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wyvernest · 3 months ago

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cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

first part - previous part - all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

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captain039 · 23 days ago

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PART 3 Blood, Fur and Magic

Vampire Viktor x reader x Werewolf Jayce

Warnings: Vampire things, werewolf things, light swearing, possessiveness, smut, sexual, intimacy, poly relationship, angst, violence

Notes: New title! New Cover!

Previous part <-

Your minute turned into a week. Restless nights, dreams feeling like reality, a hooded figure, a strange language, magic, ancient. You couldn’t get used to seeing Viktor, his body healthy his eyes not the same honey gold they used to be, and Jayce- you don’t know how to talk to Jayce, you don’t know how to process everything that’s happened, how he kept it a secret. You lay in your bed, you avoid sleeping now not wanting to wake up somewhere else. The apartment is quiet, Viktor hasn’t left the apartment since he arrived, and Jayce has gone out a few times, retrieving notes and lab equipment. There’s a light knock on your door and you sigh softly wondering which man it was and hoping he’d leave you alone.

“I know you’re awake”

Viktor. You don’t answer immediately but mutter a small come in the door creaking open and then closing again. You don’t look at him for a while, his existence is still a processing thought.

“My presence bothers you,�� he says as a fact more than a question as he comes a little closer. You want to say it doesn’t, you’re so happy he’s alive, you don’t have to say goodbye now.

“Viktor” you mutter sadly as you feel the bed dip.

“You do not sleep either” he comments softly.

“Do you?” You ask.

“No, though it is more of a meditative state than a deep sleep” he explains and you nod. You feel his eyes on you, studying, reading you, like he’s done before.

“I thought my awakening would make you happy” his voice sounds lower vulnerable and you take a small breath to control your emotions. You want to hug him tightly and never let go, you want to cry and tell him to never leave you again but it feels too intimate. Viktor was always a friend a good friend, with few words outside the lab and an ingenious man in the lab of explanations, theories and calculations. He spoke more in the lab than out of it, his comfort space you figured. You stayed with Jayce for a week when he went to hospital, you didn’t leave either man only popping out to get food and water. When he woke up you may have forced him into a hug, Jayce’s hand on your back chuckling softly telling you to be gentle, but Viktor’s hand had come up gently resting on your arm giving it a soft squeeze. After the incident you and Jayce watched him like hawks, he caught onto it quickly though, and snapped at both of you leaving you out of the lab like kicked puppies. So you gave him space till the hexcore incident, there was a lot of arguing and fighting that day, an angry Jayce and an equally angry Viktor and you caught in the crossfire trying to stop it all before Jayce broke the hexcore. The tension remained either man was tense and unwilling to have a proper conversation outside a few words of formality and you felt stuck in the middle. While Viktor shouldn’t have risked it you understood why he did it, while Jayce went about it the wrong way he did the right thing destroying the hexcore.

Viktor’s movement makes you frown a bit as he lies down beside you. You lay a little stiffly but sigh.

“I had these visions before you-“ you gesture vaguely.

“Woke up?” He asks and you nod.

“My first was in a forest, running away from something growling and panting behind me before I ran into a hooded figure. It said ‘Change is the only way’ before I awoke” You let him take in your words before continuing.

“My next was the same woods, only this time two things were chasing me” You stop and pause.

“Jayce and I?” He asks and you nod.

“You caught me first, well I fell over something then you caught me. You said I’d taste so sweet before, well you know, biting me. It didn’t hurt “, more like cold pinpricks, then Jayce caught up, well beast Jayce. You were so loving towards him, beckoned him to come over and he listened he nuzzled right into your palm then you told me to wake up and I did” You sneak a glance at Viktor his face thoughtful a swirl of prominent red in them.

“The next time it happened I touched Jayce, I was looking out through his eyes. I- he was in the under city in beast form hunting. Probably the night before because when he arrived he was dirty, clothes slightly torn” You glance at him again but see nothing but a thoughtful gaze.

“When you touched me I felt you wake, I watched you wake up” You hesitate on elaborating, killed that nurse.

“What did I do?” He asks sensing your turmoil.

“You fed, Viktor” you mutter and he tenses.

“How much?” He asks.

“Drained” you whisper and you see him jolt.

“Did you see who?” He asks his breath caught in his throat.

“Viktor-“ you say but he moves quickly suddenly a top of you in a shadowy fog his hand gripping your chin.

“Tell me” his voice is low his accent thicker his eyes swirling a deep red.

“A nurse” you gulp. His eyes swirl back with purple and he breathes his hand letting go of your chin guilt crossing over his features.

“I’m sorry” he says and you see his flicker of struggle and control.

“Viktor?” You ask quietly his eyes snapping to yours.

“Have you-“ you frown a little maybe his control is slipping back the lack of food- blood.

“Drank?” He mutters eyes hard and you nod. He shakes his head.

“No” he mutters his body shuddering a bit still a top of you.

“I don’t know, much about vampires, I don’t know anything about vampires besides fairy tales and silly books,” you say and he frowns at your words.

“My point is, maybe you need to feed-drink to stay in control” you suggest hesitantly his eyes flick down the red swirl becoming more prominent in his eyes before he shakes his head. He’s off you in a shadow fog and standing up again.

“I need to study this new, condition, figure it out, sustain myself another way then kill someone again,” he says before he leaves your room. You take a shaky breath your hand going to your chin where he grabbed you.

The next morning you leave your room earlier than normal you notice Viktor's door closed but the light is on. Jayce sits at the table his head in his hand his eyes closed like he’s falling asleep again.

“Jayce” you whisper hesitating to touch his shoulder. He jolts and sits up making you grimace.

“I’m sorry, go back to bed,” you say he looks at you and you frown lightly at the golden glow they hold. He blinks, rubs his face and they’re gone making you take a small breath.

“Yeah, you’re right” he mutters and stands up. He slouches though, his usually straight posture gone with tense muscles and a tired face. You lift your hand hovering above his bicep. He watches you intently, his brown eyes wondering, waiting. You clench your hand and drop it back to your side looking away. Jayce sags and walks back to his room. You let out a small huff looking up as if to keep the tears in your eyes before you get breakfast.

You fall asleep sometime during the day, your consciousness back to the forest. You’re in a different part though, a ruined temple of some kind old and grumbled. You see three hooded figures inside standing around an unnaturally blue fire.

“You have come” one says and you frown but find your feet moving forward and into the room.

“We have given you gifts” another says but you can’t pinpoint which one. None of them move, each with the same dark blue robe and black shadow lacking a face.

“One of the beasts,” one says.

“One of the blood,” another says.

“One of the Arcane,” the last says. You frown, Beast, Jayce, Blood, Viktor, Arcane?

“Arcane?” You ask them as the fire flickers and flutters higher.

“You will need to bond for control, without it, you will suffer,” they all say.

“Bond? I don’t understand” you say.

“Accept the bond”

You’re jolted awake a gasp leaving you as you grip the lounge chair armrest.

“Hey- easy” Jayce has his hands gently on his shoulders, you feel a warmth seeping from them it slides down your arms into your fingers in a tingly relaxation. It crawls up your neck and down your chest swirling in your heart, it feels like a comforting embrace if it weren’t for the wide-eyed look Jayce is now giving you.

“What?” You ask and he stutters.

“What?” You snap again and glance down to your hands freezing, there’s a blue glow dancing along your skin, and you see two runes one on either hand.

“J-Jayce” you say panicked as you feel a pulse leave you. The apartment shudders from it and your panic rises.

“Hey, no look at me you have to calm down” Jayce cups your cheek but there’s a flow of power it’s consuming it’s begging to be let out.

“Viktor!” Jayce yells but it’s eating you from the inside. It latches to your muscles and your bones, it flows into your blood. You don’t hear their voices anymore, you hear an ancient language one you didn’t know you knew whispering, chanting to you. There’s a jolt of cold through you and the heat subsides, the consuming subsides. You gasp and grip Jayce’s arms focusing back on his face. He looks at you with worry in his glowing eyes. His hands cup your cheek while you feel Viktor’s on your shoulder. You grip Jayces arm tightly, there’s no more blue glow or consuming feeling, just a steady input of hot and cold from them.

“Are you alright?” Viktor asks softly and you realise he’s sitting beside you, you shift your gaze from Jayce to Viktor moving one hand to reach him. He frowns but lifts his free one to hold yours. You hold it tightly and grip Jayce’s forearm tightly grounding you.

“I don’t know” you mutter not daring to let either man go.

Next Part ->

#x reader #au #arcane #Viktor #Jayce Talis #Jayvik #Viktor x reader #Jayce x reader #Jayvik x reader #werewolf Jayce #vampire Viktor #Viktor arcane #Jayce x reader x Viktor #Viktor x Jayce

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kykyonthemoon · 4 months ago

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Where The Osmanthus Whispers

In another universe where you and Zayne grew up together without ever being apart, you have the chance to celebrate his birthday with him.

Happy birthday to our dear Zayne!

── .✦ Zayne x F.Reader (MC)

── .✦ Tags: AU, fluff, sweet, trope: childhood friends to lovers, really soft fluff, i was literally melting while writing this piece, birthday fic

── .✦ Word count: 2k2

── .✦ Ky Ky's notes: This fic was inspired by Zayne's birthday card "Eternal Attachment", especially the part where he and MC imagined what would happen if they grew up together.

For all the Zayne's girlies out there, I wish you have a blast on his birthday and all the days to come.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

Where The Osmanthus Whispers

"Thank you for taking care of our boy, as well as celebrating his birthday with him on our behalf."

You responded to the two individuals on the laptop screen, saying:

"It's nothing to worry about at all."

"Every year, we are fortunate to have you there. Otherwise, we can't bring ourselves to relax. Even though Zayne is a grown-up, taking care of his health and spending time dating are still things that concern the two of us the most."

When you were unsure of how you should respond, Zayne's mother piped up:

"Oh my! Why did you mention that? Look how she's blushing! Surely they're really happy together, right, dear?"

Auntie immediately turned around and asked, startling you. You attempted to clarify:

"Ah, the truth is we aren't..."

"I know you'll take excellent care of Zayne. But hey, if he does anything to upset you, make sure to call and let me know! I will always stand by your side!”

"Auntie, we are not—"

"That is all!" We have to go now. We entrust Zayne's birthday celebration to you again this year!"

"—dating…"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You grumbled and glanced at the screen where the call had just ended. Zayne's parents traveled away from home for business, but every year they sent him presents from the places they visited. This year, as previous ones, the present package was delivered to your address. Surely Zayne's parents knew he was too busy at the hospital all day and night to return home, so they sent it to you instead.

Every year, it was just you and Zayne celebrating his birthday together. When you were children and his family was still around, you went to his house to celebrate. Now that he had grown up, Zayne no longer wanted to throw large parties. Sometimes he even forgot his own birthday. If it were not for the wishes and presents from his parents, or the cake you brought to his place, he would probably let the anniversary slip away into oblivion.

Come to think of it, Zayne's present was sent to you, his birthday party was organized by you, his parents somehow always assumed you two were dating... If only it were like that!

You reclined back on the sofa and turned on your phone. The first name that appeared on its contact list was invariably Zayne. You tapped the call button.

After a ring, Dr. Zayne's face emerged. He was not in the office, and the scene behind him made it clear he was in the hospital cafeteria.

“I'm here.”

You smiled as a greeting. “Is Doctor Zayne on his lunch break?”

“Several colleagues invited me to lunch. What about you? Not skipping lunch, are you?”

“Nope.” You replied. “Your parents have just called. Your present has also arrived at my door."

The corner of Zayne's mouth, which was always straight, curled up a bit before swiftly returning to its natural shape. But you managed to capture that moment.

“I will fetch it after work.”

“Hello, Doctor Zayne! Can I ask you something about this morning's meeting?” A female voice sounded very close. That was not Yvonne's. Zayne nodded back to the person whose face you could not see, then he said to you:

“Is there anything else you want to share with me?”

"No." You answered a bit bluntly. Something ugly and unpleasant began to awaken in your mind.

“I'll see you later then.”

Zayne spoke. Then the screen switched off. You laid down on the sofa and glanced up at the ceiling, mind buzzing with the conversation at Akso Hospital a few days before.

Long story short, you were telling Nurse Yvonne about your plans for a celebration on Zayne's birthday. Greyson overheard it and volunteered to help. During the discussion, he mentioned:

“Recently there have been a lot of female interns coming to the hospital. They all appear to be big fans of Doctor Zayne. Aren’t you jealous?"

"Erm…" You were confused for a second.

Greyson shook his head, as if he had no choice but to deal with the situation. "You're too subjective. Although Dr. Zayne is incredibly devoted and trustworthy, a little jealousy like this may spice things up and bring the two of you even closer to each other."

“I… Wait, what are you talking about?…”

After then, you were forced to spend half an hour listening to Greyson as the "guru" of your relationship with Zayne. Apparently, he, like everyone else, believed you and Doctor Zayne were romantically involved. You attempted to find a way to clarify it, but Greyson did not give you a chance. So you wondered how a person who claimed to know so much about love like himself could still be single.

In your room, you rolled back and forth on the sofa. At last, you decided to stop being concerned about it and focus on arranging Zayne's birthday party, which was just around the corner.

Everything went according to plan. Even Zayne, who was undoubtedly aware of the surprise party planned for him, followed your requests in a more obedient way. Thanks to the help of Doctors Riley, Greyson and Yvonne, the birthday party at the villa in the woodland happened especially warm and pleasant. Zayne was also genuinely delighted.

But it was not the only present you had prepared for him. As a child, Zayne's parents once told him, "The blessing given to you by the first stranger you meet on your birthday will supposedly come true". That was why you made the effort to ensure that the first person he saw on his birthday morning every year was you. This year was no different.

Zayne arrived at the destination on time. The modest food truck you rented in the forest was stocked with sweets and pastries. Zayne sampled all of the treats, but his absolute favorite was the frosted sugar cookies that you made by yourself. Following that, he proposed that you two go for a stroll around.

The osmanthus woodland was dyed yellow. The mellow fall sunlight, along with the crisp air, was quite pleasant. The dry leaves rustled under your feet as you ventured alongside Zayne. After a time, you decided to break the stillness:

“Last night, I dreamed of something very strange.”

Zayne slowed down and looked at you, wondering: "Is there any dream of yours that isn't strange?"

You threw him a glance, then laughed:

“It really was! Well, I dreamed of us in another world. There, Zayne moved far away from me when he was a child. We didn't keep in touch anymore. When we grew up, you became Doctor Zayne, and I was your patient.”

Zayne remained silent so you could finish your narrative, but he gazed at you as if he were anxious that your dream would come true and the two of you would be separated for a prolonged amount of time.

"In my dream, I always regretted not being with Zayne on your birthdays... But, if we really lost contact with each other many years ago, do you think we would see each other again?”

"Of course." Zayne responded without thinking too much. "Because of your negligence and lack of knowledge about health care, you would most likely need to visit the hospital on a regular basis. Then we would meet again."

You frowned. "Look who's talking! Last year, you tried to work on your birthday. It wasn't until late at night that you returned home to celebrate with me. If you didn't get a break this year, you'd definitely spend the entire day at the hospital, right?"

Zayne's footsteps came to an absolute halt. You had both just arrived at the lakeshore. Sunlight and osmanthus flowers appeared to pour gold into the lake. Shimmering. He turned to you and replied:

"Since someone took the trouble to organize a big birthday celebration for me, I must participate wholeheartedly. Otherwise, she would be extremely sad."

You smiled.

“I know that Doctor Zayne constantly prioritizes the health of others. But to me, your health is equally important. Come to think of it... The me in that dream didn't get to celebrate birthday with Zayne every year... She had many regrets. If we hadn't grown up together, things would be very different now, right?"

“That's right,” Zayne replied, “The me in your dreams would not have someone to celebrate his birthday with every year. The box containing his presents from someone important would be empty. No one would ask him to help with homework but ended up falling asleep instead. He would not know who to comfort with ice cream. His sleeves would not get wet because someone's hand was holding too tightly when they went to the beach for fireworks together. His shadow beneath the moon would be very lonely on the long road..."

Zayne hesitated. He reached out to pick up the yellow blossom that had just fallen onto your hair.

“But even so, he would try hard to see his childhood friend again. They would be together again, making up for all the regrets during the time they were apart. They would always have each other in the later years. Just as we are now.”

For a moment there, you were unsure of what to say. Emotions surged in your heart, driving you to cry. You suppressed it, turned to face the lake and said:

“I really admire the me in that dream. Because she was free to express her feelings to Zayne… Because she wasn't…”

"Wasn't?" Zayne inquired out of curiosity.

"Nothing. I'm just wondering, if we weren't friends who grew up together, would things be clearer? For instance,... your parents, colleagues, classmates, patients, and others would not misunderstand the relationship between us..."

"Misunderstand?"

Confusion appeared on Zayne's face. You observed a golden flower descending onto his hair. Standing on tiptoe, you assisted him in taking it down. All of a sudden, Zayne grabbed your wrist. His eyes locked with you.

“Are you saying others are misunderstanding us?”

"Yes." You responded quietly. “They think we're… well… dating.”

“Are we not?”

"Huh?!"

The wind whistled. Flowers and leaves rustled together. Above your head, below your feet. But the sound of your heart beating was louder and clearer than anything. Zayne's hand traveled gently around your wrist, eventually grasping the osmanthus flower you were holding. He separated your fingers so that they would interlace with his.

"In the past, when I was about to leave home to attend a far-away school, there was a girl who gathered all of her courage to tell me this, 'Zayne, don't date anyone! I'll grow up soon! Wait for me!’ I kept my word to her. But it appears she has already forgotten what she told me."

The skin on your face was heated. You made an effort to turn away to hide your shyness, but Zayne frantically ran his hand through your hair, keeping your face toward him. You muttered:

"I was still a kid at that time... You skipped many grades and transferred to Linkon… I was so afraid we wouldn't be able to see each other anymore…”

You had said those words, that you wanted Zayne to wait until you grew up. You did not dare to consider the possibility that he would grow up before you did and eventually date someone else. You would no longer be able to be with him. Those childish words of yours were still kept in his heart until this moment.

“That's why I tried to study hard and looked forward to visiting you every weekend. I waited until you graduated, until you started your career. I counted every day off to be by your side. I don't expect you to recall what you said to me in our childhood. But, given how you are always at my side, taking care of me, and sharing your life with me, I assumed everything was obvious by now. That we belong together.”

“Well…” You tried to reorganize the words in your tangled emotions. Zayne and you had always been together like this. You had long been more than just friends. But you were always terrified of crossing that boundary just to discover he would not have the same feelings for you. The bridge of your nose burned slightly as you pressed your face against Zayne's massive palm, which had always protected you.

"I regret not expressing my feelings properly to you sooner." Zayne spoke gently. He took a step forward and hugged you. “Honestly, I am not good with words. I believed that simply being close to you was enough to convey my feelings. But it concerned you even more, which was not my intention."

You smiled softly, arms wrapping around Zayne's back.

"I wasn't certain I was that special in Zayne's heart. So I kept hesitating, doubting you, doubting myself... Now I understand. I know that I am able to freely express my feelings to you, just like the girl in my dream. Thank you, Zayne.”

Zayne's breath merged with yours, carrying the aroma of osmanthus and pastries. He whispered:

“Then I should learn to express my emotions even more. Starting now.”

Zayne's golden gaze focused on the corner of your lips. His fingers caressed your face in such a delicate manner. You smiled, eyelids half-closed. He leaned down to offer you the most tender kiss of all. Osmanthus blossoms fluttered in the breeze, delivering to you and Zayne the blessings of autumn.

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streets-in-paradise · 2 months ago

Text

Mercifull - Maximus Decimus Meridius x (Fem)Reader

Gladiator (2000) Oneshot

Warnings: Confession of suicidal thoughts ( reader makes it and he talks her out of it), some age gap ( reader is young lady fan in age of looking for marriage).

Summary: The company of your favorite gladiator is the only bliss your father has been able to obtain for you since the rule of Commodus got you fearing for your lives.

Bought in clandestinity through the aborrecent mechanisms of roman corruption, your one moment to show Maximus thankfullness for the positive impact he had in you becomes your time to present him with a small part of the comfort fate has denied him through his endless sufferings.

Notes: First piece of Gladiator fic I ever written, inspired by the lovely @wildsaltair and an idea that wandered my mind post rewatch. Despite the grim topics in the warnings, I need to clarify it is mostly a comfort fluff

Maximus wasn't counting with more visits at night and the reminder of Lucilla's warnings regarding the depraved customs of wealthy ladies in Rome haunted him when he got the news. He would have yet to receive someone else, fault of his increasing popularity. It was matter of time untill fame would bring that sort of attention to him and he despised it. Forced to be in the presence of the buyer of instants from the misserable life he had yet to live, he would deny them of the one thing they really paid for. Frightening disdain could be enough to make a corrupt rich matron think twice before venturing.

Once he had you face to face, you confused him to no end debunking all previous assumptions. In his eyes you appeared like a portrait of innocence. A polite young lady that smiled for him with shy blush, not the attitude expected for a lascivous woman seeking satisfaction for her wicked desires from a gladiator. Nerves kept you awakardly silent as you advanced towards him and Maximus followed your every move with disconcerted curiosity.

Only after the guard allowed you some privacy, he finally got to hear your voice.

" It's a great honor, … to be in the presence of the most honorable champion … "

You suddenly interrupted yourself, giving him the impression of a previously practiced introductory speech falling due to excitement.

" … I brought you a humble present, just a honey cake. Self made, none of my slaves were involved. Unfortunately, the guards said we can't have it … What is a shame, because I thought something sweet would be comforting for your spirit. "

Adoration of the purest was all you were showing him. If he could have any doubts about what kind of woman you were, it was all confirmed for him.

For the first time since his life was ruined, something amused him enough to throw a few chuckles.

" You shouldn't be here. What would happen with your suitors if the rumour spreads that you frequent champions at night? "

The inmediate, correct implication showing he knew you couldn't be a married woman had slightly shamed you.

" Do you think that troubles me now? A lot has changed since Commodus crowned himself emperor. What used to concern me feels meaningless. Great damage has he inflicted in such brief time! Giving him a lifespan to rule, he will be the downfall of Rome. If the world our people have built may end, I can at least spend a small portion of my family's fortune for a meet with my favorite gladiator. "

Despite presented as sensical reasoning, your comment made him wary for motives that you couldn't possibly predict.

" Did Lucilla send you as last resort to soften my heart? "

You didn't feel called out in any way and replied with increasing honesty.

" I have no business with her, here I am on my own. My desperate father paid hoping our meeting could reanimate the walking corpse his beloved daughter has become. Your performance in the arena awakened her from the letharge and for once she resembled herself again. "

Unsure of what you meant, he tried to disuade you the best he could.

" He wasted it, I have nothing for you. Not even legendary words of comfort you may treasure for the rest of your life. If an infatuation with the shade of myself you saw brought you here, I'll have to warn you there is no life left in me to share. "

The dark warning had a contradictory effect. Probably because of the frustration caused by such terrible start of the encounter with your idol, some of your initial shyness was slowly dissipating.

" My two brothers gave their lives for Rome, only so Commodus would claim mine! " You admitted right away, controlling yourself to not indulge in reckless yelling. " I know, I saw it in his eyes when I had to swear loyalty to him out of fear. My father ... I am all he has left after sickness claimed my mother and war deprived us of my brothers. Commodus will come for me first. Sooner or later, he will. His wicked smile haunts my dreams turned into nightmares. Your company is the last wish of an innocent who fears herself already sentenced. Can't you not grant such small mercy? "

Maximus no longer could show himself detached from your pleads and your strange fascination became more understandable to him. Far from a superficial admiration, you were moved by his claims. Was that the sort of power Lucilla attributed him? Inspiring terrified people and awakening the conciences of those who remained numb of distractions? He was once a general, but it was not his place to be a revolutionary leader.

And yet, he couldn't help to feel intrigued about your story. He was not in the place to reach you any comfort, but could grant the mercy of listening to you. After all, yours was a moving image for him. Youthfull enough to make him suspect you could as well be a beloved daughter and someone else's fiancee. Innocent and kind, sweet and respectfull of a mere slave.

He relaxed his closed fists, then gave only a few steps closer to you to test if you weren't going to retrocede out of any possible fear of pyshical closeness.

" I am not a good companion, a balsam for desperation, but would like to know what made you expect to find that in me. "

You remained in your position, glance turning softer again before you looked at the ceiling as if you would be confessing yourself to both, him and the gods.

When your eyes were back on him you shrugged, making him smile from amusement.

" Everyday I see the masses supporting him I experience the powerlessness of Cassandra as the trojans cheer arround the wooden horse, because she knows the terrible secret it hides. All what's left for her being the repugnant hands of the lesser Ajax, Agamemnon and the axe of his wife. "

Revisiting the first impression he got of you, Maximus found the comparison fitting. Not because of the terrible fate it augured, but because the image of the beautifull princess cursed with awareness suited with your ways.

" Who am I in this? The priest of Neptune doomed to die for sharing your truth? "

He made you chuckle, but you resumed seriousness to insist with your point.

" You exposed the truth nobody wants to hear loud enough for them to stop ignoring it, and in that I found hope. Your ragefull bright could have burned the cursed artifact of Ulysses. Inspired by it I dreamt of outliving this curse falling upon us."

Your will to share was reaching dangerous territory, but you felt so comfortable with him that you didn't mind to make him the keeper of a secret not even your most trusted slaves knew.

" Before I found you, I was inclined to believe my only way to win would be following the path of the egyptian queen. Take my own life on noble, painless terms before he would command for me the most horrible and humilliating of deaths. My only hope, Maximus, was dying celibate. It was your vengefull hunger for survival what inspired me to think otherwise, ... to crave life. And I am here to show my grattitude, because for a brief instant you made me live again."

It baffled him, incapable of conceibing he could have such strong amount of influence from his position as a doomed entertainer. Aside from the scandall he caused revealing himself, his actions had palpable concencuencies in the most unexpected ways. His cursed existence had a meaning for some, a very real and touching effect on them. Thinking it from the perspective of political manipulation, the sister of the emperor forgot to mention it could reach beyond that.

" My life is brief, girl. I may die tomorrow and what would be left for you to look up to? Survive for your father, your loss would weight too heavy in his heart. Become the wife of a fortunate roman and make him proud. A family to look after will give you the purpose you lack. "

His advice induced you into a very obvious, but delicate conclussion.

" They are your purpose, the reason why you haven't given yourself death yet. Only in your memories they remain, and in the day you will perish, the last glimpse of their existence goes with you. "

Tears began to fall down your face and the sight contained his anger to a mention done by a stranger about his massacrated family. For as incredible as it was, you were the very first person willing to join his mourning.

"You are clever to interpret feelings in the way an augur follows divine signs. "

He managed to bring out one more smile in your still tearfull countenance.

" I suppose that saying I am sorry for your loss would come out as a very empty gesture, but if you indulge me, I will do better to reach you a humble expression of the comfort that was cruelly denied to you. "

The distance between you was shortened at every instant by action of your own approach. Before he would dare to object, your arms were trapping him in an intempestive hug. His chained wrists remained still in their position at the sides, restricted his movement by the ties and his suprise. Your sweet embrace was squeezing thight his firm form, head resting on his chest as if you intended to hear his heart beating.

He stayed there, numb to the comfort that the heat of your body and the scent of jasmines in your skin produced him. From the most ironical of places had someone succeded on the impossible task of caughting him out of guard. Not the fighters on the arena, or the emperor of Rome, but a sweet girl and her infinite kindness.

Unable to respond by receiving you in his arms, he placed a chaste kiss on top of your forehead as soon as you tilted your head up searching for his face.

There were no more tears left in you, only the sweetest delight.

" There are certain moments that can worth for a lifetime and I will treasure this as such. "

He smiled against your skin and pressed another peck.

" You will live again, even if I will not be there to see it. You are strong, way stronger than you think. The kindest roman that my new life has put on my way. "

The praise embarassed you and confused you simultaneously.

" What difference can that make against a monster like Commodus? He has no mercy."

" That doesn't mean he is not fond of finding it on others displaying it for him. " He clarified before completing another advice. " Adoration keeps him pleased. Show him just a brief glimpse of what you have done for me and you may disarm him, like you had disarmed me tonight."

Authentical disbelief to the implied confession made you overlook the rest.

" Have I done that? "

" Your arms are still rounding me. " Maximus reminded you with sweet amusement. " Do you think I would have allowed that if you wouldn't had awakened some sort of weakness? "

You released him a inmediately, raising up your hands with an innocent expression.

" I only meant to comfort you, to share the flame of hope you awakened in me. "

" And you did, … but now it's time for you to leave." He thankfully disencouraged you. " The more time you spend, more dangerous it becomes. If his spies haven't followed you, rumours could lead to a similar end. I want you to never show fright in front of him again, but you will if he finds a reason."

The reminder was sensical and you didn't protest against it.

" Thank you for your mercy, Maximus. "

In that he intepreted your acknowledgedment for the emotional closeness you both had reached through the encounter.

" I could only respond to your mercifull ways, good lady. "

#gladiator 2000 #maximus decimus meridius #russell crowe #maximus x reader #russell crowe x reader

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chishiyasleftnut · 6 months ago

Note

Is there going to be more parts to stuck with you where chishiya redeems himself I guess

IM BAAAAAACK! ٩(◕‿◕)۶

Thank you for your request and patience, it’s been a rough couple of months. I’ve always wanted to make an insane author note and it’s finally my time to shine:

I had a mental breakdown, got hospitalised due to it, had to fight to get sick leave from my studies (I was supposed to be done with my bachelor’s now so rip that), and then when things finally lined up I GOT A CONCUSSION. So, it’s been a rough couple of months but now I’m back and unstoppable (⌐■_■)

Anyway, I hope you’ll like this story!

Stuck With You (part 3)

(Read part 1 and part 2 here)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Genre: Smut Warnings: Smut. Includes oral (both female and male receiving), penetration (female receiving), unprotected sex. Pairing: Chishiay x fem!reader

Plot: After spending the night together in more than one way, Chishiya finds it hard to keep his hands off of you - even in a life and death situation. The real question is: what have you two become?

3082 words. 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You felt as if you had barely closed your eyes when you were rudely awakened by chirping birds, sunlight shining through the thin and cheap material that the tent was made of. With a big yawn, you sat up in the tent, stretching your sore limbs before looking to your left where Chishiya had spent the last few nights, expecting to see him laying besides you with dishevelled hair as he always had in the mornings. To your surprise, he was nowhere to be found.

“I swear to God if this was some weird type of ‘hit-it then quit-it” I’m going to tear him to shreds the next time we meet,” you mumbled, immediately getting flashbacks to previous similar situations.

With no other choice than to continue your day, you got dressed in silence before emerging out of the tent. And there he was: carefully fidgeting with something you couldn’t quite make out. His head turned towards the sound of the tent zipper unzipping.

“Morning, princess,” he smirked. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine.” That was a lie and you both knew it. You looked like a hot mess with dark blue bags under your eyes and your hair all tangled up. “I thought you ditched me, I won’t lie.”

“Do you think so little of me?” he said, his grin only growing more annoying by the second.

You shrugged to avoid the question - truth be told you still weren’t sure where you had him - and moved closer to him, sitting down next to him on the grass and looking at whatever he was creating. Noticing your peaked interest, he replied to your silent question.

“It’s a stun grenade. Probably not deadly, but it’ll do some damage,” he said nonchalantly. Noticing your confusion, he continued. “I thought it would be a good distraction if we run into problems. It might buy us some time if we need to run.”

“I didn’t know you could run.”

Although the air that huffed out of his nose told you that he found your remark funny, he decided not to reply to your snarky comment.

“Anyway, it’s good to have, isn’t it?” he asked.

You shrugged again, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of him knowing once again that he was right. Why did he always have to think so far ahead? It was annoying you relentlessly how he was right more often than he was wrong. It was Chishiya who spoke first, looking at the stun grenade before stuffing it in his left pocket.

“There’s a hearts game,” he said while pointing distantly towards the sky.

Your heart sunk. Playing a hearts game with an ally was either incredibly beneficial or terribly traumatising. Although you wouldn’t say it out loud, you didn’t want to risk losing Chishiya and you had a feeling that he agreed. Actually, who were you kidding, you knew very well that Chishiya would sacrifice you without a second thought way before you had the chance to sacrifice him. Still, it felt unnecessarily risky.

“Do we have to attend it?”

“Mhm, it’s the closest one to us.”

And that was that. With no counter arguments, you both picked up a few belongings and headed towards the big banner floating above who knew what. Jack of Hearts.

The venue was an old prison. The big iron door which encapsulated the depressing location eerily creaked as you carefully entered the slowly deteriorating building. Of all the games sites you had been at, this was definitely up there in creepiness. With each step you took, you got reminded of the horrors this place had once been home to. You shivered at the thought, trying your best to conceal your feelings about the location.

Much to Chishiya’s dismay, you were required to hand in all potentially dangerous belongings before you could enter the game. Chishiya kissed his teeth and reluctantly let go of the stun grenade he had spent all morning on assembling.

“A shame,” he said monotonously. “Seems like I won’t get to test my creation.”

You muttered a silent thank God under your breath. The idea of a homemade stun grenade didn’t seem very safe to you, and with your luck it would somehow explode in his hands and kill the both of you.

“Did you say something?”

Crap. He heard you. It was like he had super-human hearing at times.

“No,” you lied, causing Chishiya to sneer. Nonetheless, he luckily dropped the subject.

The game started not long after you put on the collar supplied to you by the game masters (whoever the hell that was). The metal was cold, but otherwise it wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. That was good, considering you had to wear it for an unknown amount of time.

The rules were simple. Each person’s collar showed a symbol which you had to announce every hour in a private jail cell. Easy enough, right? The only catch: you couldn’t see this symbol by yourself. The collar was placed in such a way that it was impossible to do so. The obvious solution would be to use a reflective surface - something that was regrettably forbidden by the rules. If you said the wrong symbol: game over. That meant the game was one big exercise in trust with the sole goal of killing off the unidentified Jack of Hearts.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you realised you would not be forced to be in a position where you or Chishiya could get hurt. You trusted each other, right? At least more than you trusted the other strangers in the prison. This would be fine.

And for the first time in what felt like years, it was fine. What you hadn’t considered was how God awful boring this game would be, giving you nothing to do but eat snacks and talk for hours. There were already clear alliances formed amongst the players, causing the Jack to hide safely amongst an unsuspected group of players until someone inevitably fucked up and mistrusted their group.

The boredom had started to hit both you and Chishiya hard. Although he tried to hide it, you knew there were only so many packages of biscuits one man could eat before he went insane. It therefore shouldn’t have surprised you when he pulled you aside at the beginning of the 4th round.

“What are you-“ you managed to exclaim before Chishiya covered your mouth and dragged you into his cell.

“Shhh,” he said with a smirk, looking rather pleased with his plan to waste some time. He immediately yet carefully closed the heavy cell door, making sure not to slam it shut. “Be quiet, we don’t want everyone to hear, now do we?”

“Hear what exactly?”

Despite your confusion, you instinctively lowered your voice to comply with his request. You had long ago stopped questioning Chishiya on these things.

“We’re both bored, aren’t we? I can think of a thing or two we could do to make the time go by faster.”

And that’s when you got it. Sex. He wanted sex in the middle of a game. This wasn’t the Chishiya you knew back at the Beach - that Chishiya would never have been willing to be vulnerable at all, much less during a game.

“What, am I that addicting?” you joked, snaking your arms around the back of his neck. It wasn’t like you were about to complain over or resist his offer. If you spent one more round doing nothing you might actually have died from boredom.

“Very much so,” he admitted, his own hands finding their way to your waist.

It felt good knowing you were wanted - and by Chishiya of all people. Feeling a rush of confidence, you initiated the first kiss, pressing your lips against his firmly. As expected, Chishiya immediately reciprocated, gently leading you towards the wall and pushing you up against it without breaking contact with your sweet lips.

When Chishiya’s hand left your waist to sneak under the waistline of your pants, his mind occupied with lewd thoughts of what was to come, you took the opportunity to switch the position around, taking him by surprise as you pivoted and pushed him forcefully against the cold wall.

The look on his face was priceless, but you didn’t have time to bask in the rays of satisfaction you felt. Instead, you dropped to your knees and placed both hands on his thighs, making sure to look at him up through your eyelashes.

Without hesitation, you hooked your fingers under his sweatpants and pulled them down, revealing his half hard dick. You broke eye contact to gaze at his length, examining the thing that made you feel pure bliss the night before. The thoughts of last night’s encounter made your mouth salivate, causing you to gulp down the excess saliva.

You must have been staring for a while, completely absorbed in the memories, and fully disconnected from reality, because you suddenly felt Chishiya’s hand grabbing yours, gently guiding your fingers around his half-erect dick. You understood what that meant, immediately going to work on making him harder, gliding your hand up and down his entire length, watching as it grew and grew.

Once you noticed small droplets of pre-cum oozing from the tip, you placed your flattened tongue at the base of his dick before sliding it up all the way. Not having expected the sudden change of sensation, Chishiya shuddered and gasped in one breath, his hand moving into your hair.

You flicked your tongue over the sensitive head, enjoying the way his hardness twitched each time the slightly rough yet at the same time soft tissue of your tongue brushed over the tip. Satisfied with the reaction this got you - and feeling as if you had made him wait long enough already - you opened your mouth just wide enough to take him in his entirety, letting his dick fill up your throat as you took him down to the root.

“Fuck,” you faintly heard Chishiya mutter, your other senses almost completely dulled by the feeling of Chishiya’s length occupying your esophagus.

As Chishiya adjusted to the warmth and tightness of your throat, his fingers entangled in your hair. He pulled on it ever so slightly, silently begging you to fuck him with your mouth. And you did, diligently bobbing your head up and down, savouring the feel and taste of him with each movement.

Just as you felt like you had gotten into a good rhythm, Chishiya pulled your head away from his body, your mouth leaving him with a wet, pop sound. He shuddered slightly at the cold air which had so suddenly hit his now wet skin before he pulled his pants back up.

He noticed your confused eyes, but instead of speaking he pulled you up on your feet and guided you towards what you could only imagine was the prison cell’s bed. The bed (if you could even call the cold metal slap that hopefully once had held a mattress a bed) wasn’t exactly comfortable, but neither was the shitty two-man tent in which you two last shared a moment. At least you had more space now than you did last night, opening up for more possibilities.

With a small push, Chishiya got you seated on the metal before kneeling down on the floor in front of you, swiftly pulling off your pants and underpants and seating himself between your legs. The coldness from the metal now directly against your bare buttocks didn’t exactly feel nice, but luckily for you it didn’t take long before he hiked both of his arms underneath your thighs and lifted your lower body up against his face, so you were doing a shoulder stand.

Wasting no time, he immediately plunged his tongue into the depth of your core, licking up your arousal as if he had been wandering around a desert for days with no water. Your sounds went from confusion caused by the awkward position to deep pleasure in record time, your moans being harder and harder to suppress when he finally flicked his tongue over your so far heavily neglected clit. He hummed and growled as he indulged in your taste, the vibrations from his mouth only furthering your arousal and excitement.

His tongue was working overtime, alternating between circling your love button and pushing deep inside of you. You were so zoned out from reality, entering an almost trance-like state brought on by his tongue, that you barely noticed his hand moving down your body, sliding underneath your shirt until it reached your breast. There, Chishiya snaked around your bra and began massaging your boob, occasionally putting extra focus on your sensitive nipple.

Despite the objectively rather awkward and uncomfortable position, you soon enough felt a cascade of pleasure engulf your entire being as Chishiya’s mouth helped you reach your climax. Chishiya didn’t stop - instead he continued to flick his tongue around your most sensitive area, accompanying you through every last pulsation your core made. Once your hand-muffled moans had turned into soft whimpers, he put you down and wiped his mouth with his arm.

Now that you were fully horizontal again, you began feeling the aches in your neck. Perhaps doing a shoulder stand for God knows how long, on a metal bed, was not the best choice. Chishiya too looked as if he was internally questioning his decision to eat you out like that, but he wasn’t a quitter. Not wanting to waste even a second more than he had to, he stood back up and pulled down his sweatpants, his hard length slapping against his stomach once freed.

His dick didn’t even need extra attention before he was set to go. It was so perfectly ready for you; hard, red, throbbing, with a bead of precum adorning the tip. It was almost beautiful - well as beautiful as a dick can be. You didn’t get to admire it for long before he climbed on top of you, pushing your body further down on the metal bed and immediately entering you once on top of you.

With his dick buried so deep inside of you that it almost felt like he was piercing through to your stomach, Chishiya began thrusting in and out of you, his tip forcefully slamming against your cervix each time. You were well aware that you were supposed to be quiet and yet you couldn’t help the moans and whimpers that left your lips. Chishiya quickly covered your mouth with his hand, shusshing into your ear through his own low groans.

Your hands found their way around Chishiya’s torso, gripping tightly onto the soft fabric of his hoodie. Had he not been wearing said hoodie your nails would have painfully been digging into his skin, leaving marks for hours to come. Luckily for his back that was not the case and he barely even noticed how tightly you were clinging onto him.

“I’m gonna-” you began saying into his hand, your words muffled. To everyone else, the sounds would have been unintelligible, but Chishiya knew exactly what you were trying to say.

“Come,” he demanded, growling the command into your ear.

Your mind completely blanked after that, your body only able to feel the immense pleasure that was flowing through every fibre of your being, raising every little hair on your arms and igniting nerves you didn’t know existed. The intense pulsation from your core caused Chishiya to finish soon after, his dick rhythmically spouting his seed deep inside of you.

You both rode out your high together, Chishiya eventually collapsing down on you, grounding you further down on the hard, metal bed. The only sound audible in the room was that of heavy breathing. That was until Chishiya suddenly stood up and redressed his lower half. You raised your eyebrows at his promptness, something that he noticed.

“We can’t stay in here all day. We have a game to play,” he said. Perhaps you were imagining it, but you swore you could see the faintest satisfied smirk on his lips.

You had no reply, but instead followed suit and put you pants back on. As you stood up you felt the sensation of Chishiya’s seed slowly seeping out of you, but you tried to ignore it. It wasn’t like there were tissues laying around to help with that right now.

The silence in the room was thick, a contrast to the sounds of pleasure that only a few minutes prior had faintly echoed around the bare room. That was, until you bravely decided to ask the question that had been on your mind since last night.

“So, what are we?” you asked, trying to sound more confident than you were. He, of course, saw right through you. He always did.

“I don’t know, what are we?” he repeated like a parrot, avoiding answering the question. You knew it was because he loved toying you around. Perhaps you liked being toyed with too, but that felt more like something you should discuss with a therapist than with Chishiya.

“No no no, I asked you first.”

He didn’t reply. Of course he didn’t, that would have been too easy of him. Instead, he opened the cell door again and gestured towards the hallway outside.

“We have a game to finish.”

And that was that. You knew you wouldn’t get a better answer out of him - not today at least - so you followed his lead, exiting the jail cell and pretending as if you hadn’t spent the last small hour with Chishiya rearranging your guts.

The following rounds were slowly getting more and more dramatic, with the other groups disbanding due to betrayals and a general sense of unease spreading through the prison. In that regard, you were quite lucky that you had Chishiya. Even more so when he eventually cracked the code and helped you both survive the game unarmed.

Together you silently walked back to the little camp that you had created and mutely crawled back into the tent. No words were spoken as you both laid flatly down on the mats next to each other. What was there to say? Bringing up the game would do nothing but remind you of the precarious situation you were in. Bringing up what happened during the game would require both of you to openly discuss feelings. Yeah, no. Silence was the right option. At least for tonight.

[PART FOUR HERE]

#aib chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya #aib #chishiya smut #alice in borderland #chishiya x you #chishiya #smut #chishiya x y/n #chishiya shuntaro smut #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader #aib shuntaro chishiya #aib fic #aib fanfic #aib smut

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oliversrarebooks · 5 days ago

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 78: Oliver's Awakening

Previous > Masterlist

tw: aftermath of mind control, discussion of abuse

October 1925

Oliver writhed on the ground, his chest as tight as a drum and tears squeezing from his eyes, as all the fear and pain and shame that had been suppressed the past few months flooded him.

He'd been content, so content to give up his own life to become the servant of a vampire, hardly even struggling as he was taken and confined and ensorcelled. He'd enjoyed the vile feedings, looking forward to the vampire drinking away his blood, pleased to slump over in the vampire's arms as his life was drained, satisfied with the twin scars on his neck. He'd cheerfully allowed the vampire to pass him around like a party favor to his lover, to curl up around him as he slept, to dress him up in ball gowns and take him to vampire dens to show off…

But truly, it wasn't the shame that hurt the most -- that was just the easiest of his emotions to understand. No, the worst of it was the profound sense of emptiness. It was if Alexander's music had filled something within him he hadn't known was empty. It had given him a purpose, even if it was to follow the selfish whims of a monster, and now he was devoid. Knowing intellectually that it had never been a real purpose, just enslavement, didn't ease the sting of his heart.

Vivian crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Oliver, I know it's a lot to process. It might take days or weeks --"

"You don't know!" Oliver wrenched backwards to get away from her, furious. "You don't know what you just took. You can't!"

"I know it must hurt --"

"If you knew it would hurt like this, then why did you do it against my wishes?" Oliver demanded.

"Oliver!" Emily was standing nearby. "She was just trying to help. It's not fair to yell at her like that."

"It's not fair that I feel like this!"

"Leave him alone," said Vivian. "Let him scream at me if he wants. He's coming out of a much deeper enthrallment than you were in, Emily. It won't be easy."

"That's not true," she said indignantly. "I could barely talk, couldn't remember my past, wasn't even literate any more."

"Yes, and that's relatively easy for a vampire to do. What's been done to Oliver is far more precise and insidious, to keep him so intact on the surface while bending his desires and loyalties completely."

"Do you mind talking about me as though I'm not even here?" Oliver hated how angry he was, how he couldn't control the harshness of his voice. He was never angry, never so much as raised his voice at a difficult customer, not before he was captured. Even then, his anger had been weak, easily plucked out of his head by that damned Miss Lily. He felt sick to think of himself drowsing in her company, letting her rummage through his very mind, throw out anything she didn't like, and replacing his truth with a pretty painted facade.

"I'm sorry," said Vivian. "I know you're upset with me, but this is important. Can you still feel the connection with your former master?"

"No. It's been severed. I can't hear him anymore."

"That's good. With a vampire that powerful, it's likely that your connection is actually only weakened, not entirely destroyed. He may try to enter your head again, draw you under his sway."

Oliver nodded, ashamed that a part of him hoped he would, that Alexander's music would dull the pain. No, he would have to resist somehow. He couldn't go through all of this heartache for no reason, to go merrily skipping back into the arms of a vampire. Vivian's magic had stripped away the illusion, revealed the monster behind the handsome face.

"I'll try to resist," said Oliver shakily.

"Good, that's good. If you hear his voice, you need to tell me immediately, all right? I can help protect you, or wash out his influence again if we need to," she said. "It's my fault for not killing him when I had the chance. I was a coward. And now I'll have to plan to go after him again, before he hunts me down."

"Don't kill him!" Oliver's fervor surprised even him.

"Oliver, you'll never be safe until I do."

"I know that, but -- I don't want him to die. Maybe I should want him to die, maybe I'm still under his spell, but I can't bring myself to want him to die," he said, not understanding why he felt so strongly about this when he knew Alexander's true nature.

"He took you from your bookshop, remember?" said Emily. "The whole time we were in those cages -- at least, before Lily warped our minds -- that's all you could talk about, was your bookshop and how you had to return there. Don't you want to?"

His bookshop, and the tiny apartment above. His little safe haven, where he'd spent his entire life. The antique books locked behind the counter, the sagging shelves of the history section, the ratty armchair with the throw blankets that might still be waiting for him.

"I can't go back there," he said. "Alexander was one of my customers. He'd find me easily."

"That's why I have to kill him," said Vivian.

Mounting horror dawned on Oliver. "But even if you did kill him, it wouldn't do any good, because his sire would find out and hunt us both down. I'm sure of it."

"His sire? A vampire that powerful, and he's still beholden to his sire?"

"He's a terrifying vampire." The fear, which had been acute before, was now so much more sharp without Alexander's soothing influence. He could remember the feel of harsh fangs in his neck all too well, the panic of being unable to open his eyes. "Far more terrifying than Alexander could ever be. Alexander once told me that if we ever tried to escape him, he'd hunt us both down and make sport of it, and I believe him."

"It can't be…" Vivian muttered. "Tell me more about him, your former master's sire."

As much as Oliver didn't care to recall those memories, Vivian might actually be able to help. "I'll tell you whatever information I have. I'd be happy to see him die, and Alexander would, too. I don't know his real name, but they all call him the Maestro --"

"You've met him?" She gripped his shoulders like a madwoman. "You've actually met the Maestro?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You've heard of him?"

"He took my mother. He's the vampire I need to kill more than any other. You must tell me everything you know about him."

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said. "I can tell you everything I've learned about him, if you agree that you won't kill Alexander."

"Even if I were convinced you truly meant that and it wasn't just residual conditioning, I couldn't agree to that. Alexander is likely to come after me for taking you, and if he does, I need to be able to defend myself."

"I suppose that's true," said Oliver reluctantly. He didn't want to admit to himself that it would be ideal if Vivian were to kill the Maestro but spare Alexander, so that he would have the option of returning to the vampire without the threat of his sire hanging over their heads.

No, he must still be under the spell. He shouldn't return to Alexander under any circumstances, not if he wanted to keep a free thought in his head.

"You need to tell me," Vivian insisted. "Revenge on the Maestro is one of the main reasons I became a hunter in the first place. It wasn't just my mother who suffered. He's killed at least twenty hunters, and he's believed to have kidnapped a number of musicians and stage performers. He needs to be stopped."

"He does." Oliver sighed, feeling that tiny bit of leverage slip. "All right. I'll tell you what I know."

He tried to recall everything he could for Vivian's sake -- everything Lex had told him, and especially recounting his own experiences with the cruel vampire. Emily sat nearby, her eyes going wide with horror as Oliver described his blinding and the painful feeding. Vivian, on the other hand, was absorbing all of Oliver's words carefully.

"So when he controlled you -- was there any sort of induction he had to perform? Any conditions he had to meet?"

"I don't think so, or at least I don't remember any. Alexander didn't mention any either. He was able to puppet my body as easily as if I were a toy, and there didn't seem to be any way to resist it."

"Hm. That's going to be trouble," said Vivian, deep in thought. "And when he stopped you from opening your eyes again -- how long did it take for that enthrallment to wear off?"

"It didn't. The next day, Alexander took me to Miss -- to another vampire's home, one that specializes in hypnotizing humans, and she reversed the Maestro's command."

"A specialist in hypnotizing humans? Lily?"

"You know her too?"

"Yes, I'm aware of her."

"Are you going to kill her, too?"

"I really should, considering how many people's minds she's destroyed -- or are you going to defend her as well?"

"…No." Truthfully, he felt more conflicted about it than he should, given that Vivian was objectively correct. How many human minds had she stolen? How many lives had she cut short, selling innocent people off to vampires with nothing more than glee about her profits? She was the one who had twisted his mind, and all those feelings of comfort and warmth as he slept in her chair were nothing more than lies to keep him docile.

"So do have any idea where the Maestro lives?"

"No, I'm sorry. Those are the only two times I encountered him, and Alexander never mentioned where he lives, from what I can recall."

Vivian sighed. "It's a pity. But even so, you've given me far more information than I had yesterday, and I'm grateful for it."

"You know… both you and Alexander want the Maestro dead. Could you ever consider working together?" asked Oliver.

"Working with a vampire?"

"Only this one specific time, only to kill an even worse vampire!"

"I can't do that," said Vivian. "Even if we do have the same goal. Fighting a vampire as formidable as the Maestro would leave me vulnerable, and I can't trust that this Alexander wouldn't simply enthrall me afterwards. In fact, he'd be stupid not to, lest I kill him."

Oliver wanted to protest that Alexander wouldn't do that… except that Alexander might actually do that. After all, he had no qualms at all about buying a human at auction, even a human he previously knew as an equal. Why would he hesitate to enthrall a hunter?

"Come on," said Vivian, helping him off the floor. "We can talk more about this later. You've been through a lot tonight, and need more time to shake off the spell you've been under. We have a room that you can use, but I'm going to have to lock you in, and keep you under surveillance for now, at least until we're sure that your vampire isn't going to try and push himself into your head again."

"Fine," he said, accepting that Vivian didn't trust him. He didn't even trust himself. "Why can he still do that, if you've undone the enthrallment?"

"There's a psychic connection established when a vampire drinks your blood. It's not quite the same thing as enthrallment, and it can be very strong. It fades in days or weeks, but until then, you'll still be vulnerable to the vampire's influence."

"I see." He wondered if that applied to any vampire which had fed from him. If it did, that meant -- "But the Maestro, he…"

"Yes," she said grimly. "Has he ever entered your mind before, when he's not there in person?"

"I don't think so. I hope not."

"I hope not either. I'm not prepared to fight him just yet. If you sense anything, you need to tell me right away."

"Yes, of course."

Vivian led Oliver out of the attic and into a room little bigger than a closet, with a cot and a small chest of drawers. "You should get some rest," she said, herding Oliver inside. "You'll feel better once you have. Is there anything you need?"

"A glass of water, please?" asked Oliver, sitting on the edge of the cot. "And if you have any interesting books…"

"Certainly. I'll see what I can do."

Oliver waited patiently for Vivian to return with the water and a couple of old magazines. As soon as she left the room and he heard the lock click shut, he fell back onto the bed, knowing that he wouldn't even be able to concentrate on reading, not with all the thoughts crowding his head.

He was free.

Wasn't he?

It was terribly hard to feel free when he was locked into a small room, the threat of his vampiric master and his sire still hanging over his head like an executioner's axe. The confinement was for his own safety, and he understood the reasons, but he wouldn't actually be free until both Alexander and the Maestro had ceased to walk the earth.

He was frustrated with himself. He shouldn't care so much about the well-being of a vampire who had literally purchased him at auction. And yet…

Now that the initial shock and fear had worn off, he was finding himself gripped by a deep and profound sadness. The cot he lay on was hard and cold, and he couldn't suppress his longing for his bed at home -- no, Alexander's bed. It wasn't ever his. He'd been hypnotized to share it, to cuddle up with a monster.

He'd been hypnotized into affection.

And it was really the only affection he'd had since he was a child, wasn't it? He'd lived such a solitary and quiet life, spending almost every night alone in his small apartment with books for company. Even the simple pleasure of curling up to read next to someone else had been foreign to him until he came into Alexander's possession.

And it had all been a fabrication meant to keep him compliant, hadn't it? He shouldn't miss it. He should be glad to be rid of it.

But the thought of returning to his solitary life, of never experiencing actual tenderness, was crushing him inside. He'd been starving for so many years, but it had been bearable when he didn't know what he was missing. Now that he knew that his choice was between actual loneliness and false companionship, he could only be ashamed at the parts of himself which preferred the lie.

No, he had to press on somehow. He couldn't return himself to a monster, no matter how charming. He should be happy to be freed. He could have his own life back. He could sleep during the night and wake during the day, and walk in the sunshine, and choose to go wherever he pleased.

He could take what little money he had stashed in his bookshop and take a train out of town, or a boat overseas, see the new places that he dreamed about but never got around to visiting. He could start his life over, do something else with it. Live a fuller life in the here and now rather than wait in his lonely little bookshop, wait for something to happen to him. Something had happened to him, and it should have taught him a lesson about choosing what he wants before it's chosen for him.

It was exhilarating. But…

For all his newly gained freedom, he still had no idea what he actually wanted. The desire for fangs in his neck was fake, but at least it was a clear desire. What did he want before, apart from books and safety? And who was he now, now that he knew the dangerous world of the supernatural lurked just behind every streetlamp, just waiting to pull him into it?

Previous > Masterlist

Next week: Oliver is not as free as he might have hoped.

I'll also have a Christmas-adjacent self-indulgent vampire story up tomorrow, so please keep an eye out! And vote in the holiday edition of Sedation Vending Machine!

Thanks for reading this story another year, and happy holidays!

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#whump #whump writing #vampires #mind control #vampire hunter #vampire whump #rare bookseller #oliver #vivian #emily

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goldencherriess · 2 months ago

Text

The supreme lord of the bathroom.

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Fem! Reader

Summary: A new arrival at Camp Half-Blood announces new opportunities.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: angst if you squint, mentions of blood

Previous part || Series masterlist

Y/N blinked against the sunlight. It was pouring out the window onto her face like a golden cascade. Her ears caught sounds of laughter and chatter. It wasn’t the first time she woke up in the middle of a morning chaos. Life in Cabin 11 had always been that way, too lively for her likeliness. People always shuffling, talking loudly and giggling. It was a cabin which burst with life, but it was also too overcrowded. She rarely felt she got a breather to herself. Most of the time she was yearning to be left alone to her thoughts, but always a Hermes kid jumped at the opportunity to talk to her. She always shut them out. A side of her felt grateful for the warmth she was greeted with when she had first stepped into the cabin, but another side of her was longing to know to which cabin she truly belonged.

Someone jumped on her bunk bed, dipping the mattress. “Wake up, sleepy head!”

“I’m already awake. You lot had awakened me up,” she replied groggily, opening one eye and gazing at the person who was currently taking most of her bed.

The boy only shrugged innocently. “That’s Cabin 11 for ya. You’re stuck with us,” he grinned. “For a while,” he hastily added once he saw Y/N furrow.

She only sighed, before getting up. “It’s been four years, Luke.”

Luke was the first who befriended her the day she stepped into the camp for the first time. She could still remember the warm smile he approached her with.

“Yeah, but others had to wait longer. They still got claimed, though.”

“And others didn’t,” replied Y/N bitterly.

Luke cast his eyes down. “I know, I’m sorry.” A smile spread on his lips again. “You know what I’ve heard?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, while she gathered her hair into a ponytail. “Amaze me.”

“The new kid. He killed the Minotaur. And Annabeth thinks he’s the one. You know, he might just be. Play your cards right and you might get yourself a quest. The quest.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she let her hair fall back down. “Really?”

Luke opened his mouth to reply, but familiar hooves entered the cabin and interrupted him. The tall and lean figure of Chiron stood in the doorway, clapping his hands. “Everyone, everyone. Your attention, please.” Y/N turned her head, curiously taking in the sight of a golden-haired boy beside the centaur. “This is Percy Jackson, I trust you will see to whatever he needs.”

She turned back towards Luke. “Is this the kid?” she asked him, pointing towards the blonde.

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

A grin spread out on Y/N’s face, illuminating her sharp features. “Great. I’ll make the introductions. Don’t interrupt me and let me approach him first. This could be important.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“Promise me, Luke!”

Luke raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I promise! Just don’t scare him off.”

She ignored him and took small steps towards the boy, analyzing his every move. She could tell he was feeling out of place, confused and furious. She could tell because she saw her younger self in his shy eyes and unsure steps. She crossed her arms and leaned on the banister beside his sleeping bag. He was just crouching and taking something out of a backpack when she spoke up. “So, you’re the one who killed the Minotaur?”

He got up and turned around abruptly. His gaze landed on Y/N and she thought his eyes resembled the deep sea and its secrets. “How did you-”

“News travels fast,” she shrugged.

He only huffed. “Look, if you want to give me a hard time, just do it tomorrow. I can’t do any more today.”

“Are you the kid who killed the Minotaur? It’s a yes or no question,” repeated Y/N more firmly, straightening her back and distancing herself from the bannister.

The boy’s eyes travelled to the horn besides his backpack.She followed his gaze. “So, you did. It’s true what they say.”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied, shuffling his feet.

“What’s your name?” asked Y/N, taking a step closer towards the newcomer. She could feel Luke’s gaze burning holes into her back.

“Percy.”

She smirked. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Percy. I’m Y/N.” She stuck out her hand in greeting, and he shook it hesitantly.

“Heard what happened to you on the hill,” a familiar voice said. Luke came up beside her, approaching Percy just as he did once to her. “And I just… wanted to say I’m really sorry.”

Percy’s gaze slipped towards Y/N, who was still closely watching him, before it fell, aimlessly looking around and taking in the sight of the wooden floor.

“I know what you’re going through. Believe me.”

“You might not believe it yet, but you’re one of us,” said Y/N, lowering her head to catch his gaze. “You’re a demigod.”

He lifted his gaze, latching onto hers. He almost started at the intensity in them. They strangely reminded him of a thunderous sky in a storm.

“I’m Luke. You met Y/N here. We’re your friends now.”

“Percy,” he replied, shaking Luke’s hand before his eyes panned to Y/N. She hesitantly smiled, before she turned around. “Settle in, no one’s doing your bed around here!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“Bossy,” he whispered under his breath.

Luke chuckled lightly from beside him. “She means no harm. It’s just the way she is. We figured she might take after her godly parent.”

“Who’s her godly parent?” asked Percy, taking his gaze off Y/N, who was just picking up a set of arrows and a bow.

Luke scratched the back of his head. “We, uh, we don��t know. She’s unclaimed. Has been for four years now.”

Percy nodded slowly. He understood. “Just like me,” he murmured.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/N loved to watch the birds fly and sing between the emerald trees. She would sit for hours, glancing at the skies every once in a while, while she cleaned her arrows and bow. Today was no different. Sitting under a cooling shadow of a pine, she glanced upwards, catching the sight of an eagle slashing the skies in two. Annabeth was sitting besides her, talking her ear off. “He drools when he sleeps.”

“Does he?” she replied absently.

“Yes, but that’s unimportant. Irrelevant. I think he might be the one.”

Y/N’s lips curled. “I think so too. We might get that quest after all, Annie.”

Annabeth smiled back, her teeth glinting in the sunlight. Not a second later, her face turned serious. “Have you talked to him yet?”

Y/N raised an arrow to her eye level. It glistened. “Do you think it’s clean enough?”

Annabeth’s gaze slid to the silver tip of the arrow. “Yes. Did you talk to him yet?”

“Yes, I did.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And he seems sad.”

“Obviously he would. He’s new and unclaimed.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed and she let her gaze slide away. “No, wait- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Annabeth stuttered.

The eagle let out a cry and it flew away. “It’s quite alright, Annie. It’s the truth,” she smiled bitterly. “Plus, this is why I want that quest. A chance to prove myself and to get his attention.” Her ears recognized Luke’s voice, coming out of Cabin 11. Percy was walking beside him, his eyes shining in wonder. He was looking up at him like a child would look up to their older sibling. She recognized the look. She turned back towards Annabeth. “Got a strategy for Capture the Flag yet?”

“Working on it, but it’s coming around nicely,” smirked Annabeth.

“Never doubted it. Meet you later to talk it through?”

“You got it.”

Y/N smiled before she waved her goodbye. Her steps carried her to the boys, before Clarisse La Rue, the resident bully of the camp (Y/N still vividly remembered her first week. She almost got herself beaten up by her at a Capture the Flag game, before a gust of wind hit Clarisse in a tree trunk, knocking her out for a half of day), bumped into Percy. He grunted, rubbing his shoulder. “Hey!”

Clarisse turned around and pushed him. He fell, the cold earth hitting his back. Y/N sped up, her bow clutched in her hand.

“Woah! Hey, knock it off, Clarisse. It’s like his first day, come on,” voiced Luke.

Y/N reached Percy, holding her hand out to him. He clasped it and she helped him to his feet. He threw her a shy smile and she acknowledged it with a nod.

Clarisse’s face morphed into a look of false astonishment. “Wait, so this is the kid who killed the Minotaur. Is that right?”

“Uh, yeah?” Percy replied, looking around.

Clarisse smiled wickedly. “I’ll bet.” She took a step towards him. “Look, you want attention around here, dummy?”

Y/N’s eyes shifted from Percy to Clarisse, her knuckles turning white on the bow.

“You better be ready for it when it comes.” Clarisse snapped her head towards him, scaring Percy. He took a step back. She laughed and turned on her heels.

“Don’t you get bored, La Rue? Picking on kids half your size?” questioned Y/N, her voice firm and sure.

Clarisse turned around slowly, her face as still as a stone, a cold and deadly look in her eyes.

“Oh, right. You’re doing it for daddy,” continued Y/N. “Not working though, am I right?”

Clarisse’s lips twitched in anger. “Still unclaimed, L/N?”

Y/N felt a pang in her chest, but she smirked nonetheless, “Still afraid of me?”

Clarisse only scoffed before she turned her back on her, fisting her hands.

“Well, she seems nice,” said Percy, pointing at Clarisse’s retreating form.

“Ares kids,” sighed Luke. “They come by it honestly.”

“Don’t mind her too much,” said Y/N, her hands finally relaxing on the smooth wood of her bow.

“You’re not afraid of her,” stated Percy, turning to look at her. Once again, he saw that bold look in her eyes.

“Why should I? She’s just insecure. I’m afraid of nothing, I won’t start shaking in my boots because of a jealous Ares kid.”

“Why don’t they mess with you?”

A smirk bloomed on Luke’s face. “They know better.”

“Luke’s the strongest swordsman at camp and Y/N’s the best archer you’ll ever meet,” voiced Chris, a boy with an earthly brown complexion and jet black curls.

Percy blinked and Y/N could see the gears in his head turning. “So they leave you alone because’ glory’ ?”

Luke nodded.

“So if I get glory Clarisse wouldn’t mess with me either?”

“You learn fast,” said Y/N, regarding him with a glint in her gaze.

“Exactly,” added Luke.

"And people think I’m a big deal?” continued Percy, looking up at Hermes' child.

Luke crossed his arms, nodding his head hesitantly. “Well, sorta, but-”

“And my dad’s got no choice but to claim me,” the blonde said, turning to look at Y/N, as if asking her for her approval. Her smirk fell. It was as if she was looking into a mirror, seeing her pain reflected in a kindred spirit, in the eyes of a boy who felt utterly confused and lost and furious at the world.

“You can’t force the gods to do anything,” interjected Luke, before throwing Y/N a worried glance.

“Well, yeah, but… it would make it harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?” shrugged Percy, slowly moving his gaze off Y/N to Luke.

“Maybe.”

Y/N’s voice outpowered Luke’s, her hand once again clenching her bow, until her knuckles turned painfully white. “Definitely!” The boy in question gaped at her.

A smile shone on Percy’s face, his eyes glinting with determination. “Well, great. Where do we start?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/N’s hands never quivered when she held a bow and an arrow in her hand. Whenever she held the weapons, she felt she had a sense of control she had lost the moment she found she was a demigod. She inhaled and slowly exhaled, grounding herself and emptying her head of thoughts. She slowly pulled the arrow and released it. The arrow cut the air and hit the target. A smile broke on her face and she lowered the bow. She turned to look at the golden-haired boy, who was already gazing at her with awe shimmering in his eyes. She handed him her bow. “Your turn.”

He took the bow out of her hand. “I wanna be very clear about this, I’ve never done anything like this before, and it looks super dangerous.”

Luke lifted a shoulder. “And you never killed a Minotaur before either, ‘till you did.”

“There’s a first for everything,” added Y/N, taking out an arrow. Her eyebrows disappeared under her hairline and she held out the weapon. Percy, unsure, shifted his weight, before he accepted the sharp, silvery arrow.

An Apollo child drew out a lighter, but Y/N raised her hand in a warning, her head shaking in a very definite and clear “no”. Percy raised both of his arms and closed an eye, trying to focus on the target but it blurred in front of his eyes, much like the air would dance in a very torrid day in downtown New York.

“You’re holding it wrong,” stated Y/N from beside him.

“Am I?” frowned Percy.

She sighed. “Yes.”

Percy could feel her come up behind him. Her fingertips touched his elbow, raising it slightly. “Stay straighter.” Percy straightened his back, feeling warmth creeping up his neck. “And relax your hold on the bow, it’s not going anywhere.” His fingers loosened around the bow. “Focus.” Percy thought that focusing would be a bit too hard when he could literally feel Y/N’s breath near his ear, but he tried nonetheless.

She took a few steps back. “Release the arrow.”

And he did just that, except the arrow didn’t comply with his will, it flew over everyone’s heads and it stabbed the dark earth. Apollo’s children shrieked and fell to the ground, in an attempt to shelter themselves from the furious arrow. Percy himself fell, a grimace painting his features. Y/N pulled her lips into a thin line, staring at the place the arrow landed. It shone in the sun.

“Should I try again?” questioned Percy meekly.

“No!” Everyone yelled.

“Tough luck,” said Y/N, looking down at Percy.

“Right,” he mumbled before he stuck his hand out, a silent plea to be helped to his feet.

Y/N extended her hand, but she only took the bow out of the boy’s hold. “See you around, newbie!” she yelled once she turned on her feet, marching towards where the arrow was mockingly glinting in the sun rays.

She was pretty sure she heard him swear under his breath.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The light was throwing pretty shades under the tree. A wind picked up and Y/N’s hair ruffled. She looked up at the tree. It was a beautiful pinetree. It was also a lifeline. She heard the stories about it, about how Thalia sacrificed her life to save Luke, Annabeth and Grover. Annie recounted it too many times, Y/N could now recite it in her sleep. She reached out a hand and touched the rough surface of the deep brown bark. It was like a prayer and she almost had the sudden urge to climb it, to regard the world, the wide, swaying blades of grass. To let the winds whip her face in a gentle caress, to let the smiling sun shine on her.

She wasn’t afraid of heights. Growing up, while her mother was still very much alive, her cheeks still bursting with colour, she would get all her pants ripped just because she was stubborn enough to climb trees. She’d be closer to the sky, she used to say as an excuse. But then, she turned 5 years old and the wooden, rustic cabin was replaced by towering sky-scrapers. The once fresh mountain air was now thick and heavy. And the damp, dewed earth was taken by concrete floor. She hated the city, but it seemed that the city hated her back, as she did not find her place there.

Light footsteps spoiled the silence and she knew who it was, before she turned around.

“I think you would have gotten along,” Annabeth voiced.

Y/N turned around. Annabeth was looking up at the tree with longing in her eyes.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She took a seat under the tree’s shade. Her friend followed suit, comfortable silence enveloping them both like gentle hands. Distant laughter could be heard and Y/N basked in the joyous sounds.

“I watched him. He’s awful at archery and sword making.”

A snort escaped Y/N’s lips and she turned to look at her friend. “He is more than awful at archery. He’s horrendous. Never letting him get anywhere near a bow and an arrow again.. A danger to humanity.” She shook her head, laughing softly to herself.

Annabeth lightly smacked her arm. “Do not laugh! This is serious stuff! He needs to be quest worthy!”

Y/N’s chuckles subsided, a ghost of a smile still present on her lips. “You know I want this as much as you do, Annie. I’m just saying things as they are. Why sugarcoat it? He has no talent in archery.”

Annabeth huffed. “I’m still keeping a close eye on him.”

“You do that,” Y/N nodded. Then, as if she suddenly remembered something, she turned her whole body toward Annabeth, criss-crossing her legs. “What about Capture the Flag? Any progress on that?”

“Yes and no. Still figuring things out.”

Y/N started nodding, her lips slightly parted, but Athena’s daughter interrupted her. “You’re on my team, obviously.” And she bumped her shoulder with hers.

A grin illuminated Y/N’s face and she giggled, bumping Annabeth right back. A blowing horn cut the air, announcing that it was dinner time. Annabeth got up with a grunt, dusting her pants, before reaching a hand out to Y/N and smiling down at her. Y/N let herself be pulled up and she threw Annabeth a mischievous grin. “Race you to the tables?”

But she didn’t give her time to answer, as her feet had a mind of her own and sprinted across the hill, down to the camp.

“You cheater!” she heard Annabeth yell, a note of laughter in her tone.

The sun was casting down, bathing everything in fiery orange and Y/N was feeling good.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Is there a Greek god of disappointment? Maybe someone should ask him if he’s missing a kid” Y/N heard Percy say, as she tried to catch her breath (she won the race as she proudly teased Annabeth about it). She picked up an ivory plate, before she waved her friend goodbye, catching sight of Percy’s golden hair.

“Oizys… but she’s a goddess,” replied Chris, as Y/N squeezed herself between him and Luke. “And her whole thing isn’t really disappointment, it’s more like failure.”

She wished for spaghetti, like her mother used to make her in the cold evenings (and then her aunt tried to pick up the recipe. Her spaghetti always turned out to taste like cardboard, the sauce too gelatinous, but the thought and her trying were endearing. She ate them all the same). The spaghetti morphed themselves in her plate, swirls of steam rising into the air. Its savoury aroma tickled Y/N’s nostrils and her stomach grumbled.

“How did the first day go?” she said, as she caught Percy’s blue gaze.

“Awful,” he replied, playing around with his food.

“Well, every first day is awful,” she shrugged. She remembered how miserable she felt on her first day at camp, missing her aunt and feeling confused.

“Thanks, very reassuring.” He threw her a sarcastic smile.

“You’re welcome. Just a reality check.”

“What Y/N is trying to say is that this was just the first day, the others won’t be as bad,” voiced Luke.

“Yes, cause that’s exactly what I was trying to say,” said Y/N, rolling her eyes with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Luke bumped her shoulders with his. “Tone down the sarcasm. It’s his first day.” He then turned to look at Percy, reassuringly smiling at him. “We’re gonna find the thing that you’re good at. I know it.”

A bell chiming cut through the air and Luke turned around. “Our turn.”

“Our turn for what?” frowned Percy, looking at Y/N as she got up.

“Prayers,” she smirked, before gulping down a fork full of spaghetti. They tasted just like she remembered.

“Burnt offerings,” added Luke, picking up his own plate. “The gods like the smell, so it gets their attention before you say a prayer.”

Percy frowned. “They like the smell of burnt mac and cheese?”

“They like the smell of begging,” chuckled Chris, before taking his plate and leaving the table.

Y/N cracked a smile, spiralling the spaghetti on her fork, the sauce dripping down the side of it, vermillion on silver.

“You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen,” explained Luke.

“Do they, though?” mumbled Y/N, mouth full of food.

Luke didn’t seem to hear her, as he left the table, back straightened. Percy stared her down, lips slightly parted. Y/N gulped down the spaghetti, the sauce burning her throat. “What?” she asked harshly. Her eyebrows pinched.

The boy jumped, as if out of a daze. “You just- You got something on your face.”

“Do I?” She hastily wiped her cheek, a wild look in her eyes.

“Not there. There,” he replied, pointing at the corner of his mouth.

Y/N wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Red sauce painted her hand and she scoffed, before she licked it. Spices and the taste of home invaded her mouth once again. “Thanks,” she mumbled before she turned her back on him, taking steps toward the fire in the centre of the dining pavilion.

The flames were dancing playfully. It was as if they were twirling in a never-ending tango and for a moment she thought she saw a woman smile in the golden light of the flames. She blinked and the flames stared back at her. She scraped the remaining spaghetti off with the fork into the fire. The flames heightened and the smell of home reached her nostrils. “To my father. Please, show yourself,” she whispered.

She gave up guessing a long time ago. Her first guess was Apollo. But then again, she didn’t have a talent for singing, nor did she have a knack for writing (and if you were to ask her, she didn’t make a good nurse either). After a while, she realised that she might be the daughter of a minor god or one of the many children of a major one, a nameless and faceless child in a crowd of thousands.

The fire gave one last puff and crackle and she turned back to the table, where she put back the plate. Percy was still there, watching her every move. Her eyes snapped to his. They really resembled the ocean. Her lips curled slightly, in a smirk. “See you tomorrow, newbie. You’d better show your Minotaur-killing skills at Capture the Flag.”

And she turned on her heels, marching towards Cabin 11.

“Wait, what’s that?” she heard him yell.

Her smile broadened, her fingers twitching at the thought that she’d hold her bow again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Capture the Flag was a glory induced event for the demigods at Camp Half-Blood. For Y/N was no different. She looked forward to the energised atmosphere, the wind-swept woods, the cathartic battle cries. She loved the feeling of freedom and the confidence she felt when holding her trusted bow in hand. But most of all, she looked forward to winning.

“The first team to retrieve the opposing flag and return it across the river shall be the victor,” Chiron’s sure voice boomed across the woods. Y/N stood proudly with the bow in her hand and a fistful of arrows on her back, “As always, there will be no maining and no killing. I trust these rules will be respected. Any magical items you may possess, are permitted as well. Every camper who is not injured has to play. Prisoners may be disarmed but may not be bound or gagged. Let the games begin!”

A conch horn blew, announcing the start of Capture the Flag and Y/N grinned, a sense of confidence surging through her veins. The Red Team let out furious battle cries and The Blue Team responded just as much.

“All right. We have twenty minutes before the second conch and game on,” said Annabeth as she came up to her, Luke and Percy ( who was very much fidgeting, but Y/N chose not to say anything about it, as she thought it would hurt his ego. Not that she cared, but she needed her team to focus and win). “You know what you're doing?”

“Yes, m’am” nodded Luke.

She turned towards Y/N, who smirked. “Always.”

Luke started to walk away, but Annabeth speaking up stopped him in his tracks. “Hey. Today feel like a winning day to you?”

Luke slowly nodded. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Y/N saluted Annabeth and Luke before her gaze slid towards the blonde, who was silently watching the interaction. “See you later, newbie! Try to not get yourself killed!”.

And she was off, on her way, running through the woods, going over Annabeth’s plan. Do what you do best, climb up trees, arrows ready. Watch over Percy, make sure they end up near the river. I’ll be right there, watching on, she said to her.

Her feet skidded down muddy paths, the smell of fresh grass and pine trees enveloping her. She heard an eagle croaking and she looked up, catching sight of it as it flew across the camp. She stopped, heaving. She turned towards the tree beside her and she put the arrow on her back, before she proceeded climbing it. The rough bark scraped her palm, drawing blood, but she felt like a child, playing in the backyard. Once she reached a safe branch, she looked at the horizon, the red helmets of the rival team weaving between the emerald green of the woods. She scoffed before she closed her eyes, inhaling. A wind caressed her cheek and a second conch blew. She snapped her eyes open, her mind void of any other thoughts beside the desire to win. She jumped from branch to branch, from tree to tree before she came across a clearing. She recognized Percy’s blonde mop of hair, as he laid on a log with his eyes closed, his fingers playing with a leaf. She leaned against the bark, watching him.

For a split moment, she wondered what was going through his mind. He looked so peaceful, different from the many times she felt him tense or stiffen. She also had the urge to just let her eyes close and enjoy the silence and the sweet sounds nature had to offer, but the scarlet helmets of the opposing team caught her attention. She straightened her back, slowly taking out her bow.

Percy warily sat up, watching as Clarisse took off her helmet and chucked it towards the woods. “Flag’s that way. It’s not here,” he pointed to the other side of the woods.

“We know,” replied Clarisse. “Yeah, glory’s fine. Revenge is more fun.”

She slammed her spear onto the ground. The weapon crackled to life with orange light. Y/N tightened her hold onto the bow and she took out an arrow, watching as Percy hastily grabbed his shield and sword.

“No maiming. It’s like the one rule,” he said, body stiff.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll lose dessert privileges for a while. I’ll live,” smirked Clarisse before she attacked Percy.

Y/N swore under her breath as she watched the boy struggle, swiftly dodging every strike. She raised the arrow and the bow, targeting one of Clarisse’s team mates. Percy fell onto his knee, after he managed to counterattack Clarisse’s crackling spear. Y/N inhaled and exhaled before she released the arrow. It swished, cutting the air, before it stabbed the earth near the foot of The Red Team player. The boy backed in shock, and Clarisse looked around, eyebrows furrowed. “Who’s there?” she yelled.

Percy threw a glance upwards, his gaze meeting Y/N’s. She gave him a solemn nod, before she backed into the shadows. The distraction gave him enough time to swipe his sword at Clarisse. She met his attack with one of her own, pushing him with her spear. He fell backwards, over the log, the wind knocked out of him. Y/N grimaced, she took out another arrow, ready to intervene once again.

“I’m actually not interested in maiming or killing you, believe it or not,” Clarisse stated. “I just want you to admit you’re a fraud. It’d make me feel better.”

Y/N raised the bow. The arrow was ready to be launched.

“Are you feeling up to that yet?” asked Clarisse as Y/N released the arrow. It implanted itself at her feet and the girl took a step back, shock painting her features. Percy got up, speeding through the woods.

“Guess that’s a no,” said Clarisse, after she recovered from the shock, taking after him.

Y/N put the bow on her back and she jumped from the tree, landing on her feet.

“Great aim!” she heard a familiar voice say.

Y/N smiled. “Thanks, Annie.”

The girl appeared beside her, a blue Yankees cap in her hand. She was grinning. “We’re winning this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, a sense of urgency taking over her brain as she remembered that Percy was still very much alone in a three-to-one fight, but a blood-curdling scream interrupted her. She snapped towards the source of the sound and let the feet carry her to it, the woods whizzing past her. She stumbled onto the shore just as Luke and their team arrived, triumphantly holding the flag and cheering. The scarlet flag was swaying in the wind.

Her gaze found the blonde. Clarisse was holding him by the armour. She pushed him away, once the Blue Team invaded the shore. Percy fell to his knees, his chest heaving.

Y/N let out a breath in relief as she approached the boy. “You alright?”

He looked up to her and she noted his left eye was slowly turning purple. Blood stained his cheek. He tried to catch his breath, gulping. “Yeah,” he managed to say.

“You did well,” she replied as she stuck out her hand. He looked at it, before his hand touched hers, and she heaved him up. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze met hers. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

“Not bad, hero,” Annabeth voiced as she took off her cap, appearing before them.

“Were you here the whole time?” questioned Percy, a note of annoyance seeping into his tone.

“Yes.”

“You were here the whole time and you didn’t help me?” He briefly glanced at Y/N. “I mean, even Y/N helped, but you didn’t?”

Annabeth simply shrugged. “Yes.”

“Why?” asked Percy in disbelief.

Y/N glanced behind her shoulder, catching sight of Clarisse scowling her way. Y/N figured Clarisse might have realised where the arrows came from. She threw her a brief smile.

“Listen… Percy,” she heard Annabeth say. “I’m sorry.”

A splash echoed and Y/N whipped her head around. Percy had fallen into the water, angrily staring at Annabeth. “What is wrong with you?” he yelled. He got up, small waves washing onto the shore.

At first, Y/N thought her eyes were deceiving her, but they couldn’t have, they never did. She had the best aim and target in the whole camp, they never let her down, not once. She watched in amazement as Percy’s injuries healed right before her eyes, water dripping down his arms and face. Her lips parted.

“I don’t understand,” said Percy, looking at Annabeth before he moved his gaze onto Y/N.

A blue glow caught her attention and she raised her gaze. A shining trident was hovering over Percy and Y/N blinked, a puff of air escaping her lips.

“Your dad’s calling,” smiled Annabeth in awe.

Y/N’s lips twitched and she felt how the blood in her veins turned to ice, the green-eyed monster invading her thoughts. Perseus Jackson had been claimed, in just a few days. She remained unclaimed up to this day, even after four years of waiting, of praying and of capturing flags.

Suddenly, the idea of getting a quest spurred her on and she knew that Percy’s arrival at camp and claiming hadn’t been a coincidence. She could feel it in the wind. A storm was bubbling.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: and we're off to a start! I'm very excited to share the next chapter. Stuff is about to go down.

If you'd like to be added to my main tag list or the series tag list, drop a comment or send me an ask!

Lots of love xx

Main tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead @asgards-princess-of-mischief @islayhawkin

Series tag list: @mynicknameisgasoline @constellation-archive @leptitlu @br3nt-12 @utterlyunawarewriter

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x fem!reader #pjo x reader #pjo show #percy jackson spoilers #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #fanfic writing #my writing #masterlist #angst #fluff #laura writes

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soloroomies · 6 months ago

Text

lifemate (Chapter 9/ Sakusa x f!reader)

summary: meeting Kiyoomi's granny for the first time word count. 2.6k cw. marriage pact au, mature content, smut (fingering) Masterlist

Turns out that what you did the other night has become the new normal for you and Kiyoomi. Neither of you are shy to initiate things. Your early worries have faded away completely. He makes you feel wanted. To be honest, there's something quite surprising about him. You never gave much thought to what type of person he is in bed. But before all this, if someone had asked whether he's a giver or a receiver, you would have guessed he's a receiver. Not because you thought he was selfish, but because you didn't see him as someone who enjoys such things. You imagined him to be more the calculating type, ensuring one orgasm each and that's it. So, it shocked you to discover that the couch incident wasn't a one-time thing. Three months have passed since that night, and there are times when he just wants to pleasure you without wanting anything in return. You've asked him why, and he just shrugs.

And there's another thing you noticed. After the first night you and he had sex, he left your room. The next time you had sex, he left again. And the next. So, you concluded that it was just the way he was. That's why, the first time you had sex in his room, you left afterward. Neither of you ever cuddles. It was never part of your post-intimacy routine. You wonder if it might be related to his need for personal space? Or, he might be uncomfortable with that kind of intimacy? Yes, you both have sex, but there's nothing more established beyond that. Despite this, you’ve managed to return to your previous dynamic, feeling comfortable with each other. It's like you’re friends with benefits but married. You can’t help but laugh at the thought.

After consecutive wins, MSBY faced a tough loss last week. While not a significant problem given their impressive record and another chance for playoff qualification, it was still disheartening. Kiyoomi's response was immediate and noticeable. It was as soon as you got home from the match. You noticed he deviated from his usual routine. For instance, he practiced even on Sunday, the day after the match. The last two days, he came home later than usual due to his intensified practice sessions, pushing himself harder and delaying dinner times. You tried not to intervene too much in his grieving phase but couldn’t help wanting to offer some emotional support by being there for him. In the past few days since the match, you've waited for him to come home so you can have dinner together.

That applies to today as well, when he comes home late again. As soon as he arrives, you both have dinner together. After finishing and washing the dishes, he sits beside you on the couch as you scroll through your phone.

“You don’t have to wait for me to have dinner,” he says.

You turn your head to him. “Mmm… But I want to.”

“I might come later tomorrow,” he warns.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him.

“Don’t. I heard it’s not good for your health if you eat this late,” he insists.

“Well, that means it applies to you as well,” you counter.

“Yeah, but—”

“No no. If you don’t want me to eat late, then I don’t want you to eat late either,” you say with finality, silencing him.

You put your phone down and look at Kiyoomi, who seems deep in thought. Moving closer to him, you say, “I’m sorry, Omi. It’s just… I don’t think overworking your body is a good idea. I’m just concerned.” You put your hand on his.

He looks at your hands and then at you. After a beat of silence he says, “You’re right. I’m sorry for making you concerned.” Then, surprisingly, he leans down and kisses your lips. He kisses you gently and slowly, his hand on your waist while the other stroking your hair. The tenderness of his actions tugs at your heartstrings, awakening butterflies in your stomach. As if that isn't enough, the stare he gives you after the kiss might just be the end of you. He kisses the tip of your nose and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

All you can manage is a shaky, “It’s okay.”

He gets up. “I’m going to sleep,” he says, and you nod, still dazed.

Other than that one time he kissed you before walking onto the court, you never kissed without it leading to sex. This is new, and you can’t justify your erratic heartbeat other than that it’s just unfamiliar territory for you.

As he heads to his room, he pauses. “Oh, and hey,” he calls.

“Yeah?” you respond.

“My mom says she, dad, and granny will come here on Friday night,” he informs you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, so that we’re both home already. They said they want to visit us and will be staying until the match on Sunday. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course! Let’s make a little feast on Friday night,” you say, recalling that you used to meet his grandma when you were in high school. Now, she's almost 90 years old but still quite active. Unfortunately, she couldn't attend your wedding because she had a flu, and everyone was concerned for her, so she wasn't allowed to go. You also remember that his "granny" is his grandma from his mom's side, which makes her Komori's grandma too. “Wait, will Komori come too?”

Kiyoomi seems to remember something. “Oh, I actually forgot. Yes, Komori will come with his wife.”

You chuckle at him. “How could you forget?” Which only replied by him chuckling and scratching his head.

“Yeah I forgot, granny decided to sleep here since we have two unused rooms.”

Your eyes widen. “Hold up. That means we should move my things to your room.”

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows, as if just reminded. “Oh. Right. I’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

You nod, agreeing with him as he enters his room. Phew. Tomorrow’s Thursday. You still have time. Luckily, Kiyoomi remembered to tell you this information which he told at the last minute before he went to sleep. It would look weird if his family found out you’ve been sleeping in separate rooms all this time.

The next day, Kiyoomi doesn’t come home late like he has been the past few days. After dinner together, he comes to your room. You both move most of your essentials to his room, leaving just enough in yours to get through the night and the next morning.

Friday arrives, and you’re busy preparing for the evening. The feast will be catered from a nearby Italian restaurant. Kiyoomi suggested this to save you from the hassle of cooking after work, but you insisted on making dessert. After work, you head to the kitchen to make a lemon ricotta cake. As you finish, you hear the apartment door open, signaling Kiyoomi’s arrival. He’s brought the Italian food you ordered.

“Hey. I’ll set the dinner table,” he says.

You look up from your cake and send him a thumbs up. Half an hour later, you’re plating your freshly baked cake with icing sugar while Kiyoomi finishes setting the dinner table and helps you wash the cooking ware.

“I’m done! Let’s change clothes,” you say.

Kiyoomi nods, and you head to your room, only to be reminded that your clothes are in his room now. You knock on his closed door.

“Yeah?” Kiyoomi opens the door.

“My clothes. They’re all in your room,” you explain.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

You open his large wardrobe, now containing your clothes as well. You pause, contemplating what to wear. Glancing at Kiyoomi, you notice he’s wearing a navy short-sleeve button-up shirt and chinos. He catches your eye.

“Sorry. I’m just looking for inspiration,” you tell him with a smile.

Deciding to match his casual look, you opt for a comfortable navy maxi dress. You don’t need to dress up too much since it’s a casual family dinner and they’ll be staying over anyway.

“They’re here,” Kiyoomi says after checking his phone.

“Oh, okay. Let’s open the door,” you reply, giving yourself a final once-over in the mirror.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by Kiyoomi’s parents, granny, Komori, and his wife, Mia.

Komori jokes, “Well, look here, if it isn’t my favorite outside hitter! Beating my team relentlessly,” referring to MSBY's win against EJP Raijin a few weeks ago, as he hugs Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi chuckles and replies, “Just doing my job.”

Kiyoomi’s mom hugs you warmly, “How are you, darling?”

“I’m good. How are you?” you respond, hugging her back.

“Never better,” she says cheerily.

You greet Mia, Kiyoomi’s dad, and finally his granny, who looks as healthy as ever.

“Oh my, we finally meet, honey,” Granny says, kissing your cheeks.

Everyone settles at the dinner table after Kiyoomi’s mom, dad, and granny put their luggage in the rooms. The food is already served, thanks to Kiyoomi.

“Please help yourselves and enjoy the meal. We're so happy to have you here,” you say, holding Kiyoomi's hand.

As dinner progresses, the conversation naturally flows towards the match. Suddenly, Komori clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

“While we’re here, I want to announce something,” Komori begins, his voice filled with anticipation. He grabs Mia’s hand and kisses it.

You widen your eyes, mouth agape. “Oh my…”

“We’re expecting a baby!” Komori announces with a wide grin.

“Congratulations! Oh my god!” you exclaim, jumping up to hug Mia and Komori. Everyone else quickly follows, offering their congratulations.

Komori adds, “Actually, the only one here who already knew about this is Granny.”

You look at Granny, who smiles proudly. “I’m so happy for both of you! I guess my advice worked then,” she laughs. She adds, “Actually, I brought something special for you both.”

Granny gets up and returns with a bag. “Here, I brought these sweet potatoes. They’re good for fertility,” she reveals, looking pointedly at you and Kiyoomi.

You exchange glances with Kiyoomi, trying to hide your surprise.

“And also this,” she pulls out an amulet from the bag. “This is an Omamori. Please put this in your room. I gave one to Mori not even six months ago, and look at them now!” she exclaims happily.

You muster a smile and thank her. Komori tries to contain his laughter, earning a glare from you.

Kiyoomi’s mom chimes in, “I know you might not want to have a child immediately, but eating sweet potatoes is still good for you either way,” she says warmly.

Granny interjects, “Don’t delay having children! I want to see my great-grandchild!”

You smile wryly, feeling awkward with Kiyoomi beside you.

“There are also some supplements here. You have to trust me,” Granny insists. “Look at your mothers,” she says, pointing to Kiyoomi and Komori a bit too eagerly. “They brought healthy children into this world. You both even became athletes I’m so proud of,” she says, her eyes starting to water.

Komori and Kiyoomi nod, looking down.

“Thank you so much, Granny. We will definitely follow your advice,” you say, holding Kiyoomi’s hand, trying to calm the situation.

Kiyoomi looks at you with an unreadable expression, and you send him a forced smile.

After dinner, you all move to the living room for dessert. The atmosphere lightens as you serve the lemon ricotta cake, which is a hit. Granny shares stories from her youth, and Komori and Mia talk excitedly about their baby plans.

As the night winds down, dinner concludes with Komori and Mia saying their goodbyes. You encourage Kiyoomi’s parents and granny to rest, while you and Kiyoomi stay behind to tidy up the dining area and wash the dishes.

Silence envelops the two of you, a lingering tension from the earlier discussion about having a child. You struggle to find the right words to ask him, feeling the awkwardness yourself. You know Kiyoomi feels it too, given his unusual tenseness. When you both finish, you almost forget you’ll be sleeping in Kiyoomi’s room, instinctively walking toward your own room. You mutter under your breath, “Fuck,” realizing you can't escape this tense situation.

Kiyoomi glances at you slightly as you enter his room. "I'm sorry, I forgot," you chuckle at yourself. After changing your clothes, there’s a knock on the door. Exchanging glances with Kiyoomi, you both walk to the door and open it.

It’s Granny, smiling as soon as you open it. “Sorry to interrupt. Here’s the Omamori,” she says, handing you the amulet. “Put it beside your bed.” She takes a peek into the room. “There, on the desk is fine.” She points at the desk beside the bed. You smile politely and thank her.

After closing the door, you face Kiyoomi. “Let’s just put this there,” you suggest, pointing to the desk. He nods and walks to the bed, lying down.

As you both lie in bed with the lamp dimmed, you feel Kiyoomi rolling to face you. You glance at him and see he’s already looking at you.

“What?” you ask.

“Should we talk about it?” he responds.

Yup, you really can’t dodge this any longer. You sigh, “Yeah, we probably should.” Kiyoomi closes the distance between you. He lies on his side, supporting his head with his hand, looking down at you. You roll on your side to face him.

“So…” you start.

“Do you want a kid?” he asks.

“I do, actually. How about you?” You play with the fabric of his shirt as he answers.

“Me too.”

You widen your eyes a bit. This conversation is heading somewhere significant. “But maybe not now?”

He looks at you. “I’ll go with you. It’s up to you really.”

“But like…” You hesitate a bit. “Are you okay having a child with me?”

He frowns at your question. “I’d be happy. Are you?”

You’re a bit surprised at his answer but then nod your head. “I’m okay too.”

“Okay,” he says. Then, he kisses you gently on the lips, his hand traveling downward. You pull back slightly, “Wait, wait.”

He looks at you with a hint of amusement. “There are your parents and granny.”

He chuckles softly. “They won’t hear. As long as you keep quiet.”

You scoff at him incredulously. “Okay. So you’re freaky like that.”

But then, he starts to rub at your clit, making you moan, though you suppress it with your hand. He presses his cheek against yours. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He starts to enter his fingers into the combination, making you a moaning mess as you struggle to keep your hand over your mouth. You glance at the desk, seeing the Omamori. “I’m scared to be pregnant immediately,” you say breathlessly.

He chuckles, kissing your cheek. “It’s just my fingers, baby.”

Your breath hitches at his words. After you finish, he pulls his hand from your pants and licks his fingers. You stare at him incredulously, noticing the bulge in his pants.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says.

You look at him questioningly. “Just clean yourself and let’s just sleep,” he adds.

Who the fuck wants to go to sleep hard? You shake your head, laughing. “You’re a psycho.”

“What? I just don’t want to make a mess.”

“I’ll swallow it clean,” you offer, determined. He grins at your persistence.

“No. Let’s just sleep,” he insists.

With that, you go to the bathroom to clean yourself. When you return, you find him already asleep. You slip under the blanket, starting to drift off yourself. In the last few seconds before sleep takes over, you realize the irony of how the topics you decided not to discuss have presented themselves so prominently in your face.

Taglist: @wolffmaiden @peachyaeger @fiannee @nightlydream @choizzn @yunskook

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betraumatizebaby · 2 months ago

Note

I saw your post and have some incorrect quotes!

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*Eurylochus and Elpenor are planning to crash Ody and Poseidon's "wedding"*

Eurylochus: We need to distract the guards.

Elpenor: Right.

Eurylochus: What are we gonna do?

Elpenor: I'm gonna break their elbows while you poke their eyes.

Eurylochus:

Elpenor:

Eurylochus: Deal.

(Spoiler: They did NOT save Odysseus and ended up married too)

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Persephone: You don't need my blessing to go kiss Polites. In fact, I was pretty sure you were already kissing Polites!

Hades: Nope.

Persephone: In that case, as the archbishop of Hades's fully awakened Bidom, I give you my blessing to immediately leave and rectify that as soon as possible! Go now, my love, and kiss Polites right on the lips!!!

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Hades, holding a rock: Polites just gave this to me and said "I feel like you deserve the moon but all I can give you is a rock".

Persephone: If you don't marry him, I will.

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Odysseus, to Poseidon: I'll be under the mistletoe when I start feeling desperate!

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(During the honeymoon)

The gods: I regret nothing!!!

The crew: I regret everything!!!

I Signed Up for a Quest Not a Wedding Registry! AU part two

Previous = Next

Let me continue this.

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Eurylochus: This man is crazy, y'all. I've had him blocked on everything for weeks, yet he still manages to find ways to contact me—

(Hears something and turns around to look at a microwave. Yes, I know microwaves don't exist yet, but whatever.)

Eurylochus: Bro, this is what I'm talking about! Look, he's calling me on my microwave—how is that even… I didn't know microwaves could do—How is he doing that?

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Poseidon: …. --- ..- --. …. / .. - .----. … / -. --- - / -- -.-- / ..-. .- ..- .-.. - --..-- / .. / .- .--. --- .-.. --- --. .. --.. . / ..-. --- .-. / -- -.-- / .- -.-. - .. --- -. …

Odysseus: What's that?

Poseidon: Remorse code.

Odysseus: …I'm even more angry now.

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Dionysus: I had a dream where you were cheating on me last night. Explain yourself.

Elpenor: ?

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Poseidon: Odysseus, let me in! I need to save you.

Odysseus: Save me from what?

Poseidon: From what I’m going to do to you if you don’t let me in.

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Polites, walking into the underworld: Hello, people who do not live here.

Eurylochus: Hi.

Odysseus: Hello.

Elpenor: Hey!

Polites: I gave you the key to my house for emergencies only!

Odysseus: …We were hiding away from them.

Elpenor: Yeah, I need a break from Dionysus—for at least four days.

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(Dionysus hands Elpenor a marriage certificate signed by him.)

Elpenor: What is…? How did you do this?

Dionysus: Come now, Elpenor. A magician never reveals his secrets.

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Other Demigod: Seriously, what do you see in that guy? (referring to Polites)

Hades and Persephone: He makes us laugh.

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Poseidon, after Hades judges him and the others for kidnapping a mortal and forcing them into a marriage: Why do you act like you didn't kidnap your lover and have two lovers?

Hades: Well, first of all, Zeus gave me permission to marry Persephone, and second, not only did Polites actually consent to the marriage, but Persephone allowed it to happen! Did your other wife agree to this?

Thank you for this incorrect quote, this made my days! Anyway please give me more ideas. I would love to hear your ideas and opinions for this AU!

#epic the musical #the oddyssey #odysseus #eurylochus #elpenor #polites #eurylocus epic #odysseus epic #odysseus epic the musical #epic odysseus #perimedes #perenor #if you squint #Epic the musical AU #greek mythology au #I Signed Up for a Quest Not a Wedding Registry! AU

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pretty-circa006 · 3 months ago

Text

Unhealthy Attachments pt. 6

Dinner

◀︎previous part

Coach! Negan x Student! F! Reader

summary Having dinner at your house with your gym coach was never something you could've imagined tags things start warming up

wc 1.2k

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Upon hearing the doorbell ring, you hurriedly dressed yourself in the dress you picked out earlier. It was off shoulder and red and white, in the pattern of a picnic blanket. It fell to your upper thigh, but you didn't care that your parents wouldn't approve. It accentuated your breasts far more than you'd like and you felt a bit naked having your shoulders exposed like this, but you tried not to care.

"Sweetie, our guest is here, come down!" your mom shouted as you scrambled to get your makeup done.

"Coming!" you shouted as you finished applying you mascara.

You hurried down, almost tripping, and stopped in your tracks when you saw Negan. He wasn't dressed as fancy as he was on Sunday, but he looked good. His white button up wasn't buttoned all the way and his shirt was tucked into his black pants. He was making idle conversation with your parents, but the words died on his mouth when he looked up and saw you coming down the stairs. Your parents turned to look too, however, their expressions were more akin to disgust than Negan's shock. You could tell they wanted to send you up to go change, but didn't want to embarrass themselves in front of their guest.

"Honey, go set the table," your mom curtly ordered. You smiled and gave Negan a small wave before heading toward the dining room and placing the cutlery atop each napkin. He just barely got his bearings together enough to wave back to you. He glanced over at you, watching as you set plates on each placemat. You looked so good in that little dress. His eyes almost physically hurt from the way he strained not to look at your cleavage or smooth, bare legs. He didn’t like the way seeing you in that dress made his dick twitch. He turned away from you, refusing to foster these thoughts of you. This wasn’t the kind of relationship he had intended when he said he’d spend time with you. No matter how much he wanted it, he knew it’d be wrong and he refused to drag you down, despite how tired he was on holding back.

…

“Thanks for coming,” your father said to Negan at the dinner table. Negan sat next to him, directly across from you. “Thank you for havin’ me,” he replies after swallowing his sip of wine. You glanced up at your gym teacher from beneath your lashes, still in awe that he was in your house. The giddiness from earlier stayed with you, keeping you on cloud nine. You liked your little hangouts with Negan in his office during lunch, and were happy that they could happen outside of there. A friendship with him was what you originally wanted, but that day in the church changed something in you. Seeing him be so tender with you, kissing the back of your hand, holding you close, seeing him in that suit, it awakened a part of you that you work so hard to suppress. A part that was so sinful. A part that you were taught to hate because it went against your father’s teachings, the Lord’s teachings. But a part of you, an even bigger one, didn't care and just wanted Negan. You've never felt the way that Negan made you feel.

His hazel eyes connected with yours, but instead of shyly looking away like you usually did, you held his gaze. He was actually the first to look away. The chatter that floated across the room was just background noise to you, as your focus was split between your food and Negan. Negan, however was engaging in the small talk and not paying much, or any attention to you. You didn't like that. You toed off one of your mary-jane shoes and found his leg with your bare foot, caressing beneath his pant leg. He choked on his food and his eyes snapped up to yours, but you stared down at your plate, pretending to gather a bite of food. You parents glanced at him as he choked, but he waved them off as he gulped down a few sips of wine. The feeling of his hairy leg against the soft skin of your feet made butterflies in your tummy.

Once everyone was through eating your father ordered you to clear the table, which you did. When you leaned down to take Negan's plate, you made sure to bend over just enough to give him a better view of your cleavage. You could see him checking your breasts out from the corner of his eye. You gave him one last lingering glance before taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen. You placed them all in the warm soapy water before you began cleaning them.

"What in the hell was that?" Negan asked, alerting you that he was now in the kitchen. He'd never seen this side of you before- hell, you haven't either-, the one that could be so bold and flirtatious. It intrigued him just as much as it shocked him. He wanted to see how far you'd go.

"What was what?" You replied with artificial innocence. He approached the sink and stood directly behind you. The feeling of his body heat on you made your hands shaky with nervousness. He placed his hands on either side of your upper arms, causing your breath to get caught in your throat.

"I know you know damn well what the fuck I'm talkin' about," he whispered in your ear. You shuddered when you felt his soft lips brush against the shell of your ear with each sharp whisper of his words.

"N-no, I don't," you lied, doubling down. You wanted to see how far you could take this

"It's wrong, y'know. What you're tryna fuckin' do. I am already crossing a fuckin' boundary by agreeing to spend time with you, but whatever goddamn games you're tryna play have to stop," he chastised. You pouted at him innocently, batting your eyelashes for good measure.

"Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout!" He groaned in disbelief at your response. You put the last dish in the dish rack and dried off your hands.

"Ready for dessert?" you asked, completely disregarding everything that just happened.

...

Negan stayed a little while longer for dessert. During that time, you stayed far away from him, too chicken to finish what you started during dinner. You had no idea what you had got yourself into to or how to even handle what Negan would do in response to that. So you avoided him. It wasn't like you could've done much anyway, considering your parents were right there having dessert alongside you.

It was almost 9 o'clock when Negan got up to leave.

"Honey, go see our guest out," your mom ordered as she cleaned up the dessert plates and forks. You internally flinched at the thought of having to come face to face with him again that night, but nonetheless got up and walked him to the door. You could feel him smirking down at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. You opened the door to the house and Negan stepped outside.

“Thanks for havin’ me,” he said.

“Yeah, sure thing,” you fumbled with the skirt of your dress as you rocked on your heels, still too nervous to look up at him. His bent forefinger tilted your chin upward to force you to look up at him. Your entire face felt hot when you looked up at him with wide eyes. His tongue seductively swiped across his lower lip and he eyed your body hungrily.

“G’nite, doll,” he drawled, his southern accent coming out thick.

“Night, Negan,” you whispered.

@lunajay33 @morganlolitta since you wanted to be tagged!

next part ▶︎

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wntrs0ldier · 1 year ago

Text

An Offer · part 11

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), smut?

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

“Hey, Y/N.” A soft whisper brushed your ear and wrapped itself around your waking mind. “Hey, hey…” A gentle touch slid across your cheek, pulling out of sleep the remnants of consciousness fighting for further rest. Your lungs involuntarily filled with a bigger load of air; you opened your eyes, and they immediately found Bucky sitting beside you. He gave you a tender smile, his thumb relentlessly stroking your cheek.

“What?” you asked without much thought. Bucky seemed calm, so you saw no reason to panic either. His touch, this time instead of helping you stay awake, was pushing you towards falling asleep again. Your eyelids drooped, and you had little control over it – it was entirely his fault.

“Hey, stay with me,” Bucky ordered right away, his voice still soft, as if, contrary to the words spoken, he didn't want to disturb you at all.

“But it's so warm and comfortable here…”

His hand, which until then had been resting on your face, slipped under the covers. It touched your thigh, and though your eyes remained closed, the rest of your body was awakened by an explosion; a memory of the previous night. Bucky's hand moved higher and turned unexpectedly, his fingers unceremoniously pinching your cheek. You moaned, more in surprise than pain, then looked at Bucky with innocent reproach – he'd used something against you that you definitely liked, and you knew he wouldn't do anything about it. He had aroused not only your mind, but especially your body, and would leave you aching and craving again. But there was also something on his face that might indicate a different turn of events; the same rawness that you had observed the first time he appeared in your house that day had returned. It was as if your innocence and exposure were driving him into some kind of wild, nevertheless controlled madness.

Bucky pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. He swallowed hard at the lust you had also raised in him, and took his hands away. He got up from the bed and it was only then that you noticed he had already his clothes on. “Get dressed,” he grunted. “We have to get back to New York.”

You sat up on the mattress and glanced at the window – it was still dark outside. You grabbed your phone; it was almost three in the morning. You returned your gaze to Bucky, giving him a questioning, confused look, but he paid no more attention to you, too busy gathering up his stuff. “...Is something wrong?”

“Timothy called,” he replied, and when he did, you already knew you had lost him. You'd lost smiley, relaxed Bucky; when you got to Vegas, he'd come back to life amongst the warmth, sunshine and all the softness you had for each other. And then all it took was one, probably cold and spiteful phone call from his uncle to destroy it; to kill that side of him.

“Alright…” You nodded slowly. “And he wanted you to come back?”

“He said he needs me. Got a job for me.” He threw his sweats and t-shirt on the bed. “Put this on. Please,” he urged, thereby letting you know that he didn't have time for the rest of your questions. And you weren't quite sure what you should actually feel, but you weren't hurt. You were probably prepared for this; for life alongside a gangster. Bucky was now your husband, and although you had married on your own terms, your society had established a pattern that was imprinted in the two of you as well - however good you intended to be to each other; however much Bucky wanted to make you his equal, he was your husband – a specific, meaningful figure in your world – so you had to follow him, do everything he demanded and expected of you. And you weren't going to fight back, because you trusted him. Maybe not entirely – you still needed time – but you kept believing in his whole “Maybe my heart is in the right place. Maybe I want to do some good.”

It wasn't hard to guess that time played a key role, but you were only confirmed in this belief by the fact that you were returning to New York by plane, sent by Timothy. You still didn't know what he wanted from Bucky, but the matter seemed serious if he was taking such measures. And probably for the first time you realized what your mother really meant when she repeated to you like a mantra: Never marry a gangster.

Because you were worried. You were worried about your husband, and you weren't sure how to deal with that feeling. It was so... unexpected. Or rather, the fact that it involved Bucky; tied to you in this untrue, loveless marriage. It turned out that you had a softer heart than you thought.

When you landed, a car was waiting for you. The driver, on Bucky's instructions, took you to an address you didn't know – one of New York's apartment complexes. You felt more and more lost, because you had the impression that instead of receiving information that would help your mind to function undisturbed by stress, you knew far too little. You could have asked – you could have asked anything, but you didn't want to throw Bucky off balance. You could see he was irritated enough and was doing his best not to unload on you. You weren't going to make it difficult for him.

Still, there were questions you couldn't keep quiet about. “Where exactly are we..?” You furrowed, watching Bucky turn the keys in the lock.

He opened the door and let you through. “At my place,” he answered, closing the wooden lid behind him. He put your luggage on the floor, because although this time you managed to declare to him that you could handle your bag, he turned a deaf ear to it.

“Right…” You looked around hesitantly. For some reason, you didn't think he had his own place; mostly you'd find him at his family house, moreover, he had never mentioned having his own place before. Admittedly, he didn't mention owning a casino either. He didn't actually talk about anything until it came to the surface by itself.

“Look…” Bucky murmured, checking something on his phone. Shortly afterwards, he turned it off and lifted his gaze to you. “I gotta see my uncle. Can you wait here for me?”

“Sure.” You smiled slightly. Apart from the fact that you didn't really have anywhere else to go, you wanted to stay here; to get to know better the space that belonged to Bucky.

And he managed the same pained rise of the corners of his mouth. He only nodded, and after a moment he left the apartment. You didn't resent him for this at all – you knew there were priorities in your world, besides, in reality you and Bucky didn't function as a typical married couple, but more like co-workers. So, in theory, you didn't need to know; it should have been enough for you that your deal has been working; that it has been protecting you and your father's business. However, you couldn't help but feel that in all this you were also looking out for Bucky's wellbeing. Or maybe you cared mostly about that. And some part of you wanted to know everything; including how he felt.

Despite your suspicion that caffeine would fuel your anxiety, you decided to make yourself a coffee. You hadn't slept a wink on the plane, and now you didn't feel like sleeping either; the tension accompanying you, while draining you additionally, didn't allow you to rest.

When the boiling coffee machine announced it was finished, you wrapped your hands around the cup, slurped a sip of the hot drink, the smell of which had already spread throughout the kitchen, and went for your rounds. You didn't particularly care if your behavior entered the territory of being nosy; the place belonged to your husband; the same one who had left you alone in it. So you gave yourself every right to search any corner if you wished.

Just as with the car, the apartment reflected the owner in some way; once you crossed its door, every choice seemed perfectly understandable. First of all, dark colors that were pleasantly soothing to the senses – deep shades of gray on the walls; anthracite or graphite, sometimes black, like the tiles in the kitchen; solid wooden panels in a cool shade of chocolate on the floors; mainly black furniture, silver, gray or dark blue accessories. The spaces were brightened only by large windows looking out largely onto other, equally tall buildings.

You finished your coffee, glancing around the interior of the living room, and thoughts were racing through your head – unanswered questions to yourself about whether this was where you would be living from now on, mixed with concerns about Bucky; was he safe? He was supposed to be with his uncle, but you didn't trust Timothy. What did he want from Bucky? Is he going to contact you or will he do what Timothy asks him to do without a word of warning? How long is it going to take? Is it really something serious? Dangerous?

Never marry a gangster.

You shake your head, as if that's going to help you clear up the chaos; as if that shake was going to sort out the whole mess. Back in the kitchen, you put the cup in the dishwasher, then headed to the bathroom.

You felt a little better, washing off the hours spent on the plane; as streams of warm water ran down your sore, tired body. You reached up to a stone shelf, and came across more bottles than you thought you would; in addition to shower gel and shampoo, you found a hair conditioner.

You wrapped yourself in a fresh towel found in one of the cabinets, then left the bathroom with the intention of finding something to put on. However, you didn't manage to get to your bag; the door to the apartment opened and Bucky burst in. You didn't know if he had noticed you; he didn't even look in your direction, just grabbed his baggage from the floor, and without stopping, went to the bedroom. At first you stood there speechless – Bucky's abruptness caught you off guard; you also weren't sure if he had ignored you on purpose. But maybe it was better that way; you preferred not to get in his way. Nevertheless, after a moment, you followed him.

Bucky walked from the bed to the wardrobe and back again, repacking his bag.

“What are you doing?” you spoke, but your voice sounded so weak and quiet that you weren't even sure if those words had actually left your mouth. Especially as he still wasn't paying attention to you. “Bucky?” you asked a little more firmly, and he glanced at you over his shoulder. “What’s going on? What are you-”

“I have to leave.”

Your lungs suddenly ran out of air, your eyes widened.

“Timothy wants me to monitor business in Italy,” he answered, nervously shoving some folded clothes into his bag. “Somehow, strangely enough, he suddenly stopped trusting our men there.” He almost snorted.

Your lips parted involuntarily as you stared at his back. You barely consciously moved from your spot and approached Bucky. “For how long?”

“Few weeks, few months. I don't know. When he'll be satisfied enough with my work.”

You sat on the edge of the bed and stuck your eyes into the floor. “And you can’t say no.”

Bucky pressed his lips together. “I still owe him a debt. Besides, debt or not, my uncle is the head of the Family. And I crossed the line by marrying you behind his back.”

Your gaze tentatively returned to him. “He's punishing you for it..?”

He said nothing at first. He zipped up the bag, and for a brief moment you had the feeling that he was about to slam it against one of the walls.

“He'll make me break every promise I made to you,” Bucky claimed. He looked at you with what you could call fear if you knew the reason for it. One thing you were sure of – the tearing pain in his eyes. He regretted something; probably the fact that he had dragged you into this. “But I need you, Y/N.” Having stood between your legs, he dropped to his knees, his hands on your hips. “I fucking need you on my side.”

“Jamie-” You instinctively tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear in a soothing gesture. “I am on your side.”

“I don't know when I'll be back,” he repeated. “What if you'll have enough time to hate me?” His mouth twitched in a sad smile.

“I won't hate you,” you protested. “It's not your fault that you have to go. Our world is just built that way. And I get it.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head with clear disappointment; towards himself and the whole situation. He shifted slightly, then rested his head against your stomach, snuggling into your body. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You slid your fingers into his hair and brushed it tenderly. “It’s okay, Bucky. Really,” you whispered. He pulled back just enough to look at you. As your fingers rubbed his scalp with affection, his thumbs stroked your hips. “What if you’ll have enough time to find someone else?” you asked after a moment of silence.

“Y/N-” Bucky sighed with resignation.

“You know we are not with each other because of love,” you reminded, trying to talk some sense into him. “You want to be a good husband, and that's really great, but-” You gasped. “I don't want to get in your way. I don't want to stop you from finding what would really make you happy.”

Bucky's forehead furrowed, giving his face an offended expression. “So what? You're giving me permission to go there and cheat on you left and right?” His hands left your body and slipped on the mattress.

“That's not what I said,” you objected right away. “And you told me practically the same thing. In your uncle’s garden.”

Bucky stared at you without even blinking. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip and shook his head, looking away for a moment. Shortly afterwards he gazed at you again. “Okay. Have it your way,” he replied. “You will be the first to know. But now I'm only yours. And you are mine as long as I am here.” He raised his hand to your cheek. Soon, however, he moved it to the back of your head to draw you closer; he pressed his lips to yours with a longing you already recognised; he kissed you for the first time since last night. And you weren't even taken aback; the gesture seemed so natural, so familiar and right.

Bucky rose from his knees, and as if by instinct you climbed onto the bed to make space for him. The mattress bent under his weight as he took the spot right in front of you. He laid another, this time a more tender kiss on your lips, then took off his sweatshirt; he didn't need to do that – the sudden desire was strong enough that you might as well satisfy it instantly, without unnecessary delay. But you were wearing only a towel, which was about to fall; Bucky craved to feel your naked skin against his own; to keep you company in total exposure.

You kissed him – slowly and sloppily – meanwhile reaching for his belt and managing to unbuckle it, wanting to assure him that you needed it too; that you were completely comfortable with the closeness he was initiating.

Bucky pulled down his trousers and kicked them on the floor, and as his body pushed against yours, his lips traced a chaotic wet path on your neck. At one point, you even felt him grab a piece of your skin between his teeth; he sucked on it hard enough that you let out an involuntary whimper, and then irritated the sore spot with the tip of his tongue.

He sized you up with his eyes; your body stripped of its covering. You didn't feel as insecure as before – you weren't used to Bucky like that yet, but you were too absorbed in putting out your burning needs. “Fuck what I said earlier,” he rasped. “I'm not sharing you with anyone. And if that anyone happens, I'll fuck them out of your pretty little head.” He stretched his lips in a smirk, then leaned down and nuzzled your nose with his. “I can't get enough of you, baby,” he added, sinking into you without any warning. You both parted your lips; Bucky's breath stilled in his throat, and your back arched as you felt his whole cock inside you.

His heated, heavy body brushed against yours; slowly at first, lazily even, so that he could watch your face, drinking in every little expression. And you looked at him – a little helplessly against the control he had over you, and with a hope, perhaps even a silent request, that he would be the one to fulfill this hunger he himself had aroused in you. And you knew; you could see it on his face, feel it in his every movement, that he had set himself just such a mission.

Soon his hips began pounding fast enough that your clashing, naked, sweaty bodies made that characteristic, heavenly sound – it filled the whole room, mixing with your moans and Bucky's panting. If at all possible, the combination was turning you on even more, intensifying the sensations his dick was giving you, sliding in and out in that rapid rhythm, his wet, hot lips wandering on your skin. You felt his hand suddenly clench on your hair, his teeth hooking lightly on the edge of your jaw; if he could, Bucky would absorb every bit of your body.

You didn't even know at what exact moment you wrapped your hand around Bucky's biceps; you realized this when you painfully dug your nails into it – painful for both of you, but also somehow releasing the sensations that had been building up inside you. They were piling up, and you weren't going to fight them this time either. As that seemingly familiar but actually new feeling exploded in the pit of your stomach, you tightly hugged Bucky and pulled him closer. You uncontrollably sank your teeth into his shoulder, and pure pleasure spread across his face.

With his head on your chest, Bucky was slowly climbing down from his high. You stroked his arm carefully with your knuckles, then brushed your fingertips over the mark of your teeth.

“You’re a biter,” he murmured, feeling your touch in that spot. From the tone of his voice, you figured he was smiling while saying it.

“Apparently,” you admitted with a little amusement. “How much time have you got?”

“Why? You want to get rid of me already?”

“I don't want to give Timothy any reason to punish us more than he already did.”

Bucky sighed heavily. He supported himself on his elbows, pulling his head away from your chest, and looked at you. You'd started the topic of Timothy again, and expected worry; that unsettling nervousness. Instead, Bucky stared at you with a gentle smile. “I wouldn't be myself if I didn't fuck with him at least a little,” he stated. “Besides…” He shrugged. “I'm saying goodbye to my wife, aren't I? And judging by his desire to have an heir, my uncle strongly respects family values.” He squinted, smiling insincerely.

You laughed, biting your bottom lip, then lifted your hands to his face. “And that's what you're going to tell him? That you were late because you were working on an heir?”

“Maybe,” Bucky said casually. Watching him with a tender grin, you stroked his cheeks with your thumbs, then carefully moved your finger down his nose; from bridge to tip. The expression on Bucky's face firmly softened – to some extent he even seemed surprised that someone had treated him with such gentleness. “Say it,” he whispered.

“What?” This time, your thumb caressed his chin.

“That I'm yours. I need to hear it. I need to know that when I come back, I'll come back to you. To my girl.”

There was something painfully shattering about seeing him embraced by such helplessness, uncertainty about his own worth; about how you perceived him.

“I don't want to lose you,” he continued. “The thought of you, of you being there for me, is the only thing that will keep me sane, I-”

“It's okay. It's okay.” You smiled reassuringly, your hands returned to his cheeks. “You are mine, and I'm not going to look for anyone else, I promise. I'll wait for you as long as it takes, okay? I am not leaving you, Jamie.”

Bucky nodded. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips, immediately followed by another, much more filled with fear, insecurity, vulnerability.

“I'll miss you,” you muttered into his mouth.

“And I will miss you. Very much.” He trailed his pecks down to your chin, your neck. One of his hands found its way between your thighs, parting them; without protest you spread your legs wider and he settled between them again. You felt his hardened cock rubbing against the inside of your thigh. You never imagined that you would affect someone so much, and knowing that you actually did put Bucky in a slightly different light; it created a new connection between you, based on intimacy and desire for each other.

His length thrust into you again, and you whimpered as your eyes rolled back in your skull.

You got out of the car – a little sore and tired. Bucky grabbed his bag from the back seats, then reached for your hand, locking your fingers together. He didn't let it show, but you could sense that he was nervous.

A plane was already waiting on the large, empty lot; the property of the Barnes Family. Timothy was standing not far from the heavy machine, talking to the pilot; Steve was also there, but as soon as he spotted the two of you, he walked towards you.

“Y/N.” He nodded to you; you waved at him in response, plastering a slight smile on your face.

To greet Steve, Bucky chose to drop his bag rather than let go of your hand. He put his free arm around Steve and patted him on the back. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”

“I will.”

Bucky released your hand, but only to move his arm down your back and pull you closer. You bumped against his body, resting your hands on his chest. “It'll be fine. Hmm?”

You wanted to believe it, but couldn't. That's why all you were able to do was smile sadly and press a tender kiss on his lips. Bucky rested his forehead against yours.

“I'll be waiting for you,” you said quietly, making him smile as well.

“I know.” He kissed your forehead, leaving his mouth there for a little longer than necessary. When he pulled away, he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, then handed you the keys to the Mustang. “Here. Take care of it, alright?”

“Alright,” you replied almost silently, lowering your gaze to the keys in your hand. As you lifted your eyes back to Bucky, you caught his stare. He looked at you with a soft smirk. You didn't say anything. Soon, however, he once again joined your lips.

“I gotta go.” He placed a kiss on the back of your hand, having brought it to his mouth, then pulled away and headed toward the plane. You pressed your trembling lips together, watching him. And again you felt that unpleasant coldness of being left alone.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz @loustan90 @kandis-mom @abaker74 @gabshouse @casa-boiardi @globetrotter28 @fand0mskullfa1ry @iateall-yourcookies @swordofawriter

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hoseoksluna · 5 months ago

Text

SMOKE, iii. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. jungkook, bespectacled girl)

genre: angst

word count: 10.3k

summary: everything that has begun hurts.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: heavy yoongi angst, a rundown of the smut from the previous chapter (oral sex, humping, making out), importance of consent, hearing voices, anxiety, borderline thoughts of not wanting to be here in this world, covid and the pandemic, anger, hyyh yoonkook, yoonkook smoke together.

note: i'm sorry for this chapter. :( i will make it better, i promise. as much as it was pain to write the rundown, i still think it's beautiful and so vital to this story. i hope my babies enjoy it. luv yah. <3

side note: i recommend reading smoke 2 before this chapter, so you don’t forget about anything! i didn’t use much detain in the rundown, the chapter would’ve had 20k words if i did. 😔✋🏻

I don’t believe in God, but I prayed to something bigger than me when our chauffeur drove us through the rain.

I’ve known the man for years and I would drift through my precious slumber whenever he would get behind the wheel and not awaken. And as much as I trusted him, I didn’t trust the damned, despicable rainfall that seems to be infested in my life like liquid anthropoids.

And as much as he meandered through the streets with utmost care and slowness, my muscles tensed and wouldn’t let up, my internal pleading words to someone up above coiled, choked out and strained. What’s worse, I feared she, the kitty girl, would stray away into her pain in all that quietness and melancholy that the condition of the weather emitted, and her bodily need to vomit would bash against the shattered pieces of my heart until only dusky powder remained.

I folded her into my pathetic prayer.

Seeing her so lost, unknowing of where she is and what is happening, seeing her eyes so absorbed in the nightmare she was facing, so awfully unfocused, then looking at me with such veneration once I cupped some cold water and let it drip down her noble spine—my heart failed and tore apart in two, her plea not to tell Jungkook severing it into smithereens.

I would do anything for her, anything she’d ask.

And I did.

The car stopped at her apartment building, and it wasn’t until then that my muscles dissolved into a state of calmness that allowed me to breathe evenly.

We didn’t crash.

No vehicle appeared in front of ours.

No muscle tear.

My consciousness ceased being one of such smothering vigilance, melting into inquisitiveness about her energy and how she was feeling, into a territory that is ruled by her bergamot and mandarin perfume, by her beauty and dangerous femininity laced with girlish shyness that twists my stomach into knots. Thankfully, the downpour crept out of my solid and unyielding atmosphere and I felt the clouds part.

The moonlight sliced through me when she asked me to come up.

I didn’t hesitate.

Tranquility surged through me, passing into me by those moonbeams.

I glanced up at the moon when I held her purse up in the air for her, at a comfortable level for her arms as she rummaged through it. Once I heard the clanging of her keys, I looked down—meeting the same face that those clouds above revealed. Little moon kitty girl.

But she wouldn’t connect her eyes to mine and my own mistake from earlier poked at my heart, her fear of me my everlasting demise.

I was willing to do anything in effort to erase it from her body, never to be found again. Smooth out what I’d molded in her, reconstruct it into something new, mild and mellow.

She held the door open for me and I perceived she had the power to pump blood into that wretched flesh of mine and deflate it all the same. It sparked something within me that I didn’t know how to identify. Something way beyond respect, enfolded with care, despite the fact I just met her.

Fate has been too, too merciful to me—and I wasn’t sure if I should trust it. Sun-mi wouldn’t speak to me, still, even when I would call out to her.

Only radio silence echoed back to me.

What was difficult to wrap my head around was the fact that I wasn’t reluctant to trust the kitty girl. It came to me with ease, filled up all parts of me that there simply wasn’t any space for any skepticism, nor for any ambivalence. If there was anything I was sure of, it was her.

Me misjudging her in the beginning may have brought it about, but I firmly believe that it has now enclosed it with a protective layer of stability. One I hold dear to my heart and find myself headstrong about nurturing, protecting it further.

She’s good.

She’s the same as me.

And she was wearing my sneakers.

It was all I could fixate upon as she led me through another door, out of which a high set of stairs emerged and by which she stopped. They suited her so well, downright belonged to her that I thought about letting her keep them. My heart swelled, making it difficult for me to breathe, and I went in first because I knew if I had the full package of her round femininity, her spine and the sneakers in front of my eyes, I would’ve collapsed and broken my neck.

And I didn’t want to regard her like that. Especially not when I’d attached myself to Sun-mi.

Even when she was lifeless, voiceless, seemingly not with me at all.

And yet, whatever it was in me that asked for the kitty girl, didn’t leave me be until I checked, multiple times, if she was with me. If her heels weren’t slipping out of my shoes, or if the laces weren’t unraveling. If she wasn’t drifting away from me.

She wasn’t.

She was conscious, attentive to me and flushed under her black dress.

My hands itched, remembering the feel of her icy cold skin warming up to me as she came to her senses. The memory engraved itself into the lines of my palm and I saw it, the film of it, all over again, when I looked down at my hand, full of pins and needles.

It went away when I propped it on the wall while taking my shoes off, watching her small feet emerge out of the spaciousness of the sneakers. She blushed and wouldn’t reciprocate my gaze, her flush shooting to the apples of her cheek that only grew upwards to her temples like the prettiest of wild roses. Without a word, I followed her further into her apartment and I thought about how I’d follow her anywhere she went.

Her living room was a place of utmost, ivory rest—as if she was inspired by the heaven she must be often visiting in her dreams. White walls, white couch, pristine lilies and undying vines of greenery lining each corner alongside a drapery of twinkling bulbs of lights. When she switched them on, I found myself in the middle of her personal heaven, considered it haven and I didn’t wish to leave.

I didn’t know why she invited me upstairs and the only reason that came to my mind was one I wasn’t allowing to consume my weakened heart.

I was willing to stay, even if she possibly needed a person to be present with her. Even if she needed to go non-verbal in the other room while I would bask in the purity of her eternal personality sunk in every detail of her apartment. I yearned to sit on her couch and take it in. Take in the perfume of her lilies, the soft and mellow mellowness of the lights that were so reminiscent of the core of those flowers. Her magazines and her books. Her cooking utensils and the reality show programs that must be burned into her TV.

I yearned to sit and breathe her in.

And I did when she poured me a glass of cold water and we drank it, wordlessly. She went to cleanse herself off the nightmare that had clung to her so vividly and deftly and I sat down in the middle of her plushy couch, her squishy pillows supporting my back. I ran my fingers through the different fabrics of those small cushions of hers, her blanket. Felt as though I was touching her, knowing she would repose her body using those objects of softness and something of great importance and emotional value, that I wasn’t really ready for, clove to my bones.

I longed to be her object of softness, snoozing and idleness. I pitied her for going through something so pernicious, especially in front of Hobi. Especially in front of such a stranger like me.

I didn’t understand how those tender feelings towards her infiltrated my lungs when I didn’t breathe enough of her air. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to feel towards a girl, not when I still had my tendencies to attach myself to my Sun-mi. I had tried to date after her, but I never developed feelings for the other person, not even a hint of them. I was indifferent to their personal stories as they were to mine, which made me realize in the long run that people in the current dating scene do not search for a long-term connection. The only connection they seek is the physical one and I regretted, for quite some time, for moving on the traditional way. Sun-mi was a treasure of gold and I was a fool for touching girls with gold-powdered hands.

They condemned it and I was pushed towards a death of loneliness.

Sitting here, listening to the murmur of her shower, abusing her special beige blanket with my gold-stained fingers, I wondered about her view on modern relationships. Was she the casual type and was I doomed? Or was she a love-fool like me?

A boom reverberated out far in the corridor, tugging me away from the false sanctuary of my high hopes. The kitty girl had flung open the door to her bathroom, but she didn’t walk out. My stomach zapped with the temptation of the reason that still crouched somewhere, tentatively, in my brain, one that I’m holding back with all my strength. But then the notion that she might have been feeling faint and needing my help crawled all over my scalp with icy legs and before I knew it, my feet paddled down that corridor. Somehow, they had the knowledge of where to go without a sliver of doubt.

Like all my thoughts, the notion had been false.

She was perfect and erotic in her night slip, cleansing her face off the last detail of her nightmare. My heart forgot all of its regulations when I regarded the end of her ebony dress, grazing just right the curves of her bum. My mouth parted and vehemently dried, another notion slipping in that only she could be the source of water that my throat miserably needed.

And then she turned around, a glowing torch of all my desires, dressed in silk and lace that hardened me so painfully my knees nearly wobbled. The sheer fabric pressed against her feminine peaks, baring them to me, my freed heart whispering to me that she was fully naked underneath her nightwear for me—and that she wanted it that way, wanted my eyes to see it.

My hands acted out of habit—unzipping my jacket to cover her. My hands that didn’t connect to my heart, nor my mind. My hands that seemed to have remembered my high hopes. The only smart part about me.

But she disagreed with them, and her own threw my garment down to the damp floor. She might as well have stomped on it to crush them further because wherever she was placing me right now, she was ensnaring me in her danger. In her femininity, in her eroticism. But she didn’t realize that she was tormenting me, opening my high hopes wide, exposing them and scratching them raw.

And by doing that, she was making me want to torment her with pleasure so great that she would submit to my traditional ways. To my golden powder that would eventually broaden the slits of her cat-like eyes.

Jungkook’s voice rang through me, however. At the cusp of my decision to manipulate her right back by giving her precisely what she was pining for.

He had warned me, with maximum carefulness that she didn’t hear, to not take advantage of her. Jealousy washed over me like a stream of iciness—that he knew something I didn’t, as if he truly knew what was going on in her head while I didn’t, and that he had claims on her and a certain possessiveness over her that I had no business being bothered by. But I could only nod as he poured that cyanide into my ear, held back as I was by outside forces. And it held me back now, forcing my hands behind my back, forcing me to rethink my decision.

She grasped that force, though. Pressed herself against me. And I could feel the ropes of that translucent obstacle ripping apart in her hands as they wrapped around mine, unfurling them, inviting my decision to come forth all over again. The hardened peaks of her breasts provoked the fight occurring in me and I sensed myself losing, losing Jungkook’s warning in my body, losing his respect—and losing his love.

The latter is what drove me to tell her the truth—tell her that Jungkook said no, divulging to her the picture of the mountain of respect I bore in my lungs for him, despite the fact I kept holding her delicate hands. And she responded with such a piquant wit that it quaked through that mountain, debris falling off, tumbling to my feet.

Since when is Jungkook the boss of me?

The fight loosened with her words, but it brought about the awareness that while Jungkook wasn’t the boss of her, he had been—for the longest time—the boss of me. It dawned upon me, along with the notion that it didn’t have to be this way, so intensely that my grip flexed around her hands. And the feeling of ultimate liberation, scented by her raspberry body wash, descended upon me, hushing to me, ever so softly, that because she’s become a new character in this following chapter, I didn’t have to cling to Jungkook any longer.

And I recognized that voice.

It was my Sun-mi speaking to me, guiding me.

And I tried, with all my might, to conceal the evidence of the relief and the dull elation surging through me due to the fuzzy impression she had given me—a headstart to my decision. But then she reminded me of the possessiveness Jungkook had over the kitty girl and she encouraged me to ask her about it.

And I did.

Sun-mi took my thumbs and brushed them over the girl’s nails, showing me how before letting me take over. And the way she reacted to the feeble touch, it made me see her in a slightly different light.

She was dangerous and erotic, yes. But deep within, in the dust-suffused corners of her being, there dwelled an abandoned kitten. Starved—starved of touch, of love and care. With a hollow belly and a bony face. And it stared right back at me after it brushed its soot-stained features against my neck, asking for more with eyes that were no longer seductive, but sorrowful.

She was a kitten I ached, ached to take care of. Adopt and bathe and feed. Make pretty and fill up with life, joy and colors of the rainbow of emotions she could meet and get to know with me.

And Sun-mi validated these thoughts of mine, expanding that warm feeling in my gut until it reached my heart.

My breath shivered.

And Kitty, Kitty expanded her wit, hauling my decision forth—to the edge of reality, provoking me further, but I saw right through it. She wanted my care for a different reason, using the same manipulation technique, and Sun-mi nodded in me.

Would I ask you to come upstairs if I were?

Sun-mi warned me a second before Kitty untangled her hand from my grip and went to feel up my groin. I caught it just in time, putting it back to my side, and her dolorous regret pierced through me; pierced through Sun-mi’s voice, shutting the half of her sentence that advised me to be cautious. I was struck by the realness of her contrition, maybe because it seemed like a mirror of mine—maybe because it shredded the intoxication of her eroticism and the kitten in her revealed herself, fully, to me.

That naked kitten, belonging to me.

And just like that, I was willing to give her what her body asked of me. If I was supposed to get to that kitten through the murky waters of her desire, then I was willing to get myself wet. Because if I was to reject her, she’d close up that corner of her and I would lose her.

The real her.

I unattached myself from Sun-mi.

I reopened what I had closed. I echoed the words that her body provided me.

Are you needy?

And it wasn’t just the outside shell of her that lit up. The kitten glimmered in the shadows, turning onto her back and exposing her belly to me. That was enough for me—to know that the inner her was listening to me—and so I repeated the question in her dumbstruck silence, focusing on the her that needed me, though differently, at that moment, calling her by her name. I allowed myself to be influenced by her allure, by her former manipulation—dipping my hands in her waters. And her continuous wit affected me, properly, for the first time.

What would you do if I said I was?

My brows twitched and so did my cock, her words letting in a whirlwind of ideas of what I would do to her. But when I enabled my body to act out however it wished, my legs wading in her desire, only one remained.

I set my heart upon punishing her for what she did to herself. For the way she sabotaged herself by using the fading beauty of lust and neglected the real her, the poor kitten, in the process. For submitting to the society’s detestable ways, when she was more than deserving of love and respect.

I craved to punish her for meandering through this world like I did, with multiple earth-shattering orgasms that would satisfy her enough to be herself, unabashedly.

Even if it made me a hypocrite.

I’d make you come so hard you wouldn’t have to touch yourself for days, I whispered to her, folding myself into the snugness that was created between us earlier in the venue, feeling her body tremble in my hands. And before I turned my rationality off all the way and submerged myself, fully, in her waters, I echoed to her the words that rushed through me. Is that what you want?

Did she want me to discipline her enough that she would come back to herself?

Did she want me to help her?

But she didn’t answer me. She didn’t give me her words. Only a carnal, maddened noise of agreement spilled out of her and bound me deeper to her. I willed someone up above, silently, to make her see through my words. I persisted, vocally, encouraging her to consent to me, but the more the seconds of our time drifted on, the more I began to fall under her spell. And the more she studied the shape of my lips in a way that no one had ever done in my life, not even Sun-mi, the more my body submitted to her.

We collided in a mutual kiss.

And she tasted like the unnamed thing I sought in all the vapid girls I had touched after Sun-mi. Like the fruits of curiosity; like the sap of humanness. I delved into her—felt her refreshing my throat, my stomach. And her influence sank one more layer below, rejuvenating my bones.

It wasn’t merely a kiss. It was a final connection, and I wanted her.

I wanted her, crucially.

The kitten clawed at the walls of her being and I felt her, shushed her inertly—told her to stay patient for me because I needed to continue with my decision, with my plan. Needed to get to her.

Needed the same things that the outer shell of her did—without having anyone to give it to me.

Except her.

But when I broke the kiss and gazed into her eyes, I detected a streak of sunlight protruding through the thick dust. Lily-white and impeccable, her seduction tearing at the seams. And when she began to ride my thigh, the pleasure she received from me ripped it apart, wholly. She plummeted, an inch below, and I swam in gladness, parting her waters with my arms.

I still needed her consent, though, so I persevered.

She wouldn’t listen to me, as wet as she was, and I yearned to take her chin and make her listen to me, but I respected her well enough to not do that. And I lost the timeline of my impending need of her consent to help her when her hair sailed upon the surface of her lustful waters. She rubbed her pussy so well against my thigh. I could hear the squelching noises of her flesh riding her dripping slick and I sailed with her.

I lost my mind when she came against me, the frenzy bursting in all parts of me, and I no longer saw the real her and the cracked outer shell of her.

I merely saw her.

And she was beautiful.

She wasn’t erotic, seductive, nor lustful. She didn’t personify a girlish sinfulness. She exuded a pristine beam of pinkish innocence, laced with a love so great that it thrummed within my chest. My morals, my decisions, my ways and thoughts blurred and blended into my desire to have her.

Just her.

Her vulgarities and praises for me spilled out of her like her slick and it hydrated me, gave me a long, brisk sip of life and I was dumbstruck, mirroring her. She was unbound in her release and I wished I could cup that euphoric freedom and pour it down her throat in social events when she would need it the most, a little sugary drink of courage that would untie her from anxiety. Her beauty bloomed in front of my eyes and I couldn’t avert my gaze away from her.

It was physically impossible within the bond that pulled me closer and closer towards her.

And when she came back to me, dazed from the high of her vital orgasm, I couldn’t help but to be inspired by that stream of liberation. Just like she praised me, I praised her. It was important to me that she knew of what happened to her when she burst in her pretty release.

It aroused me deeper, the words I uttered her way. And the way she blushed, the way she smiled—I knew right then and there that she threw a rope around me, ensnaring me to her for all eternity.

And I was delighted.

That’s the most I’ve heard from you all night. You’re alive when you come. Raw and articulate. No shyness to you.

I caressed her extended claws.

And I want them dug deep in me.

Despite my lost mind, I kept going, kept persisting, wondering at the words that dashed out of my mouth, the one that knew how to kiss her and coax out of her those sweetened, delicate noises of hers—and her following words.

Neck. Nipple. Thigh. Cunt.

I became aware, wholly, of the suppleness and softness of her body. Of the authenticity and authority that it held as I kissed and licked all of those tender, sensitive parts of her that she asked me to get to know my tongue.

And I was doing just that.

Learning the depth of her intellect as I closed my mouth over her clit, as I drank from her sopping heat that gave me the final notion of the night that I would never thirst again. Not if I had her legs over my shoulders. Not if I had her bent in half.

Not if I had her asking for me, provoking me.

I enjoyed it too much. Thought I’d never enjoyed something like that before. Her taste, the heady scent of her arousal that I desired to have under my nose at all times, her wetness dripping off my chin and landing just right on her bare, squished tummy. Her neediness, her courage and her bravery. I enjoyed it all so much that I forgot all about myself and my own needs, finding her lust more stimulating and gratifying than the thought of me getting anything in return.

But all too soon, while I was holding her in such a vulnerable position, the spell withered. In a snap of one’s fingers.

Mine.

The final question, the only smart one within the heated realm of our frenzy, trickled down my chin along with her wetness and I gravitated back down to my lost rationality, to the disconsolate existence in this wretched world. Kitty rolled her eyes and I floated, like a pallid cloud, in and out of our lust. One foot there, the other in reality.

You really want this?

She bounced for me, tugging on the rope she had wrapped around me. And I toppled, harder than I anticipated, when she murmured that she wanted me inside of her. I toppled forward into our aphrodisiac haven, but my foot stayed submerged in the mud of reason.

You’re not getting it tonight.

But the little minx liked that I had said that. Liked that I was such a fastidious giver—a man in charge of her that knew better. And I liked that she did. I liked the way she touched me. Her fingers heartened me. And when she poked her toe in my cheek, I blazed in such joy and passion that I gave in.

I gave in, entirely, to her.

I kissed her like I never kissed Sun-mi. Grabbed her by the back of her neck and smashed my mouth into hers, sucking on her lips so hard that my cock twitched and she moaned in response. Moaned so vivaciously that I sensed it taking roots in each corner of my body and soul.

Kitty dragged me out of reason, sprawling me over her. I ground my hips against her pussy, meeting her little thrusts, and I found something beyond the principle of haven in that mutual collision. Something safer, something more solid. And despite the fact I had unattached myself from Sun-mi, she, somehow, thundered in me. Her jealousy contaminated me. I felt icy fingers hooking into the back of my shirt and yanking me away, sinking into my flesh. And right then and there, I almost yelped in pain.

Sun-mi’s voice plagued me in antipathy.

Get away from her.

Get away. Get away. Get away.

Go now.

She screeched those revolting words in me until her shrieking voice melted into a ringing that rid me of my hearing sense. But as ensnared as I was, I perceived that wasn’t my Sun-mi. That wasn’t her voice, for it wasn’t effulgent with her gentleness. It was something greatly sinister that had crawled upon me in my vulnerability, disguising itself as my precious girlfriend. Though as aware as I was of its trick, it wouldn’t let go. On the contrary, it rose in volume and intensity until it forced me to let out the rottenest words I could’ve ever given her.

I can’t.

But because of the bond between us, I was able to give her a tender kiss to make it better. And when she took it, she gave me the strength to fight.

And so I did.

I settled between her legs, but the worst thing that could’ve happened did come up for air between us.

She saw through me. She was a witness to the demon’s psychological terror inflicted upon me and she respected it enough that she began to back away.

I couldn’t let her. I couldn’t let the demon win.

So I pushed her hands away that had gripped the silky fabric of her night dress and covered her from me, and I flipped the hem so hard I nearly ripped it. I couldn’t afford to have her close up on me—to not have her like this and the awareness of how important she had become for me in the little time we had together descended in the pit of my stomach. The thought of never having her close like this shook through my organs and I simply could not let that happen.

I begged her.

I begged her to let me forget about the enormous obstacle that hid within me and wished to draggle me through mud and shit just so I wouldn’t fall deeper into her.

And when she allowed me, when she pinned her legs back the way I wanted them, and gave over that intimate part of her that I had discovered I needed in order to survive, I discerned that her willingness, her consent and her kindness was something that attenuated the voice of the demon in me.

I submitted.

And in total submission to her, I devoured her and finger-fucked her until she, seemingly, washed me clean of all my darkness, sprinkling me with her wetness. I would’ve continued had she not reached the fairyland of overstimulation. And all my false pretenses were revealed to me when she sat up and palmed my cock.

I wasn’t washed clean. I wasn’t well. And I wasn’t strong enough to fight.

My fear quaked in my bones while she was undoing the strings of my sweatpants and it was me who felt like vomiting at the thought of being on the receiving end.

I grasped her hands, my vision clouded with my tears, and I could only shake my head ‘no’. I had pleaded with her to give me her words, yet I myself wasn’t able to do the same.

I didn’t understand what was happening to me.

I crumbled and shrunk. Was smaller than the kitten inside her that meowed to me. Didn’t know whether to leave or to stay over, only that if I were to remain in the closeness of our lessening frenzy, something ugly would occur. I found myself in a state of mind where I needed to be taken care of, but letting her do it strengthened my fear. I needed Jungkook to come, but that meant he would get the wind of the fact that I betrayed him.

I was paralyzed on the spot, with my cock hard and aching, and Kitty studied me as if she could read each and every horrendous line of the decadent poetry of my mental state. And then she tied back the strings of my sweatpants, careful not to touch my private parts, and folded her hands on her glistening thighs.

“Can I make you something to eat?” she asked, her eyes as shiny as the traces of her arousal, round and softened, the slits wide and innocuous. So different from the way they looked when I first regarded them.

The large, hot tear that plopped onto my cheek answered her for me. As if she called it out, my stomach grumbled.

She rose on her bare, wobbly feet and pulled my head onto her lace-adorned bosom. Brushed a hand down my hair at a snail’s place like she internally knew that it wasn’t possible for me to linger in her tenderness, that once she reached the nape of my neck that I would withdraw. And she gave me a radiant smile once I did—as if I wasn’t vile, worthless and loathsome.

Reassured me that it was okay like I deserved it. Like I deserved her.

And while she made me ramen and boiled two eggs for me, the demon in me pressured me to leave without a word. Almost pushed my muscles into action, my legs to take a step back, but I resisted. I resisted with the little strength I had by crossing the distance, no longer watching her from the dark corner of her kitchen. I stood behind her, not holding her, not caressing her—because I couldn’t. I couldn’t draw closer. I couldn’t touch her in a non-sexual sphere because I feared what would have happened to my mind if I did.

In spite of that, I said the words that she deserved to hear.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to give you what you want.”

She turned her head and gazed up into my eyes. It was so intimate that I couldn’t understand how we ended up here, how we ended up acting like this when we knew each other for merely hours. I couldn’t understand why it felt the way it did when she was merely looking at me and I longed to scratch off the outer layer of our bond that it gained from our lust, that protected it so well that even I couldn’t erase it.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

I couldn’t say anything to that. My hands agreed with her, but my abused heart didn’t. I could only sit down at her table and eat the food she made me, thinking about how everything our bodies did was natural, yet those actions left an unnatural aftertaste within that the food couldn’t flavor differently. I existed in oxymorons with her, ones that I took to bed with her.

And I held them instead of her.

I awake with a jerk.

With the brass, sharp and strange feeling that I did something wrong, that I made a mistake so enormous and calamitous that it will take a lifetime to pay its mending debt. With a long wave of Kitty’s turquoise strand loosely wrapped around my hand resting between the snugness of her pillow and mine. With her spine protruding towards me while she’s curled on her side. With a surplus of the dream I have emerged from as it drifts with me towards the bright light of consciousness, where I’d rather not be right now.

And the memory of it opens against my eyelids when I close them. Her straddling me, her bouncing on my cock as her eyes flutter in the middle of her perfervid, red-hot orgasm that might as well have been mine. I sense her weight on me as if she wasn’t softly snoring beside me, but sitting on me with my length sheathed inside her to the hilt, shuddering and praising me, her breasts following the movement of her hips and—

I sit up and fist my hair, trying to breathe out evenly, but I fail. The damned air comes out in pathetic staccatos that permeate me with a zealous anger. And when I rip the covers off of me, I see that I was right.

Her orgasm was mine.

A large wet spot stains my boxers, the white fabric translucent due to the quantity of cum that oozed out of me in my sleep. It’s not sticky, nor is it dry, which means the dream caught up to me right before I woke up and came like a fucking teenager that has just discovered women.

What makes this even worse is that I’m rock hard and so needy that I’m willing to wake her up and beg for her. Beg for her kindness. Beg for her softness.

But I can’t.

Anger and lust might lace well, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t use her when I know I have to keep my distance now and not allow us to step over the threshold of our desires. I should’ve listened to Jungkook and not let her shatter that mountain of respect for him, not let her set me free from my fixation on him. I should’ve stayed in the car and kept my promise to him that I would come back.

I stand up to my feet and I detect the silky ghost of her dyed strand on my palm, the only singular softness I might ever feel for the rest of my life. And I wish it would end now, so I wouldn’t have to face her and the possible heartbreak I would clothe her in—and so I wouldn’t have to face Jungkook and clothe myself in regret and shame.

I go and search for my Sun-mi as I walk over to the living room to put on my sweatpants from last night, but I stumble upon a dead end. The realization that I had been tricked by my demons for all these long years swathes me in iciness so cold that I shiver and my vision blurs. The realization that I’m all alone are the ropes that stifle my lungs and they swell against it, the flesh overspilling. I call out to her from within, a feeble high hope, and radio silence greets me upon this fine morning.

The only honeyed good morning I’ll ever receive.

I sniffle, willing the tears to fuck off because I’m exhausted of feeling so much, of being so vulnerable in this world that seems so be so set on destroying me. My girlfriend is dead. She’s not with me, nor will she ever be. She hasn’t been sending me guidance and fuzzy feelings. She’s buried six deep under and I dispersed the soil over her with the same hand I used to make another girl come, the same hand that still feels her hair like a knife I seem to be clutching, despite the excruciation I give myself, despite the blood that pours out and splatters on her stark white carpet.

I sit on her couch and check the notifications on my phone. I have one text message from Jungkook and two missed calls from him. It’s so like him. Had it been any other member, the bar would’ve been spammed so much that I myself would have to get out of bed and silence it.

I click on the message and read it, carefully.

We need to talk in the morning. Coffeestand at 11 am

Fuck this shit.

I check the time. It’s 10:20 am. I haven’t slept this long since the pandemic. Which reminds me that I haven’t been to that small coffee shop with him since before this fuckery ingrained itself in the face of this doomed world. Jungkook knows what I’ve done, but I don’t allow myself to feel.

No regret. No shame.

Nothing.

I place my head in my hands and do some breathing exercises, anxiety invading my boundary and my decision to be numb. I fight, even though I’m so weary of it, and my mind spins. There’s not enough air in this room and when I go to look around to see if her AC is on, I find her standing by the doorframe of her bedroom.

Puzzlement twists her puffy, morning features. The light glimmers in her eyes so glaringly that there’s simply no need for the sunlight right behind me that I now sense cradling my back. It has awoken hand in hand with her and I have to stop myself.

No feeling. Numbness, only.

I feel nothing towards her and I want nothing to do with her.

Last night was a mistake. She was horny and I was lonely, vulnerable. There’s no bond between us. She’s merely Jungkook’s pretty friend. And I don’t see the starved, neglected kitten out in the open of her being, her former seductiveness a mat beneath her that she’s resting on, purring. She’s not lifting her small, bony head at my attention as I peer into her eyes and watch her tense features melt and relax under our spellbinding eye contact.

And her words don’t affect me when she asks me if I’m okay.

I don’t disintegrate when she walks towards me, her bare, sleep-kissed breasts bouncing underneath her pellucid, lacy night dress, ruining me, reminding all over again of the wet dream I had, of the way she pinched them right before I stirred awake.

I stop her halfway with roughness that I regret as soon as it digorges out of my mouth and I wish, with all of my own godforsaken being, to take it back.

“Can you, please, put something fucking on?”

I palm my forehead, tearing my gaze away from her and the way her face falls, and when I run my hand down my eyes, I encounter the traces of my weakness still wet and very much visible to the naked eye on my cheeks. I’m hot all over, regretful, shameful and hateful of what I’ve become because I believe that, deep down, I’m not my anger.

I may believe it faintly, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe it at all.

I’m not my anger and I don’t treat people like this. I exude respect, self-control and kindness.

This is not me.

And yet I still act like this. I hurt and I’ve hurt the beautiful girl in front of me that I can no longer face. I grab my things and I walk over to her corridor, sliding my foot into my shoe while staring down, with even blurrier vision than before, the red Jordans I let her wear last night.

“I have to go,” I mutter, willing my voice not to betray me, but to be smooth, steady and gentle—unlike me. Jungkook’s image flashes in my brain and how he must be already waiting for me in the coffee shop, as punctual as he is. And I don’t hurt just his friend further, I sink the knife I still clutch inside my heart so deep that I lose my life in front of her. “Do you have a spare mask?”

She untangles one of her arms crossed over her breasts and rummages in a little, white, polyester box perched on her kitchen bar. Wraps that forearm tighter around her when she hands me a new, ivory mask without looking at me.

I twist the knife deeper in my heart and I long to take her face in my hand, instead of the mask. Take her and kiss her for her kindness until she moans into my mouth like she did last night.

But I don’t.

I thank her for the mask and I leave.

Jungkook is waiting for me outside the coffee shop with a pink umbrella. A tall Statue of Liberty dressed in black, holding up a torch of my failure. He reminds me so much of her that it might as well have been her, standing in his place.

I had texted him that I was on my way, even though my doleful heart begged me to dial his number and vomit all of my feelings into his ear. Cleanse my guts of the regret that gorged on it. Despite the fact that’s not something I normally do. Jungkook is the one who does and I’m the one who listens, who fixes, who comforts.

I could never let him know that I’m the one who needs it now.

It had rained softly when I stopped by my apartment to take a quick shower so I wouldn’t have faced him with cum stains on my sweatpants. Gooseflesh marred my skin when I walked through it with my head dipped low, the cloud my very contrition that poured down on me. I was shivering as the liquid anthropoids crawled upon my bare arms because I left my jacket on her bathroom floor. None of us went to wash up before bed.

They seemed to have fucked off to another city, but once I went by foot to the coffee shop, they descended again. Taunted me. Obscured my tears from Jungkook who was as kind as her, running up to me once he saw me to shield me from the rain.

No wonder they’re friends.

I don’t greet him, nor do I listen to him tell me off for not bringing an umbrella. I focus on burying my feelings the way I buried my girlfriend, six feet deep, and the final sifting of the soil is the cigarette I wordlessly pull out of my pack. Jungkook blinks at me.

Then, holds out a hand.

No wonder he’s my brother.

I give him one and light it up with my white lighter, studying the way his brown pools zero in on tip flaming up in a soft orange tint. And when those gentle eyes shift to mine, I feel like weeping all over again.

He puffs the smoke out away from my face. I follow him, hiding my tears by flicking my gaze in another direction, sucking on the cigarette as I bring it to life and pocket my lighter. And as the fume blackens my treacherous lungs, I have to rub my eyes in order not to reveal my emotions to him.

But Jungkook sees through me regardless of my efforts.

“Start talking,” he encourages, crossing his arm over his chest like Kitty did and my heart pivots on its axis, slicing through my flesh. The smoke curls around us in the pink shadow of the umbrella. “We don’t have much time. We have to be back at the company in an hour. He wants to talk to us.”

He doesn’t have to mention his name—I know full well who he speaks of. If the said person saw what we were doing, he’d have a stroke and it makes me suck on my cigarette harder.

“About?”

Jungkook sighs, takes a drag and puffs the smoke sideways through pursed lips, his eyes lost in the distance somewhere behind my legs. “He never said. Just acts all high and mighty. Demands our time when we need it to rest in order to give our best before the concert tonight. I’m sick of him.”

I humorlessly chuckle because I don’t think I ever heard him admit something like this. Hobi and I, we have these discussions nearly on a daily basis, but Jungkook never had the guts to admit the unfair, inhumane way we’re treated by the company we keep alive and thriving. Not just for us, but for the other groups under the management.

I take a little happy drag of the poison, feeling a little more at ease with him. Enough to dig up my feelings and stain his hands, so I wouldn’t feel so alone.

And I do.

I prepare it, my nails black and muddy. I dig out the regret over my words, the ache in my heart from the way Kitty’s face fell, the mental agony from the fact she may never want to see me again and that I may never see her—that she won’t come to the concert tonight.

And in the silence, as I look at my dirtied hands, I get an eyeful of the way I’m holding not just the fragments of the earth, but of wildflowers. Wildflowers of her scent, the heady perfume of her arousal that I can still smell under my nose because I didn’t have the heart to wash that part of my face. It was all I had of her for the time being. Petals of her beauty, her giggles and her moans quiver in my palms and the memory of her poking me with her toe in my cheek resurfaces in my mind. I smile so vivaciously that it hurts, though differently. I don’t regard it as sexual but as something innocently delicate, precious and endearing. And it deepens my regret that I spoke to her that way, that I made her feel ashamed of her breathtaking, picturesque body by lashing out my anger at her.

It deepens it to the point that I lament it. And my smile falls—just like her face.

Jungkook watches me. Has been watching me this whole time while I dipped inside myself. And he brings it back up, stubbing out his cigarette with his sneaker on the wet ground. I follow him—ready and not ready at the same time, but I feel vastly in me that I should tell him. And that he won’t ostracize me.

“Let’s go inside so you can tell me.”

I merely nod.

Jungkook takes the first step in front of me, keeping me shielded from the rain that begins to thicken. Maybe it grew tender from my memories—maybe it’s not as sinister when it comes to her. Maybe the rain can be mellow when she’s in my life.

Except that she no longer is. I pushed her away.

Under the roof of the coffee shop, Jungkook shakes the umbrella off of its sopping wetness and I can’t stand the sight of the rain. I walk inside, squeezing through him, mutter a quiet hello that the person behind the counter doesn’t hear. She’s tapping away her heart on the screen of her phone, her long nails clicking loudly, her round glasses pinched at the ball of her nose that fog up with each of her breaths due to her sagging mask. Tufts of hair spread out in all directions from her messy updo and she doesn’t lift her head at the sound of the bell ringing once Jungkook comes in. Her typing movements gain more speed and verve and I can’t help but to laugh to myself. She must be fighting someone on the other side—and I wish I could fight Kitty, just so I could talk to her. Just so I could still have her in my life.

“What are you having?” Jungkook asks, a glistening puppy drifting his big pools on the menu suspended above the girl’s curled form. He doesn’t take the humid weather well. Invariably sweats like a dog. A cute puppy dog that never stinks.

I was too busy being jealous of the girl possibly fighting her boyfriend to notice what she offered to make. I glance up, noticing the words are written in white chalk and some western options are embellished in a pretty cursive that must belong to her, which reminds me that one of our mutual friends worked here before the pandemic. I wonder if he’s still here or if someone else manages the place. There’s no way Beomseok was able to write in this pretty lettering. The man has problems with Hangul and to this day I don’t understand how he graduated with honors.

Kudos to him.

I reread the options and find only coffees with so much milk to make you sick for days. The only strong coffee is an Americano, but I need something stronger.

“Don’t they have anything with whiskey in it?”

Both heads turn simultaneously in my direction and I laugh, dryly. The girl’s thumb hover in the air before she blinks, flings her phone to the surface of the counter and stands up, drawing close to us.

Jungkook elbows me. “It’s 11 am.”

“If we have a meeting after this, I need the whole bottle.”

He laughs through his nose. “Fair enough.” Pivots to the girl, leaning his elbow on the counter and fixes his mask. “One americano for me. Do you, guys, still do flavor shots?”

The girl taps in his order and only looks at him with her eyes while her chin keeps facing the monitor. “The times have changed but our brand coffees haven’t. What flavor shot would that be?”

Jungkook nearly springs into the air. I swore I could see his puppy tail wagging. “Banana, please.”

I scoff. If I were to drink a banana-flavored americano, I would’ve spent my day on the toilet. Jungkook throws me a dirty look before he focuses on the girl again. I shake my head, smiling, lightweight.

“Okay, so, one banana americano for me and one bland americano for the grumpy guy. I’ll be paying for both. Can we sit here or is this to go only?”

She proceeds to tell him that the mandate is still rubbing its shit all over these walls, but since we’re the only ones here, we can sit with our masks down. Jungkook thanks her and leaves her a tip, asking her if Beomseok still comes around. My ears perk up. I would’ve loved to see the guy.

“I had to take the shift for him this morning, actually. The poor guy has some kind of a stomach bug. Are you, guys, friends?”

Jungkook nods, but doesn’t say anything else, which I’m grateful for. Beomseok was my classmate, the only friend I had in Daegu before I moved to Seoul. He didn’t support my decision to leave everything behind, but we reconciled, years later, when he followed my footsteps and we met at this very coffee place that he rebuilt with his own hands. Helped out the ahjussi who owned it; sweated blood, sweat and tears. And when the old man died, he left it in Beokseok’s hands, legally.

I sit by the front windowsill once Jungkook brings me my coffee and sets down his, the banana flavor sailing through my nostrils as I take off my mask. I make a face at the sweetened scent and Jungkook raises his eyebrows at me before he shakes his head in dismay. I take a sip of the dark liquid, basking in the warmth that clings to my bones.

But when he mentions her name, I spit out the coffee that I had yet to swallow.

“What?” I ask, embarrassed. I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence and my cheeks flush. Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles—his brows quirking as far as they can and I wish the ground would swallow me up.

Choking at the sound of her name? What has happened to me?

“I said—” His bunny smile forms and I know I’m fucked, knee-deep in a quicksand of shit. He won’t let me live it down. “That she loves this flavor as much as I do.”

I run a hand down my face. Jungkook chuckles into the plastic of his drink, wiping down my coffee on his plain black sweatshirt.

“Which reminds me that you have stuff to tell me.”

Anxiety pinches my fingertips. I was ready—or half ready—outside when he loosened the tensity of the atmosphere. But after the way I embarrassed myself in front of him, I don’t think I’m capable of telling him how much I fucked up.

I’d rather suffer in silence and on my own.

I look over at the girl. She’s sat back down on her stool and she’s reading the messages, her thumb trembling in the air before it swipes up, the other one in her mouth, her teeth nibbling on her long nail.

The way I caressed Kitty’s fingernails bolts through my vision and my throat dries. I’ve shifted to the point that I begin to miss her and like the girl’s thumb, my jaw shakes. I still it, I hide it by propping my fist against it.

Jungkook stares me down, urging me with his eyes and it works on me. I work well under pressure and he knows this. That guy is a puppy-fox hybrid and I hate him as much as I love him.

“I don’t know where to begin,” I admit, and it’s true. It’s as vulnerable as I was last night and I can’t grasp how that emotion still breathes in me. I’m hoping it disappears as soon as I let it out, disappears into Jungkook, where it will be safe and locked.

Jungkook takes a long sip without taking his eyes off of me. Smacks his mouth right after. “Did you fuck her?”

It’s me who raises their brows at the brazenness of the question and I wish it were as simple as that. I wish I had fucked her and left her while she slept. Ended the story like that without any strings attached—without any additional chapters. But what I feel for her, the bound that is irrevocably unrelenting between us, exceeds a saga. That exceeds this entire lifetime. And I can’t admit that to him.

“No,” I mumble, unable to reciprocate the eye contact, unable to tell him what we did because I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to see her the way I did—let him in on her horniness. It was private and it was for me. I want to honor that and protect that privacy for her. It’s the only thing I can do now. The only right thing. My hands have gone mute. “But something did happen between us. I slept over and in the morning I fucked it up.”

The vagueness of my words graces me with the fuzzy feelings I was used to before today, but I don’t trust them. I don’t fall for it—and my anxiety skyrockets, enough that a lump lodges in my throat.

Jungkook doesn’t blink and I don’t wish to know what it means. “Fucked it up? How?”

How do I tell him without spilling the entirety of me? Without disclosing that I coped with my girlfriend’s death by falsely believing that she was transcendently still with me, guiding me?

No one can ever know that about me. Not even the being up above.

“I wasn’t in the right mind to see her bare, so I had a go at her,” I mutter, my voice breaking and I take a sip to camouflage it, the warm liquid heating up the incoming of my past anger. “I regret it and I wish I could take it back.” I caress the fabric of the mask, crumpled on the wooden windowsill, and my lamentation blackens. “But she doesn’t wanna see me anymore.”

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his pocket and places it beside his coffee. It startles me, but I concentrate my gaze on the only physical, tangible presence I have of her.

“Did she tell you that?”

Something opens within me, but once again I don’t trust it.

“No.”

“What makes you think she doesn’t wanna see you again?”

I don’t answer, finding the question stupid. I toy with the ear strings of the mask, recollecting the way I did the same movement with her fingernails. And I don’t want to drink the coffee anymore. I don’t want to go to a work meeting—nor do I want to be here at this coffee shop. I don’t want to be anywhere; I don’t want to exist.

Jungkook sighs. I still don’t look at him, gripping the string so hard against my knuckle that my thumb turns white.

“You like her.”

I do, but I don’t profess that, vocally. It’s pointless. As pointless as the course of my personal life.

“Did you exchange numbers?”

I shake my head ‘no’, the corners of my mouth naturally rounding in a frail pout. The thought of having her number and having the opportunity—

“If you see Yoongi sometime before work, make sure he’s well.”

My head shoots up. Jungkook is bunny-smiling at his phone while holding his bizarre drink in his other hand. The remnants of my past anger magnetically affixes within me, creating a dynamic windstorm in me that really pushes me to lash out at him for taking the piss out of me like that. I grit my teeth, clench my fist, hold back with all my might that I feel my shoulder act up, paralyzing me with a pain that forces me back down until I curl in my seat—like that bespectacled girl.

Defeated.

“I can’t believe this is happening—”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing my softness back for him. Clutch my shoulder while he’s distracted. “Don’t fuck with me, Jungkook-ah. I’m not in the mood.”

He hums in question, flicking his eyes at me. Seeing the state of me, he grows serious and locks his phone, setting it down. “I told you not to touch her, did I not?”

I open my mouth to say something, but I run on empty, closing it back down. This is the reaction I anticipated and now that it’s here, it feels right. It feels like I deserve it—like I deserve to be told off. So I listen, my knuckles against my mouth, and I stare, numbly, at him.

“I shouldn’t have let you take her home in the first place. I knew this would happen. I saw the way she looked at you when I introduced her to you. She was in a trace, hyung. And when you were the one to tell me she felt sick, I knew this was bad news,” he breathes out, his shoulders as broad and menacing as his words, and my guard collapses. I know where he’s going with this and I brace myself against it, brace myself against the cold, hard truth that will sever me in half. But I’m wrong. What he says next is something I never expected to hear from him. “Having a go at her is the worst thing you could’ve done to her, but she’s strong. She’s the strongest person I know besides you—”

His voice recedes and the background of this brown coffee shop dissolves into a pitch blackness. I sit in the middle of a tunnel, beaten and overpowered, his silenced words driving past me like cars, and I can’t move. A myriad of scenarios that explain why she’s the strongest person he knows darts through my brain, connecting with the big question mark of why she evanesced in her body in Hobi’s presence. And the reason why Jungkook disapproves of us fluxes over me like those liquid fuckers.

She was hurt, badly, in her last relationship. And it feels as though I’m back on my side, on the hard ground, while it pours, the lights of my scooter streaking through it.

“—but she obviously cares for you, unlike the others. She wouldn’t text me that if she didn’t, so take her fucking number from me and fix this. Grow a pair.”

I blink at him with fluid sight. Brown evaporates through the black.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

And all of a sudden, I’m aware of what I’m doing when I seize his phone. See for myself that he wasn’t fucking with me like I thought he was. And I copy her number into a new contact.

My thumbs hover in the air—just like the girl’s behind me.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk.

BACK to masterlist | READ second part here

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livingdreams97 · 1 year ago

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Rhaenyra Targaryen -"The Personal Guard." (Part 6)

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Male reader/oc

Summary: The barely known third son of Lord Lyonel Strong, surprisingly ends up becoming the personal guard of none other than the Targaryen princess, after an incident in the forest.

Words: 3.690

Masterlist

Rhaenyra POV

I was more than nervous. I never thought I would feel nervous on my wedding day, I always imagined this day as a dark day full of misfortune. But it was the opposite of what I imagined.

I had barely been able to close my eyes for more than half an hour, being awakened by the excitement and nerves of the day.

Today would be the day I would officially and publicly join Y/n Strong. Today I would become his betrothed officially and he would be mine, today we would unite as one in front of the gods and I couldn't be more excited.

The preparations for the wedding had been quick. Just two weeks ago I was arguing with my father about the unfounded rumors of his former hand and fighting not to be forced to marry Ser Leanor Velaryon.

And after two hectic weeks, due to the organization of the wedding, the banquet, the dress and everything that goes into the preparations for the big day. The big day had arrived.

In these two weeks my father put another personal guard on me and I hadn't been able to see Y/n more than passingly during this time. But today I would finally see him, I would see him walking towards me and at the end of the day I will be in his arms again.

Although I can't help a bitter feeling, when I am aware that I will experience one of the happiest days of my life and that my mother will not be with me on such an important day.

I would like to be able to live this with her, listen to her talk about how happy she is for me and telling me that she was right; like I did when I was a girl.

I would like to know that you are proud of me, for having left behind the negative idea of getting married and having chosen the best man in all the kingdoms. I would like to have her by my side to calm my nerves, hug me and whisper to me that everything will be fine.

But even though she is not by my side, I know that she watches me from the heavens and that she is happy for me.

Nora: Are you nervous, princess? - my trusted servant asks me, getting me out of my head.

Rhaenyra: Terrified.- I admit with a nervous laugh.

Nora: Don't worry, everything will be fine.- she assures me, placing her hands on my shoulders and leaving a reassuring squeeze.

Nora has been my personal servant since I can remember, always by my side and taking care of me. She was something of a mother figure, especially after my mother's death and Alicent's betrayal.

Rhaenyra: I know.- I nod, taking a deep breath. -But I can't help but feel nervous.- I admit, biting my lip, seeing my reflection in the mirror and realizing that I'm completely ready.

Nora: Nerves are good.- she assures me with a smile. -That means you care.- she explains to me without removing the smile from her face and I return the gesture.

We both remain silent, while Nora helps me with the last details of my hair and a doubt invades my head.

Rhaenyra: Am I doing the right thing? - I let the question hang in the air without stopping to look at my reflection in the mirror.

Nora: Do you want to marry Lord Strong? - she asks me back after a few seconds of silence.

I remain silent at her question. My mind immediately searches for every existing memory of every conversation, every touch, every word, every gesture, every interaction, every sensation and every detail of Y/n Strong towards me.

The fact that with a mere smile from him my day becomes happier, how with each of his gestures towards me they make me feel protected and loved, just like the feeling of his worked hands leave a path of softness. and delicate all over my body. About how every tiny thing he does for and for me makes my heart race in an exorbitant way.

Rhaenyra: With all my soul.- I respond bluntly with total sincerity and with a smile completely flooding my face.

Nora: Then you're doing the right thing.- she assures me, placing the last ruby in my hair and taking a step back. -You're ready, princess.- she informs me with a slight smile.

Rhaenyra: How do I look? - I ask her, turning towards her and biting my lip with some insecurity.

Nora: Perfect.- she answers me with a smile full of sincerity.

Rhaenyra: Do you think Y/n is going to think the same? - I ask, feeling my body vibrate in anticipation of her response.

Nora: No.- she answers and my shoulders fall at it. -He won't be able to think of what to say to you with how dazzled you are going to leave him.- she finishes answering me, making my spirits rise and a warm sensation settle in my chest.

Rhaenyra: Okay.- I whisper, trying to calm myself down.

Nora: Ready for the first day of seven? - she asks me calmly.

Rhaenyra: I'm ready.- I assure with a sincere smile.

My feet walk calmly but with a certain nervousness through the castle, feeling the bustle of the people closer with every step I take and the moment of seeing my betrothed becomes more and more imminent.

My steps resonate in my ears and add to a symphony with my heart. Each heartbeat is accompanied by a step and an echoing sound every time my foot hits the ground.

The symphony of my steps along with the beating of my heart stop when I land in front of the entrance to the dining room and the place is full of people for the celebration.

This time it is my breathing, along with the racing heartbeat and bustle of the people that create a symphony of different sounds. But the symphony ends when I hear my name announced to the room.

With a nervous smile, I begin to descend the stairs at the entrance and watch as everyone gets up from their seats to greet me and congratulate me on the imminent event.

I just smiled at them in response and walked as quickly as possible towards the table at the end of the room, where I can see my father standing and giving me a big smile.

Viserys: You look beautiful, daughter.- he says, grabbing my hands when I reach his side.

Rhaenyra: Thank you, father.- I thank him with a shy smile.

Viserys: I'm sure Lord Y/n Strong will be enthralled as soon as he sees you. - He assures me, leaving a loving squeeze on my hands and helping me to what will be my chair during the celebration.

I sit on my father's left side, watching the big houses being announced as they enter the dining room and how the heads of said houses congratulate me on the nuptials as well as my father.

But holding back my smile and holding my tongue against any cruel comment becomes very difficult when Lord Jason Lannister makes an appearance.

But thank the gods, I don't have to endure it for long and it's thanks to the announcement I was most looking forward to.

Ser Harrold: Lord Lyonel Strong, lord of Harrenhal, former councilor of buildings and current hand of the king. - begins to announce. -His first son Ser Harwin Strong, city guard and future lord of Harrenhal. And his youngest son, Ser Y/n Strong, the future king consort.- finishes announcing, causing a wave of applause in their presence and I get up from my chair quickly.

I smile as i see my future husband walk towards me, appreciating every detail of his clothes and face as best as I can given our distance.

POV You

I swallow heavily, trying to calm my nerves and appear as composed as possible. But it is very difficult for me to see the princess looking at me and the sincere smile she gives me.

Everything falls silent, as my father and brother bow before the king and I do the same when it is my turn.

When I stand up, the princess turns and begins to circle the table. I look at my father and he gives me a sign that I can move towards her. Which I do immediately, walking towards where the princess is and holding one of her hands delicately when we are facing each other.

Rhaenyra: Betrothed .- she greets me with a smile full of life and a certain point of fun.

Y/n: Betrothed .- I greeted, without taking my eyes off of hers and leaving a kiss on her soft hand.

The entire room erupts in applause again, but my attention is only on the woman in front of me and her incredible beauty.

Rhaenyra gently pulls at our hands to follow her and places us in front of the chairs we will occupy at the banquet. My father greets the king and takes his place on the right side of the table, occupying his seat as a hand. While my brother Harwin stands next to me and Larys in the corner.

Once the family is in front of their seats, we all begin to sit down and I lean slightly towards my betrothed's ear.

Y/n: You look like a goddess.- I whisper affectionately, noticing how her smile widened and how her cheeks took on a more pinkish color.

She turns her face to answer me, but her words remain in her mouth as everything falls silent at the sudden presence of her uncle, Prince Daemon.

But as soon as he sits down at the table, the place fills again with conversations and the clatter of dishes.

The king rises to give a speech about the union of our houses, but the room falls silent again due to a new presence in the room. But this time it is none other than the queen who enters and dressed in green.

I look at my brother, remembering something he once told me about the Hightowers and that is that when they rise to war the color green is the color they use to summon their bannermen.

But no one but the Hightowers themselves stand up to applaud their presence and color of clothing. The rest remain silent as they walk and approach the royal table. She congratulates us with an evidently forced smile and sits down in the seat to the king's right.

Once seated, the king begins his speech again and congratulates us on the union of our houses, as well as my union with his daughter as king consort. With the speech finished, the music begins to play and the laughter of the people fills the room.

Rhaenyra: Do you want to dance? - she asks me excitedly.

Y/n: Umm I don't know, will you step on me during the dance? - I ask her amused.

Rhaenyra: Maybe.- she answers me with some malice.

Y/n: Then I'll have to take that risk.- i smile, lifting me up and stretching my hand towards her.

She accepts my gesture and with my help gets up from her seat. We walk hand in hand to the center of the room, where there is a space for dancing, and we start dancing.

As soon as we finish the first dance, more people join the floor and start us dancing a new one.

Y/n: Are you happy? - I ask her when we are close enough.

Rhaenyra: With you? Or with the wedding? - she asks me back with a smile.

Y/n: With the wedding.- I respond amused. -I hope she's happy with me, because otherwise I don't know what we're doing here.- I say and she laughs at my comment.

Rhaenyra: You're right, with you you don't need to ask me.- she assures me. -But I would be happier if the wedding was more intimate and quick.- she answers with a grimace.

Y/n: Does seven days seem like a lot to you? - I ask, feigning surprise. -And here I was thinking it was a short wait.- I joke earning a laugh from her.

Rhaenyra: Seven days are too many to be able to call me your wife.- she admits with a smile and I return it.

Y/n: What's seven days with the rest of our lives.- I whisper with a smile before moving on to a new partner.

I continue with the dance, but some screams and a brawl at the end of the room cause everything to stop. I look everywhere, trying to find my betrothed and get her away from any possible danger.

Y/n: Harwin!- I call my brother when I see him among the people. -I can't find Rhaenyra!- I shout nervously, pushing people and trying to find a silver hair.

Harwin: Look to the left and I'll look to the right! - he shouts in response, pushing each person in his path and looking for my betrothed.

Rhaenyra: Y/n! Y/n!- I hear her calling me and look to my left. -Y/n!- I listen again and see her on the floor against one of the chairs.

Y/n: Rhaenyra! - I shout, pushing anyone who gets in front of me. -Are you okay?- I ask, bending down and holding her face in my hands.

Rhaenyra: Get me out of here, please.- she begs me with fear in her eyes.

I place a delicate kiss on her forehead, before helping her up and hugging her against my body.

Y/n: Harwin! Harwin, help! - I shout and it doesn't take more than a few seconds before my older brother is in front of us. -Help me take her to the king.- I ask and he nods.

Harwin: Stick to my back.- he orders me, turning around and I do what he tells me.

I place Rhaenyra between them for her safety. My brother leads the way and I make sure no one touches her in any way.

The king quickly hugs her when we get to the table and she is safe from whatever is happening.

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

I walk at a fast pace through the corridors of the castle, greeting all the nobles I meet along the way and trying to get to our room as soon as possible.

I was training with my brother, when one of the servants told me that Rhaenyra needed me right now and that it was urgent.

So I had started to run through the castle and try to get to my wife as soon as possible.

Y/n: Rhaenyra!- I exclaimed when I entered our chambers. -What happened? Are you okey? Is the baby okay? - I ask quickly, kneeling on the floor in front of the sofa where she is and I look at her worried.

Rhaenyra: No, calm down.- she tells me with a smile, placing her hand on my head and moving a strand of my hair behind my ear. -You have to cut your hair.- she comments calmly and I look at her confused.

Y/n: I don't understand anything.- I confusedly whisper. -The servant told me that you needed me urgently, I had thought that something had happened to you or the baby.- I commented trying to catch my breath.

Rhaenyra: The baby is fine and so am I.- she assures me, grabbing my hand and placing it on her swollen belly.

Y/n: So, why the urgency? - I ask, relaxing my body.

Rhaenyra: This is why.- she whispers and moves my hand from the center of her belly to one of her sides.

I look at her confused, but when she puts light pressure on her belly with our joined hands, something moves and I open my eyes in surprise. I stare at my wife's belly, completely surprised and excited.

I bring my face closer to the belly, placing one cheek on the fabric of the dress and gently pressing the belly again.

I can feel the movement of our baby again and I can't stop a tear from falling from my eyes.

Rhaenyra: Was it urgent? - she asks with some amusement in her voice.

Y/n: Very urgent.- I whisper still, without separating myself from her belly and feeling how her hands go into my hair.

Rhaenyra: As soon as I noticed it, I asked them to call you.- she whispers, stroking my hair.

Y/n: Thank you.- I whisper gratefully, separating myself from her belly and staring into her eyes.

Rhaenyra: For what? - she asks me confused, taking her hands out of my hair and caressing my cheeks gently.

Y/n: For everything.- I respond with a sigh. -For loving me, for being braver than me to the point of almost forcing me to marry you and for giving me an heir even with your reasonable fear of giving birth.- I list, making her laugh at the comment about the wedding and causing her to grimace at the end.

Rhaenyra: With you I'm not afraid of giving birth.- she assures me with a slight smile.

Y/n: Why? - I asked curiously, raising my other hand to her belly and leaving soft caresses on the spot over her dress.

Rhaenyra: Because I trusted you and I know that you will never do to me what my father did to my mother. - She answers me with a certain pain shining in her beautiful lilac eyes. -Because I know that you love me like I do and that you would put my life before even your own.- she assures me and a tear falls from her beautiful eyes.

Y/n: Rhae.- I murmur, touched by her response getting up from the ground and sitting on the couch next to her.

Rhaenyra: Stupid hormones.- she growls when followed by the first tear, the others come out after her and she begins to cry.

Y/n: Hey no.- I deny when she abruptly wipes away her tears. -You're going to hurt yourself, Ñuho glaeso hūrus (Moon of my life).- I tell her, putting her hands aside and gently removing the tears from her face.

Rhaenyra: I hate these mood swings.- she growls, crossing her arms and looking completely cute.

Y/n: I love them.- I whisper against her forehead, leaving a kiss on the spot and then descending my kisses all over her face.

Rhaenyra: You love them because you can laugh at my expense. - she hits my side and I can't help but grunt from the pain. -What's the matter? I haven't hit you that hard.- she asks me, frowning and with some concern.

Y/n: Nothing's wrong with me, it's just that Harwin has been faster than me in training and has had his fun with me. - I explain with a slight amused grimace.

She looks at me seriously, before reaching her hands towards my black training shirt and starting to take it off. Once the fabric is off my body, she looks at my ribs where a reddish area with small purple parts is located.

Rhaenyra: I'm going to have to talk seriously to your brother.- she comments, caressing the area delicately.

Y/n: Leave it, I hit his butt quite hard. - I comment with amusement, removing all traces of tears from her face and looking at the movement of her eyes.

Rhaenyra: Of course. - She rolls her eyes, letting out a small laugh, before returning her attention to my body.

Y/n: Better? - I asked quietly with a hoarse tone, noticing how my wife's eyes and hand ran over my entire torso.

Rhaenyra: Much better.- she assures me, biting her lip and unconsciously leaning towards my body.

I place my hand on the back of her neck, leaving a caress in the area before pulling her towards me and joining our lips. It doesn't take Nyra more than three seconds to deepen the kiss and moan against my mouth.

Y/n: This is why I love your mood swings. - I comment with amusement, separating myself from the kiss, feeling her hands run over my body and my hands over her.

Rhaenyra: Pervert.- she murmurs against my lips, putting her hands inside my pants and trying to take them off.

Y/n: That's what the person who tries to undress me says.- I laugh, standing up a little to help her undress me.

Rhaenyra: Shut up and take off my clothes.- she growls at me before kissing me hungrily.

I undress her as best I can, trying to do it in a way where our lips don't have to separate and where it is comfortable. But in the end the kiss is interrupted when I manage to release the dress and take it off over her head.

She gets up from the couch, taking off her underwear as best she can and walking naked towards our bed.

Rhaenyra: Are you coming or not? - she asks me maliciously, biting her index finger and looking at me innocently.

I don't respond verbally, but I jump off the couch as best I can and pick her up in my arms quickly, making her laugh. I lay her on the bed, placing myself on top of her and starting to kiss her entire body.

Y/n: I hope little Jacaerys or little Aemma prepare for what's coming. - I comment amused, leaving a kiss on my wife's belly and earning me a slap on the head from her.

Rhaenyra: Don't say that! - She exclaims with amusement and horror at the reference to our future baby.

I just laugh, leaning towards her face and staying a few centimeters away from her.

Y/n: Avy jorrāelan (I love you)- I whisper against her lips, knowing how much she likes me speaking to her in Valyrian.

Rhaenyra: Avy jorrāelan (I love you).- she whispers before hugging me by the shoulders and joining our lips for the third time in a very, very long afternoon full of something more than kisses.

Because maybe the beginning of our relationship was not the most orthodox or the most common. And our wedding may not have been the most pleasant for many, thanks to the death of a close friend of the Velaryon family at the hands of Ser Criston.

But to me, everything about Rhaenyra is perfect and natural. Our relationship arose from sincere feelings and although the wedding was brought forward 7 days due to a misfortune, I only look at the positive side of that day; marrying the love of my life.

Because from that day forward, my entire life is dedicated to my wife Rhaenyra Targaryen and the family we are creating.

Because even now after all the time that has passed since the day we met, just looking at her or feeling her hand touch mine makes my heart beat wildly just like the first day.

THE END

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petriwriting · 6 months ago

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Vero Amore - Theodore Nott X Reader (Part 5 - Finale)

Summary: Theodore is on trial for being associated with voldemort due to his father and family history, His odds arent looking so good. Luckily for him you are called to the stand to testify on his behalf, and you just might be the key to his innocence.

Fluff, established previous relationship, Exbf!Theo, Older!Theo and others. Post hogwarts.

Previous Here

You were shocked, utterly confused, you still loved him, but this was such a bad moment for a kiss. you scolded yourself for acting the way that you did and for not explaining yourself that day.

Theodore had kissed you, and you pulled away suddenly. He was concerned with your reaction, his thought was that you were seeing someone and he would hate to get in the mix of that. He didn't want to hurt you more than he already managed to do so. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to-" he said, but you had cut him off. you grabbed your things and headed for the door. "Wait!" Theodore practically lunged himself in front of the space between you and the door. you turn away, almost unable to face him. your emotions are raging. your heart was being pulled in two different directions. On one side was the deep, abiding love you felt for Theo. He was the love of your life, your one true love, you always told yourself that because deep down you knew it to be true. But on the other hand, you were in such an awkward phase of your life, you were struggling with finding yourself after the war and its aftermath. You didn't want to simply fall back into the old habit and turn to what was comfortable. You wanted to grow. "I need to leave." you whisper. Theodore didn't object, being complacent he opened the door for you, although everything in him was dying to reach out to you and stop you. He loved you too much for his own good sometimes.

you couldn't deny the intense feelings you felt despite trying in the following weeks.The chemistry between you and theo was electric and undeniable. The more you thought it over, the more the spark grew into a burn of desire. Theodore awakened parts of you that had gone dormant over the years. you felt alive again in a way you hadn't for a long time, that amazing feeling of being in love was slowly starting to come back. and you realized it could potentially complicate things, but that you wouldn't let the fear stop you from being away from him. Despite forgiving him for hurting you, you were scared something else could happen. a fear that was well known. You found yourself regretting leaving his flat that evening, and not saying anything after. It had been 2 and a half weeks to be exact. After some heavy contemplation and consideration, before overthinking yourself to death, You found yourself at his doorstep yet again, secretly hoping he wouldn't be home so you could avoid the confrontation. That anxious feeling rising in your chest. You knocked gently on the door. You heard shuffling from within the apartment and slowly the door opened, and Theo presented himself. "hi." he said. "I'm really happy to see you." he says. Before giving him the chance to say another word, you begin to explain your actions. "I'm sorry Teddy, that wasn't right of me to leave. I was so scared, because the feelings I had for you that I thought had gone away," you sighed. "I still have those feelings for you. they never went away." you admit. "And I want to move forward, and grow with you. I shouldn't have rejected you," you say. Theodore says your name tenderly. "Will you stay this time?" he asks. "Yes." you step inside, and without hesitation you kiss him. deeply, passionately. It was an embrace you would remember forever, a moment frozen in time. "I love you."

You find shelter in the warmth of his apartment, where you stayed the night, It was the first night of many.

EPILOGUE

You are setting the dinner table at the Nott manor, a place that has been refurbished and decorated to your liking. Candles are lit, and the curtains are open letting the warm glow of the evening sunshine to pier through each window. A place that was once haunted with terrible memories has now been replaced with a place full of new memories, happy ones full of love. You children run around the table, playing. A son with the spitting image of his father, and a daughter who shares her parents features. They laugh and play, "Come sit, dinner is almost ready." you exclaim. The young children go to their seats, laughing and giggling while making faces at each other. In a few years time they will be at Hogwarts, which is a scary but happy thought for you and your husband. Theodore approaches the kitchen with a bowl of fresh pasta, and a plate of chicken. setting it down. His eyes are still the same cool tone, less sunken in despite his old age. His hair is icey, nearly graying. The more recent years have been much more kind to him. He grabs the utensils, helping you finish setting up the table for dinner. A fresh salad, Chicken, pasta, and homemade rolls. All from Theodore's family recipe book, the house smells like fresh bread and springs of herbs. Soon enough, you are enjoying a family dinner together. you created the most beautiful family you could possibly imagine. The children are loved by their parents and you both love them dearly, there is no threat of war hanging over them, they get to be naive and curious as they approach the world, it's all Theo or yourself could possibly ask for. Your family is happy. "Daddy?" your daughter asks, "can you help me?" she says. Your son, who is a handful of years older than his sister is devouring his plate, enjoying every bite of food. Your daughter, however, is much younger, and is struggling to cut up pieces of her chicken to eat. her small hands keep dropping the fork and knife. "I can help, love." you say gently, standing to reach forward. "no!" she says. "I want daddy to help me." she insists. You glance at theo with a smile, realizing he is finally loved in his childhood home. You watch as Theodore reaches for your daughter's plate, placing it in front of him. Your daughter's soft dark curls fall into her face as she climbs onto her fathers lap. Theodore grabs her hands and guides her on how to cut the meat, smiling, being as encouraging as ever. "oh merlin! This is delicious!" your son says. "Please don't say that at the dinner table!" you scold him. He's Theodore's mini-twin. "Thanks dad!" he exclaims. you begin to eat, and it is amazing. "You can thank your grandmother for the recipe." Theodore says, your daughter went back to her seat with her plate. A bit of sadness washes over him as they will never be able to meet his mother. She would have loved to see his beautiful little family.

#reader insert #my writing #x reader #hp x reader #hp #slytherin x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott family #theo nott x you #Dad!theo

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lilacxquartz · 7 months ago

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Don't Make Me Feel Alive I Chapter 6

kenjaku x f!reader

chapter summary: giving into a curiosity he could no longer ignore, he took his chance with you.

warnings: noncon, manga spoilers

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

6. Blur

It was strange, but as Kenjaku completed the night by your side, he couldn’t help but get quite distracted. His mind raced with a one track thought as body ached with carnal curiosity. Even now, his memories were fresh with the curve of your body, frustrated with the decision to halt his exploration.

Logic aside, he was still a human; both born as one and even now, even after so many bodies still just a person. As a result, he knew it himself that such longing primal need was going to hinder his own cause.

Such a distraction led him to wonder if this was his own mind’s doing or if this was the fault of his vessel, wondering if his body might have liked something about you—ultimately deciding on the latter. Thinking back to how he acted in Kaori, there was an interest there with Jin but that was based off a pre-established relationship and also because he had to do so. As far as he knew, you had no idea who his current vessel was, so that left behind one explanation.

It was surely odd to him though as he settled on the thought.

Why… you?

He continued to plant his gaze on you as he watched you wake up, taking in everything you did and as you came around; his sights focused on how you stretched as well as how the amulet stabilised, concluding it was probably safe for him to continue.

As you continued to awaken, you felt his eyes on you without even needing to turn around to face him. It was an instinctual sort of feeling as a wave of dread washed over you and upon turning to look at him—you flinched, his eyes blank and fully devoid of a soul yet so ablaze with something you couldn’t comprehend.

Your body continued to tighten as he moved closer towards you and his intentions had finally surfaced.

(He wanted to enjoy this, to take it slow—to feed and savour your fear.)

“W-wait-“ you stammered, instantly recoiling at the prospect of him leaning closer.

Something felt wrong.

It felt as though you were being cornered.

“—Relax,” Kenjaku purred, pausing for just a moment as he leaned over you and then got up from the bed, finding your sinking reaction delicious, “just… sit up and stay still so I can inspect something.”

You reluctantly did so, feeling your breathing shudder, “T-that’s all?”

His expression remained cold and unchanged, not offering a single shred of warmth nor comfort as he instead simply nodded, closing the gap with his touch. You flinched again as his hands now pressed against your shoulders, pulling you ever so slightly towards him as he loomed over you.

You continued to shudder in growing discomfort as he disguised his intentions with you temporarily; his touch proving to feel invasive as he brushed his hands down your arms, daring to explore your waist again as well as your back and stomach, taking every passing second to memorise every single detail that he liked.

“Does this hurt?” he asked you, feigning care while also trying to get a handle on what exactly your condition took from you.

Not that he would go any easier on you.

“N-no,” you shakily replied, still frozen from what he seemed to be doing to you, “b-but I am, I-uh, I am uncomfortable so if you could please b-back awa-“

“—Relax,” he simply repeated himself, gently shushing your protests as you quietly begged him to stop. He was going to have his needs answered either way, whether you wanted for him to do so or not—so ultimately, your reluctance meant absolutely nothing to him.

You continued to feel increasingly uneasy as he moved gradually inwards, his body parking itself right in front of you. His frame towered over where you sat as he lowered himself ever so slightly to part your legs, standing dangerously close to you in a way that you didn’t like at all.

In an attempt to displace him, you tried to push him back but he didn’t budge at all, continuing to instead cage you in as he savoured the thought of what he was finally about to give into doing. His expression turned hungry, his body almost feeling as though it had to feed to sate the burning need.

(Oh, how he longed to devour you.)

When he didn’t move away, you tried to instead move back, finding that to your continued dismay that he didn’t let you—returning his hand to your shoulder, locking you into place, determining that once he knew you felt fully trapped, that it was then that it was finally time to make a move.

His hand continued to loiter around your shoulder, pushing you back down onto the mattress as you tried to resist. His own body didn’t so much as break a sweat while you strained yourself. His leg positioned itself right in between you, half kneeling onto the mattress as he continued his pursuit.

“H-hey, w-w-w-wait,” you tried to say but he didn’t reply. His intentions however were very telling and you didn’t even have to ask what he was doing at this point.

Kenjaku’s hands continued to move over your body, sliding beneath your top to move over your bare stomach; fingertips slipping to take hold of your breasts and fingers tweezing around your budding nipples. His calloused palms rubbed rough against your contrasting supple skin, squeezing and kneading however he pleased.

He pulled your wrists above your head, fastening them quickly into place with a rope of some sort he snatched from the nearby workstation, keeping you secured into place. Too much of a struggle would have worn you out and he wanted you to savour what he was about to put you through. The bindings were tight as a result.

“S-stop,” you tried to say despite his touch persisting, quickly understanding that your words were falling onto selectively deaf ears instead.

He next moved his focus towards your trousers, unbuttoning and then unzipping the pair, slipping the fabric off of your hips. He parted with his own clothes after, dropping them off to the side as he revealed his taut yet muscular frame.

You continued to remain helpless despite your continued vocal protests and physical attempts to keep him away, but as he moved to bend your knees up slightly and spread your legs even more, you knew that it was already too late.

You couldn’t do a single thing as he positioned himself over your now exposed heat, radiating such warmth that tempted him inside. Your underwear was snatched off in an instant, practically torn away from your hips.

He pressed the tip of his throbbing cock just over your entrance, pushing in slowly—filling your walls with his length and finally plunging inside. You grunted on the impact as you reluctantly took him in; your thighs clenching as he kept them forcefully spread apart.

Feeling you squirm and writhe as your body continued to resist him, he moved forward to fulfil his hunger. His hips rolled fluidly as he found his preferred rhythm; something that bordered on painful as he continued to slam himself inside. Your hips slowly bruised as his touch continued to tighten—holding onto the spots he liked for stability, pounding you into complete submission.

As he continued to ram himself into you, he moved one hand slowly down from where he kept your arms above your head and down to your hair, grasping wherever he could and pulling as tight as possible without causing damage to your skin.

Such continued violent pursuit proved painful as his cock continued to impale you; his rough pace and the noises that you produced now sounded pained—higher pitched and almost whining—a melody that he found enjoyable for his ears, encouraging him to push himself harder, further, attempting to hit you as deep as he could just to hear you cry because of—or no, for him.

As you continued to surrender to such unbearable sensations, you involuntarily latched onto him as you attempted to seek comfort that he continued to refuse you. Instead enjoying the sight of you looking so desperate underneath him, your eyes full of tears that streamed down your face from his cause, just for him to see.

Something about this whole thing felt draining to you, as though the stress inflicted stole your energy in some sort of way. Your vocal cries and physical attempts to get him to stop did nothing more other than waste your efforts, knowing that he absolutely wouldn’t give into stopping at all.

Kenjaku relented as his thrusts grew gradually slower however more impactful, finally seeming close to his end as a coiling surge dared to fire up within him.

Speeding up a final time in an attempt to push the final shred of need he had, his building pleasure finally reached a crescendo, his own grunts sounding rough as he continued to bury himself in your core, finally emptying himself deep into your sex—feeling truly satisfied, so perfectly spent.

Yet he didn’t stop just yet, still continuing to push himself a little further. He felt as his load filled you up wanting nothing more than to completely milk himself into you.

However, he soon collapsed over you to collect his breath, feeling something strange that continued to fester. Despite his needs finally being met, something else continued to unravel passively that he couldn’t quite place his finger on.

Rolling off of you and allowing for you to have some space to breathe, he considered leaving you completely alone after he returned from getting up and cleaning his mess but for some reason chose not to give you even a second to yourself after.

Instead, he turned you slightly over to your side, pulling you back against his chest as he got back into bed, for some reason attempting to offer comfort as something within him continued to boil away—going as far as to even undo the bindings on your arms, his expression dampening slightly when he noticed just how red it rubbed against your flesh.

He didn’t understand why he was trying to do so though. He hadn’t really offered warmth like this to anyone else before.

At least not for a long time.

You initially attempted to push him back, actually craving space now that it was finally over, but he silently kept you in place—his hands roamed around your body in a different sort of way, now attempting to soothe, knowing fully well that whatever little trust he had worked with you to establish prior now crumbled away beyond repair.

But… he didn’t regret a single thing.

He never did.

Still, it was strange but as this peculiar emotion within him continued to manifest, he made the decision to keep you glued to his company in the long run; feeling somewhat conflicted at the possibility of you spending your time elsewhere.

In his mind, he categorised you as a secret project of sorts, something that he wanted to remain hidden even from his most trusted allies.

However, to some degree, he still didn’t like this feeling as it continued to prove distracting, wondering if it would be for the best to cut his losses right away rather than letting it grow more.

But he didn’t.

“Your turn,” he spoke, staring down at your body, still so freshly violated from his own touch.

You blinked at him, not knowing what he meant.

“Go clean up,” he clarified.

As much as he liked you sitting in bed uncomfortable and full of his load, he was the one who would be subjected to cleaning up the mess if it spilled.

It sure took a while for you to get up from the bed though, your mind numbing at what exactly had just happened to you. When you finally found the bathroom, you locked the door behind you and attempted to wash the still clinging sensation of him away; finding that no matter how hot or cold the water got, no matter how hard you scrubbed the feel of him away, that it all remained.

Even after drying yourself, you next emptied your stomach into the toilet nearby in a surge of nausea, prompting you to clean yourself up a second time.

Eventually when you reluctantly returned, knowing that your escape was already impossible, he presented you with a new set of clothes that he then, to your completely unwavering dismay, helped you get dressed into.

Such crippling dependence on him continued to feed some sort of hunger that still lurked deep in his mind as he watched you barely able to stand let alone do anything by yourself. Maybe he was turned on from your inability to survive without him and with all things considered, he concluded that this wasn’t the worst thing he had ever done.

Especially since in doing so, whether you viewed it as something positive or not; you were now safe with him.

One particular thing did gnaw at him though, realising that your condition would likely continue to drag you down and in turn, him, too. It didn’t matter how much you spent training with him because your own sickness would prevail as the higher influence won each and every single time.

This led him to a bitter realisation that if you did get hurt outside of his prevention come autumn, that he would have to leave you behind either way; his plans taking priority no matter what.

But for now at least, he at least chose to not think about such things, having an idea to counter the potential issues tucked away deep in his mind.

For now he wanted to enjoy whatever it was that he was experiencing, finding it to be a luxury to sometimes just relax and give into his own humanity (or lack of it, in your eyes), whenever he had some time to spare.

He watched you succumb to the exhaustion that he caused this time around, feeling something conflicting stir within him once again. Just for the sake of it, he decided to take things easier for the remainder of the week to see how the energy retention and management would fare if you didn’t have to use it at all.

He could keep himself in check either way now that his burning curiosity was finally satisfied and even if you didn’t want it again later down the line, he could very easily just take it from you however many times he pleased.

But for now he wouldn’t.

Just to see if your condition would improve or not.

Not because he wanted for you to actually relax.

(Because that would mean that… he cared?)

(And he surely didn’t.)

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