort of sound as you slam your hand down on the rattling clock. His arm tightens around you, dragging you until your body is half wedged under his own, your giggles drowning out into muffled chuckles as your face burrows into the crook of his neck. 

“I fell back asleep.” He mutters, closing his eyes with a sigh. 

“I know.” You coo back, adjusting the curve of your back to a more comfortable position, tangling legs between his own until you’re thoroughly wrapped. 

“You sound awake.” He mumbles back, squeezing at your waist with unmasked affection. “Were you up?” 

“Yeah.” It’s an airy sort of confession, made to match the tender strokes of fingers reaching to scrape lovingly at his scalp. “Just watchin’ you sleep.” 

“Perv.” He teases, kissing at your hair, mouth hungry and missing your skin entirely. He lights up as you giggle, his head lifting with heavy blinks to gaze down at you, hair pressed upwards into a lopsided mess. You do your best to pat it down for him. “You like what you see?” 

You crook your head to the side, focusing your gaze in a tender expression. “Something like that.” His brow arches curiously, leaving you to laugh again. “I love you, you moron.” 

His smile widens, head dropping to nuzzle his nose roughly into your cheek, lips catching on your jaw every so often with exaggerated noises of enthusiasm. “Love you too, baby.” 

There is silence for a minute, nothing but his lips dragging affection across the planes of your cheek, his hands wandering underneath the fold of your bedshirt to press fingertips into fading stretch marks across your hips. You’re worried he’ll fall asleep again, and you know you don’t have the heart today to wake him a second time. 

“You want breakfast? I can make jam on toast?” 

He hums a happy sound, though does nothing to release his grip on you. “Yeah, okay. Gonna have to escape me, though. Can’t make my arm move.” 

He pretends to try and shuffle his grip, putting on a little show with a pout when his hold does not dislodge. You roll your eyes, brushing the pad of your thumb against his brow bone. 

“Five more minutes, then.” 

Steve was back asleep within three.

[decojellyfish]

So we saw Guard dog! ghost and kitten! reader

Rescued fighting dogs! Ghost and Soap with cat! reader

how about we get some of Price adopting a puppy! reader and reader having to learn the ropes from Older dogs! Ghost, Soap, and Gaz(maybe??)?

or just Price rescuing another former fighting dog! reader and them being all defensive against former fighting dogs! Ghost, Soap and Gaz(maybe??), maybe even fighting against them when they(soap) try to get too close for reader’s comfort

Thank you so much for being my second request!! I decided to go with the second prompt you offered me, and I had fun writing it! I just don't have fun making you guys cry because, fair warning, this one is gonna be angstyyy... 😔 But I hope you guys enjoy!

------

Bite

Hybrid AU! TF141 Retired Fight Dog! Gaz, Ghost, and Soap x Retired Fight Dog! GN! Reader x Owner! Price Reader is only addressed as ‘you’

SFW ~ Angst

Warnings: Brief/occasional swearing, mentions of abuse, depression, extreme violence, trauma

───♡───────────── Beginning Your body ached. You didn’t know if it was because you were starving, or if it was your muscles and joints crying out for help from your most recent fight. It was a couple of hours ago, and it was rough. Your previous owner had disowned you when he found a new pup to use and abuse for profit. Part of you was happy, the years of abuse and ruthless training were over. The other part of you was absolutely terrified. You had no more food, no treats, no worn-out bed for you to sleep on, and no roof over your head.

You’d been homeless for nearly a year. You gave up on keeping exact track months ago. Your slightly sunken stomach never ceases its eternal growl, constantly yearning for food. Dumpster diving has become a part of your lifestyle. You had managed to find some food, albeit moldy and/or coated in garbage juices, but it was still food. ‘Food is fight fuel’ was constantly echoing through your head, while you fought off the sickness going through your head as realization set in that you were literally eating garbage. Sometimes, you even wondered if food was even worth it. You weren’t fighting as much as you used to. Sometimes you were suddenly assaulted by other stray fighter dogs as well, forcing you to live in constant paranoia, anxiety, and a never-ending feeling like you had to fight.

There were times that you even lashed out at strangers because of this constant fear. Domesticated dogs would find themselves abruptly thrown into a fight when you were around. They would leave with scratches, bites, bruises, and even chunks of flesh missing due to your fierce bite. In the underground fighting scene, you were most known for how gnarly the wounds from your bites would be.

This would result in animal control being called on you. But you’d evaded them countless times, which meant that you were far from where you originally came from. You would bounce from alley to alley, town to city. You were far from home if you could even call where you came from ‘a home’.

Though you were far from old enemies, you still made new ones. You were so used to lashing out that you were still getting into fights, but now you were getting into fights with fight dogs you didn’t even know.

Some days, you were tired. So tired, you just wanted to lay in your current alleyway and just rot. Let the bugs eat away at you, sometimes you even want to turn yourself into the pound. At least there you would have food in your belly and a semi-warm place to sleep. On other days, you were mad. So mad, you just wanted to paint the town red with any kind of blood, even your own.

Today was a tired day. You were lying against a wall, it was raining. Rain would be the closest you had to being bathed. Your rotted clothes were soaked and falling apart, your hair sticking to your face and skin as you stared at the opposing wall. Your eyes had nothing behind them, you were lost in your little world. Your happy place.

You imagined yourself in a cabin, or a cottage, just somewhere secluded and cozy. You had a loving partner, and pups of your own to take care of. A garden in the backyard, full of fruit, vegetables, and herbs. A flower garden in the front yard, full of daffodils, tulips, rose bushes, and trumpet lilies. You wore soft clothes like they were made of clouds. In your happy place, you were warm. In your happy place, you were safe.

Unfortunately, you were ripped out of your happy place by a smell. A familiar smell. Multiple familiar smells. Your heart had already started to beat rapidly, and the sense of adrenaline you had when in the fighting ring was coming back, slapping you in the face. You shifted your position from laying back against a wall to standing up and ready to fight, your teeth already beginning to show and a low growl slowly leaving your throat.

Familiar smells were never good, it meant that someone who had been made an enemy was close. Another fight was about to happen. You could hear men chatting with each other, though it was muffled by the ringing in your ear as your brain was now filled with nothing but adrenaline, panic, and one word. Fight.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Price was going on his weekly walk with his boys, all rescues. His home had become somewhat of a mini rehabilitation center. His pups, although fully grown dogs, were his pride and joy to be around. Gaz was his first rescue about seven years ago, Soap was rescued about two years after Gaz, and Ghost had been rescued three years before today. Price, himself, was a retired military veteran.

He enjoyed going on walks with his pups, he found it to be a nice bonding experience. Although today was rainy, it didn’t stop the group from following tradition. Gaz loved the rain, the sound and the feeling of raindrops hitting windows, umbrellas, or even himself was beyond calming for him. Soap didn’t particularly like rain, it mostly made him think of those unbelievably sad scenes in movies that involved rain, like an intense breakup. Ghost was neutral about it.

But Ghost found himself focused on something else, a smell. He glanced over at Soap, who could also smell this sudden scent. “Stop.” Ghost spoke firmly, grabbing Price’s shoulders and looking at the rest of the group. “Stay here, I smell something.” “Ghost, I don’t want you getting hurt-“ Price protested, only to be interrupted by Soap. “Stay, somethin’s here tha’ could rip out your throat.”

Gaz was worried as well, even though the scent wasn’t as familiar to him as it was to Ghost and Soap. He could smell a large amount of adrenaline and even panic or fear mixed in.

Ghost slowly walked up to the scent source and braced himself, slowly watching as a familiar face came into view. The two of you had been through plenty of fights together, each parting putting up a massive fight. You were snarling at him when he approached you, your body unconsciously moving closer to the wall, further away from him as he grew closer. Your hollow, starved appearance had him taken aback. You looked terrible. You were coated in scabs, bruises, and open wounds that had miraculously not gotten infected.

Your heart was beating so fast, that both you and Ghost could hear it. He had his hands up, his palms open as he showed he wasn’t looking for a fight. That didn’t stop you though. All you could see was all those fights, years ago. Ghost snarling back at you before he would nearly tear a chunk out of you while you almost ripped both of his ears off. You lunged at him with a loud bark, tackling him as you began to scratch and bite at him.

The group was startled, and terrified. They would all run to Ghost as they tried to get this rabid dog off of him. Of course, four men against you was an unfair fight and you were swiftly removed from the fight.

Soap held you against the ground, crouching over you as he pinned both of your arms behind your back as you continued to snarl and attempt to bite. You panted and stared at them with wide eyes, mostly focusing on Ghost and Soap since they were enemies from the past.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, aren’t you..?” You spoke shakily, to either of the boys. Soap could feel how strong and deep your breaths were as you hyperventilated.

All the men shared a glance of worry, Soap spoke up, “We’re not those dogs anymore.” Ghost would nod in shared agreement. “You don’t look so good, since the last time I saw you.” He looked down at you, noting how your stomach churned from hunger, how tired your eyes were, and your slightly raspy breath. Even your recent wounds worried him, some nearly looking like early stages of infection.

You grunted as you struggled under him, “Yeah, well, ‘m happy to see you guys living the high life.” You grumbled, the other dogs’ ears twitching as they heard a slight crack in your voice. You couldn’t ignore it, you were jealous. They didn’t look as tired as they did at your last fight, not on edge all the time, they looked well fed, and they smelled good too. And worst of all, what made you want to lash out at all of them, even their owner, was the fact that they looked happy with this new life. The life that you desired that always seemed to be out of reach.

All the men looked back at Price, Gaz included, with one question in their eyes. ‘Can we keep them?’

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taking you back to their home was a fight in it of itself. You couldn’t help but be scared. Maybe they were all tricking you, maybe they were gonna lock you up in their house and sell you off to another owner in the underground fighting scene. Maybe they really were going to kill you. You only felt slightly safe with Gaz, but that’s because he didn’t look as scarred a fighter as Ghost and Soap, and his eyes held a safer gaze than the other two. He would hold your hand on the way home, firmly but protectively. However, he only did this after you attempted to run away from the group about 4 times.

Arriving at the Price household, there was an overwhelming amount of smells. Everything smelled like all the boys, but individually and in one unit all at the same time. You would stay close to the front door at the entrance, scared to step one foot further into the house. You still didn’t know if it was safe or not. Price respected this, though. He had Gaz let go of your hand so you could settle into the house at your own pace. The look of fear in your eyes was one that he was familiar with, he’d seen it in all his other boys when he first brought them home.

He had the boys all continue on with their night, only giving you directions to the bathroom in case you needed it at some point.

As time went on, your legs would grow tired of just standing. You remained seated, close to the door as you watched the household live out their lives. Price would only stop by you once for the night, and it was to give you a late-night snack and to wish you a good night. He had set down a plate with pieces of watermelon and a glass of water. He left after that, supposedly going to bed. The boys would stay up a bit later, they would watch you in secret. But you were quickly able to tell they were spying on you, however, you let them continue.

You saw it as a way to test if they were trustworthy. Your ears slightly twitch as you listen to their whispers.

“...how do you know them…?” Gaz would whisper, curiosity lacing his voice. “...Ghost and I have had a few tussles with ‘em years ago…” “...Fierce dog… don’t underestimate them…” Ghost grumbled in reply, Soap nodding in agreement. “...Nearly took mah whole face off…” Soap chuckled. “...They almost got my ears…” Ghost added.

You would faintly smile at the warning of underestimating you as a fighter dog. But then you were reminded that you were a fighter dog. And a successful one. Any moral being would never want to be a successful fighter dog. That meant you were scary and either could have killed or even mutilated another dog. Memories of all your fights would flash across your mind, like a blinding camera shot. Your successful ones, the ones where you would lose and your owner showed you what bad dogs get for losing. The bits of compassion you would feel for your opponent as they bleed out, or yowled in pain as their bones broke, pellets of skin torn off, or their bleeding gums from when you knocked nearly all their teeth out.

You wanted to hug them, apologize to them, tell them that you wished you could fix them. Only to have those moments of kindness wiped from your mind as the shrieks and cheers of your owner and the people who bet money on you were released into the air.

Coming back to reality, you were perplexed when you didn’t hear the whispers anymore. Taking a chance, you glanced up at the boys. Only to see that they were now staring at you, curious and worried. You didn’t know why they were staring until you heard a soft pit-pat against the floor beneath you.

Glancing down, you saw little droplets. Your hand instinctively raised to your face, feeling little beads of tears and the streaks they left behind on your face. You would quickly smear your tears away and shoot the dogs a mean growl before reluctantly stuffing a piece of watermelon into your mouth. You just wanted something else to focus on aside from the stares you were getting right now.

An hour later, the men had all gone to sleep and you had eaten all the food Price had given you and drank all the water he offered. You stayed awake throughout the whole night, however. You still didn’t trust anyone, believing the house was a trap.

Morning arrived, your eyes tired but still open as you didn’t want to lose your guard. Price was the first one up, yawning and scratching at his chest as he walked into the room. He would glance down at you, smiling when he saw you’d eaten all your food.

“Food was good, yeah? Don’t worry, I’ll get you some more soon.” He chuckled, taking your empty dishes away and heading into the kitchen.

You felt awkward now, just sitting there as Price had begun to cook breakfast. You would quietly stand up and slink into the kitchen, sitting on the cold tile as you would watch him from a random corner of the room. It had been about ten minutes before Price would look over his shoulder to check on you, only seeing that you weren’t in your previous spot. He would then glance down at you in your new spot, chuckling to himself.

“Got bored of the old spot?” He asked before going back to cooking. He didn’t expect you to be speaking right out the gate, all the other boys were like that too when he first took them in. After a few minutes, Gaz would walk in, rubbing at his eye. A big smile formed on his face as he smelled the currently cooking food. “Smells good in here, Price.” He would then finally look at you, mildly surprised you had moved but he would regain his smile.

Waving at you, he would approach you but keep his distance. “Did you sleep well last night…?” You silently stared at him, your restlessness very obvious, especially in your eyes. “Did you sleep- at all last night…?” He looked concerned, his brows only furrowing more when you shook your head no. “...Too scared?” You stayed quiet. “That’s okay, Ghost and I were like that too.” He smiled at you. You couldn’t deny it, he was a comforting ball of sunshine to you.

“I could set up a bed on the couch for you, I could even keep the telly on for you if you like falling asleep to that sort of thing.” You remained quiet as he talked to you, causing him to let out a slightly amused but comforting huff. “That’s okay, you can think about it during breakfast.”

Breakfast included food that was the most delicious food you had devoured in years. French toast, fried eggs, bacon. You would quietly inhale the first actual meal you’d had in a long time, everyone else watching you at the kitchen table, some trying not to laugh at your eagerness.

You awkwardly stared at everyone else, wiping away some yolk on your mouth with your hand. Price chuckled, “That reminds me, we ought to give you a bath today and get you some new clothes.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You awkwardly sat in the tub as Gaz would scrub a sudsy sponge along your back. Price was washing some clothes, making sure the scent was cleaned out so you had no trouble with wearing them.

“Don’t worry, I was like this when Price first took me in.” He laughed a little. “Quiet, scared, and I didn’t know if this place was my permanent home. But it is my home, and it’s gonna be your home too.” He smiled at you, now rubbing shampoo into your hair. “...what’s it like?” You looked up at him. “Y’know, living here? What’s it like?”

Gaz thought for a bit, also trying to make sure none of the shampoo got in your eyes. “Well, it’s nice. Good food, good clothes, good comfort. Price will sometimes pick up our favorite snacks for us, he’ll do that for you too, you just need to ask him or write it on the grocery list. We go on weekly walks around the block, sometimes we go to the park which is really fun. Especially with Soap, he really likes to play games at the park.”

That surprised you, you never took Soap to be a ‘fun games at the park’ kind of dog. Well, that could also be because you never got to see him or Ghost as a domesticated dog, your only memories of them being in the fighting rink. Maybe they have changed. Maybe you should give them a chance to show you they’ve changed.

Maybe they were doing that all along since they found you, only holding you down instead of attacking you in response to being attacked by an old foe.

The bath was eventually drained and you were dried off with a towel, Price coming in with a pair of folded up clothes, a t-shirt and some sweatpants. You were left alone in the bathroom to get dressed, also to let you just have time to yourself.

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom in your new attire. You couldn’t lie, the clothes were beyond comfy and were nice and warm. Probably fresh out of the dryer. The rest of the boys were on the couch, watching a show on the TV. You would stare at them before slowly beginning to move your legs towards the couch as well.

They would notice your approaching, but wouldn’t bring any extra attention to it. They all remember their first time trying to get comfortable in the new home. It honestly warmed their hearts watching you hesitate on where to sit before eventually picking a spot and huddling into the soft pillows.

Price was already dressed for the day and was writing down the current shopping list before slipping his shoes on. “Oy, Gaz, you’re coming with me for groceries today.” He called out to the couch, Gaz promptly getting up and putting his own shoes on. He waved to you and the other two before stepping out the front door, Price giving a wave as well. “We’ll be back in 30.”

You sat there in silence, now stuck with your past enemies. There was tension, no doubt. At least, that’s what you felt. You were the one who was constantly looking over at the boys, a nervous sweat forming on your forehead. The two were just sitting there, watching the commercials play and pass by.

Now that the only pacifists in the house were gone, they were going to pounce at any second. You were sure of it. At any given moment, they were gonna do it. So you sat there, in a state of constant fear and bracing yourself for a fight you didn’t even know would happen.

Ghost noticed your condition, Soap a few seconds later would see it too. “... you okay, pup?” Soap would ask, seeing the little bits of sweat on your skin. “You’re scared.” Ghost stated, looking deep into your defensive form. “You don’t need to be, you’re safe now. We all are. We aren’t the same dogs you fought those years ago.”

They continued to watch you, watching as you stayed quiet and just stared at them expectantly. “We know you’re also no’ the same dog from those fights. Ye dinnae have a choice, only doin’ tha’ for your own survival. Like us.” Soap’s eyes were full of empathy and concern.

“No need to be scared. It’s safe here.” He smiled at you, slowly reaching out to you to rub your shoulder.

You only saw the worst in people, you would see a possible future where he was reaching out to strangle you instead of comforting you. You thought you could see his teeth start to bare, maybe he was snarling at you.

You felt like you were back in the fighting ring. You could feel the adrenaline begin pulsing and coursing through your veins.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You didn’t know how you did it, it went by so fast. The last thing you saw was Soap’s teething smile and his hand. Now you were pressed up against a wall, hyperventilating at the sight of what you just did.

First, you  grabbed his arm, throwing him to the ground before you began to bite and tear at his flesh and clothes. You woke up when Ghost pinned you to the ground, keeping your wrists together so you couldn’t hurt anyone or yourself. You scrambled away from him and coward into a corner.

You thought you were doing good, only a day into this house and you were doing so good. You didn’t feel like a good pup, not anymore. You weren’t deserving of this house, these new clothes. the food that resided in your stomach. You were a bad dog. There was no way you could look any of the boys in the eye now. Not after what you did.

Lost in a tsunami of your thoughts, you couldn’t hear Ghost trying to reassure you, that it was normal for an outburst like this to happen. He, himself, did it to Price. He brought Soap to the bathroom, taking out the first aid kit along with a few extra bandages. Living in a house with a bunch of retired fighter dogs, the first aid kits would be a bit more extreme than a regular, everyday one.

When he returned to check on you, to tell you that Soap was going to be okay, he didn’t see you in your corner. Not even the spot you were in on your first day here. But he saw that right next to the spot, the door was left open.

They lost you. ───♡───────────── End

If you have any requests, or asks, feel free to submit them!