#like no i do not want the man pt. II but if she wants to try that again with a bit more | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kpopfanfictrash · 1 year ago

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Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. ��Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

#bangtanarmynet #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts au #bts fic #jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction

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platinumshawnn · 2 months ago

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A Union of Ice and Stone | Cregan Stark — pt i

prologue (prev) | pt ii (next)

Synopsis: “I hope to be able to establish a union between our houses, one between the East and North. Our fathers were friends in their youth, even closer in their later years…they would have wanted for us to be friends, too.”

Content Warning(s): adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content.

A/N: it’s here and I don’t even know what to tell yall 🤺

Word count: 8.3k

inspiration playlist

She had never met him.

She had heard the stories, of course, the whispers and telltale's of Stark men and their fierceness and prowess in battle. She had heard stories as a girl of the young Cregan Stark, who had ascended to lordship at the tender age of ten-and-three and though his reign had been slow to come into effect after a lengthy power struggle against his uncle, he had risen fully to power just a few years later -- she had heard of his reputation as a stoic, stern man who was the very embodiment of Northernmen.

Her father had spoken of him on several occasions in front of her to her brother, fascinated by him and the stories that followed his reign in the north. She recalled the roll of eyes her brother gave every time his name came up at the dinner table, eager to change the topic and deflect to something more worthy of his attention; anything that did not include the boy he had complained he was certain their father would have preferred as a son. Arrnold was never quite as gifted in swordsmanship and had never had a way with the horses -- he managed to just get by with a dagger, but not much else -- nor was he great with people and did not do well in positions of power as he was easily tipped into an internal battle between his pride and ego. It was not as though their father was disappointed in him, but Lysara assumed that just as any father would have preferred, he would have liked for him to share more similarities to that of the young Stark.

She had sank into the scalding hot water of her bath as soon as it was poured despite the outcry from her handmaiden who insisted she wait until it had cooled enough to her liking, wincing as she stepped into it and brushed her off; her skin reddening upon submerging into the water that reflected the flames of the fire that was carefully tended to by house staff to ensure the room was kept to a tolerable temperature. Every nerve stung and screamed for mercy as she had sunk in until the water lapped at her shoulders, her hair sticking to her spine as she had sat upright and scrubbed at her skin until she no longer could and cried out at how sensitive and raw every inch had become -- her face scrunched up and tossing the cloth out of the tub to the floor with a wet splosh. It was only once the water had grown cold did she remove herself, seeking her robes and allowing her handmaiden, Ophelia, to comb out her hair and braid it down her back; the long ends of her hair resting at the base of her spine.

“My lady,” Ophelia gasped, her fingers gently touching her shoulder that peaked out from beneath the fabric of her robe as she sat in the stool in front of her, “What have you done to yourself?” She asked, her voice laced with concern.

She did not reply, rather she frowned and brought a hand up quickly, touching to the same spot and wincing, “I…I suppose I was a bit heavy-handed.” She confessed, her voice quiet.

She heard a soft ‘tsk’ of her tongue, grateful that despite her confinement, Jeyne had at least spared Ophelia's presence -- the only thing she had that tied her to the outside world two days later, “Shall I have the Maester bring firemilk to soothe them?” Ophelia asked, her voice soft and sweet.

“You needn’t worry, Ophelia,” She assured, gently pushing her hand away when the girl attempted to scan the back of her neck by moving the smooth silk away, “It is only a little scratch…it will be fine in the morning.”

“It is more than a scratch,” She stated, releasing the fabric, “here, disrobe— I can take a look, Ser Alfred can summon the maester…” “Please do not fret, Ophelia, it is fine,” She quickly said, pulling away from her abruptly and standing; her hand covering the back of her neck, “We mustn't give Lady Jeyne any more reason to worry than she already does.”

Her hand slid from her nape, resisting the urge to wince at how sensitive the skin had become and reaching for Ophelia’s hand with a tight smile, “I promise you I will be fine,” She quietly lied, “She has enough to deal with as is, yes?”

Ophelia’s light eyes reflected her scepticism, narrowing and visibly still wary as she slowly nodded after a moment — she could see through her after several years of working one-on-one with Lysara; Ophelia knew her better than most. She knew when she was being sincere, and she knew when she was lying, not that she was any good at it — she knew how to pick up on the tone and the way she chewed the inside of her cheek, clenched her fists behind her back, and grit her teeth until it physically pained her whenever she was stressed; there was no hiding anything from her, Lysara knew that. However, Ophelia knew her limits and did not push.

“Tell me, is Lord Stark still here?” Lysara asked, stepping closer and lowering her voice to a whisper. Her eyes darted towards the door while her chin lowered, where she knew one of Ser Herrold’s men was posted at all times — there seemed to be no hour where there wasn’t someone hovering over her these days, someone’s gaze on her. It was suffocating and slowly, with each passing day that she was confined to these walls, she found her sanity ticking away bit by bit, leaving only a thread remaining.

Ophelia stuttered for a moment, her frown deepening, “I…I don’t think I am supposed to speak to you about that, my lady.”

“By whose order?”

Her eyes lowered, “Lady Jeyne…she worries it will only further distress you and add to your condition,” She explained, eyeing their conjoined hands.

Her words resembled a rehearsed script, as though she had been specifically instructed on the matter in the event that she asked. She had to suppress the twitch of her eyebrow, feeling the little muscle beneath it beginning to give way to her annoyance as she brought her hand to gently massage it with a fingertip, “And what condition might that be?” She asked, drawing out the word for emphasis.

Again, she stammered, evidently confused as it seemed to dawn on her that the gap had not been filled during her conversation with her Lady cousin, “I…I’m not sure, I suppose.”

She forced another tight smile, “Ophelia, I appreciate your worry but you needn’t fret over me. I am not some delicate flower that needs protecting,” She reassured, her hand giving hers a gentle squeeze. The two women were quiet, the silence between them only filled by the faint sound of orders from men being barked across the court and the restless whinny of horses that trotted in with supply. Her eyes drifted towards the windows that had been left open to let some air in, a cool, spring breeze wafting through the room; a commodity she was grateful for as she drew in a deep breath and exhaled it, her shoulders rising and falling with that very breath. Her eyes closed briefly, releasing Ophelia’s hand to draw back toward herself.

“Is there any truth to them?” She asked suddenly, her eyes lowering again and avoiding hers as though she feared she had overstepped as Lysara looked at her, “Were you with Gareth Royce?”

She blinked rapidly twice, hesitating, “He is merely a childhood friend,” She answered.

Again, there was a look in her eye that suggested she knew the truth -- she knew she was lying, but was not bold enough to say anything more on the subject. Ophelia sighed, her shoulders slouching with the action and looking towards the door for a moment, “He is still here,” She admitted.

“Your cousin has him set up in the west wing of the keep,” She quietly muttered, looking up at her, “He left yesterday before dawn with some men, I'm not sure for what…but he is due to return today. There have been meetings for the past two days regarding his presence.”

She frowned, “Is there any word yet of his reason for coming?”

She shook her head quickly, “Not yet, but I heard the young squire boy, Tommen, speaking…there has been word of Criston Cole’s men heading west, slaughtering lords and their men,” She explained, words rushed with anxiety, “I suppose he assumes if he threatens violence, it will turn support in favour of Aegon II. His men have been spotted near Rook’s Rest…”

“Open the gates!”

Her head whipped towards the window, the two women exchanging a look of wide eyes and a confused curiosity as they rushed towards the overlook — the gates creaked, echoing throughout the yard as they were slowly pulled open by the guards who stood post, the two women leaning over the ledge to watch from the balcony that overlooked. A few men stumbled in first on their horses, a series of shouts following them as they ordered their horses in thick accents that Lysara struggled to understand — she had heard the northernmen speak once before as a young girl but it had been several years since. She strained to catch a glimpse, bent at the waist and gripping the railing with a tight grip, scanning the men that poured through the gates. It felt as though there was more than ‘some’ men, but then again, her companion had not specific to the number — she watched the two dozen men come hurling through the gates, followed by the massive slab of a man who was enveloped in furs, his mouth moving in a low order that she was begging to hear.

Her eyes narrowed, shielding her eyes from the sun that blurred her vision as she scanned the yards. She assumed as much that this was the man she’d heard whispers of throughout her childhood — that this was the imposing Warden of Winterfell, hardly a man grown but already possessing such power and influence it surprised her.

He appeared much younger than she had envisioned.

His horse moved forward a few more paces toward the front steps before halting, his hands raising in a sharp jerk on the reins to pull back as she suddenly noticed that he was greeted by the imposing presence of her cousin. Jeyne waited patiently, allowing him an opportunity to dismount before descending the stairs and approaching him. Her eyes had turned to focus on the large blade that was strapped to his back, swinging with each movement as he sauntered towards her, his hand coming up to steady it by the strap and coming to a halt in front of her cousin. The interaction was brief and tense despite his civilities to lower his head in a curt bow before exchanging what she assumed were short pleasantries of his journey and welcoming him back — it stunned her that despite the striking appearance that was hard to miss, Lysara did not understand how she had missed him the first time he arrived.

She watched as they spoke, turning to sweep their gaze across the gardens that made up the front yards, Jeyne gesturing for him to follow her lead down the path and away from the doors — she leaned into the railing with her hip, turning to face them fully and lifting her chin, “We shouldn’t be here,” Ophelia suddenly said in a harsh whisper.

“Just…one more moment,” she said, her head turning slightly to glance at the girl beside her. She looked down again, eyes following the path they took.

He appeared as distant as ever, his expression blank and unreadable as he looked at her cousin briefly before turning to look ahead with disinterest; he did not look as though he wanted to be there, and under ideal circumstances, Lysara assumed he wouldn’t have been. His presence this far south perplexed her — the vale and the north had long shared similar values and beliefs, loyal to their oaths and how they served their people; but she saw little reason and could not conjure up any rational explanation that would bring him to their door — though the war had left the entire realm in stuck in a place of fear and uncertainty, forcing everyone’s hand into unusual positions that they normally would not have found themselves in. She could only imagine how warm he was underneath the thick layers of pelt this far south.

His head nodded in response to something Jeyne said, stopping then and facing her — his mouth moved again and if she strained enough, she could hear the low mutter, but his words still did not reach her, “I believe he has a son,” Ophelia quietly confessed, “a young tot.”

“He’s married?” She asked, looking back at her.

She hesitated, mouth pursing, “His wife died in childbirth, my lady.”

She withdrew a sharp breath, lips parting and lifting her chin, “Oh…that’s rather unfortunate,” she muttered.

She paused, an uncomfortable feeling settling over her at the news that she reeled from, her head turning reluctantly to look down again. His head moved to look right as they spoke, circling the garden and absentmindedly taking in the view and turning it into a one-sided conversation, while his attention focused on watching his men round up their horses, his gaze briefly glazing over some house staff that offered assistance. He looked out of place among the green of the vale.

She could vaguely make out the purse of his mouth, a grimace-like smile as he nodded to a young maid who stepped out of their way, a basket in her hands filled to the brim with herbs. The girl’s head lowered as they passed, only lifting again to resume her brisk walk through the yard once they were a foot away and even then, her head turned to look back over her shoulder to give them a final glance. Lysara found it fascinating how easily he could draw attention to himself without even trying, muchless without being aware of it. She couldn’t blame them — the servants, the councilmen, who ogled him like he was some fascinating, yet terrifying creature — he truly was a sight to behold; the embodiment of Northerners, adorned in furs and self-assured as he carried himself with confidence. He seemed to exist in his own world, paying little mind to the one that surrounded him as his head turned to look ahead.

She rocked back on her heels, pushing away from the window finally and retreating towards the step that approached the balcony a few feet behind them. Ophelia stood over her as she slowly sat on the floor, watching as she folded her hands into her lap and restlessly fidgeted with her fingers, picking at her nails — her hands clasped together, her eyes resting on a freckle between the knuckle of her forefinger and middle.

Ophelia watched her cautiously before stepping closer, her voice gentle but firm, “My lady, you shouldn’t dwell on this,” She glanced between Lysara’s fidgeting hands and her downcast gaze, worry etching into her expression.

Lysara’s lips thinned, her thoughts in turmoil. Her mind should have been fixed on Gareth, on the risk she’d taken, sneaking off to meet him and defying her cousin's orders. But now, her attention drifted to the presence of Cregan Stark—the cold, stoic Warden of the North—whose sudden arrival cast a shadow over everything. His disinterest in the south was obvious, yet here he was. His mere existence raised questions that begged answers, and it gnawed at her more than she cared to admit.

She looked back at Ophelia, her voice steady but tight, “I know, but I want to understand why he is here,” Her gaze flickered toward the doors again that opened to the balcony, catching the glimpse of his broad shoulders as he moved out of view, his figure towering over Jeyne’s slight frame, “Does it not frighten you?”

Ophelia shifted uneasily, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirts, "Perhaps it's for a matter of alliances," she ventured, lowering her voice, "The war has changed everything... people are seeking security where they can find it."

Lysara nodded slowly, her eyebrows arching with a dismissive flick, though the pit in her stomach told her there was more to it than just alliances. Her cousin was ambitious, calculating—and the way Jeyne had prevented her involvement in matters was something that left her both wary and furious. Lysara’s gut told her that whatever had brought Cregan Stark to the Eyrie was bigger than just a simple visit, a thought alone that made her nauseous with anxiety as she stood up; her hands brushing over her thighs and smoothing out the robe that fell to her ankles.

“That does not answer my question,” She said, turning her head to look at her, “are you not frightened by this war? With your own brother already put to death in battle…”

Ophelia’s mouth had opened, ready to reply but hesitating, a pained look crossing her features. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes casting downwards as she seemed to weigh the question — she did not want to rehash old wounds, but rather, prove a point. His presence was not one to be taken lightly — however, her expression caused a wave of guilt to wash over her as she sighed, stepping toward her and dropping her hands to her sides, “I’m sorry, I do not mean to remind you of what has been lost and use your grief as a pawn of my own use,” she quietly said.

Ophelia stilled, stiff as she forced a tight smile in her direction with glossy eyes, blinking rapidly to suppress the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes, “I know.”

She did not know how to further express her apologies in a way that would mean something. She felt she had already stepped too far, in the direction of reopening a wound that had yet to heal, unintentionally inflicting her pain. Instead, she moved forward, taking a step to close the space between them and bringing her hands to her cheeks, a bold gesture as she held her face between her palms; her thumbs brushing her cheeks. Ophelia forced a pained smile, her gaze lowering as she leaned forward and pressed a light, comforting kiss to her right temple.

She lingered there for a moment, only withdrawing as their silence was disturbed by the harsh, unwelcomed sound of her door slamming open suddenly. Her hands pulled back, still hung in the space that Ophelia created between them as she stepped back quickly, their heads both turning to find as Ser Herrold emerged from the doorway — his expression a look of confused wariness, his eyes landing on her outstretched hands. It was then that his expression morphed into something of disgust, a second young knight at his side, “By gods, what are you up to now?” He asked, walking forward and further into her room, his left hand at his sword on his waist, “Must you stain this Houses’ reputation further by fraternising with not one, but two traitorous commoners?”

Ophelia stumbled back, Lysara’s head turning to watch as she steadied herself against the bench that knocked the back of her knees with a clatter. She tugged the robe around her to fix it as Ophelia quickly shuffled forward to use her body to shield hers, her back to her front as she moved in between them, “You really shouldn’t barge in on a lady as she dresses,” She snapped, dismissing his comment, “It’s rude and improper.”

A second quiet handmaiden entered the room with her head down as she approached the two women, beginning to gather her dress and hold it up in front of her as an effort to providing her modesty despite the circumstances, “Hardly anything you haven’t already flaunted for all of the realm,” He spat.

“You would do well to remember your place, Ser Herrold,” She shot back, hands tugging the robes off her shoulders and smoothing out her shift. The two women quickly worked to slide the dress over her head and on, anxiously glancing back towards the knight who had yet to remove himself from the confines of her room, “What do you want?” She snapped suddenly, growing increasingly uncomfortable with his presence.

“Your cousin requested your presence for supper,” He finally said, his words stiff as though he was physically pained by the suggestion.

“How kind,” She quipped, scoffing a bitter laugh.

Ophelia worked to pull the dress down her legs, straightening the skirts and doing up the lace behind her neck as Lysara turned around and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, “It is, considering the council would rather you be locked away for the rest of your life like your traitorous brother,” he explained, fist clenching at his side, “I among them.”

The final comment had been a mutter — as though he meant to show some degree of restraint and quiet himself; as though he had remembered himself suddenly but it did not stop the improper gaze that bore into her shoulders, silent as she fumbled to fix the bust of her dress and adjust her hair down her spine, the two women at her feet fixing the dress around her feet. Her head turned to look at him from the corner of her eye.

“Must you hover and watch everything I do?”

“If you could be trusted, we would not be here,” He readily snapped, “I will be escorting you down to the hall to meet Lady Jeyne and Lord Stark.”

She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise at the idea, rigid as she hesitated in her movements as she gave one last tug on her neckline, “I’m sure one of your men could handle a single woman just fine,” She huffed, withdrawing from the coverage her women provided. She fixed her sleeves as she approached him, ready to brush past and out the door, but his hand found her upper arm and yanked her back towards his side, “I can walk just fine.”

Ophelia had attempted to follow at her heels but was stopped by his sharp stare, holding up his free hand at her, “Ah-ah, not you— you are to stay here.”

They shared a brief look, Lysara’s head slowly turning to look up at him, “Do you think I would have you bolt off and lie to my men again?” He asked, his head lowering to speak so closely she flinched at the feeling of his breath on her neck, “I will not have you making false promises, seducing my men like the witch you are.”

Of all the knights in the Eyrie, Lysara had found his presence to be the most unsettling — ever since she had been a child, she could recall memories of the utter terror he had instilled in her; terrified and cowering behind her father’s back whenever he had entered a room. She recalled a brief moment in her youth when she had felt comfortable with him, enough that as a child, she had almost considered him to be a friend — but in her adolescence, she had noticed a sudden shift. A new hostility that had appeared overnight, and suddenly he was no longer a sense of comfort, but rather something she tried her absolute best to avoid — she felt as though it was the opposite for him, however, seeking her out instead to look down upon her and belittle her at every turn or opportunity he could find the excuse of. And yet again, she found herself being manhandled by him, dragging her like a spoiled child on display through the halls as she was pulled out of the room quickly before she could even process the movement; her eyes anxiously glancing around her to watch as the house staff lowered their eyes as they passed. Her face burned in embarrassment as she grabbed her skirt to lift it out of her path, barely avoiding tripping over her own feet in attempt to keep up with his pace — despite her obvious struggle to match his pace, he jerked her forward when she fell behind a few steps too many, stumbling onto the first step of the stairs that descended towards the front entrance.

She’d yet to see anyone of importance, neither her cousin nor the Lord Stark himself despite her prayers that one would appear before them in that moment and intervene like some saviour sent by the gods, her eyes briefly lifting from her feet to scan the entrance, lit by the midday sun that streamed in through the front doors. It would have been a beautiful day, with the soft breeze, and the gentle chirp of birds that filled the fields. Lysara would have spent her day in the yard, reading, and basking in the day until the early signs of dusk began to blanket the Eyrie — she would remain out of the way of the council and guards who hovered, away from trouble and otherwise distracted from the worrying thoughts about Gareth that had haunted her for two nights. But instead, she was forced towards the grand hall where the only noise was the soft hum of chatter between her cousin and the stranger she had only heard of through stories, their voices slipping under the doors as she caught her breath.

The doors were soon opened upon her arrival, her head turning to look back towards the room that stood, towering before her, “My Lady,” Ser Herrold announced in greeting, releasing her arm with a subtle shove forward, “Lady Lysara, as you requested.”

Jeyne remained seated, staring at her with a slow blink, her expression blank. To her right, Cregan stood to greet her, hands planted against the table as they all fell silent.

Lysara froze under her cousin’s gaze, heaving for air as her head quickly dipped with the curtsy she offered, her eyes pinned to the floor at the edge of her shoes, “Thank you, Ser Herrold,” Jeyne said after a beat, “Come, join us.”

She turned to look behind her where the second knight who had been quiet stood, his eyes catching hers for a moment. His head lowered in a single subtle nod, averting his gaze.

Her eyes timidly lifted back in front of her, standing upright and blinking rapidly. She could feel his eyes on her even without turning to face him, bearing into her as he sat back in his chair — Ser Herrold’s feet shuffled from behind her, following closely behind as she reluctantly entered and approached the seat closest to her cousin; the hair on the back of her neck prickling with anxiety as she let out a quiet sigh, each of his steps masking the sound of hers with the heavy clank of his armour, “Tell me, Lady Jeyne,” Cregan suddenly said, his voice a smooth, low rumble that was thick with accent, “Do your men make a habit of manhandling women like children do toys?” He asked, his index finger tapping against his chalice as his gaze had darted towards her.

Her gaze had followed their movements as Lysara approached, hearing as the knight came to an abrupt stop, “No,” She stiffly replied. Her hand lifted in a subtle wave to dismiss the knight who scowled, begrudgingly backing towards the furthest corner he could hide himself in, “Ser Herrold is just an overly cautious man.”

She noted the evident edge to her tone, her eyes fixed on him with a narrowing of her eyes -- she wanted for her to see his behaviour and acknowledge it for what it was. See him for the bully he was and say something; offer some sort of punishment or scolding, but she was silent. Her mouth twitched, like words were on the tip of her tongue and threatening to breach the surface as her chin lifted, glancing between him and Lysara once -- somewhere, she knew she could have pieced it together. She could see something. But instead, she was silent and lowered her chin.

Lysara looked over her shoulder as she leaned into her chair by her hands, sliding it out enough to slip into it and sit, her eyes finding the annoyed expression of the knight. Her attention only shifted at the sound of his chalice being set down from across the table after a slow sip, “He’s a funny way of showing it,” Cregan muttered.

Her hands smoothed over the lap of her dress, allowing a servant to bring forward a flagon of wine and offering it to the cup in front of her — she nodded encouragingly as her nerves seem to ramp up, rearing its ugly head in her face as her stomach churned, the room silent aside from the sound of the drink being poured, “Thank you,” Lysara quietly said, dismissing the girl who had come forth.

“Lady Lysara has a history of sneaking off and getting herself into trouble, My Lord,” Ser Herrold said aloud.

Her eyes lifted, her hands stuck to her lap as she met his gaze; a shade that resembled the stormy grey skies that hung over the Eyrie in the spring, his expression plain of any trace of emotion — utterly still as he stared across at her, unflinching and unwavering as his eyes flickered in the direction of the man who spoke.

“I was not speaking to you,” He said, his head turning just enough to crane his attention towards him with his sharp tone, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

She felt a swell of self-satisfaction for once as his mouth snapped shut, stunned and humiliated as his face flushed, “My sincere apologies, my lord, I only meant…”

“And yet you continue,” Cregan interrupted.

Lysara reached for her cup, bringing it to her mouth to conceal the smile that threatened to make its appearance, smug as the guard cleared his throat and nodded with his head lowered, “She is a woman, not a war criminal, Ser Herrold.”

She noted the subtle irritation in his voice as he reached towards his plate, picking a grape that had been placed there and plucking it from the dish — he eyed it for a moment, “Do you care for more wine, Lord Stark?” Jeyne asked, her right hand rising to wave forward the girl who hovered with the flagon, watching as she hurried forward readily to refill his cup.

He dropped the grape back on the plate and covered his cup to stop her, his mouth pursing into something that could have resembled a stiff smile in the direction of the girl who meekly nodded and withdrew again. The silence that befell them again was one of tension that could have been cut through with a knife, her gaze darting to her cousin. She swallowed.

“Lord Stark here was just telling me about his journey here,” Her cousin suddenly said, reaching for her knife and fork, beginning to cut into the duck on her plate. Her cousin shared a look with her, looking between her and the Lord who was quiet, her head slightly turning as a young servant boy brought forward a plate of duck for Lysara.

“Might I too ask, to what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?” She softly asked, her voice hoarse as she absentmindedly picked at her nails in her lap. The thought of food was nauseating, her left hand lifting to cover her mouth for a moment, suppressing the shudder that fought to rip through her.

“He marches towards the West I believe,” Jeyne answered.

“Oh?”

His gaze had flickered towards her cousin, mouth pressed into a thin line that was a telltale of his annoyance — irritated by the trend of speaking above or for him, “On behalf of the heir to the iron throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen— I have two thousand men who will soon go to battle under her command along the Lakeshore. I only mean to lead them there in three days' time,” he quietly explained, looking at her, “there they will meet the Kingmaker and his men, at which time I plan to return to Winterfell, where my duties are.”

Lysara’s breath caught in her throat as she met Cregan's gaze, the weight of his words settling heavily between them. The room seemed to shrink, the tension building like the thick storm clouds gathering outside. Jeyne, ever composed, set down her utensils, a calculating look crossing her face.

“The Kingmaker,” Lysara repeated slowly, the name spoken with a mix of reverence and disdain, “You speak of Criston Cole, yes?”

Cregan nodded, his eyes still locked on hers, “Yes, my lady.”

Jeyne leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes observing the subtle exchange between them. “And so you come to the Eyrie for what, Lord Stark? To gather more men? To seek counsel?”

Cregan’s gaze finally broke away from Lysara, shifting to Jeyne, “I come to ensure that the Vale remains loyal to its oaths. To remind House Arryn of its duty to the realm and to secure safe passage through your lands.”

Jeyne's lips curled into a faint smile, her tone measured, “The Vale is loyal, Lord Stark. You need not worry about that.”

Lysara dropped her hand to her lap, feeling the undercurrents of power play between them. She could sense Jeyne’s mind working, considering the implications of Cregan’s words. The Vale’s loyalty was unwavering, but it was not without its own interests.

“I trust that it is,” Cregan replied, his voice steady, though his eyes flicked back to Lysara, as if searching for something in her expression, “But it is not only loyalty that concerns me.”

Jeyne raised an eyebrow, “Oh? And what else?”

Her gaze lowered to the dish in front of her, the scent of its content wafting towards her nose as she let out a slow, steady breath through parted lips. In the edge of her vision, she watched as his hand clenched into a fist, relaxing after a moment, “You and I share commonalities — both in our loyalty to our houses’ and duties, the way we lead,” he said, words short and clipped, “I hope to be able to establish a union between our houses, one between the East and North, one that could benefit us both.”

She reached out to collect her fork and knife as she listened, one ear attentive to his every word and slowly cutting into the meal in front of her. The pause in his statement prompted her to glance towards her cousin who had taken a break from her task, seemingly weighing his words.

“Despite the circumstances of my visit, I hope that my presence is the first step in that very direction,” He added.

Her gaze lingered, trying to gauge her reaction as she took a piece of the duck between her teeth, watching as the corner of her mouth twitched. She let out a short hum, forcing a thin smile in his direction and lifting her chin, a breath being exhaled through her nose as Jeyne gave him a nod, “We would be greatly honoured to be allied alongside your house, Lord Stark.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She had dreaded the moment supper was done — as soon as it was over, she knew she would be back within the walls of her room for however long, until things blew over and Jeyne had forgiven her, and finally allowed her to return to being a contributing member of society. She would go insane, memorising every crack in the wall, every chip in the floor, and only come out for the necessities.

Dinner came and went quickly, silent enough that she could hear every drag of Jeyne’s utensils against the plate as she ate, setting her nerves on edge. Every so often, she caught a pair of eyes on her, grey and bored as he occasionally picked at the fruit on his plate — she assumed the only reason he stayed as long as he had was for the sake of respect and decency, only excusing himself once Jeyne was finished.

She walked behind them, close on their heels as they departed the hall, her hands folded in front of her and flicking her attention between them. There was a low hum of discussion that passed between them, polite pleasantries regarding dinner and ensuring Cregan was comfortable with his accommodations; despite her cool demeanour, Jeyne never failed to play the hospitable host. She had taken after her father that way. Gracious enough to treat her guests with warmth and open arms, but cautious and calculated enough to always be a step ahead.

“I do hope House Arryn is as much home to you as Winterfell while you are with us,” Jeyne said with a finality to her words, ceasing her walk as they neared the hall that split between the stairs to their wing and the west hall. Her hands clasped in front of her, “Should there be anything you require, please…I would like to see to it that you have everything you need.”

His head turned to look down the hallway, giving her a slow nod in reply. Jeyne’s shoulder nudged hers as she let out a breath, turning to look at her and raising her eyebrows, “We will let you get settled then, Lord Stark. Lysara?”

Her eyes flickered between him and her cousin once, watching as she was dismissed with a subtle tilt of her cousin’s head, Ser Herrold’s hand readily prepared to pull her back to her chambers — his fingers wrapped around her elbow as she gave a curt nod to her cousin.

Cregan turned his head back, “Actually…” He said, his eyes falling to Herrold’s hand, “I was hoping Lady Lysara and I might go for a walk.”

As his eyes lifted to meet hers, she noted the lack of room for objection as he spoke, his tone lacking something of suggestion and rather, an order that she felt no reason to argue against. She saw the look of confusion in her cousin’s eyes as she stepped away from Herrold’s grasp with a slow, drawn out breath, “Of course,” She replied. It was then that the thought crossed her mind to look at her cousin again, gathering her skirts and imploring her approval, “unless you require my presence, cousin…” Her words were slow and cautious, her voice soft as Cregan extended an elbow to her.

Jeyne hesitated, her left eye twitching, “No, I do not.”

She accepted his elbow, her hand sliding around it as she stepped toward him; the heat of Ser Herrold’s presence still radiating from behind her. She heard him step forward as Jeyne turned and began to ascend the stairs, while he instead followed her steps, Cregan’s head turning just enough to eye him from the corner of his eye, “We do not require a chaperone.”

His mouth opened, prepared to argue, but silenced as Jeyne spoke from the stairs, “Ser Herrold,” She firmly called to him, “I think we shall see Lady Lysara and Lord Stark first thing in the morrow, yes?”

She could see his annoyance, clear as ever in his face as he let out a huff, staring at the pair of them; though even she looked closely, in his eyes, she could see a twinkle of fear when he found Cregan’s cool gaze, wavering for a moment. Her male companion, in contrast, was calm and collected, unfazed as he held his stare for a moment before Ser Herrrold broke it by turning away. His feet carried him up the stairs ahead of Jeyne, her own softer ones following his after one last glance to Lysara, her stare sharp with an unspoken warning.

A silence befell the hall as she retreated, her men at her side and following her up the stairs, giving them not one last look before they disappeared from view, leaving her alone in his presence. It was then that she finally exhaled a breath, a sigh of relief and relaxed, her head lowering to look down at her feet, “We do not have to go anywhere, if you do not wish it,” Cregan quietly stated.

She looked up at him, startled by the softness of his voice, “If you would rather be abed, I will not force you to keep me company.”

His eyes darted to look over her head and up the stairs where her cousin had retreated only moments earlier, before looking down at her again. She frowned in obvious confusion, “Do you not wish to walk?”

His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile at the left corner as his lips parted, a low breathy sound that resembled a laugh leaving him. His eyes lowered, “Only if you wish,” He said, lifting his gaze.

“If you did not wish to walk, then what…” She asked, her voice drifting off, “what did you want?”

“To be rid of Ser Herrold,” Cregan plainly admitted.

Lysara blinked, digesting Cregan’s words. For a moment, her confusion melted into something warmer—an unexpected sense of freedom. Her hand remained loosely tucked around his arm as they stood there, the hall’s silence pressing down on them.

“You wanted to be rid of him?” she repeated, half in disbelief.

Cregan’s lips twitched again, a flicker of amusement, “Aye. His hovering becomes tiresome. I’d hoped for a moment without his shadow looming over us.”

Lysara’s gaze flicked toward the stairs where her cousin had disappeared. The subtle pulse of power in his voice caught her off guard, reminding her that Cregan Stark wasn’t just any northern lord.

“I see,” she finally said, her voice steady, “Well, you’ve succeeded. Ser Herrold won’t trouble us tonight.”

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Lysara found herself searching Cregan’s expression, but his face remained impassive, save for the glint in his eyes. She felt the cool air settle around them, and the moment stretched longer than either expected.

“Shall we walk, then?” she asked, feeling the weight of his gaze on her.

Cregan inclined his head slightly, “Only if you wish, my lady.”

Lysara hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded, gently tugging at his arm. Together, they turned and began to walk, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridor. The tension lingered in the air, but there was something else too—a quiet understanding, forged in the absence of prying eyes. The court was silent beyond the soft rustle of her skirts and the echo of his boots as they paced the halls, lit by the sinking sun that was slowly retreating behind the horizon, her eyes turned out over the fields that seemed to stretch on forever -- her mind had wandered in the silence, reflecting on the past few days, her fingers pressing into his forearm.

She was grateful he did not force conversation, or feel the need to fill the space between them with meaningless conversation. For the first time in days, she was comforted by the silence that allowed her to sort through her thoughts without any unnecessary interruptions.

Her thoughts wandered to Gareth, the image of his face burned into her memory as she forced him into the bush. His look of despair, helpless as he crouched and waited -- she wondered how long he was trapped in the bush before it was safe. Had he followed them? Or had he turned and sprinted back to his house as soon as it was clear? Had he tried to write to her since? Her injured ankle throbbed at the thought.

She hoped that he was safe at the very least.

“I apologise if my visit has caused some tension between you and your lady cousin,” He stated.

A cool breeze blew through the windows of the corridor, her mouth turning up in a melancholic smile as she turned her head away from him. Her right hand swung beside her side, brushing along the skirt of her dress as she let out a deep sigh, “It is not your presence, you need not apologise.”

There was a pause in their conversation, his eyes following hers to the still yards, “I only mean to establish a union between our houses,” he continued, “our fathers were friends in their youth, even closer in their later years…they would have wanted for us to be friends, too.”

“Did you know my father well?”

She turned to look up at him, watching as he gave a stiff nod, “I knew him enough to respect the man he was,” Cregan said, his voice low and thoughtful. “We met during a few councils, exchanged words on occasion… He spoke of you often.”

He paused, his eyes searching hers as if gauging how much to share, “But no, I did not know him well enough to claim a close bond. I only wish I had,” His tone softened.

She let out a laugh, a huff of air through her nose as she withdrew her hand from his elbow and planted her palms against the windowsill, leaning into it by her waist. Her chin lifted, breathing in the fresh air, any remaining tension that had settled into her bones melting away with the familiar sounds of the vale. Her head lowered after a moment, recalling the memories of her father and their many conversions— a lifetime of discussions and jokes they had shared. She tried to pick through the conversations over supper in which he spoke of the Lord Stark and his young son, “Were you close with my brother?” She suddenly asked.

She heard a low chuckle, short and resembling a choked snort as he briefly looked away, his attention turning down the hall they had come from, “We…met briefly,” He replied, his voice quiet; turning to face the window she had placed herself in, mirroring her position to look outwards, “I would not say we were close, however.”

She craned her head to look at him, trying to make sense of his reply and his tone— there was an edge to it she could not quite put her finger on, but it was clear to her nonetheless that he was not keen on the subject of her brother that piqued her curiosity. Her mouth opened, wanting to press further, but she settled on stopping herself before she overstepped.

Cregan’s eyes shifted to scan the court they looked over, House Arryn’s high walls obstructing the view she knew was beyond the high walls that fenced them in — luscious fields of soft grass and beautiful flowers she’d loved picking as a girl on the other side of it. It was as though he sensed her eyes still on him, turning to look at her and raising his eyebrows, a moment passing between them that was filled by a comfortable quiet; filled only by the sounds of the bugs that chirped with life from the yards.

There was a subtle shift in the air around them, suddenly aware of the little space that existed between them as her gaze reflexively lowered to his chest where her attention landed on the familiar sigil of his house. The outline of a wolf, proud and powerful. Cregan moved, a small and subtle action, as his right hand planted against the windowsill beside hers; the heat he naturally radiated felt against her skin, even through his gloves. Her breath hitched, clearing her throat as the air caught there, nearly choking her.

“You know, he spoke very highly of you,” Lysara admitted, redirecting their attention as she withdrew her left hand from alongside his to rest against her ribs, cradling her side.

“Your father?”

She looked up again, offering him a polite smile, “I think he always hoped my brother would share your likeness,” She said, pausing before speaking again, “Arrnold didn’t take to swordsmanship.”

There was a hint of a smile, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he gave another small nod, “I do recall.”

Again, she noticed, there was a hint of his knowing of her brother. She blinked, “How…”

“My lady,” A young voice interrupted, greeting them. She turned away from the window, stepping away from his side and finding the guard who she quickly recognised from earlier. The young guard who stood a few feet back, bowing his head as he then seemed to notice Cregan’s presence, “My lord…I apologise for my intrusion.”

He had been present with Ser Herrold in his task to drag her to supper. She stiffened, awaiting his next words, “A letter has arrived by raven,” he explained, Lysara’s confusion evident as he stepped forward and presented her with a neatly rolled scroll, struggling to recognise the gold seal that closed it.

“Who is it from?” She asked, eyeing it.

The guard looked behind her, looking at Cregan who idly stood by, hesitating to answer. His words were slow and quiet, low enough that even she could hardly hear him, “I…do not know, my lady.”

She let out an annoyed sigh, breaking the seal and beginning to seek out any identifying details. Her gaze darted up one last time as the guard began to retreat, his stare lowering from hers as she narrowed her eyes at him; she looked over her shoulder at Cregan who had turned to face her, witnessing the interaction with a shared look of scepticism. She moved slowly, unravelling the parchment to reveal the letter inside, allowing the guard to leave with no interference, her head inclined to the side as her eyes scanned the messily scrawled writing.

Lysara,

My love.

I am safe, hidden beyond reach. Meet me in two days' time at midnight, where the trees meet the stream. I must see you.

TAGLIST: @beebeechaos

#cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x oc #cregan stark x oc #hotd cregan #hotd #house of the dragon #tom taylor #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #auois

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euno11a · 10 months ago

Text

Tattooed Hearts

Genre: No one to someone Tattoo artist! Jungkook X Reader

Summary: What happened to us? Why did we end up like this? It was only a one time thing. Now it’s ruined us both.

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, mentions of hookups, insults, arguing, blood, mentions of period

Edit: Hey guys, I got this idea for some reason and was thinking of making it into a series, so let me know if you enjoy it and want a part two :)

Pt II • Pt III • Pt IV • Pt V • Pt VI • Pt VII • Pt VIII

*** You weren’t one to put out, always waiting for the one person who made you feel special. But you never seemed to feel that, except for when you were with Jungkook. He made you special, he made you happy, he made you feel loved. Maybe giving yourself to him was your mistake, but how could you not? He looked so handsome with his piercings and tattoos. That’s where you should’ve known what you did was a mistake. Sleeping with him was never on your bucket list, sure you’d thought about it before, but you never intended for anything to actually happen. It felt good, it always did, but the pain of being pushed out always pained you after. Mistakes get made, but this one hurt too much.

Sobbing on the bathroom floor was something you’d never wanted to do when it came to a guy. But seeing him with that girl hurt, way too much. Why weren’t you used to this yet? It’s happened before, get used to it. “He doesn’t deserve your tears, Y/N, please stop crying…” Lindsay, your friend, pleaded. She’d been here when it first happened, the other hundred times it had happened, and now. Maybe you were the stupid one for never taking her advice. Now, you hated calling anything stupid, nothing was stupid. There was always reason for something being one way and not the other, but you were just stupid for how many times you’d fallen for his tricks. Tattoos make a story when on your skin, most of the time. The story behind your tattoo was that you’d fallen for a handsome tattoo artist, letting him sweep you off your feet, wine and dine you and then fuck you. Big mistake. It’s almost funny how many mistakes you’ve made with him. Going the day after to get your tattoo finished was not the happy ending you were expecting, instead finding a woman walk out of his office looking drunk off of sex. Just like you did. He apologized, wine and dined you, then fucked you again. The same thing happened. Something wasn’t clicking, stay away from him; he’s bad for you; he’s using you; all things you should’ve listened to, but didn’t. That was on you, you decided to keep going back and keep getting your heart broken. That was until now, countless nights of crying about him, going back to him, waiting for him to call and use you again, you were done.

Wiping your tears for the last time, you wouldn’t let this man or any man make you cry like that ever again. That was a promise. ***

“Are you ever gonna get that tattoo finished?” Lindsay asked as she placed the bowl of popcorn between you two. It was Wednesday night, your scheduled movie night. “I think it would look really cool actually completed.”

You placed some popcorn in your mouth, thinking for a moment, “I don’t know…I think it looks kinda cool now!” Placing the blanket over your legs, you looked at your shoulder, a half finished tattoo of a skeleton hand holding a rose.

“Girl, don’t lie, you need to get it finished. Please? I’ve been looking at it for so long, I can’t stand it anymore! How are you not annoyed it’s only half done?!” She was adamant about making you get it finished, partially because she wanted you to go back to rub it in Jungkook’s face how amazing you were and what he lost when he slummed it with those other women.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll get it finished, but you need to get me tteokbokki after, got it?” It was something you’d dreaded, but having the feeling inside that you’d let him win by not seeing him again was eating at you from the inside.

Lindsay squealed in joy, clapping her hands, “ I’m gonna make you so hot! He’s gonna regret sleeping with those other bitches!”

“Whoa, whoa, I’m going to get my tattoo finished, not see him. And don’t call them bitches! Women stick up for women, no matter how fucked up some might be.” Secretly, you were hoping to make him jealous or upset with how he left you. He deserved to feel like shit.

“Okay, okay, sorry…I’M GONNA GET MY HEELS!!” Lindsay yelled as she ran out of the living room to grab her heels from her room. I sighed, knowing that I couldn’t stop her.

***

A week later, you walked into the shop, seeing the familiar face of RM. He was one of the piercers that worked in the parlour, “Y/N, hey, it’s been a while!” He spoke with a big smile, happy to see you again. With the time you’d spent there before everything, you’d befriended his friends. It felt unfair leaving them behind after it all.

“Yeah, hi, how’ve you been?” Even though Jungkook was nowhere to be seen, you couldn’t help but feel a lump growing in your throat.

RM had a bright smile on his face, one that he’d always had that always managed to make your day better. “Good! I’ve been good, uh, how can I help you today?” He asked, standing up from behind the front desk.

“I want to get my tattoo finished. I think it’s finally time.” You gave him a small smile, he’d known about what happened between you and Jungkook. It was hard not to know, he was friends with him after all.

“Alright, we can do that! Let me see…V could take you.” He looked up from the computer, seeing what was open now. You nodded your head, willing to take anyone who wasn’t Jungkook.

They’d gotten you situated at a station, instructing you to take off your sweater. Your half finished tattoo was now on display, waiting to be finished. V was nice, making small talk here and there, making sure you were comfortable with everything and that nothing was too painful. Pain wasn’t your thing, yes, you had to go through a period every month and maybe one day give birth, but you had a low pain tolerance. He used to squeeze your thigh, kiss your neck, finger you to keep you calm…stop it! Don’t think about him! He’s not in your life anymore, don’t waste precious thinking space on him! Not thinking about the needle piercing your skin was abruptly stopped when you felt a prick, yelping, you moved your shoulder away. V looked at you with wide eyes, “ I’m sorry! Was that painful? Oh god, are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“No, no! It’s okay! I’m fine, just startled! Sorry, I zoned out for a moment…” You gave him a sheepish smile, relaxing in the chair again.

“That’s fine, just let me know if you need a break or anything, okay? Maybe I can sneak you a juice if you really want, too.” He gave you his signature boxy smile, instantly warming your heart.

You giggled, nodding your head, “That would be nice…” Smiling up at him, it felt nice to still be friendly with them even though you were nowhere close to being friendly with Jungkook.

V stood up, walking away to get you a juice from the break room. He left you in the chair, leaving you alone to listen to the music playing softly through the speakers. Quietly humming along, your thoughts were halted by hearing two voices. “Hey, RM, when’s my next client?”

“She should be here soon, it’s a touch up.” I could hear RM talk to the person. The other guy hummed, shuffling around a little.

You sat up, being faced with Jungkook. Everything seemed to go fuzzy, your thoughts, the sounds around you, even your eyesight. The lump in your throat returned, making it hard for you to breathe, V returned with your juice, “ I got you watermelon! You know? Since it’s your favourite!”

You were startled out of your trance, looking up at V who was holding your favourite juice. They still had it…? “Thanks…how do you-?”

You were cut off by V smiling sheepishly and rubbing the back of his neck. “We all thought you’d show up again…but when you didn’t, we kept the fridge stocked for whenever you decided to show up again.”

Heat rushed up to your cheeks, they’d waited for you? Why? His boxy smile came back again, looking over to Jungkook, waving “Hey, JK, lunch was good?”

“Yeah, it was fine. Pussy would’ve been better though.” Jungkook replied as if it were nothing, finally looking over to you. He faltered a little bit, quickly recovering by giving you a cocky smirk, “Glad to see you back, Y/N.”

Without another word, he walked away, back into his office. Biting the inside of your cheek, you knew this wasn’t the last time you’d see him. He was like a parasite, once you had it, it would never go away.

#bts #bts army #bangtan #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook #bts smut #jeon jungkook #jungkookie #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader

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jetblack4realz · 3 months ago

Text

lake days ii - jake "hangman" seresin x reader

summary - jake is having a blast with your family on the lake, relationships grow - and so do certain tensions

pt ii to this one :) , pt iii , pt iv , pt v

warnings- nah

word count - 3.4k

______________________________________________________________

you found yourself laughing as jake took yet another tumble off the wakeboard.

"you've gotta turn it!" you yelled from the back of the boat, leaning towards him with a grin. he rolled his eyes, wiping his face free from the water.

"i know," he huffed.

"if you did you'd be riding right now," you said with raised brows. you smiled wider, nodding to the tugrope in front of him. "grab on, we're going again."

he breathed out a tired groan, following your instructions and laying back in the water, trying to keep the heavy board perpendicular to him on his feet. you turned around, walking back to where logan was at the wheel. you nudged him, grin returning.

"i got it," you told him. the man stepped out of your way, laughing lightly.

"be nice to him. it's his first time," he told you. you stood at the dashboard, hand on the throttle as you glanced back at jake.

"he'd had enough tries. this is it; all or nothing." your smile was despicable as you threw your head back. "ready, jake?"

when he spotted you at the wheel his eyes widened and his grip strengthened.

"turn and stand!" you instructed for what felt like the millionth time that day, pushing down on the throttle to increase the speed enough to get him out of the water. you glanced back to see him riding the waves well enough and pushed down again, picking up speed quickly.

the board attached to his feet skidded across the water as he tried to maneuver outside of the wake, but before he could, you turned the boat. it wasn't too sharp, you didn't want to throw him off too bad, just enough. he glared at you before focusing again, to which you turned the other direction. he yelled something none of you could hear, which only made you laugh.

"let him get out of the wake," your dad said, but the smile on his lips told you otherwise. you shrugged.

"he'll figure it out." another turn.

you kept up this routine until jake's board finally caught the edge of a wave on his way out of the wake, sending him face first into the water. you quickly pulled around, letting the boat drift up to him as he unlaced the boots, holding the board up for gideon to take.

"good job," you told him as he passed you. "you stood up."

"i coulda done a lot more than that if you woulda let me," he said with raised eyebrows.

"you were getting a little too cocky with everything else," you replied dismissively, waving it away with a small smile. "had to put you in your place."

"and i'm gonna put you in your place," logan said, standing next to you with his hands on his hips, a wide smirk on his lips. you turned to look at the back of the boat quickly, eyes wide.

"no," you breathed out.

"hell yeah," jake breathed, grinning as you both watched a small tube get blown up by a grinning gideon.

"i'll go with y/n first," darren offered, a wicked grin on his lips as he eyed you.

"i'll push you off before logan even has a chance to take off. i'm not riding with you," you told the boy, glaring at him sharply.

"oh why not?" he whined.

"because last time we went together you full on bodied me and i swear i left with a concussion," you answered. "i'm going with josh."

josh laughed quietly. "deal."

as you pulled your lifejacket off the clips on the side of the boat and began strapping it to yourself, logan took his place at the wheel, leaning over to whisper to jake, "she hates the tube the most. ends up hurt every year but refuses to get off."

"even though she hates it?" jake asked.

"you should know how she is by now," logan said with a shake of his head. "stubborn as a bull."

jake laughed, watching you as you laid belly down on the small raft, gripping the handle in front of you tightly as joshua joined you. your brother was naturally easy going, and normally so were you, but his laidback nature just made you look that much more tense.

darren and gideon pushed you two off the back. "ready y'all?"

as you two drifted farther back, jake watched you nod slowly. "ready."

logan glanced back at his brothers, his grin matching that of you when you started dragging jake on the wakeboard. "let's put 'em through it."

you expected him to start off slowly as per usual with water sports, but logan had no such intentions. jake had to catch himself on the windshield when he took off, watching you face drop in horror as the pullrope jerked forward, bringing you and josh with it.

your knuckles were white as you gripped the handle in front as well as one to the side, leaning josh's way when you began to skip across the water your direction. you were screaming something at the people in the boat, earning loud laughs from the men and brynlee. when logan straightened out for a moment, you held up the finger before screeching as he turned sharply again.

this went on for a few minutes before josh finally put a hand up, wanting to be done.

"you ready seresin?" brynlee asked jake as darren pulled his lifejacket down for him. "you're next."

"you wanna come with?" he asked darren with a grin as he zipped his jacket around him.

"nah man, you're with y/n," he answered. "no way in hell she's getting off now. this is just the beginning."

"what?" jake asked with furrowed brows.

"you'll see," gideon laughed as he pulled josh up from the water. josh smiled, gesturing a hand to the tube where you laid with a stoic expression.

"all you buddy."

jake joined you, laughing at the look of pure concentration on your face. "you good, darlin'?"

"we ain't falling off of this," you told him strictly. "promise me that."

"alright, alright," he laughed as darren and gideon pushed you both out. "any technique to it?"

"when it drifts your way, lean mine and vice versa. hold on tight, keep your body to the tube so you ain't hitting mine, and well, just buckle in," you answered.

"shouldn't be too hard. i mean, you did it," he told you with a smirk.

"that was easy. i have a feeling now that you're out here with me we're in for it," you told him, watching logan carefully. your eyes widened. "hang on!"

you both got thrown forward with a jolt, jake barely able to keep himself forward as he threw his head up with wide eyes. logan took a sharp right, making you skid your way. you leaned into jake, him leaning his way as to keep y'all from tipping.

"what the hell?!" he cried as logan turned the other way, requiring jake to dig himself into your side.

"exactly!" you yelled back. the waves were aggressive, but in the wake they were calmer, allowing you to breathe a bit as he straightened out. "oh shit."

"what?" jake asked quickly, looking to you. "he's slowing down. isn't that a good thing?"

"he's making bigger waves," you told him, eyes widening as you watched the water. "incoming!"

the tube went flying upwards and you screamed, hanging on tight. when you hit the water again, you nearly ended up with your face in jake's shoulder and an instant black eye, but you managed to straighten out before you gave yourself said black eye. you hit another, and another, and another before he stepped on the gas and you began skidding to the side, exiting the wake.

"this is crazy!" jake yelled.

"i know!" you yelled back.

"but fun!" he had a wide smile on his face as the wind whipped through his hair and for the first time in years, you began to see the tubing experience as maybe something other than a competition with your brothers.

"yeah, i guess so!" you called back through the sounds of the water. he yelled in delight as you caught some air again and you watched his smile grow again, his eyes wide in excitement.

you smiled as you hit the water again, skidding back and forth. on one particularly long turn, you had to grab onto jake's front handle, the man resorting to his two side ones. this put you two incredibly close to each other, both pretending not to notice as you held on for dear life.

you laughed when you hit another large wave, eyes on jake instead of the water as he whooped loudly, hand in the air excitedly.

logan turned the boat sharply as a nearby boat drove by, creating even more waves for you and jake to hit. you groaned as you went through what felt like a washing machine, your stomach hurting as you continually slapped against the surface of the tube. and then, you hit the biggest wave you swore you'd ever seen, earning a scream.

jake was laughing as your hands slipped from the grips and you both went flying, dropping into the water with large splashes.

you surfaced quickly, gasping for air and moving to pull your hair from your face. you choked up some water, coughing hard.

"jake?" you called, looking around for the man.

"right here sweetheart," he yelled with a laugh from behind you, already swimming in your direction. you were still coughing up water, having still been shrieking when you entered the water and causing you to breathe what felt like the whole lake in. his brows furrowed as he approached, grabbing you and holding you around the waist as you struggled to breathe again. "just focus on your breathing, i'm keeping you up," he told you. "yeah, just catch your breath darlin', it's alright."

after a few moments you began to breathe in shaky breaths without choking on water still in your lungs and you breathed out heavily, forehead resting on jake's shoulder as you did as he said. "catch your breath hun."

he had you perched on his knee practically when you finally were able to breathe again and the boat had pulled around completely.

"you alright?" joshua called with knitted brows.

"all good, just breathed in some water," you answered with a laugh. jake kept an arm around you as he swam to the back of the boat, hands on your waist as he pushed you up onto the surfdeck.

you stumbled onto the surfdeck, shaking your hands out from the pain your grip had ensured. darren held a hand out for tyler, pulling the man up next to you.

"you going again, y/n?" logan asked, turning to face y'all.

"nah, maybe later. all you darren," you said to the boy, taking off your lifejacket and sitting with a dramatic sigh onto the backseats. jake laughed, sitting next to you with an arm draped over the back of the leather seats.

"good run, y/n, that was fun," he told you.

"yeah, it was," you replied with a smile.

as logan took off with darren and gideon in tow, he and joshua exchanged wondering expressions with their wives who were lounging up front, kyrie having replaced your father after lunch. they only laughed and gestured to where you and jake were sitting.

you pulled your legs underneath you in a criss cross position, your knee jutting out over jake's thigh, the man sitting awfully close to you. almost instinctively, he rested a hand on your knee, his head tilting back as his eyes slipped shut.

you watched him for a few moments, a small smile pulling at one corner of your mouth, before leaning back into your seat and therefore into his arm. you tilted slightly, wedging yourself into the crook of his shoulder. jake seemed perfectly content with this, leaning his head on yours for a moment before leaning back into the leather seat once more.

"tired?" he mumbled to you, peeking one eye open.

"a bit," you answered with a small smile and content sigh. "thanks for keeping your promise and doing this all with me."

"easy promise to keep," he answered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. it sent a surprising jolt through your spine and your cheeks flushed, eyes flickering to where your sister-in-laws were watching with wide grins.

'told you so', kyrie mouthed to you.

you simply rolled your eyes in response before shutting them and leaning into jake's shoulder more, his hand coming up from behind you to mess with your tangled hair. he was not helping your case.

but you weren't sure you wanted him to.

by the time that darren and gideon returned from their tubing escapade, it was nearing dusk and obviously time to return to the beach, pack it up, and head home.

"tomorrow we'll try the murder tube," darren said with knitted brows and a dark grin as he looked to jake. the older man quirked his brow.

"murder tube?" he laughed.

"that one actually is fun," you told him, laughing. "you'll love it, i promise. you can fit like five people on at a time, it's huge and it's crazy fun."

"that's what the ladies say about me," jake mumbled so just you and apparently gideon could hear, your brother busting up laughing as you rolled your eyes.

"oh shut up, hangman," you told him, pushing him away before he pulled you back into his side. you didn't notice how his smile dropped a bit when you went back to his callsign or how it returned when you rested in his embrace again. of course you wouldn't notice. what you did notice, due to its obvious effect, was how his arm tightened around your shoulders and how he rested his cheek on your head again, squeezing your knee twice.

when you pulled up to the beach, you stood with a tired groan, grabbing jake's arm and pulling him after you.

"can you back up a trailer?" you asked as you caught the keys to logan's truck from where the man threw them before getting off and returning to his children who were busy playing in the wet sand with their grandma and barrett.

jake scoffed. "of course i can back up a trailer."

"listen for gideon yelling at you - he probably will. just listen and we'll be fine," you told him, pulling the boat off the beach and returning to the ramp. it only took a few minutes, your dad following you on the jetski with gideon behind him.

you floated by the ramp, handing jake the keys and sending him up to the black truck. he ran up and retrieved it, backing it down into the water.

it went surprisingly well given that it was his first time aiming a trailer into a large body of water, but anyone could tell that it wasn't his first time towing a trailer.

joshua hopped from the boat to retrieve his car and fetch his family, your dad doing the same after he and gideon got the jetski up into the back. you gestured your hand forward, telling jake to pull up the ramp. after you were farther up and parked in an extremely long spot, you retrieved your shoes and climbed down, jumping into the passenger seat.

"do we need to go pick them up?" he asked.

"no, josh and dad will just bring 'em back here and then we'll load up and head home again," you answered. "it'll probably be another fifteen minutes or so."

the silence that rested between you wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly comfortable. finally, jake let out a breath, looking at you with a hesitant smile.

"i had a lot of fun today," he told you.

you smiled. "i did too. i'm really glad you came, jake."

"me too," he agreed, his smile settling comfortingly. "and we still have two more days."

"well, now that you know how to do everything we can get into the real competition," you said with a smirk, laughing as his face fell.

"what the hell do you mean 'real competition'?"

"i'm joking, me and you will probably chill out the rest of the time. a few rides here and there, but everyone else will wanna try i'm sure," you laughed. he let out a breath of relief, smiling over at you.

"i thought you were serious for a second. i like that your family is competitive, but i don't know if i could take any more of it," he told you.

"the hangman seresin scared of a little competition?" you gasped dramatically. "i'm telling rooster."

he furrowed his brows deeply. "how do you know rooster?"

"i've been on different deployments, seresin," you laughed. "i've heard about your little rivalry from the chicken man himself. haven't decided who's better yet, though."

jake smirked, leaning closer to you. "i think you know."

"do i?" you hummed, trying to hide your smile and failing.

"you will by the end of this trip," he promised. and if you weren't crazy - which you could be, his eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment. he leaned away again, his smirk changing into his average grin. "what are we doing for dinner tonight?"

"you and me are on our own, so i was thinking spaghetti?" you suggested. "or i've got some stuff for shepherd's pie."

"you really said spaghetti when we could have shepherd's pie?" jake asked, shaking his head. "let's do that."

"it'll take longer," you warned.

"all the best things are worth the wait," he hummed, eyes on you for far longer than you liked.

soon enough, everyone was piled back in their respective vehicles, you and jake in the bed of the truck once more, your head on his shoulder as you fought sleep. his arm wrapped around you snugly and he whispered for you to take a nap if you could, sealing your slumber with a kiss to the top of your head.

when you finally got back to your house, jake instructed you to go upstairs, change, and shower. you lazily listened, appreciating the warm water that washed away the grime that came from the lake.

when you stumbled downstairs in your american flag sleep shorts and shirt, you were surprised to find him still in his swimshorts and a shepherd's pie in the oven. he set the timer before sighing contentedly.

"did you seriously make dinner?" you asked, surprising the man and making him turn around quickly.

"yeah," he answered with a shrug. "feel better?"

you hummed a 'yes'. "you should go take a shower. i'll watch the timer."

"if you insist," he answered, pressing a short kiss to your forehead as he passed you on his way to the stairs.

now, you weren't a stranger to the occasional hangman kiss. it was his favorite way to show you affection in silly moments, but he'd never actually been serious about it. with all the touching that had happened over the course of the day, you began to wonder what his intentions were now.

in all honesty, probably nothing changed, but even the idea that something had stirred something inside you that scared you to death.

you scrolled your phone until jake returned, his hair clean and damp. he walked towards you with a smile, a top gun shirt over his torso and some basketball shorts completing the outfit. he rounded the bar, standing a bit away from you as he squinted his eyes to look into the oven.

"timer go off yet?" you glanced at the oven for the fortieth time with a shake of your head.

"i think the navy's conditioned you into short showers," you told him with a short laugh. "i haven't been so lucky."

"no, you take forever," he said, pointing a finger at you and copying your laugh.

"it's relaxing, okay? i need some me time after spending the whole day with you," you told him, a smirk pulling at one corner of your lips. he rounded the bar, passing behind you and stopping momentarily to whisper in your ear - "you love me."

just then, the timer rang through your kitchen and you rolled your eyes, willing the light flush on your cheeks to fade. "i can't wait for this weekend to be over."

#top gun maverick #glen powell x y/n #glen powell x reader #glen powell #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #top gun imagine

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rookiesbookies · 5 months ago

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please please please write a piece where sex doll soap is dominant please please please

also how does this work? is he sentient? does he have emotions? is he ai?

if you dont want to write a pt II id also take a sex doll price

You got Sex Doll Price! Bingo!

So I saw your question and I outlined how it works more in this post (if you havent seen it) and Im getting ready to write the Konig piece, however I want to make it really special so im going to hype it up a bit more and here’s a Price one because I felt like writing him!

I totally forgot this was in my drafts btw

Price’s story of getting bought goes much like all the other’s. His lady is lonely one night, flips through some infomercials because there’s nothing good on and she figured they’d be entertaining she guessed? It was a better idea than Steinfeld reruns for the fifteenth time, and nothing streaming was updated or good. It was a rare mood.

It came on for the dolls and she fell in love with the way he moved, smiled, his eyes. It was like the tv knew how much she loved the soft eyes of an older man.

She slid off her couch and onto the floor before she punched in the number on the phone to call, saying she wanted Price.

It took time before he was there. She felt different, he has been marketed as a companion robot on the tv. One that could walk, talk, cook, clean. It would be nice having someone to take care of the house while she was at work.

When the mystery box was on her doorstep with the gibberish, she assumed what it was based on the size.

It took a long time of struggling to get it through the door. She tore into it almost immediately. She didnt even get him out of the box before she planted a soft kiss to his lips, just as the commercial said. His eyes fluttered open and she was met with the same soft eyes she first saw.

He was swift. Reconnecting his lips to her and moving out of his box without much effort. She slid back to make room for his large form, when she hit the wall he crawled over her.

“I was told you were a companion,” she said softly eyes, trained on his lips then flicking up to his eyes.

“Companions do lots of different things. There are plenty of different types of companions, love.” His rough hands came up to her face, thumb grazing over her lower lip. “It just so happens to be my directive to be a certain kind of companion.”

Her body felt like it was on air the whole time, like her nerves were cushioned by personal clouds as he worked.

He was swift, putting her on her hands and knees before working off her pants and underwear. His mouth connected with her lower lips and began work. He was delicate but hungry.

Once he got her what he deemed wet enough he used his knee to move her thighs apart, pulling his pants down.

“Breath, love.” He whispered sweetly into her ear after spitting into his hand, rubbing it over his cock, “remember to breath.”

He let it rest in her for a long time. She fell onto her forearms, debating letting her mouth hang open so drool could fall.

He was rhythmic and juicy. Everything she imagined. She was so high up she almost didn’t register she was about to cum until it happened. He didn’t seem to orgasm, surprisingly, but he didn’t seem to care, maybe he did - well she had no clue. He picked her up and wondered her home until he found the bathroom, drawing her bath before washing her gently and putting her to better not long after drying her.

Worth every penny.

#cod x reader #call of duty #captain price #captain john price smut #john price x reader #lieutenant price #price mw3 #cod price #price mw2 #price x reader #captain john price #john price

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moonieandi · 8 days ago

Text

corners and walls | silco x f!reader

Summary: the grief of loss shakes apart the friends of four, leaving silco and her to pick up the pieces of the complex affliction between them

warnings (TW): slight spoilers for arcane season ii//act ii, swearing, mentions of death, alcohol mentioned, general trauma, violence (implied)

tags: established relationship, honestly for once NOT dumbasses, angst… comfort?, affection

notes: i think this is a oneshot. Im not completely sure (im kinda maybe sure) that this is a oneshot… im allowed to write about my interests! (pt 11 of snapshots in my drafts rn its a complicated ch im wrestling w myself about posting)--- but im in arcane brainrot…. I love dissecting it and unfortunately for all of u i LOVE silco……… hes a questionable character…… but the way the action of season ii is going i need something familiar in my life while looking at (doomed) victor/jayce (heavy sighs) — if u don’t wanna read i understand this is a moonie want (and need) — love youuuuuu <3

word count: 2.6k

| masterlist |

There were corners of her he did not know.

Folds of her linens and clothes he moved to uncover in the past months. She was quiet, silent in the visage he had drawn of her, but stubborn (something familiar) and something of great consistency to him.

It was hard to quantify her, easier to dismiss. She was not special. Of common stature and of common shape. Plain colors adorned her closet, plain and even temperament, plain tone, and of plain face.

That is what they would say when uncovering her past. Now that she was part of this mess, part of the mess he had sheltered her into (part of the mess Vander had shepherded her into). The dream of a larger nation, of overarching architecture and structure and reasoning. A voice, they figured between the four of them, a voice that would listen and learn and speak loudly in the face of the injustices they had survived and crawled through.

But he figured they would only comment on her appearance, perhaps. Of her coal stained shoes and the dirt under her picked nails.

They would not know the woman behind it all. Would not know of Felicia either (now). Not with the violence inflicted on the bridge. Not with the weapon staining his hand (an accident he had sworn to them both).

He knew of the woman before him though, knew of her mind and spite and grit. Knew of her work and the lengths and dredges she had come from. Knew of her grief. Something he sequestered in the back of his mind. Survive survive survive. She had once compared Zaun’s residents to roaches. Unkillable, dirty, and strikingly annoying. She meant it in an endearing way, she had to. She was a roach too.

It was a different kind of insect, a different animal, that drove him to draw a gun on the woman he loved so dearly. He wouldn’t have thought to wrap a finger around the trigger if it weren’t for the feral instinct of preservation. He could discern danger like a sense, it came as easily as smell, as sight, as breathing. But it had him stuttering now, seeing her on the other end of his warranted violence (was it warranted?).

She was a structure of poise, like usual. Another reason to keep the gun drawn to her. The silence in her acceptance of his decision. He knew though, that if they both survived the grief of his mistake she wouldn’t forgive him- never forgive him for registering her as a threat. How could she be?

He had been waiting for the retaliation. He hid away in corners and along dark walls in wait. He waited for Vander to seek a sort of violence in him, the last violence the large man would ever do. Seek blood in the name of their shared friend, for the orphans he made. He was sick, sick with the thought of it most days. But composed, up until this point. Up until Vander used his last facilities to shake his roach of a mind from the corners of the nation they once dreamed of in the depth of caves and between stone-cold walls. She was it, was that thing that would make him waver, and he knew that.

She had her palms raised, hands shaking. But composed, as usual. It was hard to shake the structure of her. She was rarely surprised by violence, much less the plights of men. She wasn’t quick to anger, wasn’t weepy at the thought of destruction, and stood as strong as cavernous walls, sturdy against the infrastructure of the Undercity. He admired that, he loved that.

She had only shaken a total of three times, in front of him. Only bent her head and neck and bowed before him in emotion all of three times. Imprinted in his mind, the cascade of her hair, the shaking of her shoulders, and the sightless grief in her eyes.

The first was the first time he truly saw her. She consumed herself with work. Whether it be their laborious job in the mines or the turmoil of finding justice in an unjustified upbringing. She had broken one day, that very first day.

She was a sightless, unknowing girl in the crowd. But something about her hunched structure had struck him differently that day. He was younger then, only twelve. He knew of empathy but had yet to experience it. But he was shackled by it then, that day, when he first saw her. Hands bloody through her miners' gloves, shoes holey from the trek to and fro. She was younger, by a year or two. It was not unusual to find distressed children in the Undercity, perhaps more common than people would like to comment. Children, like they were, grew along the walls and innards of the city, meshed into stony hallways and bridges, faded into noise and paint of the background. It should go unnoticed by most, a crying child. But it struck him differently, then.

The second, the day she confessed unfounded feelings. Years in the making, the dredges of the relationship between them. Even now, he could not comprehend the strings that were strapped between them. It was more than stuttered words and whispered confessions. It felt undying between them, an acceptance.

She had been confused at the progression of their relationship, as was he. No reference to be found between them of a structure to hold their relationship. They took it in stride, took and molded their wants between them to breathe easily. Wind through a metal chime, ultimately peaceful, but prone to knots. Their strings overlaying, knotting, tightening. He had never thought to unweave them when he fled. The tug of knots and her heart led her back to him anyway.

The third time would be now. The shake of her hands and the draw of her legs. The shimmering tears rounding along her chin. She was beautiful. She never liked when he said so, but she was captivating. He didn’t enjoy seeing her cry, it unsettled a deep dark part of him. One he would crush and stamp down, that domineering possessive part of him. He thinks of drawing the gun to his foot, squeezing the trigger at his incompetence and attitude to make her cry (this was the second time now, he swore, two strikes in the threads between them).

“Please.” She never pleaded. “Please Silco, come home.” The grit of her teeth against a stutter, the shuddering of her breath in the cavities of her chest. Grief, unfounded.

“You know I can’t, dear.” Too quick for his liking, he responded. He had backed himself into a dark corner, grown leaves into walls, and hid in shadows of the Undercity bridges now. It would have to be without her though, he grieved again. He had sunk so far into the stones, in the murky water of the Undercity, it wouldn’t be safe for her to follow.

“I’m sorry.” An afterthought. A forethought. What he apologized for was lost between the notch of string on his belt and the thread leading back to her shirt. Was it for Felicia? His grief? Or was it for leaving her? (Was it for the children? For the young girls that remember his visage in Felicia’s home? For the blue-haired pixy girl that asked for him between shattered bombed dreams? The girls she shushed and rocked and cried to sleep?)

She liked to think it was for all of it. Her stupid heart forgave him anyway.

She was far from naive, far from gullible.

She knew of men and violence and dark waters by the ripe age of nine. Something she would teach Felicia’s daughters now too. It was why she lived, why she breathed still, her unwillingness to bend and snap her neck in the face of shadows and men. But she had forsaken that for him, craved a subjugation in his waters, and wished to follow him up ivy walls and read the ink scrawled on his stupid notebooks. Wanted to breathe life into his ideas and into Zaun. She’d follow him into the dark, knowingly leaving the unsaught dawn behind her.

She only bent because she knew the power between them was equal though. She was sure of exactly three things when it came to Silco.

The first being that he was flippantly deep. That he thought not in breaths but in paragraphs. That he could not speak but write for hours on end, that he could comprehend and listen and swallow and accept, and that he did not react in haste. He was full of purpose and determination. It was more than endearing, almost blindingly inspiring that he wished for not better but only ever the best.

The second being that he was a perfectionist. That his scripture was scrawling and hard to read, but comprehensive. That he enjoyed messes only because he enjoyed the meticulousness of planning and cleaning up. That he loved the structure of homes and corners of houses and the craft of cleaning something that was truly his.

The third being that he loved of equal measure, that she was most sure of, could recognize in the dead of the night, in the depth of caves. That he was severely serious when it came to the strings strung between them, and not because of the disorder of them. He would have color-coded, would have untwisted knots, and lengthened rope if he wanted to. But that was the truth of it, that he was the farthest from a perfectionist when it came to love. That he didn’t measure distances and didn’t note words between them, because he threw away the scale of them long ago. Pulled her close, twisted words between them, and sang and hummed to her in crooks of her neck. That he wished for her continued safety above anything, and far above his own. She knew for a fact, was sure of it as she was of the red-pitched brick outside the bar. It was as cumbersome as the smoggy sky, but as easy to swallow as any dark liquor. That he loved her in dark corners that made him.

But there were dark corners of her he did not know of yet.

That the consuming grief of her long-time friend sent her into a rage, that the stabilization and measurements between them fell and broke when he was not there for her to confide in. She wished above all else that he had stayed, that he had faced Vander’s anger. She had stayed, breathed, and swam the storm of their mutual friends' grief. Stayed for the children and for their grief also. Did that make him a coward?

“For what.” She asks, the caverns of her lungs shaking now. Her hands weak, falling to her side. “Don’t say that, don’t say that if you don’t know what for.” It was senseless and miscalculated of him to say sorry. He is so purposeful, so full of preserverations. She just wished he did not feel he had to preserve himself in the face of her.

The gun shakes now, dropping to his side, his finger poised along the trigger still. The depth of the scarcity of her image still shook him. It had been weeks, what felt like months since he’d seen her face.

He had seen her in crowds, seen the children marking her frame and clutched in her arms. It shook him to not wake up to her face anymore, much less her smell or her frame or her voice. Her face though, the visage of tears and the weakness of her arms, awoke something in him.

He had to remember himself, why he left. To build a nation, to structure a future for her. For the new shadows of Felicia that followed in her wake now.

“Everything.” He meant. “For everything, my love.”

She sighs deeply, tired. Her head tilting to the left on instinct. Powder made a home in the crook of her neck most nights now.

It was striking to see him. She dreamed of him between nightmares and dreamless sleep. Dreamed of waking up to him, of the quirk of his lips and the crook of his nose. The smell of him and the warmth of his embrace. The fold of his jacket around her shoulders and the breath of a kiss along her brow. When she woke she could not decide the ups and downs of walls, couldn’t decide if it was a tortuous nightmare to be awake or to be asleep.

It strikes her when he steps forward from the shadowed corner she had backed him into. His hair is longer, his eyes deeper and darker, his clothes caked with dirt. She thinks to be insistent again. Thinks of bringing him home despite Vanders’ anger, despite the grief they shared between them. But wasn’t Silco grieving also?

He approaches with stuttering steps. Unsure of the length of strings between them, grasping her to tie her tight again to him, when he reaches for the curve of her cheek and jaw.

“Don’t cry.” He commands for the third time in her life, sweeping his thumb and fingers along her wet cheeks. She shutters around it, breathing between the mess of string and space between them.

“Good.” He hums, bringing his fingers to the nape of her neck, curving her neck up in revelation. He bends his own in subjugation to her, curving his shoulders and bowing to her visage to meet familiarly between them. Curving his slight frame and lips against her own warmth, the common parts of her beat faster at the affection. It burst between them, the movement of endearment and familiarity. She forgot about this above all, missing the plainer parts of life you don’t know to miss until they are gone.

She’d miss him again and again, would string along strings and set fires in dark paths and along walls searching for him. They’d say goodbye now, and say goodbye again once she traced him back down to the cobblestone he had slid into and out of. She’d look for him in architecture and in the children of the Undercity, she’d swear and kiss away it all now, though. Anything to push off the knots between them, anything to stop a stuttering goodbye between them that was as inevitable as her own death. A thousand of them, these tiny goodbyes, she’d take though, if it meant he lived.

Lived farther down below than she’s ever been. But then again, there were corners and foothills in her mind he did not know of, yet.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane silco #silco #silco x reader #arcane imagine #arcane fanfic #lmaoooo sorry yall

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iamyourdailydoseofbi · 5 months ago

Text

( ✧ MY MASTERLIST! ✧ )

[ Will be updated in time, so be sure to check / refresh ] Some will not have links as they are not posted yet.

Want to know where else you can find me? Here.

Tips and tricks for baby writer's. Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON.

"The only thing that could tear down the house of the dragon was itself.." [ Mix of HOTD and Modern AU ]

Aegon II Taragaryen - "The Upsurger King"

"Let the ravens fly that the realm may know the pretender is dead, and their true king is coming home to reclaim his father's throne."

The History Book on the Shelf. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5

Promise not to drop me? Only a fool would drop you. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Wanna wrap my hands around your neck. ( Complete )

Pt 1

Pt 2

Will you pray for me? ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Like real people do. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

In the dark of the night.

Run rabbit, run run run.

A glimpse of us.

Oh, who is she?

From my blood, comes your ruin.

The worst guy to share a blunt with.

Money, Money, Money, must be funny in a rich man's world.

Aemond Targaryen - "The One Eyed"

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

The Baratheon Curse. ( Complete )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

A game I couldn't lose.

Don't touch what is mine.

S-I-M-P

Either way what bliss.

I was gone for five fuckin' minutes.

Helaena Targaryen - "The Dragon Dreamer"

"It is our fate, I think, to crave always what is given to another. If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away."

Small council, cherry tarts and dragon dreams.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

You have so much to do, and I have nothing ahead of me.

Alicent Hightower - "The Green Queen"

"The city is yours, Princess. But you will not hold it long. The rats play when the cat is gone, but my son Aemond will return with fire and blood.."

I hope the guilt kills you.

Jacaerys Velaryon - "The Lord Strong"

"For my mother, for my family, I will fight till my last breath.."

I don't want to be his Queen, I want to go home.

THE CONQUEROR REBORN. [ A HOTD FANFIC ]

"Twas' a tangled web Roselyn Hightower found herself in. Weaved so intimately with Aegon and Helaena Targaryen."

Chapter / Excerpts.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Book Info.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Edits.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

THE PINK PONY CLUB. [ A HOTD x MODERN AU FANFIC ]

"In every other universe, Roselyn Hightower would find Helaena Targaryen and Aegon Targaryen. And in every other universe, it does not end well for them."

Chapter / Excerpts.

1 2 3 4

Book Info.

1 2 3 4 5

Edits.

1 2 3

DEAD FICS / I WILL NEVER WRITE FOR THESE FANDOM, CHARACTER'S, ETC. AGAIN.

Wednesday [ TV Show ]

Watch my heart burn. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

House of the Dragon.

Burn. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

By your side. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Six of Crows. [ TV Show ]

When your older. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Haven't I given enough?

Percy Jackson.

I just died in your arms. ( Complete & Discontinued )

Pt 1 Pt 2

Old enough to understand.

Close your eyes.

The Boys.

Doin' Time.

A leap of faith.

The other woman.

The Walking Dead.

5 stages of grief.

The Hobbit.

Never trust a spell.

----

Tell me if you see any errors and I'll fix them asap!

#house of the dragon #house of dragons x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd imagines #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen #hotd imagine #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #the boys #the hobbit #percy jackson x reader #six of crows x reader #the walking dead x reader #wednesday x reader #masterlist #masterpost

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nebulaafterdark · 13 days ago

Text

Dragonseeds (Pt. 2)

Summary: If any man can claim a dragon, what good is the blood of Old Valyria?

Aegon Targaryen ii x Velaryon(Cole)!Reader

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, smut

Part 1

On the day Y/N Velaryon was born, King Viserys hosted a grand feast in her honor. On her twenty fifth name day, Rhaenyra sends similar gifts to King’s Landing, to feed the smallfolk. News which is ill received by her mother by law, Alicent.

“The King and Queen are missing, rest assured we are doing all we can to locate them, your Grace. Still someone must rule in their stead.” Ser Criston suggests, “a regent to guide us through their safe return.”

“A wise thought.” Alicent nods, “might I suggest myself?”

The members of the small council can hardly answer the dismissal of Rhaenyra’s claim by raising up a woman of their own.

The councilmen are inclined to believe they must first search of evidence of foul play. Though Ser Otto is not convinced. Pulling his daughter aside to scold her.

“These are the very same children who made themselves easy on the morning of her brother’s petition as heir of Driftmark. They are insolent and foolish but they do hold one thing dear and that is the other, and their children. They cannot see beyond their own desires.”

“You wished for Aegon to be king.” Alicent murmurs, “I’ve made him king.”

“I take full responsibility for my part in this, daughter.” Otto sighs, “knowing what I do now, it should have been Aemond upon the throne. He is closer in age to Rhaenyra’s daughter, he would not have been so pliable beneath her unyielding hands.”

“You could not have known for certain.”

“Everyone knew.” Otto admits. “To have Y/N is to have Aegon. He bends the knee to her and her whims because he…” loves her.

“Aemond might’ve fallen prey to her charms all the same. Y/N is not cold, calculated or cunning. She is only a girl, desperate to win her mother’s affection by any means necessary.” Alicent knows the role well.

“I want my mother.” Y/N pleaded with her midwives during her first labors.

Alicent developed a quiet fondness for her daughter by law in those days, more than she cares to admit.

————————————————————————

Princess Y/N and Prince Aegon are made comfortable upon their arrival, accepted with open arms by their Queen and left to their own devices.

Y/N and Aegon know little entertainment besides court…and the familiar comfort of the other. Without meetings to attend and their children still abed, they have no choice but to indulge.

Aegon finds his face between her thighs, drawn in like a moth to flame. Gods, how he loves her. Spelling it out over her pearl time and time again.

“Fuck,” Y/N cries, rolling her hips up to meet him.

Aegon’s hands encircle them, wide and full to bear his children. She finds her peak against his tongue, thighs clenched taut around his head.

They scarcely notice the door of their apartments creaking open until Rhaenyra is in their bed chamber. “Oh!” The woman shields her eyes.

“Mother,” Y/N gasps. Pulling the coverlet up to her chin.

“Forgive me. I thought you might be alone.” Aegon had been given his own chambers.

Aegon moves up toward the pillows, popping his head out from beneath the covers. “Did you need something?”

Rhaenyra huffs, “I need my daughter and heir, yes. We’ve much to discuss.”

“Of course, mother.” Y/N nods, “give me a moment to make myself decent and I will meet you in your rooms?”

Rhaenyra nods, before rushing out to the safety of the nearest corridor.

“That ought to keep her from barging in unannounced.” Aegon muses, brushing sweat damp hair from his wife’s face.

“You find it funny that my mother now knows of our…intimacies?” Y/N snaps.

Aegon chuckles, “I’m afraid she has known, darling girl.” He passes a hand over the swell of her belly. “Everyone knows, I fear.”

Y/N groans, burying her face in her hands.

“Do not despair, my dearest love.” Aegon murmurs, “you have laid your line of succession strong enough that no man may question it.”

Y/N nods, as his forehead rests against her temple.

“At all of five and twenty, you have provided the crown with nearly six heirs.” Aegon reminds her, “you have performed your duty. There is no shame in it.”

“When I was a girl, I thought we’d fly away on dragon back.” Y/N whispers, tracing the lines of his face with her finger.

Aegon smiles, “and where would we go?”

“Away on a ship somewhere, to live off the sea. We’d spend the rest of our days singing sea shanties, eating only cake…and fish, of course.”

Aegon chuckles, “of course.”

“We’d be free of all this.”

“We will never be free of this.” He understands better now, what it meant each time she took his body in her own to create life. The way they unknowingly sealed their fate with each kiss.

“Do you wish to be, husband?”

“I wish for your happiness and that of our children. The rest matters little and less.”

“You matter to me a great deal.”

————————————————————————-

“In your absence, Jacaerys and I have set down a difficult path…where it seems we now differ in opinion.” Rhaenyra informs her daughter. “As my successor, I must now raise the matter with you.”

“Of course.” Y/N nods.

“To stand against Vhagar, even with Sunfyre and Stormborn now amongst our ranks, we will need more dragon riders.”

“Our children are very young, their dragons still wet from the egg. It may be a decade or more before they take to wing.”

“You agree then, something else must be done about our numbers?” Rhaenyra asks.

Jace shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists.

“What do you propose?” Y/N wonders.

“There are many in our line who’ve…ventured outside their marriage bed. Those children have lived largely in the shadows, but they share the blood of the dragon.” Rhaenyra continues, choosing her words carefully.

“Surely there are those from our line who married into other noble houses-”

“We have lost Ser Stephen to such a venture. I fear the blood may be too thin.” Rhaenyra laments, toying with her rings.

“You disagree, Jacaerys?”

“When one of those baseborn, silver haired, dragon riders decide they want to rule the seven kingdoms, where does that leave you?” Jace turns to his sister. “They will leave you clinging to Aegon again, in hopes of becoming Queen. Even then they may question your claim.”

“I appreciate your concerns, you are ever vigilant.” Y/N takes his hand in hers, “I appreciate it more than you will ever know.”

“Of course.”

“I ask you now, brother, what other choice we have?”

“Together with Sunfyre, Vermax, Stormborn and Syrax do you not believe we stand a chance against Vhagar?”

“A chance, yes.” Y/N agrees, “but to put the people I hold most dear in danger for a chance? I can do no such thing in good conscience.”

“You are putting your claim in danger, perhaps your very life. Are you so blind you cannot see it?” Jace snaps.

“Better my claim be lost than any of you.” Y/N says, pointedly. “I want to be Queen. I have wanted it from the time I was a child and it was impressed upon me to want. Clinging to it like some prized possession. I married for it, birthed children for it. I was left behind in King’s Landing when I was no more than a child, to hold my place in our grandsire’s court while the rest of my family abandoned me for Dragonstone. I have given all that I am or ever hoped to be to hold this claim. Still I will choose any of you over a crown.”

“You should never have had to do that.” Jacaerys reminds her.

Rhaenyra runs a hand over her own face. “I did not mean for you to feel abandoned.”

“I know that, mother, and I do not fault you for it.” Y/N assures her, “you do what you must to protect-”

“Cole promised he would care for you, I should never have trusted him. I should have taken you with me, as I wanted. You wrote to me often enough that I forced myself to believe you were happy.”

“Cole did care for me, as best he could.” Y/N assures her, “I only meant…”

“You meant what you said.” Rhaenyra understands, “and rightfully so. I have made many mistakes in this life, most regrettably, with you. They have cost you more than even I understood, until now. Leaving you was the hardest thing I have had to do in all my years. I am sorry for it.”

“Mother, I do not fault you for decisions you made to protect me. You did the best you could.”

“I did not do enough, it seems.” Rhaenyra pats her cheek. “All the more reason I must do what I can for you now.”

“If you believe this is the way, then I will help you see it through.” Y/N decides, “tell me what I must do.”

“Nothing yet, the Lady Mysaria has already sent word to King’s Landing.”

————————————————————————-

When they are excused by the Queen, Jace makes haste towards his quarters.

“Jace,” Y/N calls. “Jacaerys!” She says a bit louder the second time to be sure he’s heard her.

“I wish for a moment alone.”

Y/N closes the distance between them. “I do not pretend to know what has happened here in my absence. But what I will tell you is that when Aegon and I first wed, he would not lie with me. After seeing Helaena birth her twins, he could hardly stomach it. He waited and waited.” Y/N confesses, “I too was frightened of the birthing bed.”

“You were a child.” Jace reminds her, “you’d every right to be.”

“When I turned ten and six Otto Hightower began discussing his fear that I might be barren, with Alicent. This was kept hush, but the whispers trickle down, they always do.” Y/N swallows. “In noble families requiring an heir, it is not uncommon to receive…assistance. They wanted to bring in one of the serving girls for Aegon, if I could not conceive. But before that though, I’d be expected to lie with another in our line.”

Jacaerys can only gawk at her. “And did you?”

“No,” Y/N assures him. “But had I not conceived, it would have been expected of me.”

“With whom?”

“Aemond is my husband’s closest blood.” Y/N averts her eyes, “they knew he could sire children.”

“Did mother know?” Jace demands.

“Everyone knew, Jacaerys.” Y/N huffs, “she was prepared to fight for me, as she always has. But I do not care to admit the number of times I’ve envied you…simply for being born a son. We cannot fault our mother for doing what she must, she is choosing between the lesser of two rotten choices.”

“I could not have done the things you have, I wish more than anything that you did not have to do them. But you are just, in your morals and your mercy. So if you believe this is the way, I stand proudly at your side.” Jace assures her. It never mattered to either of them that different men’s blood courses through their veins. Being the eldest, they are the only ones to ever know. Even sweet Lucerys had no inkling.

“Thank you, brother.”

Taglist: @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @kamcrazy123 @barnes70stark

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #hotd smut #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #aegon ii #aegon imagine

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sleepyangelkami · 2 years ago

Note

pastors daughter was so good 😖😖 a pt 2 would be so cool 🎀🤍

PASTORS DAUGHTER II e.williams

☆ WORD COUNT - 5.4K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - ellie williams can't seem to stay away from the pastors daughter and a certain memory is engraved in both their minds. the only problem was, while one was all but drunk off the past image, the other was doing everything in her power to wash it away. luckily for them, one was much more intent on getting what they wanted than the other, so much so that it sufficed for them both.

☆ WARNINGS - homophobia, internal homophobia, kisses ;), religious 'trauma'?, reader being stupid asf, my shitty writing, innocence kink, corruption kink, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

series masterlist

ash/ashley = readers sister.

there were many things ellie williams felt that night, ecstasy, relief, pure and utter bliss. what she didn't think, however, was that it would lead to her sitting in a seat by herself in her kitchen, a hand on her forehead as she skimmed through her thoughts as if she were an absolute idiot. when her lips were on yours, wet kisses pushing roughly against your so obviously 'unkissed' pout. you were knew to it, never have kissed anyone before but how could you? when you wore a silver cross necklace so proudly, you spent most your time cooped up in the little church across the road, you couldn't ever have even gotten close enough. there was such pride that ellie had swooning through her as she placed the very first kiss ever on your lips. it was pure bliss, to finally get what she had wanted for so long, to have you right where she wanted. everything was... perfect.

until, you ran away.

almost a week had passed, no call, no text, not even a mumble of a hello in the hallway. you did everything in your power to run the opposite direction upon seeing ellie anywhere near you. suddenly, you had choir more often, you had violin class too, along with the many other clubs you had joined. suddenly, you spent near no time in your own house let alone when ellie was standing in it.

of course, guilt racked your thoughts. the way her face seemed to contort as you pulled away from her, making a sound that didn't sound as though you were happy. panic stricken face as you couldn't even look at her own heartbreaking one. guilt consumed you everywhere you went. when you sat inside a church, thinking of the very reason you had to run away, when you saw a couple holding hands knowing that it was only reminding you of ellie williams and when you saw her in the hall, when her face lit up at the sight of you and when you pushed yourself into the nearest cubicle you could find simply to avoid her.

but how could you face her now? knowing you had committed the very sin you had swore against every devil you would never do. how could you look at her knowing that every inch of you was aching to be with her, and that was so wrong.

a text caused your body to jolt ever so slightly, a vibration being sent through your leg as you glanced down at your phone in which was sitting in your lap.

it was english class and mr. lionel was currently giving out to three girls, they hadn't stopped talking upon entering the class and mr. lionel had just about enough. you glanced down at the phone, biting your bottom lip, surely, the man wouldn't notice. you had never exactly went on your phone in class, then again, no one texted you really aside from ashley but she never texted at this hour, no, she was either ditching school to sleep or in one of the classes she liked best, either way, she wouldn't be texting you at such a time. you chewed down on your bottom lip, the thought of getting caught, getting in trouble was enough to send your stomach pit falling down to your ankles. but you did, because lately you seemed to be doing just about everything you weren't supposed to. glancing down, you slowly turned your phone upwards so the screen was facing you and you could read the little words that littered across it.

unknown: hey this is max, listen i know everything happened between us but i need to see you. behind the school at 4:00. don't be late.

weird, you thought you still had maxine's contact saved but nevertheless brushed it off. your pit in your stomach grew, worsening as you opened the message to type back. you didn't want to meet her, if you did and by chance, your parents found out, you would never be let see the light of day again. but maxine needed you. and whether that was to help fix a problem or scream at her one last time you knew you owed her that much. so, you pattered your fingertips against the dark screen, ignoring the haunting feeling that someone may see you, guilt swarming your every move. you truly didn't know how to break the news to maxine and ruth that you were never permitted to speak to them again and while they seemed oh so understanding, you couldn't help the guilt that prodded against you as they hugged you for the last time. you also, as much as you'd like to admit it, couldn't keep the tears at bay that day.

"y/n." your eyes snapped towards your teacher, phone plopping back in your lap just as you sent the text through. he was giving you a suspicious eye, catching you on your phone. but he wouldn't humiliate you, not in front of your peers at least, no, he'd never, after all you were his favourite student. "can you tell me which poetic technique is shown here?"

"uhm." squirming in your seat as your eyes fell onto the board. "oxymoron, contrasting between the light and dark." mumbling so low he could barely hear you, but nonetheless he grinned and like that, he continued on with class, something you were oh so grateful for.

the end of school neared dangerously closer as you ended up in the front of maths class, scribbling down trigonometric ratios while your stomach twisted over and over, the thoughts of seeing maxine after school could only cause your brain to absolutely fry. you were thankful she had picked behind the school, no one went there after school so naturally it was the most private place to be, you wondered if she did that for you or for herself, so she could yell at you in peace. while you were sure you didn't wish to be yelled at you knew you deserved it. for the first time in that whole week, ellie williams wasn't on your mind, just those two friends that you missed ever so dearly and yet couldn't even communicate to.

as soon as the bell rang through your ears, you scooped up your pretty pink bag and stuffed all your belongings inside. with pencils almost falling out of your pencil case, you crushed everything together and zipped up your bag with great effort. you didn't so much as bid the teacher goodbye before you were on your feet, ignoring the way your mary janes skid across the hallway floors but instead focusing on how much faster you could get there, you didn't wish to be late. after all, she had specified you not do so. the school was large but thankfully you knew it like the back of your hand.

gripping the straps of your pretty bag against your shoulders, you all but ran toward the other side of the school. checking your back and over your shoulder you realised that no, you were not being followed just extra paranoid. how could you not? when you had practically burned bridges with just about everyone. you blinked heavily, readying yourself to turn the corner and be met with a very angry maxine.

you weren't met with an angry maxine because you weren't met with maxine at all.

ellie williams stood with her back to the wall, stomping out a cigarette with her foot. you stood frozen, eyes wide and at first you believed it could be some mistake, some mix up but by the way her eyes lit up when her head turned towards you, it certainly was no mistake. "y/n, you came."

you gave her a look with furrowed brows. "you pretended to be max." it wasn't a question, it was a statement.

ellie pushed her back from the wall, moving towards you. "look, i know it was fucked up, i know but y'wanna know what else is fucked up? ignoring me for a whole week." you looked around, hands holding yourself close as you hoped and prayed that no one saw the two of you conversing. something about standing with ellie made you feel so... filthy. "i mean what the fuck was that?" as bad as it sounded, the crude language felt so refreshing to hear tumbling from her lips.

your hands scratched at opposite arms. "ellie, we shouldn't do this here... now." any excuse to get yourself right out of this situation as fast as humanly possible. guilt swarmed your entire being. "i— i'm sorry, for ignoring you and for-" you sighed heavily, looking away while you fought back the burning in your irises. "for everything that happened." the wet, open mouthed kiss that made you forget jesus' name. "and i'm sorry but it's not gonna work." you were shrinking in on yourself, in your very own arms with a sad puppy look in your eyes, you bit down harshly on your bottom lip.

ellie watched you intently, arms to her eyes as she studied your own feeble ones, doing a rather shitty attempt at covering your body. "funny." she scoffed, eyes never leaving your own glasses over ones that couldn't seem to gaze into hers. "you were pretty sure it wasn't gonna happen before you kissed me too." eyes as wide as saucers, you swiftly turned your head around, worried someone may hear. you couldn't even begin to imagine what sort of reaction people would have to know that the pastors daughter had kissed a girl. "you wanna know what i think?" stepping closer to you as your breath caught in your throat, no you didn't want to know what she thought of the situation as you'd much rather there be no situation at all. "i think you're a liar." you swallowed harshly, mumbling a sheer 'stop' as she walked closer towards you. and yet, you made no movement to step back. "you liked everything about that night, admit it." her voice dropped as the dark clouds surrounded the sky seemed even darker, heavier. there was a sudden change in the atmosphere, one in which almost made you think a thunder storm was on it's way. "you wanted my lips on yours, to feel me against you, to soothe that ache between—"

she was caught off abruptly by you, who hadn't uttered a word but instead shot your hand forward instantly, shoving it over her mouth so she couldn't continue her sentence. upon shoving your hand on her mouth, you had Accidentally pushed her, she took the opportunity to seize your upper arms. she all but threw herself backwards, bringing you with her. her back hit the wall, you stood in front of her, eyes wide and breath picking up as your hand stayed on her lips, her hands on your arms.

you made a noise, one that told you and her that you didn't wish to move but you felt as though you simply had to. and she could understand, to a certain extent she supposed. you were good girl y/n who could never do any wrong, something about someone spotting you with her, the delinquent ellie williams, pressing her against a wall, was absolutely teeth rottingly addictive. she wanted someone to turn the corner, she wanted people to see, to know that the precious gem of the town y/n l/n was all hers and no one could do anything about it.

your breath slowed and your eyes racked over every perfect imperfection dotted on her face. her freckles looked lighter in this lighting and though you were a great deal smaller than her, your hand wound around the bottom half of her face easily. your chest heaved, as did hers and you could feel it. when she had practically thrown herself backwards she had let you stumble so far that you were chest to chest and horrendously flustered.

ellie however, seemed to be enjoying herself. you couldn't see her lips but you could feel her pretty smirk against the skin of your dainty hands, the way her brows relaxed and her sage eyes gave you this drunk look. to her, she did feel drunk, she was drunk off of you, your innocence, purity, kindness, your big bad secret that only she knew.

you blinked when you felt her hand against your face, though you didn't flinch nor recoil away, she saw that as a good sign. her tattooed arm was raised, hand slowly brushing against your soft skin. her thumb trailed across your cheek and towards your lips, dragging it against your pretty skin, you almost gasped out. you weren't doing this again, you couldn't.

the gentle yet sudden patter of raindrops against your head caused you to instantly pull away. "I— i have to go." you almost spat out in sheer panic. and for the second time, you ran away. but this time, ellie didn't call your name or run a hand through her hair with stress evident on her face, no.

ellie leaned against the wall, watching as you all but sprinted away from her, your pretty dress bouncing against the back of your legs, she wondered what color the fabric that sat beneath the dress was. she had this smirk on her face, one that you of course would have wished to wipe off more than anything but how couldn't she? she had seen that look in your eye, that unfamiliar lust filling your pretty irises as you raked your eyes over her face. the slight confusion to why you had felt this way and yet everything about you seemed so comforted by her and yet so so tense. she knew then and there that it was not over.

ellie still had a chance to change your mind.

"is daddy gonna go after church?" you questioned to your sister as you held the church baskets you had been cleaning close in your hands. it been three days since you spoke with ellie, it was a saturday, and it was the day that your sister and her school year had their parent teacher meetings. you were lucky, you had them at the very start of the year.

"yeah." she stomped on the cigarette and waited for it to grow damp in the soil. "said he's gonna bring mom too." this caused you to furrow your brows as you continued on your journey.

"but mama never goes to those things?" your mind couldn't stand the thought of ellie williams, how you had caved so easily. she had gotten so close to what she wanted and you couldn't let that happen. however, after three days of no contact, she no longer seemed to be around when you were, you supposed she had gotten the hint. you were relieved, to say the least and had repented for whatever sins you could that past week, however you couldn't stop that burning chest in your feeling when you thought of her. you wondered, what she thinking about you too?

your sister tsked. "yeah but they wanna get sympathy for having such a screw up of a daughter." she spoke with an almost sarcastic tone. "best way to do that is to talk to my teachers about how hard it is to raise me."

you gave her sympathetic eyes as you pushed the church doors open, mass would be starting any minute now. you were never late to mass, unless of course you walked with ashley, it happened to be one of those days. "you're not a screw up, ash." she gave you a ghost of a smile one that did not quite reach her eyes.

"thanks loser, 'ppreciate it." some said you were daises and the sun, and ashley was only orchids and the moon, a beautiful combination that never failed to amuse anyone. i mean, wouldn't it look odd? to see a girl with dark hair and hot pink highlights, chains on her jeans, her nails always painted black whether they were full or chipped, some form of polish always coating them. and then there was you, pretty natural hair sitting on your shoulders and always in a dress or a skirt, only wearing bright colors. you wore little to no makeup, not because you weren't allowed but because you simply weren't good at it. so, you opted for a natural face while your sister always had some form of eyeshadow on, her waterlines filled in black. "woah, what the fuck are you doing here?" you furrowed your brows at your sister, who was looking right over you. spinning around, you were not ready for the sight you were met with.

ellie williams cleaned up nicely when she wanted to.

she wore a brown button up and a jeans, her hair was freshly cut and her tattoo was on show. you had seen it before, of course, from the many short sleeves she wore around you however it had never been on display in front of your parents let alone in the church. speaking of which, she never came to church either. after the first night ellie had been begged to go to church with ashley, she swore off it, first, she almost dropped the baby jesus in which had been passed to her by ashley, then she had to shake a bunch of old women's hands during mass and was sat next to some kid who wouldn't stop touching her feet as they crawled around the kneeler, then she realised she couldn't even get a good view of you, the main reason she had stayed through the entire mass, because some old bald man had sat in front of her and stood too tall. she didn't go to church because she didn't believe in god too, that was a main factor she supposed. she shouldn't be here, you thought. not because she didn't deserve the right to worship the lord but because you knew by the way her eyes raked up your body that she was not here for a mass ceremony. "what? too late to get into heaven?" she shot you a glance, almost one of accusation. the truth was, you didn't think you were going to hell, how could you when you did just about everything for god himself. in fact, you were sure you were more religious than your father. but the bible was outdated, that was the reason there was a new testament. god wasn't going to punish you for feeling how you felt because if the story of god was true, he made you with every perfect imperfection, not that you'd exactly call such a thing an imperfection. sometimes, you wondered if your father truly believed that being gay was wrong because of god or if he was just hiding behind such a fact because he was scared that he truly didn't have a reason not to like someone for being such a way. "sweetheart." a smirk dancing on her lips as she nodded her head at you. yeah, she definitely did not get the hint.

you turned to your sister with a small huff. "could you put these by the benches, please?" she nodded, taking the baskets from your hands. "thank you." and you turned back to ellie williams. "you have mud on your nose." watching as her face scrunched up and her hand came up to wipe it away, her long fingers stretching— you shook your head free of the thoughts before scrambling up to the alter to get into the sacristy.

when mass started, you did everything in your power to avert your eyes from ellie williams, sitting so smugly in the audience. she knew what she was doing, spreading her legs apart with her elbows resting towards her knees, her eyes never left your face.

you, however, looked straight forward with your tight chest and mumbling words from time to time. you pretended to be interested in the sheet you were holding, following along the words in your mind as your father read them out from the top of the alter. he read smoothly, not a stutter in his voice. you longed to have such confidence, to not shake like a leaf when presenting a project, to have the confidence to look ellie fucking williams in the eye and not shy away, to have the confidence to admit it even if it was just in your mind that you felt the way you weren't supposed to. you liked the forbidden fruit. the words formed so clearly in your mind. i like gi— "and now may we rise for the holy communion." giving out holy bread, your eyes concentrated back on the task, that was you're job. well, you and three other people.

you all but scrambled towards the bowel in which held the holy bread, grasping it and going to the right of the alter, ashley went to the left and two of the church boys went to the middle, all with your own holy bread dishes. ashley was rolling her eyes, mumbling the words under her breath. one of the older women came up to her, instead of holding out their hands they opened their mouth, her eyes went wide and she turned towards you, giving you both a shocked and disgusted look. you gave her a warning look, gesturing towards your father who was watching her like a hawk. she grimaced before placing it inside the womans mouth.

giggling to yourself, you turned back with a grin on your face. it dropped suddenly at the sight of ellie williams standing in front of you, looking as innocent as ever (not). you gave her a stern look, as if to tell her stop playing her little games and especially here of all places. "body of christ." you mumbled beneath your breath as your hand moved towards the bowel once more, picking up a rounded piece of holy bread.

"amen." she said the word in the cockiest tone you had ever heard in your entire life. but you fought back an eye roll, instead you just held it up, ready to place it in her left hand, the idiot would probably hold out the right hand instead. you internally groaned, ready for her to show just how much she respects the religion. your expression blanked as she opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue. your breath stuttered, in front of everyone. no one was looking, no one cared. and yet you felt as though you were on stage with an enlarged audience.

your hand wobbled. "what are you doing?" you whispered to her, noticing how people were conversing, not bothering to glance at who was receiving holy bread and your father was too focused on ashley to so much as glance your way.

she smirked, closing her mouth momentarily. "getting my holy bread." she spoke as if it were painfully obvious. opening her mouth again, she flattened her tongue across her bottom lip, you pretended your chest didn't clench and neither did your thighs. you could imagine that tongue doing a painfully soft attack against your neck, that was all you knew could happen with a tongue. ellie, however, had many other things in mind of just where she wanted her tongue when it came to you. it was humorous, how your sinful thoughts were still somewhat innocent but ellie's... ellie's thoughts were nothing short of the devil herself's thoughts feulling into her brain. you placed the holy bread against her tongue, ignoring the way it wet your thumb ever so slightly. she closed her lips, giving you a smug type of look. "thanks, angel." and you were left with clenched thighs, dusty cheeks, flustered head and a ditsy feeling. you glanced down at the small patch of saliva on your thumb and all you could think about was that night.

"i— i think you should go." but you didn't want her to go, you really didn't want her to go.

"you wan't me here?" as a wet kiss came down to the skin of your neck, you gasped out, blinking. this was a dream, it had to be. you felt almost euphoric as her lips flattened against the crook of your neck, the way they kissed you so delicately as if you were made of glass. she moved her head back up almost instantly, as if her own actions weren't affecting her. her lips brushed against your own, so closely that you could taste her. "or here?"

you weren't proud of what you did next.

you didn't pull away nor make any attempts to get away, in fact, you reached your face up to meet her own. her face crashed down rather swiftly, so fast that you could barely register the way her lips rammed right into your own.

you had never kissed anyone before, never even thought of so aside from her. you breathed heavily, she swallowed your heaves and gasps into her own mouth, she pushed a hand up to hold your neck in place the other steady on your hip as her tongue pressed against your bottom lip.

this euphoric feeling hit you like a tonne of bricks, you suddenly felt that nothing was impossible, that this life for you was somewhat of an option. but it wasn't because euphoria doesn't last forever, it can't because there needs to be something to cancel it out so you get to feel that way. otherwise, wouldn't euphoria feel normal? that would mean that bad was despair and good simply wasn't enough. but this. this was too much.

you pulled away harshly, tears coating the glass of your eyes. " 'm sorry— 'm sorry i can't." and you ran. you ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs and right into your bedroom. you could still see that look of heartbreak on her face. you slid down the door, hand on your chest and knees bunched up. you were nothing short of an absolute idiot. you breathed heavily but this time there were no big soothing hands or the lulling that only ellie william's voice could control. you felt panic overcome you. you weren't gay. you couldn't be. and you certainly weren't falling for ellie williams.

oh, but you were, you were so desperately in love with her since the day you saw her and her stupid auburn hair or her stupid freckles, how about her stupid green eyes. stupid. stupid. stupid. but so lovely.

you sat inside your bedroom once more, fingers softly padding against your bottom lip. you were the stupid one, you were beginning to realise. it was just so hard. to love a girl so much and yet know that it was either her or everything you had ever worked for. that decision was already made, not by your father, your mother, your sister, ellie.... by you. you'd choose it over and over again.

you'd choose her.

a bang on your window caused you to jump harshly, twisting your whole body towards your window, it was dark out but you could make out ellie williams lean figure from a mile away. however, she seemed a little more entangled now. she was kicking a wire off her foot, cursing so loudly that you could hear her from the inside of your bedroom. what on earth was she doing? ashley was at the parent teacher meeting with your mother and father so it was only you inside the bedroom, alone, well, you supposed you weren't alone when you had the dits of a girl outside your bedroom window. "fuck! ow, ow!" as she almost face planted against your window. you had enough. you stood and rapidly scrambled towards the window, pulling it open and it seemed as though the girl hadn't been expecting it because she fell straight through it. "fuck, oh, that worked." she stood instantly, brushing off her jeans. she hadn't changed since the church, you, however, were already dressed in your silkiest pijamas. "hey, hello..." panting before straining her eyes back on you, she relaxed, a lazy smile on her face. "hi."

you almost laughed. almost. "do you know what time it is, ellie?" but you didn't seem mad, not by the way you shut the window for her to stay and took a seat on your window bench. she shook her head, eyes glancing around your childish yet pretty bedroom, right, she had never been in there. you silently cursed the stuffed animals sitting on your bed. her eye caught them and grinned. "aren't you supposed to be at the parent teacher meeting?"

"Oh, that shitty thing? hell no, joel already knows what a pain in his ass i am, he doesn't need to hear another ten people complain about it." waving her hand as she leaned against your dresses, glancing at the perfumes that drove her crazy whenever she passed you. "so... this is your bedroom."

she was stalling. "els?" she glanced up at the familliar nickname rolling from your lips. "what are you doing here?" she didn't respond and you fiddled with one of the stuffed animals that sat on your bench. "i don't think you should come back to the church, ellie?"

"why? because i'm gay?" as if it were an accusation, right at the fact that you too, somewhere deep inside you could admit, that you too shared the liking towards girls. and hey, you were the most popular church girl in all of your town. so why did sexuality have to define religion? short answer, it didn't, ellie knew you knew so too but she needed to know the truth, if her stares truly made you as nervous as yours made hers. she needed to know how you felt and what part she played in that.

you cocked your head to the side."no, ellie, because you're not there to 'get into heaven'." repeating her previous words back to her with a small scowl attached to your face. she wasn't there for god nor was she there for jesus. she was there for you. as much as you hated to admit it. it sounded absurd, something you never would have guessed. someone coming to church for you? it was surreal, even more so fact that she was a girl.

she tilted her head. "really? says who?" teasing. because that was just what ellie williams did best.

"ellie..." you trailed off, trying to find your words. the way her eyes raked up your body could only leave you standing silly. she knew the effect she had on you and she did it anyway, in fact, you were beginning to think that she did it because of the effect it had on you. "you don't believe in god." putting it in the most simple form you possibly could. not relating yourself. that alone was dangerous.

"no. but i believe in you." your eyes looked up. "if you're there. i'm there." your heart melted. you were on very dangerous ice ready to collapse at any second.

standing from the bench. "ellie—" she was quick to cut you off and for that you would be forever grateful.

"no." she shook her head. "i'm sorry, but we're not doing this again." she stepped closer, inching her way towards you. you could only breathe in, a sigh that you knew was coming, you knew this was coming.

and for the first time... you were ready. "okay." she inched impossibly closer. "but ellie..." you trailed off. "you have to know that if we start this— i- i won't be able to stop." god was going to punish you for this one.

"good." her hand was suddenly on your face, slowly tracing around your soft skin. "because i don't plan on stopping anytime soon, either." she leaned her face in closer, her breathe bore into your own, your head tilted up to meet hers.

this time, panic wasn't running through you, you had accepted your fate, the fact that you couldn't get away from ellie even if you tried because whether you liked it or not, you were so madly in love with your sisters best friend and that wasn't going to change, no matter how many times you sat at your bed on your knees, hands bound together and praying to god that he got rid of these feelings.

"y/n..." face so close you could feel her nose tip against yours.

you hummed, lips grazing.

" 'm gonna kiss you now." she mumbled.

"okay." you breathed.

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

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reareaotaku · 3 months ago

Note

Can I request Yandere gravity falls with bored reader who would jump to different alternative universe for the fun of it, unknowingly that everyone become very attached to them? (This can be romantic or platonic)

Reader is from the monster falls universe btw and currently visiting gravity falls (The og universe)

I hope this make sense👍

If my request too complex, you don't have to do it

Holy shit- I love this idea. I could literally write a whole story this

[I was going to have where reader jumps into the body of herself in alternate dimensions, but I decided not to...]

Pt II: _____ | Pt III: _____

All the people of Gravity Falls were monsters. At least, in your dimension they were. You weren't like that though- You looked... different than the creatures. You were a shapeshifter that's able to jump different dimensions. The shapeshifting was when you jumped into another universe, your body morphed to fit the dimensional plane.

You liked traveling different places. It was fun, while still staying familiar territories. You didn't stand out, so you can do anything you wanted and explore to your heart's desire. That was until you got to Gravity Falls- it was relatively strange... The creatures that hid in this Gravity Falls fit more in with the other dimensions you've been to then the actual people. They had no special abilities or anything.

You went exploring the town, but you had to be honest- This place was boring as hell. You sighed as you walked around the town, not watching where you were going and accidentally bumping into someone.

You were quick to apologize, before taking a good look at the man you had run into. He looked an awful like Dipper.

"I'm sorry," He begins, closing his book. "I wasn't paying attention." He puts out his hand, "I'm Dipper. You're not from around here, are you?"

"Uh, not necessarily. Maybe you could show me around?"

"Uh," He looks down at his book. Dipper realized that a pretty girl was asking him to show him around. He had to take this chance, especially since he knew the coolest things about Gravity Falls. "Yeah. I can show you around."

---

Dipper was exploring a pond that was located near the cave of the three-headed bear. He had realized that the pond wasn't normal. He looked at his reflection, but instead of seeing himself, he saw a creature- that looked like him, but also a deer?

He went to put his hand into the pond when there was a long CRACK. He looked back, but didn't see anything. He stands up and slowly goes towards the noise, only to be surprised when seeing a person crouched down.

He knew it was creepy to spy on someone, but this wasn't someone. This was different...

The creature stands up and h/l [Hair length] h/c hair flowed down and he realized it was a girl when she turned around. She looked just like him- Not like-like him, but human, though Dipper's monster radar was going off hardcore. He'd have to learn more about who and what this girl was.

---

"So, what brings you to Gravity Falls?" Dipper asks, while putting his book into his handbag. NOT a purse, but a handbag.

"Uh... What can I say. It reminds me of home," You chuckle at your joke, but Dipper was clearly confused. "I didn't tell you my name. I'm Y/n."

"Y/n? That's a nice name."

"It's definitely something. Is there anything fun to do in Gravity Falls."

"Depends. What do you like to do?"

You hum, before looking over at him, smiling, "Do you... Have any supernatural stuff?"

Dipper considered his words, humming to himself. "Well, depends. Am I looking at one?"

You turned to him not only confused, but taken aback by his bluntness. "I'm sorry."

"I saw you in the forest."

"Oh.." You laugh. "Yeah? What did you see."

"I know you're not... like me."

"How does that make you feel?"

He smiles, "Curious." He digs in his bookbag, before grabbing the journal he had been carrying before. "I want to know everything."

#gravity falls #monster falls #dipper pines #mabel pines #gravity falls x reader #mabel pines x reader #dipper pines x reader #stanford x reader #stanley x reader #stan x reader #female reader

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shadowtriovibes · 2 years ago

Text

pt. i: break a sweat

pt. ii: blood, sweat and tears || pt. iii: sweat it out || pt. iv: never let 'em see you sweat

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+, aged-up characters, explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV sex, dubious safe sex methods, even more dubious interpretations of how the room of requirement works

Summary: sebastian makes the house quidditch team after training all summer. before his first match, you let him talk you into a bet over its outcome that will in all likelihood ruin your friendship. (merlin, you sure hope it does.)

"Speaking of which," you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. "What prize will you not be winning?" Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, "I have something in mind." You force yourself not to get distracted. "Do tell." "If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game," he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

Seeing Sebastian for the first time since the end of your sixth year at Hogwarts is quite the shock.

You knew from his detailed letters that your dearest friend had spent the better part of his summer break training for Quidditch tryouts in the fall, frequently flying down to the Poidsear Coast to log hours and hours at their pitch.

Sometimes he would even bring Anne along with him when she was feeling well enough to ride on the back of his broom. He’d convince her to release a secondhand Snitch for him to track down, and while he hunted it down, she worked on the assignments your professors had set to help her prepare for her return to Hogwarts in the fall.

He’d even written to tell you that he’d never felt more confident on a broom, and that if he only got to have one last season on your house team before leaving school, he was determined to make the absolute most of it.

You knew all of this, and yet when you first see him in the Great Hall for the start-of-term feast, you nearly swoon like a Muggle schoolgirl at the sight of him.

The first thing you notice is that he’s taller. Even seated next to Anne at the Slytherin table, you can see his entire head whereas you can barely make out the top of his sister’s. Sebastian had never seemed that much bigger than his twin before, but things have clearly changed.

Then, you notice that his complexion has changed as well. He’s tan from spending all summer training in the sun, his button-down shirt suddenly looking so crisply white against his sun-kissed face.

His freckles, too – there are so many more.

But that could also just be because there’s simply more Sebastian now. His shoulders are broader, his chest wider, and even his hair has grown long enough to brush upwards into a less haphazard style (though certainly not as severe as Ominis’).

It’s as if your boyish Sebastian from the previous school year had quite suddenly become a grown man in just three short months, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him.

It takes you a few minutes to adjust as you slide into a seat across from him next to Ominis, and based on the look on Anne’s face, she at least knows what’s got you so flustered.

During a lull in conversation about Anne’s return, you tell Sebastian, “You’re looking fit.”

You hope you can casually get it out of the way, and that no one will dwell on it.

“Am I?” he asks with an easy smile.

“I mean physically,” you insist, remaining one step ahead of him. “I nearly mistook you for one of the Beaters for the Magpies.”

“Sebastian could never be a Beater,” Anne interjects. “He’s too much of a show-off to be anything but the Seeker.”

“I’ll be whatever the team needs me to be,” he insists. “I practiced for all four positions this summer, so wherever they want to slot me in is fine.”

“Silly Sebastian,” Violet McDowell calls out from a few seats down, a wicked grin on her face. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that there are many more positions than just four?”

Your entire end of the table bursts into laughter while Sebastian simply flashes a wicked grin, and you think about using your ancient magic to hurl one of the stacked platters of food in front of you at Violet’s head. (Or maybe you should simply toss her out into the courtyard.)

“Is this how it’s going to be this year?” Anne sighs. “When I left, Sebastian was just an awkward boy with his nose always buried in a book, and now the girls are lusting after him.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either,” Ominis agrees. “He had a big enough head before he was attractive.”

“I think it’s excellent,” Sebastian laughs. “It’s about time everyone realized that I’m the perfect man, and all it took was a little bit of Quidditch practice and one last growth spurt.”

“‘All it took,’” Anne mumbles at the same time Ominis exclaims, “‘Perfect man?!’”

While both his sister and best friend take turns putting dents in Sebastian’s inflated ego, he takes it in stride and sneakily winks at you from across the table when he catches you silently observing, your gaze firmly settled on the sharp line of his jaw.

Sebastian makes a mental note of the fact that you immediately go red. Even if no one else notices, he certainly does.

—

Two weeks later, you and Anne link arms with Ominis to walk down with him to the Quidditch pitch to watch the Slytherin team tryouts.

“Now that I’ve got a brilliant witch on each arm, I suppose I won’t be needing my wand as often to get around,” he teases.

“Please, I know a thing or two about that wand of yours,” Anne replies. “Last year I spent a full month reading books on wandcraft that Sebastian brought me from the library. If I had to guess, I think you can probably ‘see’ more clearly than either of us can. It’s powerful.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Ominis demurs. “I’m just naturally perceptive.”

Once you arrive at the pitch, the three of you take seats along the practice bleachers with a few of your housemates, who chat excitedly when the Slytherin hopefuls begin to take the field.

You spot Sebastian quickly, even among nearly two dozen others in green practice uniforms circling for warmups on their brooms. Compared to how big he’d looked at the start of term in just his school robes, he’s huge now – equipped with pads across his shoulders, forearms and shins that accentuate his muscular form.

He’d declined a helmet, of course, because despite his newfound bulk he’s still the same exasperatingly headstrong boy you’ve nurtured a crush on for nearly your entire school career.

“Between us, what do you think his chances are of making the team?” you ask Anne.

“Truthfully?” she smirks. “I think he’ll have his pick of positions, unless Imelda wants to humble him on purpose.”

“Which one would be humbling?” you ask, amused.

“Probably Chaser,” she muses. “He’d be an excellent Chaser, of course, but it’s his least favorite.”

“I’ll bet he becomes a Beater,” Ominis offers. “Without the Dark Arts, I’d like him to have some sort of outlet for his intensity.”

“Fine, then I’ll say… Keeper,” you say, smiling to yourself at your private joke that only Sebastian would appreciate. “Because that way he’ll get to stay in one place the whole game and know that everyone’s eyes are on him.”

—

Shortly after tryouts wrap up, Imelda sequesters herself in the girls’ dorm to put together her official roster and the majority of Slytherin’s upperclassmen start passing around Butterbeers while they settle in to await her decision.

Sebastian is inarguably the center of attention, casually leaning against a table in the corner with Anne at his side. A flock of fifth-year girls crowds around him to listen intently as he talks about the impressive diving save he’d made, capturing the Snitch just feet from the ground.

“He’s going to be insufferable now,” Ominis groans while the two of you watch from across the room. “There’s barely enough room for his ego in this friendship as it is.”

“Come now, we can keep him in check,” you laugh. “Especially with Anne here.”

“It’s really good to have her back,” Ominis agrees softly, smiling to himself when he hears Anne’s voice through the noise, telling Sebastian’s fan club how he’d attempted a similar save over the summer and ended up crashing into a derelict poacher camp.

Huh.

However, before you can spend too much more time thinking about Ominis and Anne, you hear the noise in the room spike as Imelda saunters down the stairs, a rolled-up piece of parchment in her hand.

“Who’s ready to meet this year’s Slytherin Quidditch team?” she calls out, and the entire room bursts into excited cheers.

She starts to read off from her list, allowing brief pauses for applause after each name. You and Ominis snake through the common room to stand by Sebastian. He seems to be perfectly calm, but by now you can recognize some telltale tension lingering in his jaw.

Anne holds one of his hands to reassure him, swaying a bit nervously herself.

While Imelda works her way down the list, the four of you learn that hasn’t been named Slytherin’s Keeper. He’s not a Beater either, nor is he ultimately a Chaser.

“Lastly, your newest Seeker,” Imelda teases as she reaches the end of the list. “...It’s obviously Sallow!”

Sebastian beams brilliantly while Anne pulls him into a tight hug, and Ominis smiles and murmurs his congratulations to his friend, assuring him he always knew he’d make the team.

There are several other girls quick to offer their congratulations as well, but you wait for the crowd around him to thin out and for Anne to escort Ominis to get more Butterbeers before you sidle up next to Sebastian and nudge your shoulder against his.

“Excellent work, Bash,” you murmur. “You put on quite a show at tryouts.”

“Only because you were watching,” he flirts back, and you roll your eyes fondly.

Since the start of term, he’s been relentless with his play-flirting. You resist it as much as you can, but it always makes your heart race when he calls you “love,” or offers to carry your books for you, or even charms little notes poking fun at your classmates into tiny birds that gracefully land on your desk during classes.

(You don’t have the heart to ask him to knock it off, because even though you know he doesn’t mean it, it still feels nice to be the center of his attention.)

“Then I’ll have to come to see you start in next week’s match,” you offer. “Especially if you only play that well when I’m watching.”

“You can be my good luck charm,” he jokes. “Felix Felicis is prohibited, but you’re not.”

“That was awful,” you laugh, but Sebastian just grins.

“Tell you what,” he says after a moment. “We should make a bet on it.”

“A bet?” you ask. “On what, that you’ll win?”

He shakes his head. “Too easy, we’re playing Ravenclaw, we’ll obviously win. I mean something more challenging.”

“You’re clearly confident,” you tell him. “What are your terms?”

He considers his offer for a moment and then says, “I’ll bet that I can catch the Snitch in under thirty minutes. I’ll even let you be the official timekeeper, since I’ll be a bit preoccupied.”

“Under thirty?” you ask skeptically. “That’s nearly professional, Sebastian. Ominis told me most games last at least an hour.”

“I’ve been practicing all summer,” he insists. “Anne would release a Snitch and I’d even give it a five-minute head start, but I never let one get further away from me than the far side of Marunweem Lake.”

“Careful, Sebastian, you sound quite cocky,” you murmur, and you think you see Sebastian’s gaze dip down to your mouth for a split second.

“I am,” he agrees. “In fact, I’ll even let you pick your prize first, for if you win.”

“Alright,” you laugh. “When I win, I want… for you to write my History of Magic assignments for the next month.

“That’s it?” he scoffs. “You could have anything and you want me to write your essays?”

“I didn’t start studying magic with the rest of you lot, and I don’t know a lot of the foundational things that Binns wants us to reference,” you remind him. “You know your history much better than I do, and I need to bump my ‘Acceptable’ up to ‘Exceeds Expectations’ by the time N.E.W.T.s roll around.”

“Love, I would’ve done them for you anyway,” Sebastian says dismissively, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning at the nickname. “Pick something fun.”

“Fine,” you reply. “I want…”

You consider your options for a moment, trying to think of something that isn’t either obscene or pathetic. Finally, you have an idea.

“There is one thing I’ve been thinking about,” you tell him, a secret smile on your lips.

Sebastian perks up, leaning in closer. “Go on then.”

“I want you to help me set up Anne and Ominis,” you say carefully, watching him for any signs that he’s about to blow up.

He just blinks at you, bewildered. “What.”

“I think they would be a lovely couple,” you croon. “And I know she’s your sister and you’re, y’know...”

“I’m what?” he demands.

“You’re very protective of her,” you say tactfully. “But we’re all adults now, and I think they really understand each other. I want you to help me convince them that they should give it a chance.”

Sebastian is quiet for several long moments.

“Well,” he finally murmurs. “I would prefer it if Anne never dated anyone so I wouldn’t have any more reasons to worry about her, but I suppose if she must, Ominis is a good man.”

You shout excitedly and wrap your arms around his impossibly broad shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. He easily allows it, fondly pressing his nose to your hair.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter though, since you won’t win and I’ll never have to aid you in your scheming,” he murmurs against your temple.

“Speaking of which,” you say, leaning out of the hug just enough to see Sebastian’s face. “What prize will you not be winning?”

Sebastian lets his hands drop down to your hips as he murmurs, “I have something in mind.”

You force yourself not to get distracted. “Do tell.”

“If I win, I’d like to take you to the Room of Requirement after the game,” he says, and the way he grips your sides through your skirt ensures you have no way of misunderstanding what he’s suggesting.

“O-oh?” you ask softly, squirming a little in his grasp. “Just me?”

“Just you,” he confirms.

His eyes are dark, and despite the cacophony of the room around you both, he’s focused solely on you.

“And what would we be doing in the Room of Requirement?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t even dignify your question with a response. Instead, he deliberately drags his thumbs across your hips, raking his gaze down your body and back up with a pointed look.

“You mean it?” you ask him quietly. “You aren’t just teasing like earlier?”

“When was I teasing?” Sebastian asks, amused.

“This whole time,” you insist, fidgeting nervously with the laces at the front of his Quidditch shirt. “All the flirting, all this back-and-forth… You’re just winding me up.”

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I thought about you all summer, love. I missed you like mad, and I sincerely want you.”

Merlin.

Some bold part of you steps a little closer so you can lean in close to his ear and ask, “Are you sure we shouldn’t just go to the Room of Requirement right now?”

You hear Sebastian swallow and exhale sharply.

“N-not now,” he answers. “After the match. I just…”

He doesn’t really have the words to articulate it, but he wants to earn your affection. He has to prove he’s good enough first, that you aren’t making a mistake by letting him finally force your close friendship into something more.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, gently brushing your lips against his cheekbone. “Just don’t get too distracted and fall off your broom, because I actually want you to win.”

“The match or the bet?” he asks in a low voice.

You just take a step back with a teasing grin, and before you disappear into the crowd to find your friends, you murmur, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sallow.”

—

It’s so many flights of stairs up to the Room of Requirement. You almost feel bad for Sebastian, but not enough to stop relentlessly tugging him up countless flights in the quiet Astronomy Tower.

He must be exhausted already, you assume. While the match itself had only lasted twenty-seven minutes and forty seconds, he spent nearly all of them racing around the pitch alongside Ravenclaw’s Seeker, eyes trained on any flash of light that shimmered like gold.

He’d even taken a Bludger to his right thigh. You’d felt like you were going to be sick just watching it collide with him, but he’d merely dropped a few feet with a wince and sped off again.

Not even a damn Bludger could knock him off his broom.

(As soon as your nausea had dissipated, you’d felt another dizzying wave of sensation take over slightly south of your stomach.)

Just as he’d promised, he quickly caught up with the Snitch near the base of the Hufflepuff student section, landing not-so-neatly in the muddy grass with one arm thrown up in the air. He was evidently clutching the struggling Snitch and beaming so hugely you could see it from your spot in the stands fifty feet in the air.

As soon as Madam Kogawa blew her whistle, the Slytherins had begun to move en masse toward the stairs, preparing to turn their common room into the official site of the year’s first not-so-clandestine party.

You, however, snuck away from the group and lingered outside the team’s changing area. Inside, you could hear raised voices.

“Imelda, you don’t understand,” Sebastian was whining. “I need to go now.”

“There’s a way we do things here, Sallow,” she had argued “I’m the captain, and if I say we’re going to discuss the game before anyone leaves, you stay.”

Sebastian had a few choice words to say to that but ultimately relented, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly while you leaned against one of the canvas walls that lined the interior channels of the pitch. Ultimately, it only took about ten minutes to discuss how everyone could improve – and Imelda’s only suggestion for Sebastian had been to try to find a dryer patch of grass on which to land next time.

Seconds later, he’d burst through the door and started to take off toward the castle.

“Bash!” you called out. “Not so fast.”

When he turned and spotted you, his face lit up.

“You waited for me,” he breathed.

“Of course I did,” you said. “I believe you’ve won a prize, and the nature of it is time-sensitive.”

He looked like an utter rake with that crooked smile on his lips. He was still in his uniform head to toe, his hair even messier than usual thanks to his helmet. He’d even kept his pads on, so when he reached out to take your hand, you felt impossibly small next to him.

“Shall we?” he asks, and then the two of you were off.

By the time you reach the Room and ensure no house elves are present, you’re both out of breath and panting.

“Come here,” you whine, throwing your arms around his shoulders and messily kissing along his jawline.

“W-wait,” he stammers. “Let me get these pads off, and–”

He cuts himself off, making a face.

“I need to clean up,” he tells you, suddenly self-conscious. “I must look like hell.”

“You look obscene,” you reply, dragging your hands down his chest pads. “Which is obviously a compliment.”

He wraps his hands around your wrists to stop you from attempting to undo the laces at the front of his trousers. “Just – just let me clean off first, the prefects’ bathroom isn’t far and I got the password off of Weasley.”

“No, don’t leave,” you whine, and Sebastian is merely a man, he can’t resist the girl he’s been in love with for years when she’s begging him to take his pants off.

“I must smell foul,” he laughs. “You’re – you’re seriously okay with this?”

“Look where we are, Sebastian,” you croon, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. “Just imagine what you need.”

For your part, you imagine a plush armchair where you can wrangle Sebastian into finally taking a seat, and one quickly spins to life just behind him. You take advantage of his distraction to shove him backwards toward it and climb astride lap.

“It’s the Room of Requirement,” you tease him, straddling his thighs and dragging your nose along his cheek so he’ll tip his head back for you. “If you require something, the Room provides.”

“I require a bath,” he drawls, cursing quietly when you gently bite just over his pulse point. “Quickly, please, Room.”

Sebastian waits patiently while you eagerly strip him of his pads, but the Room doesn’t change.

“I thought you said you’ve taken baths here,” he points out skeptically. “In a huge basin, like the prefects have.”

“I have,” you insist, frowning. “I don’t know why it’s not…”

Then you trail off, your realization making you go red.

“Go on, love,” Sebastian murmurs, sliding a hand up the back of your thigh to lazily palm at your ass underneath your skirt. “I know that face, you’ve figured it out. What’s the problem?”

“W-well, it’s my Room,” you tell him sheepishly. “So it, um… I suppose it defaults to what I require.”

“And what you require,” Sebastian says slowly, “is for me to not take a bath?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“I… I suppose the Room must have deduced that I – I like you like this,” you whisper, dragging your hands across his rumpled Quidditch shirt. “And I don’t need to wait for you to clean off.”

“You don’t?” Sebastian asks, his eyes now impossibly dark. “You’d let me touch you just like this? I’m a mess, I’m covered in sweat and mud and probably some blood, even.”

“Don’t care,” you breathe, sliding your hands underneath the hem of his shirt. “I want you now, Sebastian, exactly like this.”

He says some absolutely filthy words under his breath, sitting back so he can strip off his filthy uniform shirt. You can’t get your hands on his body fast enough, hurriedly familiarizing yourself with his sculpted core, broad chest, and strong shoulders.

He’s less of a mess underneath where his shirt had lain, but his skin is still warm and damp with sweat from the match. You want to put your mouth all over him, everywhere – and there’s so much of him to explore.

“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw you like this,” you confess to him. “You’ve gotten bigger since last spring, and so handsome… how did you become a man in just one summer?”

“You think I’m the only one who changed this summer?” he asks with a low voice. “Look at you.”

“What about me?” you ask dumbly.

His hands go straight for your chest, roughly tugging open your uniform shirt with no regard for the longevity of its buttons.

“Here,” he murmurs, his hands cupping your breasts through your thin brassiere. “I can assure you that I noticed where you’ve grown bigger.”

You gasp softly as he tugs down on the cups of your bra until he can lean in and press his mouth to your skin, sucking on one of your nipples and then the other.

“And here,” he murmurs into your chest, his hands returning to the backs of your thighs and sliding up your ass. “You have all these curves now, love, and they’re driving me mad.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper. “Take off my clothes.”

He helps you wrestle your skirt up over your head and tosses it recklessly as far as he can. When you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, Sebastian wraps one strong arm around your lower back and hooks the other below your hips, easily standing up from the armchair to walk you over to the bed you’d hastily imagined into existence.

Once he has you on your back, he tugs down your last remaining garment and leaves you bare and exposed to him, breathless and flushed all over.

“Your turn,” you remind him, even though part of you wishes he could leave the uniform pants on (despite the impracticality).

Once he manages to peel off the last of his clothes, he settles on his knees between your legs and skims a hand up your body, from the curve of your hip all the way up to your cheek.

“Is this too fast?” he asks you softly. “Did I ask too much?”

Your heart aches. Sebastian always stuns you with his sincerity when you least expect it.

You turn your head to kiss his palm and murmur, “No, love.”

His shoulders drop a little, the last of the tension he’d been carrying all week draining from his body. He wants, he always wants so damn badly and he would never forgive himself if he marred your first time with each other by rushing you.

“Can I touch you?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Please,” you whine, letting your knees fall wide.

(Whether or not the other has ever done this before is still a mystery to you both, and it’s not something you’ll discuss until afterward. But right now, it’s of no importance to you.)

For a while, Sebastian’s hands roam your body without an agenda, acquainting himself with your breasts, your hips, the insides of your thighs. You moan softly when he drags his thumb along your slit, spreading your wetness around until he can easily rub slow circles over your clit.

“How do you feel?” he asks you.

“Good,” you gasp. “So good, Sebastian, like that.”

“Do you want more?” he offers, and you frantically nod, one of your hands fisting the pillow behind your head.

He carefully presses one long finger inside you, glancing between your face and your entrance to make sure you’re comfortable the entire time. One finger quickly becomes two, and when two nearly becomes three, you have to pause and take a breath.

“Enough,” you pant. “That’s enough.”

“Are you sure?” he asks you.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, giving him a few slow strokes while he leaks precum onto your hand and groans helplessly.

“I want you,” you insist. “I’ve wanted you.”

“R-right, yeah,” he agrees, trying to clear his head and focus on the task at hand. “Enough.”

He gently nudges your hand away so he can guide himself inside you, one hand wrapped around himself and the other gently pressing on your inner thigh to keep you still for him.

Underneath Sebastian like this, pinned to the mattress by his hips and hands, he completely overtakes your senses. He’s all you can see, all you can touch — you even taste and smell him.

Masculine sweat. Dark brown eyes. Crisp autumn air. The curve of his collarbone where it meets his shoulder. Woodsmoke. A million tiny freckles. Metallic blood from a split lip. Flashes of copper in his messy curls. Singed pine needles.

Sebastian groans low in his throat as he presses in, his hair falling into his eyes before he frantically brushes it away so he can see you take him for the first time.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he bends down and presses his forehead against yours.

“Tell me,” he begs, his hand curling gently around the back of your neck to hold you close.

“Tell you what?” you whisper, your lips brushing against his with every syllable.

“Tell me that it feels like this for you,” he practically breathes into you. “It feels like you’re — you’re everywhere, like you’re all there is.”

“Sebastian,” you whimper, and his hips snap against yours.

“Say it,” he growls. “Please.”

“You’re all there is,” you gasp. “You’re all mine, Bash.”

He makes a sound like you’ve sucker-punched him, messily kissing wherever he can get his mouth on you – your cheek, your jaw, your lips. All the while he’s fucking you open with relentless, eager thrusts.

He’s not going to last long, but you don’t expect him to. You just want him to feel good – the two of you have already wasted enough time not doing this, so why delay satisfaction?

You wrap your legs around his hips to hold him against you, rocking your own hips upward to meet him and coax him closer to the edge.

“I’m going to come,” he grits out, grinding into you desperately the closer he gets to his climax. “Can I finish inside?”

“N-no,” you whimper. There’s a potion you can drink to make it safe that takes an entire week to brew, and the batch that’s currently bubbling away at your potions station across the Room isn’t quite ready yet.

“Where?” he begs.

“Anywhere else, wherever you want,” you promise him, your mind quickly tossing out mental images of him spilling himself across your breasts, into your mouth, on the curve of your back.

He pulls out of you with a reluctant moan and kneels between your open thighs, wrapping a hand around his cock to finish himself off. You watch his eyes while he takes you in, seemingly torn between meeting your gaze and staring transfixed at your fingers between your thighs as you get closer to finishing yourself.

“Next time, love,” you murmur softly. “The next time you fuck me you can finish in me, I’ll take it all.”

“Promise?” he asks breathlessly, still an incorrigible flirt even when he’s seconds away from his orgasm.

“Promise,” you whine, spreading your legs a little wider when you catch his gaze lingering again.

You’re so close, desperately rolling your hips against your own hand until you tip over the edge, the rush of your release arching your back before you collapse lazily against the bed.

He shuffles forward and groans your name just before he spills, leaving a warm, wet mess all over your stomach and between your hips. You feel properly claimed – especially when he flops down next to you and immediately tugs you against his chest, unbothered by his release smearing between your bodies.

“You’re amazing,” he breathes into your hair. “Merlin, I love you.”

“You love me?” you whisper against his collarbone.

“Enduringly,” he says.

You rest your cheek against his chest and listen to his racing heartbeat for a few moments before you tell him, “I love you too, you know.”

Just then, the Room starts to rumble.

“What’s going on?” Sebastian asks, urgently peering around for his wand.

He quickly settles and even laughs under his breath when he sees the Room shifting around the two of you to provide a spacious, sunken bathtub in the middle of the room, complete with a luxurious amount of taps that undoubtedly offer an array of bubbles, salts and soaps.

“Oh, now you want to let me clean myself up?” Sebastian drawls. “After you’ve completely worn me out, hmm?”

“It’s more for me,” you giggle. “I can’t possibly sleep like this, but you’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

As if Sebastian would ever pass up the chance to feel you up in the water.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #my fic #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x reader #sebastian x mc #ominis gaunt #anne sallow #ominis gaunt x anne sallow #(it's subtle but it's there)#unbeta'd we die like men #how do we feel about “bash” as a nickname because it's my favorite 🥹

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gejo333 · 1 year ago

Text

An Unexpected Match II

DILF/DBF Miguel O’Hara x Female Reader

Pt. 1 Pt. 3

Summary: You and Stephanie take a girls trip to Miami after Stephanie broke up with her high school sweetheart at the end of your freshman year of college. The purpose of the trip was for her to get laid, so your mission was to be her wing woman. However, you didn’t expect to hook up with a mysterious, handsome man for the weekend.

18+ Warning!!! This chapter will have a lot of smut.

This is a very long chapter since I wanted to do the flashback seen in one chapter.

I apologize for any grammatical mistakes I missed.

Enjoy💕

Wc: 7.1k

————————————————————————

Two Years Ago

“Finally, we’re here! It felt like we were never getting to our hotel.” Stephanie slammed the taxi door as she screamed excitedly, getting some weird stares from bystanders.

You pay the taxi driver and give him a nice tip as an apology for your very energetic friend. As you get out, the taxi leaves, and you look at the resort hotel entrance, a sigh of relief and relaxation washing over you.

“Now, let’s get to our room to go to the bar and get a drink. I need one after that grueling flight.” You groan slightly as you and Stephanie walk inside.

After checking in and settling into your room, you are now dressed in more appropriate and sexier bar clothes instead of the leggings and sweats you came in wearing.

“Ok, tonight is about you getting laid and over your ex.” You said as you both walked out of the elevator and towards the outdoor bar by the pool.

“You know, I will be your wing woman this weekend. You need to get laid as well. It’s probably getting dusty down there. You haven’t hooked up since you broke up with your ex right before college started.” Said Stephanie as you both find seats at the bar.

“I’ve gotten laid since.” You argue, but she gives you a side eye, seeing straight through your lie. You roll your eyes and sigh in defeat. “Ok, fine. I haven’t.” You get the bartender’s attention by ordering green tea shots and a cocktail.

You both hold your shot glasses up, “To getting laid.” Said Stephanie, who made you chuckle slightly, repeating her words before clinking glasses and downing the shot.

As you both enjoyed your time at the bar, chatting away and reliving the best and worst moments of Freshmen year, the bartender approached you with a new set of cocktail orders.

“These are from the gentlemen over there.” The bartender said before leaving. You and Stephanie look down to the other end of the bar to see two guys, obviously in college, smiling at you both. They weren’t bad-looking, so Stephanie waved them over.

“Stephanie, what are you doing?”

“Getting us both tickets to getting laid. Before they get here. Drink test.” You both dipped the tip of a nail in your drinks. After waiting a few seconds, you both noticed that your nail polish didn’t change, passing the no-roofie detected test.

“Hey there, ladies. You must have just gotten here. This is our third evening here, and we haven’t met women as beautiful as you. I’m Rafael.” Rafael leaned closer to Stephanie.

“Sweet talker. I like that. I’m Stephanie.” Said Stephanie as she leaned closer to Rafael, clearly interested. You smiled slightly as you could sense the chemistry between the two. Goal achieved.

“Hey, I’m Mat.” The other guy stood next to you as he smiled at you. You smile back at him. "Y/n."

“Can I buy you a shot?” He offered.

“Sure. Green tea’s my favorite.”

“Mine too.” He chuckled as he got the bartender’s attention and ordered the shots.

“Really?” You chuckle at his response.

“Ok, you caught me. Pickleback is my favorite. But green tea shots are always good.” He lifted his hands in surrender as he chuckled.

“Pickles are definitely not my favorite.” You giggle.

“Maybe I can change your mind?” Mat moved closer to you with a smirk.

“Maybe.” You smile back as you lean in closer to him. He smiled as he ordered a set of pickle back shots too.

Once both shots arrived, you decided to try the pickle one first.

“Cheers.” Said Mat as you clinked glasses and drank the shot of Jameson. As you lifted the shot of pickle juice to your mouth, you pulled back and scrunched up your face.

“Nope, can’t do it.” You chuckle as you place it down on the counter.

“I’ll take it. Pickles are the best.” He chuckled as he took your shot which made you chuckle too.

You continued your conversation with Mat. Not too long ago, Stephanie tapped you on the shoulder to signal that she was heading out with Rafael. You had both decided that if you got laid, she would go to another room, even though you insisted the other way around. But just as dramatic as your best friend was, she was just as stubborn.

Mat was cute, and talking with him was nice, but you weren’t feeling hot and bothered by him. You didn’t feel that sexual attraction, which was frustrating, to say the least. But there didn’t seem to be other prospects floating your way tonight.

You glanced at the pool as its blue hue glowed against the dusk sky. That’s when you noticed a tall man walking towards the bar. His white shirt fitted tightly against him as it perfectly contrasted against his warm tan skin. As the mysterious man got closer, you noticed the stark height difference as he walked up to the bar and ordered dark liquor.

The man noticed your gaze as his reddish-brown hues met yours. Just one look into his eyes, and you were hypnotized. You notice him checking you out before he smirks at you, now looking ahead and taking a sip of his drink.

“Y/n? Are you good?” Mat’s voice brought you out of your hypnosis as you looked back at him with a smile as he looked at you with a confused smile.

“Yeah, sorry. Thought I saw something. But it was just my imagination.” You chuckle nervously, hoping he bought it.

“Alright. As I was saying...” Mat continued to talk as you tried your best to pay attention to him.

Your eyes briefly returned to where the mysterious man was but were disappointed to see no one there. Maybe you did imagine him. He seemed too perfect to be true.

“So...do you want to get out of here?” Mat smiled as he scratched a non-existent scratch on the back of his neck. Before you can respond, the mysterious man walks up and stands to the other side of you. “Another whisky for me. And whatever the gorgeous lady next to me wants.” The man says as he slides the drink the bartender made for you closer to you on the wooden counter. Now up close, you noticed how handsome he was, from his chiseled jaw to his plush lips and piercing brown eyes fixed on you.

“So, what’s your name, Hermosa?” He smirked and looked down at you as he sipped his drink. Even sitting next to you, you barely reach his broad shoulders.

“Hey man, she’s with me.” Said Mat as he scowled at the other man and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, which, to be honest, you weren’t pleased about.

“Are you her husband? Boyfriend?” The man asked as he arched his eyebrow.

“Well, no.”

“Then she’s available. As long as she’s interested.” The man slid his hand around your waist as he moved you closer to him. As you felt your body began to tingle, your heart raced in your chest. You definitely felt hot and bothered by him. And you liked it.

You slightly turned to face Mat as you smiled softly at him. “It was nice getting to know you, Mat, but if I’m being honest, I didn’t feel any spark between us. I’m sorry. I can pay for my drinks from your tab.” You bit your lip as you looked at Mat, who looked at you with a frown before glaring at the man next to you.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll cover the drinks. It was nice meeting you, too, y/n. If you decide to ditch this guy, give me a call.” He smiled, slipping you his number on the counter before walking away. You felt a tinge of guilt for ending it like that. But you couldn’t ignore this spark between you and the figure next to you, who you turned towards.

“Y/n, that’s a beautiful name.” The man smiled as he turned your chair so you were fully facing him; he moved the stool closer. You smile up at him, cheeks rosy as your faces were only inches apart.

“What’s your name, stranger?” Your gaze meets his, not able to look away.

“It’s Miguel O’Hara.”

“That’s a fitting name for a handsome man.”

Miguel smirked as he put his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You try to take a sip from your drink when he pulls it away and as you give him a confused smile. He leans down to your ear as his hand gently snaked up your thigh.

“I think you're a year or two short from drinking that, cariño.” He whispered, which sent chills down your back.

“So what? Are you going to turn me in?” You chuckle.

“I might. Unless you agree to go on a walk with me.”

“Where are we walking to?” You smirk as you lean closer to him.

“Maybe around the resort, then towards my room.” He says as he gently grabs your chin and kisses you softly. As soon as your lips met, you felt a small shock as he kissed you. You gently break away as you say, “That sounds like fun.”

After Miguel paid his tab and the rest of yours, he took you by the waist as you walked back to his room.

The walk took a little longer as you both stole kisses from each other, which got a few blushing glances from bystanders. You finally made it to the room, which you didn’t think you would make it to, for how quickly the sexual tension built between you two had gotten.

Miguel swiftly unlocked and opened the door. Before he picked you up, you wrapped your legs around his waist as a moan escaped your lips. He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin ever so often.

Entering the room, Miguel laid you on the bed. He placed one deep kiss on your lips before he lifted himself up from on top of you. He took off his shirt and threw it to the ground. You gazed down his form as your eyes traced his chest to his perfectly toned abs before you met his lustful and hungry gaze.

Within minutes all your clothes and his were on the floor as you watched him slowly remove your black lace panties before separating your legs, wider than your used to so he could be between your thighs. Miguel hovered over you as he captured your lips and began to trail them down your neck to your breasts. You bit your lip as you felt his lips sucking on one of your breasts. One of his hands trailed up your thigh as he inserted one of his fingers into your wet folds.

Miguel removed his lips briefly from your nipple, peaked and sensitive from his touches as his eyes lightly glared at you. “Don’t hold back your voice, cariño. I want to hear you.” He growled slightly, which made your core burn hotter from his commanding tone. You nod at him; a smirk replaces his frown as he kisses your lips, “Good girl.” A moan escaped you, not holding back as you felt him insert another finger inside you. You knew he was a large man, but two of his fingers alone filled you.

His lips soon left the plush mountains of your breasts as he kissed down your stomach, where his face landed between your thighs. He grabbed your legs and put them over his shoulders as he fingered fucked you. You felt your core tighten, desperate for release due to the quick pace of his fingers thrusting and curling inside you.

You bit your lip in pure pleasure, about to reach your blissful peak, when you suddenly felt the absence of his fingers. You lightly glare up at him, cheeks flushed, breath slightly uneven. “Miguel!” You whined, which only made him chuckle. “You’re cute when your flustered under me, Hermosa.”

Before you could argue back at him, you gripped the bed sheets as you felt his tongue slowly lick your wet folds before sucking your sensitive clit, instinctively making your hips buck up against him. “So eager for me, huh?” He chuckled as he inserted his tongue inside your dripping cunt. You roll your eyes at his cocky attitude, but you don’t care as he buries his mouth against you as if you were his favorite meal and, at the same time, his last meal.

You begin to feel your core tighten again, “Cum for me so that I can taste more of you,” he said before his lips sucked on your clit. A loud groan from your sweet voice was music to Miguel’s ears as a small groan escaped him when he felt your thighs squeeze against his face, making his cock twitch from the pressure.

Your grip on the sheets relaxed as you released yourself onto his face, which made your flushed cheeks darken as he licked every drop. It had been so long since you felt this good from an orgasm. Possibly, never felt this amazing before.

Miguel lowered your legs from his shoulders as he positioned himself between you. He hovered over you as he removed his boxers. Your eyes widen slightly, jaw slightly open when you see his size. How was he going to fit inside you? As if he could read your thoughts, he leaned down, lips gently brushing against yours as he chuckled, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to be gentle. At least for the first couple of minutes.” Miguel smirked as he captured your lips into his. He licked your lips, wanting to explore your mouth. Still, you teasingly refused, which was a poor mistake as he entered the tip of his cock inside you, making you gasp and letting his tongue enter your mouth.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as he slowly inserted deeper inside your wet cunt. Even with the prep, he still made your walls stretch farther than they have ever been. Once you gently moved your hips against his, it was his cue to begin as he removed himself but the tip before thrusting back inside you.

“Miguel.” You cry out as you claw at his back from the constant abuse of your pussy. His pace begins to quicken as he slams back into you, as he feels his balls slap against you.

“You keep squeezing around me like that, and I’ll lose myself faster, cariño. Damn, you’re tight. I love how you squeeze and suck my cock deeper into your pussy.” Miguel growled as his pace grew faster, making you feel your core tighten again.

He grabbed your hips and lifted them slightly as he found a new angle to fuck you in, making the tip of his cock hit in just the right place repeatedly. You cried out loud as you reached your euphoric high again, as you covered his cock in your juices.

Trying to catch your breath, you feel him remove himself as you give him a confused look. He chuckled, “Giving you a second to catch your breath before we continue.” He chuckled as he kissed your lips.

Your cheeks are already flushed. It was hard to see them grow redder from his sexual stamina. He flipped you so you were on your hands and knees, taking you by the hips and thrusting himself back in.

Your knuckles turn white from gripping the sheets so tight as Miguel fucked you from behind. You didn’t think his size would surprise you again in the new position, but you were wrong as you felt him fill you more.

Trailing after your third orgasm, your cunt began to feel overstimulated as he continued to fuck you rough from behind.

“It’s s-so much. T-too much.” You mewled out loud. Miguel leaned forward, and you felt him press agaisnt your back as he kissed your shoulder to your neck. “Just one more. You can handle one more. Right, Hermosa?” He whispered in your ear. You nod your head as you feel your lower stomach tighten.

“Fuck, let me cum inside this pretty little pussy of yours. What do you say?” Miguel continued to slam into you as his cock twitched, almost at its peak. You moaned out loud as you squeezed around him from your third orgasm. The sudden tightness around his cock makes him groan as he spills deep inside you, coating your walls white.

Your upper body collapsed on the soft duvet as Miguel continued to thrust inside you, becoming more sloppy as he came down from his sexual high. Once he removed himself from you, he went to the bathroom to grab a wet cloth as he gently cleaned around your thighs and overstimulated pussy.

Once he was done, he got back on the bed and brought you both under the covers as he held you against him. He gently lifted your chin as he kissed you softly. You return the kiss before pulling away as you both try to catch your breath after your fun physical activity that just took place.

Fatigue soon washed over you as Miguel pulled you closer against his chest and kissed your head. “Get some rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

The sunlight peaking into the window woke you from your peaceful slumber. You begin to wake up and feel how sore your body is from last night’s events. Remembering you weren’t in your room, you look to the other side of the bed and slightly frown when you see it empty.

You then register the sound of the shower in the bathroom; looking at the arm clock, you notice it is 9 am. Your eyes widen; you overslept. A small groan left your body as you got up from the bed. Your body was sore. You didn’t realize how rough he was going last night until now.

You try to find all your clothes and get them on before he gets out of the shower. Taking longer than normal, you could only get your panties and bra on when you heard the bathroom door open. Out walked Miguel in only a towel that hung dangerously low around his hips as he gave you a confused look.

“Sorry, I’m almost ready and will be out in a few minutes.” You say as you try to find your skirt.

“Why? Are you trying to run away from me, Hermosa? Was last night not satisfying enough? You seemed to really enjoy yourself. But I could easily show you again.” He chuckled as he walked up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pushing you into his wet chiseled chest.

“For some reason, I thought this was a one-nightstand.” You nervously chuckle as you bite your lower lip and look up at him. You see a small frown on his lips as he looks at you.

“Do you want it to be? Cause I know I want this to keep going. I can’t seem to get enough of you.” He smirked and leaned down to kiss you. You wrapped your arms around him as you got on your toes to deepen the kiss.

“I don’t want this to end yet either.” You happily smile, which he returns as he kisses you again. The kisses became more heated as you both were hungry for each other as you smashed your lips.

Miguel picks you up and places you on the bed as he hovers over you, placing his lips across your breasts and neck as he leaves more bruises over the ones he made last night.

You moan softly from his lips as they meet yours again in a loving kiss. Miguel moved his lips from you briefly as he gazed at you, “You’re gorgeous, cariño.” He smiles as he kisses you softly. A groan escapes his lips when he hears your phone ring.

“Sorry, I have to get it. It might be my friend who I’m staying with.” Miguel nods as you turn to grab your phone from the nightstand. You sit slightly up against the bed as Miguel continues his expedition with his lips on your body.

“Hey, Steph. How did it go last night?” You say as you try your best to stifle any moans.

“It was great! A good way to start off the weekend here. I went back to the room and saw you weren’t there. Are you out already?”

“I didn’t go back to the room last night. I went to someone else’s.” You feel Miguel smirk against your skin as he looks at you before attacking your neck with his lips.

“Ooo, I’m glad you got some last night too. Was it with that Mat guy?”

“No, this other guy came to the bar, and we hit it off very well.”

“Ooo, I definitely have to know all the details. But how was it?” Your cheeks lightly turn red as you see Miguel look at you with a smirk as he raises an eyebrow waiting for your answer. You smile as you playfully roll your eyes as you look at Miguel.

“It was really good. Definitely left me to soar this morning.” You giggle from Miguel’s playful antics as you are on the phone.

“Well, I can tell it went really well, as it seems you are still with him.” You can hear the grin on her face as you only could let out a small chuckle. “Hey, Raphael and I were about to get breakfast. Do you and your friend want to come? We’ll just be at the outdoor part of the hotel restaurant.” You agreed before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

Placing the phone on the bed, you look back at Miguel as you kiss him. “Since you heard everything, do you want to get breakfast?” You asked him with slight hesitation, wondering how far he wanted to take this.

Miguel smiled as he took your chin and kissed you again. “I would love to. But first, let’s continue where we left off.” Lust in his eyes, he smirked before removing his towel and taking your panties off.

After a quick round, you and Miguel got dressed and ready. Ready to leave, you both walk out the door with Miguel closing it. As you walk out his door, you bump into Mat, who is about to enter the room next to Miguel’s. He smiles awkwardly at you as he grabs his key to enter his room. But not before Miguel kissed you in front of him. You blushed, embarrassed to find out you shared a wall. You look up to Miguel, who has a smirk on his face. You lightly hit his chest with your hand as you try to hide your smile. “Miguel, you knew.”

“What can I say, Hermosa? Just wanted to let the guy know who you chose last night.” He chuckles before you both make your way to your floor, where your room is to change into new clothes.

After you got changed, you made it to the restaurant and headed to the outdoor patio, where you saw Stephanie and the guy she slept with.

“Heyy!” Stephanie said as he got up and hugged you. Before she let go, she whispered in your ear. “Damn, girl. You caught yourself a tall glass of steaming hot water.” You chuckled at her words.

“We actually ate already since it took you guys a bit longer. But don’t apologize. Never apologize for having some fun in the morning.” Stephanie winked at you as she took a sip of her coffee. Her comment made you playfully roll your eyes and chuckle as you and Miguel sat down.

After talking briefly with Stephanie and her hookup, you and Miguel leave and head to the pool. Since this was an adults-only hotel, private cabanas were offered with their own small pool. You had read about it on the hotel’s website, but you knew it was too expensive to do it. Not with your college job budget.

Of course, Miguel tells you he has a surprise and asks you to close your eyes as he leads you to your destination. When he said you could open your eyes, you gasped in awe at the sight. It was one of the private cabanas with an ocean view.

“Do you like it?” Asked Miguel as he brought you closer to him and kissed your neck. You turn around and kiss him in excitement. “I love this. I can’t believe you got one of the private cabanas. I’ll have to make sure to thank you properly.” You smirk as you guide him into the private cabana area and close the curtain to the public side. Only seeing the ocean view, knowing no one could see you from that view unless they were on a boat.

You take off your bikini cover-up dress and put sunscreen on. After you are done, you see Miguel take off his shirt and sit on the cabana bed.

“Do you need any help with putting on sunscreen?” You smile as Miguel smirks, “I would, actually.” You get on the cabana bed behind him and spread the sunscreen across his back, shoulders, and neck. You massage the sunscreen into his shoulders and neck as he leans back against your, enjoying your touch. “Your hands are heavenly.” Miguel groaned in pure bliss. You smiled as you kissed his cheek before moving away from him, making him frown before a smirk reappeared. He watched you straddle his lap as you helped him put sunscreen on his chest.

Your eyes would trail down his abs, every once in a while going back up to meet his eyes that craved for you. Miguel sits back against the cushioned bed, keeping you on his lap. Grabbing you by the hips, he pulled you closer against him as he kissed you.

“I want to know more about you, Hermosa. I only know your name.” Miguel said in between kissing you. You smiled against his lips at his comment before pulling away.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, first off, your age. Then where do you go to college.” He chuckled as one of his hands gently rubbed against your thigh.

“I’m 19, and I go to Nueva York University. Now you seem to be old enough not to be in college. I’m guessing 25?” You furrow your brows and give him a confused smile when he laughs.

“Guess a little older.”

“28?”

“No, I’m 35.” When Miguel revealed his age, your eyes widened in shock.

“You're joking, right?” You chuckle and stop when he sees his serious look as he smiles at you.

“Is that a dealbreaker?” He asked.

“No, it’s not at all. I was just surprised. I don’t mind the age gap.” You smile as you lean in and kiss him on the lips.

“Good. Cause I would be pretty bummed to see this end right now.” Miguel smirked as he moved your hair behind your shoulders and kissed your neck, making a small moan escape your lips as he touched your sweet spot.

After a heated make-out session, you both felt the sun’s heat on your bodies. Miguel picked you up by the waist as he stood up and walked over to the private pool.

A mischievous smirk appeared on his lips, which made you nervously chuckle. “What are you thinking about O’Hara?” You then notice him walking closer to the pool as you look back at him with wide eyes. “Miguel...”

“I think we should take a dip in the pool.” He chuckled as he carried you into the cold water. A small gasp left your lips as your back arched, pressing your chest against him. Miguel walked farther into the water, smile getting wider every time your body flinched as it was covered in water.

“You're cheeky.” You chuckle as you kiss Miguel’s smiling lips. One of your hands goes into the water as you lightly splash his face. Miguel wiped his face, surprised by the sudden water attack. He sends you a playful glare before splashing your face with more water. You brush your wet hair back from your face as you laugh it off before Miguel cups your face and leans down to kiss you.

During the kiss, you splash him again as you get out of his hold, laughing. Miguel wiped his face chuckling as he quickly grabbed you as you tried to swim away from him laughing. He sits on the underwater bench and sits you on his lap, wrapping his arms around you so you can’t escape. He then kisses your cheek, whispering, “I think you’re the cheeky one. And bad girls deserve to be punished.”

Your eyes widen slightly, cheeks flushed from his last words. A smirk appeared on his face as he untied your bikini top, letting your breasts free. He then briefly took you off his lap, turning you around so your back was against his chest. He pushed your bottoms to the side before you were slammed down on to his member.

You moaned out loud as you tried to adjust to his size. However, Miguel didn’t let you as he began to ram his hips up into you, having a rough pace. You were in slight pain, but it didn’t bother you as you were overcome with pleasure. As one of his hands held your hips in place, the other began to play with one of your breasts as he used his fingers to play with your nipple, making you gasp from how sensitive you were.

You lower your hand to your clit to help relieve some of your arousal. However, as soon as your fingers touched your sensitive area, Miguel snatched your wrist and moved it to your side as you groaned in frustration.

“Miguel.” You whine as you lay your head back against his shoulder.

“Sorry, cariño. Only a good girl gets to cum. You were being cheeky, so you aren’t allowed to cum yet. You just have to sit here and take my cock in this pretty little pussy of yours.” Miguel whispered in your ear before kissing and marking up along your neck.

You turn your head to face him, and your lips connect into a heated kiss. The water splashes around from the movement of both your bodies. In the distance, you see a boat sail into view.

“There’s a boat. W-what if someone sees us?”

“If someone does, they’ll witness a gorgeous woman getting fucked in a pool. I’d like to witness that. But I’m in a much better spot cause I’m the one fucking that gorgeous woman. Now, have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes. Please, Miguel.”

“Please, what?” Miguel chuckled as he kissed your neck.

“Please touch me.”

“ As you wish.” Miguel lowered his hand as he began to rub your clit. A moan escapes you as you arch your back against his chest. “Cum for me.” He whispered as your eyes rolled back from the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body as you came from your high.

Miguel groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his cock. “Por Dios! You feel so good. I wish I could stay inside you.” Miguel bucked his hips into you one last time before you felt him spill deep inside you. Miguel rode out his high before he removed himself from you, kissing your shoulder as you both tried to catch your breath.

After spending the morning and afternoon at the cabana, you both decide to head back to get ready for dinner, as Miguel said he made a reservation. You first stop at your room to grab a pair of new clothes before returning to Miguel’s room.

You decide to take a shower together to save time and indulge both of your sexual hunger for one another. It might have taken less time if you took separate showers, but why would you deny having shower sex with a man like Miguel?

After rushing to get ready, you leave the room and follow Miguel to the restaurant. You decided to walk there since it would only take 5 to 10 minutes, and the Miami night was at the perfect temperature. Once you arrived, you were taken to your seat. Looking around, you noticed how nice the restaurant was. It definitely had a few dollar signs on the Google review.

“This place is gorgeous.” You tell Miguel as you look at him across the table. You never would have thought twice about sleeping with a man older than you. But with Miguel, it didn’t feel weird at all.

“I’m glad you think so. It’s Italian. I hope you like that. And order anything you like. It’s on me.”

You looked up from your menu, slightly wide-eyed, “That’s sweet of you, Miguel. But let me pay for us. You’ve picked up the tab since we met last night.” Wow, last night. You had only known Miguel for 24 hours. Yet it felt like you’ve known him for years. Miguel smiled as he set the menu down and gently took your hand.

“I’ll pay for dinner since I suggested the restaurant. And I don’t mind paying for such a beautiful woman. But you can pay for coffee tomorrow.” He added the last part because he could tell you felt bad that he was paying for everything. But he would pick up every bill for you. You were just so perfect.

“I would love to pay for coffee tomorrow. But do you mind waking up at 7 am?” You bite your lip out of bad habit from your nerves as you notice a frown of confusion on his face.

“I don’t mind waking up at that time. But why so early?”

“I-I leave tomorrow morning. I was only here for the weekend.” Your gaze shifted from his back to the menu. When the waitress returned, you both ordered your drinks and appetizers before they left; Miguel took your hand, gaining your attention.

“Well, we’ll have to make every minute count then.” Miguel smiled as he lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“I agree.” Your cheeks turn slightly pink from his small romantic gesture. He was such a gentleman when he was outside the bedroom. Which you’re definitely not complaining about.

Dinner passed by faster than you would have liked as Miguel was leading you out of the restaurant, his hand on your back gently guiding you out. Dinner was really nice; you got to know a bit more about him between flirting with each other. He worked at Alchamex, where he talked a bit about what he does and the people he works with. Seeing his annoyed reactions when he mentioned certain people was cute. He then mentioned he had a three-year-old daughter, which melted your heart when he spoke about her.

For some reason, you had no problems with the age gap or that he was a father. It’s not the first time you’ve been hit on by older men. But you would just scoff and ignore them. But with Miguel. It felt different.

As you were walking back, you got to learn more about him. He had a younger brother named Gabriel, who his daughter was named after. You asked if you could see a photo of his daughter, which he was glad to show the Home Screen on his phone. Your heart melted at the image of his daughter. She was freaking adorable. Despite only being three, she looked much like Miguel, which you thought was cute.

You did ask the awkward question if he was married before. But Miguel only smiled and said he hadn’t and that Gabi was the result of a month-long relationship in that he found out the woman he dated was pregnant with his child until he saw her again 9 months later, giving him the baby and the parental rights and saying that she didn’t want to be a mother and to not contact her.

After he told you that, the story of how he got his daughter broke your heart. How could someone abandon their child like that? Especially one so adorable. You hugged Miguel and kissed him on the cheek for being a great man and taking care of his child.

You both returned to his room, where Miguel picked you up and put you on the bed, quickly removing both your clothes before ravaging you for hours until you were so overstimulated that you almost passed out. After Miguel helped gently clean you up, bring extra careful when he wiped the wet towel over your upper thighs and overspent pussy. He then brought you against his chest under the covers as he kissed you good night and said, “Let me make you feel good one last time tomorrow morning before you leave.”

You nodded, kissing him softly before your eyes grew heavy, entering into a peaceful slumber. Miguel gazed at your sleeping form, wanting to memorize every part of you before you left him. His last thought before he fell asleep was maybe tomorrow morning, he could convince you to stay with him longer.

You woke up the next morning extremely sore. The past two nights, really taking a toll on your body. But you didn’t mind it, as the sex was amazing enough to not care about the bruises and sore muscles the next day.

Checking your phone, you are relieved that you woke up at 5:30 and before Miguel. You looked at the man sleeping soundly next to you. How could someone look even more handsome when they were asleep? You wish you could see those reddish-brown hues lovingly gazing at you one last time before you left. But you decided it would be less painful if you left before he woke up.

You gently get out of bed, stopping every time Miguel slightly shifts in his sleep. Leaving his bed’s warmth was hard, but you had to go. When you finally left the bed, you quickly dressed before quietly getting your wallet and his room key.

You came back 15 minutes later with a coffee and breakfast sandwich for him as a small thank you for everything he’s paid for. You were relieved to still find him asleep as you walked in the door. Before you left, you wrote him a small note:

I have to raincheck on breakfast with you this morning to catch my flight, but here is a coffee and breakfast sandwich as a small thank you for dinner and everything else. I promise to take you out for a proper breakfast or dinner if we ever meet again. I really had a great time with you this weekend. I’m sorry I left before you could say goodbye.

- Love

Y/n

After leaving the note on your pillow, you look at Miguel again before quietly leaving his room. You went back to your room to see Stephanie already packed and ready.

“Hey, we haven’t seen each other all weekend.” Stephanie chuckled as she walked over to hug you. Before she let you go, she frowned slightly when she saw that painful look on your face. “Are you alright, y/n?”

“I know it was only a hookup for the weekend. But I think I stupidly caught feelings for him.” You chuckle softly, trying to fight away the pain in your heart.

“Aww, did he not return your feelings?” Stephanie said as she helped you pack; you tried to stop her, but she refused since she could tell you were hurting.

“Actually- I never told him. Guess I didn’t want to ruin such a great weekend if he didn’t feel the same way.” Stephanie scoffs as she flicks your forehead, which you swatted away as you lightly glared at her.

“Why didn’t you say anything? How did he seem this morning when you said goodbye?”

“I actually left before he woke up...”

“Girl! I swear I will kill you for some of the stupid things you do. Why would you do that?”

“Well, did you do that with Raphael?”

“No! Because mine was just a hookup. Yours was something more. When I saw you with him at breakfast the other day, he seemed to care for you.”

“Well, it’s too late. Plus, it wouldn’t have worked out anyways. I’m in college, still trying to figure out my life when he already has his figured out. Let’s just go. The cab is probably waiting for us downstairs.” You zip up your suitcase before the both of you make it downstairs and into the taxi.

Getting to the airport, passing security, and boarding the plane went surprisingly smoothly. But as you gaze out your window, watching Miami grow smaller, a tear falls down your cheek as you feel like you made a mistake and left a piece of your heart back at the hotel.

Present

The barbecue began to die down as the hours were ticking into the night. It was only your family, Stephanie, and the O’Hara’s helping to clean everything up.

“Y/n, can you take all the dishes and put them in the sink? Liam can do them.”

“What! Why? Y/n’s the one bringing them there?” Whined your younger brother as he was putting garbage in a bag.

“Liam, you’ll do them. Plus, your sister just got home today. She can get a break from chores.” Your mother lightly shot a glare at your younger brother for his attitude. You place a hand on her shoulder and smile at her.

“It’s ok, mom. I’ll do them. He wants to see his friends, and I’ll only be in the house.” You say as you pick up all the dirty dishes and bring them inside the house.

You began to wash the dishes when two large arms trapped you against the sink. Your stomach dropped as butterflies began to fly in rhythm with your rapid heart rate.

You felt him press his toned body against you, making your cheeks red and your body hot. You felt him gently move your hair from your shoulder and press his lips against your neck before whispering in your ear with that low sultry voice you missed so much.

“It’s been a while, Hermosa. I’ve missed you.”

————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!💕

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